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Travel Plans 2010

Topping 2009 travel-wise is, well, pretty much impossible. At least at the moment, with our mortgage payments and book contracts and post-doc positions. It just ain’t going to happen. Sadly. But that doesn’t mean we’re not going to at least try to have a little adventure. There’s no way we’re going to pass the year without going somewhere we’ve never been before. That’s just plain unthinkable. I mean, seriously, the travel bug does not just disappear. Oh no, my friends. It infests. And multiplies. It simply can not be killed. Not that I’d want to kill it anyways. It’s no worm.

So though it’s plenty safe to say that our 2010 travel plans aren’t nearly as grand as our 2009 plans, I don’t think they’re at all shabby. And to say that I’m looking forward to them is like saying that Durham did a lousy job plowing the 7 inches of snow we got on Saturday. (In case you’re unclear, it’s a huge understatement.)

With 2010 now all the way in the door and not looking a bit like it plans to retreat, I think it’s safe to go ahead and unveil the plans. So without further ado, here’s what’s on tap for us.

The first trip of the year and the biggest is a 16-day trip to Colombia in March. As we traveled through South America in 2008-09, we kept hearing over and over that Colombia is the place to be. Rumors of its beauty, friendly people, and affordability barraged us. While in Ecuador, we pondered making the trip across the border, but we just didn’t have the time. I’ve been haunted ever since.

As for what we’re planning to do in Colombia, I’m not yet sure. All we know is that we land on the Caribbean coast and depart from Bogota. I’m definitely going to get a few dives in, and I want to enjoy the beaches of Parque Nacional Tayrona and the colonial ambiance of Cartegena, but beyond that I can’t choose. Do we take on San Gil, the adventure capital of Colombia? Do we spend a few days on a finca in the world capital of coffee? Do we taste city life in Medellin and Bogota? Do we jibe to the Afro-Caribbean Beat of Providencia? The only thing I know for sure is that we can’t really go wrong. But if you have some tips, we’re all ears.

The second trip we have planned is a domestic roadtrip that will take us from Chicago to Yellowstone and back in late May. We’ll be traveling with my brothers (or at least Gregory and Mark, as unfortunately last I heard Matthew doesn’t think he can make it), so it will certainly be full of funny moments. We plan to ditch the interstate system for the old highways and see what kind of nonsense we can find along the way. We’ll be taking a northern route there and a southern route back and should have time for the Badlands, the Black Hills, and other awesome scenery along the way. On a family roadtrip in 1993, my brothers and I covered much of the same ground, so it will be cool to see what we think 17 years later. And to find out if in 17 years the photos we take on this trip will be as embarrassing as the photos taken on that trip.

And well, that’s it for the year’s big trips. Apparently when people hire you around here they expect you to work. A lot. I can’t say I’m a fan. But I’ll survive, especially since we also have a slew of small trips thrown in to keep our cabin fever from turning into cabin swine flu.  We’ll be hitting up Bloomington in early May to watch my baby brother (that’s right Mark, I called you baby) graduate from Indiana University, and in August, we’ll be in the Seattle area for the marriage of Jeff’s sister. We’ll also get to say hello to Charleston, SC, when our friend Kristi says I do to our other friend Ziga (who we hear will be saying I do back).

And though I guess technically it’s work, I’ll be spending a lot of time exploring the Bluegrass State as I work on the Moon Kentucky guidebook. It’s a cool state, I tell you, and I’m going to be covering it top to bottom, inside and out. Diving into Appalachia has definitely got me excited. The culture completely intrigues me, and I have to admit that I really, really, really want to see a blue person.

Finally, we’ll be dedicating any free weekends we have to exploring our brand new home state. That is if they can figure out how to get the snow off the roads before, say, April. I definitely intend to make it to the beach a time or two…or three or four. And I’m committed to adding a few more miles to my Appalachian Trail in pieces project, with the 30-mile Art Loeb Trail in Pisgah National Forest looking like it might be my first NC leg.

You know, I think it just might end up being a pretty darn good year. I really do.

But gosh, enough about me, let’s hear about you. What’s on your travel calendar for 2010?

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Aid That Works

Did you watch any of the BCS Bowl Games this year? If so, did you see the commercials asking you to donate $10 toward providing mosquito nets for Africa? If you did, did you donate?

I hope not.

That’s probably not what you were expecting me to say, so I’ll repeat it. I hope not.*

Wow, I must be meaner than you thought. How could I be opposed to providing mosquito nets to Africans, people I talk about with much fondness? Am I not in support of ending malaria, the deadliest disease in Africa?

Well, it’s not that simple. Of course I am in favor of ending malaria, and yes, I think that using mosquito nets is an effective method of prevention. But I don’t believe that handing them out for free is the answer.

As we traveled around the world, we encountered many different types of aid, and what we witnessed over and over is that as an everyday form of charity, handouts don’t work.** Sometimes what is being given is not what the people most need. Sometimes what is being given might work for us but doesn’t work within the recipients’ set of values and beliefs or with their lifestyles. And sometimes what is being given is taken not because it’s wanted, but because it’s free.

Come on, admit it, you do the same thing. Free stuff is hard to resist.

But when you receive something for free, it has no value to you. You didn’t have to give up anything to get it, you didn’t have to decide that that item was worth the price or the sacrifice of getting it. So if it’s lost or broken,  if it crumbles to the ground, if it sits around and is never used, it’s no sweat off your back.

Also, sometimes when you get enough free stuff, you begin to expect that you’ll continue to get free stuff. You start to believe that you don’t have to work hard to get what you need and want, that you don’t have to hold those who are actually supposed to be providing for you (i.e. family, government institutions, etc.) responsible for delivering on their promises, but instead you just have to put your hand out at the right time.

Time and again in Africa, we encountered the case of the free mosquito net. In theory, it sounds like a great idea. In practice, it doesn’t work. Rarely was the free mosquito net being used properly; most of the time, it was actually being used as a net for catching fish, birds, or other animals that could be turned into dinner. I’m not saying that’s a completely invalid use; I’m just saying that using the net in such a way doesn’t help prevent malaria. And as far as I’m aware, that’s what all these charities giving away the nets are trying to do.

So what’s the answer then? Should we deny people the simple protection they need to prevent an often fatal disease? Should we demand that people with little money pay a hefty portion of it for a net?

No and no. What we need to offer people in cases such as this is the skills and knowledge that they might not currently have but once acquired can put to good use themselves (for instance, in regards to the mosquito nets, knowledge about what malaria is, how it’s transmitted, and how it can be prevented). We can also offer them stuff, things that they need but cannot for whatever reason get, but we shouldn’t give it away for free. That doesn’t mean it has to cost much, or even anything. But, those in want or need of the item should have to “pay” for it, whether with money or through barter of goods or services. This means that the “purchaser” will truly want whatever it is on offer and thus be more likely to put it to good use. It also means that they will feel like a valuable person; someone who has something to give, not just someone who takes. I think most of us want to feel this way.

You might now be wondering if this works, if people are willing to pay for things that some charities give away for free. I can tell you that yes, it does work. I’ve seen it firsthand.

One of the most outstanding aid outfits we saw while on our trip was the Bwindi Community Hospital, a place we were invited to tour while staying in Bwindi to trek with the mountain gorillas. Here, a British couple run an Anglican-sponsored hospital for locals (and by local, I mean people who can walk to the hospital in a couple of days). They take in a few foreign volunteers each year, but other than that, all staff is Ugandan–nurses, doctors, janitors, secretaries, AIDS counselors, etc. This hospital is vested in the community. (The couple running the hospital are even drawing up plans to eventually remove themselves from their roles.) And though they offer excellent mendical services–a maternity ward that allows women to stay for their entire third trimester, preventing multi-day walks to and from the hospital; x-ray and surgery facilities; health workers who go out into the community and seek out those in need of treatment–what they’re most proud of, and rightfully so, is their education program.

The “Small Families are Rich Families” campaign has helped lower the birth rate in a country with one of the highest, by educating men on the benefits of having a small family they can take care of and by providing women with access to birth control (which is often literally a lifesaver).  The Village Health Promoter program means that each of 200 villages in the area has at least one trained resident teaching his/her neighbors basic health care practices, thus helping lower the number of cases of easily preventable diseases like dysentery. The Community Garden program teaches mothers not only how to grow food that is nutritious but also how to cook food that is healthy. And the sale of mosquito nets has translated into 15,000 children protected from the disease.

While we were touring the hospital, I specifically asked how the mosquito nets were sold, finding it interesting that they weren’t given away for free. What I learned is that the nets have a set price, a small amount less than $1 that people can pay for them, but that if even that small amount is too much, they can offer whatever it is that they have that they feel is worth the set price. I was laughingly told that they have an entire closet of carved masks and animals that they have accepted as payment. It’s not money; but it is an item of value. They could, after all, probably sell those carved goods to gorilla trekking tourists for much more than $1.

When we left the hospital, I felt uplifted. This, I thought, is how aid is supposed to work. It is supposed to promote empowerment, rather than dependence, to create systems that works whether the aid workers remain or go, to ultimately render itself unnecessary. So many times, we’d seen the remains of projects that simply didn’t work; it felt good to now see one that not only worked but worked well.

Aid is a tricky issue. What works one in one time and place doesn’t always work in another. And for those of us wanting to give, trying to determine what organizations are doing work that works can be nearly impossible. If you’ve been thinking about giving to a new organization this year, or if that mosquito net campaign from the BCS bowl games got you pondering how you could really make a difference, may I suggest Bwindi Community Hospital? There are lots of aid organizations doing good work, but this is one I’ve witnessed firsthand. For more information, or to make a donation that will help the hospital to help others, please visit their website.

*If you did give, good for you. It’s not that giving mosquito nets away for free is bad; it’s just that I think there are more effective ways of providing aid.

**I’m not referring here to the giving of aid during one-time disasters such as the current one in Haiti, but to prolonged aid efforts.

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A Credo for the New Year

This year, instead of joining most of the world in making a bunch of half-hearted or even well-intentioned resolutions that we’ll all indubitably break before the first month of 2010 is over, I’ve decided to say adios to that guilt-inducing tradition. Having grown up Catholic, I have no trouble finding things to be guilty about every day thank you very much. Instead, for this fresh (and ridiculously cold, I might add) year, I’ve chosen to establish a credo, to write down just exactly what it is I believe, and then to try to live my life with it in mind.

And so a year from now, when 2010 chugs off into the night and 2011 slithers down the pole to say hello, I might not have a better butt, but I will hopefully be a better person.

I *think* that’s what matters most.

And so, without further ado, here it is.

I believe that people matter most.
That the relationships I have with my family and friends are my most precious assets.

I believe that we all have something to offer, and that it is our responsibility to share our talents with the world and to allow others to share theirs.
That, though we are not all equal in every way, we all deserve equal rights.
That human rights are non-negotiable.
That no matter how different we may seem, at heart we all have the same basic desires.

I believe in living sustainably.
In choosing to bike or walk whenever possible.
In reducing, reusing, and recycling.
In supporting local business, even if it costs a little bit more.
In living within, if not below, my means.

I believe that diversity enriches our lives.
That listening to different opinions opens my eyes to perspectives I hadn’t considered.
That changing my mind when I’m convinced of another view makes me a stronger, not weaker, person.
That it’s okay to agree to disagree.

I believe that at times hope is enough to sustain us and to take away hope is to destroy life.
That dreams are powerful but that they require action.
That love empowers and forgiveness frees.

I believe that the less I want, the more I’ll find I have.
That the more I give, the richer my life will be.
That a hand up helps more than a hand out.

I believe that I can’t control everything, but I can always control how I react.
That every day I get to choose how I will live that day.
That it’s never too late to do the right thing.

I believe in dancing even though I have two left feet and singing even though I’m tone deaf.
In not worrying about what others think but about what I believe.
In disappointing others if that’s the only way to stay true to myself.

I believe that there is something out there far greater than me.
That our world is an awesome place begging to be explored.
That life should be celebrated.
Every. Single. Day.

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Happy Holidays!

Whether you’re at home wrapped in the warmth of family and friends or thousands of miles away wrapped in the warmth of a Peruvian poncho and memories of home…

Whether you’re chowing down on a traditional feast of holiday food or making do with the chicken nuggets at the only open restaurant in town…

Whether you’re celebrating Christmas or Hanukkah, Festivus or the Solstice…

Wherever you are, whoever you are…

We wish you the warmth of love, the magic of belief, and the wonder of a child.

Peace. To you. To your family. To the world.

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An Incident in India

Our visit to the holy city of Varanasi began horribly. It started with a six-hour wait in the Agra train station, where I watched enormous rats race in and out of offices and even up one man’s back as I waited for our long-delayed train. By the time we got off the train, my purse had been stolen, and I was in a rotten mood. Then spending hours and hours in the train station police office, where I was required to write over and over my account of the incident (everything was done by hand, and there could be no cross-outs, so any time they wanted me to change even one tiny word, I had to rewrite the entire thing) did nothing to help. Finding out that after all that we’d have to come back in the evening to pick up the official report because the transcriber had a headache brought me to the brink of losing it. By the time we found out half of the city streets were closed for a festival, and we’d have to schlep our bags a long way through the Indian heat and humidity, I was too far gone to even care.

India was, at this point, pretty much dead to me. I just couldn’t be bothered to care…not about the cow shit I had to trample through to get to our hotel, not about the kids with soulless eyes begging for our change, not about the six flights of stairs I had to climb to get to our room. The overwhelming amount of poverty that constantly affronted me combined with my own experience of being a victim, most likely of someone without a chance in the world, had numbed me. I didn’t have anymore outrage left in me. Or so I thought.

***

As night fell on the Ganges, and its unholy mix of cremated bodies, garbage, animal carcasses and pollutants, we ventured out from the relative comfort of the hotel where we’d entombed ourselves all day into the chaos of the city. We stumbled up and down alleyways that smelled of human excrement, incense, chai, and sweat until we emerged onto a broad street, packed with people celebrating Durga Puja, an important holy day in this part of the country. Effigies–some expensive looking, others constructed with no more than hay and old clothes–were being transported down to the river in the beds of trucks, behind which rich young men danced to the pulse of Indian music. Crowds lined the streets and pushed their way around, a tidal wave of humanity. Kids ate what appeared to be cotton candy, and a man repeatedly brushed himself up against me (a much too common occurrence) until Jeff realized it and stared him down and chased him off.

If it had been another day, I’d have taken photos. The festival was the kind of thing I usually love. But that day, I didn’t care. Everything about it annoyed me. All I wanted was a rickshaw, a means of transport to get back to the train station to pick up the police report I wasn’t completely convinced would even be available (at least not without a bribe). Finally, after walking around for at least an hour, we found one, a cycle rickshaw with a driver that would agree to a price we’d been told was reasonable.

I hated cycle rickshaws. They seemed so inhumane to me. I felt like an old colonial subjugator, sitting primly on the cushioned seat while a terribly poor man forced his skinny legs up and down in an effort to pedal me through the streets of Varanasi. But, on the other hand, this was the only way these people had to make a living. If I denied him service, I wasn’t helping him. I was instead depriving him of a chance to have something to eat that day. That, and the fact that I always paid much more than the agreed-upon fare, were the only things that soothed my conscience.

On this evening, our driver was chatty, introducing himself to us as Michael. That seemed an odd name for an Indian to me, but he quickly added that he was Christian and Michael was the name he’d taken when he was baptized. It made sense, especially since just a few days prior I’d been reading about a recent trend in which many of India’s poorest were converting to Christianity, attracted by its teaching that you could be saved through faith and good works and in only one life time, a stark difference from the prevailing Hindu beliefs that require cycles of reincarnation, a seemingly endless road for those deemed the lowest of the low. He was friendly and helpful, pointing out sights all while pedaling his heart out, and I felt my mood lift a bit in his presence. There were good people in India, I was reminded.

At the train station, the report was ready and handed over to me without so much as even a hint at a bribe. Things were looking up. We grabbed a bottle of water, since we were covered in sweat from the heat despite having done nothing but sit the entire way there, and then we grabbed a second bottle for Michael. I think it cost all of 10 cents. It was no great act of philanthropy, though he was beyond pleased when we offered it to him upon our return.

The ride back was for the most part uneventful. Michael kept up his chatter and we responded appropriately, glad that this day was drawing to an end and hoping that a better day awaited us the next morning. But as we got within the vicinity of the hotel, the roads again became crowded, and Michael was forced to weave his way through the throngs of people. One of the “floats” was ahead of us, and getting around it was going to be tricky. We had to stop and wait while it passed, but then with a break between the truck and the followers, Michael saw his chance and decided to hurry through.

Not so fast, however. One of the celebrants, an obviously wealthy young man with nice clothes and nothing more important to do than dance behind a truck, approached our rickshaw with a band of followers. In Hindi, he began to yell at Michael. Michael did not yell back. He just hung his head and let the young man rant. Though perhaps India no longer has any official caste system, the caste system lives. Then, still yelling, the man picked up a stick and made a motion as if he were going to hit Michael. All this, because Michael dared to try to cross the street in an effort to make a living. I’d been sitting there watching, quite uncertain of what was going on, but at that point I lost it.

I normally shrink from confrontation. But, on that night, after that day, I’d had enough.

“Stop it,” I yelled, “Now. Stop it now. Just stop.” I don’t even know where my voice came from but I was outraged. “Do not be violent. He is a person. A person. Treat him like a person. ” I just kept yelling.

The men stopped and stood there dazed. It was as if I had hit them. This was not the response they usually got. This was not what they expected. I must have seemed crazy, rabid. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter. They stopped, left us alone, let us continue.

Not wasting a second, or letting the men change their mind, Michael pedaled hard until we were away from them. He then slowed and turned to me. “Thank you. Thank you,” he said. “You’re such a good person.” He repeated this over and over.

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “No.” But he wasn’t listening.

I wasn’t a good person. I was just a person. A person doing what people are supposed to do. Yet there, for people like Michael, I was extraordinary. Perhaps that should have made me feel good, but it didn’t. Instead I felt sick. Simple human kindness should not be extraordinary. Basic human dignity should not only be for the privileged.

Arriving at our destination, we got out of the rickshaw and pressed money into Michael’s hand. He smiled broadly and thanked us again and again. I walked away, shaken to the core, then stopped and turned back. “Good luck,” I yelled to him, wishing desperately that being treated like a person didn’t require luck.

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Pass the Salt Please: Theresa’s Thoughts on 2 Months of Being Home

Yes, friends, it’s been two entire months since our plane touched down in Seattle, putting us back on American soil after 363 days abroad. If I haven’t yet seen you, I apologize. Life back here in the U.S. is busy. Go to the grocery, spend more time than I care to in my car, don’t forget to get gas, run to Target to pick up toilet paper and garbage bags, schedule doctor appointments, figure out insurance options, buy a house. I do a lot of stuff these days. But at the same time I don’t really do anything. Run, run, run, but at the end of the day what can I say that I really did?

Also aside from the couple of old friends we have here in our new home of Durham, North Carolina, I’m not particularly close to any of you. It’s a four hour drive to see the closest of you, eight hours for the next set, and Lord, across an entire country for the rest of you. Funny how on our trip, we wouldn’t blink at 17 hour bus rides but here a 4 hour drive seems so impossible. Why don’t we get together more? Oh yeah, it’s all those things we have to do around here, the never ending lists of things to accomplish, the need to have everything perfectly planned not decided on a moment’s notice.

And if I haven’t called, well, I’m sorry. I don’t really have an excuse. I want to call, I swear, I want to catch up, but my adversity to the phone has grown so much stronger over the past year. I’m out of practice. It feels so cold and foreign, so impersonal. And I feel so out of touch. Where do I even start?

I have to say that I’m finding coming home to be much harder than leaving. Life, to be honest, feels bland, as if someone forgot to add the salt. Most days I have this feeling that I’m just waiting for something to happen. I don’t know what it is, but I keep feeling like this can’t be it, that there’s got to be something more.

Obviously, I knew it would be hard, be an adjustment, but knowing something and being prepared for it are completely different things. I thought moving to a new place, starting new jobs, meeting new people would be enough to keep the adventure alive, but it’s not. I desperately miss the old version of the to-do list:

  • jump into warm tropical waters and spend an hour 18 meters below the surface among turtles, sharks, fish, octopus, and amazing coral reefs
  • wake up early to try to spot a lion returning from a hunt
  • watch turquoise blue icebergs calve
  • eat all the Asian street food I can handle for less than $5
  • get up close and personal with gorillas
  • give an elephant a bath
  • get a lesson on Buddhism from a monk
  • listen to the Dalai Llama teach
  • and so on and so forth

I’ve never felt so alive as I did when we were on our trip, so in control of my life, so certain that this was exactly what I was meant to be doing. I’ll let Jeff speak for himself, but I don’t think he feels exactly the same as I do. Somehow I married one of the few people in the world who really like what they do. And unfortunately his job is not one that we can take with us on a trip. Just try to take a bunch of cell lines across a border and see what happens. I dare you. So, for at least a few years, we’re going to be stable, and I’m going to have to again find the joy in the ordinary…as well as figure out how to squeeze as many trips into our regular person schedule and our homeowner’s budget as is humanly possible. It’ll take time. That’s what I have to remind myself. And it’ll be okay, I’m certain. Probably even good. Maybe even great, spectacular. Somehow the two of us together usually manage to have a pretty damn good time.

But if Jeff walked in the door tonight and asked if I was ready to go, ready to head out for Round 2 of seeing all the crazy, wonderful, amazing things this world has to offer, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d throw all those same ol’ clothes and same ol’ gadgets in my bag and be out the door, no looking back.

But maybe this time, we’d start our journey with a roadtrip around the country, seeing all of you family and friends that I do truly miss and trying to convince you all to join us, if not for the entire trip, for a month, a fortnight, a week.

And of course, we wouldn’t actually start any of this until December 26, because as much as I want to be back on the road, for Christmas there’s nowhere I want to be but home. Life, I’ve found, is tricky like that.

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We’ve Got Answers

Thanks to all of those who left us questions when we opened up the floor. Here is our attempt at answering. If you’ve thought of something else you want to ask, go ahead and do so. We have received other questions via email, and we plan to answer those in a later installation.

Did you ever have to get medical treatment or even buy medicine?
Only two sicknesses stick out in my mind. On New Year’s Eve 2008, two days before we were to begin our hike to Machu Picchu, I came down with a stomach bug. I first got sick on the flight from Lima to Cuzco, and it didn’t let up the rest of the day. Making it worse, we were in a freezing cold room with a crappy bathroom. It was also pouring rain. And to top it off we had to go to the trekking office to make our final payment. I had to stop about every 20 feet, and at one point, I was so bad off my brother actually offered to carry me. The next day I felt better, but then it returned the next day, our first day on the Inca Trail, when I hurled the second I stood up from the lunch table. Unfortunately, I also passed it on to my brother, who got to learn just how tough he was when he was horribly sick on the hardest (and what turned out to be the coldest and wettest) day of the hike.

The second incident was when Jeff and I both simultaneously came down with what we strongly suspect to have been the swine flu. We were in Siem Reap, Cambodia, which was experiencing a big outbreak of the epidemic at the time. We had all the symptoms—crazy delusion-causing fevers, respiratory issues, horrible aches and pains, and overall yuckiness. I also had the bonus of stomach issues. We were sick for about three days, but there was one night I thought we just might die. I may have actually wished to die because I felt so miserable. Luckily we were able to secure some Tamiflu, which really helped.

Other than that, we were pretty much healthy. Our stomachs also proved to be made of steel as we handled the local food and water with nothing more than a blip of discomfort here and there.

What is the one things that pissed you off the most?
We got annoyed at the fact that most people in the world have no idea what a line is. We got tired of being quoted prices many times higher than they should have been and having to haggle for a fair price. I thought the guy on our Inca Trail hike who didn’t think we needed to tip our guide or the porters was an ass. But I only remember getting really pissed a few times.

Once was when the bus left us, as well as the four other tourists onboard, at the Vietnam-Laos border, forcing us to hunt down and pay for a private mode of transport because it took us too long to get our visas. I actually took the getting left behind in stride; what were we to do? What got us pissed was the company’s refusal to take responsibility or give us any sort of fair compensation.

The second was when my purse was stolen on the train in India. I wished all sorts of evil on him, and if I had had a chance at him, it would not have been pretty.

The third was later on the same day in India, when we saw the reality of the caste system come into play and witnessed the level of inhumanity that so many people live with every day. We haven’t told this story here before, and it would take too long to explain in this post, so check back next week when I’ll tell my Varanasi cycle rickshaw story.

What made you smile the biggest?
I immediately thought of the kids in Africa when I read this question. It’s funny because I wouldn’t say that either of us are huge kid/baby people. Don’t get me wrong, we like them, and might even want our own one day, but we definitely don’t fawn over every one we see. But the kids in Africa were so spirited, so funny, so contagiously in love with life. And they were always so damn thrilled to see us (unless they were absolutely scared to death of us). I still remember turning this corner in Zanzibar and coming across a group of three small kids. As soon as they saw us, they started shrieking “Mzungu! Mzungu! Mzungu!” (what they call white people), jumping up and down, and going absolutely crazy. It was like they’d just won the lottery. Simply amazing. We don’t quite get the same reception around here.

World’s best airline? Worst?
Air Emirates has earned its reputation as a top-tier airline. The seats were comfy and came with individual entertainment systems with tons of options, and food and service was good. We also had a good experience on Air France, getting exit row seats and a choice of approximately 1 zillion movies on our own individual systems.

Air India Express was probably the worst. Our flight was delayed  for 6 hours, and we could get absolutely no information on why or when it might possibly leave. Also, the passengers on this airline were nuts. I think every single person went the bathroom during the flight (which was less than 2 hours), and they made a line all the way down the aisle of the plane. And more than one person actually got up to attempt to go the bathroom as we were landing. We were literally about to put wheels down when they stood up. I know this isn’t directly about the airline, but the flight crew didn’t seem to have much control or influence.

Where in South America should I go?
What a beautiful continent! I’m ready to go back. Go to Patagonia if you want to see natural beauty the likes of which you can’t imagine. Go to the Galapagos because you get to snorkel with seals and penguins and see things you won’t see anywhere else in the world. Go to Buenos Aires to eat steak, ice cream, and wine, be seduced by the tango, marvel at the beautiful people, photograph the architecture, and try to speak their crazy version of Spanish. Go to Machu Picchu because it’s mystical and magical and simply astounding.

You are supposed to go to the dentist every 6 months. Did you?
No. I don’t even like going to the dentist here (though yes, I do it). There was no way we were braving it in some foreign country.

Best thing you ate? Worst thing you ate? Strangest thing you ate?

Best according to Jeff: Coconut Ice Cream with Dulce De Leche (Argentina), Steak (Argentina), Keow Teow Noodles (Laos), Malai Kofta (India), Naan (Amritsar, India)

Best according to Theresa: Steak (Argentina), Cau Lao Noodles (Hoi An, Vietnam), Fresh Fruit Shakes (Asia), Mangoes (Malaysia), Naan (Amritsar, India), Potato Momos (Dharamshala), Omelette with chips and roti (Mbeya, Tnazania). Strangely enough, what I find myself most craving though is gallo pinto, Nicaraguan style basic beans and rice.

Worst: Neither of us cared for the chincheros (fried pork skin) given to us by our host family in Granada. I also have to say we’re not big fans of cassava, or the million other names third-world countries around the globe have for the starchy white stuff that fills the world’s stomach without providing any real nutrition.

Strangest: We didn’t eat bugs or any of the other creepy-crawly-type things that really freak people out. In Africa, we did try ostrich, springbok, kudu, and some other types of wild game. In Asia, I had fish balls, which I actually liked.

What’s your favorite place in the world and why?
Africa, Africa, Africa. If I were to be given another year to travel, I’d immediately hop a plane to Africa, buy me an old 4WD, and spend the entire year exploring the continent. The landscapes were phenomenal, and the people even more so. I felt like our most “authentic” experiences were in Africa, that we experienced it on a more intimate level than most other places. I also have to say that I never, ever, ever got sick of looking out my window and seeing an elephant or zebra or lion or whatever. It’s just simply the most amazing place I’ve ever been.

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You Vote! Where Next?

So you’re probably wondering just how many “Where Next?” posts we can manage to get up on our blog. Well, friends, this is the last one, and this post requires that you pitch in and help. What we need you to tell us is exactly where we ought to go next.

You see, very shortly after we returned to the States, we did a lot of flying around within the country. In the process, we managed to get bumped from a flight. I know that might sound bad to a lot of you, but Jeff and I often pray to get bumped, especially if we’re not on a tight schedule. We love the vouchers that come with volunteering to give up your seat.

On the specific flight for which we got bumped, we got especially lucky. We were only delayed by two hours, got a free lunch while we waited, and were handed vouchers of $600 each. $600! That’s a lot…especially considering it was only a 30 minute-long flight we got bumped from.

In summary, here’s the deal. We each have $600 in credit toward a flight. The credit expires next October. The credit must be used through Delta, so the flight must be on Delta or with a partner who will allow us to book the trip through Delta.

Now your job: tell us where to go! Come on, we know some of you have just been dying to do that. Don ‘t pretend otherwise.

Here’s the criteria:

  1. We’d prefer not to have to pay anything out of pocket for the flight but could be convinced to pitch in a little bit of dough if necessary.
  2. We have to work within the confines of being working Americans, meaning we can’t take month long trips.
  3. We’re open to domestic or international destinations.
  4. We’d like to keep the budget on the lower end. We just bought a house, people; funds are limited.

So what do you suggest? Give us your best scenario.

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Where Next? Part 2

In our earlier post, Where Next? Part 1, we laid out the places we have never been that we’d like to go. In this, Part 2, we give you a look at sites that are located in countries that we visited but that we weren’t able to make it to for whatever reason. In some instances, it was because we were there at the wrong time of the year to do whatever it was we wanted to do. In other instances, the site was so popular that you had to make plans to visit it much farther in advance than we did. In still other cases, costs or logistics made a visit impossible. They were places that caught our imaginations at the time we were in country and that have stayed with us long after we left. Here, in no particular order, are six sites that will have us returning to one of the 24 countries we visited on our round-the-world trip, hopefully sooner rather than later.

1. Dive Sipadan, Malaysia
After getting our SCUBA certification just before our trip to Borneo, I was anxious to dive into what is supposed to be one of the world’s best dive sites. We heard amazing stories of huge schools of barracuda, 30 + turtles in one dive spot, and sharks galore. Unfortunately, we were there at the peak of the high season, and though we were flexible with date and time, we couldn’t find a single dive operator with an opening. Apparently they’d been booked up 6 months in advance. So looks like we’ll have to go back and see the underworld wonders of Borneo. Maybe it’s for the best. We heard it can be a more challenging dive site, and as beginners we might not have got to experience the full extent of the magic.

2. Witness the Great Migration, Serengeti/Masai Mara
Is there anyone out there who doesn’t want to see this? We love going on safari, and I can imagine the thrill is only upped by the sight of the huge herds of migrating wildebeests fighting for their lives against stalking lions and hungry crocodiles. Plus the Serengeti has a certain romance to it, the wide plains dotted with flat-topped acacia trees. Our timing wasn’t right this trip to witness this magnificent event, so we’ll have to return. Maybe if I win the lottery I’ll splurge on a fancy camp. Otherwise, I’ll just rough it like we usually do. Either way, I’m certain it will be awesome.

3. Drive the Skeleton Coast, Namibia
The landscapes we saw in Namibia were simply mindblowing, but we hear they’re completely unearthly along the Skeleton Coast. You need a 4WD to venture here, however, and we were in a little Kia, so it was forbidden territory for us. Namibia is high on my return list, and next time I’ll definitely get the fully kitted out camping car. Then we’ll be able to venture up the Skeleton Coast, meeting locals who still live in very traditional ways, gawking at the rugged coast, and maybe spotting one of those rare desert elephants that we hear hang out there.

4. Explore the Kalahari, South Africa/Botswana
Like the Skeleton Coast, the Kalahari (well, hell, most of Botswana) is 4WD territory. It’s also territory for the tough and self-reliant. The Kalahari is a whole lot of nothing according to some, a whole lot of beauty according to others. I recently read an article on traveling through the Kalahari, and the photos blew my mind. Some really amazing and interesting people, as well as animals, have learned to survive here, and I think encountering them would be pretty darn cool.

5. Hike the Cordillera Blanca, Peru
After hiking the Inca Trail, our legs weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea of another long, hard hike at high altitude, and the extremely rainy weather hitting the area while we were there sealed the deal: no Cordillera Blanca for us. But we only crossed it off the list temporarily. We both really love to hike, especially in terrain that is as lush and breathtaking (literally and figuratively) as that of the Cordillera Blanca. There’s a whole slew of trails that cross through these northern Peruvian mountains, and we’re not sure which trek we’d chose, though I think we’re looking for a road a bit less traveled. And when we do make it back to Peru, I think we’ll also fly south, as we didn’t make it to Arequipa or Colca Canyon either.

6. Taste the Wine in Mendoza, Argentina
Abundant and delicious steak, ice cream, and wine. What’s not to love about Argentina? While we got our fair share of all of them during our six weeks or so in the country, we didn’t actually make it to Mendoza, the heartland of Argentinian wine production…and supposedly a lot of excellent restaurants to boot. Mendoza was supposed to be our final stop, a layover on our way from Buenos Aires to Santiago, but we ended up flying and thus missed it. But I have no doubt we’ll make it back to Argentina (what a scrumptious country!), and on that trip we’ll not neglect Mendoza and its delicious wines.

If you know of anywhere else we missed, any site you can’t believe we didn’t make it to and strongly believe that we should, let us know. Obviously we plan to live a long, long life and become quite wealthy, so we’re completely open to expanding the list.

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The Floor is Open

Got a question for us? Then leave it in the comments section. We’ll soon write a post answering the questions we receive here, plus ones we’ve received by email.

Don’t by shy. Ask away. We really do like to talk about our trip, and we’re happy to answer questions about planning, about the actual experience, about the return to reality…whatever it is you want to know.