Monthly Archives

August 2011

Homemade is where the heart is

August 21, 2011

I mailed a package from Hue, Vietnam to Palm Springs, California. I was told the package would travel by sea and take about 30 days to arrive.

That was three months ago.

I’m sure my package was tucked away in the bowels of a ship somewhere until today, when it showed up in my mailbox. The box is battered and bruised, completely soaked with the stench of petroleum, but it’s here — and I’m thrilled.

The contents included a suit, a coat and a dress I had made by tailors. A photograph for my sister. Three pairs of earrings carved out of coconut shells for my nieces. A gift for my mother-in-law.

Basically, every single thing in that package was made by hand. And that’s one of the things I loved most about traveling — seeing artisans at work.

I know we have craftsmen in the U.S., but unfortunately, I feel like it’s more of an effort to find them here. We relegate our artisans to gallery walks, weekend shows in parking lots, special markets, etsy.com. We don’t honor them as much as hide them.

In other countries, however, the integration is seamless. Art is woven into the fabric of daily life, found everywhere in everything. It is as common as rice and as essential as breathing.

A lot of that is born out of necessity, of course. If somebody doesn’t make something by hand, then you don’t have it. It’s that simple.

Need sandals in Uganda? Almost everybody in Mbale turns to these guys, who will fashion a pair for you out of old, busted tires.

 

Doing dumplings for dinner? These women in Hoi An make a special kind of dumpling called White Rose, which are stuffed and folded by hand in homemade dough. When steamed, they blossom like flowers.

 

Having noodles in Hanoi? This lady will knead, pull and slice them for you.

 

And that brings me to my favorite thing that arrived in the mail today — that gift for my mother-in-law.

I found this man in an alley in Vietnam, and I was blown away by his confident, decisive work. All day long he sits on the floor in a stuffy, cramped space, and he carves stamps out of wood.

 

A lot of his work is done for businesses or professionals, who use them to personalize stationery with a logo or signature. The other stamps he makes are just for fun. Art for the sake of art.

 

I thought about this man for two days straight, still marveling over his intricate work, until I decided I would regret it if I didn’t return. I wandered around the labyrinth of alleyways, got lost, asked strangers for help, frantically pantomimed somebody carving stamps and somehow found him again.

Then I gave him my mother-in-law’s name and 10 minutes.

 

With swift hands, this is what he created.

 

Simple. Beautiful. Perfect.

And three months later, that piece of art made its way across the ocean and managed to find me again too.

 

A running leap

August 14, 2011

It’s been nice and all, these past couple weeks of simultaneously watching “Project Runway” marathons and watching my ass get softer. But now I’m ready to get off the couch and tackle a new challenge. And that’s I why I’m signing up for my very first running race: a half marathon.

OMG, y’all.

I’m a moderately active person. I ride my bike. I walk my dog. I’ve hiked all over the world. But running? No. I have asthma and shin splints and an intense fear of tiny shorts.

But I also have this bizarre desire to invite the things that scare me most into my life.

So, taking a tip from Tim Gunn, I decided to make it work.

 

I completely changed my running technique so I no longer get shin splints. I managed my asthma with ridiculously expensive inhalers. And … I haven’t been swayed to the tiny shorts side yet.

I still don’t know if I can complete 13.1 miles — like, ever — but it’s worth a try. I can’t reach the finish line if I never start.

Right now I’m conditioning and using a slow but steady training program, but I’m also really enjoying the parts of running that have nothing to do with running whatsoever. Like making running playlists for my iPod. Or checking out running shoes on Zappos.com. Or going to online forums and chatting about running with other people who aren’t running.

My overall goal is to become Gabrielle Reece.

 

 

I already know how to play volleyball, so it shouldn’t be hard.

And while I wait for the Gabrielle Reece thing to happen, I’ll be busy messing around with this cool tool, which I found yesterday. It’s a site full of readymade running playlists and songs with pace times. (I like that it has a karaoke section. You know, for those times you just gotta run AND sing.) I’m too embarrassed to reveal what’s on my running mix now, but it might be of the Enrique Iglesias-featuring-Pitbull variety.

Have any of you completed a race before? What was the hardest part of your training? Am I completely insane?

 

How I paid for a trip around the world on a journalist’s salary

August 13, 2011

Forget all of the places I’ve seen, the friends I’ve made and the experiences I’ve had. Everybody always asks me the same question about my travels: How did you pay for it?

Before I started my round-the-world trip, I couldn’t imagine how anyone could afford such a thing. It seemed like the most ridiculous, far-fetched idea ever — especially for someone working on a journalist’s salary.

Then one day I realized not every traveler out there is a trust fund baby, and somehow they made it happen. From that moment on, I worked on turning my dream into a reality. Here’s how I did it.

1. I saved. I know it sounds terribly boring, but it’s true. I pulled the reins on a lot of extraneous spending — I stopped going out, I carried my lunch to work, I brewed my own coffee, I watched movies on DVD instead of going to the theater, I quit my online shopping habit. (You already know all of this stuff, but I swear it works.)

TIP: Hard economic times call for flasks, so I created something that I call “purse wine.” When I wanted to be social but couldn’t afford a full night out at a fancy bar, I’d still meet my friends and I’d order a glass of house wine … which I would later discreetly refill from a small bottle in my purse. Everybody wins. The bar still gets money, I have a night out with my friends, and I end up spending something like $10 instead of $40. Be warned, though, I think it’s illegal to carry your own booze into an establishment.

Seriously. They make these wines portable for a reason.

 

2. I sold things. My car went on Craigslist, my clothes went to a consignment shop, my electronics went on eBay. I also had two huge garage sales. And believe it or not, I still have a lot of things to sell.

TIP: I only reaped a few hundred dollars at each garage sale, and it wasn’t worth it for the time and effort spent putting them together and advertising them. This time around I’m going to try having a virtual garage sale by posting all of my goods on one site, then putting links on Facebook, Twitter and Craigslist. I’ll let you know how that goes.

 

3. I worked. Nobody paid for me to travel. I didn’t have an assignment. I didn’t have a trust fund. In order to keep my bank account afloat, I sold some freelance writing and photography along the way.

TIP: Most of the longterm travelers I met on the road sustained themselves by designing websites, but other folks were teachers, lawyers, accountants, hair dressers. It’s definitely possible to turn your profession into cold, hard pesos while you’re on the road.

 

4. I went to cheap places. I’m one of those people who wants to see everything, so I didn’t have a burning desire to go to, say, France over other locales. Since my priority was to make the money last as long as possible, I literally googled “world’s cheapest countries” and built the framework of my itinerary from that.

TIP: Some places turned out to be more expensive than planned (like Argentina and South Africa), which caused me to cut out a few more expensive countries at the last minute (Tanzania, Botswana).

 

5. I stayed in cheap places.

Sometimes I camped.

 

Sometimes I slept in dorms.

 

Sometimes I stayed in places that were worth far more than the $6 price tag.

 

And sometimes the places looked like crime scenes.

 

Yes, I could have stayed at nicer hotels, but then my trip would have ended in one month instead of 12.

TIP: Whenever I went to a new country, I booked my first night in advance. After that, I asked other travelers for advice or walked around to find more economical digs. I almost always found a place that was better, cheaper or more comfortable.

 

6. I ate cheap things. That doesn’t mean I ate bad things. In fact, I ate really well — I just didn’t pay a lot for it.

I kept some staples in my backpack like crackers, peanut butter, packets of instant oatmeal, dried fruit and a jar of instant coffee. That’s what I ate most days for breakfast or lunch. Then I paid a visit to the markets, both to get the local flavor and to get some fresh produce, which helped me toss together some easy, inexpensive meals like instant noodles with spinach, mango and bean salad, stir-fried veggies and rice.

 

By cooking most of my meals, that meant I had more money to spend on restaurants, pubs and street food. I rarely spent more than $5 a day on food, but I still sampled what every country had to offer.

 

TIP: Street eats are the best. In my experience, the vendors’ stalls are cleaner than restaurant kitchens, everything is fresh because they have a high turnover of food and you can see exactly what you’re getting into before you ever order or pay. Most important, the food is inexpensive, authentic and not geared toward tourists.

 

7. I shared. Traveling with two (or more) is almost always cheaper.

TIP: Even though I was traveling solo for most of this trip, I made friends with other travelers along the way. If we were headed in the same direction, I made an effort to see if they wanted to split a cab, a meal or even a room for the night.

For example, Linsay (the Irish lass) and I traveled through most of Vietnam together.

 

8. I haggled. It is not in my nature to haggle over prices, so this is a skill I worked hard to develop. Basically I learned that you can’t get a discount if you don’t ask. Also, in most of the countries I visited, haggling is expected.

 

I even managed to get some free pineapple with these dumplings. Score!

TIP: Here are the three biggest rules for haggling: Never look like you are interested in what you’re buying. Have a price in mind and never pay more than that. Be prepared to walk away.

 

9. I skimped. I couchsurfed. I camped. I volunteered. I took a lot of buses instead of planes. I rented bikes instead of getting cabs. I walked. I asked about free museum days. I found discounts. I used frequent flyer miles. I didn’t buy many souvenirs.

TIP: Every time I booked a tour, I was disappointed. I found that by doing walking tours or putting together my own itinerary, I saw more of the things that interested me and I saved money while still learning a lot about a new place. This street art in Kuala Lumpur, for instance, will never be on any tour — but I’m so glad I found it.

 

10. I have amazing friends. My computer suffered a tragic death in Argentina, and then I made two South African men very rich while they tried to fix it ripped me off. This put an enormous dent in my budget — and worst of all, I wasn’t able to do my work without a computer.

That’s when my high school boyfriend made a blog about my situation and asked for donations. Friends from all over the world contributed what they could, which lead to the computer I’m using right now. That extraordinary effort meant so much to me, and I am grateful to have such ferociously good people in my world.

TIP: You know that beautiful scene from “It’s a Wonderful Life” where people flood George Bailey with money when he needs it most? I lived it, and it’s an incredible thing. This showed me how important it is to cherish your relationships.

 

MY BUDGET

I saved $10,000 to begin my trip. I made another $5,000 by working while traveling. Then I was slammed with a last-minute medical bill for $2,000, when my insurance company refused to pay for surgery on my broken foot.

I booked most of my flights in advance using AirTreks, a company that specializes in putting together difficult itineraries on a budget. My flights from continent to continent came to around $2,500 total. I purchased some smaller fights in between, like from Hanoi to Vientiane, when I couldn’t bear to do 30+ hours on a terrible Vietnamese bus.

I spent way too much on gear in advance, giving REI a big chunk of money. Maybe $1,000? I don’t know. I’m trying to block that from my memory.

I’m not one of those people who writes down everything I spend and files it away in a Quicken document. I saw those travelers, and I admire them. But I don’t do things that way, and I didn’t want to spend all my travel time hunkered over a spreadsheet.

Instead, my strategy was to keep an approximate budget of $27 a day. (Hey, that’s cheaper than Rachael Ray’s daily food bill!) I kept track of the numbers in my head, and I was very free flowing about it. Sometimes I came under budget, which meant I could spend a little more the next day. Or, if I spent more than $27, I knew I had to spend less the following day.

I did splurge for some expensive things, like the gorilla trek in Rwanda (the permit from the government is $500), but that was one of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. I knew I would regret it if I didn’t do it.

It took many, many $10 days to save up enough for that $500+ day, but you know what? It was worth every penny.

 

Overall, I spent less than I would have by living in the U.S., but I came home far richer.

Home is where the sad is

August 8, 2011

Well, I’m officially back in Palm Springs, but I’m having trouble readjusting to life here.

 

Part of that is because I’m not returning to the home I left behind. Just before I began my year-long trip around the world, The Husband and I moved into a smaller, more affordable place. (It was pointless for him to live in a two-bedroom, two-bathroom condo by himself, and it was easier for us to financially manage a small apartment.) We moved into this apartment just a few days before I hit the road.

While I was gone, The Husband unpacked all the boxes I left behind. In order to squeeze everything into dollhouse-sized closets, he vacuum packed all of my clothes. He erected metal shelving units to hold everything that wouldn’t fit into drawers and cupboards, he developed a special folding system for the bathroom towels, and he found the most counterintuitive location for the coffee mugs. He really did a lot of work to turn this apartment into his home.

Toss me into that recipe, and it’s confusing. I’m a stranger here. I don’t know where to put away my pajamas, I can’t locate the can opener and I shut the shower door in a way that causes water to leak all over the floor.

Then there are the inevitable weird, awkward, wonderful bits about being back in the Western world. In no particular order:

* I forget the water here is safe. I hesitate to run my toothbrush under the tap. I instinctively ask for no ice in my drinks. I can’t believe I can drink straight from the tap.

* Toilets flush. (And you can put toilet paper in them!)

* I have more clothes than I know what to do with.

* When I have to charge my electronics, I can plug them in without a converter.

* I don’t have to carry a roll of toilet paper in my bag anymore.

* Most everyone speaks English.

* When I wake up, I know exactly where I am.

* Severe sticker shock. Everything feels incredibly expensive here, which makes shopping miserable. Plus, I look at price tags and mentally calculate how many rural Ugandans could be fed for the same amount.

* The abundance of everything everywhere is overwhelming. And those who take it for granted make me angrier than I ever thought possible.

* Things here feel complicated, crowded, commercialized.

So, yeah. This has actually been the most difficult terrain for me to navigate. Roaming gave me a direction I never had when I stayed in one place — so now that I’m officially in one place, I don’t know where to go. People keep asking me about my “plan,” and I honestly don’t know what to tell them.

I’ve been very depressed, to a point where I don’t even enjoy interacting with other people or leaving my house. I don’t even know how to be social anymore. I don’t like answering superficial questions about my trip, and I know I bore people when I talk in-depth about the things that feel important to me now. I know I’m supposed to be happy and content here in the U.S., but surprisingly, this feels like the most foreign place I’ve been.

On one of my first days back, a friend asked me a question about my trip. I started to respond, “Well, when I was in Thailand …” She cut me off and mocked me, saying, “Oh, so now you’re one of those insufferable people who starts stories by saying, ‘Well, when I was in Thailand …'” She made me feel like trash, as if I have to squelch the all experiences that have been so invigorating, motivating and challenging in the past year. That kind of thing makes me wonder why I came back at all.

To be clear, not everything is bad. I’m thankful for hot showers, Twizzlers, swimming pools and real coffee. It’s really nice to crawl into bed without checking for cockroaches first. And I love spending time with my real-life husband, not just an image on Skype.

 

Of course I’m grateful for all the adventure, fun and surprise I’ve had during my travels, and I don’t regret anything about this trip. It’s just that after spending 12 months pining for Palm Springs, I thought this part would be easier.

I wish they made a Lonely Planet guide for home.

 

Conversations with a 3-year-old

August 7, 2011

Meet my niece. She is almost four years old, and she’s awesome.

Here she is pretending to be a surly dinosaur. Fierce!

 

I’m convinced she’s going to grow up to be a play-by-play announcer or a correspondent for one of those news shows where they talk incessantly just to fill time, because she is masterful at talking her way through a variety of experiences. This includes going to the toilet.

While The Husband and I were visiting family, The Brother-in-Law left this little one in my care for just a few minutes. Of course, as soon as we were alone, my niece had to use the bathroom. I think it’s Murphy’s Law for the Childless — those who are the least knowledgable about caring for a child are the most likely to deal with their feces.

NIECE: I have to go poop.

ME: Oh geez. What’s happening? How do you do this … thing? Do you wear diapers?

NIECE: No, I go potty like a big girl.

ME: Alright. Let’s get you to the toilet.

(I carry her to the bathroom. As she hoists her skirt into the air, I plunk her down on the toilet seat.)

ME: Can you handle everything in here? Should I leave you alone?

NIECE: Stay here. Talk to me.

ME: OK. Um … so how’s everything going?

NIECE: I’m pooping.

ME: Yes, I surmised that.

NIECE: It’s coming. It’s coming out now. The poop is in my butt, and now it’s coming out.

ME: Fantastic.

NIECE: Do you smell that? My poop stinks.

ME: Everybody’s poop stinks.

NIECE: I don’t want to eat or drink anything anymore, because that is how poop is made. And I hate to go poop. Uh-oh.

ME: What?

NIECE: More stinky poop is coming. Oh man. I don’t want to poop anymore.

ME: You have to poop. Everyone poops. Actually, have you read “Everyone Poops”? I’ll buy it for you for Christmas.

NIECE: Done! (Grabbing a handful of toilet paper.) I wipe my butt like this.

ME: That’s very good.

(Helping my niece off the toilet.)

NIECE: Look at that. I made that. It’s poop. My poop is brown. Chocolate is also brown, but it does not stink. My poops are little and round.

ME: Nice work.

(Flushing toilet.)

NIECE: High five!

ME: Whoa! Not so fast. Let’s wash those hands.

At least I knew that much.