October 27, 2009
GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!!!
Good evening, to be exact.
Sorry about the lapse in posting, Southern Vietnam really doesn't cater to the needs of traveling Americans- exactly the reason I liked it so much.
Gordy and I left Cambodia and entered the Socialist Republic of Vietnam on the 22nd. We left around 8:30 a.m, and two vans, one bus, two boats, one bicycle, two Motos and a Tuk-Tuk ride later we found ourselves in Rach Gia, Vietnam at 9 p.m. Our goal was to reach Phu Quoc Island the next day, which we did, for some ocean swimming and beach time. Again, an epic traveling saga occured, including a taxi for 300,000 Dong through dirt roads and me almost getting into a fight with a scam artist over 10,000 Dong. (FYI- the current exchange rate is $1 USD/ 18,000 Dong) Needless to say, when we finally found the Moon Resort with a private beach and bungalow-esque areas for $15 USD a night we were thrilled. Sharing in our adventure from Phnom Phen to Phu Quoc Island was a wonderful French couple, who split costs with us the whole way.
The 24th was a day of pure bliss. The four of us rented motorbikes for the day, but one of the bikes didn't have a working brake so the group split up and Gordy and I headed south. We found a great strech of a not so trash filled beach, jumped in, and spent the day putt-puttering around the island at our lesiure. That night we found a tiny resurant on a deserted strip of coast that had chairs set up right above the beach, drank a beer and watched the sun set over the pacific as if we were the only two people on the island.
We headed north to Can Tho the next day, and got in pretty late. Not surprisingly though, the guest-house we stayed at had a tour guide at the desk and we were able to set up a private boat to tour the floating markets at sunrise the next day. Our guide, Hung, was a great guy who spoke little english, but he was wonderful at getting us into the thick of the Market. Imagine the Mississippi, with a hundred round-hulled house boats accented with sky blue paint tied together or motoring around the edge of an almost mile long line. We got there earlier then most, because the guide wanted to get up to the local market before the sun got to hot, which allowed for us to really take our time. Think of a boat with pineapples literally bursting from the seams- then add a chicken on top for good measure and the roar of a hundred motors to the scene- and you have a slight idea of what the beautiful chaos of the floating market is.
Gordy and I are now in Saigon, known everywhere else as Ho Chi Min city. No one in Vietnam except offials refer to Saigon as HCMC. Even though Can Tho is only 170km from Saigon, we were in a bus for 6 hours. That is less then 90 miles in over SIX HOURS! With Vietnamese comdey sketches blaring from the sound system- and a never ending alarm clock beeping noise that was supposed to "warn the driver of traffic." Needless to say, I have never been more pleased to walk off of a bus in my life. Southeast Asia has plenty of bus companies and transportation options, but be prepared to go slightly mad from the constant start/stop driving and never ending barrage of horns.
Our plan is to explore this city for a few days, then head North to Dalat. We found a great little guest-house off the beaten track for a mere $8 USD a night with all the amenities, and are looking forward to rechargeing our "westernized batteries" for a while. Southern Vietnam was beautiful, but its been almost two weeks since we left Bangkok, and it is a bit of a relief not to be stared at by the locals. Small children especially in Southern Vietnam would be amazed when Gordy would stand up or take his hat off- 6'3 men with crazy curly blonde hair are not a common sight in that area yet.
cheers!
October 21, 2009
Phnom Phen, Cambodia
Hello all,
This post is not for Grace to read.
I am sitting in the muggy capitol of Cambodia after a long day of educational emotional havoc. Today Gordy and I visited the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek and the Tuol Sleng Museum- also known at S-21. There truely are not words to describe witnessing places where such inhumane and violent acts took place in such recent history. Tuol Sleng espcially was brutal, due to it's unassuming outward appearance. S-21, before the Khmer Rouge take over in 1975, was a local high school. It's courtyard and outer walls only hint at the horrors within- and only a second glance shows the thickness of the razor wire tangled above the concrete. Inside though, the rooms have retained the wire beds and shackles used to torture and interigate over 20,000 people that were housed there between 1975 and 1979. This is not a visit for the faint of heart, nor is it to be seen in the middle of other more palatable tourist attractions. The photographs set up in memorial of those lost are almost as difficult to look at as the rooms, which you are free to walk in, touch, lay down etc. Watching other visitors faces, it was apparent that very few people expected the emotional impact that this place was having on them personally. I had to take a moment outside more then once, and even then it was hard to look at the former playground- which had been used to hang citizens to conserve bullets.
While I type this, it is hard for me not to be overwhelmed with the tragic story that played out here. I suddenly understand why I've felt so oddly about the people here, because thier manerisms have a current of (I don't know how to say it pleasantly) fuck-off attitude. It makes sense though, when tourists now come here for vactation, spending money and being completely unable to relate to the people who survived this genocide. Yet, tourism is what is funding the rebuilding of Cambodia at this stage- everything is in US currency, from rooms at the guest house to coffee on the street. And the Cambodian people are welcoming to those from outside their borders, but that welcome also comes with a hint of desperation. So far, in other places the drivers and tour guides have heckled you about rides and prices, but in Cambodia there is a sense of urgency to thier argument. Haggleing isn't about trying to see how much they can get from us for fun- it feels like they really need the money. Gordy and I have talked about this tragic under-current we've both been feeling since comeing into Cambodia. It's in the guestures and pleading adult eyes, and yet there is joy unbound in the younger generation here. It is such a paradox, seeing so many school children laughing and playing soccer in the dirt next to places where people are still trying to literally rebuild the homes they were forced from less then 30 years ago.
I felt guilty walking these places, like I was at the funeral of someone I only knew vauegly while the family mourned aloud. Still, both places stated in different areas the importance of forgien visitors to the sites to educate the world about the events there. It was incredible the amount of information and depth that is found at Choeung Ek and S-21- a tribute to those who are still working to preserve the memory of this violent chapter of Cambodian history.
I hate to end this post without a happy ending, some small humorous moment to lighten the mood, but that is not what days like today are for, and I encourage everyone to spend a few minutes looking up "Khmer Rouge'" and "Choeung Ek" online to better understand.
goodnight.
This post is not for Grace to read.
I am sitting in the muggy capitol of Cambodia after a long day of educational emotional havoc. Today Gordy and I visited the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek and the Tuol Sleng Museum- also known at S-21. There truely are not words to describe witnessing places where such inhumane and violent acts took place in such recent history. Tuol Sleng espcially was brutal, due to it's unassuming outward appearance. S-21, before the Khmer Rouge take over in 1975, was a local high school. It's courtyard and outer walls only hint at the horrors within- and only a second glance shows the thickness of the razor wire tangled above the concrete. Inside though, the rooms have retained the wire beds and shackles used to torture and interigate over 20,000 people that were housed there between 1975 and 1979. This is not a visit for the faint of heart, nor is it to be seen in the middle of other more palatable tourist attractions. The photographs set up in memorial of those lost are almost as difficult to look at as the rooms, which you are free to walk in, touch, lay down etc. Watching other visitors faces, it was apparent that very few people expected the emotional impact that this place was having on them personally. I had to take a moment outside more then once, and even then it was hard to look at the former playground- which had been used to hang citizens to conserve bullets.
While I type this, it is hard for me not to be overwhelmed with the tragic story that played out here. I suddenly understand why I've felt so oddly about the people here, because thier manerisms have a current of (I don't know how to say it pleasantly) fuck-off attitude. It makes sense though, when tourists now come here for vactation, spending money and being completely unable to relate to the people who survived this genocide. Yet, tourism is what is funding the rebuilding of Cambodia at this stage- everything is in US currency, from rooms at the guest house to coffee on the street. And the Cambodian people are welcoming to those from outside their borders, but that welcome also comes with a hint of desperation. So far, in other places the drivers and tour guides have heckled you about rides and prices, but in Cambodia there is a sense of urgency to thier argument. Haggleing isn't about trying to see how much they can get from us for fun- it feels like they really need the money. Gordy and I have talked about this tragic under-current we've both been feeling since comeing into Cambodia. It's in the guestures and pleading adult eyes, and yet there is joy unbound in the younger generation here. It is such a paradox, seeing so many school children laughing and playing soccer in the dirt next to places where people are still trying to literally rebuild the homes they were forced from less then 30 years ago.
I felt guilty walking these places, like I was at the funeral of someone I only knew vauegly while the family mourned aloud. Still, both places stated in different areas the importance of forgien visitors to the sites to educate the world about the events there. It was incredible the amount of information and depth that is found at Choeung Ek and S-21- a tribute to those who are still working to preserve the memory of this violent chapter of Cambodian history.
I hate to end this post without a happy ending, some small humorous moment to lighten the mood, but that is not what days like today are for, and I encourage everyone to spend a few minutes looking up "Khmer Rouge'" and "Choeung Ek" online to better understand.
goodnight.
October 18, 2009
Siem Reap, Cambodia
Where do I begin? The Cambodian Consulate Visa Scam? Government officals taking down our nationalites when we haggeled for a taxi? Angkor Wat? European guest houses? Australians! Mr. Vina the Tuk-Tuk driver? Walking across the border and into another world?!
Ladies and Gentlemen: we have arrive in Cambodia, the worlds newest Enigma.
Gordy and I came into Cambodia on the 16th, after a long day of traveling, scams, total anhiliation of my understanding of poverty, and a dinner of ramen noodles. More on that story later.
We spent the 17th in the temple complexes of Angkor, a must on our list for the trip. Angkor Wat, Angkor Thom, and Ta Prohm took us the entier day. Tomorrow we are going to do a sunrise walk at some other temples, and hopefully our faithful Tuk-Tuk driver Mr. Vina will be able to wake up early enough.
The guesthouse we are staying at is wonderful enough to offer free internet services, but with only one computer and over 50 rooms the line gets rather long- and I am currently being stared down by a rather large Swedish woman in hiking boots.
ciao.
Ladies and Gentlemen: we have arrive in Cambodia, the worlds newest Enigma.
Gordy and I came into Cambodia on the 16th, after a long day of traveling, scams, total anhiliation of my understanding of poverty, and a dinner of ramen noodles. More on that story later.
We spent the 17th in the temple complexes of Angkor, a must on our list for the trip. Angkor Wat, Angkor Thom, and Ta Prohm took us the entier day. Tomorrow we are going to do a sunrise walk at some other temples, and hopefully our faithful Tuk-Tuk driver Mr. Vina will be able to wake up early enough.
The guesthouse we are staying at is wonderful enough to offer free internet services, but with only one computer and over 50 rooms the line gets rather long- and I am currently being stared down by a rather large Swedish woman in hiking boots.
ciao.
October 15, 2009
And We're Off!
I have a ticket leaving Bangkok at 8:30 a.m. tomorrow morning and still need to re-pack my bag, so this post will be brief. Gordy and I are going to cross the border into Cambodia tomorrow via the crossing point at Aranya Prathet/Poipet on our way to Angkor Wat. We plan on staying in Siem Reap for the next week or so, hopefully renting bicycles to better enjoy the massive temple complex.
Bangkok has been a great jumping off point for this trip, but I look forward to getting away from the persistant Tuk-Tuk drivers, Handmade Suit Tailors and constant odor of the black death known as Fish Sauce. I realize that I've been in vacation mode here, and now is the time to begin to live in traveling mode.
Talk with you soon from Cambodia.
Bangkok has been a great jumping off point for this trip, but I look forward to getting away from the persistant Tuk-Tuk drivers, Handmade Suit Tailors and constant odor of the black death known as Fish Sauce. I realize that I've been in vacation mode here, and now is the time to begin to live in traveling mode.
Talk with you soon from Cambodia.
October 13, 2009
Bangkok, Thailand
Holy mother of God I am in Thailand.
After twenty hours in the air over the Pacific, three square meals (literally, they were compartmentalized into boxes) provided by China Airlines, and one very talkative Armenian woman, Gordy and I have officially arrived in Southeast Asia. We flew in without mishap, and if I was suffering from any lack of media or televison after the grand canyon it was made up in all the complimentary movies provided in-flight. A nine hour chunk seems so small when divided into four riviting American movies, none of which were actually good or bad, but great for wasting time. The seats were perfect for my frame, but flying economy on China Airlines was a tight fit for Gordy. It was going well until the man in front of him decided to recline, and pinned Gordy's knees to the seat-back. Not a very enjoyable position, even from an outside point of view.
We arrived in Bangkok and got through customs without issue, even filling out an "on arrival" visa wihich we found out American citizens do not need. Bangkok has a wonderful public bus service, but unfortunatly it does not run at 1 a.m. so we opted for a cab. When I found out that it was metered I was slightly dissapointed, because I was looking forward to hagaling for the first time, but it got us to Khao San Road without mishap. The driver talked with us, as much as we were able to understand eachother, and got confused when our reply to "where are you coming from" was "Los Angeles". We tried "California"- no luck. "United States"-also no luck. Finally Gordy, half laughing, said "America" in a classic Dan Wardrop voice. That was imdietly understood, and we had our first cross culture joke share expierience. It might have been due to our minimal sleep during 20+ hours of travel, but as we drove into the city I felt calmer knowing that we were less then ten miles into Thailand and had already made a connection with someone who we don't share a language with.
I would be lying if I didn't have a moment of terror with the cab driver dropped us off on the busteling street and waved towards Khao San Road before driving off into the rain. At night, KSR is the hub of international parties and drunk Austrailians, which means Taxi drivers refused to drive through it after a certain time for their own safety and sanity. Gordy and I, big packs on back and litte in front, weaved our way through the crowd in search of our hotel. Luckily, KSR is actually rather short, and we found the Buddy Lodge without trouble. Checking in was interesting, due to the fact that although I had made reservations for October 14, the hotel doesn't recognized those reservations until 8 a.m.- meaning I had to pay another 1,900 Baht (around $65US) to get into my room. FYI to future Thailand travelers, make sure you are aware of the checking in procedures before finalizing payments- it wasn't a huge issue, but something that could have been avoided.
After waking up, Gordy and I have been wandering within the Khao San Road boundries, just absorbing the culture. I already made a purchase from a vendor after realzing that I needed something other then my day-pack to carry simple things in. I found a beautiful, simple green side purse for 200 Baht and am looking for a good tailor to have some linen pants made. The clothes I brought will serve me well, but alot of travelers that I see have loose fitting linen pants made to ease the heat and blend in with the locals to some degree. Not many people here wear denim, and my jeans are a little sticky in this humidity.
Today and tomorrow are all about resting and getting things lined up for our next jump to Ankor Wat.
Cheers.
After twenty hours in the air over the Pacific, three square meals (literally, they were compartmentalized into boxes) provided by China Airlines, and one very talkative Armenian woman, Gordy and I have officially arrived in Southeast Asia. We flew in without mishap, and if I was suffering from any lack of media or televison after the grand canyon it was made up in all the complimentary movies provided in-flight. A nine hour chunk seems so small when divided into four riviting American movies, none of which were actually good or bad, but great for wasting time. The seats were perfect for my frame, but flying economy on China Airlines was a tight fit for Gordy. It was going well until the man in front of him decided to recline, and pinned Gordy's knees to the seat-back. Not a very enjoyable position, even from an outside point of view.
We arrived in Bangkok and got through customs without issue, even filling out an "on arrival" visa wihich we found out American citizens do not need. Bangkok has a wonderful public bus service, but unfortunatly it does not run at 1 a.m. so we opted for a cab. When I found out that it was metered I was slightly dissapointed, because I was looking forward to hagaling for the first time, but it got us to Khao San Road without mishap. The driver talked with us, as much as we were able to understand eachother, and got confused when our reply to "where are you coming from" was "Los Angeles". We tried "California"- no luck. "United States"-also no luck. Finally Gordy, half laughing, said "America" in a classic Dan Wardrop voice. That was imdietly understood, and we had our first cross culture joke share expierience. It might have been due to our minimal sleep during 20+ hours of travel, but as we drove into the city I felt calmer knowing that we were less then ten miles into Thailand and had already made a connection with someone who we don't share a language with.
I would be lying if I didn't have a moment of terror with the cab driver dropped us off on the busteling street and waved towards Khao San Road before driving off into the rain. At night, KSR is the hub of international parties and drunk Austrailians, which means Taxi drivers refused to drive through it after a certain time for their own safety and sanity. Gordy and I, big packs on back and litte in front, weaved our way through the crowd in search of our hotel. Luckily, KSR is actually rather short, and we found the Buddy Lodge without trouble. Checking in was interesting, due to the fact that although I had made reservations for October 14, the hotel doesn't recognized those reservations until 8 a.m.- meaning I had to pay another 1,900 Baht (around $65US) to get into my room. FYI to future Thailand travelers, make sure you are aware of the checking in procedures before finalizing payments- it wasn't a huge issue, but something that could have been avoided.
After waking up, Gordy and I have been wandering within the Khao San Road boundries, just absorbing the culture. I already made a purchase from a vendor after realzing that I needed something other then my day-pack to carry simple things in. I found a beautiful, simple green side purse for 200 Baht and am looking for a good tailor to have some linen pants made. The clothes I brought will serve me well, but alot of travelers that I see have loose fitting linen pants made to ease the heat and blend in with the locals to some degree. Not many people here wear denim, and my jeans are a little sticky in this humidity.
Today and tomorrow are all about resting and getting things lined up for our next jump to Ankor Wat.
Cheers.
October 12, 2009
Santa Monica, CA
One Grand Canyon trip down, two months in Asia yet to come!
Gordon and I have been enjoying some transition time in Southern California with his parents since we got off of the Colorado River on the sixth. The Grand Canyon was everything that one could image, with things completely unexpected added to it for good fun. Our trip was a conglomeration of old raft guides who knew the rapid layouts by memory and first timers primed to enjoy the river to it's fullest potential. To Skip, Hawk, Phil Bob, Eileen, Dan, Gordon, Bob, John A, Lena, John B, Keith, Kat, Suzanne and Neville: Thank you all for a journeying down the river with me, and giving me the greatest first trip fathomable. No rips, no flips, always black-side down, and only yours truly a member of the Colorado River Swim Team. Well Done! I enjoyed parlaying with all you fly cats, and hope to cop a view of you all soon. : )
The trip itself was beyond the hopes that I had started out with. The first few weeks were filled with hot days, but due to our group enthusiasm and well led trip, we not only got every camp we set our sites on but enjoyed them with time to spare in the afternoon. While I love to stay zipped in my sleeping bag as long as the next person, there is something to be said for getting up and on the water everyday before nine. Hats off to all kitchen crews respectively for keeping us fueled, caffinated, and cleaned up in good time every morning.
The rapids were more then I expected, to say the least. My 16' boat was given the taller cooler, which caused some confusion rigging it at Lee's Ferry. For the first two days neither I nor Gordy could figure out why the damn thing wouldn't move in the green line or stay on the angle we set. My swim in the roaring twenties threw my confindance for a loop, to add to the frustration I was having. For those curious about what the GC rapids are really like, when the map said "look for a pourover (large rock with water flowing over it creating a hole) river right, then move to the left" I looked for a pourover- and when I saw a usual sized pourover for the Arkansas River, I began to move. I pulled directly into the slot above the actual pourover, which was not only larger then my entire boat- which it surfed for a good ten seconds- but created enough force to punch me out of the boat and spit me out a good way down the river. Lesson to remember: take your normal size understanding of hydrolics, super size them, add ten, and then you might have an idea of these babies. Beautiful.
Long story short, Gordy and I split the rowing of the great boat Bessie (named for the stuffed cow head I rigged onto her bow) for the remainder of the trip. By split I mean Gordy rowed most of it and I provided entertainment, which in hindsight was a better set up anyway. My voice is much more pleasant then Gordon's, although he plays a mean "Guess that Animal" after a few beers on the party deck.
The highlight of the trip for me, if one could be picked, was hiking Tapeats to Thunder River. An eight mile hike through desert, creek bed and scorching switch-backs takes you up the geological layers until you are standing below a waterfall watching the water shoot straight out from the rock. Like a fire hydrant, the water from the North Rim Aquifer sprays five feet out before it desends down into Thunder River. Gordy and I hiked up a little later then the main group, and got to the base of the waterfall around noon. We had started the hike at around eight thirty, and the temperature in the shade was around 101 F as we hiked. Finally getting up to the waterfall was wonderful, but the best moment came when Gordy showed me a climbing route up INSIDE the source. Not a climb for all, especially with the rocks baking in the sun for hours before hand. The first move saw me grasping one ledge hold with both hands, stretching my legs out over an eighty foot shear drop, and doing a blind hop to the other side. After that, free climbing the entire way, we made our way up around two hundred feet to the opening. Above the actual source is another cave, which we chimmied into with our headlamps on. There I could peer my head around into the darkness, and with my light on I witnessed the water moving towards the first daylight it has seen in years. To be inside an aquifer, seeing water before it touched the sun, filled me with such appreciation for the incredible journey those drops of water had taken; and for the following days I looked at the water of the Colorado with an odd warmth, knowing that I had seen a part of it born again onto the surface only days before.
The end of the trip came too soon, and I will write more on it later- but oddly enough I haven't stopped moving since we got off the trip.
Gordy's parents, Gordy and I left Flagstaff for Joshua Tree National Park the day after we were picked up from Diamond Cove. There we hiked, played Eucher, hung out and mentally seperated ourselves from the GC, to prepare for LA and Southeast Asia.
Now I sit in the Travel Lodge on Pico Boulvard, after spending the day wandering along the beach with my Dad. He flew in to see me off, and it has been such a sigh of relief to see some family for a change. I bid you all a goodnight, and I will talk to you from Bangkok!
P.S. photos from the Grand are coming, my camera and I are still coming to an understanding with one another. Please bear with me.
Gordon and I have been enjoying some transition time in Southern California with his parents since we got off of the Colorado River on the sixth. The Grand Canyon was everything that one could image, with things completely unexpected added to it for good fun. Our trip was a conglomeration of old raft guides who knew the rapid layouts by memory and first timers primed to enjoy the river to it's fullest potential. To Skip, Hawk, Phil Bob, Eileen, Dan, Gordon, Bob, John A, Lena, John B, Keith, Kat, Suzanne and Neville: Thank you all for a journeying down the river with me, and giving me the greatest first trip fathomable. No rips, no flips, always black-side down, and only yours truly a member of the Colorado River Swim Team. Well Done! I enjoyed parlaying with all you fly cats, and hope to cop a view of you all soon. : )
The trip itself was beyond the hopes that I had started out with. The first few weeks were filled with hot days, but due to our group enthusiasm and well led trip, we not only got every camp we set our sites on but enjoyed them with time to spare in the afternoon. While I love to stay zipped in my sleeping bag as long as the next person, there is something to be said for getting up and on the water everyday before nine. Hats off to all kitchen crews respectively for keeping us fueled, caffinated, and cleaned up in good time every morning.
The rapids were more then I expected, to say the least. My 16' boat was given the taller cooler, which caused some confusion rigging it at Lee's Ferry. For the first two days neither I nor Gordy could figure out why the damn thing wouldn't move in the green line or stay on the angle we set. My swim in the roaring twenties threw my confindance for a loop, to add to the frustration I was having. For those curious about what the GC rapids are really like, when the map said "look for a pourover (large rock with water flowing over it creating a hole) river right, then move to the left" I looked for a pourover- and when I saw a usual sized pourover for the Arkansas River, I began to move. I pulled directly into the slot above the actual pourover, which was not only larger then my entire boat- which it surfed for a good ten seconds- but created enough force to punch me out of the boat and spit me out a good way down the river. Lesson to remember: take your normal size understanding of hydrolics, super size them, add ten, and then you might have an idea of these babies. Beautiful.
Long story short, Gordy and I split the rowing of the great boat Bessie (named for the stuffed cow head I rigged onto her bow) for the remainder of the trip. By split I mean Gordy rowed most of it and I provided entertainment, which in hindsight was a better set up anyway. My voice is much more pleasant then Gordon's, although he plays a mean "Guess that Animal" after a few beers on the party deck.
The highlight of the trip for me, if one could be picked, was hiking Tapeats to Thunder River. An eight mile hike through desert, creek bed and scorching switch-backs takes you up the geological layers until you are standing below a waterfall watching the water shoot straight out from the rock. Like a fire hydrant, the water from the North Rim Aquifer sprays five feet out before it desends down into Thunder River. Gordy and I hiked up a little later then the main group, and got to the base of the waterfall around noon. We had started the hike at around eight thirty, and the temperature in the shade was around 101 F as we hiked. Finally getting up to the waterfall was wonderful, but the best moment came when Gordy showed me a climbing route up INSIDE the source. Not a climb for all, especially with the rocks baking in the sun for hours before hand. The first move saw me grasping one ledge hold with both hands, stretching my legs out over an eighty foot shear drop, and doing a blind hop to the other side. After that, free climbing the entire way, we made our way up around two hundred feet to the opening. Above the actual source is another cave, which we chimmied into with our headlamps on. There I could peer my head around into the darkness, and with my light on I witnessed the water moving towards the first daylight it has seen in years. To be inside an aquifer, seeing water before it touched the sun, filled me with such appreciation for the incredible journey those drops of water had taken; and for the following days I looked at the water of the Colorado with an odd warmth, knowing that I had seen a part of it born again onto the surface only days before.
The end of the trip came too soon, and I will write more on it later- but oddly enough I haven't stopped moving since we got off the trip.
Gordy's parents, Gordy and I left Flagstaff for Joshua Tree National Park the day after we were picked up from Diamond Cove. There we hiked, played Eucher, hung out and mentally seperated ourselves from the GC, to prepare for LA and Southeast Asia.
Now I sit in the Travel Lodge on Pico Boulvard, after spending the day wandering along the beach with my Dad. He flew in to see me off, and it has been such a sigh of relief to see some family for a change. I bid you all a goodnight, and I will talk to you from Bangkok!
P.S. photos from the Grand are coming, my camera and I are still coming to an understanding with one another. Please bear with me.
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