Dread Not the Workday

We've all had it before. The countdown to the end of the workday. The countdown to the end of the workweek. The feeling that you just can't wait for the time to pass. Maybe you don't like your job and you can't wait for the weekend so you can get away from it all. Yet despite each weekend that comes and goes, that dreadful Monday always rolls around and the anxious weekend countdown again becomes the persistent thought in your mind. I've had the feeling before as well, mostly while in college in Omaha, Nebraska. I usually could not wait for 11:00 am on Friday so that I could jump in my car and get the hell out of Nebraska. But why? Why did I, and why do we all subject ourselves to these countdowns? If you think about it, watching the clock and waiting desperately for the workday to conclude--for the time to pass--we're basically wishing away our lives. Why would we want our lives to pass more quickly? If anything, shouldn't we want to maximize our lives? Shouldn't we wake up and be grateful for where we are and with whom we can interact? We should be happy with life--not annoyed with it.

I've had jobs before that have been anything but enjoyable. Washing dishes in a hole in the wall Jose Muldoon's restaurant, stocking shelves in Party City, hanging drywall. And yes, I usually did countdown the clock every time I went in to work. But then I asked myself why? Why was I willfully wishing my life to pass before my eyes? It was because I was limiting myself only to jobs that I thought were available. I had no idea what really was available. I was blind to the fact that practically any place in the world has available employment. Alaska, Austria, California, New Zealand, Mozambique; they all need employees of some sort. So I figured, why not take a chance?

Since that decision, I've found work in great places--work that has had me doing anything but wishing for the day to blow by. I've laid cable and set up cameras for ESPN. I've rolled pitas in a sandwich shop on Sunset Boulevard. I've hauled luggage and driven a courtesy shuttle for tourists in Denali Park, Alaska. And currently, I am a courier for Yellowstone National Park.

Is this irresponsible? Am I running away from the real world? I don't think so. If anything, I think I am seeking out a real, tangible, vivid life. I don't want to wake up dreading to go to work. I don't want my life to pass too quickly and regret not having life experiences. I want to wake up at 4:00 am in Alaska to a bright, mid-day sun and drive a courtesy shuttle full of eager visitors. How many people know what a 4:00 am Alaskan sun looks like? I want to have to alter my walking route to work in the morning because of a herd of 30 bison standing in the middle of the walkway. How many people have to avoid several dozen 2,000 pound mammals on their walk to work?

Working for the National Park Service accommodates this lifestyle, while fulfilling any societal or parental demands of responsibility and/or stability. Yet this stability does not mean stagnancy. The park service encourages its employees to work nation-wide, from park to park. It employs people with a desire for knowledge, travel, and life experience. It employs a great community, and it is very possible to join. Initially, I thought it was impossible to become an NPS employee. But it's not. I just had to know where to look. I talked with a few NPS employees from various parks, and they all told me the same thing: go online and apply to as many park positions as you can. Once you get your first job, your foot is in the door. So I did. I went to www.nps.gov, clicked the employment hyperlink, and applied to roughly 40 park positions. Within two months, I received several calls from numerous parks offering employment opportunities. I accepted the Yellowstone Park Courier position--a job that sounded quite interesting.

Working for the Park Service is great. I could see myself doing it for years. Maybe in Yellowstone, maybe in Hawaii, maybe back in Alaska. But that doesn't mean I will limit myself to only NPS opportunities. As long as there are new experiences and opportunities, I will keep my options open.

Autumn, Anyone?

So it's the end of August and I'm still sweating every time I walk outside. You can usually start to smell hints of fall by now. But it is still 90 degrees and humid in Richmond, Virginia. And the only things I smell are citronella candles and the exhaust from my neighbor's old Buick. I can't wait for autumn. I'm so impatient. I love the colors, the sound of leaves crunching when I take walks through the park. If you would have asked me a couple months ago what I'd be doing at the end of August, I probably would've said selling all of my stuff in preparation for moving to Korea and teaching English. But...(drum roll) actually, I got a job last week as a designer and sales rep for a furniture and interior design company, here in Richmond. I start next week, the day after my birthday. I'm soooo excited! This whole summer I've been whining to everyone about feeling stuck, and wanting to be anywhere else but here. I was a few phone calls away from moving out West for the winter, and then moving overseas to teach. But for some reason, I got a call back from a resume I submitted months ago and never followed up on. I told myself that if I got the job, I'd stay. If not, I would be out of Richmond by mid October. I told all of my close friends and family about the interview. Maybe because I secretly hoped it would jinx me and I wouldn't get the job, so therefore I would be moving somewhere else in a few months. But the truth is, if I really didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be. I didn't really give myself a good chance to transition into this new phase of my life. I guess I thought it would just happen. And when I found myself waiting tables at the same place I was before I moved to Alaska, I felt stuck again. And I convinced myself that I had to leave again in order to feel unstuck. When really, all it took was something different to open up a new door for me.
So I guess I'm here longer than I expected. But for good reason. I needed something else in my field for my resume. My last interior design job was my internship in college. It's weird to think of me having a design career right now. I mean, I think this is where I need to be at the moment. I'm excited about being an artist, and being in this field. And I don't feel trapped like I did a couple months ago. I know that if I want to leave and teach English overseas, or go work in a ski resort in Park City, or move back to Alaska and work any other odd job, I can.
I still talk to my Alaskan dad (Terry,) quite a bit. I was actually scared to tell him about the new job, because he had been excited about me wanting to teach English in Korea. He lived there for many years. He was in the first group of volunteers to ever go to Korea in the PeaceCorps back in the 60s. He met his wife there, and is extremely knowledgeable of the culture. He mentioned that his PeaceCorps buddies were all having a reunion this fall in Seoul, and we talked about traveling together in Korea and Japan if I was up there for teaching. So I didn't want to let him down. A silly thought. He's really excited for me and is glad I'm pursuing one of my passions. And that makes me even more excited. Plus I know that we'll be able to travel together again one day.

Christmas in August at Signal Mountain Lodge

In our last weekly email blast, we asked if anyone had stories about Christmas in August. Here is Becky's story. She's a front desk agent at Signal Mountain Lodge in the Tetons, Wyoming.

Thursday night I experienced my first Christmas in August here at Signal Mountain Lodge.
I was amazed and moved at how much expense, time and effort management went to for us. They decorated the Employee Dining Room with lights and a tree, put up tables with tablecloths, candles and centerpieces, and served us the most sumptuous gourmet feast I've ever eaten ~ including lamb with mint, bison, chicken with wine sauce, seared tuna with wasabi noodles, all sorts of side dishes, a fabulous appetizer buffet, desserts, and even a table with a chocolate fountain and fruits and cakes for dippers! And management served and bussed for us.
That night we were shuttled out to a boathouse in the forest where they had put up Christmas lights and started a bonfire. We were shown a hilarious video made by some members of management, using staff for the actors, and then a very touching slide show including wildlife we've seen, great views of the Tetons, and a picture of each and every member of staff. We hooted and yelled and screamed and whistled. Then they moved the chairs back and we danced til around 2 am, when we had vans to shuttle us back home.
I am still awed at the care and time put into this celebration for us. It really shows their appreciation for the work we've all put in this summer.
This has been an awesome season, and I'm looking forward to the next!

Moving on stinks, sometimes for you, sometimes for me . . .

I have lived in Bozeman, Montana for almost six years now. Bozeman is a town full of people who call someplace else home: people like my friends. For many years most of my friends called Yellowstone home. We all left Yellowstone at different times, making our way to this little home hoping to carve our own niche. Even though we come from other places, we have adopted Bozeman as home and we've adopted each other as family.

We are, by most accounts, incredibly lucky. We live in a gorgeous university town, and we are surrounded by friends. On most days this is enough. On some days, Bozeman is a challenge. Bozeman is a world between the adventure we all had in the park, when we had fewer commitments and concerns, and another home someplace else. But at some point we all made the choice to move on and to go back to what many parkies call "the real word," as if Yellowstone were just a fleeting paradise where one escaped.

In the real world, we might dream of the park, we might dream of our true homes, or we might be content in Bozeman. Some of us aren't content here in Bozeman and taht's when this "real world" starts to feel like limbo. A place where we all linger until we choose to move on. Do we move to the park, or do we seek another adventure either in a new locale or perhaps back home, somplace we left long ago for reasons we no longer remember? Two friends recently chose to move back home--I don't mean our Yellowstone home, I mean Cleveland home.

We all joined to say goodbye to this couple who has since headed home. The party was a blast until they left. After we hugged them, said goodbye and they walked out the door, we fell silent. After a pause some started joking to lighten the mood. Or was it because we didn't want to think of what it would be like if we chose to leave. Where is home for all of us now, and what does it hold for us?

Dave and Lisa and their little guy Nicholas have gone "home." For them it holds their true families, opportunity, and a new adventure. For us, their friends, we have Bozeman, which, as stated ebbs and flows in its charm for some of us (read: me). And while we wish them the best, we (again, read: me) will figure out how to make a go with a fewer friends in our adopted home.

But hey, at least now we have family in Cleveland . . .

This I Believe (with apologies to NPR)

Since the only core of truth I know as certainty is that of my past and this split second of my present, I see no alternative to living for today. I plan for the future because possibly it will contain the day of tomorrow. I plan for the future, but I cannot live for it. If asked was my life well-lived, I need to be able to answer, 'yes.' Not, 'it would have been if I'd lived until tomorrow. -myself, at age 18
In youth, men are apt to write more wisely than they really know or feel; and the remainder of life may be not idly spent in realizing and convincing themselves of the words they uttered long ago. -Nathaniel Hawthorne
I believe that meaning exists of its own making, and that the creation of meaning is in and of itself meaningful.
I believe that we create an arbitrary paradigm of life, and that if we refuse to do this consciously and on an ongoing basis, it will be 'given' to us in a more restrictive and less positive form.
I offer no blind allegience to guru, dogma, or divine set of rules; neither written by the hand of god nor by the subtle imposition of cultural conformity. This may sound anhialistic or iconoclastic, but that is not the spirit in which I write. I believe in the oneness and inter-connectedness of all things, but I do not believe in the ability of any man-made construct to capture that wholeness.
There are very few things I would presume to call TRUTH, but still....
I believe in friends, and in the connections that are possible between people.
I believe in love. To quote a credo much more eloquent than my own, "Feign not affection. Neither be cynical about love. For in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is perrenial as the grass."
I believe in the journey of self-discovery and in the value of personal exploration and transformation.
Finally, I believe in magic; that there exists so much more than I have begun to fathom, and that there are many depths to my existence which remain unplummed.
I also believe that books and concepts can point to ways of being, but that these ways must be experientially acted upon. Otherwise we spend our time looking at the finger instead of the direction in which it is pointed. A road map will not magically tansport us from point A to point B. We have to get in the car and begin the journey.
So, credo aside then, where do these beliefs point me?
There is a synchronicity in the universe, and far be it for me to explain the how or why of it. But if one surrenders taoist-like to its flow, whole worlds of new possibilities present themselves.
I would remain open to the possibilities that I have not seen, and light enough in my conclusions to accomodate higher ways of being.
I would embrace the love and joy that I find along the way, and dare to the highest heights my spirit can reach.
I would gently let go, sometimes with grieving, that in my life which is past its time.
I would stand up against that which offends my sense of rightness, and that which would lay claim to either my body or mind.
I would retain a sense of humor and perspective, even in darkest times. Especially in darkest times.
I would continue on this pathless path wherever it leads and through whatever mazes and detours I wander. I would be a 'seeker' as the name implies; not a finder. For at this time, in my limited wisdom, the destination seems to be found in the journey; not in the conclusion.
I would gird myself in tolerance, making sure to take along an open mind and questing spirit. I would step out onto that highway of unexplored possibilities and -scoot over Sissy Hankshaw- I would stick out my thumb.

All who wander...

They say that everyone in Alaska was either born and raised here or running away from something. Who are they, anyway?

Erin: In May 2003, I was a senior in college in Washington, DC. I was majoring in Political Science, living four blocks from the White House, and working for a US Senator. I was looking toward my future, and I was scared. When I searched my heart for what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be, I found myself drawn back to a book I'd read my freshman year of college - Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild. (If you haven't read it, I highly recommend it, and in fact, they're making a movie version of it in Alaska and South Dakota right now.) Chris McCandless went against society's pressures and expectations, and he followed his heart to the wilderness of Alaska. I'd never been in the wilderness, I'd never been to Alaska, and I wasn't sure I'd ever done something so terrifying and exciting. I had to do it. I found some jobs online, applied without much thought, and then one day, I got a phone call from a guy named Fernando in Talkeetna, Alaska. After interviewing with him for a breakfast server position (okay, not entirely in the wild, but an abrupt change from DC nonetheless), he asked me, "So, you want to come up to Alaska for the summer?" My heart was beating out of my chest - no one knew of this dream of mine, and certainly no one expected this out of me - I wondered if I was making a huge mistake - but still I said, "Sure." I remember he laughed at that - "Sure" - and thought I wasn't excited. He had no idea. And so, I ended up getting on a plane in Columbus, Ohio, a week after graduating from college and going to Talkeetna, Alaska. Everyone thought I was crazy, and maybe I was, but it was the best decision I've ever made, even if it seemed like I was running away.

Begee: It was 1996, and I had some friends living in Valdez, Alaska, who I decided to go visit with $200 in my pocket. I didn't get very far. Who knew Alaska was such a long hard drive from Washington? Needless to say, I didn't make it. The next year came and went, and Alaska simmered in the back of my brain. I had just finished a job at a winery in Grand Junction, Colorado - a job that I loved - to look for another winery job in California. The time came to go to California to find another winery job, but oddly enough, watching an episode of The Simpsons brought Alaska back to the forefront. I don't remember much of that episode, but what stuck with me was, if Bart can do it, I can do it. I saw an ad in Outside magazine that said "Come work in Alaska," and I called. Without filling out an application, they offered me a job in Denali National Park. They asked whether I could be there in a week or three weeks. I felt like this was the chance of a lifetime, and I said "I'll be there in a week." My parents thought I was crazy and said I should go for the sure thing in California. After having lunch with my dad at a Chinese restuarant, my fortune cookie said, "It's not too late for a change." My choice had been made. It was the best decision I've ever made, even if it seemed like I was running away.

Erin and Begee: People come to Alaska for all kinds of reasons, and people do seasonal work for all kinds of reasons. We've lived and worked with people from all over the world, people who are young and fresh out of school, people who are retired from their "real lives," people who are truly running from something not so good, and people who have not yet found their direction. We never expected to make this a way of life, but it just kind of happened. Seasonal work, this lifestyle of freedom, just grabs you and won't let go. It gets into your bones and into your heart, much like Alaska.

This summer is Erin's third in Alaska and Begee's eighth. When Erin first came here, she certainly only expected and imagined one summer in Alaska before heading back down the political career path. When Begee first came here, he expected only one season in Alaska and then he too would head back to his career path in the wineries of California. Obviously, it didn't quite happen like that. When we met, we never expected to be anything more than friends for the summer, bar buddies, and email pals, but our relationship, much like seasonal work and Alaska, was stronger than what we expected. We fell in love with each other and this lifestyle and especially the 49th state, the land of the midnight sun.

In early spring, as we worked in snowy Yosemite, debating our summer job opportunities, we both really wanted to go back to Alaska to finish up some of our Alaska goals. We have been lucky in accomplishing so much (and it helps to get comps!). We have seen a humpback whale breaching, we got pulled around a snowy glacier on a dogsled, we climbed a mountain, we've seen bears and moose and sea otters, we've kayaked in the ocean, we've camped out on the beach, we've ridden horses around the bay, we treated ourselves to a meal of fresh Alaskan King Crab, and we've done so much more. We came back here this year, hoping to get Alaska out of our systems, to finish off some goals, and then maybe try a "normal life" for a change. We thought we would save some money (which we actually have!) and leave here satisfied and content. It hasn't really worked like that. Being in Alaska, waking up in the morning and smelling the salty ocean right outside our windows, has only made us want more, and now we're considering staying here for the winter.

Did we run away to Alaska originally? Does everyone? Does it matter? When we look around at the people we've met here, the people we work with, live with, and play with, people who are also away from home and family, people who come together to form our own unique family - even having a baby shower for our friend and co-worker, we don't see people who ran away from something. We see people who ran to something. We, ourselves, also ran to something in coming to Alaska - each other.

Fast Times at Gardiner High

I never wanted to go to my high school reunion. I am sure my class has had more than one by now, but with all the times I have moved, I seem to have given the reunion organizers the slip. I recently stumbled into a web page for my high school class, and discovered that I was listed as "Missing." I found this discovery oddly pleasing. I have disliked the idea of a reunion because I did not want to spend hours apologizing for my adolescent self, and explaining that it was just a phase: "Nope, I'm not trying to be like Jim Morrison or Jimi Hendrix any more. No more insanely self-destructive behavior for me. And I wear sensible shoes now!" I have certainly never felt I was missing anything--but my fear of seeing people from high school led me to avoid all reunions. I spent the past few months getting over this fear, and when we were in Yellowstone National Park in July, I went to a reunion of people who worked for the company I spent years with, Yellowstone Park Service Stations. We had a delightful time--which actually doesn't surprise me now. It did surprise me to learn, however, that this affair had as much to do with the future as the past.

We had spent the week in our cabin near Cooke City or out touring the park, as I said in my last entry. The bug situation never got any better. We were as besieged by horseflies at the end of the week as at the beginning; neither, of course, did the deerflies and mosquitos all up and die for our benefit, and by the end of the week, I had found a number of new species trying to bite me that I did not recognize and would never have expected to see outside a nightmare. One day, I found a circular rash on the back of my calf the size of an Eisenhower dollar. It had not been there an hour earlier, and I immediately thought "Lyme disease." Jen, who actually knows something about Lyme disease, and has actually seen it, said no. An insect bite, yes, but she couldn't guess from what. The only annoying insect missing were what I used to call "face flies." Other people call them buffalo gnats, although that term usually refers to a different and worse pest. Common in the geyser basins, face flies hover around your face and seem to be trying to land on your eyeball.

We ended up spending the week looking for refuges from this sort of fun, and finding them regularly enough. It did wear us out, though, and when the time for the reunion came, I wasn't sure that I was up for it. I was worried about what I would find. The reunion had been set up by longtime YPSS employee Bill Lang, whose time with the company crossed over with my own, but who had started way back in the mid-1980s. As I originally understood it, the reunion was intended for people who worked in the park around 1984, but during the long year in which the event took shape, it swelled until we had people from the 1950s on their way, and from every decade after that. They were coming from all over the continent. Some of the people I expected to see were comrades from the early '90s, when I had first started here; I had had no contact with them for a decade and a half. What had the passage of time done to them? Would the men all look like Gandalf the Grey? Would the women all look like elderly hobbits? And what of the former girlfriends my wife would be meeting?

In the end, the former girlfriends were limited in number and vitriol--were entirely friendly, in fact--and what struck me most was the extent to which people don't change. A hairline or two had slipped, and a little weight had been gained here and there, but everyone looked much the same as they had when I last saw them, wearing oil-stained uniforms down in the park. In a number of cases, I know, they look this way because they didn't give up on a vigorous outdoor life when they gave up on YPSS.

The night before the actual reunion, we began with a party at Cool Works headquarters: Bill Berg's compound on highway 89, beside the Yellowstone River. "Do you want to feel the power?" he asked, before giving me a tour of Cool Works central. I got to see, among other things, the webcam, pointed out his back window. So many webcams are disappointing (think how often you've been shown the inside of people's dorm rooms, with socks on the floor, etc). This one is not.

People were still traveling that night, and the crowd was twice as large at the reunion proper the next day. We held it in the little municipal park in Gardiner, at the north entrance to Yellowstone, and next to the high school. Here was where the trains, a hundred years ago, had parked; horse-drawn stages had looped through here, picked up loads of visitors, and hauled them up the hill to the hotel at Mammoth and points south. Next to the park loomed the Roosevelt Arch, the stone archway that is the traditional gateway to Yellowstone. Before the party, some of our number had visited the company warehouse and dug in its back corners for YPSS memorabilia that would be familiar to this group, and as people arrived, they found the park filled with station signage and other gear. One sign gave the prices for the 1961 season: 37¢ a gallon for regular, 41¢ for ethyl. I particularly enjoyed the tire tank, a steel trough like that from which a horse drinks; YPSS people use these tanks to dunk a flat tire and discover where the hole is that made it flat. This one was filled with ice and beer.

I had wondered how many people would make it, given the travel involved to get here. There turned out to be more than at plenty of high school reunions I've heard about: over a hundred, and maybe close to two hundred, counting people who came and went. I saw the people I had not seen since the early '90s. Our kids charmed my old friends. Everyone was delighted to see each other. The life of the park, even for just a season or two, creates bonds so tight that decades cannot entirely erase them. The bond to the landscape itself is even stronger.

YPSS itself has changed a great deal since we first knew it, has grown much smaller (except for the repair side of the business; there seem to be as many trained mechanics as ever). A few people expressed disappointment over this change; they had visions of their own children working for the company--as the third generation in a number of cases--and now weren't sure there would be space. I wasn't so troubled by that problem. In the old days, YPSS had been a refuge for me, an emergency refuge, one that I needed desperately. When I came here, I was an intensely unhappy person, and relying on the park to set me straight--which actually worked. I would have been happier to begin with if I had gotten out more before I came here. My hope, for the kids, is that they won't need that kind of rescue.

So we go to the mountains as much as we can, to the Sierra, and to Yellowstone. I'm always delighted to restore my contacts here, to get on a new footing with the place. I was also delighted when people, numbers of people, asked me about the book I published, Lines on the Land. It's partly about YPSS--but, as I told them, I have something else up my sleeve, a book about working in the park written for a really broad audience. There's always a good chance that this book won't be published, as with any book. If it is, I made about a hundred advance orders just standing around the park in Gardiner, reminiscing. Stay tuned.

Travelers Beware Book Series, Volume 1

In June I was so excited to have a month of holidays from work. This being my first year as a teacher abroad the prospect of a Southeast Asia adventure had me itching to flee Beijing and head for the beach.

My husband and I lived on the Mexican Caribbean during the first years of our relationship and we felt that after a year in dusty, dry Beijing, Thailand beaches were our only option for relaxation and another glimpse at the far away paradise we had left behind.



jill-8-3-06 tagged map by user - Tagzania

In addition to being sun lovers and adventurers we are also quite cheap, especially when any large purchase is involved. We checked everywhere for discount airfares and the lowest price we could find was for 6,500RMB ($814.00US) for us and our baby daughter, from Beijing to Bangkok and back. This amount is a huge portion of my monthly salary and so we decided that a land journey would save some of those hard earned yuan (RMB) and would be the recipe for adventure. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into?

The first leg of the trip was a train ride from Beijing to Southern China's Kunming (the gateway to Tibet). Seeing as China is the world's third largest country a train ride from one end to of the territory to the other takes some time - 41 hours to be precise. But, please, let me explain a little about our train ride as it was actually quite rider friendly. On Chinese trains there are generally three classes: soft sleeper, hard sleeper and seat. We were too late to buy soft sleepers and so we were sold hard sleeper beds. These beds are arranged in compartments. There are about ten compartments per train car and each compartment houses six beds, three pairs stacked to the ceiling. If you are unfortunate enough to get the middle or upper bunk you are unable to sit up in bed. There are two fold down stools in the passageway where you can park yourself upright if you can snag one away from the other middles or uppers who are seeking some relief. Well, we were members of the middle bunk family on this lengthy journey and having a one-and-a-half year old daughter to sleep with could have made the situation quite unbearable. I, luckily have a crafty and resourceful husband who proceeded to lace ten meters of seatbelt strap (he uses it in performances) between the guard rails of our two middle bunk beds. Once he made the base we removed the duvet cover from one of the quilts provided and tied the corners up to create a perfect baby nest, safely supporting baby during the night and creating a bridge for her to visit between mama and papa during the day. Once we had our baby nest, we were set for a comfortable ride to Kunming. We watched patiently as the landscape changed from the arid Beijing into rolling, green hills, carved out with rice paddies with textures and colors not seen in photos and movies. The leveled hills have always fascinated me since I first saw photos of China and it was wonderful to travel through that part of the world. The hills gently gave way all types of forests and mountains, rivers and lakes. The scenery from the train was awesome and while my baby and husband napped I found myself staring into China.

The scenery wasn't that only bonus onboard. The Chinese love their tea and so it was that we had boiling hot water on tap for bottles and sterilizing, the hot water a staple in every train car. We were also very lucky because our train car supervisor was our daughter Denya's favorite friend on the journey and kept sweeping Denya away to be cuddled and entertained. We cruised into Kunming feeling victorious about our cross-country decision.

Our pride was soon to be tested as we were informed that no train travels from Kunming to Chiang Mai, Northern Thailand, our planned route. We did, however find a bus from Kunming to Vientiane, the Capital of Laos, which is also on the way to Bangkok. We took it. After paying the tickets I asked the lady how long our journey would be, thinking 20-25 hours, seeing as Laos is very small. She replied, "Thirty-six hours." Okay, I thought, "no problem."

The bus was new and it was a sleeper bus so the whole cabin contained three rows of two levels of single beds and then two five person beds at the back of the bus. Pancho, my husband, and I boarded and again I was faced with the thought of 36 hours riding with my baby girl on top of me. When we pulled out of the station Pancho told the attendant that we would be moving to the unoccupied five person bed on the top at the back. The attendant agreed and after we made the move I actually felt butterflies I was so excited that we had this luxury king sized bed all to ourselves. It was wonderful until we got to Laos.

This bus ride ended up being something out of the Travelers' Beware Book Series. Trouble began at the border. How a Country that is so poor can charge so much for a Visa is inexplicable. We paid over $100US just to travel across Laos on a bus. This sum may not be exorbitant for someone earning a "Western" income, but for us it seemed high (keeping in mind again that we are cheap travelers). The Laos border crossing was, however, very interesting, complete with chickens, black and white Polaroid Visa photos and some very small Lao men in super tight brown uniforms.

All five tourists on the bus, whom were also now all of the passengers on the bus made it through the border crossing and we headed into the unknown of this mountainous, lush little Country. Did I say mountainous? Yes, the back of the bus was comfortable until we found ourselves at the mercy of Lao infrastructure. Curvy, bumpy, roller coaster type roads carried us for the rest of our journey. I now know that the back of the bus is the part that jumps and bumps and shakes the most. So much, that at one point Denya was thrown about a foot and half off of our luxury bed. Luckily she landed with squeals of delight, loving her free carnival ride, but mama wasn't quite so entertained by her taking flight. At night, we were thrown and bounced off the windows, walls and I swear sometimes even the ceiling. The last day before arriving in Vientiane Denya and Mama weren't feeling so well but the plastic bag was within reach when baby's stomach finally gave up holding it all in. When we arrived and we stepped off the bus we knew nothing could get us to knowingly subject ourselves to that torture again.

We found our way to the Thai border and onto the next train to Bangkok.

This was the quaintest leg of the journey, an eleven hour jaunt from north-east Thailand to Bangkok, the Thai capital. Bench seats, no doors on the cars, a Londoner back from Buddha camp and raised squat toilets made for an interesting journey. We were so refreshed not to be on the bus anymore that I remember leaning out the door and just letting the wind whip my hair back and laughing at the freedom of the creaky, old train. The terrain was no longer the mountain forests and jungles of Laos. We had traded in wood shacks and cloudy skies for a flat, plains passage through the heart of Thailand's rice paddies. There were huge, open bodies of water that stretched as far as the eye could see and the people working near the tracks were so authentic, in their wide, round straw hats with their burned black skin. It felt like a dream. For some time I forgot about how gross I was after four days without washing.

As we rolled into Bangkok I was suddenly hit with the urge to use the toilet. I'll spare the details, but imagine yourself on an uneven track, with your train car bouncing and you need to balance on a raised squat toilet, without any handles. It was one of the most original physical challenges I have ever faced.

Once we arrived in Bangkok we found a guest house very quickly and the shower was one of those electric heaters, a low pressure shower that you would usually curse. I sat with Denya under the water for about 45 minutes thinking how lucky we were to have access to running water.

So our cost-saving land journey was a success. We made it to our destination. It was a little cheaper than flying. We spent about 2000RMB ($250US) on travel, 800RMB ($100US) on Visas and another 300RMB ($38US) on food and drinks. We ended up saving a whopping 150RMB or $19US. We knew we had to reconsider our return route, but first it was time to enjoy Thailand.

Check out more about our Thai travels in my next blog, coming very soon.

The truth about Copper Bank

We came to Belize in the beginning of March. After spending two days in Corozal town (North of the country) we decided to search for a place where we could stay for free or in exchange of work for at least one month. We got to know about one holiday resort in Copper Bank village (about 10 miles away from Corozal), and decided to try our luck there. The road that leads to this village can be found only by asking locals. There is no bus service to that direction during the day, so one has to wait for a ride. There were some gringos ("foreigners" in Spanish) who gave as a lift to Copper Bank. It is only 10 miles away, but might take up to 1 hour to reach it. In the middle of the journey one has to use a manual ferry to cross the New River, where every noon the barge from the Belizean sugarcane factory passes by. Crossing the river is for free and it is fun. You will meet two ferrymen working 12 hours a day and get the newest rumours about the residents of the area.

We were lucky. The owner of the resort agreed to host us in one of the cabañas ("huts" in Spanish) for an exchange of work. Finally, we ended up staying here about 5 months - but this is a different story... Today we are about to leave this place. We want something new! ;)

So, let's look now at Copper Bank village... Officially, it is a peaceful and cosy fishermen village with 500 inhabitants. It is located in the end of the road and the only transport from here to Corozal 15-20 years ago were private boats. Today there is an acceptable dirty road, which turns into mud during the rainy season.


ka-8-1-06 tagged map by user - Tagzania

Now... how would you imagine a local community living in such a small place? They greet, help and love each other... This is what we thought at the beginning...

We have been travelling back and forth from Copper Bank to Corozal at least once a week. Most of the time we took a bus in the morning and hitch-hiked back in the afternoon. This bus is the only public transport here during the day and it brings village people to their jobs in the Free Zone - a huge kind of tax-free shopping area between the border of Belize and Mexico. The first time we got into the bus, we were about to greet each of the passengers, as we are all from the same village, aren't we? Unfortunately, we were surprised to see that all the people are totally ignorant and arrogant to each other. It seems like everybody has his own life and pretends that every day he travels in a bus full of people who he has never seen before. "What is the problem?" - we were asking ourselves. Is it so difficult to say "hello"?

Once there were two women from Belize City driving together with us through Copper Bank, saying "Wow! All of them have cemented houses!". They couldn't hide their astonishment... It is true that, while in the other villages of the country dominate wooden houses with thatched roofs, most of the houses here in Copper Bank are from cement blocks, look rich and wealthy. "How do those fishermen manage that?", is the next question. Maybe we also shall start spreading nets and catching fish.

The keyword to the answer of all the questions about Copper Bank is "White Lobster". What's that?! Well, most of the fishermen are aiming to catch lobster, but the ones in this village care about another kind of lobster - the white one. Everybody coming to Belize knows that this country is a major transhipment point for cocaine from Colombia. Copper Bank is near the ocean where from time to time one may observe interesting boat races, which means the police is chasing drug dealers. In this situations the traffickers have no other choice than throwing all their belongings into the water, pretending they are clean and innocent once they are caught. What these guys leave in the ocean is white lobster - bags full of cocaine.

The local fisherman's working pattern is simple: find the white lobster floating on the sea, sell the treasure to certain people in Corozal town, and, finally, use several thousand dollars you have earned for improving your house and inviting all the family to a restaurant.

Most people living in Copper Bank village try to win this lottery, but nobody talks about it with neighbours. In the end of the day, nobody says "hello" to competitors, as nobody wants to have friends for sharing the profit in case the lottery is won.

This secret of Copper Bank village one may learn only by being an insider. Otherwise, this place will always give the impression of being a "friendly and peaceful tiny village"...

This story is based on our own observations and information shared with us by different people. After feeling so strange about contraries of this place, we believe this is the only real truth about Copper Bank.