Summer's Over. Now What???

This is what I believe: That I am I. That my soul is a dark forest. That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest. That gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back. That I must have the courage to let them come and go. That I will never let mankind put anything over me, but that I will try always to recognize and submit to the gods in me and the gods in other men and women. There is my creed.
-D. H. Lawrence
Your summer gig has either finished or is just about to. How do you create the next life chapter?
At times, the best approach is the wet spaghetti technique: throw a lot of stuff against the wall and see what sticks. In other words, apply to a large number of job possibilities and see which offer is most appealing when all is said and done.
Coolworks has always provided a treasure trove of possibilities, and offers a stable bridge from where you are now to where you are going. On the other hand, if drawn to a specific geographic area, sometimes I prefer to arrive first and look the options over firsthand.
Ideally your external circumstances are simpatico with your internal values and inclinations, i.e. if you really want to ski this summer, do not apply to wait tables at Death Valley. Duh. On a slightly more subtle level, if you are looking for hardy adventure then maybe you had better pass on that temp accounting job (unless it is in Afghanistan). Conversely, if you are looking for comfort and relative stability, do not plan on wandering aimlessly through the Himalayas.
If you are in school, your choice is already made. If winter is spent in the R.V. visiting the grandkids, ditto. Or maybe there is a career path that you are staying focused on. But if your road is open, where do you look and what are you looking for?
Different answers for different folks, of course. My own summer gig is less than a week from completion, and I find myself free (within financial limitations) to chart the next course.
There are so many options that it is mind-boggling. The buddhist temple that they are building in Northern California sounds intriguing. I have also toyed with doing the 3-month volunteer program at Kripalu, in Western Massachusetts. Working with Doctors Without Borders also has potential. . . .
Some kind of process is going on in my life (always, I guess), but I can not get a definitive handle on it. I suspect the handle is subtle, and requires a shift in awareness or an evolution in consciousness. Or maybe a zen slap hard enough to leave handprints. Then there is always the possibility that there is no handle.
But. While I am waiting for understanding to dawn, or for glimmers to crystallize, I am still faced with the pleasant task of deciding my next move.
Jonesing for an extended backpacking trip, recent summer jobs and foreign residences have created a logistical restraining order. So the first order of business/pleasure is a month on the Appalachian Trail, wandering and wondering through the Fall colors of New England. I have spent half a dozen autumns in Western Massachusetts, but always as a waiter serving people who come to see the foliage. What a refreshing October to be in the midst of nature, as opposed to catching glimpses of it from the Red Lion Inn dining room.
In early November I plan to connect with some faces and bases on the West Coast. Then a flight to South East Asia, heading into Bangkok on a one-way ticket. After the recent military coup, it will be interesting to see if I notice any changes.
Now the next step becomes somewhat looser. I have scattered friends in Thailand to visit, and I would not mind a month in either jungle or island to read, write, and nurture my pregnant pause. I am also inclined to do some exploring in the neighboring countries of Cambodia, Viet Nam, and Lao.
At some point though, always too soon, the savings will dwindle. I can prolong that point by finding short term jobs as I travel, a month here and a month there. Or, I can wait until I am about $300. away from insolvency and find a longer term position. Maybe China this time around. They have become such a world player on the economic scene that there is a high demand for people to teach English.
The thing is that, in the course of extended travel, many opportunities present themselves. And, if I have the leisure to keep my plans loose, I will be free to veer off on the road most inviting.
As Gandalph says (quoting wisdom wherever I can find it), Way leads to way.

Fall Equinox

Today is the first official day of fall. Or as our former co-worker reminded us in an email earlier today, for her, in Antarctica, it is the first official day of spring. Spring sounds much more promising.

Winter in Alaska is coming fast. It's getting darker and darker everyday, the fireweed is all gone, the humpbacks are migrating back to Hawaii, the puffins are flying out to sea, and there is snow on the mountaintops - snow, or "termination dust," as Alaskans call it - the scariest sign of all that the summer is over. The cruise ships have left, the train is done, the restaurants are closing, and the gift shops are all having huge end of season sales. Seward is becoming a ghost town.

Normally, as the summer ends, we would be packing up and getting ready to go somewhere new. We are leaving in less than ten days... but for the first time, we are coming back. For the winter. The long, dark, cold winter. Our first in Alaska.

We're heading to New Orleans with Habitat for Humanity - better late than never, even if it is only for a week. We wish we could do more, do something better to change the world, but on two seasonal workers' incomes, this week will be a good start. We'll be painting, building, hammering, sweeping, and all sorts of other exciting vacation-type things (who needs to lay on the beach?). Then we'll be seeing our families in Ohio and Colorado. Not exactly migrating to Hawaii - but we've already tried that route once. It's time to try our first winter in Alaska.

You can't call yourself Alaskan (not that we're even sure we would or could call ourselves Alaskan anyway) without spending a winter here. We might as well see what the fuss is all about - hey, it's not Antarctica, right? (Not yet, anyway.)

Tonight we made halibut quesadillas from halibut we caught in Homer earlier in the summer. It was our first time deep sea fishing, and our first time in Homer. We're having lots of fun firsts trying to cook all this fish, and we had lots of fun firsts this summer. These firsts may not be the same as moving to a new job, the thrill of the wanderlust, but they make life exciting, nonetheless, even if in a different way altogether.

We're working at different places from each other now that the summer is over, and we're not sure what to expect. We're not sure what to expect out of our trip to New Orleans or our first winter here either, but we're excited, nervous, and hopeful all the same. Tonight we'll go outside and try to catch the first Northern Lights of the season and remind ourselves what an amazing place this is that we get to experience, and how lucky we are to experience it, even if it is going to get really, really cold really, really fast!


erinbegee-9-21-06 tagged map by user - Tagzania

Crossing an unofficial border from Belize to Guatemala

All foreigners leaving Belize country are obliged to pay $18 US exit fee, which we wanted to avoid. We found out about an unofficial border crossing in Jalacte village in the South of Belize. From Jalacte it is still half an hour walk through muddy landscape. This we thought to manage despite the fact that I (Katja) cannot carry the backpack on my shoulders but instead have to use a carriage for transporting it.


Jalacte, Belize map - Tagzania

Our permission to stay in the country expired one day before we headed towards Jalacte. We started in the nearby village Pueblo Viejo. When we finally got a ride, we were brought as far as 1,5 miles to the bridge flooded by the river (caused by recent heavy rains), which was impossible to cross by car. We had to walk barefoot through its thigh-high strong floods. Three more men crossing the stream were helping us with our belongings. While crossing the fast running water we had to hold each others hands. Quite wet afterwards, we went onto a hilly two hours walk towards Jalacte, which cost us a lot of strength.

The journey to Guatemalan side includes crossing of the river and 30 minutes hiking through muddy corn fields. We arrived to Jalacte by foot and turned to beginning of the knee-deep muddy horse trail towards the river. Hesitating, we asked some horse riders waiting for customers about the transfer price to Santa Cruz village in Guatemala, which was 10 Belizean Dollars ($5 US). We thought it was unfair price, as just for crossing river by boat locals pay 5 Guatemalan Quetzals ($0.80 US). Negotiations about the price were impossible. Thus, we crossed the muddy path to the river by ourselves. Augustas was walking the trail twice, for bringing all our belongings down to the river. I faced difficulties in finding hold in the mud. I partly sank knee-high into it, sometimes almost falling completely inside.

The horse riders made jokes about us, and passed by for telling the boat transfer responsible about our refusal of their service. When we arrived, everybody had a vague smile on his face. We knew the price, but the boat-man was asking $5 BZ ($2,50 US). We tried to negotiate, but there was no way. We decided to wait. We tried further negotiations, but without success. We got an idea to cross the river by ourselves. I went to check the possibilities up the stream, hiking along a small bushy path. Unfortunately, the strong stream forbid us to cross alone. When coming back we finally negotiated a price of $3 BZ ($1,50 US) each for the boat transfer. I got onto the boat, which was rather a raft consisting of 4 trunks, in a whole 1,20 meter long and 1 meter wide. On top of the raft two Pepsi plastic boxes were fixed, serving as a seat. The raft was transferred by hand, bound along a rope fixed on trees on both river sides. Having no Belizean, nor Guatemalan money, we paid in US dollars. The raft crew got confused, giving us back a higher change in Belizean dollars than we were supposed to receive.

Stumbling upstairs along a small corn field path, passing a fence, and walking two minutes on a stony road, we saw the further road going steep up and down, being made of unorderdly placed stones and a lot of mud. There was a second trail. It was muddy with unclear end. Finally, we had to consider the horse riders, who showed up laughing, but realizing that without them we had no chance to reach Santa Cruz village. The only money we still had was couple of Belizean dollars, which we got as a change from the raft-men. The horse-riders agreed to bring our backpacks across, claiming they are doing for us a big favour.

Two horse riders took each of our backpacks on their backs, riding through the worst trail I had ever seen in my life. Although I saw people on the next hill walking a smooth, slightly muddy path along the corn fields towards the Belizean Border, the horse riders directed us along this difficult horse trail. Though sceptical we followed them. Augustas carried our daypack and my carriage. He was always walking in front. The path was difficult to take for both of us, but again for my size it was terrible. Until half way through the horse trail I wore my sandals, for not sliding in between the stones. Later in the thigh-high mud I took them off, as I rather got stuck with them. I arrived far after Augustas, being watched by all the horse riders, who were amused about my fight against the mud. We were happy being through, soon washing all mud from us and our trousers.

In Santa Cruz we changed few US dollars, bought food, and soon left towards the exit of this weird town full of alcoholics, cowboys, and fancy styled females of every age. Being used to greet, people often simply ignored us. Mostly, we were looked at without any respect. Happily, we came across a couple of nice people when we were already far from Santa Cruz' center. The following weeks in Guatemala changed our first impression, as we came across of dozens of friendly and open-minded Guatemalans.

For more stories from our journey through the world, check our webpage - www.FollowTheRoad.com.

Keep Tahoe Green

If I am very lucky and behave myself, I may get to do a writing project on Lake Tahoe. More details later (I hope--again, if I am lucky and good). If this project were to come through, I would be writing at length about the whole Tahoe basin. I know the Sierra well--I've lived next to it for a decade now--but have always avoided urban Tahoe. To help organize my thoughts, we made a trip there earlier this summer, and should be headed back sometime in the next few weeks. I expect a disorienting experience; it is what I've come to regard as normal for Tahoe, or at least the Tahoe I've come to know.

We made that first trip in late June, just after classes finished at UC Davis, but not before I had recovered from an epic three-week cold, the work of another of the exotic viruses our toddler brings home regularly. We stayed at a famous resort on the south shore of the lake, one that I think I will leave nameless, for now, anyway. Purely because of its age (it dates from the 1920s), I imagined this place would be classy, snooty, full of itself and its elegant history. We decided to stay in two separate rooms, so I could cough by myself. The room Jen and the kids stayed in had a broken TV, and was right next to the bar. Mine had no telephone, no nothing, really. The water tap barely worked, and the water looked just like salmon milt. I had to let it settle before I could venture to drink any. I was on the ground floor, but there was no curtain over the bathroom window, nothing to block the view in but an immature cedar. I realized that the management was relying on the window to steam over when the shower was running, which did mostly work.

When I couldn't find an electrical plug in the bathroom, they almost lost me (it finally turned up behind the towels). I did at least like the design of the plates over the plugs and switches: they featured paintings of a winsome bear talking to the moon. That would be the famous legend told by the Washoe tribe, the one they call "The Night Brother Bear Lost His Mind."

Having settled in, sort of, we walked down to the beach, where the lake, quite full after a winter of heavy snow, lapped at the edge of the forest, and of the bar and grill. The beach was a noisy place, with maybe two hundred people milling about, and many, many children. Steller's jays swooped everywhere in quantity, the kind of jay with bright blue plumage and prominent black crest on their heads. Jen spilled a can of mixed nuts on the ground, and the Steller's jays went on the alert. They first had to get Lewis, our toddler, out of the way. They accomplished this with what I swear looked like a variant on the broken-wing con job: two of them landed in front of him, and, when he chased them, they were able to lure him away from the nuts. They had a ball, swallowing entire almonds and pecans whole. How they can digest them--well, one wonders, and feels a little dyspeptic doing so.

Lots of robins swooped through the trees, too, and we were soon also confronted by a herd of about twenty beggar geese, Canada geese that were exceptionally fearless even by their standards. They spent the day and night on the beach; I found them there again long after sundown, clustered in the water in front of the bar, muttering to themselves.

Trying to get a feel for the place, the whole place, I walked out onto the long pier belonging to the company that owns this joint. The water is about eighteen feet deep at the end, and you can see the bottom--if barely. No beer cans on the bottom. The resort rents various kinds of watercraft, and had a gas pump on the pier that dispensed unleaded for $4.88 a gallon. I studied the heavy boat traffic, examining a huge and elegant catamaran, then watching a three-story cabin cruiser park. When I reached the end of the pier, I looked toward the big gray boxes that mark the Nevada state line--the casinos, that is.

And I was visited, then, by a heretical thought that kept coming to me all day. I thought of the bumper stickers that have long been a common sight in California: "Keep Tahoe Blue," they say, next to a map of the lake done in dark blue. But what does it matter, I now thought, if Tahoe is blue? What would you think of a bumper sticker that demands we "Keep Vegas Organic," or "Keep Atlantic City Wholesome"? The Tahoe basin, I decided, is about as wild and pure as Disney World.

But we stayed for a couple of days, and the place, the whole place, began to grow on me as it never had before. I even enjoyed the town, South Lake Tahoe; in the past, I had hustled through quickly, appalled. (Why, though? Was I afraid all this was going to start multiplying and spill over the passes and destroy the rest of the Sierra? I think that's just what I was afraid of). I had never spent so much time on the lakeshore, and found that I was enjoying the human company.

It is important, a part of the place, that it is surrounded by high mountains and something like wilderness; it is not Las Vegas. The whole place, in fact, has a Montana/Wyoming vibe. The standard vehicle for young guys is an old full-size Ford or Chevy pickup with rust damage, or something similar: an old Wrangler, an old Ram, that sort of thing. I suppose that can't be the only dominant style; doubtless, at the local high school, a permanent death-struggle of which we will never hear anything goes on between the Hipp Hopp Boyz, the Goths, the jocks, and then the cowboys. Probably there are other new groups by now: the Nippie-Pinchers, let's say, who express their loathing for bourgeois conformity by pinching their own nipples as hard as they can stand.

Nevertheless, we saw plenty of cowboys, although these were cowboys who spent a lot of time with cell phones jammed in their ears. We heard country and western playing overhead in the pizza place. We saw lots of normal-looking people. Everyone was friendly. Everyone. The guy at the hamburger place where we stopped on arriving in town offered me a cup of water when he thought I looked like I needed it. I in fact needed it desperately. The very high school kids who ran the pizza joint where we ate dinner were nice. A young guy sitting at the next table made faces at Lewis, to Lewis' utter delight.

It wasn't anything like California (by which I mean, of course, the urban coast). For a while, I thought it was Nevada mixing in and diluting the nastiness, but then remembered that the Sierra is mostly like this; I had never much noticed it because I spend most of my Sierra time off in the backcountry somewhere. What was most remarkable was that I felt my normal urban stand-offishness, my willingness to believe the worst of people, fading before even a single day was over. The social situation was odd, though: I never knew if I was supposed to say hello to strangers, as in the country, or ignore them, as in the city. In practice, I uncomfortably did both.

I will have to come back to Tahoe in future blogs. It is a big place. It can be a delightful place. It is also home to some of the worst tourist traps I have ever encountered. As I said, Tahoe is disorienting. This makes for comedy, even if it does regularly give me a headache.


South Lake Tahoe map - Tagzania

Two Man Traveling Circus Show

In my recent blog I described my family's, shall we say... extended cross-continent journey from Beijing, China to Bangkok, Thailand and beyond. We left Beijing with the intention of finding the perfect beach spot and performing fire shows in the evening to earn some money for expenses during the trip. Well, things didn't go exactly according to our plan, but we definitely found adventure along the way...


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

We arrived in Bangkok and were delighted to find that the jugglers' park (next to the Chao Praya River, just west of Khaosan Road area) was alive with jugglers, sphere contact artists, and people playing with pois, staffs, chinese yoyos and devil sticks. If you're not sure what I'm talking about, these are all toys that are used in performance entertainment, or for personal enjoyment. We had a great time there playing, meeting new friends and sharing stories about travels. Pancho, my husband, and I were eagerly asking for advice as to where we should go for our planned beach/work vacation. We were informed that for doing fire performances we were best to go to a place called Haad Rin, on the Koh Phangan Island. Not knowing much about Thailand and being utterly overwhelmed by the number of strangely named islands, we took their advice and headed to Koh Phangan.

We took an overnight bus south and then boarded an early morning ferry to Koh Phangan. Once we arrived in Haad Rin, a small, bustly, tourist town on the South East point of the island, we settled into a little cabin and set up our hammock. Our first night we realized that maybe this wasn't the place for our family, but it was definitely the place for fire shows! At night, Haad Rin beach is brimming with tourists, all drinking from huge buckets full of liquor. At four of the five beach bars there are Thai fire spinners giving the crowds an eye full of flame and kerosene. I've been exposed to some pretty unsafe situations, having stood beside fireworks being launched in Mexico and having watched as millions lit hand held fireworks during Chinese New Year in Beijing, but I am now sure that Smoky, the Fire Safety Bear, has never been to Haad Rin. The fire spinners were standing about three meters from the guests and openly pouring kerosene onto their still-smoking fire staffs and pois. The kerosene that was not absorbed was going directly into the sand. Many of the spinners are extremely talented, but it seems that the faster is better approach is alive and well in Haad Rin. The next day I thought back to the kerosene on the beach as I was stung repeatedly by something invisible in the water.

Pancho and I did get a show in Haad Rin. On our second night we were given a show at one of the biggest bars on the beach. We tried to explain that we had a fifteen minute show with music, but the owner informed us that they would not play our music. We asked them to play something appropriate and explained that first I would appear with long flaming fingers and dance smoothly in front of the crowd and that then Pancho would be using his fire staffs and that there would be handstands, feicha (Chinese staff juggling) and acrobatics. I don't think our message reached the DJ booth because I was made to dance to everybody's favorite "I get knocked down, but I get up again, you're never gonna keep me down". Needless to say I was a bit thrown off. No one seemed to notice that our show didn't go as smoothly as we wanted. Maybe the buckets played a part in that! Regardless, we were congratulated and thanked and asked back tomorrow and told how wonderful we were. We were the only ones who weren't pleased. The show was, in our minds, not what we were looking for. We earned plenty of money to pay our cabin and some meals, but we knew we weren't where we wanted to be.

Our next stop was also on Koh Phangan, a small cove called Haad Thien, only accessible by boat. Haad Thien is a much quieter area and we felt more relaxed the minute we stepped off the boat. The first night, after we shooed away a giant eight-legged friend, we were completely at peace in our water front raised cabin, safe under our mosquito net.

We were happy the next morning to see two travelers from The United States out on the beach practicing their poi and staff moves. We agreed to put on a show that night together with whatever kerosene we could find. With some great music and about forty onlookers we pulled out our tricks that night and casually put on a truly great show. We had no arrangement for pay, but when we passed the hat for tips we made enough for our cabin, our food and the boat ride out of Haad Thien. The next day we left, having explored most of what the small Haad Thien cove has to see.

Our next stop was unknown but we had heard that some of the best places to travel are on the Andaman Sea side of Thailand. We decided that our enjoyment was more important than the work and we went into the unknown looking for our ideal spot.

Back on the mainland, on the bus across to the Andaman Sea we met a guy from Brussels who told us that we had to see a place called Krabi. Since we had no other plans, we took his advice. And good advice it was.

Krabi is an area about halfway down the Thai Andaman Sea coast. What sets it apart is that it is made up of many rock formations jutting out of the sea, both on the mainland and also on or forming islands. It is a world renowned rock climber's paradise with cliff faces everywhere you look. It was here at Railay (short boat ride from Krabi town) that I found the most beautiful beach I've ever seen, and I've seen many. Taking a path covered by cliff overhang, I walked among vines and rock tunnels and finally emerged onto a breathtaking beach, Ao Phranang. To my left, there was a 200 meter cliff with enormous stalactites hanging some 75 meters long and dripping limestone filtered water onto my head from high above. To my right, I saw a long, exposed, white sand beach curling off into the unknown distance. Directly in front of the beach, out in the water, there was a rock formation, accessible at low tide by walking along a sand bar about two feet under the water. No restaurants, unspoiled nature, few people and some wild monkeys combined to make Ao Phranang the most beautiful beach I've seen.

During our time in Railay Pancho worked a couple of times at bars and we managed to pay for some rent and meals. We stayed about three days and then headed to Koh Phi Phi, one of the places that was destroyed in the Tsunami that hit December, 2004.

We weren't sure what to expect, but Koh Phi Phi was truly breathtaking. The island is made up of two large hills with a wide sand bar between them. It is here, on the sand bar where the town rests. The locals are bright and upbeat and are willing to talk about their experiences. We were, however, careful not to dig too deep about the tsunami after we had a sad experience. One day on the beach a young woman approached us and was playing with Denya, our daughter. I asked her if she had any children and was deeply saddened when she replied that her daughter of two had died in the tsunami. I was speechless. Slowly, the residents of Phi Phi Island are rebuilding and tourism is aiding the reconstruction on this quaint little island.

Koh Phi Phi was where our little dream came true. We became friends with a woman who ran the restaurant in front of our hotel and she watched Denya in the evening while Pancho and I went to perform. In Phi Phi we worked two to three shows a night for the five nights we were there. We were presented with many different stages, including: beach front in the sand, a three level open front disco bar, and a Thai Boxing ring! Best of all, no buckets! We spent our days taking long-tail boats to explore other islands nearby and hiking up to look out over the Andaman Sea. At night we put on some spectacular fire and acrobatic shows. We were paid sometimes by the bar and sometimes by tips, our earnings paying for both room, board and a little extra during our stay.

So we were successful in our work/tour journey. It would have been nice to find the success we had in Phi Phi at the beginning of our trip, but I wouldn't change how we did it. The fun is in the adventure and we were never short of fun. Pancho and I have agreed that we want to do more traveling this way, working along the way, earning what we need to keep moving.

The only thing I don't miss about our holiday is lugging a stroller, a backpack, a metal handstand frame, a two-meter long bag containing fire staffs and feichas and a one and a half year old on and off boats, trains and buses. But I suppose that's what it takes to be a two man traveling circus show.



jill-9-5-06 tagged map by user - Tagzania