Day 435: Getting out of Tayrona National Park

Horseback rides out of half of Tayrona National Park today was a must. Had we more time, we would have stayed an extra day to relax longer in the park, but with only a week left of the trip, we were a little anxious to get to Cartagena. We woke up to rain, and lounged early in the morning. Dozing off, reading, listening to the rain. It was lovely. Once the rain stopped, we headed for the horses and bypassed the even muddier ravines (due to the additional rain last night) by foot. I have never been so grateful to be on a horse in my life.

Instead of taking what felt like two hours the day before to cross the muddy trail, it only took about twenty minutes. While we were on horseback, a handler ran along side of us hustling the horses along. I was impressed (and jealous of his rain boots) at how fast he moved through the ravine. We trekked out the rest of the way, then hopped in a bus back to the park entrance, another bus back to Santa Marta, then a cab to El Rodadero, while we waited for yet another form of transportation; a shared taxi to Cartagena.

When our shared taxi was over an hour late, the company decided to inform us that they had canceled the trip that night. (I thought Andrew was going to lose it.) We figured out another way and once our taxi arrived to take us to a different bus station, our plans changed one more time and we decided on a third way to get to Cartagena (thanks to our taxi driver) and hopped in another shared taxi a few blocks away. Halfway to Cartagena, we stopped off the side of an expressway, were told to hop out, and ushered to another shared taxi heading all the way to Cartagena. At the beginning of this trip, this would have worried me. At this point, I’m completely unfazed. And then, not three minutes after checking into our room in Cartagena, the electricity went out on the entire block of the city. Because, at that point in the day, why wouldn’t it?

Day 434: Getting into Tayrona National Park

Tayrona National Park is one of the ‘must-see’s’ of Northern Colombia. Everyone we met who was traveling from North to South (opposite of how we were traveling) raved about the park. From the start, we had plans on visiting and spending a couple of nights in the park. It’s along the Caribbean Coast, about thirty or so kilometers from Santa Marta (close to where we were staying in El Rodadero). Tayrona National Park prohibits cars after a certain point and you can get in and out of the park by foot, by horseback, or by boat. We heard trekking in was beautiful (lots of flora and fauna) so we opted to do that. Had we known the trek in would be as muddy and difficult (thanks to the previous few days of rain) we probably would have gone in on horseback. However, who can complain at the end of the day, when you realize this is what you trekked in for:

In Tayrona, there are three main oceanfront options to stay at. Arrecifes is the first. We were told it’s nicer (and pricier) but you can’t swim at the beach there (due to the deadly riptides). La Piscina is a small swimming cove in between without sleeping options. And El Cabo is where we were headed. El Cabo provides hammocks for rent, a campground, somewhat functioning bathroom facilities, and a restaurant with better dinner options than breakfast options. (If you’re going- bring your own cereal!) The trek wasn’t difficult at first. It was hot. and very, very humid. But other than that, not exactly hard.

Once we could see the ocean, our spirits were lifted and we felt like we were almost there! But, the trail then wove in and out. And little did we know, we still had a ways to go. Sometimes we’d be walking along the water, other times we would be in a palm grove like the one below. It began getting muddier and muddier the longer we walked.

And then, it got real muddy, and real hard. I don’t mind getting dirty, at all. I actually kinda love it. When I’m expecting it. The problem with our muddy trek in today, was that we weren’t anticipating it being hard or dirty at all. So, when our feet were sticking in inches of mud and we were slipping down small ravines, I wasn’t the happiest of campers.

Once I took off my shoes, it became a little easier to skip through the muddy ravine. The only drawback was that I couldn’t decipher what was mud, and what was horse poop. As soon as we got to El Cabo, we headed straight for the water.

The beachfront was beautiful, stunning really, but the water was full of natural debris. I think, because of the rain. We stayed in until we figured we should check in and then rented out two hammocks for the night. After we got settled and ready for bed before night fell, we walked around before dinner. Stunning. The whole area was as picturesque as everyone said it would be. Despite quite a few people camping or renting out hammocks, it was all very calm and relaxing. After our walk, we took naps (or read) in our hammocks and then enjoyed a fish dinner before tucking into our hammocks for the night. They were pretty wide and long, so I found mine super comfortable. They were strung up pretty close to each other though, so whenever my neighbor or myself moved, we would often bump into each other. And then, in the middle of the night it began to rain… and then pour… again. Thankfully, we stayed dry all through the night.

Day 370: Huayna Picchu + Machu Picchu

Machu Picchu! Our day started out early, for we signed up to be a few of the four hundred (per day) to climb Huayna Picchu. Around seven in the morning, we were (somewhat) rushing through Machu Picchu to the far end of the site to stand in line at the Huayna Picchu checkpoint. Less than two hours later, we were atop Huayna Picchu, taking in a hands down amazing view of Machu Picchu. (It was well worth the climb – to say the least.) We spent the afternoon walking through Machu Picchu in complete awe and wonder of the Incan architecture. It’s impressive, not only because of the precision and grandeur, but because of the mystery behind it. -Especially when you’re staring out at mountaintops all around… it puts it into very close perspective of how unique it really is. The Great Wall, Angkor Wat, even the Taj Mahal are all incredible, but everyone has always known about them. And in comparison, they were all built somewhat out in the open, for all to see… Even though we were just a few of the many (many, many) daily visitors, it felt like we were being let in on a big secret just by being within the walls of Machu Picchu.

Getting to Machu Picchu is no easy task. Granted, it is MUCH easier than it was back in the days of Hiram Bingham. It’s not cheap, either. To walk the Inca Trail, one must sign up at least six months ahead of time. At least. You’re required to take a few porters, a guide, and a cook… Although we would have loved to walk it, not having firm plans throughout this year of travel and my bum heel prohibited us from even considering walking the trail. The alternative day visit isn’t the cheapest either. After you’ve spent a hundred dollars just to train it to Aguas Calientes, you’re still at the bottom of the Andes, and Machu Picchu is at the top. You can walk up the zig-zagging road to the entrance of Machu Picchu (we saw at least one couple with more gumption than ourselves) or you can fork over $18.50 for the bus (at least it was round-trip) like we did.

However, after you’ve handed over your ticket (that you absolutely must get ahead of time, either online or in Aguas Calientes) you’re walking towards Machu Picchu letting the excitement take over any and all annoyance over the inflated expenses you paid to get here. Arriving just after sunrise didn’t hurt either. Isn’t this light gorgeous?

First stop: Huayna Picchu. I have to admit, I was a little nervous about this climb. I didn’t think it would be a big deal until a few nights ago, Andrew started looking up videos of what it would be like and showed us one with rocks jutting out of the side of a mountain that you had to trust could hold your weight as you climbed up. Ok, so maybe I was a little scared on top of nervous. The problem with me being scared of something though, is that I know that it means I have to do it. There’s no getting around it. Like this entire trip, I guess… when I step back and think about it.

Huayna Picchu (also known as Wayna Picchu) is the mountain that is usually behind Machu Picchu in all of the pictures. The Urubamba River curves around this mountain below it and Machu Picchu. I found it interesting that I had never heard of this mountain, only Machu Picchu, yet the Incas built a trail with temples and terraces on its side and top as well. The peak (our destination) is 8,920 ft above sea level. It’s 1,180 feet higher than Machu Picchu. The climb itself wasn’t terribly hard, but the altitude made things a bit challenging.

Once we got to the top though, I understood why my aunt had emailed, urging us to try to get tickets. Again, only 400 are allowed up the mountain per day. There are two designated time slots, allowing 200 people in during each 2 hour window. We had to sign in before we were allowed to start the climb and were supposed to be back down 2 hours later. However, nothing was really enforced and we took our time once we were up at the top, pausing several times for photos or to just sit and admire the view.

According to Wikipedia, According to local guides, the top of the mountain was the residence for the high priest and the local virgins. Every morning before sunrise, the high priest with a small group would walk to Machu Picchu to signal the coming of the new day. The Temple of the Moon, one of the three major temples in the Machu Picchu area, is nestled on the side of the mountain and is situated at an elevation lower than Machu Picchu. 

Momma was slightly terrified of the edge and the general realization of exactly how high we were once we got to the top. As you’re climbing up, you really don’t have a clear sense of how high you are because you’re on a trail that is winding around the mountain. In other words, it’s not just one “up” direction. These are the steps that scared me in the video Andrew showed us a few days before. The video made it look like the girl was standing on these steps directly over the edge of a mountain. However, they’re above terraces and they aren’t nearly as scary as they might look. Unnerving, sure. Of course. But really, not sooo bad. Unless you’re my mom- who wasn’t going anywhere near them. If you find yourself atop Huayna Picchu- take these steps up. I think it offers a great view, one that isn’t as crowded as other levels.

Some of the shots were taken from the absolute tip top of Huayna Picchu. We had to squeeze our way through and under some rocks that almost seemed precariously balanced atop the mountain. Only because we had to exit this way would Mom even consider climbing up to the top. I convinced her to let me photograph her, but unfortunately had my broken lens on my camera from some prior shots to see if I could squeeze one or two images out of it. I liked these images of her laughing so much I almost don’t mind how blown out they are. I’m pretty sure she thought she was going to slide right off the mountain when we had to cross this rock to get down to some more traditional steps below.

Another family decided to race back down the mountain. I had no desire to even consider racing back down. While the altitude didn’t bother me as much during the descent, these skinny little stairs did. The problem (if you can even call it a problem) with climbing Huayna Picchu before you really explore Machu Picchu, is that it’s kinda in the middle of the traditional visiter route through Machu Picchu. Apparently you’re supposed to follow this route and cannot reverse course halfway through. We didn’t realize this when we started walking through Machu Picchu.

Another “problem” with sprinting through Machu Picchu to climb Huayna Picchu first is that when you’re finished climbing Huayna Picchu, you’re in the middle of Machu Picchu (below on the map at #11) without a guide. This is something I wish we would have realized or thought of before we entered. There are dozens of guides standing outside the entrance to Machu Picchu offering up their services. Had I known any better, I would have made arrangements with one of them to meet us at the Huayna Picchu gate after our climb. (If you plan on doing both in one day- get a guide to meet you!) I enjoyed milling around Machu Picchu, and it was easy to evesdrop on other tours for bits and pieces of information, but I wish I had done some more research on the site, or brought along a Machu Picchu book, or something to better understand what buildings or temples or burial sites we were standing in. Even a map, like this one below (found here) would have helped! I thought perhaps we missed them on our way in, but when we left I looked to see if there were any sitting out and couldn’t findany (or any sign that there were some there previously). 

Above is a view of Huayna Picchu from the middle of Machu Picchu. If you look really closely, you can see the stonework towards the top. It’s pretty incredible how well it blends into the rock and trees of the mountain. If you didn’t know to look for it, I think you would miss it! (At least I would!)

It doesn’t look like there were many people in my pictures. (My mom was a little surprised when she saw the pictures of the monastery in Arequipa how empty it looked. I’m curious if she’ll be surprised with these pictures as well. -Are you Mom?) The truth is, I waited in many cases for people to get out of my shot. Or worked the framing to make the site stand out instead of highlighting just how many people there were around the site with us. There were a lot. It also helped that a few areas were roped off from the public – llamas only, or workers removing unwanted weeds from the stonework. We began our own tour of Machu Picchu through what I think were the houses of factories and then through the industrial zone.

According to some descriptions (and some guides) of Machu Picchu, this area is known as the Temple of the Condor. A temple where the Incas specifically worshiped the condor (the bird which is thought to represent the sky and afterlife of the Incas. We heard that many guides will call it a temple to paint a friendlier picture of Machu Picchu. However, this area was actually the prisoner’s area and there was some cruel torture that went on here, some say is evident by certain niches in the stones. Maybe both are speculation, but I think the prison idea is probably the most accurate.

In the middle of Machu Picchu, above the royal tomb is the Temple of the Sun, also called the Torreón. This is one of the most sacred places in Machu Picchu and only the Inca (the king of the Incas) himself and the high priest could enter. It’s where the diety, Inti (the sun) is worshipped. During the winter solstice, the sun shines through the trapezoidal window onto a really large granite stone, which the temple was built around. Like all of Machu Picchu, the exact purpose of this temple is debated. Was it for female ”Virgins of the Sun” or was it a monument to the Inca Pachacutec or an observatory? Maybe all of the above? Who knows. Regardless, during the winter (in June in these parts) solstice, the sun illuminates the sacred rock in the middle of the temple – for reasons no one is entirely positive about.

Around the Temple of the sun are some houses known as The Royal Sector. Basically, where the royal family lived. (I think.)

At the very top of the middle area of Machu Picchu, is the Temple of the Three Windows, this was more like a wall, surrounding the Sacred Plaza. It’s here where you will find the Principal Temple, the House of the Priest, the Sacristy, and a LOT of tour groups. Unfortunately, at the time, we weren’t sure what we were looking at. I mostly took pictures of what I found interesting and a few roped off areas that I knew were important… only I wasn’t sure exactly why. I followed the crowd and found myself facing this giant rock, guarded by one thin rope and a Machu Picchu employee making sure no one crossed it. Dozens were standing in front of it to get their picture taken. This sacred rock is known as Intihuatana. It supposedly mirrors the shape of Huayna Picchu (the mountain we climbed a few hours ago) and is said to have functioned as a sundial, or astronomical calendar, or agricultural calendar, or perhaps all of the above? Bottom line: it’s special. sacred. super important. Apparently other similar stones were carved elsewhere but were all destroyed by the invading Spaniards (Thanks a lot, Spain!) who wanted to replace them with crosses, thus ridding then Peru of its pagan ways. I found Andrew and Momma waiting for me here, just chillin’ in some Incan niches…

It was right around here where we got in trouble. You see, we had already gone around the far side of Machu Picchu to climb Huayna Picchu. However, when we went to double back to see what we missed, we were directed back where we came from. We listened to the first two Machu Picchu employees, but then held firm with the third one. All we had to do was cross over one walkway to get back to the main stairs. A tourist guide (with his group) stopped to help us, and once the Machu Picchu employee saw that we were creating a crowd, he let us double back to see the half of Machu Picchu (where most people start their visit) we missed.

This might have been my favorite part of Machu Picchu. It provided a beautiful view of Machu Picchu, and seemed a little more secluded and less traveled than the famous temples and lawns full of llamas, terraces, and perfect masonry. We passed through the City Gate, walked up around The House of the Guardians, and we must have passed the Funerary Rock and Cemetary although we didn’t know it at the time. By this time, our water was running low, the sun was getting to us, and we were starting to slow down. Of course, we still enjoyed the view, and I even convinced Momma to get up to jump for a picture or two.

If you walk far back enough, you’ll find yourself at another checkpoint and a trail leading to the Inca Bridge. We were told it wasn’t hard, so Andrew and I decided to check it out. Twenty minutes later, we found ourselves facing this (above) and honestly we weren’t impressed. I don’t see what the big deal was… According to Wikipedia, The trail is a stone path, part of which is cut into a cliff face. A twenty-foot gap was left in this section of the carved cliff edge, over a 1,900 feet drop, that could be bridged with two tree trunks, otherwise leaving the trail impassable to outsiders. I would have been content to instead have spent my time sitting within the walls of Machu Picchu and soaking it up before deciding we had seen enough… We collected Momma, walked around a little more to see if there was anything we missed, went to where we thought was the end/start of the Inca Trail, took a few last pictures and made our way back out and down to Aguas Calientes, and then back to Cusco.

Day 53: 40ish kilometer trek through Laos COMPLETE Y’all!

When Andrew and I were in Burma (Myanmar, whichever you prefer to call it) last summer, we went on a day trek in Kalaw. It was great, and had we had more time, and knew it was a possibility, we would have signed up for the entire three day trip that ended at Inle Lake. One of the best parts of trekking is the people you meet from other countries and the conversations you get to have that are often more varied than those you might have with your fellow Americans if you will. (Don't get me wrong, it's always fun meeting Americans on the road. I find Americans can almost always tease each other in a way you can't always get away with with someone from a different country/culture.) Anyway, we happened to hit it off with the four French travelers, and we quite liked our guide who was born in India, but has lived in Burma for the past, I don't know, 20 years? And then, there was "this effin' guy."

In other words, aside from actually meeting very cool people and having fun conversations (Tony, Raquel, I'm talkin' to you!) and then looking forward to meeting up with them again… It's sometimes equally wonderful to finish something organized and be back on our own again. 

"This effin' guy" was a professor (in his late 50's I'm guessing) from Ukraine. And no matter what the conversation was about, what kind of plants we saw along the way, someone spotting an interesting insect, you get the idea… "This effin' guy" had to jump in and compare, and every time he did, he began with a very authoritative (picture if you will Jon Stewart trying to pull off a Russian accent) "In My Country…" It was so excessive and over the top, it quickly went from eye-rolling annoying to playing along and almost encouraging him to compare just to see what he would say. Especially because he undoubtedly started each statement with "In My Country…"

In Sapa, Vietnam, there was "The Girls Girl." Lena Dunham's French doppelganger turned her nose up at the idea of only visiting a country for two – three weeks. "I want to see everything, and really get to know the culture!" She exclaimed, and then continued to put down short term travelers, even though she was only staying in Vietnam for one month. I rolled my eyes and inwardly suggested she move to a different country for several years.

Here, in Laos, there is Anya. Anya is originally from Germany, but spent the past several years studying at NYU. Admittedly, a fabulous school, but not fabulous enough to have taught Anya everything about everything. Although, after three days of trekking with the girl, I am thoroughly convinced she really does know everything about everything. She certainly talks like she knows it all… She even knows more about American culture than I do! (At which point, I was ready to throw down my backpack and get "Oh No You Din'nt!!!" on her, you know, just to entertain Andrew.)

Let's just say, after two solid days of trekking, and a night full of roosters, my patience with Anya was waning. Although proud of myself for dealing with the leeches, a sticker bush arm piercing, spiders, roosters, mud, dirt, public showers, sticky rice for the seventh time in a row…I wasn't sure how much longer I could last with a less amusing version of "In My Country…" 

Luckily, only the morning portion of the trek was difficult, and the final stage of the trek was all downhill, which was easier for me, but that kind of tricky "easy" where you know you'll need to borrow your grandmother's walker or in general will need to avoid stairs or steps of any kind. We were all so excited to get into the truck and head back to Luang Prabang… and then our dreams of cold beers and hot showers were halted. For an entire hour and a half by some Laos road construction. By the time we arrived in Luang Prabang, picked up our things, assessed the dirty laundry situation (see the floor below), showered, called Momma on her birthday, it was past dinner time. We made it through dinner, barely, and then to bed before our early (no roosters this time) wake-up call for the slow boat up the Mekong River.

Day 52: There were LOTS of leeches.

We decided on this trek, because friends we met and went trekking with in Sapa, Vietnam raved about it on Facebook. After some private messages, I really wanted to give it a go. Tony warned us it would be difficult, about the community shower, and leeches, but said it was totally worth it and a much more satisfying experience than the one (which was still great) we all had together in Sapa. White Elephant Adventures is a bit on the expensive side when it comes to trekking ($50.00 per day) but you trek to more remote villages, that other companies do not visit (getting a more unique experience when interacting with the tribes), and when we met to discuss our booking, small groups and multiple guides (if more than three people) were emphasized. I was relieved. There were too many people on our previous trek in Sapa, and it felt like a hostel room when we slept in rows of beds, not even with the family we were supposed to be "home-staying" with.

Day 2 of our trek was HARD. We were told it would be an intermediate trek, and all of the pictures we were shown had a clearly marked trail in the background, so I didn't hesitate planning on having my DSLR slung over my shoulder (outside of my backpack) for the trek. (Our daypacks are not exactly big enough for camera gear AND three days worth of trekking clothing). This was a huge mistake. Day 2 was advanced. Which would have been fine, had I been prepared (with camera secure in backpack and more appropriate shoes) and it would have been a LOT more fun if our primary guide stayed in view of everyone to show us where to go in the middle of the jungle- not on a trail- but scaling a dried up river bed full of leeches, slippery rocks, rotting trees, and lots of sticker bushes. It was still rewarding, and the second village proved to be an even more amazing experience than the first village, but White Elephant Adventures will not get as glowing of a recommendation as I would have liked to give it on TripAdvisor.

We left Long York around nine in the morning and our trek started out innocently enough, crossing small creeks and walking on trails through some overgrown fields. But then it got complicated. Lee was hungover or couldn't be bothered, but homeboy went FAST and there was always 100-200 meters spanning between him and Jimmy who brought up the rear. Today was the most difficult for me because I was almost always in the middle of the pack, so we weren't sure the best way to maneuver rocks, or we were too busy staring straight down at our feet to keep from falling, that at least I felt, I couldn't appreciate how awesome my surroundings were. Oh, and then there were the leeches. At one point I was in the middle of the dried up river bed, fighting off leeches, while Sabina and Anya waited at the top of the river bed, and Andrew, Sarah, and Jimmy (the other guide) couldn't even figure out how to reach where I was. I'm not going to lie, I was more than a little nervous to feel so detached from the group. At another point, I was trying to catch up with those ahead of me and got stuck and pierced in a sticker bush so badly I couldn't move and had to wait while Andrew removed thorns (one that went in and pointed out of my skin) from my arm. By the end of the day, my arm was so badly bruised, it would have been more believable had I pointed to Andrew if someone asked me what happened.

We arrived in the next village super early (big surprise at the speed we were going) only to discover one more leech on my ankle, and lots of very timid children, who acted as if they had NEVER seen a foreign face before in their life. It's up to each guide as to which village he will take a group. They might not have actually seen foreigners for awhile… And after asking Lee, I found out that he was not Tony & Raquel's guide two weeks before. (Which may explain a lot in our slightly different experiences and feelings afterwards.) More shy than the previous village, the children of Ka Lau Kong always followed, but kept a safe distance from whatever you were doing, or where ever you were walking towards. Unless you took their picture and held up your camera for them to see. Then they would rush and surround you looking at their faces on your screen. Without your camera ready, "playing" with the children made for a fun, yet unintentional game of tag. We never won. I'd like to believe the children were more amused than terrified, but it was sometimes hard to tell.

The village shaman was in the midst of performing some kind of ceremony within the house of a family who just welcomed a new baby into the world!

Interacting with the village children was clearly one of the highlights of the trek. And then, I had enough courage to whip out my new Polaroid/digital camera. I had ordered the camera over the summer, but it wasn't released until the week we left Korea, and only shipped within America. Momma sent it to Hans, and we were able to pick it up from the post office when we visited him in Vientiane. I was too nervous to break it out in the previous village, because there were only children around, and I simply couldn't print enough out to make sure each child got a picture. In other words, I didn't want a fight to break out. But in this village, we walked past an older couple, surrounded by children, and I quickly embraced the opportunity. The first picture I took was of the older gentleman surrounded by children, and then his wife asked for a picture of the two of them, and then she asked for a picture of me with all of the children.

Giving her those pictures was hands down, the most touching part of this entire trip so far. She couldn't take her eyes off of the pictures and just had this huge smile on her face the whole time. We quietly slipped away as she kept looking at them to see if we could find some others who would appreciate a printed photo or two, but most others weren't back from the fields yet, and then it was too dark to go explore.

After a dinner of sticky rice, the same vegetable soup, and roasted duck (that was killed, plucked, and boiled practically right in front of us) we were all beat. We were staying with the teacher in this village. We slept not with his family, but in a house (barn, really) next door. We're not quite sure who the older man was who lived there, and were again anxious to get the mosquito nets up because of the spiders that once again came out of the woodwork. Literally. We split up into two groups of three and slept on two bamboo platforms. It was surprisingly not terribly uncomfortable, that is, until the roosters piped up at 1:30 in the morning, then again at 3:30. It was deafeningly loud. When I climbed out from under the net around 7:00 it made perfect sense (um, not at all) that three of the roosters were walking around INSIDE the barn we were sleeping in. Needless to say, It was not the most restful night of the trip so far…

Day 51: “Please let there be no leeches!”

"If I die from the leeches, will you please sell my photos and make them famous? You can keep some of the money, you know, for more travel, but maybe you can also set up a foundation for women as well?" I sleepily asked Andrew as we walked to the trekking office in the morning. 

"The 'This Kentucky Girl Foundation'?" Andrew played along with my impending leech death.

"Hmm… How about 'The Elizabeth Groeschen for Women Everywhere Foundation'?" I responded.

"Or what about 'The Elizabeth Groeschen Foundation for Women Everywhere'?" He countered.

"Ok, I guess that'll work. And the first woman you're going to help is…" 

"Linda." He finished my sentence.

"Yes. Linda." I smiled. (Linda, if you remember, is the adorable little one we became friends with in Siem Reap.) and then I frowned, "Please let there be no leeches!" 

There weren't. At least on the first day of our three day trek into the countryside/jungleside/farming villages outside of Luang Prabang. There were three snake sightings (they all disappeared before I got a good look at one of them) and there were lots and LOTS of spiders. Today's trek was as we were told, an intermediate hike through a litle bit of jungle, but mostly through paths winding around feilds of sticky rice all the way to our first village and homestay: Long York.

In Laos, people are separated into different groups according to the elevation in which they inhabit. Lao people inhabit the lowest elevation, then Khmou, followed by Hmong who inhabit the highest elevations in Laos. The Khmou village we went to today was called Long York (like New York, our guide kept repeating- although the two places couldn't be any more different). 111 people in 38 families in habit this village. It was the smallest village I've ever stayed in, and they clearly are not familiar with western faces. As soon as the six of us arrived (me, Andrew, and four Germans) with our guides, children came out of the woodwork to follow us and watch us and attempt to interact with us. One of the German girls brought some children's books for them, and even though they couldn't read very well, they were completely wrapped up in the pictures, or maybe the 'newness' of the books. They munched on hopps from the fields and wordlessly taught me how to peel back both shells of the hopps before popping it into my mouth. I'm not sure what all the fuss was about, as I saw many vendors in the market in Luang Prabang eating the same snack. It seemed like a lot of work- biting and peeling back two shells before eating the inner most hopp? seed? inside. But the kids got a kick out of sharing with me, so I entertained them. A lot of our first hour in the village revolved around the kids talking and staring about us, and us doing much of the same.

Exploring the village didn't take long. It was basically two dirt roads lined with wooden, mostly elevated houses. There was no electricity, save one house which seemed to blast Lao music. What looked like an electrical line ran to the house, but we weren't sure why the electrical line didn't run to the village chief's house instead. (Unfortunately, we forgot to ask about this detail.) Some men were in the village tending to the children the day we arrived, which surprised me. Usually, from my own observations, this is always the woman's task in these small villages. After watching both men and woman return from the the fields at dusk, I asked our guide about the responsibilities of the mother/father/husband/wife. He replied that it's up to each family. But if they don't go to the field, then they can't eat later. So generally, both husband and wife work equally hard, sharing almost all responsibilities.

Showers were a community affair. Literally. As there was no running water in each house, one watering hole provided water for the entire village. Everyone filled up their drinking water jugs here, and yes, showered, here. Despite being wrapped up in my scarf (that doubles as a towel, blanket, etc.) and Andrew in his swimming trunks, the entire community seemed to turn out to watch as we tried to clean ourselves up. I would have been more embarrased about the attention, but I was too amused by their amusement. I was also grateful for the baby wipes I had stashed in my backpack, and knowing a private shower was only two days away.

I made friends with this older woman in the village, she was incredibly amused seeing herself on my camera's LCD screen. After I took her picture, and showed it to her, she motioned to the puppy and wanted a picture taken with it as well. Old village women usually like me, for what reason, I have yet to find out, but it's always sweet and makes me feel a little special when they are open and nice to me.

Later, I attempted to pull out my tri-pod to take a picture of us in front of the chief's village. Not only were the children fascinated by my tri-pod, so were the women coming in from the fields. Sabina is taking a picture of me because right at this moment, nearly 25-30 children are surrounding me as I try to set up the tri-pod on an even ground, and adjust some settings for a self-timed picture. It didn't work, but it was an entertaining attempt.

Here, we're all laughing (and moving) at the woman who is standing directly in between the camera on the tri-pod and the group of us waiting to take a picture. She was so entertained by all of us facing her laughing and smiling, none of us knowing how to say "Get out of the way!"

We had dinner prepared by our guides, sticky rice, a kind of vegetable soup (vegetables being some leaves of some sort and mushrooms- it was very good) and one piece of boiled chicken each. It was modest, but filling, and very welcome after our six hour trek to get there. After dinner, Lee asked us if we would like to try the Khmou whiskey. We nodded, yet none of us planned on drinking too much before another day of trekking ahead of us. Lee, had other plans. He returned with a large vat full of fermented rice. as in solid rice. That could get you tipsy with one whiff. Then they poured water into the vat, stuck two long straws into the mixture and after pouring one full glass of water onto the top of the mixture, two people were supposed to drink until all of the water on top was gone. Despite the smell, it didn't taste strong at all, almost like a cider. It was pretty good, but again, I'm all too familiar with the effects of fermented rice beverages, and after a few sips, we all turned Lee down in his efforts to get us to drink more. Instead, we watched as he drank most of the vat, attempted to get Jimmy (our other guide) to join him, and finally succeeded getting the chief's wife to have some, before even she declined any more. 

We slept in a little hut next to the chief's house on a bamboo platform under mosquito nets that effectively kept the spiders-the-size-of-your-fists out. These spiders were everywhere once the sun went down. Armed with headlamps (Thanks, Momma) and one handheld flashlight, Andrew, Sarah, and I attempted to go to the outhouse before turning in for the night. You know you have a good travel partner when he holds the outhouse door open so he can shine his light on the larger than life spider on the wall while you squat down to do your business using the light on your head. "You pee like a girl." Andrew teased, and then stepped aside as I held the door open, light on the spider, for Sarah as she took her turn. We all woke up in the middle of the night to rain, some of it coming in on us. Sarah and Toby moved to the chief's house while Andrew shoved me closer to Sabina for the rest of the night. And then, there were the roosters, cock-a-doodle-doo-ing it before dawn and the blast of music from several houses down in the village.

Day 9: “Just call me Little Miss Poopy Sore Calves.”

I woke up, and as I limped around the home-stay house, I confirmed that breaking in a pair of barefoot running shoes (that I thought would also make great wet trekking shoes) was the worst idea ever. I scraped the last of my Tiger Balm out of the jar and gently massaged it into my calves while we waited for breakfast. Our itinerary said we’d enjoy breakfast with our host family “after sunrise” and I thanked the Sapa stars their definition of sunrise ended at 9:30 AM. We were served, but didn’t eat with our host family (the family we still weren’t exactly certain who they were) and then we took off through terraces, bamboo forests, Giang Ta Chai village, a waterfall, and a suspension bridge.

This day of trekking was my favorite. I still wasn’t feeling so hot, but the trekking through terraces and jumping over streams, and sitting with my feet in the water (Genius idea, Tony and Raquel!) felt the most like what I had enjoyed four years ago.

It was a little muddy, a little exhausting, and reminded me of being ten and going out exploring in the woods behind my childhood home.

After lunch, we were picked up by a bus pumping some electronic dance beats and headed back to Sapa’s city center for showers, and last minute minority tribe wears. This got me in trouble. I saw a bag our first day in Cat Cat, but was feeling too badly to bargain it down to a reasonable price. I didn’t even stop to ask how much it was, just looked long enough to know it was just different enough from all of the other bags that I liked it a lot. Because I didn’t get it our first day, I was on a mission to find one similar on our last day.

This didn’t happen. My next (not so) brilliant idea was to get another style (with the embroidery and colors I wanted) and take it to a tailor in Hoi An and have them turn it into the style of bag I wanted. Perfect? Right? Until I worried that maybe I didn’t have enough material for the style of bag I liked, and continued with (not so) brilliant ideas to buy a pillowcase (with the embroidery and colors I wanted) and even a belt (with the embroidery and colors I wanted) to ensure that I would have enough fabric for a bag. I spent $12.00 on this mess and later found a different bag entirely (of better quality for $15.00) I simply HAD to have in Hanoi. GAH!

Lesson #5 learned from traveling around the world: Seriously. Don’t buy it unless it’s exactly what you want. Seriously. You’ll find another bag you love soon, I promise.

After I spent too much on things I wasn’t going to want in the end, we got some Tiger Balm, showers, dinner, and hopped on the shuttle bus to catch our overnight bus back to Hanoi. Our bus driver hit a motorcyclist. We waited on the bus uneasily as we watched the poor driver try to call for help while not moving in the middle of the road, our driver busy picking up pieces of the bus that broke off upon contact. Fifteen minutes or so later, the motorcyclist got up (or more accurately, he was pulled to his feet by our bus driver) everyone cleared out of the intersection, we waited a bit longer, and then we were on the road again. On average, something like 30 people die daily in traffic related accidents in Vietnam. Not halfway through our trip here, it’s easy to see why.

As if that wasn’t enough fun for one bus ride, I started feeling poorly again. Mostly, I think due to the anxiety of being on a bus with a crazy driver and 11 more hours to go. I was relieved when we pulled into a rest stop, hoping a trip to the bathroom would help. It didn’t. The “bathroom” consisted of a concrete wall separating the men from the women. A trough sat a little deeper closer to the wall, behind a row of bricks that were lined up for women to stand on as they (we) squat down to take care of business. side by side.

Modesty is simply something you have to forget about in situations such as these. At least I wasn’t wearing a romper (without a bra) so I wasn’t completely vulnerable. (When attempting to poop in public, it’s better not to be naked.) I gritted my teeth, nodded to the Vietnamese woman next to me, and marched up to the bricks and squatted. Like a boss. Only not really, because of the two numbers that I needed to take care of to make my stomach feel better, I simply couldn’t attend to both with an audience. I climbed back on the bus and immediately into a fetal position for the remaining six or so hours before again, sprinting to a bathroom while Andrew checked us into a room in Hanoi.

Day 8: “What do they expect when they give me two sticks to eat with?”

I assured Andrew I would be ok and I didn’t need to spend another afternoon in bed, “I mean, the worst that can happen is I have to poop in a rice paddy. or my pants. I guess pooping my pants would be worse.” Andrew seemed to think I would make it to a rice paddy. And off we went. First, to ask our adorable guide, May, if I could stop at a pharmacy at the beginning of our 15K trek. And then, down the mountain.

With about thirty other tourists, and what felt like an equivalent of Black Hmong women, we began our trek down into the valleys, walking between rice paddies, and through the villages. The scenery was beautiful, my stomach was (for the most part) staying in check, and the women gamely answered my questions about life in a Black Hmong Tribe, even when I asked bluntly “So, do you like being married?” They gaped at me, as if I were the first one to ever ask. Maybe I was, but from what they answered “liking” or “disliking” being married isn’t really an option. They just are. married.

Andrew accuses me of having a certain, shall we say opinionated tone when I discuss women’s roles in different cultures. He’s right. I do. But, I’m working on it. I’m going for that “Oh, what’s that like? Women not being equal in your culture?” curious tone instead of my “Oh no you didn’t just tell me women are lower than men!” sassy tone that usually comes across. It’s hard for me not to get a little feministy when I’m speaking to a Muslim tour guide in South East Asia’s largest mosque and he tells me “Women don’t ask such questions!” or in this case, when I’m chatting with a 17 year old girl who is married, 5 months pregnant with her first child, and leading a 15 K trek.

In my head I thought back to when I was 17 and what I was doing. Graduating high-school and moving away to go to college. How fortunate I was, right? But then I gently remind myself that her life is different than mine, her culture is different than mine, and I should not judge. And when I do judge anyway, I try to re-channel the judging into gratefulness. It makes me really glad I’m an American girl (although we do have a long way to go) and really glad I’m no longer an employee of a South Korean company (school).

So, I chatted with May, our tour guide, about life. She said she enjoyed answering questions much more than leading a tour with people who didn’t talk. It gives her a chance to practice her English, learn new words, and likewise learn about different cultures. She was (is) awesome, and it was super interesting to chat with her. I learned that girls typically marry between ages 15-20. While their parents sometimes arrange their marriages, they are also allowed (in some instances) to say “no” and she readily acknowledged that women do much more work than men. Men’s duties revolve around the farming and only the farming. Women’s duties sometimes include farming, childcare, cooking, cleaning, and even selling goods to tourists or leading tours around Sapa. May also divulged that she doesn’t like “happy water” as it hurts her head the next day. “Happy Water” is what everyone in or around Sapa called rice wine. Think of it as bootlegged soju, if you will. Made in the homes, a Kiwi living in Sapa told us there’s no way to know the exact proof of the liquor.

Throughout our chat, as we descended the mountain, Black Hmong women walked with and around us, helping us cross streams, making straw animals for us, and generally asking us the same three questions over and over and over again.

1. What’s your name? or Where you from?

2. How old are you?

3. Married?

Obviously I fell into the old maid category. Almost 30 and unmarried. (Oh the shame!) “But you are from a different culture!” The sweet 17 year old pregnant one responded. I was struck by her open-mindedness after five years of being asked “When are you getting married?” in Korea.

As we sat down to eat lunch, we were surrounded. The same sweet Black Hmong women turned into aggressive vendors pulling miscellaneous handmade wares out of their bags. It was frustrating, yet heartbreaking at the same time, especially when their children would come out of the woodwork trying to sell what their mothers undoubtedly shoved in their hands, pushing them towards us. It also became quite the bonding experience for everyone on the tour. We traded stories with the South African/Portugese couple, the French couple, and the Brit who was chopstick challenged.

After lunch, we walked first to a school in the village, and then just a few kilometers more to the village where our home-stay was located.

With a few hours of free time, we entertained ourselves by chasing down missing shoes the home-stay dog would steal, and giving some curious children some of our trail mix. They weren’t exactly expecting the “soy wasabi” flavored almonds, but then greedily stole and practically licked the inside of the bag. Later, these same ruffians surrounded us on a rice paddy wall and flung dirt on us until we fled for the safety of our cameras and clothing that we had to wear the next day.

Now, sorry to compare, yet again, but four years ago the home-stay was with a family of three generations. The grandmother sorted seeds, while the mother made dinner, while the two Aussies and myself played with the children. Today’s home-stay experience felt more like a hostel conveniently located in the loft of a barn. We weren’t entirely sure who lived in the home, who was visiting, who was leading tours, but the food was good, even if Michael (the Brit) had an entertainingly difficult time eating with chopsticks. And we all fell into fits of laughter when he made the comment about eating “with sticks” as we took note of the rice scattered around his bowl on the table. The “happy water” a bit too strong for the majority of us, we took turns slinking off to the loft to sleep on dirty (mine was quite smelly) mattresses.

Lesson #3 learned from traveling around the world: Maybe it’s not such a good idea to buy and wear barefoot shoes for the first time when going on a 15K trek. Oh for the love of calf muscles! 

Lesson #4 learned from traveling around the world: Don’t pick the mattress closest to the stairs after a 15K trek. The one in the back, the furthest one away is bound to be less used, therefore, less smelly.

Day 7: Sick in Sapa

Four years ago, I decided on a whim in Hanoi to tag along with two sweet Aussie boys to trek through Sapa for two days, and one night. It was the muddiest, messiest, most fabulous part of my two month solo stint through S.E. Asia. I’ve been ecstatic about going back, and sharing what I expected to be another wonderful experience with Andrew. That is, until we got off the bus and I had to sprint (er, walk quickly enough to make sure I was first, yet slow enough not to alarm the front desk at the hotel) to the bathroom. Of course I got sick in Sapa. I was sick, but stubborn enough to attempt the 6K trek to Cat Cat Village.

I survived half of the 6K trek. The down-the-mountain part of the trek, even though I was rather weak in the knees, suffering from the cold sweats, and requesting Andrew either hold my hand to help keep my balance or walk in front of me in case I fainted. Which, at the time, seemed likely. In short, I was a mess. Once we started ascending the mountain, my body shut down, and I caved. I wimped out. I gave up. I climbed on the back of a motorbike up the hill and promptly crawled into my hotel bed where I lay for the next 4 hours.

When I woke up, in need of some fresh mountain air, Andrew and I walked through town, the market, and the town square before trying to convince my body that a bowl of chicken pho was the same as a bowl of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. It didn’t work. But the ice-cream cone Andrew tracked down tasted good, even if it didn’t cure my stomach bug.

Lesson #2 learned from traveling around the world: Don’t assume the meds you need are in your daypack without checking. Otherwise you’ll end up with an abundance of Claritin when what you really need is the Imodium you left in your bigger backpack. In a different city.