Well, la di da, la di da, I am back in the US. Yes, firmly, 100% entrenched in the land of my birth. Which has given me two issues, one Major and one Minor. The major issue being what I am going to do with myself now that I am here, and the minor one being what I am going to do with my traveler's blog now that I am no longer traveling around the world in more the 80 days.
The reason I call the latter issue minor is because it is easily solvable. I am going to transform my blog into a movie review site, which should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me. And as for the major issue, well, let's just say my quest is in progress.

Before I abandon the original use of my blog, I would like to take a moment and reflect on the last year. Over the past eleven months I have been a mzungu, gringa, palangi, and well, several Thai and Khmer terms for white person which I was never able to translate phonetically. In Khmer it sounds something like fulang. Whether a matter of race, ethnicity, nationality, or language, I was the minority, the outsider looking in on a world at once entirely different but often resoundingly familiar in fundamentals from what I have grown up knowing. And I never once took for granted the gracious treatment I most often received from those whose cultures and lives I stepped into, as it is not a human duty to embrace the unknown, but a generosity of spirit that I always welcomed and appreciated as I was doing my best to open myself to new ideas and places. So for those whom I met on my travels who will read this and for those who will not, I thank you all for helping me to shed some naivete and ease any doubts I entertained on the goodness of people in general.

Going to new places changes you. Why? I don't know exactly. After all, many of the things I saw I had or could have found in a book, and many of the things I did I could have discovered through someone else's account. But what I realized is that what we take in solely through our eyes can provide only the vaguest notion of the actuality of place. The sound of the drum's gong calling the monks to rise, the taste of homemade chapati, the feel of the sweat freezing as it trickles down your back as you struggle to finish the ascent of Mt. Kilimanjaro in the middle of the night, or the burn of the scorching sun at midday on white sandy beach on an idyllic island in the South Pacific, it is the sum of the sensations that take a flat vision into a three dimensional experience. However beautiful a picture or elegant a word, nothing can install the reality like the real. And the assault of the particular sights, sounds, smells, and tactile sensations of a foreign locale transform a black and white outline of a place into a colored, shaded in, and completed, picture. The experience generates a depth of knowledge and awareness previously untapped. The difference is being there.

So now I know that Mt. Kilimanjaro was as hard as I could have imagined, that living the late night schedule of Argentina is difficult, that however perfect an island looks on a computer screen saver it is an illusion that doesn't take into account sweat and sunburns and possible sharks, and that in Vietnam they call the Vietnam War the American War, that you really don't feel like you are falling when sky-diving, that the flies are too affectionate in the Outback, and that Snowy Mountains are even better in person than on the screen in The Man from Snowy River. That everything is better in person. But what should I do with all that I learned? I am open to any suggestions. I do know that such largesse of experience places a burden of responsibility on my shoulders to find a way to give back some of what I was given on my trip, and I accept it happily. As I said above, a work in progress folks, a work in progress.

Thanks for reading, and safe journey, wherever it may lead you!

How to be an Intrepid Traveler

I just finished an 18 day tour through Cambodia and Laos with Intrepid Travel, guided by the awesome Sakai, an Australian who has made a home for himself in Cambodia and was an invaluable asset to the trip.
The trip ranged between the hilarious, the beautiful, the poignant, and the horrifying.
I will try to keep this fairly short, since at the time of writing I have also gone through Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, and Indonesia, and don't think I have enough room to cover all of them in this go. Out of all the countries, Cambodia affected me the most, perhaps because I was given the opportunity to interact more with locals than anywhere I traveled in Southeast Asia.
Our trip began in Siem Reap, home of the historical and awe inspiring Angkor Wat. It is a huge complex of 9 kilometers squared, and within it are dozens of smaller temples (Wat means temple). It took two days to go through a select few and two stand outs are Ta Proehm, a fantastic structure half recovered by nature with trees growing through the roof and crumbling walls. The temple looks like something out of an Indiana Jones movie but actually acted as a location for the original Lara Croft:Tomb Raider. Angkor Wat itself is magnificent and worth the journey to Siem Reap by itself. For art lovers the bas reliefs lining the outer walls and iconic examples of Buddhist art and for history lovers the bullet holes within the art from the battles between the Vietnamese and Khmer Rouge from the late 70's adds another interesting dimension. Something for everyone. On our second day, the group was treated to a special home made curry by the Cambodian monks of Siem Reap and we ate in a temple with our feet carefully pointing away from Buddha, surrounded by signature monks with shaved head, orange robes, and abstaining ways while we indulged in curry.
My experience in Siem Reap was further enhanced by having the opportunity one evening to teach an English class to a mixture of monks and laymen at the Life and Hope Foundation. The subject was sports and as a class we discussed which sports everyone liked to play and it was great fun to make the monks laugh by imitating what baseball was, or aerobics, or roller blading, since these were a few of the sports no one knew of. Everyone knew what soccer was though!
On a more serious note, most people know, if from nothing else than Angelina Jolie's recent humanitarian efforts in the country, that Cambodia has been through a hellish time in the past fifty years. I won't go into every minute detail I witnessed that laid bare all the destruction and cruelty that can arise from power in the hands of a sadistic dominant few who can mastermind such brutality from ignorant masses. After going through the Landmine Museum in Siem Reap and spending a morning in Phnom Penh at S-21 or the Tuol Sleng (Poisoned Hill) Museum and the Killing Fields, I was exhausted, shocked, and broken hearted. Some of my memories from that day will haunt me for the rest of my life, and I am glad of it, as the pain of so many who died by torture, execution, and starvation and those who survived but lost all their family should never be forgotten. And I still get a little passionate about Cambodia if you can tell. Two months later. I think the remaining Khmer Rouge leaders still living, sadly Pol Pot passed away, should be rushed to prosecution but the corruption and dear in the current government is still too high for justice to occur.
Yet the Cambodian people are beautiful, optimistic, and kind. After Phnom Penh we traveled up to Kampung Cheung where we stopped at a little known gem of a temple that has recently been painted from head to toe in a Buddhist mural that could rival Michelangelo efforts in the Sistine Chapel. I sat on the floor for twenty minutes, my mouth agape and my mind agog, until a little wrinkled and toothless Cambodian woman crept over to ask me my name and my age. She spoke no English however, and I no Cambodian so we talked through smiles and sign language. She was genuinely excited to have met me, I could tell from her ever present grin and brightness in her gaze and I was thrilled as well. It was a short and simple exchange but filled with nothing but happy curiosity and goodwill. A special travel moment I will well cherish and remember.
At this point, I could add so much more of my trip, eating a spider's leg in Skoon, trekking barefoot through mud up to my ankles to reach the lovely waterfalls of Luang Prabang, and getting leeched for my efforts, buying years worth of presents at the scrumptious night market of Luang Prabang, and riding an elephant bare-necked, which I like saying because it sounds a bit pervy. But I will stop for here, because I have said all I needed to, and will write more another day.

Skipping Ahead

I am skipping ahead of the rest of Argentina and Brazil in order to share a very special experience I recently had in Tonga. During our mid-project break, a fellow volunteer and I flew up to the northern island group of Tonga called Vava'u. The flight is only 55 minutes long and an ideal option compared to the 24 hour ferry ride as well as affording stunning views of the South Pacific's canvas of graduating blues of the water and green islands piped with white sand. I took some wonderful photos from the plane. Arriving in Vava'u we set about arranging our priority activity for our time there-- whale-watching. For twenty paang'a more you can upgrade your experience with the whales to whale-swimming. Although faint of heart around any locale which could contain a shark within fifty miles, I was not going to let my old phobia stand in the way of swimming with whales.
Between June and September, humpback whales migrate to the warmer climate surrounding Tonga to have their babies, choosing Vava'u as the main hangout. If you ever get to see how beautiful Vava'u is, you won't doubt their decision. We set out in a boat on an unpromising morning of rain but stayed steadfastly hopeful the weather would clear. It did within a half hour, and the clouds scattered in every direction to leave the sky clear and gently sunny. The boat located the first whale within the hour and then three more within the next twenty minutes. I could not believe how easy it was to find them-like shooting fish in a barrel! The captain chose two calm males for us to concetrate on, and they came a few times within twenty feet of the boat, breaching the water, blowing spray, and flipping their elegant white backed tails to us as they dove deep into the sea. They were huge and lovely.
After about ten minutes of watching them investigate our boat, the captain ordered the first group into the water with their snorkeling gear so they could get a better look. In the water for about ten minutes at a go, our group was divided into two. I was part of the second group. My first outing into the open water was wonderful and we spotted the two males about a hundred feet away. The water was so clear even without my glasses I could make out what each whale look like. The second time I went in though was an experience to remember. In the water for about four minutes, swimming with my head under the water and looking below me at the bottomless sea, suddenly two creatures loomed into vision, resting about fifty feet right below us. Upon seeing us, they eyed us benevolently, their bodies transformed into magical shades of blue and violet in the light diffused water, almost dreamlike. Waiting only a minute, they then turned up directly tpwards us, turning over and over, white belly to black back, as if they were putting on a show to give us the most bang for our buck. They came within ten feet, swimming gracefully and languidly for our benefit it seemed, and then, were off, as if suddenly overtaken with shyness.
Spotting the whales from a boat is great, don't get me wrong, but it falls far short of the luxury of being in their own environment and seeing them whole. Just beautiful, and I am so happy I put aside my open water fears and went under. I would always have regretted it if I had said no to going in.
But, on my way in to the boat after the second trip in, I looked down and saw a huge school of fish swimming under me, and what was the first thought in my mind? Where prey goes, predators follow, and up I scrambled into waiting boat and there I stayed for the rest of the day. But I had gained an indescribable and unexpected experience, so I happily sat aboard, dry, warm, and out of harm's way.

Fact or Fiction

The last war that Argentina was involved in was a rather monstrous mistake, more famously known as The Falklands War. If, like me, you knew the name but not the exact location, don't be ashamed. Just go to your closest map and you will find them, tiny as they are, off to the southeast of Argentina. Most Brits don't even know where they are located, although every single Argentine does. Although they are not the Falklands in Argentina, but Las Malvinas, and given the complete lack of similarities in how each country represents its respective description of the islands, it is more than appropriate that it have two distinct names.
In the early 1980's, the military rule of Argentina decided, in order to bolster national pride, to invade Las Malvinas, a property of much contention for almost a hundred years. Why, you might ask? Well, as the story goes, Argentina about two hundred years ago was the first to claim Las Malvinas as their land. Supposedly, after laying claim to the little island group they proceeded to forget all about them until England came along and established colonies there during its great imperial rule. As far as I know, Argentina raised not much a fuss when this happened, and The Falklands, as England named them, were under British reign for about one hundred and fifty years. Bear with me, some of my times and dates could be off, but you get the point.
Anyway, the islands continued along swimmingly under British rule, speaking English, driving on the left side of the road, using the incredibly strong pound as their currency, so on and so forth. The only hitch, if you can consider it that, is that geographically it would make more sense for the islands to be part of Latin American, specifically Argentinean rule. And in comes the military government of 1982 to repossess Las Malvinas which has been considered always rightfully theirs anyway.
It was a spectacularly bold move for unstable Argentina of 1982 to go against the Goliath of England. Spectacularly bold and, I hate to be so biased but logic holds more weight than sentiment sometimes, outlandishly stupid. The invasion by Argentina lasted only a couple of months, and the islanders were less than impressed by the cultural changes Argentina sought to affect, like changing the language to Spanish and which side of the road they drove on. Two months later, Margaret Thatcher forever boosted her reputation by pouring British strength into the defense and soon the Argentinean troups had no recourse but to surrender.
As evidence of the weakness of the relations between government and people in Argentina, until the very day of Argentinean surrender, the newspapers and government had been telling their people that Argentina was winning the war, when actual facts were everything to the contrary.

In spite of their loss, and this is the best part, my favourite anecdote to pass around about the effects of the Falklands War on the Argentinean psyche is that all world maps printed for Argentinean schools show the Falklands as territory of Argentina, even though every single map printed every single other place in the world lists them as territory of the United Kingdom. And though every couple of years the islands are able to choose whether to stay under British power or go under Argentinean power, (and really, why would you want to abandon the safety of the British economy) they resolutely continue to choose England as the parent they want to live with, and Argentina continues to believe that the Falklands are rightfully theirs.

It reminds me of another example of the at times illogical hubris I have witnessed with Argentineans. Upon losing a friendly soccer game between English volunteers and Argentinean high schoolers, an Argentinean boy came up to one of the volunteers and said, "We lost, but we are still the best players."

You've got to admire that type of undaunted confidence, even if you make fun of it a little.

My itinerary
I think I will just post online my itinerary for the next five and a half months so that everyone who reads the blog will be able to know where I am whenever they want. Here is the list of places and dates.

July 15th through August 17th
Tonga
According to Wikipedia, Tonga is an island nation that lies about a third of the way between New Zealand and Hawaii, south of Samoa and east of Fiji. Tonga is a constitutional monarchy, and recently I learned that the King decided to rid the alphabet of the letter 'b' because he did not like it. If you did not know already, 'taboo' is the only Tongan word used in the English language, however due to the recent alphabet shifting, I do not know whether it still qualifies since it would now be spelled 'tapoo'. I will be living in the capital of Nuku'alofa on the main island of Tongatapu, doing teaching work with primary school children, hopefully organizing more projects with stories and art. I am bringing with me Curious George and Where the Wild Things Are, so I hope my kids enjoy them.

August 22nd through October 14th
Southeast Asia
I wish I could be as noteworthy in my discussion of my tour through Southeast Asia, but sadly, I only know the basics. I am taking a tour with a company called Intrepid Travel for about 45 days. I begin my journey in Bangkok, with about 10 other people. I travel through Cambodia and Laos, and then fly back to Bangkok, where I then take a trip down the east coast of Thailand, into Malaysia and Singapore, across to Jakarta along Indonesia where I finish in Bali. It should be completely different from anything I have seen before, and I am so excited to go and do it.

October 15th through the end of November
Australia
I believe I am going to be joining a conservation organization that organizes groups of volunteers over a six week period to travel around to the six different states of the country to do conservation work with the environment. It is not confirmed yet, but I plan on confirming soon!

End of November through December 20th
New Zealand
For my final leg of the trip I will be in New Zealand, zooming through the north and south island on my own, taking in the sights and pretending I am Eowyn from The Lord of the Rings. I know New Zealand will be a place I will visit again, so I think I am going to do a taster menu of the country, small portions of lots of places. That is my plan for now, anyhow.

Well, that is my plan as of now. I will keep updating as I go.

Odwa

Sometimes it is better to write about experiences a few months after they happen, because then your brain has been able to sift through all of the input and that which remains is what truly affected you.
I spent only five weeks in South Africa, in a gorgeous seaside town called Knysna on the Garden Route, teaching English and Arts and Crafts in a school called Thembelisha. The 'h' is silent. My kids ranged in age from seven to ten years, and I assisted seven sections each week. As it so often happens, I became particularly attached to one class, Section 4A, and though Fridays were Arts and Crafts days for three sections, it was for 4A that I worked as hard as I did preparing each lesson and activity. I enjoyed the arts classes with all my kids, that is true, but 4A just had a special place in my heart, primarily because of one boy in the class, a boy named Odwa.
Odwa was a quiet and exceptionally well behaved child in a class full of strong, amusing, and sometimes rowdy personalities. He stuck out not only because of his self effacing and disciplined manner but also because of a genuine sweetness that emanated from his steady brown eyes. To me, I could tell from my very first interaction with him that he was different, that he had just a little bit more goodness than the average child.
I have two stories about Odwa that make his memory to me such a strong one. The first takes place on my first Friday at Thembelisha School. The teacher for 4A was out sick that day, and the school did not have any available substitute teachers, so I was told I would have to manage the class alone. Volunteers are not supposed to ever be left alone in a classroom as we are not certified teachers, but at Thembelisha it was more the norm than the exception for volunteers to have entire classes under them. That Friday 4A was to have English, and most of the kids there had some English, not enough to converse, but enough that they could understand very simple directions. Their primary language was Xhosa, and many times during my volunteer stint, I had moments of frustration when I wished I had the smallest grasp of it, but alas, as many of the words consist entirely of clicking tongue sounds, I was always to have only English to communicate.
Having forty five minutes with which to pass the class and looking for an activity to entertain them and teach them, I decided on a ten minute class discussion on favorite foods and then requested that each student write three to five sentences on what their favourite food was and why they chose it. In the discussion before the writing time, when I was asking kids to raise their hand and tell me their favourite food, their answers never deviated from the mundane. On the chalk board I had written a list composed of 'chicken', 'milk', 'rice', 'eggs', 'spinach' and 'bread'. I was shocked and asked if any of the kids liked 'ice cream' or 'chocolate cake', and while many said yes, they still preferred their original choices. That was a moment of culture shock and realization for me.
I told the children to write their "essays" and to bring them up to me for a gold star sticker when they had completed the assignment. At the mention of a sticker they immediately got to work.
There were 42 children in 4A. One by one they came up to my desk, handing me college ruled paper on which was written never more than three sentences in English, very short and to the point. An example of 41 of the students essays would be "I like chicken. It is my favourite food. My mom makes good chicken" or perhaps "Milk is good. It tastes good. Milk is my favourite food." The point is, the essays got the job done, followed instructions, and revealed to me how little English learning the children actually had. But one boy, one out of forty two, came up to me with his paper, and asked me before he handed it over whether it was okay that he had written five sentences instead of three. I said yes in a exclamatory tone full of surprise and pleasure that at least one had gone above and beyond, and when I read his essay I was still not prepared for how above and beyond he had gone. On his paper, the boy had written a five sentence essay as if he was a chicken standing on the street corner, sad because everyone seemed to prefer steak to chicken. He was sad and wished more people liked chicken. But then steak came walking down the street and saw the chicken and went over to say hi. The chicken said he was sad because people like steak more. The steak said no they didn't, they like them both just as much! That was Odwa writing. I fell in love instantly.
The next week, during a game of hangman with 4A, I was moderating and whoever won the game was the next person to think up a word and be up at the chalkboard. One by one each child won a game and would come up to me and tell me the word they had chosen, simple words like 'food', 'move', 'life', or 'tree', and I would confirm that they knew how to spell it and play would begin. Towards the end of the class, Odwa won a game and came up to the chalkboard to begin the next round. I asked him what word he would like to use. He leaned in close to my ear and whispered, "Cinderella". I smiled in spite of myself, trying not to laugh. I said to him, "Do you know who Cinderella is?" a little curious as to how that fairy tale had reached so far a place since I knew the rest of 4A would probably not know who Cinderella was. He told me "she is a princess who married a prince". Close enough. I asked him how to spell it, and he said"S-I-N-D-R-L-A". I told him I would help him and we went to the board. Sure enough, none of the kids were able to guess it, even when the name was said out loud. But Odwa did not seem upset or embarrassed. He just went his quiet, sweet natured way back to his seat.
I never saw him misbehave in class, never talk too much or not begin his work as soon as he was instructed to do so. He was not the brightest child, or at least, his marks did not reflect him to be, but he touched me with his purity and simplicity.
The sad part is I don't know and won't ever know what will become of him, what type of person he will grow to be. I can only hope he will be happy. This is my story of Odwa.

I have failed blogging. If this was a class in school, my grade would be a solid D- because at least I did write a few blogs. Here I am today, my last day in South America, about three months past where my last blog entry left off. What have I missed on explaining? Oh, not much, just South Africa, Argentina, and a month of traveling through Brazil.

It feels strange to be leaving and returning to a world where I don´t have to worry about asking for help on the street or in a store and first having to formulate my question in another language. I am a bit sad about that actually. It is a challenge to make yourself understood in a foreign language, but the the bonus is that when you succeed, you not only get the help you were looking for but also a little bit of self congratulations as well.

If I have taken anything away with me from Brazil, it is the complete belief that Brazilians love football and raise their football stars to the level of deities. And that Ronaldhino is not pronounced, Ronaldino as one might think, but instead, Honyalgino, due to Portuguese´s devil may care attitude toward the science of phonetics.

Traveling alone for the past month has been a wonderful experience. Leaving Buenos Aires on the 30th of May I was very worried about being on my own, going from place to place to place, keeping safe and happy, but I have found that all of my worries were needless. Travelers are, by their nature, curious and open and friendly people, and some of my best experiences of the past six months would be taken from nights spent in the company of strangers who are friends for a little while, there to share ideas and interests and advice. Only when traveling can you strike up a conversation with someone for two hours and get to the end of it feeling as if you are with a good friend while never learning their name. There is so much I have learned from people I have met along the way, the knowledge gained from people is more direct than that culled from places visited, but both are so valuable.

I can only say that from now on I will try not to be so ambitious in my update and will keep things simple and sweet so that readers will have a more gratifying time reading my blog!

Until then, luck and love,
Nornabelle