A gift from a fellow traveler

It was another vacation weekend. Sitting on the beach with two of my favorite people, my telephone far away, unchecked, the madness of the modern moment unimportant before the relentless majesty of an ocean.

Then back to this side of reality, the profanities of each day’s presidential manipulations and depredations. Trump standing in front of a Boeing 787 Dreamliner, “This plane, as you know, was built right here in the great state of South Carolina. Our goal as a nation must be to rely on less imports and more products made here in the USA.”

Because it doesn’t matter to him that the fuselage comes from Italy. The wings from Japan. Passenger doors from France. That Boeing would suffer bigly under his backward agenda of tariffs and isolationism. He doesn’t understand or care that modern reality is not one of warring city-states but of progress through cooperation. The sad shriveled soul of an insecure narcissist cannot fathom cooperation or trust. They are not in his nature, and I pity the human in him.

But in the meantime he’s trashing the rest of us. And my mind wants to go back and hide on that beach...watching the waves...eating that sandwich...hearing the laughter and words of loved ones…

But what’s going on matters. And it’s bleak, in reality and in the headlines. So it was all the more precious to get an email from a former tour member:

Paris is picnics on the Seine.
Whether you're wearing a hijab or not.

“I thought of you today when I read about Trump’s bashing of Paris. I want you to know that the Paris you showed (my husband), me, and the rest of our wonderful group was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life...the amazing sites, the rich history, the art, the kindness of the people and well, of course, the food and wine. While Trump’s distortion of reality makes me feel quite hopeless at times, I know first-hand that his ‘alternate reality’ is dead wrong--thanks to you.”

And suddenly the sun feels warmer, my heart feels lighter, and I feel connected with the real human spirit, which is welcoming, encompassing, and kind. Which seeks to understand and support, not belittle and blame. Which is exactly the understanding we seek to foster on Rick Steves tours. It's immensely gratifying to know I succeeded at least once.

85% of those Dreamliners are sold overseas, and each one can carry about 300 people like my tour members towards greater understanding of each other, community with each other, peace with ourselves.

It’s still important to take short breaks from the dire headlines. But even more important to remember that they are not the full story.

New ancient beauty in Phong Nha, Vietnam

“Sure, Myanmar’s great now, but you should have seen it five years ago!” Budapest ten years ago. Prague twenty years ago. Kathmandu in the 60’s, man, that’s where it was at!

8 Lady Cave. They say it used to be better

You hear this sort of thing a lot in the travel world. Mostly fond affection and glowing nostalgia, but a handful of pessimism thrown in as rank spice (my least favorite of the Spice Girls). The idea persists that everything is gradually getting worse, paved over, trampled and bleached by an overexposure of crowds, marketing, and facebook blahblah.

I get it. I really do. But I don’t believe it. If the primary goal of travel is to widen your perspective and encounter variations of life beyond your domestic norm, then that is eternally available. And the purely physical, singularly esthetic? Is that all going down the drain? McDonald's in the Vatican, spray paint in Yosemite, and garbage everywhere else?

Yes. I mean no! Sorry, pessimism is sneaky. But the world has new beauty to show us. That’s why I rented a motorbike in Vietnam.

Phong Nha Ke-Bang National Park was added to the UNESCO list in 2003, with more of its remarkable caves found since then, particularly Thiên Ðường (Paradise) Cave in 2005 and Son Doong Cave not well-known outside the area until 2009.

I puttered on down to Eight Lady Cave first (can you blame me?) and while respecting the history and sanctity of a place where people died, as a cave it was underwhelming. More of a shallow grotto, now.

But I was happy as an albatross on my two-wheeled partner, so buzzed and swooped over to Paradise Cave. The guy at the hotel estimated I’d need an hour or so in there.

Paradise Cave entry stairs

I don’t wear a watch when I’m not working, but I doubt I was out in under three. A raised boardwalk extends a full kilometer into the cave, modest by Phong Nha standards, but it may have been the slowest, most awe-filled kilometer of my life.

So beautiful. Such an earth church. Walking in the body of the great mother, feeling hippy whether I liked it or not. Still and sacred, undisturbable, equanimity no matter how many jabbering tourists shook the walkway. Some checked their email in there, and still I felt love for all beings.

My eyes readjusted when I birthed myself out of that cave, and found it raining. A benedictory blessing of Earth by Sky, Water falling through leafy Life to land on Soil and me.

Sure, Prague was different 20 years ago, probably better. But Phong Nha wasn’t even on the map yet. So I’m excited to see what’s still in store for the open heart and grateful eyes of the traveler to come.

You need a break

That's how I feel too, Dan

It’s all just so obvious. A couple of Trump’s nominees misled their confirmation committees, so the Democrats used what tiny power they have to delay in an effort to have their questions answered. The Republicans just change the rules to push them through, and Orrin Hatch scorns the Democrats as “pathetic” and claims Republicans never treated Obama’s nominees poorly. Hatch led the Republican refusal to even consider Obama’s nomination of Merrick Garland for the Supreme Court. Garland being a candidate Hatch himself had previously approved of.

Hypocrisy like that deserves anger by his constituents, and laughter from the rest of us. But when I read it, I didn’t feel like laughing. Which is why it’s so obvious: I need a break. And so do you.

During this bizarre and atrocious period in America’s history, it’s important to stay informed. It’s crucial not to normalize the affronts against democracy, honor, and human decency itself. But listen to this crapcakery every day? You’re gonna lose your marbles.

Advanced Relaxation

So take a break. Two days? Deputize a friend to keep track of any particularly important stories you might miss, then you can return the favor when they take a siesta from insanity.

So as of right now, I’m going on break. Most likely until Monday. I’m going back to Vietnam. Wanna come?

I’m going back to the promenade on the Perfume River in Hue, where it was two young Vietnamese girls who asked a question I’d heard before. “Excuse me, do you speak English? Do you mind if we practice our English with you for a moment?”

Weather. The Royal Palace. Pop music and street food. We talked about everything and I was not surprised when our three became four. Then six. That’s how it went in Vietnam. On the banks of the river in Hue, or the lake in Hanoi, or a cafe in Hoi An. A shy hello that quickly led to new friends sharing an impromptu language group of laughter and human contact in the warm evening air.

My impromptu language buddies in Hue

The Vietnamese people were an inspiration. Suffering in their past, challenges in their present, and threats in their future, but they greeted me every day with smiles and welcome.

I like this vacation. I’m staying until Monday.

What if Angkor Wat sucks?

Be honest, though you’ve heard it all before. The Mona Lisa...looks like it’s supposed to, and is surprisingly small. The Coliseum? Sure, you feel like watching Gladiator, but mostly you’re just waiting for your next gelato. The Petronas Towers in Kuala Lumpur? Yup, really tall, pretty. Now what’s for dinner? The Panama Canal...is impressive as hell on paper, but outside the window it’s the world’s most boring river.

Now that I’ve offended a few million people, I should clarify that all of these places are still worth seeing. Lordy knows I’ve sought out my share of postcard sites, and smile at my inner version every time I see their iconic images. But in the end? They can be a little underwhelming.

There are exceptions to this. Machu Picchu is stunning, even with the crowds. I hear the Grand Canyon is the same, though I shamefacedly admit I’ve never been. Which category would Angkor Wat fall into?

When we pulled up along the reservoir outside the iconic triple-tower-temple, there was a bit of a “Yup, there it is” first impression. But Angkor Wat is much more than a first impression.

It is cool hallways filled with the soft tranquility left by centuries of people relaxing in relief from the sun. A visceral tradition you’re now part of. Then you’re humbled by the massive stone structures, an achievement in any century. Where did they get the stone? How many people worked on this? For how many generations? My mind felt fragile with admiration already, when I noticed the carvings. Unimaginable, incredible that humans did this. The sheer volume of artistry made me want to shake the nearest Cambodian hand.

Entire armies marched down walls, identical and detailed in an age before mechanized reproduction. Elephants reared and kings balanced, chariots raced while horses pranced and archers took aim. But apparently the ancient Khmer and I have something in common. Because as well and good as war is, sure, whatever, there are more beautiful things in life.

Namely? Boobs. Lots and lots of boobs.

Women danced on walls, watched from doorways, and made mudras in alcoves throughout the temples, hallways, and galleries of the ancient complex. Subtle smiles of feminine wiles that predated and predicted Mona Lisa’s secret by centuries, inspiring craftsmanship and care that has stood the test of time. And they all had knockers to die for.

(See the additional 6 image gallery on the vagabondurges.com post)

Aurora Borealis makin' me crazy

Aaaaaaarggghhh! I am tearing my hair out on this one. Aurora Borealis. A combination of the Roman goddess of the dawn/sunrise and the Greek god of the wind, the name conjures sweeping colors, crackling cold, and the very soul of Odin looking down at you through the ages...and the experience delivers!

But the weird thing about the aurora, it’s the only incidence I can think of where the camera records it better than the human eye. Normally our eyes trumps the living bejeezus out of any equipment (really, they are amazing), but a camera’s ability to withhold perception for thirty seconds comes in handy with the aurora, slow, subtle, and faint as it often is.

So when we spent a few frigid nights watching muted colors caress the underbellies of the stars, and I looked down (with fully night-adjusted eyes) to see beautiful colors on my magic little view screen… I had high hopes.

So today, trying to get them to look the way they did when I was there….

aaaaaaaaaaarrrrgggghhhh! Why you no wanna werk wif me, stoopid image?

Blaming one’s equipment is a lame excuse at best, if not outright verboden, and I can already see at least one setting I should have changed. And if I was better at editing, I’m sure I could enhance these more effectively. But at the end of the day, it was damn fun to be out there, scrambling around in the dark, nabbing what I could. And I’ll take the learning experience.

We had pessimistic forecasts every day, “solid cloud cover and low aurora activity” the screens would declare, but for the first couple nights, and one towards the end, we had enough clarity and enough activity to marvel at the green glow of ionic mysticism.

The first night was crouching on the ice cubes piled up beside the lake in Þingvellir National Park (Thingvellir), where I, being a complete space cadet, had forgotten to bring my tripod, so rested my camera on the ground.

The second night was an improvement in equipment, my tripod splayed by the road back from Akranes, but the wind was being petulant, and even in the relative calm next to the car, a sharp image escaped me.

The last night was spent overlooking Jökulsarlon, the glacial lagoon that anchors my love of Iceland. I clambered down the gravel hillside and sat alone in the dark, listening to the crunch of icebergs, and the occasional splashes and air-blasts of seals close at hand in the darkness.

The images might not look as good as I’d hoped, but the memories are gorgeous.

Electrons on vacation, so the neurons went too

At first, it seems like one's travel computer going on the fritz on the eve of a trip would be a bad thing. It probably is. But right this second, the lack of current photos and presence of a few from last year are gifting me an unexpected return to the trains and misty mornings of Sri Lanka.

The pancakes on my plate somehow taste like string hoppers, the rice flour noodles that you swipe through curry with your right hand, and the mimosa in my cup is a shock when my mind is thinking about rich milk (chai masala) tea.

My goal today is for my feet to take me everywhere I want to go, but that day was on a train, rocking through tea plantations, exchanging emails with new Sinhalese friends, and trying for a particular photograph, a person held mostly in focus while their surroundings obey the momentum of the railroad.

Actually getting the idea to work was irrelevant, beside the simple warm air joy of sitting in the open door of a moving train, gradually working my way through a paper bag of fried somosa-things with dried chili peppers.

My computer might not work, but luckily my memory does.

Top Ten posts from a year I love anyway

Did you ever have a particularly brutal teacher? Who grilled you harder, left you doubting your fundamental competency, and didn't seem to notice when you turned in tear-stained homework? I didn't. Until 2013. When itstarted I thought the rug had been pulled out from under me, but the worst part was over.

Cute.

I'd like to say I understand the year and learned all its lessons, but the mere notion of summarizing 2013 just led to my wasting the better part of the afternoon watching the Daily Show, Colbert, and crocheting the start of a new blanket. Clearly I haven't processed it all.

But what I can do is fulfill the tacit contractual obligation to post my Top Ten Blogs of the Year. Wordpress has informed me which ones got the most clicks, but forget statistical accuracy, I'm going to list the ten that stand out to me.

10. AnUnexpected Chance to get Killed in Mandalay  Just a fun day in Mandalay, where circumstances reminded me of how much I love to travel, even if it occasionally increases the chances of severe injury.

9. IfI'd had a clue I wouldn't have met the Wigi  The places are incredible, but sometimes it's the people you meet that maintain the strongest hold on you.

8. WhatHappens to Men like Rudi? Same theme as #9, another trip, another country, another human person. I wish I had the answer.

7. BlueDragon It's so easy to get pessimistic, but hearing about people doing incredible work, helping each other and making a difference gives me so much joy. I hope I can spread some of it to you.

6. ItSeemed like Spring for a Moment Why is it so hard to be grateful and not greedy?

5. Mardin. This city is one of my all time favorites. Poignantly beautiful in its own right, I always feel a rush of vagabond adrenalin when I remember looking out over the Syrian Plain below, tantalized and tortured by the proximity to so much heritage, so much sheer human intensity, and so much suffering. In my mind I still sometimes watch the children of Mardin flying kites on their rooftops, held aloft by the exhalation of ages.

4. Twotravelgasms and a tragedy, Hasankeyf Part 2. I was already in love with Turkey, both halves of it, but that day cemented the region in my heart. Standing in ancient dwellings carved into the very stone, then walking alone through stunning mountain meadows of crimson poppies before descending to find myself in the company of a half dozen new friends? Now that's a good day. Did you sign the petition yet?

3. Is that a good start or a bad one? Jungle Birthday Part 2. It wasn't much fun at the time, aware that I was alone and stupidly helpless in the jungle, where sound does not travel and help is hard to find, but I can't think of a more appropriate way to start the birthyear: lost, angry, in pain from a dozen stupid little cuts, but on my way to what will hopefully be a good story. 

2. TheSystem's Broken, and the Fire Hasn't Even Started Yet. This post was just a set up for the Glow fire festival in Santa Cruz, but to my surprise, was chosen to be Freshly Pressed, and I am grateful for the increased readership that generated. So grateful in fact, that I can almost entirely overcome the pique that the tag which brought me there was not #Travel. #Transportation? Close enough.

1. Falling apart inAnuradhapura. This took no thought at all. The post itself is nearly irrelevant, but that was the pivotal moment of the year. At times I've felt a stunned confusion too guilty to smile about, that I had somehow minced through the minefield of romantic love without detonation, pain yes of course, but never the soul crushing agony. In Anuradhapura...

How to say this without reeking of self pity? The floor was dirty, long black hairs from tenants past, while ants and cockroaches commuted up and down the walls, but still I lay there most of the night and past the dawn, unable to uncurl from around a core of pain like nothing I'd ever felt before. It doesn't surprise me that the non-emotional account of the town was more popular. 

Well shit, I didn't mean to end on a downer. And I'm not.

Because seconds keep clicking, and months slip past while you're waiting on a minute, so here I am, unexpectedly stationary on the other side of the world from where I expected to be. And I like it.

Many things are not as I would have written them, but we don't write our lives. I guess they write us. And right now, I like where the story is headed.

Congratulations to all of you, for surviving the insanity of 2013. All my best wishes for understanding it, and all my earnest hope for a brilliant 2014.

Lunch vacation

Today is cold feet and hot cups of tea. Now sit down and be productive, damnit. Sunlight is tapping on my window, impatient for me to finish this healthcare website business, a bicycle ride in the planning, but the unsatisfactory numbers blur together and my hypothermic fingers nudge the mouse button more than click it, knuckles gone stiff in the chill, so wouldn't you know it, it's time for another cup of tea. Extra long pause to pet the smiling dog this time.

This feels like choosing which demon to feed my blood to, is there such a thing as a good insurance company? Do I give them too short of shrift? Perhaps it's just scar tissue from a high school job in a pharmacy, helpless before the confusion on the faces of the elderly, who got sick after years of paying premiums, then their insurance companies dumped them. “Can they do that? I guess so.”

Maybe the Affordable Care Act, embarrassing baby step that it is, will clear some of that.

Ug. This shit is enough to send me back for more tea. I'm going to die of hyperhydration. Is that covered? Time for a vacation. Right now.

A few sluggish pushes on the mouse, and here I am in Panama, the San Blas Archipelago. I've forgotten what socks are. “Sweater” is a noun to describe me, not an article of clothing. Why would you ever need more than a T-shirt? Warm water is right there, whenever you're ready, and again next time.

The Argentinians are drinking their mate, and the Venezuelan barters for more lobster from the men in the canoe, who laugh at his antics. Our game of rummy will last for hours, one hand every ten minutes, broken by dolphin breaks when dorsal fins appear within the lagoon. I'm the only one who swims there fast enough to see them, and my remorse at this is subsumed by a warm Caribbean soak that suffuses the salt with gratitude.

In a few days I'll disembark in Colombia, and my pack is lightened by a load of blissful ignorance, foolish belief that I have it all together, my secret manageable. It feels like helium, but is more akin to carbon monoxide. But for now, the world is laughing with me in sunlight refractions and pineapple fingertips.

I feel better. Now...what size deductible can I handle?