Hi Namita,
Be careful on public computers.
You forgot to sign out.
Mumbai Group you met.
Rakesh
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
April Fools!
Hah. The last thing you expected was a blog posting. APRIL FOOLS!
Joe and I celebrated the eve of this very important holiday in a very special way: A Nepali ring tone of a borrowed phone (ours was stolen on a bus in Patna, along with my wallet and shoes WTF) wakes us up at 5:00AM this morning. I'm a bit groggy from not sleeping great seeing that my "-40 C" down sleeping back doesn't zip up and I am constantly cold as my body warmth seeps into the cold cot below me. It also could have been because I was up late playing poker with the Indians who are also trekking through Namache on the way to see Everst Base Camp. Oh yea. We are in Nepal, and have been trekking for 8 days now in the Himalayas.
But this posting is about April Fools Day, not about our trip around the world.
Joe and I put on our incredibly fake yet waterproof "NorthFace" pants and down jackets: Mine is bright yellow in order to fully complete my Yellow Power Ranger look, Joe's is an oversized blue making him complete his smurfy getup. Atleast we are warm finally. We blend in here as everyone is wearing "everest" marmot and columbia brands. We don't blend in because we are kind of incredible at scaling mountains as we have been hiking about 8 days longer on much more tortuous terrain than most of the tourists here. Due to our lack of funds, we have had to hike into the heart of the himalayan valley south of Everest, while most people on a tigher schedule and a bigger budget can comfortably land in Lukla, a day's hike away from where we are now, with their damned ski poles and porters. I really hate the sound approaching ski poles make while you are trying to hike.
Anyways. So now that we are downed up, we walk out into the greyness of Namche Bazaar, greeted by the excited yelps of Sabine, our enthusiastic German companion from the past 8 day hike from Jiri to Lukla. She and her boyfriend Peter are leaving today to go back to Jiri, and we decided to spend our last hurray together by hiking to the Everest View Hotel at sunrise. Joe and my visit to the gompa on our breathless and "high" stroll yesterday paid off, as there is not a tourist around, cloud in the sky, and the ground is covered in a fluffy layer of powdery snow. A dream come true. We start the zombie trudge up the snow covered hill above Namche. Our goal is to see Mt. Everest, but we are soon distracted by the symphony of snow covered peaks of the other mountains around us alighting due to the sunrise. Bing! Bang! Zoom! Craggy crops turn a blinding white, and the shadows of the morning disappear. Sabine is silly happy and it's addictive. Soon we are all rolling in the snow, throwing snowballs, and making snow angels. (Well I was the only one who thought a snow angel was cool.) 45 min later, we are staring at IT. IT being Mt. Everst. Wow. It actually doesn't look that impressive from the hotel. Just another beautiful snow capped moutain. But it was ours, and we captured it first this morning. Drunk with altitude and our well-earned gift from nature, we begin posing in front of the mountain. I do a tripod, while Joe and Peter are a bit more creative with headstands. Remember, a tripod is NEVER a crowd-pleaser.
An hour passes and a package of strawberry dream-creams is consumed. We finally turn to have breakfast at the hotel and begin our trek back down. The four of us have had a really good time together this past week and stave off the imminent separation by distracting ourselves with skiing. Skiing?! Yes, little short wooden skies you tie to your feet. I fell a lot, while Peter and Sabine were a little more brave and lenient with their snow-plowing. I didn't even get to the plow position before I ate snow. Joe found half a gasoline can, and began "snowboarding" which led to the most spectacular falls, leaving the crowd of Nepali's and breathless and achy tourists laughing.
I don't know what you find funny. I don't even know who reads this blog so I'm not going to cater to my PG-13 audience. There is a rare bird in the Himalayan Mountains called a Snow Cock. It's really cute, small, and I haven't seen one yet. Animals can smell my lack of showering miles away and tend to avoid me. This snow was perfect for making snowmen, so the four of us began rolling giant snow balls down the hill. Finally it was decided. We would construct a giant Snow Cock since it was such a rare thing to see. We didn't want the tourists to miss out on this gem of nature. 45 min later we were walking back down to Namache, and people were asking us if we had seen the "snowman's..thing" to the right of the viewpoint...
Maybe when I upload some pictures, it will better elucidate the meaning of April Fools Day better.
I'll write about our adventures in India some other time.
Love,
Namita
Joe and I celebrated the eve of this very important holiday in a very special way: A Nepali ring tone of a borrowed phone (ours was stolen on a bus in Patna, along with my wallet and shoes WTF) wakes us up at 5:00AM this morning. I'm a bit groggy from not sleeping great seeing that my "-40 C" down sleeping back doesn't zip up and I am constantly cold as my body warmth seeps into the cold cot below me. It also could have been because I was up late playing poker with the Indians who are also trekking through Namache on the way to see Everst Base Camp. Oh yea. We are in Nepal, and have been trekking for 8 days now in the Himalayas.
But this posting is about April Fools Day, not about our trip around the world.
Joe and I put on our incredibly fake yet waterproof "NorthFace" pants and down jackets: Mine is bright yellow in order to fully complete my Yellow Power Ranger look, Joe's is an oversized blue making him complete his smurfy getup. Atleast we are warm finally. We blend in here as everyone is wearing "everest" marmot and columbia brands. We don't blend in because we are kind of incredible at scaling mountains as we have been hiking about 8 days longer on much more tortuous terrain than most of the tourists here. Due to our lack of funds, we have had to hike into the heart of the himalayan valley south of Everest, while most people on a tigher schedule and a bigger budget can comfortably land in Lukla, a day's hike away from where we are now, with their damned ski poles and porters. I really hate the sound approaching ski poles make while you are trying to hike.
Anyways. So now that we are downed up, we walk out into the greyness of Namche Bazaar, greeted by the excited yelps of Sabine, our enthusiastic German companion from the past 8 day hike from Jiri to Lukla. She and her boyfriend Peter are leaving today to go back to Jiri, and we decided to spend our last hurray together by hiking to the Everest View Hotel at sunrise. Joe and my visit to the gompa on our breathless and "high" stroll yesterday paid off, as there is not a tourist around, cloud in the sky, and the ground is covered in a fluffy layer of powdery snow. A dream come true. We start the zombie trudge up the snow covered hill above Namche. Our goal is to see Mt. Everest, but we are soon distracted by the symphony of snow covered peaks of the other mountains around us alighting due to the sunrise. Bing! Bang! Zoom! Craggy crops turn a blinding white, and the shadows of the morning disappear. Sabine is silly happy and it's addictive. Soon we are all rolling in the snow, throwing snowballs, and making snow angels. (Well I was the only one who thought a snow angel was cool.) 45 min later, we are staring at IT. IT being Mt. Everst. Wow. It actually doesn't look that impressive from the hotel. Just another beautiful snow capped moutain. But it was ours, and we captured it first this morning. Drunk with altitude and our well-earned gift from nature, we begin posing in front of the mountain. I do a tripod, while Joe and Peter are a bit more creative with headstands. Remember, a tripod is NEVER a crowd-pleaser.
An hour passes and a package of strawberry dream-creams is consumed. We finally turn to have breakfast at the hotel and begin our trek back down. The four of us have had a really good time together this past week and stave off the imminent separation by distracting ourselves with skiing. Skiing?! Yes, little short wooden skies you tie to your feet. I fell a lot, while Peter and Sabine were a little more brave and lenient with their snow-plowing. I didn't even get to the plow position before I ate snow. Joe found half a gasoline can, and began "snowboarding" which led to the most spectacular falls, leaving the crowd of Nepali's and breathless and achy tourists laughing.
I don't know what you find funny. I don't even know who reads this blog so I'm not going to cater to my PG-13 audience. There is a rare bird in the Himalayan Mountains called a Snow Cock. It's really cute, small, and I haven't seen one yet. Animals can smell my lack of showering miles away and tend to avoid me. This snow was perfect for making snowmen, so the four of us began rolling giant snow balls down the hill. Finally it was decided. We would construct a giant Snow Cock since it was such a rare thing to see. We didn't want the tourists to miss out on this gem of nature. 45 min later we were walking back down to Namache, and people were asking us if we had seen the "snowman's..thing" to the right of the viewpoint...
Maybe when I upload some pictures, it will better elucidate the meaning of April Fools Day better.
I'll write about our adventures in India some other time.
Love,
Namita
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Wow...I'm really terrible at doing this blog thing...
This blog is like the friend I've been meaning to get in touch with because we've been living in the same town for over 3 months but now it's just a little awkward.
Nonetheless, I will try to do my best to highlight the past 2 months (yikes). The month of December we spent working as teachers at the Global Education Center in Cairo. It was like diving into the Arab culture and creating an actual life, contrastingly deeply with our previous itinerant lifestyle. I had an apartment, a pessimistic Canadian roommate named Neil, an actual 1 hour commute to work, friends, commitments, a salary... It was a real life, much like the ones our peers who took on the responsibilities of a job had. Teaching English to Muslim and Christian adults at the center was an incredible and taxing experience. 8 hours of work, 6 days a week, and 8 classes of individuals to keep track of became the focus of my life. I had to dig up good english conversation topics, and learn grammar that I had never even applied to the English language before. The past perfect? I had only used it in spanish...thank god for senior Bright. Teaching was a perfect guise to penetrate the Egyptian culture. I had the opportunity to get chastised for suggesting that dreams could predict the future, and that we should drink wine in Italy. I breached the religious traditions religiously, and heard the word haram alot. Outside of teaching, I spent evenings drinking Sahlab and playing dominos in the city center, drinking 2 dollar beers at horreya, and going to sleep after watching nip tuck in our bare apartment. I knew I was out too late when I heard the 5:30AM call to prayer. Cairo was a very nocturnal city. Who knew it would get cold in Cairo?
I picked up a substanial bit of Arabic, but it is fading fast in the face of re-learning Hindi for India. Due to the bread heavy + foul diet in Egypt, i gained a few and had to join a gym. I lifted weights and actual began running again to the sounds of the Koran being recited. Very cool. I had a love-hate relationship with this city. I only remember the fond moments, because of the way I think the brain works. New years I spent with close friends singing christmas carols and laughing over boiled chickpeas at the corniche el nil. The Nile is really beautiful at night. As I was preparing myself and my students to leave I found i was in too deep. I ripped off the bandaid quickly enough and I left there teary with many many many friends and memories. Luckily I left to join my best-friend Jess in Thailand.
Thailand...
Went by too fast. I did more people things than the country. I spent the first couple days getting my bearings from wheeling out of the middle east and into a steamy and strange Bangkok. We met Jess in the apartment of 3 wonderful French guys who were living the high-life in the depths of the city. I left with Jess after renting some bikes for Chiang Mai, and began the bike trip of a lifetime from Chaing Mai to Mae Hong Song. The path, previously only navigable by elephants till 15 years ago when the Japanese built a road, was a tortuous 2,070 turns up and down the mountains of north western Thailand. Each day we road 50-70 km up morale breaking hills. I had a previous disinclination to climbing; but that quickly ended after the 2nd day of ridiculousness. Jess and I treated ourselves to a 3$ 60 minute thai massage to ease our aching butts. Truly meditative, cycling and diving are two things that will connect Jess and I forever. Same with Cow lam...
After reuniting with Joe in Chiang Mai, we splurged on a "Flight of the Gibbons" zipline adventure. Then we traveled back to Bangkok with a stop in the Khao Yai national park. There we rented a motorbike and zipped around mountainous jungle highlands in search of elephants. All we found were monkeys and barking deer. (?!) All the while my father was making his way overseas to meet us in Bangkok. We then spent two weeks with him in Southern Thailand, Ko lanta, and then to Malaysia. We went into a real rain forest and battled leaches and tourists on night jungle and high canopy walks. We ended the trip relaxing on the beach and getting lectured/prepared by my father about what we can and cannot do in India. That brings us to the present. We leave tomorrow for Chennai. We don't have much of a plan yet but for sure we will be in Southern India for a while and make our way North, eventually to be with my cousin sister Shivli for her engagement. That's all for now! Sawadee KAI, and please PLEASE please don't stop the music!!
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Where did we get bed bugs from?
Where did we get Bed Bugs?
This is a difficult question, simply because bed bug bites are similar, atleast in size, to mosquito bites. What distinguishes them is their frequency, as we learned today. It is 4:30 PM on my first lazy Saturday of November. I've passed my time boiling our clothes and freezing the rest of our meager belongings in the fridge. (How many of you have frozen a Quran before?)
Intermittently, I've been practicing my arabic verb combinations with Ahmed, the animated Sultan Hostal Manager. Ahmed is a skinny turkish man who spends most of the day reprimending me while teaching me arabic, how to cook, and how to be a "woman." He has many odd jobs from owning a band, being a party-planner, to being a screen writer/actor. He spent a good hour today spraying the room we lived in with turpentine-y solution out of a spray bottle. When going to my new bed-bug "free" room(A night or two should tell us if we really are rid of the beasts), it's hard not to peek into the room of the long term (8 years) guest next to us; sprawling electrical cords, underware, accompained by the Asian-I've-been-here-too-long smell greet us at the door. The hotel is remarkably priced, 3$/night, which encourages people to stay for many months, as a sort of gateway apartment to Cairo. It is filled with Koreans and Japanese, which makes me think Lonely Planet Asia Edition recommended the Sultan at some point 5 years ago, because all the reading material and signs in the bathroom around here is in Japanese.
The water I washed my clothes in came up an opague murky gray, indicating the 3 weeks I spent prior to this traveling around Masr (Egypt). Jess, Joe and I flew at an unsustainable pace... To be continued...
This is a difficult question, simply because bed bug bites are similar, atleast in size, to mosquito bites. What distinguishes them is their frequency, as we learned today. It is 4:30 PM on my first lazy Saturday of November. I've passed my time boiling our clothes and freezing the rest of our meager belongings in the fridge. (How many of you have frozen a Quran before?)
Intermittently, I've been practicing my arabic verb combinations with Ahmed, the animated Sultan Hostal Manager. Ahmed is a skinny turkish man who spends most of the day reprimending me while teaching me arabic, how to cook, and how to be a "woman." He has many odd jobs from owning a band, being a party-planner, to being a screen writer/actor. He spent a good hour today spraying the room we lived in with turpentine-y solution out of a spray bottle. When going to my new bed-bug "free" room(A night or two should tell us if we really are rid of the beasts), it's hard not to peek into the room of the long term (8 years) guest next to us; sprawling electrical cords, underware, accompained by the Asian-I've-been-here-too-long smell greet us at the door. The hotel is remarkably priced, 3$/night, which encourages people to stay for many months, as a sort of gateway apartment to Cairo. It is filled with Koreans and Japanese, which makes me think Lonely Planet Asia Edition recommended the Sultan at some point 5 years ago, because all the reading material and signs in the bathroom around here is in Japanese.
The water I washed my clothes in came up an opague murky gray, indicating the 3 weeks I spent prior to this traveling around Masr (Egypt). Jess, Joe and I flew at an unsustainable pace... To be continued...
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Kilometers to go.. before we sleep.
Bawk!
I just figured out after 20 minutes on this computer how to change the keyboard from Arabic to English…
If that is any indication, the fact of the matter is Joe and I are NOT in Greece. We are in Egypt and have sadly not been as vigilant in updating our blog. Logistics and adventure-seeking has taken over our life, leaving little time to write.
Last I left off with a jaunt through Greece with my parents. Soon after that, Joe and I flew into a rainy Barcelona where we realized our hard-earned money was going to burn quickly, in spite of the increasingly favorable euro to dollar exchange rate. Given this and a chance encounter with a man named Dost, or friend in Hindi, Joe and I set off on a less than whirlwind, but more than exciting trip around Spain.
Our first couple of nights in Barcelona, we spent time with Dost, a German man who was riding by bike from Turkey to Morocco. The trip sounded ridiculously masochistic, but the more time we spent with him, the more the trip sounded like medicine to our adventure-seeking souls. Especially given the fact I was hobbling around the cobbled streets of Barcelona due to some freak knee injury. (It doesn’t really make sense that riding a bike would fix your knees but it worked!) Within 24 hours of meeting dost, we found ourselves in the Decathalon sporting goods store purchasing 2 bikes, 2 sets of road tires, 2 helmets, 2 sleeping bags, 2 carryalls, and a glorified parasol, we called a “tent.” We left the famous Gaudi La Familia Sangrada cathedral un-seen in our dust as we began making our way down the coast of Spain towards Valencia.
Dost was in love with India. His hair dreaded, mystical tattoos, and a case of strict vegetarian-ism, might cause one to write him off quickly. After talking to him for more than 2 minutes, you’d find out that he didn’t give a shit if you didn’t like him. He was a clean “hippee:” he brushed his teeth for 5 minutes at a time, bought nice pieces of equipment, and kept them for a lifetime. He rode on “Ganesh”, an old but sturdy steel road bike with “Ohms” and feathers placed accordingly for good luck. He convinced us in his genevan german accent that, “You don’t need much,” an adage we repeat to each other as we look hungrily on a piece of kitschy merchandise we could buy. We spent one night on a cliff above the sea with him in our tent overlooking a harbor, while trains rumbled below us every 5 hours. We found a make-shift home in our state of homeless-ness.
We lost Dost after one day. In the hubris of our new metallic wings, we sprinted ahead on his command due to technical issues. Within 20 minutes we lost the way the three of us agreed to take, and found ourselves on an interstate. We were soon escorted off by the Spanish police. Losing Dost wasn’t a major disaster, because he truly had a purpose on the road, and Joe and I still had to find ours. Convoluting his trip with our n00b status wasn’t beneficial to anyone. We held the memory of Dost and his minimalist philosophy as we rode to the nearest gas station, purchased a map, and continued around Spain for the next two weeks. Whizzing by orange groves in Valencia, and sleeping in olive forests around Cordoba, we really SAW Spain. We know the name of ever little costal town from Barcelona to Valenica, and then Granada through Cordoba to Sevilla. The kilometers didn’t matter. Nor did the fact we subsisted on baguettes, chocolate, and GIANT BEANS, for two weeks. Meeting dost has cemented my belief in following the signs the universe sends you.
I loved the natural flow that riding my bike ( I named her “Lady”) had to offer. Reminiscent of yoga and meditation at 20 km/hr, biking healed my knee, and brought the semiblance of peace to my spirit as we rode for about 6-7 hours a day. Dodging camiones (semi trucks) on the narrow shoulders of the N-232 still left half my brain to ponder things outside of the 6 feet that set me apart from imminent death. One day we rode almost 130 km from Granada to Cordoba. It was a personal physical triumph! We saw everything from road side prostitutes giving us blank smiles, to orange farmers inviting us to his house for coffee. We weren’t responsible to anyone but ourselves. The only requirement we had was to find the perfect place to setup a tent by sundown. (After sleeping awkwardly on a hill, and then on a cold concrete slab, we are more than professionals at finding the perfect sleeping place).
As we encountered few people on the road as we rode, Joe and I further cemented our traveling relationship with each other. Our most common phrase to other people was, “Donde esta el supermercado?” The dynamic between two people riding together translates significantly off the bike. We emotionally and physically powered through injury, exhaustion, and hunger, leaving us with great moments under the stars, sweaty in our sleeping bags. Showers became the currency of happiness as we went many days without them on the road. The same goes for cooked and spiced (not spicy, just taste-ful) food.
The more we travel, even in the deserts of Africa, we meet other bikers doing their own trips around the world. I thoroughly recommend this mode of travel to anyone with a down payment of 200 euros and the time to travel by bike for a couple weeks. I am sure we will do this again. Especially when we run out of money, probably in India ;)
That’s all folks!
Namita
I just figured out after 20 minutes on this computer how to change the keyboard from Arabic to English…
If that is any indication, the fact of the matter is Joe and I are NOT in Greece. We are in Egypt and have sadly not been as vigilant in updating our blog. Logistics and adventure-seeking has taken over our life, leaving little time to write.
Last I left off with a jaunt through Greece with my parents. Soon after that, Joe and I flew into a rainy Barcelona where we realized our hard-earned money was going to burn quickly, in spite of the increasingly favorable euro to dollar exchange rate. Given this and a chance encounter with a man named Dost, or friend in Hindi, Joe and I set off on a less than whirlwind, but more than exciting trip around Spain.
Our first couple of nights in Barcelona, we spent time with Dost, a German man who was riding by bike from Turkey to Morocco. The trip sounded ridiculously masochistic, but the more time we spent with him, the more the trip sounded like medicine to our adventure-seeking souls. Especially given the fact I was hobbling around the cobbled streets of Barcelona due to some freak knee injury. (It doesn’t really make sense that riding a bike would fix your knees but it worked!) Within 24 hours of meeting dost, we found ourselves in the Decathalon sporting goods store purchasing 2 bikes, 2 sets of road tires, 2 helmets, 2 sleeping bags, 2 carryalls, and a glorified parasol, we called a “tent.” We left the famous Gaudi La Familia Sangrada cathedral un-seen in our dust as we began making our way down the coast of Spain towards Valencia.
Dost was in love with India. His hair dreaded, mystical tattoos, and a case of strict vegetarian-ism, might cause one to write him off quickly. After talking to him for more than 2 minutes, you’d find out that he didn’t give a shit if you didn’t like him. He was a clean “hippee:” he brushed his teeth for 5 minutes at a time, bought nice pieces of equipment, and kept them for a lifetime. He rode on “Ganesh”, an old but sturdy steel road bike with “Ohms” and feathers placed accordingly for good luck. He convinced us in his genevan german accent that, “You don’t need much,” an adage we repeat to each other as we look hungrily on a piece of kitschy merchandise we could buy. We spent one night on a cliff above the sea with him in our tent overlooking a harbor, while trains rumbled below us every 5 hours. We found a make-shift home in our state of homeless-ness.
We lost Dost after one day. In the hubris of our new metallic wings, we sprinted ahead on his command due to technical issues. Within 20 minutes we lost the way the three of us agreed to take, and found ourselves on an interstate. We were soon escorted off by the Spanish police. Losing Dost wasn’t a major disaster, because he truly had a purpose on the road, and Joe and I still had to find ours. Convoluting his trip with our n00b status wasn’t beneficial to anyone. We held the memory of Dost and his minimalist philosophy as we rode to the nearest gas station, purchased a map, and continued around Spain for the next two weeks. Whizzing by orange groves in Valencia, and sleeping in olive forests around Cordoba, we really SAW Spain. We know the name of ever little costal town from Barcelona to Valenica, and then Granada through Cordoba to Sevilla. The kilometers didn’t matter. Nor did the fact we subsisted on baguettes, chocolate, and GIANT BEANS, for two weeks. Meeting dost has cemented my belief in following the signs the universe sends you.
I loved the natural flow that riding my bike ( I named her “Lady”) had to offer. Reminiscent of yoga and meditation at 20 km/hr, biking healed my knee, and brought the semiblance of peace to my spirit as we rode for about 6-7 hours a day. Dodging camiones (semi trucks) on the narrow shoulders of the N-232 still left half my brain to ponder things outside of the 6 feet that set me apart from imminent death. One day we rode almost 130 km from Granada to Cordoba. It was a personal physical triumph! We saw everything from road side prostitutes giving us blank smiles, to orange farmers inviting us to his house for coffee. We weren’t responsible to anyone but ourselves. The only requirement we had was to find the perfect place to setup a tent by sundown. (After sleeping awkwardly on a hill, and then on a cold concrete slab, we are more than professionals at finding the perfect sleeping place).
As we encountered few people on the road as we rode, Joe and I further cemented our traveling relationship with each other. Our most common phrase to other people was, “Donde esta el supermercado?” The dynamic between two people riding together translates significantly off the bike. We emotionally and physically powered through injury, exhaustion, and hunger, leaving us with great moments under the stars, sweaty in our sleeping bags. Showers became the currency of happiness as we went many days without them on the road. The same goes for cooked and spiced (not spicy, just taste-ful) food.
The more we travel, even in the deserts of Africa, we meet other bikers doing their own trips around the world. I thoroughly recommend this mode of travel to anyone with a down payment of 200 euros and the time to travel by bike for a couple weeks. I am sure we will do this again. Especially when we run out of money, probably in India ;)
That’s all folks!
Namita
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Greece
I am writing this post from the safety and comfort of Ryan Corces apartment in Madrid, Spain. It has been a harrowing and beautiful three weeks and I would like to take a minute to TRY to relate the craziness of our lives…
Greece:
From around the 12th of October to the 18th, Joe and I took a hiatus from our pastoral lives to visit my family in Greece. After a couple whirlwind nights in my truly favorite city so far on the trip, Naples, we made our way to Bari, Italy where we took a ferry to Corfu, Greece. Easy right? I said a well-earned goodbye to Italy from ontop of the dark deck of the ferry as we slid down the Eastern coast of Italy towards the bluer waters of the Ionian Sea. We awoke to garbled message over the intercom and a peach sunrise of Corfu. We saw trucks exiting the belly of the ferry and slowly began the process of collecting our meager belongings and getting off the ferry. I was particularly excited because I knew that there was a large chance, despite my inability to create a clear line of communication without a cell phone or internet, that my parents were waiting for me on the other side of this 9 hour ferry. I calmly asked one of the crew members if this was truly Corfu and if we could exit the ship…in response I received some hand-waving and the incomprehensible but clearly enunciated fact that we were on our way to Igonemitsu. Surely enough, looking out the window, we saw the same scene of Corfu town sliding by, in the other direction as we left the port, with us still on the ship!
My waterworks started and the officer even tried calling the engine room to see if it was possible to turn the ship around. Sadly no, and we were on our way to Igonemitsu. In my mind I thought this was another 9 hour ferry, and the comfort of my parents after a long month in Italy just at my fingertips made me very sad. However, it was really only a 1 hour ferry, and we would be back in Corfu just 4 hours later with the mountain of finding my parents on this GORGEOUS greek island left. Joe was a trooper and carried my bag half the time we meandered our way to Corfu town in search of an internet café. (My knee at this point in time of the trip was all messed up and hurt to walk). We eventually found them on the other side of Corfu at Glyfada beach. After some showering and feeding we were back to normal after the harrowing 24 hours. We even were given our OWN hotel room with our OWN bathroom. The next week we spent riding around Greece in a car, looking at seriously old structures and sites. Like 2000 years before Christ old.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Greece:
From around the 12th of October to the 18th, Joe and I took a hiatus from our pastoral lives to visit my family in Greece. After a couple whirlwind nights in my truly favorite city so far on the trip, Naples, we made our way to Bari, Italy where we took a ferry to Corfu, Greece. Easy right? I said a well-earned goodbye to Italy from ontop of the dark deck of the ferry as we slid down the Eastern coast of Italy towards the bluer waters of the Ionian Sea. We awoke to garbled message over the intercom and a peach sunrise of Corfu. We saw trucks exiting the belly of the ferry and slowly began the process of collecting our meager belongings and getting off the ferry. I was particularly excited because I knew that there was a large chance, despite my inability to create a clear line of communication without a cell phone or internet, that my parents were waiting for me on the other side of this 9 hour ferry. I calmly asked one of the crew members if this was truly Corfu and if we could exit the ship…in response I received some hand-waving and the incomprehensible but clearly enunciated fact that we were on our way to Igonemitsu. Surely enough, looking out the window, we saw the same scene of Corfu town sliding by, in the other direction as we left the port, with us still on the ship!
My waterworks started and the officer even tried calling the engine room to see if it was possible to turn the ship around. Sadly no, and we were on our way to Igonemitsu. In my mind I thought this was another 9 hour ferry, and the comfort of my parents after a long month in Italy just at my fingertips made me very sad. However, it was really only a 1 hour ferry, and we would be back in Corfu just 4 hours later with the mountain of finding my parents on this GORGEOUS greek island left. Joe was a trooper and carried my bag half the time we meandered our way to Corfu town in search of an internet café. (My knee at this point in time of the trip was all messed up and hurt to walk). We eventually found them on the other side of Corfu at Glyfada beach. After some showering and feeding we were back to normal after the harrowing 24 hours. We even were given our OWN hotel room with our OWN bathroom. The next week we spent riding around Greece in a car, looking at seriously old structures and sites. Like 2000 years before Christ old.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Ferrenti Farm
"John! You go in...in there!¨ Massimo is pointing at his old lamborghini tractor trailer and I gladly hop in. The trailer is a large red metal box attached hydrolically to the back of the tractor. After I swing in, he lifts the box about 3 ft off the ground and begins to drive up the road to the chestnut grove about a kilometer away. We drive by where I talked to the old man with a magpie in a cage who was weaving leaves into a chianti bottle yesterday. All of Italy, it seems, is rediculous mountain vistas and vinyards. A spunky brown stray dog yips at the tractor and even chases it a ways as we pass by. After a while the stray slows to a trot and then gives up completly. About a hundred yards later an IDENTICLE stray dog does the same thing. I lean back and enjoy my ride. When Massimo stops, I think we have only pulled off the roat into a short deadend. ¨There are many herb" he says. Beneath several feet of brambles and vines and even small trees, there is a red fence just barely visible. We hack away with our slashers until the gate is clealy visible. It is on runners and using the slasher as a lever we are just able to open the gate about an inch. Using the gate as a batteringram we eventually manage to open it completly. This feels very much like a secret passage we are uncovering. I hop back in my box. Massimo lifts me up and with the tractor and we barrel over a whole road of the overgrowth it took us so long to cut through just a few feet of with the slashers. Massimo drops me off at the top of a hill where I meet up with Rosa (Massimos wife and the owner of the farm) and Jennifer (an older woofer from London.) I spend the rest of the day collecting chestnuts from the ground into a wicker basket. Jennifer points out that I can brag to my friends about my first ride in a Lamborghini.
joe
joe
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