stories
a tale or two from the road and home
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DAYS 35-48, EVEREST BASECAMP TREK, NEPAL
Sure, I love the mountains.
But I’m not a mountaineer.
I think all of those people you see in the documentaries, losing their limbs to frostbite, sleeping in tiny windblown tents and suffering through negative bajillion below zero temperatures just to stand on top of a summit are absolutely insane. Like they have to have a screw loose or something. But for better or for worse, I married a man who is a little bit crazy about mountains, and so sometimes I find myself agreeing to do things that I would otherwise reserve for those insane folks…like spending two weeks hiking through the Himalayas and eventually to the basecamp of Mount Everest at 17,600 feet.
Sure, I love the mountains.
But I’m not a mountaineer.
I think all of those people you see in the documentaries, losing their limbs to frostbite, sleeping in tiny windblown tents and suffering through negative bajillion below zero temperatures just to stand on top of a summit are absolutely insane. Like they have to have a screw loose or something. But for better or for worse, I married a man who is a little bit crazy about mountains, and so sometimes I find myself agreeing to do things that I would otherwise reserve for those insane folks…like spending two weeks hiking through the Himalayas and eventually to the basecamp of Mount Everest at 17,600 feet.
Now, to put this into perspective, the tallest mountains in the intercontinental US are about 14,000 feet. We’ve got 53 of those peaks in Colorado, and my slightly crazy husband has summited 45 of them. And little ol’ inexperienced me? Oh, I’ve only summited one. But I knew enough to know that what had been proposed was no easy task. Which is why I immediately shot down the initial three week proposal - and rebutted with a two week compromise. I could survive anything for 14 days right? No big deal. And how cool would it be to see the tallest mountain on earth? Oh, how clueless I was. I had absolutely no idea what I was in for...
Day one began in Kathmandu, Nepal. Elbowing and shoving our way through the most archaic, disorganized, chaotic airport you could possibly imagine and finally finding ourselves on this poor excuse for a puddle jumper of a plane. Spirits were high and the flight was wild. Forty-five minutes zipping from one cloud to the next, clutching the armrests with white knuckles while the cabin jiggles and jostles and your stomach anxiously somersaults its way into your throat. You expect the giant peaks you see out the window to disappear as you reach cruising altitude, but they don't. They just sit there in their ginourmaty as you begin your decent to Lukla, a tiny town practically hanging off the edge of a cliff. You shakily step down to the tarmac and into a land of dense fog and deep green and blue hues.
Most people hire porters (people who carry your stuff) for their trek, but considering our lack of income, we opted to carry our own load. So we strap on our packs and start hiking and I am just so curious and excited and enamored with the surroundings. Lukla is like the entrance gate to a fairy tale. The windy dirt path is scattered with small stone cottages and wildflowers and waterfalls. Adorable almond-eyed children drop their sticks and balls and run to happily shout “Namaste” as you walk by. Women in brightly colored outfits tend to their lush green crops and stir huge metal pots over flaming stoves. Herds of yaks announce themselves with the bells around their necks and practically run you over as they lug food and supplies and giant North Face bags up the trail. You cross terrifyingly long bridges that sway in the wind as a glacial river storms by, hundreds of feet below your boots. There are prayer flags delicately fluttering in the breeze and giant boulders carved with Buddhist mantras and small temples with these beautiful wheels that you spin to send your prayers up to the heavens.
The whole place is just magic. It's no wonder the native people regard it as sacred.
On day two we end up in this tiny town called Namchee at 11,500 feet. It’s only reachable by foot or helicopter, but it’s scattered with cool little bars and restaurants and shops. Throughout the hike, you stay at these “tea houses,” pretty much glorified hostels which I initially found adorable and quaint. Everything is made out of plywood, there isn’t any heat, the bathrooms usually consist of a bucket, a jug of water and a hole in the ground, but they’re painted really sweetly, have awesome little gardens and these common dining rooms where smiling Sherpa women serve you rice and noodles. It's all so cool and fun and unlike anything we’ve ever experienced. And I’m still all happy and smiley and loving life. La la la.
On the following days we keep hiking. Hopping from village to village. Climbing higher and higher. Sometimes taking a rest day to let our bodies acclimatize our new elevated position on the planet. Eleven thousand feet turns to twelve thousand feet to thirteen thousand feet to fourteen thousand. As we continue to climb the air gets thinner and thinner. The villages get smaller and smaller, their tea houses less and less idyllic. Altitude begins to rear her ugly head. We start waking up in the morning with pounding headaches. Brad, who has been sick from day one, begins to cough from deep inside his chest.
The nights are the worst. The sun goes down and it gets cold. Bone chillingly, body achingly, toe numbingly cold. The tea houses heat their dining rooms with yak dung (a smell that will forever haunt my dreams), but as soon as you finish your noodles and head back to your plywood closet, you’re freezing again. And it’s all you can do to force yourself to head to the communal bucket to brush your teeth before you have to climb into your sleeping bag and shiver yourself warm. And then there’s the lying awake. For hours and hours. Tossing and turning in frustration. Because even though your body is exhausted, the second you find yourself dozing off, you abruptly wake back up gasping for oxygen. I stop sleeping on night four.
But after you make it through the night, the mornings greet you with their beautiful views. And the mountains - Oh! The mountains! Once you’re above the cloud cover, the Himalayas reveal themselves. And they’re absolutely spectacular. Behemoth masses of striated granite swaddled in scarves of crisp snow. Sheets of luminous ice that hang suspended and heavy against their sides. Sparkling white streams that dance off their windy jagged peaks and thread themselves into the surrounding sky. They're so quiet and so big and they make you realize what a small insignificant peanut you really are.
We keep hiking day in and day out. Some days we walk for three hours. Some days we walk for seven. And it’s manageable enough. There’s lots of time to think and joke around and stop and stare in awe. I stay pretty happy until day seven when we come to our first “pass,” which is basically a point through which you cross a mountain range. This particular one is called Renjo La and stands towering at 17,600 feet.
Now let me tell ya a little something about trekking that high. It’s miserable. That kind of altitude does crazy things to your body and your mind. It makes even the simplest of tasks, like putting one foot in front of the other, exponentially difficult. Your legs start to drag. Your feet become cement bricks. Your body feels like it is starving for a breath your lungs can’t seem to reach and your chest begins to ache as your inhales become more frequent and more desperate. The harsh wind bites your cheeks with it’s sharp teeth, staining them the most uncomfortable shade of rosy. And you quickly learn that tears won’t do you any good. They just waste precious oxygen. But you’ve got Brad. And even though he’s sucking air too, he’s behind you the whole way. And he’s pushing you forward, telling ridiculous stories, making you laugh, carrying your pack at the very top when you can barely take another step. And he pushes you through.
And then you see her in all her glory. The mother of all mountains surrounded by a sea of other Himalayan giants. And at their feet stands this placid turquoise lake, bluer than any Caribbean sea. It’s unreal how quickly your body can forget misery when presented with unparalleled beauty. The moment is sublime. Really and truly. And we smile and take photos as our pain evaporates into the thin air.
And then of course we have to get down again. Back down to 15,600 feet. But we’re heading to this gorgeous little village that has parked itself on the edge of that blue lake. It’s called Gokyo.
We finally arrive. And we’re dog tired, but we still can’t sleep. And when the sun peaks out the next day we’re feeling bruised and battered. And our noses are stuffy and now we’ve both got colds. So we decide it’s best to rest for a day. We eat breakfast at the World’s Highest Bakery. And I don’t know if it’s the fact that I had only eaten noodles for a week or if they really were the most delicious doughnuts I had ever tasted, but those chocolate covered sugar-highs totally lifted my spirits.
We read and relax. We meet old hippy artists and young hipster filmmakers. People with kind souls and true hearts. We commiserate about the altitude. Swap stories of adventure. They’re great and it’s refreshing to talk to other people and listen to the tales they have to tell.
But despite the wonderful day, the night comes again. And it sucks. I start to get a belly ache (yet another fun side effect of altitude). But we know if we are going to stick to our Everest Base Camp itinerary, we need to wake up and make it over the daunting 17,800 foot Cho La Pass. It is going to be a whopper.
We don’t sleep as per usual so we’re out of bed at 4:45 am. We ignore our drippy noses and rumbling tummies and hit the trail. It’s freezing, but there’s a soft alpine glow on the peaks so at least it’s pretty. We break for breakfast, but I feel so nauseous I can’t force myself to eat anything. We get back on the trail. And the hours tick by and the incline gets steeper and we keep moving forward. It’s grueling but we eventually reach the top of the pass. This time I don’t even enjoy the view. I just curl into a ball for a few minutes because my stomach is hurting.
We descend down a glacier and continue to make our way. Four hours turns into five and then five hours turns into six. The trail winds up and then down, and then back up. We cross fields of boulders and sheets of ice. The sun begins to set and it gets cold again and we keep walking. Seven hours, eight hours, nine. More walking. By hour ten we finally set our eyes on the intended destination for the night, conveniently located at the top of yet another hill.
By the time we make it to our room, I collapse on the plywood cot in complete and total exhaustion. I’ve just hiked further and climbed higher than I ever have before on nothing but a piece of toast. My body is achy and sore and covered in 6 days of un-showered dry sweat. I smell like a teenage boy’s dirty gym bag. My hair is a greasy tangly mess. I've been wearing the same shirt for more than 72 hours. I'm sick of being tired. I’m sick of being cold. I’m sick of sucking air and sleepless nights and disgusting bathrooms. I don’t want to hike anymore. I don’t want to look at the mountains anymore. It is day nine and I’m all kinds of cranky and I just want to be done.
I quietly drag my pity party to the washing basin. And as I’m standing there, something happens to the grip I have on my toothbrush handle and I watch, in slow motion, as it falls out of my hands and cascades into the grimy bucket…clink. clink. clink. It lands smack dab in the center next to a bar of soap covered in someone else’s hair.
And that was it. That was the moment, the last straw. I completely unraveled.
I started to cry. And cry. And cry. Not just a few rolling tears, but these deep, heavy, get-me-the-hell-out-of-here sobs. I couldn’t stop. The floodgates had opened. I probably stood there for a good ten minutes just crying. The kind that poofs up your eyes and clogs up your nose and leaves you breathing those awful staccato-y, hiccup-y breaths.
Once I was able to pull myself back to reality, I snuck back into the room, trying to conceal my complete and total meltdown. But it wasn’t long before Brad caught on…those damn hiccup-y breaths. He climbed into my cot and held me and without any hesitation whatsoever announced that we were heading down. I know that he really wanted to get there. That if it hadn't been for me he would have made it. But he didn’t try to convince me to go further. He didn't make me feel one ounce of guilt. He knew I had tried hard and I had hit my limit. We were both tired. We were both sick. It was time to go back.
We spent the next five days hiking down. Back to the towns, back to the oxygen. On day eleven we even got a hot shower. I didn’t care that I had to take it in the basement cellar of a teahouse. Or that it was probably filthier than a women’s prison. I didn’t care that my hair immediately froze into icicles the second the water turned off or that I had to dry myself with a hand towel. For fifteen glorious minutes the hot water had made me actually feel warm and clean. A luxury I hadn’t had since the beginning of the trip. On day twelve we started sleeping again. And god did that feel good. On day thirteen when we crossed back through the gates of Lukla, I didn’t look back. I wasn’t sad it was over, I was just happy I had survived.
In the end we didn’t do what we came to do. We didn't actually stand at the Basecamp of Everest. But we had had gotten a peek at the top of the world. We had seen things that most people only dream of. We had made it through really good days and really bad ones and we had done it together. I will forever remember those monstrous mountains, that bluer than blue lake, those smiling Sherpa women, the stories of the crazy travelers we met along the way. I will forever be thankful for indoor plumbing and unlimited toilet paper and oxygen. I will never take for granted a deep breath, a home cooked meal or a best friend who can make me laugh even when I can’t stop crying.
I suppose it’s true what they say. That it’s the journey and not the destination. We had ourselves one hell of a journey. And it was definitely time for a beer.
-Kenze
DAYS 32-34 & 49-51: KATHMANDU, NEPAL
My third world traveling experience consists of a few countries throughout Central and South Americas, as well as a couple in the Caribbean. And just recently, Thailand. Nepal, however, is on another level entirely. We spent five nights there in the capital city, Kathmandu, before and after our two-week trek.
K A T H M A N D U, N E P A L
My third world traveling experience consists of a few countries throughout Central and South Americas, as well as a couple in the Caribbean. And just recently, Thailand. Nepal, however, is on another level entirely. We spent five nights there in the capital city, Kathmandu, before and after our two-week trek.
In Kathmandu, you will likely see monkeys roaming the streets in packs. And sacred cows adorned in decorative headdresses and paints lounging in public plazas. You might witness an open-air cremation. Or pass by freshly cut goat heads displayed for sale. Much of daily commerce appears to be logistically handled through a maze of cheerful vendors on wooden wheeled carts and bikes. It’s safe to say that if the chaotic traffic and routine engine misfires aren’t keeping your head on a swivel as you walk around town, the unique surroundings certainly will.
There was much to enjoy, like, festivals lasting days. Our trip happened to coincide with Tihar, also called The Festival of Light. During the celebration, the Nepali people worship the goddess of wealth as well as dedicate days to the worship of dogs, cows, ravens, oxen, sisters and brothers. Clay lanterns light up the streets, children sing from door to door, windows and entryways are decorated with garlands made of marigolds and colorful offerings are displayed outside of houses and businesses. People dance and celebrate joyously throughout the night.
Everyone was friendly and welcoming, and the service was spectacular everywhere we went. We enjoyed watching children playing on gigantic bamboo swings. We loved the bright colored clothing. We stuffed ourselves with the delicious twenty-five cent samosa’s (think fried ball of curry) from the street vendor outside our hotel. And there are many temples to explore, some big, many small, some still decayed from the earthquake, some already rebuilt.
We also faced some challenging everyday truths. Much that was hard to see. This was especially true on a day that we took a five kilometer walk outside of Thamel, the primary tourist district. We walked through villages with extreme poverty. It made me realize how much I take for granted on a daily basis. Things just not available to many parts of the world. The same shortcomings that we often read about in our local newspapers but the experience of physically being there and seeing and walking through these neighborhoods was extremely moving.
Debris and fallout from last year’s earthquake were evidenced everywhere. Primitive shacks housing large families. Homeless people covered in more dirt and swaths of bugs than the scarcely patched clothing still wrapping their lifeless bodies. Lung filling dosages of city smog, fog, and dust. Milky textured rivers that run dark with trash drifting ashore. So much poverty.
A lack of city infrastructure. Decayed footbridges. Few sidewalks. Birdsnests of power lines cobbled together haphazardly. Wooden wheeled bikes, cart pushers, mopeds, goat herders, foot traffickers and cars all share the same narrow dirt roadways void of any traffic signs. Daily enforced power outages - that is, for those that even have power. Entire city blocks go dark after 10pm, making the otherwise harmless stray dogs and cats stepping out of alleyways seem frightening.
It has been an experience that has made us especially grateful. Grateful for sidewalks, traffic laws, garbage disposals, paved roads, clean water…happy for our health, family and incredibly thankful for the many fortunes gifted upon us.
When asked how we could best help Nepal, a bartender responded candidly, “Come here and spend your money.” But if that’s not an option, we have a included links to a couple charities in the notes section that were recommended to us.
-Brad
K A T H M A N D U, N E P A L
K A T H M A N D U, N E P A L
K A T H M A N D U, N E P A L
K A T H M A N D U, N E P A L
T H A M E L, N E P A L
K A T H M A N D U, N E P A L
We’ve linked the things that we’ve really enjoyed below in case you ever find yourself here:
OR2K - Middle Eastern Cuisine. Eat at both the restaurant upstairs and falafel stand below.
Fire and Ice - Pizza. You'll at some point want pizza. This is where to get it.
Pranamaya Yoga - In central Thamel. So good after 14 days of trekking.
Mandala Boutique Hotel - Can't say enough good things about this nice hotel and the staff.
Nepal Relief Organizations:
Flagstaff International Relief Organization
DAYS 26 - 31: CHIANG MAI, THAILAND
We exited the purple train in the northern city of Chiang Mai. It’s a fantastic juxtaposition of a place - a fairly big city snuggled into the foothills of beautiful, tree-covered mountains blanketed in a a luminous layer of fog. And while it’s definitely still got the the hustle and the bustle and the smells and street food, it’s much smaller - and felt to me, more manageable than its southern sister, Bangkok.
We exited the purple train in the northern city of Chiang Mai. It’s a fantastic juxtaposition of a place - a fairly big city snuggled into the foothills of beautiful, tree-covered mountains blanketed in a a luminous layer of fog. And while it’s definitely still got the the hustle and the bustle and the smells and street food, it’s much smaller - and felt to me, more manageable than its southern sister, Bangkok.
Our very first discovery was that public transportation in Chiang Mai is kind of a hassle and rather expensive, so most people, even visitors opt to travel by motorbike.
We were both a little hesitant at first. As far as I knew, Brad’s “scootering” experience had plateaued in his early teens with a fairly scary accident cruising the back roads of Cheboygan, Michigan. And the rental process isn’t all that reassuring. No waivers. No insurance check. No instructions. Just a quick conversation with a man speaking very little English, wherein the phrase “are you sure there isn’t anything else we should know before driving this?” was countered with a casual shrug - and we were off.
If I didn’t emphasize it enough in the last post, I’ll reiterate it again. Traffic here is absolutely insane. Three or four lanes of motorbikes swerving in and out of trucks, busses, crowded roundabouts, families of four strapped into tiny vespas, elderly women with coke bottle glasses honking their horns, hollering at you you to move out of the way. All the while trying to remember to stay to the left instead of the right. Thankfully I was the backseat passenger in this particular escapade, so I just held on for dear life and tightly closed my eyes every time we were nearly sideswiped by a truck filled to the brim with coconuts. And it turned out to be a pretty great way to get around for the most part.
Prior to our arrival, we were lucky enough to be able to have been connected with the sister and brother-in-law of one of our friends currently living in Chiang Mai. They gave us our very first acro-yoga lesson (which was a blast), took us to this ahh-mazing little diner and bestowed upon us lots of locals-only knowledge. In short, they were awesome. They also warned us about what to do when stopped in a traffic raid, which unfortunately came in very handy right away.
Police in Chiang Mai are known for creating traffic stops and asking you to show your proof of your Thai driver’s license. It seems to be a really grey area, (even after researching, I’m not exactly sure about what’s legal), and the whole thing kind of seems like a scam because they try to force you to pay cash - which goes who knows where...I would assume partially into the pockets of the officers.
But even with the advance warning, I don’t think anything has ever made my wimpy, rule following heart pound more than the sight of a Thai policeman decked out in an intimidating uniform and nasty scowl waving us down. I seriously think I almost peed my pants. But thanks to the advice to our new friends, and the fact that Brad did all the talking, we survived. We stayed firm on the fact that we weren’t carrying any money with us, which visibly aggravated them, and they spent quite a bit of time yelling at Brad in loud Thai and broken English (while visions of life in a dirty foreign prison danced through my head). Eventually though, they just wrote us a ticket. We fudged the name a bit and as far as we know, got out of that one scot free. Phew.
The next raid we encountered (seriously these things were everywhere) we spotted in enough time to quickly pull over and duck into a nearby restaurant. The cops saw this. We’re two gigantic white humans in a sea of tiny people with dark skin. There’s no hiding. We then had a heck of a time trying to discreetly back the bike up to the nearest get-away alley (well Brad had a heck of a time - I just nervously waited in that alley praying no one saw him in the process). Luckily though it wasn’t long before he scooped me up and we quickly zipped down a few side streets. Evading the police in a foreign country certainly makes your adrenaline surge. A lot of N.W.A. lyrics were quoted the rest of the trip.
But as annoying as it was to constantly be on the look out, having a scooter was awesome because it granted us the freedom to get out of town. Since the city is so close to the mountains, it’s only a quick 20 minutes on the highway before you’re cruising through windy rural roads lined with palm trees and rice fields that seem to stretch on forever. We took a few trips, one to a place called "Sticky Falls” a giant waterfall cascading over these strange rocks that were in fact “sticky” enough that you could actually climb from the bottom of the waterfall to the top, one to the Chiang Mai “Grand Canyon”, a glorified swimming hole that swallowed my iPhone whole, and one to Crazy Horse climbing area.
The climbing was not my favorite part of the trip. When we arrived I made the horrible mistake of reading the warning signs at the trailhead, cautioning climbers against killer bees that like to nest in crevices within the rocks and fuzzy little plants that apparently “itch very bad.” Definitely enough to kick my poison ivy PTSD paranoia into full swing. The first area we headed to was appropriately dubbed “the furnace” - I would assume because it’s in this little pocket of jungle that seams to trap the heat and humidity and hundreds upon thousands of mosquitos. We started climbing and I quickly learned that the huge limestone walls are totally different than the smooth and forgiving granite and sandstone we’re used to in Colorado. The rock is much more jagged and pointy and super rough on your hands and feet. And because the air is so humid and you’re so sweaty, the chalk on your hands dissolves pretty much instantly and it’s hard to get a grip on anything. On my second assent, I was about 10 feet from the top, when I blindly reached my hand right into one of the bee's nest pockets. I escaped without a sting, but the panic that ensued was quite enough for me. I’m really hoping the climbing we have scheduled for the second part of the trip is far more enjoyable.
One of the things I absolutely loved about Chiang Mai was the food. Oh my god, the food. Bowls of steaming curry, spicy papaya salads, soups and noodles and strange fruits that we had never before seen in all kinds of new sweet and sour flavors. Enough to make your tastebuds sing. Even though I was often a bit squeamish about the cleanliness factor of what we were eating (i.e. cats sleeping on the tables where the food was being prepared or flies swarming around sticks of meat that looked like they had been sitting out all day), we were able to find some amaaaazing restaurants and awesome street food.
On the third day of our week, we visited an elephant sanctuary…probably the thing I had looked forward to most this entire trip. Prior to 1987, elephants were widely used in Thailand for logging. However, once it was outlawed, areas were created in Northern Thailand for these elephants to “retire,” and their value shifted from their strength to the money they raked in from eager tourists. Unfortunately this lead to the creation of many elephant “camps” where they were chained, beaten, forced to do shows and give rides. And even more unfortunately, a lot of these camps still exist today under the belief that it is the only way they can make money. So when deciding where to go, we did a ton of research and ended up selecting a place called Chia Lai Orchid - a eco resort whose sole focus is to help change these practices. They are currently partnered with an existing “camp” to help model and encourage better treatment and are working towards raising enough money to buy this particular camp so they can start running it. Check out the website here: http://chailaiorchid.com/
Our experience was awesome. We were first taken on a hike through the jungle areas and surrounding small villages by a guide who pointed out a lot of the local flora, plants that blew bubbles, spiders the size baseballs (not even exaggerating) and showed us a local watering hole perfect for a quick swim with some of the village children. We then hopped on a bamboo raft and were guided through a soft rapids (Brad only fell out once). And in the afternoon we were permitted to feed, bathe and care for the elephants. And I cannot tell you how cool it is to be up close and personal with these gentle, giant creatures. To feel their slimy trunks grab something out of your hands. To look into their wise eyes and wonder what they’ve seen. My heart hurt thinking of the things that they had been subjected to by the previous camp, but it’s so reassuring to know organizations exist to help stop it.
Our last night in Chiang Mai was probably my favorite. We spent it relaxing and soaking in our last minutes in the city. We strolled the now familiar streets in front of our hostel, treated ourselves to fruit smoothies and Thai massages and ate dinner at one our favorite spots. We stopped at a food stand on the way home to pick up some fresh banana rotees which we later devoured on the balcony of our room overlooking the orangey-blue sunset and the people and the apartment buildings all haphazardly stacked on top of each other. The air was hot and the rotees were sweet and it was one of those moments I just didn’t want to end.
Because it’s all too present in the back of my mind that one of these days our year long adventure will be over. We’ll have to start paying our electric bill again. And go to work on Monday morning. We won’t have the luxury of spending a lazy Tuesday strolling around town, indulging in an afternoon massage or kissing baby elephants. And I just want to soak it all in. To slow it down and really relish the perfect moments in foreign towns with no one else’s company but each others.
Next up we’ll be traveling to Nepal and attempting a 14 day trek to Everest Basecamp. Probably a lot less relaxing. Guess who’s idea that portion of the trip that one was…
DAYS 12 - 25: Bangkok, Thailand
After the Grand Canyon, we cashed in a few hotel points and spent a couple days regrouping in Sedona - sleeping in fluffy beds, spending afternoons by the pool, eating entire bags of halloween candy…it was lazy and gluttonous and absolutely fantastic.
After that we did a little climbing in New Mexico* and Brad took me to Santa Fe for my birthday. He treated me to this mind blowing Japanese spa*(a perk doing this type of thing in our 30s rather than our flat broke 20s), and patiently waited while I hunted for turquoise around the city plaza. Meanwhile, he seemed fine hunting for tamales.
Chinatown, Bangkok
After the Grand Canyon, we cashed in a few hotel points and spent a couple days regrouping in Sedona - sleeping in fluffy beds, spending afternoons by the pool, eating entire bags of halloween candy…it was lazy and gluttonous and absolutely fantastic.
After that we did a little climbing in New Mexico* and Brad took me to Santa Fe for my birthday. He treated me to this mind blowing Japanese spa*(a perk doing this type of thing in our 30s rather than our flat broke 20s), and patiently waited while I hunted for turquoise around the city plaza. Meanwhile, he seemed fine hunting for tamales.
We then made a quick pit stop in Denver, swapped out some gear in our truck, busted out the second cross-country road trip of the month, danced our butts off at a wedding, hugged my parents and headed to the airport. T’was time to get the party started. First stop Bangkok.
And then came the travel. Detroit to Denver to Tokyo to Thailand. Twenty-four hours of security lines, gate changes, fighting for elbow room in chairs that never recline quite enough and trying to brush your teeth in airplane bathrooms that don't allow for horizontal arm motion. But the misery was quickly forgotten the second we stepped foot in a foreign land, 8,000 miles across the globe.
And Bangkok? Bangkok is totally awesome. Huge and dirty and crowded and bustling. Full of vibrant colors and pungent smells. Tiny, old ladies on street corners mixing huge pots of savory sauces and roasting mystery meats on skewers. Their husbands tapping you on the shoulder trying to get you to buy their wares or go into their gem shops. Motorbikes that whiz by you in every direction at 30 miles per hour and seem to follow no traffic pattern whatsoever. It's loud and bold and overwhelmingly brimming with life.
And my god, the humidity. I have never sweat so much in my life. The air sticks to you like glue. Like it has been smeared all over your body. Like you've been dipped in a pot of modge podge and let loose in a hot yoga room. Bleh.
After sorting out a baggage debacle, checking into our hotel and trying to get some much needed rest (not easy when you're adjusting to a 12 hour time change), we set out to explore the city.
We spent time touring some of the temples, admiring their amazing architecture and intricate details. The golds and blues and mirrored mosaics. The shrines to Buddha. The hundreds of scary, dragon monkeys that are painted so ornately, it makes your hands hurt thinking about the poor old guys who must have had to painstakingly labor over each and every one.
We walked the busy streets, visited Khao San Road, a place filled to the brim with shopping carts, bars, restaurants, hostels and backpackers from all over the globe. The one place our light skin and gigantic-ness didn't make us stick out like a sore thumb.
We indulged in the infamous Thai massages. For about $7 you can get an hour of relaxation bliss. My first one was awkward. Imagine a fourteen year-old boy trying to undo your bra strap so he can rub oil all over your back. But the second time we opted to just get our feet done and I literally felt like melty jello when it was over. I could barely walk in a straight line when I got up.
We had beers at a few of the hole in the wall bars*, ate some absolutely delicious food. My brother will be very disappointed to know we didn't try the insects or eyeballs or anything else that would cause an automatic gag reflex, but the orange juice and Pad Thai* are to die for.
Brad got a custom suit* made, I got my hair cut by a team of Thai women and men*, we strolled through Chinatown, risked our lives riding tuk tuks, cruised around on riverboat ferries, had one of those pedicures where hundreds of fish suck the dead skin off your feet and finally ended up at the train station. What a whirlwind.
And here I sit, in the dining car of the purple (yes purple) train that has taken us through the night past rice fields, small villages and jungle landscape, sipping a tiny coffee, listening to loud Thai music and trying to write this blog. It's pretty tough to focus while you're whizzing by the most beautiful sights you’ve ever seen in your life. I literally just had a quick conversation with a smiling monk in a train that stopped next to ours. God, I love this place.
We will be spending the next week hanging out with elephants, learning acro yoga and exploring the northern Thai town of Chiang Mai. It keeps getting better and better :)
Until next time friends.
We’ve linked the things that we’ve really enjoyed below in case you ever find yourself in any of these places:
Madame Musur
Thip Samai (Pad Thai Place)
DAYS 6-11: THE GRAND CANYON
When Brad and I first started talking about what we wanted to do with our initial few weeks of stateside travel I had suggested the Grand Canyon. I had never been and always wanted to see it. And while I would have been perfectly happy spending an afternoon taking a few photos from one of the lookouts, Brad interpreted the word “seeing” a bit more zealously.
Grand Canyon, AZ
When Brad and I first started talking about what we wanted to do with our initial few weeks of stateside travel I had suggested the Grand Canyon. I had never been and always wanted to see it. And while I would have been perfectly happy spending an afternoon taking a few photos from one of the lookouts, Brad interpreted the word “seeing” a bit more zealously.
Now, one might think because we’re pretty outdoorsy that we’re experienced backpackers.
We’re not.
We’ve gone twice together and it was never for more than two nights. Between the two of us, we can count on one hand the number of backpacking trips that we’ve been on longer than a weekend.
So when Brad suggested the rugged 6 day rim-to-canyon-and-return Tanner-Escalante-Tonto-Grandview Loop, I naively agreed with cheer…until we received the response with which the permit was issued:
”...before we accept a $90 non-refundable payment from you, we want to make sure you understand what you requested. Experience has shown that trips such as the one you requested all too often result in off-itinerary camping, injury, and occasionally even death. Please do not accept this itinerary merely because it is available. Make sure it is what you really want and well within the capability of all group members.”
Too often results in injury? Death? Yikes.
But then again, reading the back of a lift ticket renders the same spine chilling feelings…so I maintained my “how bad could it possibly be” mentality and we forged on with our plans.
Fast forward to our initial arrival to the Lipan Point parking lot on the Southern Rim of the Canyon.
OMG. The views.
Like really...I have seen the photos. Googled it a million times on-line. But nothing prepares you for how GRAND the Grand Canyon actually is. It’s so huge and magnificent and sprawling. It’s not just a canyon, but what seems to be hundreds of them, extending in every direction as far as you can see. Such a beast of a thing.
After the initial “ooooing and ahhhing” we strapped on our packs and set foot. And yeah, I felt prepared. I had my very nerdy, very boyish looking backpacking outfit on and was all set to channel my inner Cherryl Strayed.
And then it came. The long stretches of trail dug down the side of the canyon. Where, if you weren’t careful, or if the 40lb thing attached to your back knocked something unexpectedly and you god forbid lost your balance, you'd be totally screwed. So, if you’re anything like me, you kind of get into this groove of just watching your feet, cautious not to widen your perspective and realize that one wrong move would seal your fate as a pancake on the desert floor. Then you'd look up and notice the beauty around you for a few minutes before returning your gaze to the dirt in front of you. And then oh your knees…your poor little knees. About half way down, they would start screaming. But you’re just so full of excitement of the first day and the views and the “newness” of it all, you ignore them and keep walking. Until you thankfully, at dusk, reach your camp and are able to soak your aching appendages in the Colorado River.
The next day it rained. It rained and rained and rained some more. And the tent is hot, and sticky, and soggy and humid from all the rain. And your husband points out that there’s a scorpion under a rock where you cooked your dinner.
Great.
And then there’s more hiking. More Rain. Bushes with thorns. Mice that brush up against the sides of your tent trying to steal your food at night. You learn that its tarantula migration season. And the flies. SOOO many flies.
The rain finally let up on day three, but by then I was whooped. So physically and mentally drained. And these narrow, cliff hanging, crazy trails, they go up up up and then down down down. And just when you're sneaking a peak at what you thought would be your camp for the night…oh wait, just kidding…there’s 2 more miles of up up up and down down down in front of you.
And at that point Brad turned around to check on me and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. My hips hurt. My feet hurt. My head hurt. I smelled. Horribly. And I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that we still had three more days of this torture. Warm tears started rolling down my hot, sticky face and I was toast.
But Brad, god bless him, never gets mad. Or annoyed. Or frustrated with my wussy-ness. He just stopped walking. Gave me a sweaty hug. Made me laugh. Fed me a granola bar. Assured me that we were close. And picked up my pack to carry it the rest of the way (mind you, he was already carrying like 80% of our stuff).
When we finally got to camp that night we stripped ourselves down and jumped straight into the ice cold Colorado. And holy mother of whatever-god-you-believe-in, did it feel good. We relaxed and Brad made me dinner. Smoked some cloves and snuggled in the tent. And again god bless him, he changed our route to get us home a day earlier.
The next day I was in better spirits and able to really enjoy the journey. When you’re not cursing the stars in pain or praying the soles of your boots have a decent grip on the gravel surface below you, you realize how amazing the trail system there is. You get to shimmy against the sides of stone, free climb up huge walls of shiny corrugated rock, slide on your ass down scree piled up against 50 foot drop-offs that make your heart pound and adrenaline surge. Most of is it practically vertical. Not much horizontal about it. There are switchbacks, huge views, jetting cliffs, lava gardens and miles of crazy shaped cacti. It’s really something.
And every time you pause. There you are. In some new beautiful place. Looking up or down in wonder and amazement.
We met a friendly couple who were from Traverse City and chatted (the only other people we had seen since leaving). We made camp yet again and that night, for the first night, the clouds parted and the stars showed themselves. And I went to bed smelly and gross and exhausted and feeling so happy and fulfilled.
In the morning we left and made our final 2,400 ft ascent back up to the rim, spending most of the hike fantasizing about what we were going to order at the Flagstaff McDonalds. And while my joints were relieved and my belly was rumbling, I was kind of, believe it or not, sad that this part of the journey was over.
Because I guess that’s what these horrible, terrible, amazing, wonderful experiences are for. To push you to your limits. To force you to learn about yourself. To make you appreciate a hot shower, warm bed and the one you love.
If I had never met Brad I probably would have made it to the Grand Canyon at some point in my life. I would have gotten out of the car, snapped a few photos, thrown a filter on em’, posted them on instagram and called it a day.
I would be far less smelly. I wouldn’t have bruises or blisters or scrapes. Every muscle in my body would be a heck of a lot less sore. I might have even saved a few tears.
But I also wouldn’t have learned that the rocks in the belly of the canyon come in every color of the rainbow and look like they were each hand painted by the Master himself. I would have never wandered through the bottom of the dry tributaries and wondered what it would be like to be an ancient river crashing against the walls. I wouldn’t know that some of the really hard to get to places in there are so green and lush, you would swear you’re hiking through a rainforest. And I wouldn’t have realized how strong and capable these quads and calves of mine really are.
I am so so very thankful that of all the people in the universe, I ended up with one who quite literally shows me the world from a different perspective. Who stands behind me on sketchy parts of the trail and spots me while I climb higher. Who patiently waits for me when I’m slower, who lifts my spirits when I’m at my lowest and still tells me I’m pretty even when I’m covered in 5 days of dirt.
So I guess when given the choice between seeing something comfortably from a distance or suffering through 35 miles of near death experiences in the depths of it with your other half, I’d always choose the latter.
And omg. How good did that cheeseburger taste when we were done.
