Abbey Road

Next Year in Jerusalem

2009-12-15T06:23:00.000-08:00

When you walk outside in my neighborhood, you can tell that there is a holiday coming; not because of the snow on the ground or the many versions of Silent Night playing on repeat in the malls. It isn't because of the glittery Santas hanging from lamp posts or the white lights draped on anything that will stand still. There are decorations, but they are subtle--menorahs line the street lamps and jelly doughnuts line the windows of storefronts, but the houses are decorated with nothing more than the usual orange trees. Songs hailing Judah Maccabee are lacking from the radio, but it is clear: Hanukkah is here.

Kids don't have school next week and there was even a talent show in my Ulpan this week, replete with juice and jelly doughnuts. (Ulpan is an intensive Hebrew school that draw Jews and non-Jews alike from every corner of the earth). No drunken holiday parties where you mistakenly kiss your co-worker and no secret Santa gift swaps. Honestly, the biggest difference between Hanukkah in the US and Hanukkah in Israel is the lack of Christmas. Christmas of course still takes place here. Moreover, it is celebrated in the spots that matter, Bethlehem and Nazareth to name a few, but both holidays are celebrated out of respect for their roots...and the jelly doughnuts.

Growing up in Northern Virginia, my brother and I were the only Jews in our elementary school. When Hanukkah came around, we felt pretty left out. It's not like we were watching all the non-Jews and their candy canes from afar, but Christmas pretty much overwhelmed the senses from October through January and left my brother and I wondering why Judah and Christ weren't on the same level. My mom made an appearance in our school every year around the middle of December. She brought plastic dreidels, jelly doughnuts and gelt. She taught our classes how to play "dreidel" and each year showed us how to make hannukiot from celery, peanut butter and pretzels. She gave Hanukkah a good name.

As the years went by, more and more Hanukkah songs made it into the winter assemblies and as my brother and I got older, we gained more allies in the Hanukkah department. It was a big year in our house when we bought an electric menorah to put in our window. We lived in a neighborhood of non-Jews and many were not terribly pleased that we were there. The electronic menorah was my parents' version of public Judaism.

So, back to Israel. Hanukkah is not Christmas--not in the United States and not in Israel. Hanukkah celebrates the amazing miracle of oil lasting for eight days. It's a great excuse for Israelis to eat foods laden in oil and spend more time than usual with their families, but life basically proceeds as normal. When looked at side by side, the Hanukkah miracle in no way compares with leading the Jews out of Egypt and through the desert to reach the Promised Land. The latter equals no school AND no work.

Despite having to work, Israelis do have some fun with Hanukkah. Jelly doughnuts and latkes are everywhere but it is the bakeries that are the real show. Smells of everything from dulce de leche to hot chocolate to the traditional jam filled sufganiot invade your nose, and all will folds in the face of frosted goodness. There is no doubt--Israelis pride themselves in their doughnuts. Some people take trips, some revel in knowing that latkes can suffice as dinner for eight nights in a row. Most gather for dinners and lighting the menorah. Our family isn't giving gifts this year, thankful instead for health, happiness and love.

Next year in Jerusalem. Oh wait, wrong holiday.

Pimp Your Meal

2009-12-15T06:22:00.001-08:00

With eighty degree days and no sign of chill in sight, Thanksgiving seemed a far-off option in a country that is more familiar with religious Pilgrims than the sort that settled New England. But left to some homesick Americans with a penchant for good wine, the holiday can turn into much more than the one celebrated in the good ole US of A--the one preceded by a large parade and capped off with black Friday.

Twelve Americans and one Israeli gathered in a lovely apartment in Jerusalem as the weekend began in the holy land. Two poets, four rabbis in waiting, a computer engineer, a photographer, a teacher and a few visitors began the evening, not with the carving of a bird or the giving of thanks, but with the popping of some bubbly. The notion of this meal was not to follow the dictates of tradition but rather to create something new: five courses, each paired with a specific wine, and lemon sorbet to cleanse our palettes in between.

The first course, appetizers enjoyed before setting down at the table, included veggie antipasto and veggie chopped liver. They were accompanied by a bottle of Cava and a bottle of Brut. These were my favorite wines--cold, sparkling, the perfect start to a fascinating meal.

Everyone found their seat, finished off their Cava and moved onto the second course. In an effort to not leave tradition completely in the dark, one of the guests prepared a honey sage cornbread--in my opinion, a modern American classic. Sweet, savory, amazing. This was served with a carrot soufflé--the recipe of a guest's aunt and the perfect retake on the sweet potato marshmellow combination that often graces Thanksgiving tables. As we were now seated at the table, the cries of "Pimp your dish" began--a chorus that followed us through the night and necessitated that the cook give the origins and secrets of his or her recipe. This course was served with Chenin Blanc.

Before moving on to course three, we were served lemon sorbet to make sure our palates were clean and prepared to best enjoy what came next. The third course included a stuffing recipe out of Long Island and a gourmet macaroni and cheese. The mac and cheese truly shamed Kraft--big shells covered in mozzarella, cheddar, and gruyere with tomato slices for color. Sauvignon Blanc, a few rounds of Johnny Appleseed, more sorbet and on to course four.

The fourth course was the real meat of the meal, minus the meat. Salmon done in a cumin rub, sour cream mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli and homemade cranberry sauce. Any other night, this would be the entire meal. On this Thanksgiving, this and some Tempranillo equaled just the fourth course.

With all of the savory food dispensed, we moved on to the best and most important course--dessert. Pumpkin cheesecake bars, chocolate pecan pie, pumpkin pie, dark chocolate truffles and Malbec to boot.

I walked in knowing only the hosts and two other people. I walked out with a handful of new friends, a full belly and real inspiration--this was not a Thanksgiving without thought or hope. This group of temporary expats really redefined the notion of Thanksgiving for me; each course was given its time, its wine and its appreciation. There were true thanks given at this meal--for the food in front of us, for friends new and old, and for the ability to celebrate the holiday despite our proximity to New England.

Holy Land or Professional Purgatory?

2009-12-15T06:20:00.000-08:00

Today at work, someone peed their pants. No, I am not being idiomatic - nor am I am being funny. I work somewhere where someone literally peed their pants. This would have been quite a tale to tell had it been at my last job, a large non-profit in Washington, D.C. As I am currently living a few bus stops north of Tel Aviv, I no longer work there. I now work with mostly 7 year olds, teaching them English for 3 hours after their school day ends. In many ways, this could be an important, even effective job. Some days it probably is, but most days it feels more like glamorized babysitting. Peeing your pants barely makes the headlines.

I use this example not as a vehicle to complain about life or rue my choices (Masters in Near Eastern and Judaic Studies?) or lack of Hebrew (really, even with the masters?). Instead, I wish to examine the life of the immigrant, or in my case, the pseudo-immigrant biding her time on a tourist visa. In a nutshell, I am qualified for nothing. I am not a nurse, nail artist, carpenter, or one of the other very popular categories of job possibilities. I, as many of my friends, have woven a complicated web of education, jobs and even publications that qualify for nothing outright when plucked from an English speaking work world and dropped on the corner of chutzpah and hummus.

I have been lucky in my three weeks in Israel. I have found gainful employment, I have found a magazine who will pay me to write (in English!!), and I have the ever-attractive lure of Hebrew classes three mornings a week to get me out of bed. All in all, it is enough to keep me busy and even make enough money to pay for those Hebrew classes and the bus to get there and back. I am lucky. English is my first and best language and it will carry me the world 'round - if I am willing to take whatever job I can get.

This is the source of my frustration. I am willing to take whatever job I can get as I know that without Hebrew, my choices are limited. I am frustrated that I can't have the jobs I want. I want to work at a nonprofit and spend the daylight hours dreaming of how I can help hungry people eat and homeless people find homes. There are many things I love--writing, traveling, teaching--but mostly I love to know that I am making a difference in someone else's life, no matter how small. I am frustrated that without Hebrew that passion of mine is stifled.

I will find a way to express it. I will look harder, I will volunteer, I will network. You always hear about engineers and doctors who come to the US and drive cabs because their qualifications no longer exist once they are an American citizen. Where do they find their meaning? Is it enough to put dinner on the table and some money in savings? How hard do you fight to do what you love even when there is no job title for it? I know the answers are not simple so I will keep searching. In the meantime, I am hoping my students learn to raise their hands when number one is imminent.

Citizens of the Same Family

2009-10-25T12:23:00.000-07:00

It finally makes sense. After months of traveling in the East with an Israeli and being witness to the very low social boundaries Israelis have with one another, it finally makes sense.

No matter where they are or whether they know each other, Israelis greet one another as old friends and break into full conversation within minutes about whatever is relevant. If we happened to be in Vietnam, the conversation would be about which guest house was the best and least expensive. If we were in Australia, perhaps advice would be dispensed about which caravan park had the nicest kitchen or which company offered the best dives. As an American in these dialogues, I smiled, tried to understand the conversation and then usually zoned out. I was always aware, though, that Israelis claim ownership to something English speakers and people from most other languages do not; because Hebrew is spoken by so few in the world, when you happen upon a Hebrew speaker outside of Israel, brotherhood is immediate and unquestioning.

On a particularly hot day in November in Cairns (northeastern Australia), Oded and I decided to check out the public lagoon in the center of the city. Upon arriving in Cairns, we couldn't help but notice the lagoon, a large swimming pool type arrangement adjacent to the shore. It was open to the public and free, a perfect way for two poor travelers to waste the day. We made our way from the sandy concrete to the center of the lagoon, only waist deep in water. We swam, relaxed, floated, and inevitably heard Hebrew. Oded swam closer and with nothing more than an, "Alan, ma koreh?" we had a new friend and were cooking dinner and drinking beers in Uzi's guest house hours later. We spent a few days with Uzi and his friends before moving on north and west. More than a month later, we walked into a backpacker in Sydney, and there sat Uzi. The reunion was that of old friends, replete with hugs, kisses and stories of where we had all been the last weeks. If Oded and Uzi were replaced in this scenario with two Americans, say Mark and Greg, this meeting would look very different or not at all. They would most likely never approach each other, and for good reasons. First, most Americans never take a trip like this and therefore would never even be in this situation. Next, English is not a rare commodity and does not serve to connect its speakers. Most importantly and the reason for this examination, is why Americans, and I venture most other nationalities, do not create the same connections as Israelis.

The answer to my question arrived on my ninth trip to Israel, a trip that less resembles a vacation and more a permanent residence. After a six month reprieve in Boston, I am once again gone from the US and have moved up and on from my backpack to a lovely apartment in Ramat HaSharon. We now live in Oded's family's apartment, to be exact, and one that I am now to think of as my own. It is this apartment and its surrounding area that answered my question for me. Oded's family lives in a two level apartment with four bedrooms, two and a half baths and a considerable amount of common space. The street is lined with buildings just like this one that house apartments of roughly the same size. Oded has spent his entire life in a similarly sized space in this exact neighborhood. The streets are lined with parks, cafes and an absurd amount of hair salons. Due to the almost always warm weather, windows are open to the street in an omnipresent theater of life. Everything from fights and family meals to television and love making are part of the daily sounds of the street. Not only can you hear, but often you can see as well. The apartments are in every way equipped for life, but I imagine they seem small after a while. The natural outgrowth of not enough privacy is a cafe culture, a place where the dramas of life are again played out in the street.

In America, or at least in my America and not that of the Lower East Side in the early twentieth century, a significant amount of Americans live in homes that are not connected to other buildings. These homes are built to keep noise, heat, and family secrets in, rather than hanging them out with the wash. For better or worse, these homes produced Americans who are quiet, reserved and keep to themselves. At least until they break free from suburban American and move into their freshmen dorm or their first apartment building and their concepts of privacy and decency are blown. But as these episodes of communal living do not last forever, and many find their way back out to the land of cul de sacs and lawn mowers, Americans maintain on some level their ability to disengage from daily interactions and the closeness created in the warm apartments and open cafes of Tel Aviv.

In conclusion, and after many months of watching my beloved greet strangers on foreign avenues around the world as if they were long lost friends, I finally understand perhaps one of the reasons that Israelis are why they are the way they are. Put aside all of the politics, the religion, the neighbors and think instead on the proximity of apartments, the climate and the ensuing culture and you find a people who are less like citizens of a nation and more like an extended family.

Translating Jewish

2009-10-24T11:51:00.000-07:00

I am completely fortunate that my whole life my parents encouraged me to marry for love. Not money, not religion, not security. Simply love. As a product of a middle class, Jewish household, it is mildly surprising that I received little to no pressure to marry for love AND Judaism. There may have been a small threat that if I married a Jew, I would inherit my great-grandmothers candlesticks (heavy, silver, carried on her person from Poland) and if I don't marry a Jew, I would be hit over the head with them. A small threat that was not repeated often over the years, especially after I fell in love with an amazing Jewish man, a man that I found without the aid of Jdate, blind dates, speed dates or any other system other than pure good fortune. So when the seemingly impossible happened, both families were ecstatic, and mine breathed a sigh of relief that the candlesticks would not have to be used as a weapon. But before the happily ever after could begin, first the wedding needed to be planned. And by wedding, I mean weddings. See, this most amazing man is not just Jewish, but Israeli. Enter the main character in this story: conflict. Not conflict between my husband and I or our families per say but between our cultures. Jewish translates in many ways from state to state and even across oceans but when it comes to wedding planning, Jewish is a whole other story. Thus begins the saga of wedding number one.

The American wedding. A celebration of values, tradition, love and of course an open bar. With my fiance across an ocean somewhere due north of Tel Aviv, the initial planning was left to me...and my mother. There were many things easily pinned down: save the dates--designed using a mac and sent electronically, sent 4 months before the wedding day; the venue--a platinum LEED certified non-profit that educates high school students in art; the music--dj, no line dances, minimal slow songs; the food--locally raised, vegetarian grub minus grilled salmon; no wedding party--less muss, less fuss; rabbi--friend of mine from LA, woman, awesome. But somewhere between harpists and breaking the glass lay the rub. Not only do Israelis plan weddings in roughly three days, they have much less to worry about--no flights (usually), no hotels, and no welcome bags at the hotel or information sheet for the weekend long festivities because Israel is a celebrate and sleep at home kind of country. I have also excluded all the pre-wedding goodness from registries, wedding showers to bachelorette parties. Try explaining over skype to your mother-in-law to be that you sign up for things you want people to buy you and then they buy them and then you kill trees to thank them. The whole process of wedding planning is full of long standing traditions and rules that sometimes offer wisdom and logic and other times offer complication in multiple shades of taffeta. It is also something that we successfully navigated in just four short months here in the US.

With all of the party planned and my fiance actually in Boston, we had time to concentrate on what is arguably the most important part of the day--the ceremony. Since we already had the rabbi, one big thing was accomplished. The challenge here comes back to an earlier note--this is wedding number one and wedding number two will take place in Israel. This means looking into a ton of halacha (Jewish law) in order to make sure we can legally marry each other twice. This is much more simple and more complex than one would intuit. The most important thing to both my fiance and to me is to celebrate this great event with all of those we love, not just throw a party one place and do the pomp and circumstance in another. In order to do that in Israel and be married religiously and not civilly (by a rabbi and not town hall) we needed to make sure that we did NOT have two male witnesses sign our ketubah (wedding agreement). This means that the whole process of the rabbi, the vows, the seven blessings...none of it matters or makes anything legal until two men have signed a document saying that they witnessed the wedding. Problem solved. Our ketubah was signed during the ceremony by four close friends: three women, one man. And we will do it all again in Israel, where two men will sign our ketubah so our wedding will be legally recognized as Jewish in Israel. I have significant questions that border on complaints regarding the marriage process in Israel but I will save that for another time.

The ceremony at our request was very accessible to people of all backgrounds. Our guests were a mix of ethnic and religious backgrounds and to ensure that everyone felt engaged and in the know, we not only wrote out a step by step program including questions like, "What is a Huppah and Who's Under It?" but we made sure that the rabbi introduced and explained each piece of the ceremony, in Hebrew and English. This whole process was again new to my fiance and his family. Weddings in Israel are generally all in Hebrew and thus require no translation or explanation. We had to question each individual piece to make sure we felt comfortable with it, for example the bride circling the groom after she finishes her trip down the aisle was new to my fiance. He wanted to know why it happens and what the history of it was. This was before I told him I wanted more liberal take on the whole woman circles man thing. This is somewhat what I meant by Jewish not translating across cultures. Another example includes the name stamped satin kippah that we all know all too well for them bar/bat mitzvah circuit. My mother, as any good Jewish mother would, went right out and ordered a large amount of satin kippot for our celebration. Another something that doesn't happen in Israel because who doesn't just have their own?

After all of the conversation, editing, and translating the American wedding was amazing and full of Jewish tradition, non-stop dancing, great food and genuinely happy people. And my biggest recommendation to any bride, no matter country or culture: Croc High Heels.

This blog was also published on jewcy.com!

Homecoming

2009-04-16T12:05:00.000-07:00

Instead of flying straight home to Boston, I made an excellent decision (if I do say so myself) to stop in Los Angeles first for two weeks. My friend Kim met me at the airport with a balloon, an American flag, trail mix and a bottle of wine--what else does one need upon arrival to the US? I spent my first days seeing friends--Kim, Carrie, Amy Y., Mara--and then Passover started and I got to see even more friends--Amy B., Rebecca, Brad--while enjoying matzah ball soup and a retelling of how the Jews got out of Egypt before properly baking their bread. All was good--did some hiking, went to a yoga class, and spent a night in Hollywood with all of Mara's folk, but then everything changed on Saturday night.

Mara and I headed to the Santa Monica to meet up with all the west siders. We picked up Carrie, Kim and crew and headed to the meeting place, a spot called Wokcano. We walked in and it strikes the customer as a restaurant kind of place and I was like, really, we're gonna sit at a table all night? But as you walk through, the restaurant turns into a big outdoor space with a gorgeous loft like balcony. I follow Carrie up the stairs and hear "Surprise!!" Awesome. The first face I see is my friend Fef (Rebecca). She was one of my closest friends in LA and had recently moved to Austin and happened to be in LA that weekend. All was right in the world. There were so many amazing faces from all of Amy Y.'s friends to friends from high school to the girls who planned it (thanks Amy and Mara!!).

Right after I make my way around the room and say hello to everyone, I see my godmother Shelley reach the top of the stairs and I am in disbelief. She lives an hour out of LA and I had already planned to stay with her a day later but it shows how well my friends know me that they invited her. Well, Shelley is my godmother because she is my mom's best friend so literally 5 seconds later my mom walks in...and I lose it. She flew cross country the day before after finding out about the party. It is too good to be true. I haven't seen my friends and family in so long and this was such an amazing gathering. Well, I burst into tears and so does my mom and Mara and Amy and Kim...but we recover, order wine and have a truly amazing night.

My friends put in such a great effort--planning, showing up, keeping it a secret--but it was really the best to see the plotters get surprised! The night ended with me, Mara and Kim eating matzah pizza--not too shabby.

The rest of my time in LA has continued to keep me on my toes--I spent time with my mom, Shelley and her family, Amy and her friends and Kim and I are headed to Santa Barbara for a day of wine before I head back to Boston for the summer.

Now I am just missing my men...Jason, Oded and my Dad. A girl can dream!

My Best Dive Ever

2009-04-14T12:44:00.000-07:00

Before leaving Coral View, Oded and I decided to go diving one more time. We knew the dive masters from having dove there before and knew that they only took us to the best sites. They walked up to us at breakfast and asked if we were in the mood to go diving that morning--we were. Based on conditions that day, they took us to the Blue Lagoon--think Brooke Shields in 1979 and every over the top vacation brochure you have ever seen--see through blue water, white sand beaches, remote islands. This is the Blue Lagoon. We boated over there, put on our gear, tipped over backwards and descended to the white sand below.

Almost immediately, the dive masters asked us to kneel on the sand. They opened a bag of "fish food" and schools of gorgeous fish came swimming our way, surrounding us in color. As this is happening, I see Oded writing on the dive master's underwater pad. I was immediately concerned that something was wrong with his equipment but he turned to me so I could see what he had written. The pad read, "Will you marry me?" I was so surprised but shook my head yes as best I could. In Oded's words, "She smiled, closed her eyes, slapped me on my mask a few times, smiled again, let a few bubbles come out of her mouth, and kissed me underwater. I chose to take it as a yes."

Then we dove for another forty minutes, saw amazing fish and surfaced with big smiles on our face. No dive will ever top this one...

Bula!

2009-04-14T12:21:00.000-07:00

After two months of trekking, sky diving and more rain than imaginable, we left New Zealand more than ready for two weeks on the beach. We arrived in Fiji right in time for sunset and a fire show at our hotel. After an hour of ten Fijians tossing, eating, and swirling fire sticks, we immediately felt the difference between being in a Western culture and being in Fiji. We spent one night on the mainland before jumping on a boat and beginning two weeks of island hopping.

The first place we stayed, Bay of Plenty, was like Lost with some huts. The people were so nice, standing knee deep in the ocean playing us a welcome song on their guitars as we arrived. They taught us how to open a coconut, net fish, and dance like Fijians and served amazing homemade food. Our room was perched on the top of a hill overlooking the ocean and provided an amazing view for sunrise. We stayed only one night and headed to Coral View, a more populated island.

Our first morning at Coral View we headed out with the dive masters on a shark feeding dive. We took a boat twenty five minutes away from all land and dove 18 meters down in the middle of the ocean. Once we were all assembled and holding onto a rope, one of the dive masters opened a trash can of dead fish and at once hordes of fish came and feasted on the impromptu meal, and one by one reef sharks would swim by and take their pick.

Then, all of a sudden, you see all the small fish swim away and in comes a sickle cell lemon shark--more than 4 meters in length and fierce. It was like watching the Discovery Channel in front of your face. The shark came in, cleaned up, whipped its body as it swam through and disappeared again. We saw two of those sharks during the dive and eleven other sharks total.

We left Coral View after 4 days because we wanted to see other islands. We spent a rainy night one an island misnamed White Sandy Beach before moving on to Manta Ray Island, a supposedly high end backpacker resort. We were not terribly impressed and headed back to Coral View for our last few nights, with our new friends Colleen and Colin in tow. The staff, food and accommodation at Coral View was awesome--the staff were constantly singing, everyone knew our name and there was 24 hour power--a big deal on the islands! But this was not what would ultimately be what I remember about Coral View...

New Zealand in Review...kind of

2009-03-18T16:05:00.000-07:00

New Zealand is renowned for its nature, its laid back lifestyle and its warm people but when you get past Lord of the Rings, most people find New Zealand to be stuck 20 years in the past, in a charming sort of way. One traveler in a guide book remarked, "When I got to New Zealand, I thought it was closed." This is not far from the truth and I think Kiwis rather prefer it this way--a kind of self and state preservation. But there are some things that we have encountered that support the notion of New Zealand being 20 or even 40 years behind.

Glaciers are popular here--one may even say they are New Zealand's "thing", along with fiords, sounds, beaches and forest. So we set out on a famous and much recommended walk to view a glacier, but the walk starts down 30 kilometers of unpaved road where we needed to cross three bodies of unbridged water. Seriously? Pave your roads!

Driving on the North Island, we noticed a sign for a toll road. In the US, this would necessitate a toll booth where you either interact with a living human being or where the fee is electronically charged to a pass each time you enter the road. In New Zealand, the options are 1) prepay the toll online 2) call and pay for the toll within 3 days 3) pull off the road and pay at a machine where traffic officials assist you in the somewhat complicated system. The bugger is that you never enter the toll road--it just is. What?!!

New Zealand is definitely home to the most dramatic scenery I have ever encountered but I have a few suggestions: street lights, two way bridges, and street signs, just to name a few. After tramping uphill for hundreds of kilometers, waiting for the non-stop rain to abate, and surviving the unpaved roads, Oded and I are more than ready for Fiji!

Hot Water Beach

2009-03-18T15:45:00.000-07:00

All the photos of people on holiday in New Zealand show smiling faces amidst the sand and surf, and seeing as the North Island has actual glimpses of a much missed sun, we headed to Coromandel, a peninsula in the northeast. Full of beautiful bays where the forest meets the beach and awe-inspiring sandstone structures stand solo in the sea, Coromandel is as lovely as it is rumored to be, but its real wonder is not enjoyable during most of the daylight hours. On either side of low tide, which for us was at 6:50 PM, at one beach in one small area, a natural hot spring exists under the sand. Aptly named, Hot Water Beach draws hundreds of people each day at low tide, With spades in hand, groups of people dig out natural hot water pools. As you approach the area, the sand warms your feet with each step until you slowly feel your foot burn and you know you are there--the water gets as hot as 149 degrees Celsius. We learned quickly to dig deep, fortify the walls of our little pool with dry sand, and then just sit and relax. The tide crawled up and over every now and then but the springs were so hot, the cold water was welcome. All in all, good free fun.

Don't Tell My Mom*

2009-03-18T15:25:00.000-07:00

In the New Zealand tradition of waiting, Oded and I arrived in Taupo (the center of the North Island) with a long list of things to do and instead of actually doing them, we waited. We waited for the wind to lessen, the clouds to clear, the rain to end, because as we have learned, nothing is worth doing in New Zealand if the weather is not perfect.

First on our list was bungy jumping--my first time and Oded's fourth. Set on the side of a gorgeous rock walled blue-green river, the jumping deck stood 47 meters over the water. After watching a few people get harnessed in and jump, we got in line. As it was my first time, I dove the regular way--arms over my head, head first. I stepped to the edge, looked down, cleared my mind, and opened my eyes. A truly fun feeling of plunging downwards but short lived as the bungy did its job and yanked me back up. Oded, a bungy veteran, having done the third highest bungy in the world (168 meters in Nepal), jumped backwards, the accepted scariest way to do it. On a count of three, he threw himself backwards and plummeted feet first before gravity flipped him over and he fully submerged in the water head first--an awesome sight.

Next on the list--skydiving. Thankfully the wind was too strong for our first dive time because the morning we actually jumped was cloudless and blue skied--a perfect day. The process is quick--get weighed, get geared up, watch a two minute DVD on what to do and you're in the air with a stranger strapped to your back, at the edge of an airplane door. Again, I cleared my mind but whereas I had to decide to jump at the bungy, my tandem master just rocked me out of the plane and I was rushing toward the ground in a 60 second free fall. With views of Mt. Tongariro, Lake Taupo, and both the east and west coast of the North Island, it was unbelievable. It is an experience without comparison and serious fun. After about a minute, Albert opened the parachute and I went from a rush of wind in my ears to the most complete silence I have ever known. From there we spun and floated our way back to base, taking in the views and the absurdly surreal sense of flying. Oded jumped 30 seconds after me and loved it just as much.

All of these high flying adventures were just stall techniques as we waited for the track to be opened on the Tongariro Crossing, a trek hailed as New Zealand's best day walk. Usually hype oversells things but the Crossing is definitely the best walk I have done in New Zealand. It took us just over 6 hours to walk the 20 kilometers but the track was well built and full of beautiful scenery--volcanic craters of all colors, fresh snow on the mountain tops and emerald lakes with clouds of sulphur rising in the distance. (For followers of Lord of the Rings, this is Mt. Doom.) The walk provided great views at all times, but I have to say that I am not too sad to be done trekking in New Zealand!

*Of course my mom already knows! She was the first one we called after jumping...Doesn't mean she's happy though...:)

Richmond, Not Just the Capitol of Virginia

2009-02-28T18:24:00.000-08:00

Having survived our trek in the cloud, Lina and Gil headed south while Oded and I headed north. By chance we stopped for the night in Richmond, a town of no note to backpackers and kiwis alike. We arrived around seven and headed straight to a little festival in town someone told us about. Local wineries and breweries lined the streets serving tastes, glasses and bottles. Tables were packed with locals, young and old, consuming baked potatoes, crepes, and "American" hot dogs. Little boys walked barefoot eating shaved ice, dyed red, blue and orange. A band played in the background, an audience to the show the locals put on. They sang everything from Aretha to Pink to Sweet Home Alabama and after the wine took hold, everyone was on their feet, dancing. Teenage girls in short shorts danced in groups, their bra straps showing for effect. A mother swayed to the music with her son in her arms. Couples with white hair danced dances that have names that I should know (waltz?) and of course a quartet of Israeli boys jumped around, all curly hair and cigarettes. The sun set, at first lighting the sky in shades of purple and orange, but after time faded to soft pinks, blues and some purple still. The music lasted for hours and the crowd only sang louder and danced harder and when it was time to go home, couples strolled hand in hand while the neighborhood kids chased each other with cups of water, the slow at a disadvantage. A small town at its best.

Trek to the End of the World

2009-02-28T18:06:00.000-08:00

After some rest and much stretching, Oded and I attempted our second and third multi-day treks. The second, the Routeburn, was a kinder gradient, and full of breathtaking scenery. We tramped 17 kilometers the first day through mountains, lakes, and saw past snow capped peaks all the way to the west coast of the south island. We also acquired two new friends, an Israeli couple on a two month honeymoon, with whom we traveled from the trek to Wanaka and onto the glaciers. We loved this trek for the views, the company and the track.

From the Routeburn, we headed to Angelus Hut in Nelson Lakes, a tramp that almost all the Israelis we've met recommend as one of the most beautiful treks in the whole island. A two day tramp mostly on the ridge, it is meant to be hard, but not as challenging as Kepler (our first trek). The tramp is a back country track and therefore the hut is less expensive, the track is less maintained and the fewer people crowd the path. With two of Oded's friends from Israel newly arrived in New Zealand, Lina & Gil, we headed to St. Arnaud. We began the morning after a rainy night and a dense cloud still remained. We figured the cloud would disappear as the day heated up. Wrong assumption. When the day is cloudy, do not trek in New Zealand. We climbed for a little over an hour, gaining close to 700 meters, and walked another 9 kilometers on the ridge ALL in a cloud--a cloud so thick we sometimes couldn't see the next pole or ten meters in front of us. In the beginning the track was dirt mixed with rocks but after 4 kilometers on the ridge, the track followed a steep path only accessed by climbing hand and foot over unsteady rocks. To top it off, it was both windy and rainy, making the rocks slippery and balance a necessity. It really felt like we were trekking to the end of the world--all white, blowing wind and rain, erupted mountainside and only a few other brave souls heading the opposite direction. Not as inspiring as I had hoped. After almost seven hours we reached our sleeping quarters, a hut set on a beautiful lake--yes, we could finally see!

We opted to walk the ridge back instead of the valley route we had intended to take, in the desperate hope that the day would be clear and we would finally see the views everyone raved about so enthusiastically. The next day was clearer and many hours faster--amazing how seeing in front of you speeds things up. The area was beautiful but I have come to the conclusion that I am either saturated with natural beauty or that when post-army Israelis say "beautiful" they actually mean "treacherous, blister-inducing and not all that different from every other lovely, flat view in New Zealand."

Face to Face

2009-02-28T17:57:00.000-08:00

It is ever popular recently not just to speak of global warming and the environment but to also change your ways to help turn back the climate clock--going green, reducing our footprint. So we remember to shut off the lights, unplug the coffee, buy local produce, recycle, walk to work, all in an effort to keep the world's glaciers from receding to a state of nonexistence. These simple acts, if done en masse, could very well affect change, but this whole concept of glacial recession may be too abstract to truly inspire action. Having stood face to face with many glaciers in one week--Rob Roy, Fox & Franz Josef--I can say that it is way more motivating than any documentary.

As you drive up the road to view the glaciers, signs are posted as far as one kilometer out to show where the glacier reached in the 17 and 1800s. The glaciers themselves are beautiful, milky white turquoise ice, sculpted in jagged peaks, both reflecting and shaping the rocks that the ice once covered. But the glaciers have receded, and substantially--the glacial rivers are all rock bed and the ice changes everyday.Standing at the foot of these glaciers really inspires the feeling of witnessing a natural phenomenon, one that may sooner be history than present.

Australia does not live here

2009-02-10T16:56:00.001-08:00

After surviving some of the hottest, sweatiest days of my life in Australia, I thought that New Zealand would be a relief, a chance to finally put my strategic layering system into use. Most days in NZ I am wearing some version of every piece of clothing that I brought on this 7 month journey--tank top, sweater, pants, dress, socks--you can only imagine how hip I look. So as we prepared for our first overnight tramping trip we realized that we needed even warmer, faster drying clothes and a good bit of gear that we didn't yet have. A few shopping trips later and we had new hats, gloves, thermals, a billy to boil water in, light weight mugs and food to last us three days--bread, nutella, muesli bars, rice, tea and hot cocoa. With all of this and our sleeping bags on our backs, we were each walking with 10-12 kilos on our backs.

We chose the Kepler track, a 50K trek in Fiordland in southwest New Zealand. The first day was 6 flat kilometers followed by a steady 8K uphill climb that brings you out of thee tree line to exposed ridge. We made it to the first hut in about four and a half hours, just as the rain started. By morning the weather had cleared and we had a perfect day in front of us which was key as the second day was chock full of views of mountains, fiords and gorgeous skies. By perfect weather I mean 3 degrees Celsius and 55 mph winds. At times I resembled a drunken sailor, weaving back and forth, often unable to stand or walk straight. We gained 1300 meters by the second day and saw some really sweeping alpine views from the track, a thin path cut into the rock with breathtakingly steep cliffs on one and sometimes both sides. I thought the wind and cold made the day hard but there are folks who brave the path with snow up to their knees. By the end of the second day we descended down 100 switch backs in the bush before reaching the second hut.

The third day should have been the easiest--a flat 22 kilometers back out to civilization. I learned quickly that flat has a different meaning in New Zealand--it also includes steep ascents and descents. Funny how English works differently in different places. It took us six hours of fast walking before we finally crossed the swing bridge that brought us back to the world where things other than feet count as transportation. The three days were full of beauty, nice folks and exhilarating climbs, but by the end each step hurt, all my muscles were sore and I was cursing not having stretched more along the way. Lessons for next time...

Porpoise Bay

2009-02-01T22:52:00.001-08:00

Some Israelis that Oded met at Mt. Cook told us of a secluded bay at the very south of the south island where dolphins swim close to the shore. Not only had they seen them, but they swam with them. We checked into the camp in the late afternoon and immediately asked about the dolphin sighting possibility. The lady at reception casually pointed out the front door. I went out, stood on the edge of the cliff and immediately dolphins jumped out of the water, like a regular day at Sea World. I shouted for Oded and a few minutes later we were stripped down to our under things and running into the water.

Freeze frame for a second: this sounds amazing and fortunate but please consider that the day was sunless, the wind was whipping, and the water temperature was somewhere around 12 Celsius. OK, resume. Dolphins jumping and Oded and I doing our best to swim out over the huge waves to make it where the dolphins played. Once we got out to calmer waters, we lost the dolphins until one was five feet in front of me. And then there were five circling us and swimming with us. It was exhilarating and frightening, and amazing to see such truly beautiful creatures so close. We made it back to shore, fighting the waves, to hot showers and glasses of hot cocoa.

We also managed to see sea lions, seals and the rare yellow-eyed penguins throughout the day at different coastal spots. While I miss the constant presence of kangaroos, NZ has some great fauna of its own.

39 million sheep, 4 million people

2009-02-01T22:32:00.000-08:00

First impressions of New Zealand: absolutely stunning scenery, lots of sheep. It seems off the bat that NZ will be less fun than Australia. OZ is rowdier, untamed, spontaneous. NZ is tidy, rule abiding and shuts down early. It makes sense, sort of, as these two islands are home to some of the most naturally beautiful places on earth--glaciers, lakes, and coasts galore. It looks like we have exchanged our beer mugs for tramping shoes...

We started in Christchurch, a quaint city with a great art museum, street markets and a nightlife and backpacker scene that we quickly figured out is rare outside of Queenstown. Our first task was picking up our new van--we moved out of Astro Boy and into Golden Tops, a name that gave no clue as to what the art would look like. Both sides of the van are covered in mushrooms, not the garden variety, but more reminiscent of the kind you would see in a store that sells black lights and smells of patchouli. The driver's side also boasts a youth who looks blissfully high...on life. I expected the back to say something about what a long, strange trip its been or something similar but instead it reads, "Bag girls are good girls that haven't been caught." Quite the non sequitur.

After leaving Christchurch in Golden Tops, we spent our first few days in the Banks Peninsula, a little knob just south of Christchurch. This first drive already proved NZ's reputation true--the turquoise bays in Lyttleton and Akaroa were surrounded by rugged volcanic masses but it was Lakes Tekapo and Pukaki that took the cake for the best scenery in the first few days. Milky turquoise lakes surrounded by dark green pines backlit by the Southern Alps--the color is so shocking it almost feels unnatural, like fairies and wizards are about to fly out of their hiding places. No wonder Lord of the Rings was filmed here. From the lakes we headed to Mt. Cook. At 3755 m, it is NZ's and Australasia's highest peak and means "cloud piercer" in Maori. The clouds cleared and hung low long enough for the peak to grace the Hooker Valley and its icy waters. We were also lucky enough to view the kea, the only arctic parrot.

After a few walks through the mountains, we headed to Omaru, a coastal town that produced sightings of penguins at dusk and then on to Shag Point to see the fur seals. The south island's second largest town, Dunedin, provided a welcome surprise in their free art gallery. Peter Stichbury's "Alumni", a collection of close to 40 works of acrylic on linen were shockingly stimulating. The visual effect was somewhere between animation and reality and the intention was to make a statement on the present culture of aesthetics, celebrity, and the concept of human canvases. It is the best modern collection I have seen in a very long time.

Australia in Review

2009-01-21T17:24:00.000-08:00

Total time: 72 days

Kilometers traveled: 13,077

Wildlife spotted: Koalas, Kangaroos, Wallabies, Emus, Platypus, Echidna (like a porcupine), Sharks, Seals, Sea Turtles, Cassowaries, Penguins, Dingoes

Favorite National Parks: Grampians (Victoria), Blue Mountains (New South Wales), the Red Center (Kings Canyon, Uluru, the Olgas)

Favorite Thing about Aussies: Hospitality

Yummiest Food: Tim Tams

Best Backpacker Town: Cairns

Best Nightlife: Sydney

Favorite City: Melbourne

Best Drives: Great Ocean Road, the drive up to Cape Tribulation

Best Beaches: White Haven Beach (Whitsundays), Whisky Bay (Wilson's Prom)

Completing the Circle

2009-01-21T17:11:00.000-08:00

Oded and I pulled up to the Old Sydney Holiday Inn early Saturday morning. My wonderful parents gave Oded and I a break from the backpacks and the van and booked us into the hotel as our Hanukkah gift (thank you!!). Well, we showed up and it was clear within minutes that we would be someone's nightmare. We had less than two hours to return Astro Boy (tear) and needed to unpack the van, right then and there in front of this lovely hotel. So, we did. Backpacks, gas cans, eskys, food, tent, sleeping bags, atlases--you name it, it was on the curb. Fortunately, the hotel was awesome and they had us checked in and our bags delivered by the time Astro Boy was back with his rightful owners.

Not only did we stay in a hotel, but we went out on the town. A good friend from home is engaged to a lovely girl in Sydney and happened to be in town for the week. Ian and Tamara showed up at our hotel room about ten on Saturday night with a dress and heels for me and a button down shirt for Oded. They proceeded to dress us and show us the hottest spots in town--bars, clubs, guest lists, we were there in style. It was totally surreal to be in these posh places after spending four months in crocks and shirt dresses, but it was great fun. Oded and I bowed at around 3 am, completely exhausted and exhilarated and proceeded to sleep off the night and the last few months the next day.

By Monday, we were back on track, visiting Darling Harbour and taking in the views. Tuesday we headed out to Bondi Beach, Sydney's most popular coastal spot. After seeing tons of beaches in the last few months, this one still impressed me--there is something to be said for having an amazing city with coastal options. We ended up running into all of Israel in Bondi, specifically two guys we met earlier, one in Cairns and the other in Victoria. The world is a small and amazing place. Oded flew to New Zealand Wednesday night after watching hours and hours of inauguration madness and I follow him in two days time.

The Way Back to Sydney

2009-01-21T17:01:00.000-08:00

With less than a week to get back to Sydney, we made the most of our time. We left Melbourne and headed southeast. After about two hours, we reached Wilson's Promontory, the southern most point of Australia and a somewhat undercover wonder in OZ. No one had mentioned it to us until we got to Victoria, but once we heard about it, we didn't stop--it was on everyone's top 5 list of best national parks in the country. It is this spot of coast that Tasmania broke off of and therefore the ecology and wildlife is very similar.

Wombats were rumored to haunt the roads at night, and despite our stakeouts we never saw one alive. The coasts are pristine and the beaches are amazing. The water color never ceases to amaze me, but it was the rock formations that surrounded each bay that intensified the beauty of this spot. We only had one day at Wilson's Prom, but it is definitely a place to spend more time.

From the Prom we headed north to Canberra, Australia's Capital Territory. We toured the Parliament, visited the library, the largest in the country, and drove through the town with its streets name for every state in the country. After just an afternoon in the small capital, we headed north and east towards our final destination.

The Lord's Lodge

2009-01-21T16:43:00.000-08:00

Melbourne is definitely a city I could live in. After calling every number in the book, we found a hostel, the Lord's Lodge, that would let us park the van on the street and pay $10 a night to use the amenities--bathroom, kitchen, TV--good luck indeed. The spot was prime, the neighborhood hip and the hostel a regular UN--folks from Chile, Germany, Scotland, Italy, Japan, England spent each night cooking, drinking, playing cards.

We spent a lazy week there, visiting museums, gardens, and beaches. We reunited with Oded's friend Lisa, who he met traveling in Canada last summer. We spent Friday night dining in St. Kilda, Melbourne's claim to the beach, eating gelato and watching the sunset and the penguins come in. Saturday night found us at a hostel barbecue full of old friends and new, lots of food, sangria, and music. Sunday night we made our way south of the city to meet Oded's father's cousins who served us a never ending meal, straight off the grill.

After a few great days in the Grampians, an amazing drive on the Great Ocean Road, and Melbourne, I am confident that Victoria is the place to be.

To see photos of Melbourne, please click me

No Vacancy

2009-01-11T16:44:00.001-08:00

The Great Ocean Road is not an experience that is meant to be written about--it is meant to be driven. Roughly 200 kilometers, the coastline and uncommercialized towns are packed full of fish and chips shops, second hand book stores, and weekend fairs. Australia has a habit of declaring things Great but the The Great Ocean Road definitely deserves its superlative. We drove the road east to west, from the Grampians to Melbourne, and started with the stretch that is most visually impressive.

After thousands of years of waves beating against the coast, fragments of limestone have eroded, leaving arches, islands, and stacks of former coast standing alone in the middle of almost unbelievably blue green water. We stopped at every turn off from the Bay of Islands to the Twelve Apostles, each one a dazzling piece of geological puzzle, alive in the sea.

The road is packed during the holidays with backpackers, foreigners and locals alike and accommodation is booked out from caravan parks to the highest end hotel. Nights found us parking on small side streets or at the back of a willing hostel and mornings found us washing up in public bathrooms, but it was spending a full three days taking in every view. It was on our last day that we succeeded in spotting koalas in the wild; curled up in tall trees right on the road, loads of koalas slept, ate and moved from branch to branch. We left the coast around Torquay, the capital of all things skate and surf, and took the highway to Melbourne.

To see photos of the Great Ocean Road, please click me

Introducing Mick & Shazza

2009-01-11T16:21:00.000-08:00

We have never quite experienced quite the same reception as we did upon reaching the caravan park in the Grampians, a majestic mountain range in West Victoria. Hordes of kids, on bikes and on foot, ran after our van in a frenzied happiness that at first confused us and mostly scared us, as the youngsters banged the side of the van in unrestrained glee. Our reception clearly had more to do with Astro Boy than us. We came to a stop and I opened the side door, exposing our bed, to reprimand the blond boy who had so adamantly chased us. Before I could say anything, I heard, "Is this where you sleep? It looks comfortable," and a blond head all but jumps into the bed--a charmer in the making. Within moments, two dads came to claim the rabble rousers and within minutes the fate of our Grampians adventure was sealed.

After a discussion of Astro Boy, national parks and the validity of some past due pasta, Marc, Lyndel, Stoph and Rach acted as our hosts for the last hours of 2008 and the first of 2009. We could barely drink and eat all the beer, wine, scotch, and cake on offer, not to mention the hot Milo (cocoa)--my first in what promises to be a long standing habit. We had chosen to spend the New Year in nature, away from the crowds and the drinks, but somehow the party found us and it was somewhere in those last hours of 2008 that we unknowingly gained Aussie credibility.

The Grampians themselves are a place to be consumed--from the lookouts over lakes, towns and ranges to the abundant walks through rocky ascents, the nature is first class. A 2006 fire ravaged much of the area and the scars are still evident, but the town was packed with families. Many, like our new friends, set up shop year after year to celebrate the holidays. We hiked through the Grand Canyon and out to the Pinnacle, we stood at the foot of McKenzie Falls, and we pulled ourselves up to the summit of Mt. William, but the nature is not all that Halls Gap boast. It is a wonderland of sugar and treats--fresh fudge, stuffed back potatoes, ice cream scoops bigger than my fist. Heaven, indeed.

On our last night Stoph presented us with two bottles of wine and our new names. As Oded is often hard to pronounce for non-Hebrew speakers, Oded mnay times introduces himself as James, an army nickname that stuck. To save Oded this hassle in the future, Marc and Stoph gave Oded a true Aussie name, one that will never be mistaken or mispronounced--Mick. And where would Mick be without his gal pal Shazza? We left the Grampians after two days of being well cared for and properly entertained on all levels and reentered the world with our new identities--Mick and Shazza.

To see photos of the Grampians, please click me

The Red Center

2008-12-26T21:13:00.000-08:00

Australia's Red Center is totally worth it. The nature is superb--this is the Australia of my imagination. Burnt red rock and soil color the landscape. Shocking blue skies meet surprisingly green trees and bush. If you have the patience to withstand the heat and the flies, the region offers some truly beautiful nature and abundant wildlife. The MacDonnels, a lengthy mountain range that bookends Alice Springs, is best known for the sights in the Western ranges. Gorges, gaps and chasms abound creating natural habitats for black footed rock wallabies and many birds of prey, including wedged tail eagles. Kings Canyon, south and west of Alice Springs, offers a chance to climb rocks overlooking a deep canyon where the earth's shifts are recorded dutifully on the Canyon walls.

After years of living with Mara and having photos of Uluru hang on my walls, I finally had the good fortune to see the great rock with my own two eyes. I expected to be disappointed, seeing that Ayres Rock is after all just a rock. As we approached at sunset, it was clear that there was nothing simple or disappointing to be seen. Massive and varied depending on where you stand and the time of day it is viewed, the rock could quiet even the loudest critic. Aboriginal art, caves and the occasional water hole made walking around parts of the base well worth it. The site is of spiritual importance to the local Aboriginal groups and despite their desire that no one climb the rock, a climb is possible in cooler weather.

Forty-five kilometers west of Uluru, the 36 domes of the Olgas stand in solid challenge to the popularity of Uluru. In truth, the Olgas were beautiful and much more climbable than Uluru. We hiked the Valley of the Winds walk, a trek up red rock face and down green plains, always accompanied by the walks namesake, and our two Czech friends, Micha and Milan. Another 700ks and we slumbered in Coober Pedy, a town that produces 80% of the world's opal and where one third of the town lives underground to escape the heat. Underground hotels, camp sites, bars, businesses, and even churches exist under the city's cover.

Not yet out of the Outback, we spent two days in the Flinders Ranges, a 400k long range. We spent our time in the Central Ranges, best known for the Wilpena Pound, a huge circular range surrounding flat bush. As we drove through the camp on our first night, we stopped in front a big tent with a couple sitting in front of it, enjoying a few beers as kangaroos quietly chowing down on the grass around their tent. We threw the car in park, grabbed the camera and went at photographing these friendly creatures. We ended up pulling up a few chairs, sharing the sunset and a few beers with this friendly Aussie couple and a host of kangas. Andy and Angela, our new friends, were really nice and were the first Aussies who spoke openly about Australia's relationship with the Aboriginal communities around the country. As informative as it was, nothing tops drinking beers with kangaroos.

After a few chilly nights of good sleep in the Flinders, we headed south and out of the Outback. Just past Port Augusta we saw the ocean for the first time in two weeks--it was like manna for the eyes after weeks of driving through drab bush. Just as Christmas Eve descended, we arrived in Adelaide in time to check into a hostel, our first stay in a backpackers since Sydney. Clean and full of nice people, we hunkered down to weather Christmas and Boxing Day. Two holidays, one day right after the other--no cinemas, no cafes, no museums. So we ate, slept, read and slept some more. So far, I like Adelaide.

To see photos of Alice Springs and the West MacDonnels, please click me

To see photos of Kings Canyon, please click me

To see photos of Uluru and the Olgas, please click me

To see photos of Coober Pedy, the Flinders Ranges & Adelaide, please click me

The Outback

2008-12-26T19:09:00.000-08:00

The desert is intense. It is at once beautiful and confounding. The days are full of a sun and heat that overwhelm you. The desire to drink water is ever present but not matter how much you drink your thirst is never slaked. All the moisture leaves your skin and lips making, chapstick equal to gold, a melted necessity. The only relief comes when the sun sets, but the ground has been heated for so long that it is only in the early morning that you feel the need to pull a light cover over you. The heat is not the only thing that serves to blanket you in the outback; the flies are an acknowledged way of life. They occur in such mass that it is often maddening to do even the smallest things--cook, eat, breathe, walk. Flies are attracted to wetness and land on your eyes, ears, mouth, the places most hospitable to them and most invasive to you. Dingoes, an indigenous breed of wild dog, circle the van at night, howling and in search of food. Scorpions litter the sidewalk, calmly waiting to strike passersby. Rain rarely falls in this stretch of Australia, leaving the land as thirsty as its inhabitants. The terrain is vast and scorched. At times there is nothing bur dry grass on the side of the road but at other times small mountains and green trees pop up to surprise you with their vitality. As the sun sets each day, kangaroos and wallabies head to the road in search of warmth usually to met their end at the unyielding hands of a novice outback driver. The road is never without carcasses--kangaroos, cows, lizards, and the massive red mounds made by industrious termites determined to build structures that dwarf cows, cars, and even some humans. With all of that taken into account, people live here. Small towns dot the Northern Territory and the top of South Australia, outposts to a lifestyle long passed by. There is some humanity, though--a custom of waving at the oncoming driver exists, a way to acknowledge the only other human for miles.

Days of driving and finally we took the turn south toward Alice Springs. At once, the land betrayed its name, and turned the deep red of clay, offset by a constant and cloudless blue sky.

A Rough Welcome

2008-12-26T18:56:00.000-08:00

Many people we've met along the way, Australians and travelers alike, describe the drive from the east coast to the Red Centre and back out without much enthusiasm. The road was rumored to be treeless, flat and completely lacking in points of interest. All of the rumors are true, but there is definitely novelty in exploring the outback for the first time. The roads are indeed the opposite of our coastal and country drives, but each stretch of road and each small town has its own feeling and its own characters. We drove west from Townsville to a town called Hughenden, a town similar to all the others we would come across--fuel station, caravan park, last month's magazines.

We stopped at a decent looking park, drove through the grounds and pulled back up to the reception where we were greeted by the owner who had come chasing after us on his scooter, "What the f**k are you doing? There's a f**king English stop sign right there!" Obviously perturbed by the fact that we drove through his camp after noting that he was absent from the reception, we calmly explained that since he was not in the office upon our arrival, we took a little look around. After realizing we hadn't destroyed his park in our little look-see, he calmed a bit, and we settled in for the night. Seeing as he placed us in the only area of the park that was muddy and adjacent to the trash cans, we moved to a better spot after dark. Most parks, big or small, will upgrade you or put you in the best spot of the numbers are low--not the status quo for this guy. At 6:40 am the next morning we heard footsteps in the gravel behind our van, and as the back door was open, mosquito net dutifully attached, we ducked low so as not to be observed by the passerby. "What the f**K are yous doing over here? I put you over there! You have been a f**king pain in my ass since you got here!" He was back. Both shocked into being awake, we washed up and got out of there. It took over an hour before either of US were able to talk--a rough welcome to the outback. For the next 3 days, we averaged about 600 ks a day, passing through towns boasting marine dinosaur fossils and the record for Australia's hottest day--127.5 F, but it was this crazy guy that most impressed us.

To see photos of the Outback, please click me

The Tablelands

2008-12-26T18:33:00.000-08:00

We bid Cairns adieu and for the first time in over a month, we took the road south. Instead of following the coast as we had coming north, we headed inland to an area known as the Atherton Tablelands. Almost immediately the scenery changed from coast and sand to rolling hills, big trees, waterfalls, and lakes. Over two days we saw all that the area had to offer. Beautiful waterfalls surrounded by rain forests were packed into just a few kilometers, each one unique. In Enungella we met a British couple who enlightened us to the wonders of the Tablelands and pointed us to the real draw of the area--the Cathedral Fig Tree and the Curtain Fig Tree. It seems odd to get excited about trees but both were worth true, wonder filled, mouth-hanging-open excitement. We visited the Cathedral Fig first, named for its height and the way it branches extend to the skies, allowing magnificent glimpses of sunlight to cascade down its branches to its massive trunk. At 50 meters high and 500 years old, the tree was simply amazing. The Curtain Fig a way down the road is an example of a strangler--another tree fell on the original tree, strangling it with its branches and in a sense swallowing it until the branches disintegrated and a new shape V shaped base was formed. The strangling is still evident, as many branches reach across in a sort of a death hug that resembles a webbed curtain. Both trees reside in forests of regular trees, emphasizing their size and beauty--it would take 24 people holding hands to make a circle around the Curtain.

After leaving the Cathedral Fig, we headed to a lookout touted to be one of the region's best. We left the main road and passed beyond the first of two gates that led down a dirt road. At first, the road was flat and level but after 2 ks the path began climbing steep hills and dropping down winding descents. Our van has spirit but there were many points at which we thought Astro Boy would quit us. The lookout was nice, beautiful, but not that much different than the scenery available from the main roads. This is one of the times that you wish you could give the writers of Lonely Planet a piece of your mind.

We woke early after a night spent at Lake Eacham to chance viewing a platypus. These shy creatures only show themselves at dusk and dawn, not the usual trekking hours. We roused ourselves early, drank down cups of hot coffee and started off on Petersen's Creek Walk, a local trail known to produce sightings. We sat at the viewing platform and watched the water for movement. We sat and sat. After about ten minutes we started walking along the creek, following the old idiom: change your location, change your luck. Within 5 minutes, our luck changed and a baby platypus appeared. At first you see air bubbles on the surface and then the little creature comes above water and ducks back under. We saw two babies along our walk and both graced us with many above water appearances--totally worth waking up for.

With our time in the Tablelands complete, we headed south of Townsville to Alva Beach, a very small town that serves just one purpose--to shuttle enthusiastic and adventurous divers out and back to the S.S. Yongala, a ship that wrecked off the coast of Australia in the early 20th century and one of the best wreck dives in the world. Oded took this one solo and brought back stories of rough currents, big fish, and descriptions of the still intact wreck. Back on land we hit up the grocery store, the gas station and the local boating, camping and fishing depot. With ten days in the outback in our immediate future we needed food, water, fuel and mosquito netting galore. With all our gear in tow, we set out for the 2000K drive to Alice Springs and the Red Center.

To see photos of the Atherton Tablelands, please click me

The GREAT Barrier Reef

2008-12-09T18:41:00.000-08:00

So after all my training in the waters of Thailand, I finally made it to the Great Barrier Reef. There is a lot of back and forth about whether or not the Great Barrier Reef is worth all of the fuss made about it--some argue that the Red Sea is better, some just have bad days, but in order to really know, you have to try it for yourself.

We boarded Ocean Freedom early on a Sunday and headed straight out to the reef, a little over an hour by boat from Cairns. The sea was a gorgeous color of turquoise and the weather was clear and hot. We spent the first part of the morning snorkeling and learning about the reef on a glass bottom boat. We snorkeled at Upulo Cay--a small sand island in the middle of shallow water and reef. By small I mean it fits maybe ten people at most--in 20 million years, if conditions are right, it could be a real island. The water was clear and the visibility was great--just snorkeling we saw tons of fish and a blue spotted stingray.

Just minutes after snorkeling, they called all the divers together and told us we were heading out for us first dive. We pulled on stinger suits, a wet suit like outfit, but much thinner and meant to protect from all of the ocean's jelly fish. We piled into a little speed boat and motored away to a solitary spot, far away from the boat, with no divers for miles. Sitting on the edge of the boat, we tipped backwards and began our descent. We swam along a wall of reef covered in all sorts of colors and formations. The first dive was nice but it was easy to see why people were not overly impressed with the Great Barrier Reef; aside from a napoleon fish, we didn't see anything too exciting.

Back on the boat and with a few bites of food in us, we headed out for the second dive with a different dive master. This dive master rocked--she pointed out everything from sea sponges to nemos to a huge crayfish with tentacles a meter wide. We told her at the beginning of the dive that we really wanted to see sharks. she said she knew where one hung out 50% of the time, but I didn't get my hopes up too high. This spot was called the Wonder Wall and the reef itself was really beautiful. As we turned a corner, I saw the dive master raise her hand to her head, signalling that a shark was in view. I was so confused because all I could see was a huge sea turtle, but she kept signalling for a shark so I turned my head a little to the left and there was white tipped reef shark. Only a meter apart, the turtle and the shark hung out for a few minutes swimming around, letting us swim above and next to them. The shark even left and came back which is really rare as reef sharks usually leave when people are near. It was unbelievable. We surfaced and could not believe our luck. We are now part of the Great Barrier Reef fan club, so now when we are drawn into the debate between the Reef and the Red Sea, the Great Barrier Reef will be catalogued as a great place to dive. In just six dives, I have gotten to see two sharks, turtles, nemos and tons of big fish--by all means, I have been very fortunate, and it only serves to increase my excitement for my next dive.

To see photos of the Great Barrier Reef, please click me

Far North Queensland

2008-12-08T14:35:00.000-08:00

You drive and drive and drive, and there are still more beautiful places to see and more fun to have along Australia's east coast.

Jourama Falls

At the recommendation of Sonja, we detoured on our way north to Jourama Falls--a hot trek through dense forest and huge boulders that led us out to a really lovely collection of rock pools fed by one main waterfall. We took a quick swim to cool off but it seems our old friend, the leech, was determined to crash our party. A few frenzied minutes of pulling leeches off and we were back on our way north. We stopped overnight in Mission Beach and by morning we were en route to Cairns.

Cairns

Cairns was the town we had been waiting for--after weeks of going off the beaten path, Cairns was the place, the spot where backpackers start and end their Australian journey. Cheap internet cafes all claiming to have the fastest service in town sit in between bars offering free meals to backpackers and nightspots that draw Europe's youth. The crowning jewel of Cairns is an endless blue lagoon stretching from the center of the city to the edge of the coast--a big pool where tourist and locals, young and old alike, come to frolic in an effort to escape the ever present heat.

All in all, we spent 4 or 5 days lounging around Cairns, emailing, swimming in the lagoon, diving, and making new friends. We spent a night eating and drinking with a pair of German brothers, another night barbecuing with a mix of Israelis, Irish, Austrians, Colombians, and even a girl from Trinidad. Everyone is on a different path--many have been living and working picking fruit in Australia, others are driving around Australia just like we are, while others are still looking forward to locations ranging from Singapore to Argentina. It is not hard to understand why most travelers come to Cairns for a few days and stay longer than intended.

Cape Tribulation, Mossman Gorge & the Daintree National Park

In the midst of all the fun, we took a hiatus from Cairns and headed even farther north to the Daintree National Forest, an area that includes Cape Tribulation and Mossman Gorge. The drive up was among the most beautiful drives I have seen, falling right in with the Pacific Coast Highway, the Oregon Coast and I hope the Great Ocean Road. We set out early after spending the night close to the Daintree River. The area and specifically Cape Tribulation are known for lush rainforests, gorgeous beaches, and cassowaries--a large turkey like animal with a blue head and a slow, loping walk. Going extinct, if you actually spot a cassowary, you are lucky. We saw two!

We took four walks through the rainforest, each one different from the next. Big fan palms shaded one walk, while large grass and twisted tree barks lined another. Roots stuck out all along the edges of one walk and rain accompanied us along the way, just to make sure that the experience was authentic. We ended the stretch of walks at Cape Tribulation itself, a spot made famous because it is the only place in the world where the rainforest meets the reef. It is a beautiful and jarring sight. We ended the day with a dip in Mossman Gorge, one of the many waterfalls and swimming holes along the coast.

Port Douglas

We spent the next morning recharging in the posh town on Port Douglas. Just 60K north of Cairns, this town is the Nimbin of the north minus the hippies. Cafes, art galleries, and expensive coffee is for the taking. We each sipped $4 coffees and relaxed in the air conditioning before taking in the Marina and quaint avenues.

Kuranda

With many recommendations to check out this tiny town just west of Cairns, we ventured out there on our way back from the far north. Full of markets, wildlife and a lovely jungle trek, we wasted the better part of an afternoon looking around. Seeing as the town closed at 4 pm on a Saturday (no joke), we headed to a waterfalls a few minutes away from the center. At this point, I am reluctant to go to waterfalls--they are always pretty and usually not terribly impressive. This one was so worth it--huge, volcanic, full of little pools at all levels and surrounded in bright green moss and ferns. Created by some sort of shifting of plates that is too complex for me to understand at a glance, the beauty was unmatched and such a treat.

To see photos of Far North Queensland, please click me

A Little Drink

2008-12-08T14:28:00.000-08:00

Many towns along Australia's east coast serve as a gateway to a better destination and Townsville is no exception. The biggest city in North Queensland, Townsville is the hopping over point to Magnetic Island, a stretch of beaches that earned their name because they interfered with Captain Cook's compass. Backpackers rave about Magnetic--beautiful bays, great food, and lots of wild life--but the farther in we get in Australia, the harder it is to really make an impression on us. Everywhere is beautiful--the entire coast is full of gorgeous beaches, the treks are loaded with birds, reptiles, and wildlife, and the towns are places you can imagine coming back to time and again. It's not that Australia has ceased to amaze us--quite the opposite--it so constantly delivers that I am holding onto "amazing" as a supreme judgement only to be used when it is really worth it.

We spent just a day on Magnetic, taking the ferry there and back. The day was cloudless and scorching hot but we decided to trek from Horseshoe Bay to all the little bays that can only be reached by foot. We started out across the a stretch of sand and within five minutes, we were lost. There were no signs and water on three sides of us, so our only option was to turn around. A houseboat bobbed in the little creek to our right and in a last effort, I yelled out a greeting to see if anyone was inside, hopefully a warm and welcoming stranger who would offer us directions. Instead, a man most likely equal in weight and age (somewhere around 90), with a long white beard, appeared on deck. He put two fingers to his mouth and ears and then crossed himself, an gesture I assumed was meant to indicate that he neither spoke nor was able to hear. I waved, said thanks and was about to move on when he began shouting a string of expletives at me to the point of how much he hated travelers, that he wouldn't help us, and why didn't we ask the town to put up better signs. We found out later that he has been illegally squatting on that creek for fifteen years. Eventually we made found our way and trekked along the coast from Balding Bay to Radical Bay and finally to Florence Bay.

At Florence, we stopped to rest and admire another couple's foresight--they had sarongs laid out with snorkel gear, wine glasses and the leftovers of a picnic. As we were leaving, the couple emerged from the water. We exchanged a few lines about the weather and the sea and before we knew it, the four of us were headed to the local bar for a "little drink." The couple, a 69 year old Austrian who has been living in OZ for 52 years and his 36 year old wife, were as nice as they come. By the time we were wrapping up our second drink, it was decided that we were coming over for dinner and were invited to stay the night. By night fall, a few more friends had joined. Bottles of wine and cider flowed, plates of fruits, cheese, and olives kept coming and that was all before the meal. Conversation was mostly about travel and what it was like to live in all the countries represented at the table--US, Israel, Australia, Britain, New Zealand and Austria. In the end, we made our way back to the ferry but not without promises to visit again sometime soon.

To see photos of Magnetic Island, please click me

Iceberg

2008-12-02T23:12:00.000-08:00

Airlie Beach is a cubic zirconium to Whitsunday's diamond; with sand brought in from its neighbor to the north, Bowen, Airlie was constructed as a gateway to the famed Whitsunday Islands. Bars, ethnic eateries, and the ever present Subway line Airlie's main strip, but the town has no genuine charm. We spent the night in a park populated by "schoolies"--Australian school kids (16 & 17) on holiday. They drank and sang all night long, answering the lingering question of why the park receptionist wanted to make sure I was not indeed a schoolie. Unfortunately, her question did not deter the kids, known all over OZ to wreak havoc in this week of holiday celebration.

On no sleep, we arrived at Abel Marina, where we met the ten other folks with whom we would spend the next two days sailing around the Whitsunday Islands. The group was a mix of Brits, Germans, Dutch, and an Aussie--all mellow and friendly. The boat, the Iceberg, set sail around 8:30 am and sailed for about three hours between the larger, outer set of islands. We dropped anchor about lunchtime, pulled on wetsuits, and spent the better part of an hour snorkeling around some amazing reef. The sea floor is an altogether mystifying thing--purples, turquoises and hot pinks existing in a complex system of eat
and be eaten. The beauty is unparalleled and the ability to observe it up close is a true gift. Not yet dry from our time in the water, we pulled close to Whithaven Beach. As we stepped out of the dinghy into the crystal clear water, it became clear that we had the beach to ourselves. The sand is white--gleaming--and so soft it feels like someone spilled bags of flour on the ground. A helicopter hovered above , taking in the view, and added to the surreal rock star quality that comes from the combination of a sail boat, a helicopter and a white beach. We walked on the hot sand until we reached a marshy area--if the beach felt like flour, this stretch was like bread dough right after the yeast has been added. Our feet sunk to mid calf and each step took effort but it was worth it--we trudged across the marsh to a little ocean pool, an inlet created by the tide patterns. By far, this is the most beautiful beach I have ever seen--Australia recognizes its gems and keeps them protected, clean and free of commercial development. We returned to the boat, and the drinking commenced. Dinner was hot and full of vegetables.

Lack of a door and an early sunrise made for an early morning. After a quick breakfast and a short dinghy ride, we were back on Whithaven, this time at a different bay. Still gorgeous with water colored in every shade of blue, Benny Bay offered a maritime treat--just at the shoreline, groups of stingrays crowded the water, digging under the sand to camouflage themselves and reappearing again. While I have no fond feelings for them, to see so many at such a shallow depth was lucky. Back on the boat, we sailed to our last snorkeling spot which was full of angel fish and clown fish.

To see photos of the Whitsunday Islands, please click me

Fair Trade

2008-12-02T23:06:00.000-08:00

From Rockhampton we headed north and a bit west to Eungella National Park. After a 5K climb, we reached the Eungella region and the park where we had made a reservation. The reception was already closed and requested that we pay in the morning. Trust is alive in well in Eungella. The park overlooked the entire valley and neighboring peaks, whetting our appetites for the next day. We spent the night trading stories with a British couple and a trio of Germans. Long after sunset, clouds fell at our feet, giving credence to the town's Aboriginal name, "land where the clouds lie low over the mountains." We woke the next day to what looked like a snow day. Pure white clouds covered the land as far as the eye could see. I fell back asleep with dreams of my mom's pancakes and hot chocolate, snow day staples, but I awoke in Australia, the clouds having lifted to reveal a beautiful day. We lounged for a bit, eating breakfast with our new German friends. Before heading out, we swapped six Heath Bars for the use of Gayo's computer. In my opinion, this was a totally fair trade. We called my mom on skype for the first time since I left the US. It was 6:30 pm on November 25th, her 60th birthday. Happy birthday Mom! It was so awesome to see my Mom and Dad's faces, but now I miss them more. They went off to dinner and left our new friends to go explore the national park.

Oded has accrued the majority of injuries so far--a sprained finger, a pulled neck muscle, sea sickness--not really an injury but a bummer all the same. My turn had come. We hiked in to the Finch Hutton Gorge, stopping to check out some falls and watering holes along the way. After almost 3Ks, we made it to the main swimming hole, a big, cold circle fed by a modest falls. Oded jumped right in, but the two eels slinking around kept me from cannon balling immediately. The eels were soon joined by a rogue shrimp. As I moved out of its path, I slipped on a large submerged rock, and crashed down hard on my right side. I tend to pride myself in being more graceful than this but alas grace had deserted me. In her place, pain arrived. It hurt--like hell--but not for long. Now wet, I dove from the cliffs and swam with the eels. By night, I resembled Miranda in the episode of Sex and The City that she strains her neck. She can't move her neck or her body and Aidan has to pick her up off the bathroom floor... It was awful. Fortunately I am 29 years young and healed quickly.

To see photos of Eungella National Park, please click me

Koalas at last!

2008-12-02T23:01:00.000-08:00

We arrived in Rockhampton about half past two in the afternoon. All we knew of the town is that it is known for great steaks--clearly this was enough reason for us to stop. The information center at the town's edge recommended that we visit the local zoo/botanical gardens before heading out to dinner. Without realizing what valuable information they had just imparted, we jumped in the van and headed straight there, aware that a much awaited experience was at hand. We pulled up to the zoo and followed a number of signs to the far side of the park and there it was, finally--a real, live koala. We had arrived in Rockhampton exactly at koala feeding time. We skipped the larger, more commercial Australia zoo in hopes of spotting a cuddly bear in the wild, but after days of disappointments, Rockhampton delivered free of charge.

We settled into the caravan park around dusk and then headed to our first meal out in Australia--aside from the occasional gelato, we had yet to dine out in OZ. The Ascot Grill, a keno bar slash steak joint, is run by an old local and one waitress and served as our introduction to Australian dining. After waiting a good bit for menus, we ordered steak, red wine, fries, and steamed veggies. The steak arrived rare on a stone grill, hence the name, heated to 400 degrees Celsius. Oded ordered a 400 gram Porterhouse and I ate his sides and a few bites of his steak just to see what all the fuss is about--no one can say I don't live dangerously. All in all, the outing was a success but it is not to say we weren't back to cooking our own food the next night.

To see photos of Rockhampton, please click me

Fraser Island

2008-12-02T22:54:00.000-08:00

From Noosa, we headed up to Rainbow Beach; mostly used as a departure point to Fraser Island, Rainbow has all the features a backpacker requires, but none of the charm of Noosa. We arrived with enough time to sleep, ice our groceries, and store our van before getting picked up for our excursion to Fraser Island. Fraser is known as the world's largest sand island, and is the only place on the planet where rain forest grows straight out of the sand. Eliza Fraser, her husband James, and their crew wrecked on the island on their way from England in the mid 19th century. Part of the crew headed north, but Eliza and James headed south where the came into contact with the Aborigines, who were already living on the island. James was killed and Eliza was held hostage. After 9 months, Englishmen came looking for the crew and recognized Eliza immediately--a white woman among natives. She returned to England but ultimately came back to Australia, the country that named an island for her.

The island contains some stunning and unique spots. We first trekked over a long sand dune that stretched to the point of desert. At its peak, it descended into a perfect sledding hill, and ended in cool, dark blue water, edged with leafy, green trees. On our second day on the island, we drove down a long stretch of coast, coined 75 mile beach, stopping to check out the colored sands*, the Maheno shipwreck, and a lookout that revealed sea turtles and manta rays. The island's biggest draw, Lake Mackenzie, deserves the hype. The water is crystal clear and aquamarine. The beach was packed with young Europeans drinking the beauty and the local beer, living up all that the island had to offer.

*The colored sands, known as the Pinnacles, are a sacred Aboriginal women's site. Legend has it that a young woman fell in love with a rainbow. A loyal lover, the rainbow appeared day after day without fail. In time, an evil man captured her and kept her against her will. She ran away, but to no avail. The evil man followed her, throwing his boomerang after her to bring her back, but her lover intervened. The rainbow came to the young girl's defense, but before the rainbow succeeded, the boomerang collided with it, causing the rainbow to explode, coloring the sand below in reds and deep oranges. The young girl escaped and Aboriginal women now view these sands as a memorial to women's spirit and power.

To see photos of Fraser Island, please click me

Noosa--Virginia represent!

2008-12-02T22:50:00.000-08:00

We made our way north at a rapid pace, by most standards, but we stopped often and took in most of the highlights on the east coast. Noosa is the perfect beach town--friendly and mellow with a gorgeous coast lined with art galleries, camper vans and tasty gelato stands. We stayed only two nights but it was long enough to really explore. We spent the better part of one morning doing an 8K coastal trek, following the ocean's line, and checking out all the secluded bays. We even stumbled on a nude beach (the first of many we've run into in Australia), full of old men, sauntering around without a care for the toll nature has taken. The walk ended at a long stretch of beach named Sunshine Beach for the obvious reason. After emptying the sand from our shoes, we made our way to the road to find the bus. I asked directions from a local and at first he gave us just pointed up the hill, but then thought better of it and offered to run us to the bus stop. Tired and hot, we gladly accepted. He ended up driving us all the way back to our van, telling us all about the town and it has changed over time. We spent the rest of the day laying on the beach, eating carrots and reading.

Note: I ran into four girls on this trek from Fairfax. Virginia represent!

To see photos of Noosa, please click me

Byron Bay & Nimbin

2008-11-17T20:46:00.000-08:00

We pulled in to Byron Bay and knew immediately that the rumors were true--this town was the love child of hippies and surfers and had no intention of being anything else. Young people everywhere walked around barefoot, dreaded, and mostly naked, showing off tattoos that covered their backs, arms, and bellies. It is impossible to tell locals apart from travelers--everyone is dirty, eating cheaply, and out for a good time. The small town is loaded with kebab stands, dive shops, hostels, tattoo parlors and caravan parks that back right onto the beach. With a few hours left before sunset, we spent two hours walking a flat beach of blue green water, with the Byron Bay lighthouse in view. Early the next morning, we drove out to the lighthouse, a few minutes from where we slept, and greeted the sunrise at Australia's most easternly point. After some more sleep, we went to visit one of Byron's parents--Nimbin, the motherly marijuana loving parent of the pair.

An hour or so inland, Nimbin is set far back down country roads. Just minutes after you leave the coast, you feel like you are in rural Pennsylvania--cows line the roads, green is the predominant color, and cell service is lost. We followed winding roads to Minyon Falls, a mildly impressive falls that took us through tiny towns and further confused our way to Nimbin. Coming from the Falls, finding Nimbin was a challenge considering signs pointed in both directions for the same town. Confusing in the least. We made it there in time to see that the late 1960's still lived a healthy existence in this village town--indeed, it was the same people who lived through that great age of Aquarius that still inhabited the streets of Nimbin. No matter whether they were fifteen or fifty, their offering was the same: marijuana cookies, joints, brownies, hash. They whispered after you, discreetly selling their wares, yet they showed no fear. The main street was full of organic fruit, hemp clothing, and locals spilling out of the only pub in town, as King Farook played their best jam band jams. Women in their sixties swirled in head-to -toe tie-die. Long haired men with babies on their hip and beers in their hand nodded their head with the rest of the folks. The Irishman in charge of our caravan park told us to check out whenever--things were lax here. To say the least...

To see photos of Byron Bay, please click me

Parks a Plenty

2008-11-17T20:43:00.000-08:00

The next few days were mostly spent on the road with stops at Blackbutt Reserve in Newcastle, a park boasting walks among gum trees, wild turkeys and peacocks, kangaroos and emus--a truly exciting thing to see all these folks in the wild, just walking around, doing their business. We slept in Taree and Coffs Harbor along the way, each caravan park with its own charms. We finally reached Byron Bay after stops in Solitary Islands Marine Park and Cape Byron Marine Park in Ballina, where the blue green ocean crashed up against gorgeous rocks. It seemed that each beach was more beautiful than the next, pristine and primitive, the way the coast must have looked to the first person who had the honor to lay eyes on it.

A quick note about National Parks and Marine Reserves in OZ: They are everywhere. Seriously. If there are some trees, water falling, coastline, or the possibility to see wildlife or marine life, the Aussies plunk down a few benches and a BBQ and call it a park. It is both and amazing and overwhelming feature of this great country. You pass signs for national parks and reserves more often than you pass rest stops, and while some are well known, others are less traveled and often more beautiful. As a traveler with limited time, you wish you could stop at each and every one, but alas fuel is too expensive and a life time may still be too short to take in all the beauty that Australia has to offer. And we have not even left the east coast yet!

To see photos of Newcastle, Taree, Port Macquarie & Coffs Harbor, please click me

Stairway to Heaven

2008-11-17T20:37:00.000-08:00

Our first destination after Sydney was the Blue Mountains. We found a caravan park in Katoomba, a hip little town bordering the Mountains, and settled in for our first night in the van. The sun faded around eight and the cold set in--cold like fleece jacket, sleeping bag, hat, socks, still shivering, cold. Morning was crisp--after some hot coffee, omelets, yogurt, we set off on foot to Katoomba's Great Round Walk. The Walk was four hours of lookouts onto gorges, stunning waterfalls, forests hued in blue, all at the cost of 2,000 stairs...986 down and 988 up. Yes, we counted. We saw the famed Three Sisters, jutting out over the valley, a monument to the aboriginal legend that three women were locked inside the stone, sealed in an eternal search for love.

On our way, we met Koos and Remon, a a blond and brunette duo from the Netherlands, coming to the end of a two month journey. After they took the rail up and out of the gorge and we climbed, step by step, we reunited at the caravan park for hot drinks and dinner. We spent day two in the jungles and waterfalls of Blackheath. Whereas the Great Round Walk was full of people, this trek was harder, less traveled, and more beautiful. We visited a number of lookouts--Govett's Leap, Pulpit Rock, and Wentworth--and reveled in the almost empty jungle like playground of the walk. The trees were unbelievably tall and everything was the green that says it sees water ever day. Little ponds were scattered throughout and fish, iguanas and little crabs made the trek with us. Each day's end finds us in the caravan park with a hot cup of coffee, reclining in our chairs. The four of us sat around til after dark, swapping stories, recipes, and recommendations about where to go and where to skip. After a quick breakfast the next morning, our new Dutch friends headed south and we took the road north.

To see photos of the Blue Mountains, please click me

Stop. Revive. Survive.

2008-11-16T23:43:00.000-08:00

In order to pick up the van, we took Sydney's city rail, a well-signed, double decker metro system that seems convenient and relevant, stopping in all areas of the city. Finding the van shop was considerably less easy that navigating the metro, however. The shop, once we found it, appeared inauspicious at least and run down at best. After a lengthy conversation with the Irish mechanic and many trips the free table (strainer, atlas, thermos, can opener, salt, cutting board--i loved the free table), we set out. It sounds like a straight forward endeavor and indeed it was, but we were driving on the left instead of the right.

Oded took the reins first, navigating the bus lanes and turn signs of central Sydney. Left turn into the left lane and right turn into the far lane, windshield wipers where the turn signal should be, left around the rotaries--insanity. Slow and steady wins this race, we concluded, and now that we both have a few long drives under our belts, we are feeling better. Our instincts are still to drive like we are on the road in the States or Israel, but day by day we are becoming lefties.

One thing we noticed quickly is that Australia is serious about safe driving--about every 10 meters there is a sign asking you"how fast are you going?", reminding you of the speed limit, or the favorite, "Stop. Revive. Survive"--perhaps a way to make sure you stay awake behind the wheel, perhaps a strategy to get you to spend time in their fuel stations. And what a place to spend time--the shops at the fuel stations usually include a mini cafe, fresh pastries, coffee, a natural foods aisle, and ice cream galore. Revive indeed.

First stop, Sydney

2008-11-16T23:32:00.001-08:00

Despite spending three days in Sydney, we only spent one day actually exploring past the rental avenue of Kings Cross, but with a little looking, we easily found our way to the main show. Just a quick walk from our hostel and we were strolling through Sydney's Botanical Gardens--a huge green space full of birds, ponds, and beautiful trees. The Gardens led straight to the Circular Quay, the Sydney Opera House, and the Harbour Bridge. It was a Sunday and Sydney was outside--walking, jogging, picnicking, meeting for coffee, ice cream , lunch before the opera. The white waves that form the seashell that is the Opera House gleamed in the afternoon sun, showing off each tile and the craftsmanship that went into erecting the massive structure. Along with the Harbour Bridge, the entire view makes it hard not to list Sydney among the world's most beautiful cities. It is reminiscent of Vancouver, San Francisco and even Seattle and the mellowness of the city also matches the feeling of the Pacific Northwest. By sunset we were on the roof of our hostel, barbecuing with Canadians, Kiwis, and even an old timer from the States. Although we left Sydney quickly for the mountains west of Sydney, we'll be back in January.

To see photos of Sydney, please click me

Deluxe Astro Boy II

2008-11-16T23:24:00.001-08:00

Oded and I landed in Sydney early on a Saturday morning, fifteen minutes apart on separate flights. We caught a free ride to our hostel in Kings Cross and quickly settled into a few hours of sleep to regulate the jet lag. By noon, we were in and out of car stores, collecting information on buying and renting vans to take us around Australia. Because we are here for OZ's summer and holiday season, all the prices are jacked up beyond what we could have imagined. We emailed, called, looked into relocations, and finally settled on a Wicked camper van, complete with a "kitchen" (pump sink, gas burner, pots, pans, plates, bowls, utensils), chairs, table, and a large area that serves as benches by day and a bed by night. The van itself is automatic and has air con--I am not sure I would survive without either.

The outside of the van is covered in a graffiti version of Astro Boy, a cartoon or character that I am not familiar with. The back of the van proudly states, "We are going into outer space. Next stop..." Please insert the appropriate planet. Here's a hint: It's not Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Saturn, Neptune or Pluto. Classy. This is how I roll...

Opposite Day

2008-11-16T23:17:00.000-08:00

In comparison to the last two months, it is like living opposite day over and over again. Remember in elementary school or on long car rides when everything that was normal became opposite? When the sky was green and the grass was blue and school was fun and sleepovers were dreaded? That is what my first day in Australia felt like--like someone declared opposite day somewhere between my takeoff from Bangkok and my landing in Sydney.

Whereas Southeast Asia was long bus rides, private guesthouses, and eating every meal out, Australia is camper vans, crowded dorm rooms, and super market meals made on one gas burner. Southeast Asia was dirty, inexpensive and out to make a buck off the unknowing wanderer at each turn. Australia is clean, expensive and makes no apologies for asking Western prices for Western goods.

The difference in travel styles is profound--we are in control of each step, each turn, each meal. There is much freedom in this kind of traveling, a freedom that will increase when we master driving on the left, buy a few CDs to conquer the bad reception and minimal radio stations, and figure out a cooling system for the ever important dairy items, but at times we definitely miss fresh beer for 30 cents and meals for two dollars. Instead, we have good Australian wine and Tim Tams, clean rest stops with flush toilets, hot showers, and meals made without the southeast Asian spice otherwise known as live ants. I suppose no radio isn't so bad afterall.

The Half Circle

2008-11-16T23:09:00.001-08:00

I think the sky is bigger here--a startling blue expanse punctured with puffy, perfect clouds that seem to surround the horizon on all sides. The sun, seemingly closer, rises faster to greet the day and slinks away just as quickly when darkness falls.

Australia is amazing. Not only is the landscape breathtaking, but the towns and cities are clean, well-planned and welcoming. For a country swallowed by England as a means to empty out her jails, Australia is full of the nicest people as a whole that I have yet to come across. If they think you're lost, the pull over to see if you need help. If you are standing on a beautiful beach, they offer to take your photo before you ask. They recommend their favorite national park while waiting in line and they always greet you and leave you with warm tidings, usually including the word mate.

We have been in OZ not even ten days but have worked our way from Sydney to the Blue Mountains and up the east coast to Newcastle, Port Macquarie and Taree. In the north coast of New South Wales, we dropped into Byron Bay, Nimbin and crossed through Tweed Heads and Surfers Paradise on the southern border of Queensland, known for huge waves and an even bigger surfer culture. In the next 60 days we hope to do what is called the Half Circle and follow the coast north to Cairns and West to Darwin, south to Alice Springs and Ayres Rocks, and then follow the Great Ocean Road from Adelaide to Melbourne before returning to Sydney.

Something More

2008-11-05T03:18:00.000-08:00

The ghost of parties past runs rampant through the alleys and beaches of Koh Phangan. If Koh Tao is known for diving and early bed times, Koh Phangan is her evil, tie-dyed, tranced out step sister. Though the island was dead while we were there, one does not have to look hard to see the traces of what was and what will be again when the moon grows full later in the month. Started in 1987 as a birthday party and continued on month after month, Koh Phangan, like Goa in India, became home to the wandering fire throwing barefoot children that stumble into South East Asia in search of something more. And this island is set up to receive, full of guest houses, tattoo parlors, and shops bursting with island wear and liquor. The sunlight hours are usually meant for laying on the sand, sleeping off last night's party, and filling yourself full of fruit shakes and fried rice. When the sun goes down, the beach opens for business. Shacks offering buckets full of the alcohol and mixer of your choice line the sand, only to be interrupted by sound systems and DJ boothes. At its height, 30,000 cram the beach dancing, drinking, melting into the music. Trim Thai men twist fire sticks, fearlessly tossing them behind their backs for no more than a whoop from the crowd. When the crowd tires of this spectacle, they set up limbo, every kid's favorite challenge. But alas this limbo stick is on fire and only the drunk or brave dare to bend their bodies below the leaping flames. During the hours when you're not sure whether to sleep, drink, or dance, most local restaurants show daily movies or reruns of Friends and Family Guy.

Since the moon is currently waning before it will wax once again, the island is mellow. Games of beach volleyball still take place every afternoon and the snorkling is amazing if you wake early enough. The water is crystal clear and the days hot as the island waits for the moon.

To see photos of Koh Phangan, please click me

Charlie & The Chocolate Factory

2008-11-05T02:43:00.000-08:00

We left Bangkok on a night bus that took us south over many hours. As the sun rose, we boarded a boat to Koh Tao, an island known for diving and partying. By ten am, our journey had landed us again on land but for ten days cement became sand and highways became ocean. We piled into the bed of a pick-up truck and crawled down the beach to the dive resort that would be home for the next four nights.

Ever since I first saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, there are two things that I have always wanted to try in real life. First, I have always wanted fruit embossed wallpaper that tastes like whatever fruit you lick--genius. And the second scene I have wanted to reenact is the one in which Charlie and his uncle, in a moment of conscious rebelliousness, sneak off to sip the unknown liquid in the forbidden room, for in that room they discover a liquid that makes them rise. They sip and stare at each other in disbelief that the wonderful Willy Wonka has created something that does nothing. But within moments they begin to rise and the fun begins. Their adventure comes to a quick halt, though, as they near a fan that threatens to ruin their time. As they near their dangerous demise, they begin to burp and slowly, slowly the drift back down, their breath controlling their descent. This is what I thought of the first time I tipped over backwards off a boat and into an ocean where my breath would control me.

My dive course started just a few hours after we arrived. My instructor was an impossibly hot Swedish girl, dressed in a bikini and a tan. My class was a mix of of Israelis, a pair of Scots, a Dutch guy, a Brit and me the lonely American. We watched many videos, took quizzes, learned about the equipment, buoyancy and of course about the importance of breath. Our first dive was in the pool but by the third day we were suited up to dive in the ocean. It is an insanely surreal experience to jump from a boat, far from land, and knowingly sink yourself twelve meters under water, even strapping weights to your body to make sure you stay down. But alas this whole rig of oxygen and gauges and respirators proves its worth and you breathe underwater. You actually breathe underwater. You breathe as fish swim past and reefs live below. We sat in a circle on the bottom of the ocean and passed test after test--clearing our masks, replacing our respirators, and even following a compass out and back.

On the third of fourth dives in two days, we dove to eighteen meters, the max depth for an open water diver. We dove as a group but were close to many other divers, including Oded, who is an advanced diver and can go to thirty meters. As we neared sixteen meters, I saw a diver not from my group raise his palm with his thumb pressed against his forehead, almost as if he was going to give someone a high-five. We had learned a number of underwater signs over the course, but this one was clear to divers and non-divers alike--SHARK. Five meters ahead of me a bull shark shimmied its way through the water. It was two meters in length and an amazing sight. We also saw clown fish, groupers, and sting rays. With my fourth dive done, I am officially a certified open water diver. Great Barrier Reef, here I come!

As an island, Koh Tao is almost all divers and dive resorts and friends come easily here. We met a Norwegian duo--Martin and Horvald--and I immediately took to Martin. It may have been his jolly nature or his good stories but the cherry red Red Sox hat he donned may also have had something to do with it. We spent a night out with the two of them and two other Norwegian girls, fresh from high school and on an around the world jaunt. I am not sure how it came up but the two girls shared a confirmed Norwegian tradition that sounds like something to see--in the month of May in Norway, all graduating seniors are tasked with not only getting drunk but performing silly tasks that garner badges for them to tack onto even sillier hats that they are required to wear. For example, kiss a policemen and get a police patch. Throughout the month, they sleep in parks, rotaries, friend's backyards. They wear uniforms based on what they studied and apparently laundry is forbidden for the duration of the festivities. After seventeen days, exams commence and this class of Norwegians join the ranks of the country's adults--it's like a Bar Mitzvah on acid minus the Torah portion. We left Koh Tao on a speed boat, having made many new friends and loads of promises to visit and host and dive again soon.

To see photos of Koh Tao, please click me

Lady Boy Town

2008-11-05T02:18:00.000-08:00

The plane to Bangkok was forty percent full of Israelis--a truly crazy thing. When you ask locals in Laos, India or Thailand how many people there are in Israel, they say somewhere between fifty to one hundred million. For a country of seven million respectively, they travel a lot. A short plane ride and a few new friends later, we all made our way to the Khao San Road, a vibrating hot mess that is home to all who backpack through Thailand and the rest of South East Asia. Packed with pad thai stands, t-shirt sellers, and young Thai boys who pull off hot pants better than most girls I know, the Khao San Road has all of the comforts of home. All night 7-11s, tailors galore, and every bit of food you could ever crave from calzones to Chunky Monkey. Less of a party than a passing through point, most people look as though they just peeled themselves off the beach. Braided hair and bikini tops pass as uniform here and Hebrew is to be heard everywhere, especially from the stall owners. Food is cheap, accommodation is decent, and there is everything to buy if you are in the market. Aside from the Grand Palace and an art museum, it is not a place to stay too long. It is like a zoo--at first you are amazed to see all the kids out in the wild but as the sun sets, the novelty fades as well. To the islands we go...

To see photos of Bangkok, please click me

Vitamin C--the universal cure

2008-11-05T01:32:00.000-08:00

Groggy, dirty and in desperate need of a toothbrush, we made our way from the train to the town of Sapa. After looking through the plethora of guesthouses crowded one corner of town, we ended up at the Queen and up five flights of stairs. As I silently cursed Oded for choosing a room so high up, he climbed the stairs with a quiet confidence. We reached the top and he opened the door to the best room we have yet to stay in. For $6 total a night, we had hot water, a huge room, TV, two comfy chairs and an unending supply of boiled water to make coffee. All of this pales in comparison to the view from our window--mountains that truly deserved the title of royalty, crowned in a fog that was dedicated to cloaking its queen constantly.

We spent the next five days trekking through rice terraces, bamboo forests and local villages. From a distance, the landscape looks like soft green stairs, dotted with smoke stacks and a bevvy of animals from cows, pigs, and ducks to your run of the mill cats and dogs. When we were young, Jason and I used to play a game--we padded the bottom of the stairs with as many blankets as possible and then one at a time, jumped in the laundry basket and sledded down the stairs into the cloth mountain we had created. This terraces looks, from afar, the perfect testing ground for this game.

Our first trek began with a slow descend into the terraces, led by our guide Ha and a number of local women, decked in the black and red cloth the demarcate them as member of the Black Hmong tribe. The town itself is tiny but full of delicious food, beautiful treks and a relaxing atmosphere. The few streets are packed full of cozy restaurants, a pool hall and a daily market selling everything from fresh pineapple and pastry to roast dog. It is easy to mistake this town for somewhere in Switzerland, minus the local women and their wares. All of the local tribes weave--hats, pillow cases, scarves--and are constantly selling.

After Oded's friend's left us to explore the rest of Vietnam, we hiked from Sapa to the neighboring village, Cat Cat. Known for a beautiful waterfall and a moderate hike, we wanted to push past the tourist area just a bit. We climbed a path that weaved behind the waterfalls and led to a secluded lake area, where women did their washing and men fished. We climbed further and further, until we reached a semi-deserted house, a marker that perhaps we should turn back. The climb up was much easier than the climb down proved. As Oded turned back to make sure that I was OK, he slipped down the hill, skidding on rocks and mud, and ultimately twisted his middle finger. By the next day, the middle finger on his right hands was swollen twice its size and the knuckle was turned sideways. Our adventure for the day was a trip to the Sapa hospital. For a town where the main activity is trekking, the hospital was far from the center and not clearly marked whatsoever. We ended up finding a willing doctor but it took more than one try to find one who spoke English. The doctor looked at Oded's finger, confirmed that the finger wasn't broken, prescribed Vitamin C and some pain killers, and then asked for ten bucks. We gave over the equivalent of two dollars, thanked them, and ultimately paid a visit to the hospital in Bangkok a few days later.

To see photos of Sapa, please click me

Crappacinno*

2008-11-05T00:58:00.000-08:00

After a day or two in Hanoi, we set out to spend time in one of north Vietnam's best known areas--Halong Bay, a set of limestone formations and fishing villages spread across emerald water. We gathered in the bottom of our guesthouse, a seedy but well loved place, and met our fellow travelers--a trio of Argentinian girls, a pair of Brits, and a lone guy of unknown origin, who was dressed as if it was 1968 and he was standing at the corner of Haight and Ashbury. A few minutes before we left on what was to be a three day trip to Halong Bay, our tour provider told us that our three day trip was being downsized to one day. Typhoon. It seems that the season lends itself to unpredictable weather and we were left with the choice to go for one day or not at all--we chose to go. We spent the majority of the day on a boat, weaving in and out of beautiful formations, exploring the largest caves I have ever seen and visiting local fishermen and their homes.

We made use of the extra time in Hanoi by visiting one of the many museums the capitol offers. The Museum of Ethnology features tons of information on the endless tribes in the northern part of Vietnam and included an outdoor exhibit of traditional tribal housing and communal meeting spaces. In general, Hanoi is loud and congested so we opted to spend our last days in the country by escaping even farther north. The morning that we left, Hanoi, two of Oded's friends from Israel joined us for our journey north. By evening, the four of us were crowded into the bunks of an overnight sleeper, prepared for a rough night's sleep but ten hours later we arrived in the small mountain town, rested and ready to trek.

To see photos of Halong Bay, please click me

*I know that the title bears no relation to the content of the text, but it was my favorite of many misspellings in Vietnam and I wanted to share it. xx

Look both ways

2008-10-23T01:38:00.000-07:00

Hanoi is a city experienced, and perhaps lived in, looking sideways. Streets are the canvas for almost all daily interactions--breakfast at 5 am, pedicures all day long, card games, automobile repairs, painting. It is like being an uninvited guest at some one's barbeque--people milling about everywhere, tantalizing and sometimes offensive smells, and yet you somehow always feel in the way. Sidewalks serve as parking spots, roadways, makeshift restaurants. The streets are dirty and for good reason--the trash can seems to be a piece of modernity yet to make its way to Hanoi. There is a habit of washing one's mouth that includes gargling a good amount of water and then spitting it out onto the street, the gutter, your foot. You are constantly at war with the cars and motorbikes and the rule is move forward--they will drive around you, but never move backwards--they will hit you. Sometimes there are stop lights but they are never obeyed and drivers would prefer to hit you than slow down or stop. This is all done while the driver is balancing his wife, mother and two children on a motorbike made for two. Women walk the streets balancing a long stick with two baskets on each end and are just as territorial about their space as the drivers. You never know what will be in the baskets--bananas, vegetables, doughnuts, car parts. Smoking is a popular habit and not just the conventional pre-rolled cigarette. Men, young and old alike, pack bowls attached to the three foot pipes and take one hit at a time. The apparatus resembles what we know in the west to be a water bong, minus the bubbler on the bottom. These men resemble the opium smokers of ancient China.

Handicrafts line the streets as far as the eye can see. When my family lived in Korea in 1988, we lived far from the center of Seoul, and had to travel about two hours outside the city into the country to reach our apartment. Our excitement on the weekends would be to get on a local bus and pick a different stop to get off at each time. There was one stop that when you exited was full of stalls that sold shoes--slippers, high tops, heels, loafers--shoes. We quickly dubbed this stop shoe heaven and vowed to find it again. As this game had less memory than logic, we never again found this wonder. It has been almost 20 years of searching but shoe heaven has once again reappeared and this time it is in Hanoi and it is grand. Each street is a heaven unto itself--shoes, art supplies, car parts, herbs--each street is devoted just to the selling of this one thing. Treasures lie everywhere in Hanoi if you look hard enough--two bananas for a quarter, a sesame doughnut for thirty cents and three big carrots for just over fifty cents. I am constantly reminded of how much we pay for things in the States. Our meals are becoming more basic as we master cost and location in Vietnam's markets--baguettes, yogurt, cheese, peanuts. The challenge to keep yourself full of good food while not spending too much money or getting bored is a daily adventure.

To see photos of Hanoi, please click me

Hoi An to Hue

2008-10-11T23:59:00.000-07:00

We left Hoi An to spend just a day and a half in Hue, a small town on the way from Hoi An to Hanoi. We spent one day looking through the city's citadel--impressive grounds dedicated to 9 emperors, replete with temples, houses, gardens, moats and even tanks. Hue itself seems to be a sleepy town on the way to much boasted about north. We ate a delicious Indian meal last night--a welcome change from the norm here. We head north to Halong Bay, then to the small villages around Sapa before coming back to explore Hanoi.

I have fully uploaded photo albums to the relevant posts, but here is a summary of what we have seen so far:

Siem Reap/Angkor Wat: http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/SiemReapCambodia##

Phnom Penh: http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/PhnomPenhCambodia##

Mekong Delta: http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/MekongDelta##

Ho Chi Minh City/Saigon: http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/Saigon##

Dalat: http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/Dalat##

Nah Trang: http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/NT##

Hoi An: http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/HoiAn##

Enjoy, much love...

Lantern City

2008-10-10T00:29:00.000-07:00

We left Dalat on an early morning bus to Nah Trang. Many people recommended that we stay in Nah Trang as it boasts beautiful beaches and a relaxed atmosphere but we ended up spending just a day there. We arrived in the early afternoon, relaxed by the beach, ate dinner and prepared for our first night bus. The bus sleeps about 30 people on two levels and comes complete with pillows, blankets and reading lights. It is not my preferred style of sleeping but I did sleep. There is an odd dorm-style atmosphere to the bus as you literally share your bed with 29 strangers.

To see photos of Nah Trang, visit http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/NT##

The bus arrived in Hoi An around 6:30 am and dropped us at a local guesthouse. We checked the map, noted the pool and free internet, dropped our bags and went back to sleep. Most travelers say Hoi An has been their favorite place in Vietnam and it is not hard to see why—a plethora of affordable food (Western and Vietnamese), a quaint old city full of pagodas, Japanese bridges, and streets lit with colored lanterns to the eye’s limit.

Five days after arriving, I can say that we have seen the sights, relaxed and eaten well. We eat breakfast at the same place each day—a fruit shake, a glass of tea, a baguette, jam, fruit salad, omelets, yogurt, and muesli--$3. We are regulars. For dinner, we usually head to the river for Vietnamese cuisine.

Mr. Kim is a well known local chef who prepares a five course set menu—seafood, meat or vegetarian. We arrived and Mr. Kim himself was standing at the door to the eatery, beer in hand, ready to seat us himself. The place is modest but the food does not disappoint. I ate the vegetarian menu and Oded had the seafood—everything was delicious. Spring rolls, curried soup, noodles, rice cakes and local fresh beer to wash it down. Sitting next to us were two Americans and a French girl. She was promptly joined by an Israeli and it was revealed that one of the Americans was Jewish. With Yom Kippur approaching, they began discussing the holy day. The American asked aloud what the chances were of finding another Jew in Vietnam to wish Hag Sameach. It was at that point that I joined the conversation—Oded says this is evidence of his Israeli influence that I join conversations that are not my own.

Otherwise, we have visited five small mountains made of marble with impressive caves, carvings and statues. We also spent time on China Beach and a few other local beaches. Afternoons are spent in the pool and evenings are spent playing pool. We leave for Hanoi in the morning and plan to spend our last ten days in Vietnam exploring the north—Hanoi, Halong Bay and Sapa. From Hanoi we will fly back to Vietnam and head to the islands in Thailand for ten days before heading back to Bangkok to fly to Sydney.

To see photos of Hoi An, visit http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/HoiAn##

Hello Dalat

2008-10-07T05:07:00.001-07:00

We left on our tour of the Dalat countryside around 9 am, Oded on the back of Mr. Bin's bike and me on the back of Hung's. We made many stops throughout the day including a pagoda on the way out of town--it was amazing and kind of like a circus--full of color and oversized elephants and buddhas and lotuses--really beautiful.

We worked our way further into the countryside through winding roads, open skies and cool weather. Our next stop was to look at some local farming--strawberries and lettuce. The terraces stretched across the countyside and seeing it up close helped define what we saw from afar. We also saw a flower farm, chili plants, passion fruit, mushrooms, the process of making rice wine and silk. We also climbed down into an amazing waterfall before we made our way back to Dalat to stop at a guest house dubbed Crazy House.

Imagine walking into Alice in Wonderland in Vietnam--a toursit attraction and a place to stay all in one--rooms are carved out of trees, bridges cross miniature streams, spiral staircases climb to the sky. Each room is decorated with a bed, a small table, chairs all made from an amazing wood and decorated in color and imagination. Each room is themed--the kangaroo room complete with lifesize kangaroo with glowing red eyes; the Honeymoon Room of course has a mirror on the ceiling; and one room is devoted to Alice and her companions.

After one day with Hung and Mr. Bin, we were hooked. The combination of safe driving and a crazy sense of humor motivated us to sign up for another day on the back of their bikes. This time we were decided to go for a trek through the mountains outside of Dalat.

Before we headed into the mountains, we stopped at a beautiful meditation temple to start the day off--the place itself was really lovely and peaceful. Rows of trees, little temples and places to sit made meditating seem a natural practice. The entire place was set on a lake and across from a range of mountains. I really loved this place because all the pine trees made it smell exactly like Chase Pond in New Hampshire--nothing smells better than Chase Pond.

We left, parked the bikes at a little road side stand and walked about 20 minutes on the main road until we reached an entrance to a mountain. The trek up was steep and the hiking was hard but the views were beyond worth it--the lake and the rest of the mountain range stretched out below us and the whole scene made the sweating, mud, slipping, and bugs all fall away. We reached the top in under an hour and were not looking forward to climbing down the slippery path we had followed up. No fears--Hung had another plan for us.

Little did we know, we had graduated from anonymous tourists to a new status--one in which an hour trek through the jungle was not off limits. The trek up was slippery but had followed a clearly cut path. The route down was not clearly cut--indeed it was the opposite. Hung told us we would be trekking down in the jungle--I thought this was a friendly term for some bamboo trees and banana leafs. Nope. We plunged into an hour of darkness, unknown terrain and two laughing guides. This was the closest I will ever get to starring in Lost.

We were literally in a jungle--climbing through fallen bamboo trees, using our hands and feet and whatever else we could, and fighting off bugs at every turn. The climb down was by far more steep than the way up, more treacherous and almost entirely without sun. A constant stream of expletives came from me or Oded the entire hour down which only lead to more laughing from our guides. I found not one but two leeches attached to my right ankle. No worries--Hung broke off half his cigarette and pressed the tobacco into my bleeding leg. Awesome. Perhaps not the remedy I would have opted for but it worked all the same and the bleeding ceased.

We came away from the trek covered in scratches, bites, bruises and I still have two rashes. All in all, it was again totally worth it. The views and and adventure are really why I am here... but I would be happy never to find another leech on my body.

To see photos of Dalat, visit http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/Dalat##

So long Saigon

2008-10-07T04:53:00.000-07:00

We spent one more day in Saigon exchanging our books, making travel plans for the next week, and running other errands. We left Saigon early on a bus to Dalat, a small mountain town in Central Vietnam known for its bohemian character and proximity to beautiful countryside. We arrived in the late afternoon, found housing and headed out into the town. This was the first place where we rarely saw Westerners. It is a tourist town no doubt, but it attracts mainly Vietnamese tourists--800,000 Vietnamese visit the town each year. We spent the next day walking around the town's sizeable lake (7K), visiting markets and sampling the locally made wine (tasted like Manischevitz at its best).

Throughout Vietnam, a lucrative business of touring from the back of a moto bike exists. There is the institution (Easy Riders) and the rest--free agents. You don't have to look hard or at all--they find you and fast. They come equipped with set tours, prices and journals full of reviews from their past customers in every language possible. After a few hours of being courted by two free agents--Hung and Mr. Bin (pronounced Bean)--we committed to a one day tour of the countryside. Little did we know what we were in for...

Southeast Asia in Numbers

2008-10-07T04:43:00.000-07:00

Today marks my third week traveling (24 more!!) and rather than share stories of arduous bus rides, I thought I would give insight to the daily costs of this kind of a trip:

4 Baguettes (they are everywhere because of the French influence!): 50 cents

2 glasses of green tea: 25 cents

Coca Cola (can): 50 cents

One night's stay in a room with hot shower, air con, and TV: $7

A hot glass of Lipton Tea: 60 cents ( a splurge)

Local draught beer: 25 cents

Bottled beer: $1-2

Yogurt with Muesli (mmm): $2

Snickers Bar: $1

Bus ride (3-5 hours): $6

Bus ride (12 hours, sleeping bus): $13

Moto ride around the city: $1

This is in no way meant to be a Mastercard commercial...Just some insight to the daily costs.

New Year's Eve

2008-10-07T03:41:00.000-07:00

Saigon is much closer to Bangkok than anywhere else we have been. Oded and I were dropped in the backpacker ghetto, full of guesthouses, western food, book stores and tourist offices. We immediately ran into Israelis who told us where we could find the Chabad and as the New Year was but 24 hours away from starting, we headed straight there. We were greeted by the main Rabbi and 2 Australians who fed us (Israeli salad, soup, hummus...mmm) and gave us the low down on celebrating Rosh Hashana in Saigon. We reserved spots at the next night's dinner and headed back out...

We spent our first day in Saigon walking around and visiting the main sights--the city itself is really lovely, full of trees, parks, and crazy drivers zooming in and out of oncoming traffic. We spent most of our time at the War Remnants Museum (it used to be called the American War Crimes Museum but they changed it as it didn't prove too popular). Museums so far in southeast Asia really honor the horrors of the past with photos, personal stories and recreations of torture chambers and the like. What they lack across the board is framing--there was no basic history of why the war happened, where the main fighting took place, how long it lasted, and what the outcome was. As an American and my mother's daughter, I have a basic understanding of the Vietnam War and America's role in it, but as a tourist I crave more information. Despite the lack of framing, the museum itself is a necessary introduction to the country and its recent history, inlcuding an entire exhibit on the effects of Agent Orange which will forever be engraved in my memory.

We quickly returned to our guest house, showered and took motorbikes to a fancy hotel in downtown Saigon to join the rest of the Jews in welcoming the New Year. It was me, Oded, our two Australian friends from the previous night and about 150 other Israelis. No joke. My Hebrew is improving if only from hearing it so often--I think I hear more Hebrew than Vietnamese. Dinner was lovely--challah, hummus, soup, chicken, fish, apples, honey--all one can ask for when their family and friends are so far away.

We left dinner and headed to a local bar with two new friends. After one beer we headed to a popular night club where we danced the rest of erev Rosh Hashana. Not surprisingly, most of the folks from dinner were also at the club--Rihanna and Michael Jackson ruled the night amidst a mix of American music from the 80s and the 90s.

All in all, Rosh Hashana was really nice--Shana Tova u Metuka to all who are celebrating. I wish everyone a sweet year full of happiness and love.

To see photos of Saigon, visit http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/Saigon##

Border Crossing by Boat

2008-10-07T03:18:00.000-07:00

We left Cambodia on Saturday after securing Oded's Vietnam visa. We decided not to go the direct route ( a very long and unexciting bus ride) and opted for the scenic route--a van to a boat to another boat to another van to another boat to a bus. And it may have been our best decision yet...

We followed the Mekong Delta from Cambodia to Chau Doc in Vietnam. The first boat ride was a fast boat down a main waterway--kids and adults alike waved at every chance, yelling hello at the top of their lungs. On either side exists entire neighborhoods and communties built on the water. Houses stand on tall legs, built from bamboo, wood and sometimes stone. Boat is the only means of transportation in these parts and everyone seems adept at steering their little boat in the right direction, whether that be toward a rice paddy or a popular fishing spot.

The border crossing itself was low key and took only a few moments. We got our passports stamped, ate a quick lunch of pho, and got on another boat that took us through smaller waterways to the town of Chau Doc. We stayed overnight in town only to wake early to head further into Vietnam.

Our morning started with a two hour ride in a row boat rowed soley by one woman (think gondoliers in Venice Vietnam style). The woman was all smiles and probably 50 pounds soaking wet, which made sense after seeing the amount of work it took to row us around. She took us to many small waterbound communities around Chau Doc--only slowing to wave at her children who were hanging off their island of a home, waving back at us. We visited a fish farm and a small Muslim community (Cham) before heading back to shore. It is hard to put into words the creativity born of necessity that make up these water worlds. It is a truly amazing thing to see people really make the most of their surroundings and natural resources.

Once back on land, we boarded a van and headed to another small town that boasted a number of pagodas, temples, and a stunning view that required quite a steep climb. It was a festival at the time that we visited the town and many, many people filled the temples with offerings of fruit, pig, incense and prayer. We headed from this town down three hours of rocky roads, literally being thrown back and forth in the van, to a short boat ride to a full size bus that took us triumphantly to Ho Chi Minh City/ Saigon. And it was in this fashion that I entered my 29th year...

To see photos of the Mekong Delta, visit http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/MekongDelta##

Rain, rain go away

2008-09-27T04:40:00.000-07:00

Sihanoukville

Oded and I left Phnom Penh after two days and headed to the beaches of Sihanoukville on the southern coast of Cambodia. The ride there was an experience in itself--the buses are decent and they stop for bathroom breaks and food--all good things. The problems arrive not from the comfort of the seats, but the daring ness of the drivers as they tend to believe they are the only driver on the road despite oncoming motorists and truckers. To avoid collision, the driver just beeps constantly as a way to alert others to move or perhaps because it amuses him. In addition to the beeping, there are the Cambodian programs blasted from the TV at the front of the bus--I am not sure what exactly we watched but I am almost positive that it may have been a torture device at one time. Once the caucophony of noises becomes alost normal, there is ample time to view the countryside. These rides are proof that most of Cambodia is flat and flooded in many areas to make rice paddies--the amount of water and mud is almost unbelievable. We arrived in Sihanoukville at dusk and took motos to the our guest house--the Monkey Republic. Run by Westerners, this is a backpacker mecca--pool tables, free draft beer on arrival, and tons of Aussies, Brits and even some Israelis. We spent two days there in total and about five minutes at the beach--it rained almost the entire time--the kind of rain that wakes you up at night and soaks you in an instant. So we both improved our pool skills, read a lot and made some new friends. All in all, it was very relaxing and a nice excursion out of Cambodia's cities. We spent one more day in Phnom Penh to finalize Oded's Vietnam visa and said goodbye to Cambodia.

...and i arrived!

2008-09-22T07:19:00.000-07:00

Bangkok, Thailand

Thirty six hours and three flights and one smiling Oded! Arriving in Bangkok was amazing--seeing Oded after so long was great and weird all in the same moment. After not seeing each other for three and a half months it was hard to get over the fact that we were finally in the same place. I arrived late Tuesday night and we started the day late on Wednesday. I have not yet seen enough of Bangkok to make a real impression, but from what I understand it is a city that caters mainly yo Westerners looking for a good time before heading to the islands. Pad thai is dirt cheap and made on the spot, tuks tuks (moto led carriages) carry you from one place to the next, and everyone wants to tailor a suit for you. A few things of note: the main traveler street is full of Israelis. There is a travel center devoted just to schnitzel and Machina, offering food, internet and storage. The downtown area seems similar to any that we know in the US--stores ranging from Dior to Chloe to Zara with Subway and Starbucks in between. It makes me so aware of globalization and how many cities have begun to lose their identities due to the spread of major companies. I remember being in Spain 7 years ago and seeing Zara and H & M for the first time, long before they were anywhere other than New York. I hope that my second stop in Bangkok in November will shed more light on the city for me.

Siem Reap, Cambodia

The ride from Bangkok to Siem Reap, Cambodia was all but hell and I am told that this is far from the worst. The first 5 hours from Bangkok to the Cambodian border were fast and swirly and made me sick to my stomach but we made it across only to arrive to the dusty, dirty streets of Cambodia. We opted to share a taxi with a Portuguese couple for the last 4 hours to Siem Reap. The ride was mostly on dirt roads that turn to mud each day in the afternoon rain. It is important to know that lanes mean nothing and people find whatever open space on the road and drive (don't be scared Mom!). We arrived in Siem Reap and for $7 we had hot water and a double bed. Thus our Cambodian adventure began...

Angkor Wat, the ruins of many temple capitals, is what attracts most tourists to Cambodia. It is a vast construction of temples, pagodas and entrances built over 500 years during the reigns of different kings. The architecture is hard to fathom and the details engraved on each block even harder. Images of gods, war, water and devotion adorn almost every inch of these still intact stones. The beauty is a true wonder that is unfortunately tempered by exorbitant entrance prices and the constant barrage of Cambodian children selling scarves, book, bracelets and water. They are unrelenting, calling out to you upon sight, and they have an impressive knowledge not only of English and world capitals, but also of math--a knowledge they use to make sure you leave with one less dollar.

Cambodia seems to be a country full of extreme contradictions--one night's stay is $7 and breakfast is half that price. The country is poor--the roads are unpaved yet they are navigated by a surprising number of Lexuses. The landscape is flat and a luscious green thanks to the daily rains--but trash litters the street at every turn and poor are begging at each corner. Gorgeous hotels charging $700 a night line the streets in Siem Reap yet the streets are full of backpackers that are far from the jet set. It is a challenge to understand the economy and the issues at hand here--most people are farmers or live off the land, family is paramount, and food is a huge piece of social connection is Phnom Penh.

To see more photos of Angkor Wat, visit http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/SiemReapCambodia##

Phnom Penh

We spent today at the Killing Fields and S-21, the prison that was used to interrogate and execute thousands of Cambodians under Pol Pot's rule. The Cambodian genocide is a horrifying example of what humanity can achieve when at its worst. The Killing Fields house a monument full of 8,000 skulls and a landscape full of huge divets that once served as mass graves for innocent Cambodians. The S-21 prison, now a museum on genocide, displays torture weapons, photos, and a comprehensive history of the 4 years that Pol Pot ruled Cambodia. The day that we toured these places was intense and overwhelming--it is a true testament that Cambodia displays the worst of their history so that they and the rest of the world never forget what happened here.

The people in Phnom Penh were open and generous, often showing us the way or answering questions. For less than a dollar, we bought a full watermelon from a street market, had it cut up for us, and consumed it there on the street--a perfect treat on a hot day.

Next, we move on to Sihanoukville to visit Cambodia's beaches and national parks...

To see photos of Phnom Penh, visit http://picasaweb.google.com/abbey.greenberg/PhnomPenhCambodia##

3 more days...

2008-09-12T07:53:00.001-07:00

My last weekend in Boston is upon me and has fall has arrived in time to grace me with a few days of chilly mornings, breezy afternoons and perfect nights. I have spent more time in EMS and Target than I ever thought possible and I believe I am almost ready to depart...My itinerary is as follows:

September 15 Boston-Bangkok

September 20 Bangkok-Siem Reap, Cambodia

September 28 Vietnam

October 25 Laos

November 1 Chiang Mai, Thailand

November 7 Bangkok-Sydney

January 23 Sydney-Christchurch, NZ

April 7 Auckland, NZ-Fiji

April 15 Fiji-Boston

Please send me emails, stories, and updates as although I am so excited for my adventure, I will miss everyone. Much love.

Boston

2008-09-05T11:46:00.000-07:00

I met a guy on the train from Washington to Boston last Saturday. He asked me if I lived in DC and I was unsure of the answer. For the first time in a long time, I don't have an address and I quickly realized that it is not my location that defines me. Or perhaps it is exactly location that defines me and the lack of a permanent address that will redefine me. I no longer have the luxury of telling people what I do or where I live as a way to categorize myself in the world. Instead, I just have me--my experiences, things that I love to do, people that I love to know--just me. It is a crazy and amazing prospect.

I am officially unemployed for the first time since I was 16. I have spent the week roaming around Boston--I spent a day at Revere beach with my brother (family pride), shopped at Whole Foods and REI, and hung out with my folks and after a full week I am left amazed--there are tons of people out during the day! Who knew this other culture of people existed that don't sit indoors all day hooked up to Microsoft Outlook, breathing in and out, in and out. I imagine this is what it would feel like to take a vacation and stay in the town you live in for the week. You begin to see the rhythms of the people who don't leave thier homes for an office every morning--young and old alike. People walking their dogs, sitting in the park, having coffee just for the sake of drinking coffee in the middle of the day. It is luxurious--to observe and to do.

So now I am left with one more week in Boston to see my friends and my family and to buy all of the last minute things that will come in handy in the wilds of who knows where. Today I bought a swiss army knife and a lock. Bear Grylls, here I come.