departure from normalcy

It’s been over a month since we returned home, and a few days since our post-RTW trip-vacation to Costa Rica. I vacillate between wanting to leave again, craving a home and a job, and generally feeling like a deflated tire or a trampoline that isn’t bouncy anymore.

The good thing about being home has been the countless reunions with family, old friends and former coworkers.

The top three questions tend to be:
1. What was your favorite place?
2. Are you glad to be back?
3. Does it feel weird to be home?

We’ve developed canned answers for these questions, JR pulls the Teddy Ruxpin string hanging from my back and I deliver the same boring canned answer. Sometimes I’d like to just pull a black ski mask over my face and stand mute. But then everyone would think I was crazy and unstable (oh heavens!)…hence the canned boring answers.

Or, people will pose an open-ender “Tell me all about your trip!”, and proceed to get creeped out by my blank stare/cross-eyed response. Should I tell them about when I cried in a cow field with a bloody knee and declared that I “hated” Thailand (I actually love Thailand, but that moment I felt differently)? Or maybe about the train ride in India when I accidentally boarded the crowded man-only car; I was visually assaulted for ten solid minutes. I felt naked even with pants and a billowy long-sleeved top and imagined the men must be whispering “she ain’t from ’round here” in Urdu or Hindi or Malayalam. Temptation is strong to tell the high shock-value tales, but depending on the audience, I muster up a three sentence story ending with “it was really neat”.

Now its time to figure out what to do next. I’m attempting to make a career of writing and JR is racking his brain for a small business idea, ideally one that will allow him to work from anywhere. It sometimes feels like the past year existed in a parallel universe and we never left, but the evidence is undeniable: we’re not quite the same.

A few days ago, we were dragging our feet towards the end of this trip. When we left the South Island, we drove slowly towards the port where the ferry was docked. We didn’t talk much. A dark sullen cloud hung over us, and we even discussed ways we could continue to travel. (If all 4,000+ visitors to this blog just donated $3, then we could travel for another six months! This was our plan. To be facilitated by PayPal.)

Now, we’re counting the hours until we leave. We can’t wait to get back to America (angels singing ahhhhhhh). What possibly could have changed our attitudes so drastically in just a few days? A few shit towns.

We’ve discovered a cure for people infected with the travel virus who detest the idea of returning home. All you have to do, is go to some really crappy places. New Zealand is a beautiful country, but even pretty girls get huge pus-oozing boils on their butts where no one can see. We stumbled upon these butt boils, per say, and they were wretched places. Places full of people who looked like aliens, crumbling buildings and beaches that resembled warzones. Places with newspaper headlines full of stabbings and shootings. Places without bumbling mountain streams to drink from and picturesque sunsets.

And just like that, our dread was replaced with homesickness. I miss grocery stores, huge grocery stores with ten varieties of anything on your list. I miss salad bars. I miss waitresses and people who are friendly in hopes that you’ll tip them. I miss the constitutional amendment “No shirt, no shoes, no service” and soft-serve ice cream and marching bands and tacos. And the beverage choices! America has no idea how spoiled they are when it comes to beverages. My dreams are filled with Izze and Vitamin Water.

In a few hours we go to the airport. Four planes and fifteen hours later we’ll be in San Francisco, relishing in Americana. My fingers are crossed that I’ll see a marching band…

Nights slept in tent: 0
Nights slept in mountaintop huts without heat: 3
Status of ‘93 Nissan: trunk no longer closes, therefor is strapped down with bungee cord (WT)
Number of Canadians spotted wearing Canadian flags: 0 (slow week)
Skip-Bo Score: Brooke 7, JR 3 (we’re losing interest)

The last post was written right before our Kepler Track adventure began. Four days, sixty kilometers. This really doesn’t sound so bad, 15k a day is roughly 10 miles…easy. But, with mountainous terrain and a 30lb backpack factored in, it became a serious feat. There was whining, complaining, swearing, aching, itching (from the goddamn sandflies) and promising that I’d never do another trek again. Imagine filling a backpack with 3 gallons of milk and a 5lb bag of flour, strapping it on your back and walking up a steep hill for 6 hours. My favorite part of the day was when we got to stop for lunch, and when we reached the next hut.

But…it was absolutely beautiful. Read the rest of this entry »

Nights slept in tent: 2
Amount of money spent repairing the ’91 Nissan: $25
Times we’ve accidentally driven on the wrong side of the road: twice
Number of near-fatal accidents we’ve witnessed: 1
Number of Canadians spotted wearing Canadian flags: 9
Skip-Bo Score: Brooke 6, JR 2

We were so proud of our intentions to camp that the first night of the trip we popped the $49.99 tent on a patch of burnt grass in a busy campground. The tent appeared to be assembled correctly, but we were left with a wad of ropes. We snuck a few glances at our neighbor’s tent, to check if they had used their wad of ropes, and they had. Shit. We would have asked, but they were blasting Pantera and discussing drag racing so we didn’t interrupt.

The second day we started our two-day trek of Abel Tasman National Park, along the coast of the northwest tip of the South Island. The scenery was stunning, and we were left with spectacular photos, huge appetites and blisters.

The rest of the week was spent meandering down the coast. We stopped for a few days in Punakaiki (or was it Punakaika?) where we had a huge house in the bush to ourselves. (Bush=forest ’round here) A short trail from our doorstep lead down to the beach. It was spectacular- and cheap. (USD 35/night)

While everyone was enjoying their turkey, eighteen hours ahead here in New Zealand we went hiking on the Franz Josef glacier. For eight hours a guide lead eleven of us up the glacier, carving steps with an ice axe and forcing us through tiny crevices. Crevices so narrow that my hips almost got stuck. It was intense, awesome, and definitely not safe. I was the only one in the group to fall (typical). My knees look like the swollen bruised peaches that no one will buy on sale at the supermarket.

Tomorrow we set out on the Kepler Track, one of New Zealand’s ‘Great Walks’. Four days and 60 kilometers (37mi), most of which will be uphill. Oh my God. Wish us luck.

Updated photos on Flickr!

It’s been almost a year since we left Mothership America. There have been brief bouts of homesickness, usually related to food and family and friends. Thanksgiving in New Zealand stirred about a bit of homesickness in both of us.

We reserved the last available (hostel) room in the village of Franz Josef, home of the Franz Josef glacier. It’s the kind of settlement that only exists for tourists. No one is from Franz Josef, and no one lives there aside from those working in tourism. A place that faux-outdoorsy hippies love, and the kind of town I can stand for approximately 30 hours before running for the border. We planned on a holiday feast at a proper restuarant, but the choices in Glacier Country were slim. So we took over the hostel kitchen.

Hostel kitchens are accustomed to easy, cheap fare. The Brits and Germans are always making sausages, the Italians and anyone who speaks Spanish are always incorporating canned tuna, and the few young Asian girls struggle with anything…due to foriegn ingredients and the cultural tradition of living with their mothers (who cook for them). Last week I couldn’t resist an intervention as two young Japanese girls attemped to make pancakes without oil or butter in the pan. Domestic nightmare.

Turkey wasn’t an option, but we did score the last roast chicken off of the supermarket’s warming rack. Then I asked the manager if they carried canned pumpkin. He let me down, but proudly delivered me to the produce section where they sold fresh pumpkin. I stared, bewildered, at the orange squash wrapped in celophane. Who the hell makes pumpkin pie with fresh pumpkin? I’m willing to wager that even Martha sticks with Libby’s. Supermarket Manager shrugged when I told him it wouldn’t work, and I began sulking immediatly. Read the rest of this entry »

We’re currently exploring New Zealand’s South Island in the comfort of a 1993 Nissan Maxima, rented from a friend’s roommate for $140/month. We’re also doing some camping…which is interesting considering our previous combined camping experience amounts to three nights in Michigan backyards. We have a shitty tent and three insufficient sleeping bags.

Stay tuned for more.

After almost 10 months in Asia, our arrival in Australia was a bit surreal. All the white people…all of the big, fat white people…it was a real shock to the system. We’ve grown accustomed to not really understanding what anyone says, eating weird food, and generally being the largest humans within a 1km radius. We found comfort in our minority status, usually in the form of freely making comments in English that no one else could understand. JR has shushed me about 12 times here in “Oz”.

We landed in Cairns, on the coast of Northeast Australia. Cairns is like the average touristy beach town in Florida, aka my worst nightmare. We quickly booked a snorkel trip on the Great Barrier Reef for 2 days and 1 night. Shortly after we boarded Reef Encounter, we found out that we could stay on the boat for free, in exchange for some light labor. So, we spent 4 days on the boat, snorkeling and diving 2-3 times per day at different areas of the Reef, in exchange for about 4 hours/day of work. We served the paying passengers, did laundry and made beds. Cleaning the bathrooms grossed me out (um, other people’s pubes? Sick. And you’d be amazed at the people who leave turds in the toilet. The nerve.) but other than that it was a piece of cake.

Neither JR or I had ever gone scuba diving before. We went on an introductory dive with another beginner and an instructor. JR was fine, but I had an underwater anxiety attack and didn’t make it. I felt like a loser, Read the rest of this entry »

The Japanese are dead serious about maintaining their cultural traditions. Traditions haven’t become heritage- they’re a part of daily life. There are actual women walking around in kimonos, albeit clutching a Gucci bag and chatting on a rhinestone-bedazzled cell phone.

A long held Japanese tradition are regular visits to onsens. Onsens are bath houses with different soaking tubs and saunas. We went to Fukaoka Onsen in Kyoto at 3pm on a Thursday. We rented a towel, bought a bar of soap, and walked through separate doorways marked for men and women.

Three steps inside I was surrounded by elderly women. Grandmas. And they were naked. I walked over to a locker and began to disrobe. Two sisters from Australia walked in, and we took care of introductions and formalities in the buff.

The Head Old Naked Lady showed us where to wash up. Read the rest of this entry »

The greater Tokyo metropolitan area is home to over 35 million people- making it the most populous metropolitan area in the world.

Based on this fact alone, we expected Tokyo to be extremely crowded, noisy, and dirty. We discovered the exact opposite.

In four days, we heard exactly one car horn. Traffic is non-existent thanks to the excellent subway system, and since there’s no traffic, there’s also no pollution. Unlike every other country we’ve visited in Asia, no one litters. Trash cans force citizens to toss plastic with plastic and paper with paper. No one cuts in line, no one stares, no one blows their nose in public, and no one chats on their cell phone on the subway. This is urban paradise- and the closest thing to societal utopia I’ve ever experienced.

Fashion rules in Tokyo- and rules don’t exist. Read the rest of this entry »

The Hong Kong airport is creepily empty and freezing cold at 3:30am. That’s when I woke up.

After spending 5 horrendous days in Vietnam trying to get our round the world tickets reprinted-the most frustrating experience of our trip-we landed in Hong Kong at 10:30 pm. Our flight for Tokyo left at 9:30 the following morning, so JR conned me into sleeping at the airport. At 3:30 when I opened my eyes, I was shivering in my jeans, flip-flops and linen shirt. The aircon was set at “ARCTIC”, and I couldn’t believe it was only 3 effing thirty.

By 9am we were boarding the flight, and my luck was finally changing. So I thought. I was looking forward to stealing a blanket from first class and settling in with Sudoku and a ginger ale. Seat 62K was between JR and a 450-lb man. With all of the petite Asian women on board…couldn’t they have paired the smallest lady with the biggest man? He occupied his seat and part of mine, and his heavy breathing was music to my ears for 5 hours. I can hear my mother scolding me for this post…but seriously, I couldn’t put my armrest down. Horrible. Luckily I was distracted by the South Park episode where the Mormon family moves to town.

So now we’ve been in Japan for four days–and absolutely love it. It’s not as expensive as we expected, and Tokyo is spotless and awesome and polite. More about that later…my free computer time at the hostel is up.

p.s. JR is currently battling both dandruff and extreme foot odor. And I have a zit.