departure from normalcy

The following entry is a brief summary of a period of about 12 days. Day one and 12 involved crying, and sandwiched in between was Laughing, Cracking Up, and a fresh slice of I Just Peed a Little.

The trusty guidebook recommended reserving train tickets out of Bangkok at least a week in advance. We basically crumpled up the advice and tossed it in the garbage, showing up at the train station to purchase tix 2 days before our departure. This was a grave error in judgment. A week before the advent of Thai New Year celebrations, our only option was to book tickets in third class…for the overnight journey.

We figured that hey, it couldn’t be that bad. Our confidence slowly eroded by the reactions of people we told. Travelers laughed at us and wished us luck, Thai people gave us funny looks and retorted “Why you go third class?”. We boarded the train and were met by the same confused looks. Seating in third class is grim…basically two straight-back benches facing each other designed for 6 passengers. Six short passengers. We crammed our bags on and settled in, with both our hips and knees in constant contact with someone else’s hips and knees. This arrangement lasted approximately 10 minutes, and JR discovered the food & beverage car, where we hung out sipping Singha beers with a techno-banger German guy who kept recommending we try LSD and a few male employees who launched a fashion show with a sarong down the catwalk/train car aisle. The fun & games ended at midnight and we returned to our cramped uncomfortable hot seating arrangement for another six and a half hours of hell. Nine hours later, the train was broken down 5 miles from our final destination. The woman directly across from me (whose legs were constantly touching my legs) began a very high-pitched speech at around 3am… and was still going strong. (Literally she didn’t take a breath for over 6 hours) I was imagining ways to gag her, and finally resorted to saying “STOP TALKING. PLEASE STOP. CEASE. QUIT.” On the verge of a complete possibly violent breakdown, we decided we had to get the heck off the train immediately. Read the rest of this entry »

The Lonely Planet Nepal book describes the Bhoti Kosi river as “the best two day rafting trip in the world…you will be paralyzed with fear” (or something like that…I don’t have the book on me at the moment). Perfect for us, considering the closest thing to white water in our handbag of adventure sports experience is Six Flags Hurricane Harbor. So we signed up with our UK partners in crime from the Andamans, Bev & Dan. We left Kathmandu in the wee hours and after whip lashing bus ride arrived at the river. The first day was practice. Our guide Laxmon briefed us on the rafting commands and we set off. The rapids were mainly class 2 and 3, exciting but not enough to tap into adrenaline reserves. In life vests & helmets Laxmon had us all jump in the ice cold river…another practice session in case day 2’s unforgiving river tossed anyone overboard.

Day two was a completely different river. Pick up a thesaurus and look up the words ‘insane’, ‘panic’ and ‘oops I crapped my pants’ and this will paint an accurate picture. In other words I loved it, and so did Beard Man Beshore. Class 4-plus rapids involve a lot of huge boulders that our raft kept getting stuck on. Laxmon would yell “Jump Left!” and we’d all slide over to the left side of the raft and bounce up & down. The height of the fury occured when our raft was banked sideways on a rock in the middle of a mad waterfalling rapid. With the left side stuck, water started filling the boat from the right side. Laxmon, our super laid back Nepali guide for the first time flashed a look of “Oh shit” in his eyes. “OUT OF THE BOAT, EVERYBODY OUT!” So here we are, 7 of us plus Laxmon balancing on a slippery slime covered boulder the size of the front hood of a VW Beetle. The boulder wasn’t level, and there was a bit of water streaming over it. He then instructed us all to pull the ropes of the raft in a heave-ho motion, to break it free. The water was rushing so loudly that it was difficult to even hear his Nepali-accented English commands, so everyone took to repeating his every word in a full volume shout. (the sort of shouts that Mom’s use when their trying to round up children for dinner) We were all balancing on the shaky slippery rock, trying not to bump eachother in the least bit. One tap of the shoulder would have sent me flying off the rock, consequently taking others down with me. The class-4 rapids down river was riddled with huge rocks, falling off our rock meant inevitable panic and pain. After tugging at the raft to no avail, one of our two safety patrol kayaker assistants appeared on the left hand bank of the river and tossed the rope. He tugged the raft free and we all dove off the river rock back into the raft.

This situation went down exactly 14 seconds after I saved JR from going overboard. I should rephrase, my nose saved him. He came flying accross the raft and assaulted my face with his helmet…I immediatly let go of the ropes and held my nose waiting for blood to gush. I was about to really have a good cry, the slow motion kind where the tears precede any peep of a whimper. JR interrupted my emotional commercial to remind me that we were still crashing through whitewater with a shout “Brooke frigging hold on!” Now I’m sporting a slightly swollen schnoz, but no bruising.

Oh man. It was seriously intense, but a heck of a good time.

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More of PEARSB’s photos tagged with rafting

After spending a few more days in Kathmandu, we’ve now just arrived in Bangkok. Tune in for further weirdness.

Appropriatly, we reunited with our wild friends Bev & Dan at Chitwan National Park, Nepal’s oldest national park at the foot of the Himalayas. Our package trip included canoeing through the park, a guided jungle hike, visit to the elephant breeding center (no, we didn’t get to see the actual breeding process…much to JR’s chagrin), elephant washin’ in the river, an elephant trek through the park, and a cultural show. We saw crocodiles, parokeets, rhino’s, monkeys, wild boars…and obviously quite a few elephants. It was much better than we expected. No interesting stories appropriate for public access, so here are the photos:

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More of PEARSB’s photos tagged with Chitwan

After 2 hours of writing, the power failed and I lost everything. (welcome to Nepal) Here is a brief synopsis of what I had…along with the photos:

After spending a few days in Kathmandu relishing in cuisine choices and the 68 degree weather, we set out for our trek. In our guidebook, it says trekking is just walking. True, but when you’re “walking” in the Himalayas…its 45% straight uphill, 45% straight downhill…and the occasional 20 steps of flatland. So go to your local gym, hop on the stairmaster, and plug away for the next 6 hours. Repeat for the next 7 days. I’m so knackered that typing is a chore.

The mountian views were magnificent, especially at Poon Hill. We woke up at 4:30 am to make the 1008 meter ascent in time for sunrise. (Luckily the soundtrack for this early morning pain session isn’t available, nor appropriate for children or evangelical Christians) Poon Hill is one of the best vantage points in Nepal, at an elevation of 3210 meters. That’s over 10,500 feet…and about 7 Sears Towers stacked on top of one another.

The goal was Annapurna Base Camp, but everyone on the trail was forced to turn back due to 5+ feet of snow and avalanches threatening from above. Much to JR’s chagrin and my secret delight, our trek was cut from 10 days to 7. We stayed in small village lodges along the trail. No heat and spotty electricity made the nights short and the mornings torture. There is a reason why the Amish don’t live in Alaska my friends.

Alas, here are the photos…which will give you a much better perception of the trek than my lazy rewriting, but still don’t begin to do justice. Click on “Annapurna Trek Nepal” below.

www.flickr.com PEARSB’s Annapurna Trek – Nepal photoset

When traveling to a city for the first time, everyone has a preconceived perception of what they expect to find. People expect Paris to be romantic and possess an almost pastel quality, New York you assume will be fast furious & fashionable, and Detroit…well, no comment. Before arriving in Calcutta, my only perceptions of the city were images of Mother Theresa helping the dying and destitute, the documentary Born into Brothels, and the population hovering around 17 million seemed unimaginably daunting.

The city we found completely blew us away. Tree lined boulevards dotted with busy cafes, marble shopping malls with state of the art theatres, and street food vendors shelling out hot plates of noodles and warm chappattis. Compared to other Indian cities that were a quarter of the size, it seemed like Calcutta’s volume was turned down a few notches. The pollution wasn’t noticable and navigating the city as a pedestrian much more forgiving. As soon as we arrived we knew that our three days would not be long enough. (especially when one of those days involved a visit to Pizza Hut and Babel on the big screen. Again, something I shouldn’t reveal) Read the rest of this entry »

Contrary to popular belief, we are still alive. I’m not sure if anyone actually reads this blog besides for our mothers and the occasional bored CH Robinson employee…but if there are avid readers out there I do apologize for recent black out. We spent 10 days on Havelock island in the Andamans, where the computer population is expected to reach 7 in 2009. Read the rest of this entry »

We hitched a ride from Kodaikanal to Munnar with 3 other Indian couples. A bit of a tight squeeze, but a great chance for conversation. We of course had to lie and say that we’ve been married for 2 years. (JR prayed to Shiva for forgiveness, so I think we’re in the clear)

Our time in Munnar was brief, but the scenery was beautiful. Tea plants blanketed the mountains. Ironically during our 12 hours there we didn’t have a single cup of tea. (this is an example of something I shouldn’t disclose)

After Munnar we had a few days in Fort Cochin, where we ended up spending a good deal of time with this character named Desi.

Desi is a 67 year old painter, lifetime resident of Fort Cochin, and former card-carrying communist. (I’m not pulling a McCarthy, Communism still has a place in the hearts of many Southern Indians and the red flag is waving all over the place) He was really fascinating, albeit eccentric with his conspiracy theories. At one point he tried to argue that the United States caused the tsunami.

Greetings fans of Brooke and JR. This is a courtesy update from Brooke’s mom, for any of you that are following their adventures and log in, only to find no update. Not to worry. Brooke sent me a brief note last Tuesday saying the trip plan had changed and they were not going to Nepal as early as planned. She said they love India, and had met some wonderful people who convinced them to go to a remote group of islands off the coast of Thailand, the Andaman Islands, the “last paradise on earth”. They were leaving that day for Munnar, then would hop to the Islands, and would be there about 12 days.

I promptly googled Andaman Islands, and was relieved to see that, contrary to popular belief, the native tribes on the islands were not cannibals. Great. The islands sound wonderful and like a step back in time….but, of course, worrying mother that I am…I had visions of non-cannibalistic tribes carrying my blonde, blue eyed daughter off to the jungle, to be worshipped as a Goddess, never to be seen again.

Nearly 10 days have gone by, and I have struggled to keep that vision out of my head and replace it with a vision of Brooke and JR, sitting outside their beach hut trying to decide between reading another book or practicing their yoga routines. Thank God, the latter vision was confirmed last night. My phone rang at 1am and I have never been so happy to hear my daughters voice.

They are safe and sound on the islands, which sound exotic and heavenly. Although there are no computers, only a couple of pay phones, and frequent power outages, they love it. They spend their days bicycling through beautiful terrain to discover yet another beach, and evenings around campfires with other beach hut dwellers. Oh darn, don’t you feel bad for them.

Well, Brooke asked me to log in and give you a quick update and let you know all is well. They plan to leave the islands around March 1 and will go next to either Calcutta or Delhi…..I am anticipating another round of culture shock! She promised to log in as soon as she can to give you all an authentic update. Until then….keep them both in your thoughts and surround them with good energy. Mom.

We left Madurai last Wednesday and took a 4 hour bus into the mountains to a hill station called Kodaikanal. Riding a bus in India is a couragous act. First, the busses are practically antiques. Some of them have been farting exhaust fumes since WWII. The process of boarding and deboarding is also quite wild. Typically when a bus pulls into the station, people start running after it as if its the last bus to heaven. When you’re trying to get off, 60 other people are trying to get on. There’s no waiting in line, or waiting your turn…its no holds bar, no hard feelings. I admit, I’ve had to drop a few elbows and box out a couple old ladies. We’ve preferred to sit in the back of the bus, probably because that’s where the cool kids used to sit, and so our view of oncoming traffic is obstructed. Watching your bus driver play chicken with an oncoming bus, or deciding to pass 100 meters before a corner…is a tad stressful.

Kodaikanal is a smaller mountain town, popular with foriegn tourists and Indian couples. The weather has been a welcome change, hovering around the 50-60s during the day but freezing at night. Read the rest of this entry »