tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75510768081753506182026-08-15T17:26:37.340-04:00/səˈbatikəlist/ One who takes a sabbatical [year] to travel, perhaps permanently.Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-82822104181222185682015-02-20T01:18:00.004-05:002015-02-20T01:42:23.871-05:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> <span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="line-height: 17.25px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>The best experiences are those that are dream like. </i></span></span><br> <span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17.25px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i> Tink-tink. Tink-tink. </i>The wind chimes almost sounded like they were dancing in the air. The wind and grey, shapely clouds added to the moody mystique. Earlier in the day, while taking in the sights within city walls, I was stranded under a canopy on Wat Chedi Luang Worawihan grounds. It did not start raining. No, not at all. This could not be called rain. Resigned to the fact that I was stuck for a little while, I sat on the ground and stared at what was rapidly becoming a moat around the stupa. </span></span><br> <span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17.25px; white-space: pre-wrap;">My plight was fodder for entertainment for the 29 monks sat on benches beneath the other canopy across the river of rain water. My status included no rain jacket, no umbrella, and electronics in each hand. Yes... I had arrived prepared.</span></span><br> <span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17.25px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br></span></span> <br> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody> <tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TT9S73y0qvSqon8y8rpU2OoBBkg4Jae9kbc7dsudY2MA7h2TUVhjw83BPUjm8sJnc7A5rXS5VeKLIxzy-VCLQkZ5II_UDrnUEddYtKeDPvPvaqsfgHHIl6RHKnaiHJixsEhPSqnWedk/s1600/P1070056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TT9S73y0qvSqon8y8rpU2OoBBkg4Jae9kbc7dsudY2MA7h2TUVhjw83BPUjm8sJnc7A5rXS5VeKLIxzy-VCLQkZ5II_UDrnUEddYtKeDPvPvaqsfgHHIl6RHKnaiHJixsEhPSqnWedk/s1600/P1070056.JPG" height="376" width="640"></a></td></tr> <tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angry Clouds Above Wat Chedi Luang Woriwihan</td></tr> </tbody></table> <span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17.25px; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span> </div></div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2015/02/wat-hidden-gem-exploring-chiang-mai.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-55532161768208182632014-04-07T09:30:00.000-04:002014-05-15T09:20:09.250-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Here we go. Nothing like holding yourself accountable, right? You have the ability to be your best critic. Why let that ability go to waste?</i></span></span><br> <br> <span style="font-size: small;">The comfort zone is a scary place to me. The spot outside of the comfort zone is where the learning and good stuff happens. Inside your comfort zone, you already know everything and everyone. Not a whole lot of shock and awe going on there. No shock, no awe <strike>  </strike>&gt; no learning, no growing. </span><br> <span style="font-size: small;"><br></span> <span style="font-size: small;">If I do say so myself, I&#39;m pretty good at existing just outside the comfort zone. Though it turns out, doing things that are uncomfortable for most people, like have no itinerary when travelling or attempting to hike up a cliff as an acrophobic, are now neutral experiences, at best, for me. So, I&#39;ve adjusted a few. Here&#39;s how I&#39;ve done so far, as the list itself is still a work in progress:</span><br> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2014/04/accomplishment-check-sabbaticalist-3030.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-81061065351294603522014-03-17T10:50:00.001-04:002015-02-20T01:49:26.434-05:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <i>Walking through time in Myanmar. </i><br> <br> Right off the plane, it was trip back through time. We are in the 1950s and we are in a country called Myanmar. Except, in 1950, we call it Burma because that&#39;s what the occupying country could pronounce.<br> (Myanmar is too confusing to say and spell.)<br> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9vOPh8sdYMLyh36provrM0SPZ5e0z30Hl7yrL8CKzyXUhPv0fcSsPaTfsbNlb8F4-BH92-g5sdHZdLRgsX0hHUbziEAb6bAWnGOn0uL_BE_tknA3s4O2-FZqrnVzUrNtecTk3m19GT-c/s1600/P1050959.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9vOPh8sdYMLyh36provrM0SPZ5e0z30Hl7yrL8CKzyXUhPv0fcSsPaTfsbNlb8F4-BH92-g5sdHZdLRgsX0hHUbziEAb6bAWnGOn0uL_BE_tknA3s4O2-FZqrnVzUrNtecTk3m19GT-c/s1600/P1050959.JPG" height="400" width="640"></a></div> <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="more"></a><br>   <br> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2014/03/juxtapositions-of-yangon-myanmar.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-63956786254253037882014-02-07T11:28:00.002-05:002014-04-07T09:38:33.570-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Peeking into my medicine and toiletry bags. </i></span><br> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> </i></span> <br> There have been a few questions regarding the medicine cabinet and toiletries bag that I bring along. From my last blog post, you’ll notice that baby powder is one of my essential items. What else is there? I’m an anti-hypochondriac, which means I don’t pack nearly as many drug items as I would pack shoes or clothes … or electronics.<br> <br> For meds, you can likely get what you need in the country you’re visiting and, for Americans, much more easily and cheaply. Conversely, the US has one of the best and cheapest electronic markets in the world. Trust me, you do not want to be buying a new digital camera in <a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2012/12/bolivia-camera-goes-into-coma.html" target="_blank">Chile or Argentina</a>. This I know from experience.<br> <b><u></u></b><br> <b><u></u></b><br> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody> <tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit1hr7bwpK_Mjss2zE1Iwgg6fYU7Ig87iUYHo1LTq5C0o7I4CtvHtfdLeKZ6ND5DDXaQJfjEDoZU6Sp4_K-_ZM7QsGwVJ5ckjBh91fcCasUk48CT3Yh4L1_9gEogx2hgKDiP8bFudMHts/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit1hr7bwpK_Mjss2zE1Iwgg6fYU7Ig87iUYHo1LTq5C0o7I4CtvHtfdLeKZ6ND5DDXaQJfjEDoZU6Sp4_K-_ZM7QsGwVJ5ckjBh91fcCasUk48CT3Yh4L1_9gEogx2hgKDiP8bFudMHts/s1600/image.jpeg" height="400" width="400"></a></td></tr> <tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty, Shiny Toiletries Bag</td></tr> </tbody></table> <b><u></u></b><br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2014/02/whats-in-bag-medicine-toiletries-packing.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-77524643727990320522014-01-31T18:11:00.002-05:002014-02-13T12:49:57.406-05:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <div style="text-align: left;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The challenge was to travel with only a backpack. No, not the ‘big’ 45Liter backpack that I had around the world. The smaller one. How did I manage? Let’s see.</i></span></div> <div style="text-align: left;"> <br> I bought<a href="http://www.underarmour.com/shop/us/en/ua-innovate-backpack/pid1217590"> this Under Armour backpack</a> on a total whim. You might recall one of my earlier posts (if not, <a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/03/what-do-i-even-need-to-bring.html">here it is</a> :]) that it was a mere 3 hours before we were due to depart from JFK and we were still faffing about in my friend’s apartment. I needed a smaller daypack at least carry my brand-spanking-new laptop. Anything that wouldn’t crush it in the big backpack. Off to Modell’s. No luck. Absolute fail. Upstairs is a discount chain store (I can’t remember exactly which one it was) and I spot the Under Armour for a super bargain $40 price. Steal!<br> <br> </div></div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2014/01/minimalist-packing-for-morocco-5.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-3914474504129431392014-01-20T11:15:00.000-05:002015-02-20T01:52:52.519-05:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>*</i></span><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Unfortunately I did not have my camera. </i>I have no photos of this day. It was quite a unique day. Taghazout, Morocco</span></i><br> <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">I did my surf experience with <a href="http://surfberbere.com/media" target="_blank">Surf Berbere</a>.  </span></i><br> <br> This is what heaven looked like. Streaks of silver and gold flowed atop the smooth, rolling planes of the water. A grey, misty sky melted into the horizon of the ocean. Without gravity, there would be no way to tell which way is the sky and which way is the ocean. I wonder if I am dead. It doesn&#39;t seem that I am. But there is no way to be sure. By this time, my toes had lost feeling. <br> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2014/01/reflections-of-heaven-morocco.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-86180378420659724292014-01-09T16:49:00.000-05:002014-01-20T11:18:31.228-05:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <i>Malls in big cities in Asia are ridiculous. They make American malls look like shameful pawns. </i><br> <br> This is a perfect example of traveling solo but not actually being solo. On my last day in Bangkok, I wanted to check out a mall whose floors were each decorated in a particular city. Rome, San Fran and London made their cameos, but NYC did not. Pile of rubbish.<br> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody> <tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-EGMN56pVbnDIM1WK-gbBHjCpZ7QfnRIb2wqoMqcClWKP74V6SMKPwcxK2GjujYmZv_k3evO12Gna0S0kQTUg_JXaxfaEGJbJm6YT3JqJ6Pc5qcca-kaH1YSz1jAI3tYMXykemiYdYSs/s1600/Iphone+DL+1809+058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-EGMN56pVbnDIM1WK-gbBHjCpZ7QfnRIb2wqoMqcClWKP74V6SMKPwcxK2GjujYmZv_k3evO12Gna0S0kQTUg_JXaxfaEGJbJm6YT3JqJ6Pc5qcca-kaH1YSz1jAI3tYMXykemiYdYSs/s1600/Iphone+DL+1809+058.JPG" height="480" width="640"></a></td></tr> <tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost the real thing. Same same but different.</td></tr> </tbody></table> <br> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2014/01/shopping-back-to-bangkok.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-91562337201641964882013-12-07T09:30:00.000-05:002014-02-12T15:19:07.477-05:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <i>Post No. 50 is short and sweet with lots of photographs. Very green. Very Zen.</i><br> <br> If you live in Tokyo, a place that has its own way of instilling inner peace given its orderly everyday functions, I would recommend that you take the 2-ish hour <a href="http://www.hyperdia.com/" target="_blank">Shinkansen Train</a>* to Kyoto to find Zen or tranquility or your heart center rather than a foo-foo yoga class.<br> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjp3uaozjPeR6Ta2gok2fGWje5TvYj_P-wpyIBREUG8OV9cCUv5QkcojbyTPsnKRSCx_Bg-s3wD5cpQiB1IhU97xLGFV8ReRvRATxzm1wIsuubBcwkIYapETZhmKdVDqsw2ftjYCzVn1A/s1600/P1070826.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjp3uaozjPeR6Ta2gok2fGWje5TvYj_P-wpyIBREUG8OV9cCUv5QkcojbyTPsnKRSCx_Bg-s3wD5cpQiB1IhU97xLGFV8ReRvRATxzm1wIsuubBcwkIYapETZhmKdVDqsw2ftjYCzVn1A/s640/P1070826.JPG" height="360" width="640"></a></div> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/12/japanese-zen-kyoto-green.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-63387829869618179462013-11-20T16:52:00.000-05:002015-02-20T01:54:03.529-05:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <i>In my quest to be more &quot;open,&quot; I try to give people at least two chances. In this case, it was monkeys. Monkeys/humans, poh-tay-toh/poh-tah-toh. </i><br> <br> Ubud has a few things going for it: it boasts cooking schools and a cool respite from the south of the island, making it unnecessary for aircon at night. Yes, I adapted to using &#39;aircon&#39; vs &#39;AC.&#39; I have no explanation for my behavior. I found out, only after leaving Ubud, that the area was made famous by <i>Eat, Pray, Love, </i>a book that struck me as really stupid precisely after paragraph number one. It  wasn&#39;t until paragraph four that I decided to chuck the book, so I have no idea what the writer did in this town.<br> <br> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody> <tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__JV4rVEVU1vTlRCkfMomJZptARDPAW2m-Ohpe7FZ-urvU8IcZufe-FVN9ChKSU2mn1gy_-6klOOOzJ5Hx6o3PjAJr0ynX90RH7wMxpL2Lq3LN-wg-oOvnbSlU8syeDBx_WyTXmh3zFo/s1600/P1040878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__JV4rVEVU1vTlRCkfMomJZptARDPAW2m-Ohpe7FZ-urvU8IcZufe-FVN9ChKSU2mn1gy_-6klOOOzJ5Hx6o3PjAJr0ynX90RH7wMxpL2Lq3LN-wg-oOvnbSlU8syeDBx_WyTXmh3zFo/s640/P1040878.JPG" height="576" width="640"></a></td></tr> <tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jerk.</td></tr> </tbody></table> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/11/monkey-attacks-revenge-of-monkeys.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-63909396193303028172013-10-30T00:01:00.000-04:002013-10-30T00:49:54.689-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <i>Taking a cab from Narita Airport to the center of Tokyo costs about $300. The only way to travel is via train or subway. This is my tale. </i><br> <br> Panic. Damnit. Despite hearing that Tokyo&#39;s transit system is the most comprehensive of any in the world, I neglected to look up detailed directions from Narita airport to my hotel. Nearing 11pm, I was also worried that train service would stop soon: Tokyo&#39;s one drawback when compared to the NYC&#39;s MTA system.<br> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody> <tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh799C4CSNHtgDDj5x0yw2mZOho-gjLWTcB8F9ilHK2DEDSeySV71DAoo4PP6CG-MM-AsEcA7GdHgwahdX0fy5L_7rD2YY9eYHWSMP5t9q8IvzfhrDiLOq_E5jaXCRZbEHqlDpbSPr6YKA/s1600/P1070482.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh799C4CSNHtgDDj5x0yw2mZOho-gjLWTcB8F9ilHK2DEDSeySV71DAoo4PP6CG-MM-AsEcA7GdHgwahdX0fy5L_7rD2YY9eYHWSMP5t9q8IvzfhrDiLOq_E5jaXCRZbEHqlDpbSPr6YKA/s640/P1070482.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr> <tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Busiest Pedestrian Intersection + Photo crashers</td></tr> </tbody></table> <br> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/10/aoto-change-japanese-transportation-on.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-83531097527006129202013-09-20T12:36:00.000-04:002013-11-20T17:00:05.117-05:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> Two weeks of travel are sometimes hard to summarize, particularly with the amount of variety that can be packed into those two weeks. Summarizing months of travel? Interesting. I have been getting this question a lot, especially now that I am back in NYC, What was your favorite part? Some asked me what my least favorite parts were as well. I will do my best to keep this post brief as I have been starting to get retrospect of my trip in the weeks to come.<br> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7KFzNUxHLOAZaK8DX_D_jSUj9wTUDnM3U9INwqk8NZMNyDZnxq8WoL2wFGjsl8PaIL1MMMdkd7eKk5z9cjKQ-f20l3dP1ryv7xTw1a0k0NOBVeJcYfNQFhuX-zv4TcvP3nYmDiZ1Mxg4/s1600/P1000794.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7KFzNUxHLOAZaK8DX_D_jSUj9wTUDnM3U9INwqk8NZMNyDZnxq8WoL2wFGjsl8PaIL1MMMdkd7eKk5z9cjKQ-f20l3dP1ryv7xTw1a0k0NOBVeJcYfNQFhuX-zv4TcvP3nYmDiZ1Mxg4/s640/P1000794.JPG" width="640"></a></div> <b></b><br> <b></b><br> <b><br></b> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="more"></a><b></b><br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-good-bad-and-awesome-post-trip.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-89251969265278838802013-09-12T10:33:00.002-04:002014-01-20T11:38:59.870-05:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> It was hot. Like, Dante&#39;s Inferno hot. We had come off the overnight bus mere hours before, in the twilight hour of 4AM, to be let in by our generous hostel without a charge for an extra day. Most others were forced to start temple gazing at those inhumane  hours–both exploring and sunrise watching. Though it wasn&#39;t the best place we stayed in Myanmar, thank you, <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g317112-d1234552-Reviews-May_Kha_Lar_Guest_House-Bagan_Mandalay_Region.html" target="_blank">May Kha Lar</a>, for letting us pre-temple nap.  <br> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9cSReWmQF7ZjTJ3RvffdoYa2eLupR_3KDuZMon71M-HUXjqeS0ZUbDflucgMQ2Cag6XY3gNM7LJw6TwvpGx1KihHMS6Bw_YKoUeTsWiRXxXD4kYj6d9uEB4rTmL1yaFO_1nfaK5-mtz8/s1600/P1060296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9cSReWmQF7ZjTJ3RvffdoYa2eLupR_3KDuZMon71M-HUXjqeS0ZUbDflucgMQ2Cag6XY3gNM7LJw6TwvpGx1KihHMS6Bw_YKoUeTsWiRXxXD4kYj6d9uEB4rTmL1yaFO_1nfaK5-mtz8/s640/P1060296.JPG" height="428" width="640"></a></div> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/09/blazing-heat-bagan-myanmar.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-75083817041757482792013-08-09T09:00:00.000-04:002013-08-09T09:00:53.454-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> Kerama Islands, Okinawa Prefecture<br> Joy Joy Diving<br> <br> So, I have been doing my posts in nearly sequential order and as some of you know I&#39;m &quot;behind&quot; on my posts. In honor of the tail end of Shark Week, this post is of a recent diving experience on the islands of southern Japan. Additionally, going forward, posts will not be in any particular order. Stories will be at the whim of yours truly.<br> <br> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody> <tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuPO9F6Rvmd8Wry6D97nBTlJbuHgppr5BICfoOBNvhANohxEQg7ZWBEDxhX-2PnGHcQBf3Xok3BQpMWbj1_-JrxviLXodIB8mt0kp1q54HjgdAqam9CMnYffS1EpKd_MeNHWsF8suWG0/s1600/P1080984.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuPO9F6Rvmd8Wry6D97nBTlJbuHgppr5BICfoOBNvhANohxEQg7ZWBEDxhX-2PnGHcQBf3Xok3BQpMWbj1_-JrxviLXodIB8mt0kp1q54HjgdAqam9CMnYffS1EpKd_MeNHWsF8suWG0/s640/P1080984.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr> <tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rain Washed</td></tr> </tbody></table> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/08/sharks-and-character-building-diving-in.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-21647218760058113612013-08-02T12:26:00.005-04:002016-01-03T11:07:44.030-05:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <h4 style="text-align: left;"> Gili Islands</h4> Between Nusa Lembongan and Gili Trawangan, I have a taste of island paradise. Sure, you can say Gili T is a horrible place and partly responsible for the downfall of society, but I'd argue that you're only looking at Gili T's party aspect, which is certainly available if and when one feels like imbibing. The island is developed for tourism, but unlike Koh Samui, at least the larger part of the bungalows are tucked inland from the beach areas. Additionally, there is no motorized traffic on the island. Other than bicycles, pony carts are your only option, typically used by tourists.*<br> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2dDFZ_Iz6t7J008aCqsCrXWNPdVYlNjWVBHWFrJhTVFcBhyphenhyphenEZ8MTDUaxjKvBXbrsWl_mSZPUDosRwtuaHdiJ3KkZpJNQ8Lm_nE2MTvFQzkGjz4oQoa0eKvwqRf6rY7q1D1jOvFJeQ2tc/s1600/P1040816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2dDFZ_Iz6t7J008aCqsCrXWNPdVYlNjWVBHWFrJhTVFcBhyphenhyphenEZ8MTDUaxjKvBXbrsWl_mSZPUDosRwtuaHdiJ3KkZpJNQ8Lm_nE2MTvFQzkGjz4oQoa0eKvwqRf6rY7q1D1jOvFJeQ2tc/s640/P1040816.JPG" width="640"></a></div> <br> <br> <a name="more"></a><br> There is no denying the beautiful sand, crystal clear water, and positively relaxing scenery along the beaches. Gili T is a time warp. Many arrive intending to spend less than a few days, but two weeks later, they are still lounging in the sunlight. The eastern part of the island that face the other two Gilis is here the action is: bars, shops, restaurants nightlife, young people. The southern part is dotted with luxurious resorts and their accompanying lounge areas sprawled on their respective parts of the beach, which is all accesible to the public, provided you purchase a beverage. Personally, if I had a chance to do it again, however, I would head north after making port on the beach at Gili T. The bungalows are respectable and affordable and the area is only a bike ride away from any of the action in town.<br> <br> <br> Speaking of bicycles, Gili T was another opportunity for me to ride around on a bicycle and even in the dark! Bicycling is challenging enough over the ravines caused by monsoon rain and naturally occurring mud potholes. After relaxing for one day, it was time to explore the island. Bicycles rented, we set off due north. My original group was in varying states of sickness or traverse of the island, so I started my trailblazing with a group of Swedes. Swedes are a funny bunch. About 15 minutes after setting off, we were forced to push our bikes through a sandy patch. Nearly 400m down the road, we go back to riding, but not before the boys tested out their bicycles. Into the ocean. <br> <br> On a slightly steeper dune, all wanted to race into the ocean to see who would go the furthest. Competitive in only with things I already have competence and lacking a desire for stupid acts, I stayed back and witnessed this ordeal. I now have this etched in digital video eternity. Three attempts proved that even with peddling hard down the dune, the bicycles came to a complete stop upon hitting water. I was expecting to witness something a bit more epic. So much for that excitement.<br> <br> Quiet, ridiculous, relaxing, or fun. Take your pick. This is Gili T. Time into the ether. <br> <br> <i>*The poor little guys foamed at the mouth in the evenings, were without water, and overall weren't in the best of condition. It was scorching hot, so much so, that after getting off the ferry from Nusa Lembongan, I was dizzy and practically incapacitated. Luckily, others in the group took charge to find us a place to stay while I sat and 'watched' the bags (read: tried not to black out). Just getting more tree-huggie. </i><br> <i><br></i> <br> <iframe allowfullscreen="true" height="420" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="http://files.photosnack.com/iframejs/embed.html?hash=pdunld7v&amp;t=1375459894" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="560"></iframe></div> Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-28737071377113111022013-07-29T06:18:00.002-04:002013-09-16T14:08:15.569-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <h4 style="text-align: left;"> <i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Bali Diving Academy </span></i></h4> <br> Throughout this travel experience, though I consider myself slightly on adventurous side, I have come to terms that a lot of things freak me out. That said, I&#39;m not claustrophobic nor agoraphobic, but I would imagine that diving would be categorically impossible with either or both of these conditions. But breathing under water? Oh, yea. Clumsily splashing my way across the pool, exhausted and totally out of breath, I also knew I wasn&#39;t the strongest swimmer.<br> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb9AXe_u-fdlt3RnUDEUHO2yKaff67uIpjrImxYPsNqAXFx0OAmodHm7fUejTpGGI3mP2kVc14QpRvsTqxJSdEK-pHbZDfw8n4E3PRzO8Pz91wNflt-PquzxMqw4Doa5DmjIEFOK4PsA4/s1600/P1040759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb9AXe_u-fdlt3RnUDEUHO2yKaff67uIpjrImxYPsNqAXFx0OAmodHm7fUejTpGGI3mP2kVc14QpRvsTqxJSdEK-pHbZDfw8n4E3PRzO8Pz91wNflt-PquzxMqw4Doa5DmjIEFOK4PsA4/s640/P1040759.JPG" width="640"></a></div> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/07/claustrophobia-meets-agoraphobia-diving_29.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-67947638771622614512013-07-24T15:03:00.000-04:002013-07-24T15:28:35.916-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <i>90 Mile Beach/Cape Reinga/Kauri Trees/Sandboarding</i><br> <br> The driver is an absolute character. Too long now since I took that bus, I don&#39;t remember the details except getting on the bus early as christ, and Mr. Bus Driver checks my name with my voucher, &quot;Puh-vLLLe-skuhh! That&#39;s a winner of a name. Where do you hail from?&quot; <br> <br> &quot;New York.&quot;<br> <br> [insert confused look] &quot;Well that&#39;s unexpected. I thought you were going to say something like former USSSR or some Balkan nation. Oh well, your name&#39;s almost as good as.. what was your<br> name again?&quot;<br> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUA3dGsyDpjwCDzQAQX4NVkk3cPT4N8_WiB2KByea1v5sl71rw93ILnKe_ymYxeUgJ2leyvPg5JW5Gk0x88ZhXHzzu9ujfHcOcW-YHUG1QIAFTjJUjr595o14lN2lgkcWFn3o_pSyZXro/s1600/P1040645.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUA3dGsyDpjwCDzQAQX4NVkk3cPT4N8_WiB2KByea1v5sl71rw93ILnKe_ymYxeUgJ2leyvPg5JW5Gk0x88ZhXHzzu9ujfHcOcW-YHUG1QIAFTjJUjr595o14lN2lgkcWFn3o_pSyZXro/s640/P1040645.JPG" width="640"></a></div> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/07/90-mile-beach-is-about-55-miles-long.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-25629658054049984982013-07-11T14:56:00.000-04:002013-07-11T14:56:12.910-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <i>Swimming with wild dolphins in the Bay of Islands</i><br> <br> Leaving my friends that have real jobs back in London, I was left to my own devices in Auckland for a few days before flying to Indonesia. With so much left unseen, I did my best to cram as many activities in the last 72 hours as possible. First thing&#39;s first: booked a bus that goes due north of Auckland. In hindsight, I realized there were more economical ways of accomplishing this rather than using the Kiwi Experience bus, but it was too late. Public/government buses are significantly cheaper and do the job just fine, but it all depends on what you need. With Kiwi Experience, you get a younger or younger-minded clientele and an immediate group of people with whom to get beers. <br> <br> <br> If you&#39;re equally adept at making friends when reaching your sleeping accommodations, or alternatively, are a hermit, then the govvy buses are a better option for you. In hindsight, had I known about the public buses, I would have taken the option for such a short trip, but I am happy  to have met the people I did. Had I not, my trip would have ended in just dolphin watching, not even <i>swimming</i>, at Bay of Islands, and how boring would that be?<br> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/07/just-keep-dolphin-swimming.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-51182032000887086702013-07-08T02:21:00.000-04:002013-07-08T02:32:07.221-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> Aside from driving and eating, there were a few activities that highlight my time in the land (down)^2 under. But first, a bit on the the burgers. After hearing about the burgers in New Zealand for years, in addition to knowing the quality (and price!) of the beef at my Whole Foods, I was quite excited to try them. Sat at lunch, the waitress comes to our table, and giddy with<br> excitement, I give my order. To my surprise, she doesn&#39;t wait on how I want the meat cooked (medium). Not distraught yet, I casually mention this to the group, which comprises of two Kiwis and one Brit, with as much a nonchalant air as possible. <br> <br> Me: &quot;She didn&#39;t ask me how I wanted my burger. &quot; <br> <br> G: &quot;Well, America is the first place that I was asked how I want my eggs done. I&#39;ve never been asked before; they just show up. &quot;<br> <br> Clearly this was not the sympathetic audience that I was seeking. While there is tolerance on changes or mistakes, a deviation too far out of my comfort zone is a recipe for disappointment. So instead, I reside in trusting, as I would in NYC, that the chef would choose the appropriate temperature. That is, until my burger comes back well-done. Womp. Womp. Womp. Now what?<br> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBUpbYllczhYr7wydij7QEK26o4IUl5Pv5Rf9BdwFeiy55QubrPxdcpvL9cO20JPxUxwhJhWqxL4RhKteyzwUkknq3JshTsSE6Eic7-eUsne_WnvUGOZ5bxAwYmXgx0ciKtr1KwjRf60/s1600/P1040156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBUpbYllczhYr7wydij7QEK26o4IUl5Pv5Rf9BdwFeiy55QubrPxdcpvL9cO20JPxUxwhJhWqxL4RhKteyzwUkknq3JshTsSE6Eic7-eUsne_WnvUGOZ5bxAwYmXgx0ciKtr1KwjRf60/s640/P1040156.JPG" width="640"></a></div> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/07/burger-murder-and-badass-bike.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-64794997716942746582013-07-02T04:26:00.002-04:002013-07-02T16:34:37.970-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> Vrooom-vrooooom. Insert the soundtrack to the movie, subtract the gore, add some friends and family, and ... yea, alright, not at all like the movie, eh? However, we did do quite a bit of driving on the trip around the north island, from Wellington up to Auckland, with plenty of stops, including Dannevirke, Raglan, Napier, and Hobbiton, certainly not in that order, nor without repeats. Let me be clear: the roads in New Zealand are not straight. They are winding. Very, very winding. And I thought the signs at the airport were just being facetious...<br> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkAPIAMnyp6CGbhamqzv11aMJScnMYVAqvkdTkkEUjQ7qhZvAi660iXAYy-McJV-dH1fF5porUCZKZ3wkLrQa1TV6K5HDgiNdpweFIfEqmcRUWMJ_MSUkb4oJD6BrdiReRDmcNfXK64pQ/s1600/P1040260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkAPIAMnyp6CGbhamqzv11aMJScnMYVAqvkdTkkEUjQ7qhZvAi660iXAYy-McJV-dH1fF5porUCZKZ3wkLrQa1TV6K5HDgiNdpweFIfEqmcRUWMJ_MSUkb4oJD6BrdiReRDmcNfXK64pQ/s640/P1040260.JPG" width="640"></a></div> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/07/drive-unintentional-roadtrippin.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-27063555214783548532013-06-28T09:05:00.002-04:002013-06-28T09:05:51.133-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> The land is sprawling. It is varying shades of green. There may be a pine tree forest (not native to the country). The hills are rolling and steep. No, not Jack-and-Jill-danced-up-the-hill rolling. I mean you definitely need an ATV or wicked dirt bike to make it anywhere kind of rolling. Then, all of a sudden, you have a thousand pairs of eyes looking at you and totally scared of you. Sheep! So many sheep! Little ones, big ones, lambs, rams, you name it. Welcome to a sheep and cattle farm!<br> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0trkjcHyQQQHZoRx9WkwxM-qmYYFuHQ41nFd01FEQeMZpzPYxFcBU0ojOAZul6Lbnd4rZjVG-QVEOgKtGg_OL4MBNHZvZXPeWD-86b0mVIMvwCwCnH845vnf1G18uzTPWsowskGLpQVI/s1600/P1030925.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0trkjcHyQQQHZoRx9WkwxM-qmYYFuHQ41nFd01FEQeMZpzPYxFcBU0ojOAZul6Lbnd4rZjVG-QVEOgKtGg_OL4MBNHZvZXPeWD-86b0mVIMvwCwCnH845vnf1G18uzTPWsowskGLpQVI/s640/P1030925.JPG" width="640"></a></div> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/06/country-life-and-bright-lights-of.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-68744740899675065712013-06-06T09:06:00.000-04:002013-06-13T12:09:26.992-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> Alas! To the land further than the land down under! G and I took the 3.5hr flight from Sydney to Wellington and touched down safely (whew) after a bit of bumpiness. Turbulence has increased its scary effect on me. Strange, no? Most things become second nature the more you do them. Dealing with printed tickets instead of e-tickets; paying for extra check-in weight when I, with high probability, weigh less than any passenger over the age of 17; and absentmindedly going through security with laptop out, flip flops on, nothing in pockets and ready to go through the body scan machine (because it always happens to be me) all come second nature.<br> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody> <tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMUmFAor5o4jDa5mfL1shoQB2kJjEoJmfr-AHazgxjmCoDeNuU7sLDeJHHbTFFvoQzgCCjFsKb6mwG3Spr026qrydNgTnn3n47SZJyepdRaGt27QV69MK96ivqtDhZkyf9or-dIV4LdXY/s1600/P1030652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMUmFAor5o4jDa5mfL1shoQB2kJjEoJmfr-AHazgxjmCoDeNuU7sLDeJHHbTFFvoQzgCCjFsKb6mwG3Spr026qrydNgTnn3n47SZJyepdRaGt27QV69MK96ivqtDhZkyf9or-dIV4LdXY/s640/P1030652.JPG" width="480"></a></td></tr> <tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Native New Zealand greenery in Wellington Botanical Gardens</td></tr> </tbody></table> <br> </div></div></div></div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/06/flyway-new-zealand-air-talk.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-79085983401385718782013-06-03T06:08:00.000-04:002013-06-03T08:16:11.341-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> This is going to be a short one because I only spent a little bit of time here. No kangaroo sightings, no barbie, no koalas hopped up on eucalyptus. Those will be prioritized on a future trip. I did, however, spend quite a bit of time on boats. Though not as much as the Kiwis, the Aussies still love their boats. Brothers G &amp; F love boats, and so much so that they both hold a skipper&#39;s license (woohoo!).<br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbQQDkMrMIx2qfjpViK0qpU0HxSxFmrMr7v7hXMmj9nrY8u0vpjlxT4e4XTNzasvknUOLDmsAEs1ixqi5K6amGCAUxA0Q10fFAvT5Jerq5gzuBjY-lJx8bbExjx5GUGcZvOB4dKCXLnWE/s1600/P1030383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div> <br> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody> <tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjAncxXekaHFXXbgcxhyphenhyphenE1rh5c82ADKocEN8sTdEnleak8gjrvmA0dIqsbWs0ZrM6-CwwgD1rxhWPQ2dNqY8doVV2jPpM7XPFO_m-oAl1uA-GUG4_KpqeZI-kZ5UL6sBQGvykgKzem4oE/s1600/P1030383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjAncxXekaHFXXbgcxhyphenhyphenE1rh5c82ADKocEN8sTdEnleak8gjrvmA0dIqsbWs0ZrM6-CwwgD1rxhWPQ2dNqY8doVV2jPpM7XPFO_m-oAl1uA-GUG4_KpqeZI-kZ5UL6sBQGvykgKzem4oE/s640/P1030383.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr> <tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boat Views</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br></td></tr> </tbody></table> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/06/land-of-oz.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-83526462966367910112013-05-30T09:14:00.000-04:002013-05-30T10:31:56.945-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> With only a few days left before heading to the land of Oz, I decided that 3 weeks in Vietnam were enough (for now, because what is really &#39;enough&#39;?). Malaysia is where I was headed; I&#39;d only been to Kota Kinabalu on separate amazing trip that may never get a post, but who knows, so I wanted to check out Kuala Lumpur for exactly one day and then meet my friend J who was island hopping off the west coast of Malaysia. <br> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/05/abracadabra-petronas-malay-style.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-58789840588014749222013-05-20T10:14:00.000-04:002016-01-03T11:07:27.479-05:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> For all you anti-gunophobes, just stop reading. Additionally, my time in Saigon involved the touchy subject of the war between Vietnam and America, and while I will not to get politically involved, I did go to the Cu Chi tunnels and a few museums on what the Vietnamese regard as the 'American War.' And I did shoot a big boy gun at the shooting range. I will say that it was pretty cool. Ironically, it is the only place in Vietnam that guns are legal. Policeman are rarely, if ever, allowed to carry a gun. If they do carry one, the gun is almost always empty of any ammo. It is not hard to see why the country has made guns illegal.<br> <br> <div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfMegrLIO8P5Ow3-UOTmBlZt4jtk2gVRG2qjRKCnfHOJkVYC7e0_x8XlCFKOqDbntrNXrXiHZtJ3c4dAmb_8u7DsQcxbJqEjMw6rlzkIp82YRqmfpg3yZnoOG9_oMG9H-6D42O8QJG8lU/s1600/P1030165.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfMegrLIO8P5Ow3-UOTmBlZt4jtk2gVRG2qjRKCnfHOJkVYC7e0_x8XlCFKOqDbntrNXrXiHZtJ3c4dAmb_8u7DsQcxbJqEjMw6rlzkIp82YRqmfpg3yZnoOG9_oMG9H-6D42O8QJG8lU/s640/P1030165.JPG" width="640"></a></div> <br> <a name="more"></a><br> Left, right, center, or upside down, whatever your view is, the photos in the war museums are simply disturbing. To be frank, the whole concept of war is disturbing. I did take a limited number photos inside the museum, but aside from taking photos of photos not being my thing, I was too horrified of the scenes to capture them in my memory. Certainly posting what I did take would not be my thing, so if you're truly interested, you can ping me directly, Google them, or go to Vietnam and check them out yourself. Though the museum represents one side of the story, a dose of another person's reality never hurt anyone. <br> <br> As for Saigon, while not up to western standards, the city is certainly developed and bustling. Scooters and bikes start tooting around 5:30am and don't stop until at least 1am. Hanoi and Saigon are truly cities that don't sleep. Seriously, they kick NYC in the butt. In fact, the place that I called 'home' while in Saigon was situated right across the street from a quaint little park. Quaint...until you realize that the techno pop music being played outside at 4PM starts up again at 6AM. YIKES! Also, even in Saigon, there is very limited western influence in the cities in terms of chain stores, supermarkets, and general goods. <br> <br> Vietnam also boasts the largest number of scooters per capita. Bzzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzz. Toot-toot-toot-toot. Tooting is not used to alert a fellow driver that he's done something dumb. Nor is tooting used to thank someone for letting you pass. No. Tooting is constant. Tooting means "I'm driving. I'm coming. I'm on the road. I'm not stopping for an intersection or a bus. I'm not stopping for a pedestrian. I'm still driving. If I stop, it will not be due the brake system on my scooter." After being in Asia for just a couple of months, I forget how tooting is used in the real world.<br> <br> No, I haven't driven a scooter yet. It's not on my list.<br> <br> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody> <tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6JOiZDBRz4j1O_XaXybtO8kwWanmHM4MHDnLQWNIHKyBEG89PtRP4Pi6W0opveY_8n5YJXirA6ZILFEqSITmUaR4PFXc9HCpOtDGw8yv7ROvIOl4dzYBDZ5BB0jaQg5su_7QuHNusg8E/s1600/P1030096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6JOiZDBRz4j1O_XaXybtO8kwWanmHM4MHDnLQWNIHKyBEG89PtRP4Pi6W0opveY_8n5YJXirA6ZILFEqSITmUaR4PFXc9HCpOtDGw8yv7ROvIOl4dzYBDZ5BB0jaQg5su_7QuHNusg8E/s640/P1030096.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr> <tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Industrial Kitchen</td></tr> </tbody></table> <br> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody> <tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTbGz7B88W0dYsqc721oOIyTTC7cbqY4yEEFGQLjjqCjcr5sJC_eCd6WvrQor1xTfJc-BtAEuiaG2QNaSIYOeTeokfdULB9_nvEJ6OetbXNcDSHlh0wRXa2-gHuZ57TpXFqtaA1yf9jE/s1600/P1030105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTbGz7B88W0dYsqc721oOIyTTC7cbqY4yEEFGQLjjqCjcr5sJC_eCd6WvrQor1xTfJc-BtAEuiaG2QNaSIYOeTeokfdULB9_nvEJ6OetbXNcDSHlh0wRXa2-gHuZ57TpXFqtaA1yf9jE/s640/P1030105.JPG" width="480"></a></td></tr> <tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcoming Area 3</td></tr> </tbody></table> <br></div> Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7551076808175350618.post-45677311442092655392013-05-14T09:18:00.003-04:002013-05-30T23:11:59.976-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> There are several stops that travelers frequent within Vietnam; one of them is Hoi An, the Vietnamese capital of all things tailor-made. In addition to shopping, the city boasts a European feel nonexistent elsewhere in Vietnam. It is entirely up to you to view this as a good or bad thing, but I quite enjoyed the contrast of Hoi An to every other major visiting area in the country. Still no significant western influence in terms of businesses and chains (my view: great thing), the riverfront promenade is dotted with Asian lanterns in a European style.<br> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir5HXfwu_cQv3KF1AwYrRaMQ54AG8plCiDGEKEKtJ0BVIRD-wFtzL-r2cDG6hMwzOfE-jsduKFrQ_sdB-xCR5eHxbcvg9yvpJF4UMszsonPefCZ2nUnJntL5im2ZegmMYjvE9nexSSXTo/s1600/P1020985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Y8-BRJdygtrHW4GnOcApJ5oSOAGZv9eQ3KrVbogOMF-O1LFy9y5z8oHKYCdw4ITQYQR887MKf26kdy4VcwxYVJ8GcULAHxbH70p4b3_4GfLVZagGEABOsWzk5f5D0HT7WIKSe5YByNE/s1600/P1030036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Y8-BRJdygtrHW4GnOcApJ5oSOAGZv9eQ3KrVbogOMF-O1LFy9y5z8oHKYCdw4ITQYQR887MKf26kdy4VcwxYVJ8GcULAHxbH70p4b3_4GfLVZagGEABOsWzk5f5D0HT7WIKSe5YByNE/s640/P1030036.JPG" width="640"></a></div> <br> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQvMlRUUsyqFMAr9qsY9s3xM9GkvfVsxHkohP15eujmSm7fwlgFxHZzscUEsEya2pplVicBLs5m-BMyC17GEiKSfIgRVu9ltvB24H_k_ho1th-vjT6JAl9inyQDGLKgJ_dnQZY0S20TU/s1600/P1020985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div> <br> </div><a href="http://sabbaticalist.blogspot.com/2013/05/iv-and-her-bicycle-biking-in-hoi-an.html#more">keep reading »</a>Ivhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222866656448325690noreply@blogger.com0