¿HaBLOG Ingles?

Cycling The Dalmatian Coast of Croatia

2015-02-15T10:45:00.001-08:00

Part 1:

Bob sat us all down and laid out about half-a-dozen brochures on the table.

“I will decide where we go but I want your input.” Bob stated with his usual warm grin flying wide below his trademark mustache.

The six of us began perusing the literature. We were beckoned to cycle through the Loire Valley of France, trek the wilderness of Iceland, river cruise through southern France, tour the mountain villages of Burma/Myanmar, or bike the Dalmatian Coast of Croatia.

Bob started explaining our options. In true Petran form, Bob planned to celebrate retirement by taking his family on vacation. This time I will be along for the ride.

As Bob, Ruth, Russell, Christina, Amanda, and I sat around the table on the eve of Thanksgiving, 2013, it was evident that Bob had thought long about this moment and had researched his presentation thoroughly. After about two minutes it was painfully obvious that his choice had already been made. As Bob continued his presentation, I whispered to Amanda:

“We're going to Croatia.”

Part 2

I opened the door to our top floor apartment overlooking the harbor of the ancient walled city of Trogir. I wheeled our suitcases out of the apartment. I could hear footsteps rumbling toward me from the four flights below. They sounded fast and deliberate as the echo bounced off the tiled walls of the stairwell.

“Are you Leighton?” An enthusiastic voice blurted out as we met each other on the landing.

I was unable to answer immediately. I needed a moment to assess the ball of energy smiling at me in the doorway.

“Yes, and this is Amanda.”

Just then the adjacent door opened, Russell, my brother-in-law, mimicked my look of excitement and surprise as Marko looked to him, turned back to me, tilted to Amanda, and stated with nearly unbelievable ardor:

“Alright! Young people on my tour!”

He reached out for a highfiveshake, something he does often, introduced himself as our guide for the next seven days, grabbed our huge bags, one in each hand, and ran down the stairs.

This was going to be fun.

Part 3

Within a few hours, an intimate group of curious, slightly concerned, and very excited tourists were sitting on the upper deck of the Jadrolinja (Yadrolinya) ferry destined for the Island of Brač (Brach) about ten miles off the coast of mainland Croatia in the Adriatic Sea.

Our tour would be led by Marko, possibly the most enthusiastic man in all of Croatia, and Vanja (Vanya), who's enthusiasm was high, if not slightly more subtle than Marko's. Both were young, both were fun, and both, despite their eight years working for Vermont Bicycle Tours (VBT), were very happy to be there.

By the afternoon we were fine-tuning the seats, pedals, handlebars, and mirrors on our Fuji road bikes in the parking lot of our hotel in the sleepy town of Postira. In Brač the roads are smooth, the scenery, bucolic, and the mountains steep.

The next morning seventeen Americans, aged 29-67, took to those mountains on our new aluminum steeds. We rode 33 of some of the most difficult miles I have ever logged on a bicycle. I expected hills, but I didn't expect them to be the focal point of this tour. Game on!

Part 4

We cycled about 140 miles over five days on Brač and its neighboring island Hvar. Sometimes we took a van to the top and glided down incredible two lane coastal highways. Other times we tranquilly followed the winding coast line, stopping frequently for a refreshing dip in the cool clear sea. Most of the time, it seemed, we rode up incredible mountains, only to be rapidly whisked back down to the coastline by way of some thoroughly fast and fun switchbacks. Cycling was the focal point of our days. We rode as individuals, as a family, and as a large group of happy Americans.

Each morning began with an 8:30 briefing of the day's rides and options. Our detailed route instructions rested in a waterproof sleeve on our handlebars like, ensuring that we knew to take a sharp right at the yellow house at 34.6 km to begin a steep descent, or to not miss the beautiful swimming spot at 48.1 km on our left.

The van supported us the whole way. Some chose to jump inside for the steep sections. Others chose to ride the entire time. It didn't matter how you travelled, the journey was incredible. Our meals were never dull, the conversation never lulled, and our guides' energy never faltered.

Amanda wowed everyone with her 6-month pregnant self. Bob inspired with his dedication to make it up every hill. Ruth surprised herself with her ability to tackle some truly difficult mountain climbs. We were in bed most nights by 10 PM and ready to ride the next morning.

It was a wonderful way to vacation in the magical Dalmatian Coast of Croatia. Thanks for the memories Bob and Ruth, and thanks for the ride.

A British Road Trip and a Wedding

2013-09-19T17:51:00.000-07:00

After spending two weeks sleeping on the floor and voiding into a hole in the ground in Mongolia, it was refreshing to take a short trip to the original western country of England. My best friend Pete from college happened to meet his perfect match while in school in London and they decided to get married. Amanda and I couldn't pass over the opportunity to take another leave from the still scorching desert heat.

Our four day road trip took us to the Cotswolds, Oxford, a play in Stratford Upon Avon (Shakespeare's stomping grounds), and some cycling in New Forest. And of course, we couldn't resist a quick stop at Stonehenge. The weather was perfect, the roads were narrow and twisty, the villages were immaculate, and the people incredibly friendly. It was a lovely vacation.

We ended the week partying in a London pub with Pete, Loks, and all of their friends celebrating their union. Cheers to you both!

Thoughts on Mongolia

2013-08-27T10:05:00.000-07:00

My boots are full of mud and my sandals are full of shit. Mongolia will have it no other way. It is a country that dares you to enter its borders. Why is it a dare? The people of Mongolia live in ways unique to any country we've ever travelled to. Their steadfast desire to honor the country's nomadic heritage dictates the customs and traditions that define not only what it means to be Mongolian, but what it means to be a tourist in Mongolia. Still a fledging democracy, modern Mongolia has stretched this ancient fabric over the post-communist requirements such as healthcare, schools, and other necessities. Despite families relocating their home and herds 2-4 times per year, children still receive schooling by living in dorms located next to their schools during the winter months. Even though Mongolia is one of the most sparsely populated countries in the world, cell phone coverage blankets nearly the entire country keeping even the most remote family in contact with the modernizing world around them.

Tonight as I type I am lying on a mattress on the floor in what is likely the master bedroom of a farm house. We were brought here by the driver we have hired to show us Mongolia. He grew up in this house and his sister lives here watching his two sons for the summer while he works. As this is Mongolia, hospitality is a quality deeply ingrained into every family and every individual. This is why his sister now sleeps on the floor in the family room while Amanda and I take her bedroom for the night. We've been told that the origins of this openess and willingness to share was born not so much from kindness but from neccessity. When travelling in Mongollia, especially by horse as was the custom just a few years ago, distances are too great to carry provisions. Therefore every ger and every home has an open door with an open invitation to dine for anyone who enters. This tradition has continued in the age of private vehicles and tourism.

We are in the heart of the Gobi Desert. If I were to walk outside, the faint hint of a setting sun would illuminate the land just enough to see the jagged mountain range stretching from East to West in front of us. Between this particular home and those mountains, a thin ribbon of sand dunes cuts across the dramatic landscape. A long sloping grassland slowly rolls into those dunes in front of me. Behind me is a dry canyon bed with red hills dotted with dinosaur bones and other treasures.

We are lucky to be here. There are walls, windows, and electricity that is generated from the small solar array and a homemade wind-turbine connected to a half-dozen car batteries and a converter. Like most of the gers and houses we have slept in for this journey, the bathroom is a small shack straddling a ten foot hole 50 yards away from the house. There is no running water but there does appear to be central heating in the form of pipes that pump water made hot by the wood/dung burning stove. Of course, we are visiting Mongolia during one of the few months where heat is not required. The kitchen is outside in a separate ger. Like most nights, we are sleeping in our sleeping bags. The cousins, three boys and three girls who live here during the summer, were absolutely thrilled to see us. We are Mogi's (our driver) first ever tour group. He runs a business in the capital and doesn't get to see his boys very often. This made today special for all parties, ourselves included. These six kids were genuinely enthralled by our sudden and unexpected arrival.

Amanda and I played frisbee, soccer, basketball, chess, checkers, and rode bikes. After dinner the three oldest kids took us on a sort of backyard exploration. We saw their garden and explored the red cliffs of the canyon next door. We sang songs to each other and went fossil hunting.

Sounds weird doesn't it? Yes, the highlight of our day was playing with a 12 year old and two 9 year olds that we were unable to communicate with. But Mongolia would have it no other way. Mongolia is the furthest thing from a relaxing vacation one can possibly imagine. We've showered twice in twelve days and we're running low on wet wipes. Finding an outlet to charge a camera is nearly impossible. My neck is sore everyday from the whiplash I get on the “roads” we've travelled hundreds of miles over. But somehow, this is really enjoyable.

I have a feeling that Mongolia is the kind of place that we will only truly appreciate once we have left. When we are here, the sheer lack of a single western comfort can be an overwhelming distraction from what Mongolia does have: pure untouched beauty, a culture still living as their ancient ancestors did, and an overwhelming sense of hospitality to strangers and family alike. These simple qualities will forever be engraved in my memory. I will soon forget my frustration with squat-shitting in a hole for two weeks.

Amanda and I sat on the tailgate of the Landcruiser tonight staring at the rising moon above those jagged mountains. As darkness slowly set in, we contemplated how quiet and incredible this place is. Thirty feet away our driver drained the intestines of the goat he had just slaughtered. Not even the overpowering aroma could ruin our moment with Mongolia. I have a feeling that it only enhanced it.

Gobi Dunes

2013-08-25T18:41:00.001-07:00

Random British Tourist

Our guide Khisgee

The tallest dune at the moment in the Gobi desert stands about 660 feet high. This things is a monstrosity. It was also extremely steep. We finally reached the summit- it was an all-fours affair getting there. The rain and wind tried to blow us down the other side but we persisted. The run down took about 2 minutes. The entire tourist camp took shots of vodka to celebrate. It was good, clean fun and a truly memorable Gobi experience, much more so than the slow camel ride from the next morning.

Gobi Desert

2013-08-24T11:13:00.004-07:00

Sometime between sleeping in a teepee and the forever memorable full gallop horse ride through an enormous grassy meadow, my toe developed a fairly nasty infection. This was likely due to the fact that we had come to Mongolia but my socks had not. I did buy three pairs at the enormous, maze-like black market in Ulaanbataar, but apparently three pairs of socks does not make for happy feet over a period of nine days.

Our plan was fly back from northern Mongolia to the capital where our next guide and driver would be waiting for us at the airport. Thankfully once we landed in UB, our luggage was there waiting for us, albeit 9 days later than expected. Amanda and I were relieved to be reunited with our possessions. Unfortunately, the usefulness of the warm weather gear had expired as our next leg of the journey would take us south to the sweltering Gobi desert. Our guide Khisgee arrived an hour late without any supplies. Apparently our scheduled guide canceled last minute and Khisgee was summoned just one hour before. She was traveling back from a family reunion and had only the clothes on her back as her husband dropped her at the airport to pick us up.

Luckily for Khisgee, Amanda and I now had extra clothes, toothpaste, a flashlight, a jacket, and a hat. Our first stop was the grocery as Khisgee would be cooking all of our meals. She bought a cart full of food but had no way of cooking it. Of course Amanda and I did not know this until about three hours into our drive when we happened to pass a second Golden Gobi tour headed home. She was miraculously able to wave them down as they passed us on the paved road at 50 mph and that tour loaned us their stove and pot. We then stopped for dinner at a road-side restaurant. As we were leaving Khisgee purchased some dishes and utensils from the restaurant. She is very resourceful.

All the while my toe was not looking too good. After a day of touring the ancient capital of Kharkorin, we arrived in the tiny town of Saikhan-Ovoo. Tiny towns such as Saikhan-Ovoo act as the service capitals for the nomadic people that live within their province. This is where the nomads come for healthcare, haircuts, gas, mail, groceries, car repair, showers, and anything else they might need. As it turns out, tourists traveling for hours on lonely dirt paths in a Landcruiser may require these services as well. We initially stopped here to diagnose a strange noise that had developed in the truck. Then we had showers, I got a haircut, and we all took a trip to the clinic to have my disgusting toe cleaned out and treated.

I think I'll be able to keep my toe. My haircut cost about $1.40 (cheaper than the shower), and we'll start fresh in the morning with a new brake rotor. Tomorrow we head to the Flaming Cliffs.

Reindeer Herders of Northern Mongolia

2013-08-20T07:15:00.000-07:00

It felt like a dream, it felt like a nightmare, it felt like anything but reality. Eleven hours into a 12 hour horse trek into the northernmost mountains of Mongolia, I had convinced myself that exhaustion was a drug and I was tripping hard. It was 10:00 PM and the sky was about midway through it's seemingly never-ending sunset. Our brave but tired horses slowly traversed through the muddy slopes of high mountains whose snow-capped peaks fed the the endless number of streams as water frantically began it's weeks long search for some far-off ocean. The fading light was enough to illuminate the jagged peaks rising from all directions as though they were a crowd in the bleachers and we were the weary entertainment for the night in the valley below.

The initial plan was to spend two days making this journey. That timeline became compressed despite our late departure and for reasons not apparent to us. The sun came to its final resting place with about 45 minutes left until our destination. What followed was an arduous journey downward through mud, rivers, muddy rivers and mud full of rivers. Our brave horses never faltered in their sure footing. My heart was racing, either out of fear or to keep me warm. Amanda and I were about to surrender when suddenly – the sound of a barking dog in the distance. Then there were two, then four, then a dozen barking dogs. Was the dream turning south? Or had we finally reached the reindeer herding nomadic Tsaatan tribe?

Yes.

We entered the teepee and were instantly greeted by perfect American English. Zaya was born in Mongolia, raised in Colorado, educated in Shanghai, and now lives amongst the snow, the mountains, and of course, the reindeer, in the Taiga of Northern Mongolia. She welcomed us into her home and Amanda, myself, our guides, and Zaya proceeded to polish off the bottle of vodka we brought as a gift while we warmed up around her stove.

We awoke in the morning to the sound of reindeer scratching at the canvas walls of our teepee. This particular tribe of about 25 families moves with the seasons four times per year. They decided to spend this summer in a beautiful grassy valley at the base of some slow rising hills at, what seems like, the top of the world. Reindeer are everywhere. We drank their milk and ate their meat. They are the beating heart and soul of the Tsaatan people. The nearest hospital was a 12 hour horse ride, followed by a 12 hour jeep ride. We were truly witnessing a lifestyle that lives on the fringes of society. Yes there were satellite dishes and televisions running from solar panels. Yes, they wore western clothes, yes they used a chainsaw to cut down their fuel, yes they live in one of the coldest parts of the world, outside, herding reindeer. It was an incredible experience to say the least. We stayed in our own private teepee and left the next morning. As I sit here with Amanda on the shoreline of Tsaganuur (White Lake), I ponder all the events that have taken place in the last five days. We will never forget this experience. It was extreme, it was beautiful, it was other-worldly. I could never choose to live amongst the animals in such a cold clime but I certainly saw the appeal. Nature truly provides for these people as it has been doing for thousands of years, the way all of our ancestors once lived.

Naadam Festival

2013-08-18T07:35:00.004-07:00

The Naadam festival takes place in nearly every town in Mongolia during the first half of July. Mongolians refer to the events as the “three manly sports” which include horse racing, wrestling, and archery. No doubt, these ancient sports date back to the early days of the Mongol empire.

Amanda and I attended the Naadam festival in the tiny northern Mongolian town of Tsaganuur or White Lake. Like the rest of Mongolia, this town is the center of a large nomadic population. Naadam is the one time each year where many of these nomadic people gather in one place to compete against each other, to sing anthems, to sell goods, and to enjoy the festivities.

Here's a brief breakdown of what we saw:

1. Horse Racing: Any boy between the ages of 8-12 with a horse competes in the horse racing event. They race on the open grassy plain in a course that climbs hills and crosses streams. The courses are either 15km or 30km. Most of the boys ride bareback and shoeless. These races were truly impressive if only for the length of time that the horses spend in a full sprint. They last about fifteen minutes. Later in the trip we saw a second Naadam horse race where about half of the riders were young girls.

2. Wrestling: Legend has it that at some point in history, a woman posing as a man won this event. In protest, the male wrestlers devised a costume for the following year that you see in the photos. The lack of a chest covering meant any woman would surely be exposed. There are no weight classes in Mongolian wrestling meaning it is usually the largest contender who wins. Three matches at a time are fought in the central arena the winner is of course the only competitor to not lose a match.

3. Archery: In Tsaganuur the archery competition was too similar to a carnival booth game for me to have much information on it. I know that women can compete in it as well.

A Traveler's Dilemma

2013-08-12T18:33:00.001-07:00

All of our possessions

The thoughts in my head this morning are as follows, in order of importance.:

I am very glad to be of a less-than-average height American
Why are all the clothes in Mongolia so small and all the hats so big and what does that tell you about the average Mongolian?
Why is it impossible to find a winter hat in the coldest capital on the planet?
Where the hell is our luggage?
I am never, ever, checking luggage again.

Sure there are other things flying through my head such as why do they drive on the right in Mongolia and sit on the right? But these random thoughts are more of a white noise barely heard over the five listed items that boom through my head like a Victor Wooten bass line in the front row of his concert.

As I sat contently in my coach seat on a twelve hour flight to Beijing and wrote to you about the adventure we sought and the time-traveling we hoped to do in Mongolia, little did I know that the luggage that we packed and re-packed half a dozen times the night before was probably still sitting on the tarmac at LAX. Both Amanda and I landed in Mongolia with no bags – a feat that I dare anyone to repeat. I believe 99% of statisticians would agree that this event is statistically extremely improbable.

This happened to us once before when we landed in Cairo in January, 2011. This time was a little different though. Remember when I told you how we were coming to Mongolia to shun modernity and embrace the old world? This is easy to say when you have a pack in the trunk of your plane containing modern wonders such as rain jackets, sleeping bags, hiking boots and at least a few changes in underwear.

In Egypt we travelled for nearly a week before our bags were delivered to us in Luxor. In Mongolia I just don't think that's going to happen. We arrived to our hotel at around 1PM and, after a serious talk over some meat and noodles, decided to go forward with our planned itinerary. We hopped a bus to the Black Market where we loaded up on the essentials for cheap: hats, rain ponchos, socks, undies, a duffle, some clothes, a flashlight, shoes (I flew here in flip flops (face-palm)), toiletries, and a dozen snickers bars.

I now write to you from the last row of our small propeller-driven airplane headed northwest to the Hovsgol region and the Darkhad Depression. The plan is to see the Naadam festival, go on a three day horse trek, and spend a day relaxing at the lake. At this point, I don't know what to expect. For fear of sounding too whiney, I've left out the other, much smaller issues that have challenged our enthusiasm to be here in the first 24 hours.

Yet, as I stare out the window at the beautiful lush rolling hills of green spread as far as the eye can see, I am optimistic that our luck will improve, our outlook will brighten, and the small hooded coat that we took from our hotel's lost and found will keep us warm. We refuse to give in. We asked for adventure, and we have an adventure.

Why Mongolia?

2013-08-05T22:24:00.000-07:00

Mongolia: 1/7

July 5, 2013

In the last few weeks I've been asked repeatedly by nearly everyone with whom the topic arises: “Why Mongolia?”

Unfortunately I was consistently unable come up with an answer that was both honest and interesting at the same time. That's not to say that the truth of our choice isn't interesting, but merely that most people simply can't fathom why anyone would spend thousands of dollars to fly half -way across the globe to stay in tents for two weeks skipping such modern luxuries as the internet, paved roads, showers, electricity, or even fresh fruit.

If I have to be perfectly honest, of all the destinations Amanda has taken me, this one is by far the most desolate and the most adventurous. As I sit on this airplane crossing the Bearing Straight headed for Beijing, I ponder what the next two weeks will bring. This will likely be our most expensive and at the same time most uncomfortable journey to date. We will arrive in Ulaanbaatar and begin a 14 day private tour with a driver and a guide. These hired folks will show us the Naadam festival, the reindeer herders of the north, the beautiful lake Hovsgod, and of course the Gobi Desert. We will do most of the traveling by jeep and horseback.

Why are we doing it? A sense of urgency I suppose. In a world completely engulfed in media, technology, and instantaneous updating, Mongolia seems our last great option to explore a simpler way of life. Many Mongolians still live entirely off the land in nomadic fashion. Yet, as with every culture Mongolia is modernizing itself with breathtaking pace. Our guide and driver will introduce us to these people living in ways similar to their ancestors two thousand years ago. Sure we will miss such luxuries as beds and restaurants. However, this is the very reason we will be going.

It's been a busy few weeks leading up to now with very little time to sit and consider this trip. To all of our friends and family who asked: “Why Mongolia?” The answer is quite simple. It's a fading opportunity to travel back in time and we intend not to miss it. (Photos in the next entry, I promise)

Apostle Islands, Wisconsin

2012-08-20T20:32:00.001-07:00

I will forever remember the Apostle Islands as the place where I was taught that, despite being thirty years old and married, we can still be scared like a little trembling children. There’s not much in this world that truly scares me. Apparently a violent thunderstorm while camping on a tiny island off the northern tip of Wisconsin is one of them. The lightning flashed with such frequency that it created a strobe effect as Amanda and I peered through the tiny window on the roof of our tent at the trees above flashing and dancing in the storm. That wasn't the scary part. The rain came in spurts, sometimes heavy. That wasn’t the scary part. What truly made me fear my maker was the wind. The sound started with a whisper and steadily grew with every bolt of lightning above. Within twenty minutes we were certain there was a tornado. We heard the train roaring through. The sound was absolutely deafening. I was waiting for trees to start falling. It roared and howled for another twenty minutes and then it quickly dissipated.

Amanda and I let out a sigh of relief and went back to worrying about the bear that paid our campsite a visit three hours earlier.

The Apostle Islands consist of 22 islands of similar shapes and sizes. We had chosen to explore them by sea kayak. It was a quick adventure. We spent only two nights on the islands. I would guess we kayaked about thirty miles in total. The islands were indeed beautiful. Each island boasted red rock cliffs the fell into Lake Superior forming caves and beautiful sculptures on their way to the water’s edge.

The windy conditions and accompanying whitecaps made our crossing from island to island more harrowing and difficult than we would have hoped for. However, once we reached the leeward side of the islands we were greeted by beautiful and peaceful calm. We sat in our tandem kayak and watched the bald eagles skillfully hunt fish from the lake. We ended both days by eating our dinner on the west-facing beaches eating our pre-planned dinners. It was a memorable and sometimes scary adventure that we will always remember.

Isle Royale

2012-08-20T20:26:00.001-07:00

“Are you the passengers on the flight off the island?” The approaching long-haired park ranger asked the four of us. The answer of course was “yes” as we sat on a dock wearing self inflating orange personal flotation devices staring at a plane floating in the water with all of our bags on board. “We’re in a holding pattern” he replied back.

About thirty minutes prior to this Ranger’s uninspired attempt to cover the truth, Amanda and I, along with Willy and John, two guys who had been fishing for the past seven days from a canoe, were sitting in that small seaplane. Our pilot had loaded us up and was untying from the dock when a different Park Ranger with a crew-cut motored up in a boat, tied off, and began arguing with the pilot. It was odd. The pilot told the Ranger that he had to fly, the weather was changing for the worse, and that he had been docked for over an hour and would have been happy to discuss said dispute which brought this overzealous park ranger to our dock that day, but now, he had to fly.

Then the Taser gun came out. The pilot, obviously fraught with disbelief, took one look at that Taser in the crew-cut Park Ranger’s hand and walked away. Not that I can blame him. However, as the park ranger chased after him, Taser in hand, us four passenger were left in a situation that none of us had ever encountered before. Being the obedient humans we are, we sat on the plane waiting for someone to tell us to do otherwise. The boat taxi driver came by about fifteen minutes later advising us that he thought we’d be here a while. So we de-planed ourselves.

After the long-haired park ranger proudly used his airport lingo on us, Amanda and I decided to hike over to the only restaurant on this remote island in Lake Superior for some much needed lunch. We had, in fact, hiked more than seven miles that morning without a proper meal.

Our adventure began four days prior. The same pilot flew us from the Houghton/Hancock airport in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. That’s the part of Michigan with trees and moose, rather than blighted cities and car factories. Thirty minutes later we landed in the bay at Windigo on the west end of Isle Royale. Isle Royale is the least visited National Park in the country. It is an island about 40 miles long and maybe ten miles wide, boasting healthy moose and wolf populations and no bears.

The four day trek from the west to the east end of the island was absolutely wonderful. We averaged about 11 miles per day. The weather was perfect. And while we never saw a moose or wolf, we spent hours upon hours simply soaking up the raw, untamed beauty of nature in this pristine island ecosystem. In day one we saw one other group of hikers. In day two we saw one other hiker. We camped on the water and drank from the lakes. Each day we looked forward to reaching our next campsite so that we could just relax and get bored in nature. Isle Royale was not the most beautiful or most challenging hike we had ever completed. But it was somehow the most comfortable. The path was mostly soft dirt, the climbs were never more than 800 feet, and there were no bears to worry about. The weather was nearly perfect and the mosquitoes nearly non-existent. The trip was perfect, except for one thing.

As Amanda and I drank our beers at this only island restaurant, discussing the amazing hike we had just completed, we saw our pilot being escorted in handcuffs. Great.

I will abruptly end this story by saying we never got our food. A third Park Ranger rushed us off away from our beers to the plane and suddenly our pilot appeared in front of us. We flew away feeling a bit like escaped convicts. It was a strange ending to an otherwise incredible adventure. We don’t know exactly what was going on between the pilot and the Park Service. However, the pilot seemed calm enough and we landed safely at the airport thirty minutes later. I’m pretty sure the one passenger waiting to fly back to the island was certain the plane had crashed over Lake Superior. Nobody had told him a thing in the two hours he sat alone at the tiny airport. He looked scared out of his mind. We asked him to take our photo.

High Stakes in the Great Lakes

2012-08-20T20:05:00.001-07:00

We skipped stones into lakes Huron, Michigan, and Superior. We rode bikes through the Tunnel of Trees. We rode a tandem around the perimeter of the car-less vacation destination of Macinac Island. We flew in a sea plane. We hiked 44 miles in four days across Isle Royale. We ate whitefish for breakfast. We kayaked in Lake Superior for three days. We spent the night on an island all by ourselves. We admired maple, birch, helm, and countless other tress. We saw bald eagles, bears, snakes, and everything in between. We ate amazing meals and not so amazing meals. We camped six out of eleven nights. We hiked in the sand dunes. We contemplated life while staring at the calm Lake Michigan. We traveled from Wisconsin to Michigan in the last operating coal powered steam ship in the country. We visited with family, we danced at a wedding, and we got bored in nature. Most importantly, we loved every minute of it. We cooked twelve meals from a camping stove aptly named a “Pocket Rocket”. We read, we talked, and we sat in silence. We drove nearly 1500 miles passing hundreds of lakes.

Amanda and I skipped a foreign destination for this year’s big vacation. We instead opted to explore Amanda’s own backyard. The great lakes are an incredible, if not underrated, region of our country. We encountered endless miles of beautiful farmland set amongst dense and healthy forests. It is a region that while heavily populated, still has a lot to offer in the way of solemn serenity. Our Great Lakes vacation may not have been our most scenic or interesting destination that we have embarked on. However, what it lacked in these qualities it made up for in other ways. We loved the hospitality and immaculately manicured gardens. We loved the clean trails and litter-free highways. We gawked at the endless miles of vacation homes lining hundreds of lakes busy with vacationers from further south. We engulfed ourselves in the nature and aside from one violent thunder storm, never worried about a thing. Everything went according to plan, including the weather.

We ended the trip in Amanda’s hometown of Ann Arbor for her dad’s birthday. The only thing Amanda and I enjoyed more than the trip itself was each other’s company.

Bacadehuachi, Mexico

2011-11-08T11:00:00.001-08:00

Bacadehuachi is a miniscule ranch town of about 1500 people in eastern Sonora, Mexico. Set in a gorgeous valley alongside a perennial stream and surrounded by the towering Sierra Madres, this town was home to my great great grandparents, my great grandparents, and my grandmother for the first fifteen years of her life.

Since moving back to Tucson, we have wanted to make the pilgrimage down to Baca. The opportunity finally presented itself to us. We packed up the Tacoma and headed south across the border to a little known corner of the planet that plays an integral role in my ancestry.

On the long drive we were awestruck by the stunning and absolutely untouched beauty of this part of Mexico. Once the road heads east from Moctezuma, we wound our way through incredible mountain passes and lush lowlands until we arrived, eight hours later, in Bacadehuachi.

My Great Aunts Teresa and Lydia were in town for Dia de los Muertos. We watched the small parade of school children, admired the idyllic church and took many strolls through the simple streets.

Amanda took to documenting the Dia de los Muertos annual grave maintenance. During this important holiday to honor the dead, the cemeteries in Mexico sprout with life and fresh colors overnight as families visit the graves. They spend the day repairing fallen tiles, painting worn engravings, and replacing dead or faded flowers. We were able to witness this transformation firsthand and even help to decorate the graves of my great great grandparents.

We spent countless hours eating homemade food and chatting with distant relatives over bottomless coffee and endless memories. We learned about the history of this town, how Geronimo’s army used to raid it for supplies, how my great great grandparents were both teachers in Bacadehuachi when the town was only accessible by horse.

It was a magical trip to the motherland, one that I intend to make again sometime. Amanda had a wonderful time documenting my family and enjoying the beautiful scenery and hospitable people.

After all these years of telling everyone I am half Mexican, for the first time I actually believe it to be true.

Borneo

2011-08-24T00:19:00.001-07:00

We procured a flight to South Central Kalimantan the other day, intent on witnessing one of man’s close relatives living in the forest in Borneo. Borneo contains some of the world’s largest rain forests. These lungs of the earth are under constant threat as they are illegally burned to the ground in order to grow cash crops such as palms for oil. Tanjung Puting National Park is a vast reserve of rain forest set aside for rehabilitating orphaned orangutans. When the forest burns, the orangutans lose their homes. They come here, often without their families, to thrive in a protected region.

Six tourists, ourselves included, boarded a wooden klotok from Kumai, a town heavily occupied by massive concrete windowless houses. They are homes to the swallows whose nests are then harvested for the infamous bird’s nest soup, a Chinese delicacy. The constant hum of Muslim prayer emanating forth from the mosques scattered about were masked by the pre-recording sound of flocks of swallows blasting from the openings of each house, an effort to lure more birds and more profit from the skies above.

The competing sounds of this vibrant river town quickly faded as our klotok chugged down the river destined for Camp Leakey, an orangutan observation and research center. We had before us three days of a true boat safari in the grandest fashion. We were treated to wonderful meals, endless tea and coffee, new friends from Spain and Russia, and superb monkey viewing on the shoreline trees high above the river.

The Orangutans were amazing creatures to behold. It was as though we were watching our own kind, albeit much hairier, climbing around the vines and canopy, devouring bananas at the feeding stations. When the orangutans first arrive to the park, they are fed daily while they acclimate to their new surroundings. Nearly every female carried a baby on her back.

As the days came to a close, we would re-board our boat for a sunset cruise to witness the proboscis and macaque monkeys along with the elegant kingfishers and the elusive crocodiles. As we headed back to port on the final day we caught a glimpse of the largest male orangutan of the trip sitting in a tree over the water. He likely weighed over 250 pounds. We could almost see him waving goodbye as we left the tranquil rainforest of Tanjung Putting and headed back to the madness of Asian city-life.

Tana Toraja

2011-08-18T16:59:00.000-07:00

Religion plays a central role in nearly every culture and society that Amanda and I have visited over the years. Indonesia is well-known as having the largest population of Muslims in the world. However, in the two weeks that we have been here, their presence has been hardly noticeable.

The Toraja region of Central Sulawesi was once steeped in an ancient religion based on animism. Sacrificial offerings and complex rituals demanded their time, attention, and money. The Christians have since converted most of the people, sort of. Fortunately for us tourists that are thirsty for rare and unique cultures, the people have continued to practice their complex funeral rituals and live in their symbolic boat-shaped houses just as they have for hundreds of years.

Funerals last for five days and are attended by nearly the entire village. Gifts are exchanged, prayers are said and processions performed. What makes these funerals truly interesting are the ritualistic slaughtering of dozens of buffalo and hundreds of pigs.

The most sacred of buffalo, the albino with black spots, goes for well over $20,000. The richest families will kill over one hundred buffalo at each funeral. The funerals are such an expensive party that they often will not occur for months or years after death while the family raises money and makes the preparations for the party.

The people are undoubtedly Christian. They attend church on Sunday and name their children Abraham, Christian, and Mary. Yet, they have managed to keep a strong grasp on their past by continuing to hold these elaborate funeral ceremonies. Never before have two sides of the religious spectrum found such a harmonious place to coexist.

Then there are the houses. They are intentionally shaped like boats because their ancestors came by boat to Sulawesi. Each aspect of the house has ancient meaning and purpose. We saw old and new some grand, some quite small.

Amanda and I hired a guide for a two day trek across the rice fields and over the mountains from village to village. We attended a funeral ceremony, drank some homemade palm wine, lost some money at a cock fight, watched the farmers harvesting rice, celebrated independence from the Dutch, saw some hanging graves with wooden carvings of the dead, and experienced the pleasant life of central Sulawesi. We even spent the night in one of the fantastic houses.

The people of Sulawesi are some of the friendliest on earth. If only they could find a way to export their smiles and kindness, they would forever be wealthy. We were honored by the opportunity to spend time here. Thank you Sulawesi for all of your love.

Under the Sea

2011-08-13T02:05:00.000-07:00

We are in a place I never knew existed and I suspect most have never heard of. The island of Bunaken is one of Indonesia’s more than 17,000 islands off the coast of Sulawesi, itself a sprawling island in Indonesia. Why are we here? To fly.

Amanda and I have spent the last two days in a dream-like levitation as we soared above the most sublimely beautiful cityscape nature has ever constructed. This is the Paris, France of cities, the Sistine Chapel of churches, the Grand Canyon of Canyons.

We enter the heavens just off the beach from of our simple bungalow. The beaches are small as most of the coast line is lush with thick mangroves jockeying for space. Their massive roots protrude up from the sand surrounding their trunks like spiky towers searching for briny water that has left with the low tide. The first two-hundred yards off the shore are nothing terribly special. Grass grows from the sand and some unusually chunky and spiky starfish dot the landscape below. The water is smoother than the smallest lake. There is not even a hint of waves or motions; only serene calmness.

This ordinary scene suddenly gives way to a kaleidoscopic explosion of shimmering colors. The coral is simply stunning to admire. As we slowly float along with the current we are awarded with a slideshow of proportions that only nature itself could have possibly conceived. Our land-based frames of mind find it difficult to fathom the diversity of hundreds of varieties of coral, some small, some forming a table nearly forty feet across.

The sun has only three to five feet of water to penetrate as it casts its shine like a highlighter across the most important sections of text. But unlike that textbook that is filled with fluff, here in this underwater city, no square foot is without beauty, no crevice without life, no dark hole without lurking eyes. And we float and kick and swim and stare. We stare with wonderment, with astonishment, and with love for this earth which is capable of such colors. Fire corals, hydrocorals, fan corals, anemones, table corals, bush corals, pore corals, and bubble corals put forth shades of deep purple, fluorescent green, sky blue, mango yellow, deep red, and burnt orange. These colors put to shame the most beautiful of fall days in upstate New York. The shapes look both impossibly ornate and yet strangely organic at once.

And now I’d like to introduce you to the star attractions of this never-ending production: hundreds of thousands of fish. While the coral is indeed beautiful in its own right, its most notable quality is the inhabitants it contains. As we float by from above we are completely surrounded by at least a hundred fish at all times.

As I approach a particularly large school of key-sized shiny bright blue fish hovering above an equally large outcropping of flat shaped table coral, they seem to move as though I am the director of this shimmering orchestra. I wave my hand to within six inches of the herd and they retract backward like a massive bubble that bends under the slight touch of my soapy hand. I repeat these motions again and again and the school keeps exactly six inches from my hands, as though we have rehearsed this act hundreds of times. I decide to leave these beautifully coordinated actors alone and move out towards the edge of the coral wall. Here the coral clings to the side of a cliff that drops straight down into the nothingness below. The fish are heavily concentrated as they peck on the coral for nutrients. The clicking sound as they peck is at times soothing, and at times deafening.

I look left and twenty yards below me a majestic sea turtle glides up to the wall. His wings flap at a graceful pace as he turns around and soars back off into nothingness. We approach a family of clown fish hiding in an anemone. One exits his safety net and stares us down. They are the most aggressive two inches we will ever encounter. We decide to leave it be and move on.

Spotted and Yellow Boxfish flail around us, their bodies changing color as the light reflects from different angles. Massive schools stay close together as a group of four barracudas swim by. A striped sea snake nearly four feet long moves among the coral searching for its next meal. The majestic scorpion fish spread their spiny wings in all their glory warning us to the poisons they possess. And thousands and thousands of fish are everywhere.

After about an hour of beholding this magical mystery world just three feet below the ocean’s surface, we head back to shore. As we walk back three hundred yards to our hotel we are like two kids on Christmas morning. Our smiles are huge and we are grateful to have been so lucky to have this opportunity.

We somehow stumbled upon this place and it was the greatest trip into the ocean yet.

Magical Bali

2011-08-13T01:53:00.000-07:00

In effect, we rented a covered wagon who’s horses couldn’t go up a hill. In reality it was a Suzuki Samurai with a bad fuel filter.

Driving along the coast of Bali was hot, noisy, and very crowded. So much so that Amanda and I decided to abandon our initial plans which had us on the main roads for three days, in favor of some back-road adventures.

We drove to a place called Jatiluwih (Jatalouie) known for its world class rice fields. They were absolutely magical. The hills were blanketed in beautifully constructed two-hundred-year-old steps. Each step organically followed the shape of the mountain into which it was carved. An impressive array of canals, channels, bamboo tubes and ingenuity carried water from one step to the next and across the entire valley. Never has the generosity of gravity been so grandly exploited. As we looked out from above, we saw just the right number of palm trees and exotic plants to remind us that nature is alive and well in this beautifully manipulated man-made wonder of the earth.

As one might imagine, the region is not without hills and inclines. Our rental car, sick throughout our three day adventure, finally decided to die on the way out of the valley. We were able to get it started again for its last hurrah as we gunned it half a mile up to the only hotel in the area. By no fault of our own we were forced to stay in a beautiful Balinese style bungalow overlooking the rice fields. We were lulled to sleep by the sound of the frogs. The dozen or so waterfalls behind our room fed the river which quenched the thirst of the water-loving rice plants.

We woke early morning and took a long walk through the fields. The retaining walls make for excellent walking paths. It was a walk back in time where buffalo tilled the fields, the women carried their supplies on buckets balanced on their heads, and the men planted each plant by hand in the mud.

The car was given a new fuel filter overnight and ran great on the way home. What was at first a huge pain in the ass was transformed into a wonderful memory thanks to the magical powers of Bali.

Bali NASCAR

2011-08-13T01:47:00.000-07:00

The buffalo wore ornate headdresses, gold in color. They stood restless as their handlers wrapped their horns in colorful cloth, adorning the quite beasts with the intricacies normally reserved for weddings and funerals. They stood in pairs side by side. A small cart painted bright yellow, green, and orange was in tow.

As the announcer began shouting unknowns over the P.A system, they took off running. The driver in the cart smacked the shit out of the buffalos as these enormous creatures used for plowing and towing burst out into unimaginable speeds. The ground rumbled as they sped by us spectators. This was the great Mupati Cup Buffalo Race of 2011 in Negara Bali.

We ran across this NASCAR race of the island by chance and it was easily one of the highlights of Bali. They raced for hours in heats of three on a dirt road carved through the rice paddies. Their flags waved in the wind as the crowd watched intently cheering for the favored contestants.

Thanks for the treat Bali!

3 Years In the Making: Hello Bali

2011-08-01T23:41:00.000-07:00

Never has relaxing come at such an expense for Amanda and I. Money notwithstanding, this vacation to paradise cost us three years of law school, three months of bar exam study, and two days of the bar exam. I realize that these items all revolve around me. However, in the first years of our married life, that is exactly the way it was. The last three years were stressful, busy, and very un-relaxing. Law school was a fifty pound weight around both of our ankles, a third wheel in our lives, an obnoxious neighbor that insists on dropping in at the worst times. That is not to say we had no fun. Amanda and l never eschewed completely our hikes, camping trips, and relaxing trips to Michigan. Yet I can say with confidence and I am sure Amanda will agree that life for us of late was no box of chocolates.

And now, here we are in Bali. We have awarded ourselves for enduring three years of stress with the grand-daddy of chocolate bars. Bali is coated in nuts, caramel, nougat, and bigger than we could ever eat. Our task for the next five weeks is to explore, relax, have fun, and not stress. That’s the kind of assignment any of us can get behind. It might be the most emotionally expensive trips we’ve taken in our careers as travelers. But here we are, ready to leave behind another chapter in our lives and embrace the next.

After dumping all of my acquired law knowledge at the Phoenix Convention Center last Tuesday and
Wednesday, I was feeling light, empty, and ready. Don’t ask me what a tort is or how many jurors must agree. Right now, I don’t know and I don’t care. Amanda and I spent Thursday in a whirlwind packing for our journey. By 10:30 Thursday night, we were rolling down the tracks out of Tucson and towards Los Angeles. The train was step one of our journey. It was my first time riding the train in my own country and, to be honest, it wasn’t too bad. We got some sleep and it arrived to L.A. and hour early. And the price simply can’t be beat, so long as you buy your ticket far enough in advance.

Once in L.A. , Amanda and I were able to spend some time with my sister and her fiancé who live in Hollywood. We spent our day in L.A. strolling through the beautifully manicured streets of the Larchmont neighborhood. In L.A. we finished up some last minute preparations, such as picking up our visas at the Indonesian consulate.

Fast forward 24 hours of flying and here we are in Bali. We spent our second anniversary in the most incredible hotel either of us have ever seen let alone stayed at. (Thanks mom and dad). The Laguna is surrounded by beautiful swimming pools everywhere you look. It is a universe engulfed in luxury and smiles. Our stroll down the board walk took us past all of Bali’s finest hotels. We are in a segregated compound of sorts filled with wealthy tourists from all parts of the world.

Yesterday we took an excursion to a fish market for lunch. We strolled around looking at all the fresh fish for sale. Snapper was on our minds as we selected a two pound beauty. We then walked it across the street where we had it grilled to perfection. An enormous fish with a side of rice got us through lunch and dinner yesterday. It was easily the freshest fish we’ve ever eaten. It had most likely been dead for only a couple hours. Delicious.

Today we are meeting up with a former photography professor of Amanda’ s who has found a way to retire in Bali with her husband. We are excited to talk with them about all the changes in Bali since we were last here six years ago. Bali has exploded with tourism in that time and is now suffering from all the growing pains associated with the influx of foreigners and their money. Prices are skyrocketing and water levels are dropping.

Yet, despite the influx, we are confident that Bali will never run low on its hospitality and heartwarming smiles. We missed you Bali, thanks for having us back.

Law School Graduation

2011-05-16T17:37:00.000-07:00

Law School.

So many words come to mind when I think about the last three years of my life. I could say that law school was everything I thought it would be. The truth is, before I sat down for my first class in August of 2008, I had never really thought about what law school was. My decision to go to law school was made at a point in my life when I was ready for a change, ready for something new, and this seemed like the logical next step. That next step is now over. The empty folder that was handed to me as I swiftly floated across the stage on Saturday now sits on my desk waiting to be filled with a bona fide law degree. My textbooks still rest in my locker at school waiting to be sold off to the next unsuspecting student.

It was hard and it was, at least most of the time, boring. It was also rewarding, exciting and extremely interesting. My knowledge has expanded to heights I never could fathom while selling Fords in Rochester, a job I loved dearly and was sad to leave. Law infiltrates every single aspect of our lives. From the box you check when downloading a song to the car you drive, to the marriage certificate in your sock drawer, law is an all encompassing topic and it feels wonderful to have a better grasp on the world I live in. I am extremely excited to continue honing my new craft for a lifetime to come.

I made a few great friends in the last three years that I will forever keep in touch with. Sadly, most of them are leaving, on to the next stage in their own lives. Thankfully, some friends, like myself, have decided to stay the course in Tucson, at least for the time being. I am confident that some long lasting and unsuspecting friendships have been forged. I am encouraged by the thought of growing up as a lawyer in the small city of Tucson with my own generation. It feels good to be a part of a more intimate legal community, and I suspect that feeling will only grow with time.

The long slog has come to an abrupt and bittersweet end. Between my final and extremely taxing tax law final, and the first day of Bar review, I had five days of glorious, uninhibited fun. These five days I will never forget. I spent them with friends, family, sisters, brothers, wife, dogs and parents. I drank too much and ate even more. It was a wonderful celebration and I will cherish it forever. Amanda and I woke up Sunday morning after the big party (thanks for the ice luge mom and dad) and enjoined the beautiful morning on our back porch with my favorite Phoenician Lauren. We the had breakfast with Amanda's brother, mother, and aunt. The eating continued over a late lunch with our Rochester, NY friends Stephen and Maria Vetri, the coolest father and daughter ever created. Finally, I spent the evening walking, talking and playing board games with my older sister Eve, my younger sister Lisa and her fiance Andrew, and of course, Amanda and her brother Russ. We even joined my parents for a neighborhood party. Thank you all for making it the most wonderful day and weekend in so many years.

The time I was able to spend this weekend celebrating and enjoying so much love made three years of law school worth the effort. I will spend the next six weeks studying for the bar exam. At the end of July, I will take the bar exam, followed by a five week trip to Indonesia. I will then officially begin work at the Rockafellow Law Firm. I am excited and nervous but also confident that both I and the Firm will succeed.

Bisbee, Sonoita, and Amanda's new car

2011-03-17T21:12:00.000-07:00

Friends and Family,

A while back, I made a promise to myself and all of you, that this wonderful Blog would continue. I lied. So here is a recap of all the fun things Amanda and I have taken that will not be immortalized in the Blogosphere.

1. Law School

2. Marriage (See wedding blog)

3. Honeymoon in South Africa

4. Kauai

5. Egypt and Jordan

6. Montana and Glacier National Park

7. The rise of Amanda Rockafellow Photography (for a third time).

While Facebook has quickly rendered the Blog old fashioned and out dated, I have decided that I will at least attempt to re-ignite some of that creativity that drove this blog through the early years, something which just can't be duplicated on Facebook. So here it goes.

Amanda and I decided to visit Egypt and Jordan just after Christmas. While the trip was incredible and there are some wonderful treasures that I would love to share with you. The fact is, it was just too long ago to remember them. However, I will bring up one fun detail. We arrived in Amman Jordan after dark in our miniature rental car to pure chaos. To give a quick run down of the roads in Amman, picture in your mind an enormous anthill with about three or four well established trails of ants neatly and studiously headed either toward or away from the hill. Now, with both of your feet start stomping on the ant hill. This was Amman. Ants everywhere coming from every direction. We found a taxi driver that agreed to lead us to our destination. He was driving a 1976 Mercedes 240D in Yellow. It was a sweet ride. And after dropping off our rental car and getting in the taxi headed for the hotel, Amanda turns to me and says: I want one of these.

Long story short, when we returned to Tucson, Amanda bought a car. It is a 1974 BMW 2002. I know it's not a Mercedes but it's the same idea and a lot more fun to drive.

Our first adventure in the new ride was a road trip to Southern Arizona. the part of Arizona even further south than Tucson. We loaded it up with fishing poles and frisbees and headed South to Tombstone.

Tombstone - a true relic in the world of Android apps and electric cars. The streets have been paved and the brothel is now a museum, but the wild West lives on here more than anywhere else in the world. We rolled into town, ate some ice cream, tried on some shit-kickers, and rode out on our trusty steed towards Bisbee.

Bisbee - An amazing Gem of a town. This is an old Gold and Copper Mining town that has transformed itself into........ well let me put it this way. You know those Art Cars you spot every once in a while. It might have about 5000 figurines glued to it, or it might be painted like a Lichestein piece. Or maybe it is just lined with pennies. Bisbee is crawling with them. It's a town in the hills. The sidewalks are always giving way to intense flights of stairs and it is hours from the nearest airport or Costco.

Bisbee is a wonderful place to just enjoy. The weather was perfect. We had a dry winter this year so while brown was the dominant color of the landscape, it still begged you to just stop and look around. We had some brewery beer, went on a hike, bought some antiques, and suddenly, we had already stayed two nights in a town who's only main street, Main Street, can be walked in about 8 minutes. We were sad to leave.

Again, we loaded up the Bimmer, cranked the engine over a few times until it roared to life, and headed to Lake Patagonia for some fishing. After dropping $16 on a license and $5 on some worms, I watched schools of fish swim up to my hook to within inches. The fish would then stop and stare at the worm writhing around on his death hook. I could almost hear the fish laughing. This lasted for a solid two hours. I then dumped my worms in the lake and we left. there's a reason I hadn't been fishing in 10 years. I'm sorry that wonderful streak is now broken.

We then bought two softball size mangos for a dollar and drove to Sonoita.

Last year I took a class with a former Congressman in Southern Arizona who offered us his remote cabin. We stayed there and it was wonderful. We sat around watching the grass wave at us in the golden hills surrounding his beautiful and tiny cabin in the high desert of Southern Arizona. It was quite possibly one of the most peaceful settings we have encountered since Bali. Thanks Jim.

And Thank you for reading.

The Final Destination

2008-08-20T21:01:00.001-07:00

After spending a few weeks relaxing from our incredibly stress-free vacation on the Greek islands, Amanda and I were ready to do some more traveling. I flew to Ann Arbor to spend some time enjoying their unseasonably cool August. Our days were spent playing ladder ball, sipping wine, and eating the most incredible dinners courtesy of Master Chef Ruth Petran and Master Griller Bob Petran. However, in the interest of saving everyone’s keyboards from saliva and drool induced meltdown, I will deny the urge to go over each meal in detail.

We thoroughly enjoyed our grand finale of the good life of all play and no work before our official move to Tucson. Not to place Tucson in a negative light. It is, however, no coincidence that upon our arrival Amanda will begin her massive push to achieve the greatness she had in Rochester and I will begin Law School, a sharp contrast to the lives of travelers.

On my fourth day in Ann Arbor we loaded the Hyundai with the deftness and precision of the world champion of Tetris. Neither nook nor cranny stood a chance against our superior packing skills. By Friday afternoon the Sante Fe was sagging beneath the weight of Amanda’s entire business, a 48” glass table strapped to the roof, and enough artwork to open our own wing at the Louvre.

Our final journey back to the real world began on Saturday morning. Had we not gone drinking with Bob and Ruth the night before, we just might have made it out of Nebraska. Yet, after passing through the potholes of Michigan, sprawling suburbs of Illinois, and the rolling corn fields of Iowa, it was a roadside campsite in the cornhusker state that we settled on for night #1. We were able to catch a few hours of sleep between the constant barrage of freight trains and 18 wheelers that assaulted our tired ear drums all night. I surrendered at 3:30 AM and decided to pack up the tent. It was an early start to a grueling day.

Sixteen hours of driving can be worse than waking up with your head sewn to the carpet. Yet, the beautiful scenery in Colorado worked hard to fray the strains of sitting upright for so long. The massive leather bound photo album behind my seat destroyed any hopes I had of reclining to an even remotely comfortable seating position. After passing through some heavy hitters in the famous ski resort lineup such as Breckinridge and Vail, we headed south past Telluride to the small ski town of Durango. The beautiful peaks surrounded us with the realization that you really don’t have to travel far to see some of the most stunning nature in the world.

We had our first real meal in two days at a Mexican restaurant in Durango and then drove our final hour to Mesa Verde National Park. Once our tent was erected we took a sunset hike on Knife Edge Trail. It skirts the edge of the Mesa allowing us to see for hundreds of miles over the flat valley below. Afterwards we attended a talk by a park ranger about the storytelling tradition of the Pueblo peoples that inhabited this land over a thousand years ago and still do to this day. We definitely heard the spirits talking that night. We fell asleep under a bright full moon in the desert: our new home.

In the morning we took a tour of Cliff Palace, the largest cliff dwelling in North America. After visiting dozens of ruins in the last few months, it still managed to impress us by its size and level of preservation.

By noon we were heading towards New Mexico for our final day of driving. We passed through the Navajo Indian reservation, the eerie specter of Shiprock, and were welcomed to Arizona via I40 by the incredibly nostalgic Route 66 town of Holbrook and a lush and green palette of plant life. It seems the arid forests and deserts of Arizona have had a good share of rain the past few years. How beautiful it has become. As we headed south we passed from high desert to pine forests, over red rivers, and into the Sonora desert. This dry desert is home to more species of plants and animals than any ecosystem in North America. Now you can add two more: Amanda and Leighton. We drove up to our new home just after a rainstorm and in the middle of a colorful sunset that is so common to the desert.

And so, after nearly 2300 miles we are here. Our new lives have officially begun. We were welcomed with open arms and a warm dinner by my parents. We have no income, no friends, and so many unknowns. We hope Tucson is as good to us as Rochester was. It’s a high peak to summit but we have faith. Amanda’s business will grow and I will study. Of course all are welcome to our spare bedroom on Croyden St.

Epilogue of the Wanderers

2008-08-06T12:43:00.001-07:00

Millions of people travel in this world. Many of these tourists take packaged tours with guides and travel agents. However, many go as Amanda and I did. They take the bare minimum of supplies; a couple of shirts, some underwear, and a toothbrush. They put these items on their back and leave. We met hundreds of such travelers. Some had no plans and had been gone for more than a year. Others had 1 year’s worth of plane tickets with plans to spend no more than 2 weeks in each country. Some worked as they traveled. Some took many drugs. Others hung out in the same hostel for months. Some traveled to escape their reality. Some were looking for themselves. Some had no budget. Some had the smallest budget imaginable. Some traveled alone. Many traveled with their loved one. Many more traveled alone only between traveling with new friends they met along the way. We traveled with people from Canada, Norway, France, Australia, Israel, India, Argentina, Ireland, Scotland, Germany, Sweden, New Zealand, and many other places around the world. And while we all had our own agendas, our own plans, our own time line, and our own budget, we all shared one thing in common: we had all sacrificed so much to see what the world had to offer.

While Amanda and I would love to look at ourselves as pioneers, we are not. We simply are two Americans who created an opportunity for ourselves to get out of our familiar lives of work and play to explore this vast planet we live on. Go ahead and browse through this blog again. In the last seven months we packed in a lifetime of stories, adventures, sights, sounds, and food sickness. We saw so much. In typical American fashion we moved fast and tried to see it all. Yet, we failed miserably. Once we got to Peru, our first country, we realized we could not see it all. Once we reached India we understood why everyone told us 25 days was not enough. The vastness of this world and diversity of its inhabitants is astronomically huge. In a way, it is overwhelming. Take India for example. Life is simply a struggle to survive in India. The majority of over 1 billion people try every day to find safe water, and food, shelter. Yet, the resources simply cannot be spread thin enough. Where do we fit in as tourists? In Bolivia we saw a new president, Bolivia’s first with Inca roots, fighting a wealthy Spanish population in the Southeast in a country that has been ruled by Spaniards since the occupation in the 1400s. In Turkey we saw a country caught on the fence between the westernized world and decidedly un-western Muslim religion that 97 percent of its inhabitants practice. Many of the countries we visited are all too familiar with terrorist attacks and civil unrest and strikes and chaos. We were simply tourists there to observe from afar. Some countries made us miss the comforts of home more than others. We have it good in America. Sure most of the world hates us and our foreign policies. But we have to ask ourselves if this matters as long as we can flush our toilets, buy our fancy electronics, sip our Starbucks, and buy our cheap gasoline ($13.5/gallon in Turkey). I don’t mean to sound sarcastic or even elitist. These truly are the things you begin to miss. We have rights in this country unlike any others. We have laws that protect us and police who don’t ask for bribes (often). America has its issues much like any country, but it is a wonderful place to call home.

Maybe this is why we travel. It is good to leave for a while and forget about the mundane media reports on the price of gas or Obama’s preacher. It is good to step outside of our American cruise ship to catch a glimpse of the beautiful and turbulent ocean that surrounds us; if nothing more than to realize how grateful we are for all the comforts of life in a western world.

We missed our friends, we missed our family. We missed knowing what was happening around us. We didn’t miss the hectic schedules and American work ethic. We didn’t miss 14-hour workdays and only spending a couple hours a week with each other. We didn’t miss the American media or the election news. In fact, there is a long list of the things we didn’t miss so much about home.

It seems Americans, much like any country, have the tendency to become engulfed by the microcosm of their lives. This is only natural. Why worry about the ban on head-scarves at public universities in Turkey when it’s Muslims that wear head-scarves and Muslims who are killing American soldiers in Iraq? Who cares if Argentina is facing a nationwide strike due to taxes on beef exports that could send the country into its second massive recession in 10 years when we can still buy a Big Mac for $3 any time we want? It is easy to view the world through our American goggles. This is what I loved about our trip. We saw the world in a different light. We hope that my words and Amanda’s photos acted as a portal of this perspective for our friends and families. We want this blog to not only share our experiences, but to reveal a small portion of the vast world that exists beyond our borders and TV screens.

We hope we can carry all of the wonderful experiences with us as our journey continues on the homeland. Life is, after all, nothing more than collection of experiences. We strive to find a way to shape them into some meaning now that we've returned to a different reality. We certainly have a more global perspective and we hope it will last as I begin to bury my head in books for Law school and Amanda begins building her successful business from scratch all over again.

We want to thank all of our readers and encourage you to check back every few weeks. We have decided to keep the blog going because life can be an adventure – even if we aren’t stopping thieves, escaping road blocks, getting published in a national magazine, or hiking the Inca trail. We have seen so much of the world and it has been a bittersweet ending to this chapter in our lives. We will miss the life of a tourist. Yet, we are excited to see what life brings us next.

And because ending with a quote just feels right, I will leave you with J.R.R. Tolkien:
“Not all those who wander are lost.”

Blink of an Eye

2008-07-31T12:26:00.000-07:00

The final tale of our journey is indeed a wonderful one. In fact our merrymaking has been so intense in the last 2 weeks that our blog has suffered dearly. Who has time to write when you’re exploring an entire island by scooter? Why go online when dozens of beautiful beaches await us, lounge chairs and umbrellas galore? No time for pictures when there are so many gyros pita stands to try. Once Nick and Lisa landed in Santorini our travel brains seemed to turn off. These final two weeks were the only section of our 7 month adventure that was strategically planned. Hotels were reserved, ferries were booked, and budgets were thrown to the wind. This was the Greek islands in the summer, there where 4 of us, then 5, then 4 again, and we had more fun than can possibly fit into one of our Eagle Creek back packs. The alcohol was flowing and the mornings grew shorter and shorter as we partied our way closer to the finish line. And while time has erased so many details in my sun and beer soaked brain, I wish to stop with the generalities and fill in as many blanks as possible in the grand finale of Hablog Ingles.

Thira (Santorini)

Known as one of the most touristed islands of them all, Santorini, despite the throbbing crowds, did not disappoint. We visited the White beach, a beautiful outcrop of limestone that slid in the ocean creating a small beach of a beautiful color. We drove our scooters to the northern end of Oia to watch the sunset amongst hundreds of tourists. After the crowd applauded the sun’s final descent into night, a full moon made its glorious debut directly behind us. It was a memorable scene as we perched ourselves high in the bleached city that suspended itself on the edge of the cliffs, hundreds of feet above the sea. Thira is thought to be the site to the largest volcanic eruption in the history of the world. In 1500 BC the island’s entire center exploded into the atmosphere 30 km high creating a massive caldera that soon filled with sea water. It is one of nature’s masterpieces and the cause for all the crowds in Sanotrini. Yet, when the cruise ships depart and the sweet light arrives, this island is very romantic. The four of us relaxed, drank wine, and caught up on old times while staring off into the sea from our hotel.

Amorgos

After 4 hours on the slow boat, we arrived in the very un-touristed island of Amorgos. This island is basically a massive mountain protruding from the sea. We loved the contrast of its tranquility and serenity compared to Santorini. Again we rented two scooters because this is an amazing way to experience a Greek island. Here we went on a hike above the sea, and visited many beautiful classic white towns. We took the bus to a monastery that, because the Greeks love to do it, clung to the side of a cliff like the pickle from my quarter-pounder that now sticks to the window of McDonalds.

Naxos

In Naxos, an old friend from France that Nick and I met in Costa Rica joined us. C’eline was happy to see us waiting for her at the port when she arrived. Now that the party had really started, the five of us rented an apartment near a very nice beach and lounged around all day. The five of us enjoyed the shallow waters as we tossed the Frisbee for hours. We had a wonderful seafood dinner that night and before we knew it we were off to …

Mykonos

As we stepped into the scorching heat of a bus parked in the sun, a fat sweaty man soon followed. He looked at his passengers – a rag tag bunch of independent travellers eager to see the island. “Welcome to Mykonos” he mumbled as his hand reached up for the stereo and the house music began pumping through the sound system. As our ride began and our heart beats assumed the rhythm of the music we knew that Mykonos would be intense. Mykonos, at least the part of Mykonos that the five of us experienced, is a never ending party. Our nights started at 11 and ended at 4 am. We sat at the beach among hundreds of party animals, a dance club party filled the background with all 3 genders joining in on the fun.
It is a beautiful island with some incredibly scenic towns and never ending white-washed buildings. But who cares when you’re gettin’ down at the night club SPACE or cruising the never-ending bars and restaurants that line every nook and cranny of this once sleepy place? We had lots of fun in Mykonos and though we had to say goodbye to C’eline, we were happy to be moving on.

Tinos

This unknown was an added island as we decided three nights of Mykonos was too much for us. Turns out it was well worth the stop. This was old world Greece. Finally, we found towns with no tourist shops and only the occasional taverna. We took a drive at sunrise in our rented shoebox-of-a-car. It was a fitting farewell to our version of a 5 island tour.

Athens

Athens was the final stop of more than 100 for us. We made it. This is it. This is a dump. OK, so first impressions aren’t always accurate. Athens is a city that demands your attention to produce good results. While much of it is a ghetto, a little discovery will produce excellent eateries, wonderful gyros pitas, awesome bars, great vistas, nice beaches, and yes, the Acropolis. It’s too bad that so many tourists spend a whirlwind day at the Acropolis, Agora, and wonderful museum before boarding a ferry to the islands. It was a really nice city to spend our final three days. Since we had three full days, we did as Athenians do. We saw Mamma Mia at one of Athen’s outdoor movie theaters. Afterwards, we danced to some real music – none of the Mykonos house mixes here. The weather was perfect with a nice breeze for 3 straight days. We dined like kings and stayed out late. On the last night we climbed to the top of Lycabettus hill for a stunning 360 degree sunset over one the oldest cities of the world.

And then we flew home on four different flights. Just like that, the journey had ended. Seven months, thirteen countries, in the blink of an eye.

The Home Stretch

2008-07-16T23:34:00.000-07:00

The sole of my right shoe is now peeled back a few inches from the toe. Amanda’s favorite shirt has elongated itself into a dress from so many hand washes in a hotel sink, and drying over the back of a chair. Our hair is long and shabby, our clothes need replacing. Yes, as I sit here in our beautiful hotel perched on the scenic caldera of the Greek island of Santorini, I am painfully aware that the end is near. Six months ago, this time would never come. Five months ago we had thousands of adventures in front of us. Last month we still had two countries on our list. Now there is Greece.
Before getting ahead of myself, I must back-track 1 week to Turkey. After taking a plunge off the mountain with the Mediterranean as my backdrop, we took a bus inland towards the ruins of Heiropolis in Pamukkale. This ancient Roman city resists the urge to be bland by perching itself atop a large outcrop of limestone terraces. The Romans shaped them into pools and what is left are stunning waterfalls of cool spring water into dozens of beautifully shaped pools over a bleach white landscape of calcium rich soil. It made for an incredible sunset. The ruins were crowned by an amazing Roman theatre – one of the best preserved in Asia. What might have caught our attention the most was the hundreds of bikini clad women, mostly Russian, posing in terraces for pictures. The beach was a hundred miles away yet everyone was in their bikini taking a swim. Considering the Turkish tourists wore headscarves and coats, it made for some bizarre contrasts.
We then headed for our final Turkish stop at the ruins of Ephesus. Regarded as one of the best preserved Roman cities in the world, we were certainly impressed. However, the stifling heat, encroaching forest fire, and crushing mass of cruise-ship tourists had us moving on our way fairly quickly to the port town of Marmaris. From here we took a pricey catamaran to the ancient Greek island of Rhodes.

Our guide book told us we’d either like Rhodes or love it. However it was dead wrong. These descriptives are far too weak and commonplace to truly explain the way we felt while roaming the ancient streets of Rhodes town on the northern tip of this large island.
Maybe it should have read: you will want to give up all your material possessions, renounce your citizenship to the US, climb a mountain, climb five mountains, do everything you hate – even listen to country music, just to be in Rhodes. It was fantastic. And all we had to do was give a company 50 euros each to get here! The old town is surrounded by ancient walls, 16 meters thick. The cobble stoned streets demand that you take your time as you stroll through crooked passageways, tunnels, and old, old, old. We loved our little apartment off the street. It was as though we had always lived there. And though the crowds could be intense, it was not difficult to find the quite streets where cats and old ladies still reigned supreme over mass tourism.

We took an excursion to the famous town of Lindos on the Eastern coast of Rhodes for a day of scorched skin, floating in the turquoise waters, and beer sipping.

After waking to a minor earthquake on our last morning in Rhodes, we boarded an 18 seat plane and now we are in Santorini; an island which speaks for itself. My sister Lisa and high school friend Nick will be meeting us here shortly. It is the beginning of the end and never have I experienced such a strong sense of the word “bittersweet”. We can’t believe our lives of travel are nearing an end but wow has it been great. We can’t believe we only have 2 weeks left but… we have two weeks to spend in Greece! Life is good. No, life is great.