Tour de (North) America

After being home for four months, a record for me since high school, I was becoming restless and was eager to travel again. I wanted something cheap, as I’m headed back to school in January and after the seemingly endless Canadian winter, somewhere warm.

My friend Natalie from my Korean hometown of Uiseong invited me to come to Florida and I didn’t have to be asked twice. Orlando became my starting point and from there I settled on Miami, Austin, San Francisco and Vancouver.

I left in a snowstorm at the end of April via bus to the Buffalo airport to avoid the expensive airport taxes in Toronto. However, crossing the Canadian United States border by bus is a terrifying experience. The customs officer grilled me incessantly about who I was visiting, what they do for a living, where they live and how I met them. But most importantly, if I plan to leave the States; which is a no-brainer, I enjoy my free health care, thanks.

After 2.5 hours on a bus, 2 hours at customs, 5 hours at the airport and a 2.5 hour flight, I was met with the hot muggy air of Orlando, Florida.

I celebrated my 20 something birthday (okay, my 25^th) in Orlando. The festivities began with banana chocolate chip pancakes that could have fed a small country. We barely made a dent in them before calling it quits. We spent the day at Aquatica, Sea World’s water park, something I haven’t done since I was a child. Orlando definitely makes you feel like a kid again. We capped off the night with Tex Mex and Margarita’s the size of my head, in which I proceeded to pass out at 8 pm, apparently this is what being 25 brings.

Bright and early Monday morning, I headed to Miami via bus. I have taken the same bus company frequently from Toronto to Montreal. But in the States an interesting array of people take the bus, to point where I wish I had my pepper spray.

Miami is exactly as I imagined, filled with bright colours, modernist architecture and fit tan people with flashy clothes and cars. However, step outside of the tourist areas and you are met with extreme poverty and a plethora of homeless people. After two days in Miami, I was ready to move on to Texas. I pictured Texas as a place filled with large, gun-toting, whiskey-drinking people. Either Austin is very different or I have a problem with stereotyping places. I spent my first night at the Firehouse Hostel, before staying with Kiki, my former roommate from my study abroad in Australia.The woman at the front desk gave me an amazing map of the city and was appalled when I spotted the State Capitol building and stupidly said, “Austin’s not the capital of Texas.” After being reprimanded for my lack of Texas knowledge, I quickly put in, “I’m from Canada.” This seemed to lessen her concern, slightly.One of the coolest places in Austin was the Baylor Street Art Wall, an abandoned building site that has been transformed into a graffiti art gallery to promote expressionism and publicize street art. Not to mention the views are spectacular. Much to my delight and surprise, Austin has tons of great outdoor spaces and I spent the majority of my time outside. I explored Zilker Park, ran the boardwalk trail at Lady Bird Lake, experienced the 360 degree view of Lake Austin and took an icy dip at the Barton Creek Greenbelt.

I was eager to indulge in Texan food and it did not disappoint. I ate spicy Buffalo wings, a burger with a donut bun and breakfast burritos at the popular Juan in a Million. But my favourite meal was Rudy’s BBQ. Located beside a gas station, as all good BBQ places are, I was able to try all of the delectable meats as a first time customer and was semi-forced to try creamed corn, which looked just as it tasted, revolting.

After a night spent on the infamous 6^th Street in Austin, my early morning flight to San Francisco was not appreciated.  I met my mom at the airport and we headed to our first experience with airbnb. The apartment was on the dirty side and not what we expected, but luckily it was a great location and we’re not high-maintenance.

We rode across the iconic Golden Gate Bridge that offered sweeping views of the city and Alcatraz Island, to explore the swanky neighbourhood of Sausalito. San Francisco has the steepest hills I have ever experienced and trying to bike up some of them was near impossible. The craziest street is Lombard Street, a crooked street filled with shrubs and flowers and plenty of tourists taking pictures as cars attempt to navigate down the narrow, curved street.

In order to preserve the beautification of the city, San Francisco has a limited amount of high-rise buildings. As a result, we walked a lot in order to absorb the incredible architecture but also so we could eat massive amounts of ice cream and Ghirardelli chocolate.

The first cable car in San Francisco ran in 1873 and to this day you are able to ride the cable car for a mere six dollars. In order to get our money’s worth we picked up the Powell and Hyde cable car at the starting point and hung out the side, like in the movies, as we chugged up and down the hills.

Another highlight of San Francisco was our journey to Alcatraz Island that served as a legendary prison from 1933 until its closure in 1963. The tour through the penitentiary was fascinating with stories of failed escape attempts, what life was like at Alcatraz and the prisoner’s backstories.

Our last stop before heading back to Canada was Muir Woods, where giant redwood trees are housed. Our bus driver and tour guide was adamant we came back to the bus on time otherwise he would leave without us. True to his word, three women were late and we drove away without them.

For the last few days of my trip, my mom and I headed to Vancouver and Whistler to visit my brother. In Vancouver we made a beeline to Chocolate Arts that has the best chocolate in the world, and I’ve been to Belgium and Switzerland.

Unfortunately, I developed a painful eye infection and had to spend a day with my eyes closed in a dark room. I managed to make it to my parent’s wedding anniversary dinner at Araxi and indulge in truffle fries, seafood and an incredible chocolate fondant lava cake. However, due to my eye infection, my eyes were sensitive to light and I had to keep my sunglasses on throughout dinner, which made me feel and look like a celebrity.
As evident from my adventures in Korea  and Nepal I love to hike. I have never been to Whistler outside of the winter months and I wanted to take advantage of the hiking trails. Additionally, I was determined to see a bear (from a far distance) as I have never seen one except in a zoo and I feel that makes me a bad Canadian. We trekked the Ancient Cedar trail for a Mother’s Day picnic, walked an easy fifteen minutes for an epic view of the Brandy Wine falls and explored a graffiti-covered train wreck. Despite all of this, I failed to see a bear.

Riding the Rails (and buses)

A fundamental part of the India experience is riding the trains. In a country of over 1.2 billion people, nearly 30 million people take the train every day. As a result, obtaining a train ticket can be, at times, a covert operation. Due to time constraints, poor planning and pure laziness, I always booked my train ticket through my hostel or a travel agency for a small fee. Otherwise I would have spent half of my time at the reservation office filling out forms for most likely, sold-out tickets.

Early on I learned in India anything is possible, for the right price of course. For my journey from Agra to Haridwar I was unable to secure a train ticket until the hostel owner in Agra mentioned he had a friend who worked at the train station and keeps train tickets back to sell at a higher price. I initially hesitated at this blatant corruption but the moment quickly passed and I was elated to have a ticket.

My first train ride in India, from Varanasi to Khajuraho was a nightmare experience that thankfully was never repeated. I arrived with plenty of time to spare and listened diligently to the crackling loud-speaker, which announced, several times the platform of my train was being changed. Finally, the train arrived but was split into two different destinations that would eventually become separate trains. As a result, I ended up running up and down the tracks like a lunatic gently shoving people aside desperate to find the correct part of the train and carriage. Thankfully, two minutes before the train was set to depart, I found the correct carriage and berth and settled in for the 14 hour ride. However the drama was unnecessary as the train left two hours later, a common occurrence in India.

At the beginning of my trip I took third class (3AC) which was heated or air-conditioned and you were given pillows, sheets and blankets. But as I became more comfortable in India and to save money I took sleeper class which is similar to 3AC but without the luxury of the heat which in the far north meant I nearly froze to death, as I had donated all of my warm Nepal trekking clothes. I was never brave (or stupid) enough to endure unreserved class, which for lack of a better description is a cattle car with people shoved in like sardines.During my year of working in rural Korea and subsequent travels in Asia, I mastered the art of squat toilets. However peeing on a moving, shaking, gyrating train, especially as a female, is a completely different ballgame; but I was up for the challenge. Several times I accidentally peed on my shoes (gross, I know), but I finally managed to find the perfect position, I planted my feet a bit wider than the recommended foot pads and maintained a lower squat position for maximum stability. Therefore, not only did I come out with pee-free shoes but I got a leg workout too.

For my journey from Nepal to India, I decided to take the most challenging mode of transportation, a government bus. A 13 hour bus ride from Sunauli, the border town between Nepal and India, to Varanasi the bus was rusted from the inside out and could barely sustain the pot-hole riddled roads. But for only 279 rupees ($5.50), the price was right. In comparison my subsequent sleeper bus trips were luxurious; equipped with single and double compartments, it provided more privacy than the train and you could securely sleep with your luggage. My only complaint about the buses was there was no washroom on-board and with only two designated stops in a 14 plus hour bus ride, it was a struggle. Therefore, at various times I would plead with the driver to stop at the side of the road. I would attempt to find a bit of privacy without having to stray too far from the bus. This proved to be futile and I ended up relieving myself on the side of a highway with an audience.

Incredible India

Since I began my religious studies degree in 2009, India has been at the top of my travel list. I was warned incessantly by the many dangers of travelling solo as a female in India, but armed with pepper spray and my spirit for adventure I was determined to fulfill my five-year long dream of exploring incredible India.

My first destination was the holy city of Varanasi. Despite the constant harassment this colourful, chaotic city became one of my favourite stops in India. The place where Hindu’s come to die, the holy Ganges River is dotted with Ghats, garbage, sludge, pigs, cows and Sadhu’s (holy men). I was befriended by an eager young man from Varanasi and although wary of his intentions at first he proved to be a wealth of knowledge about the cremation process. The deceased is paraded through the streets of Varanasi before being dipped into the Ganges. The outer colourful cloth is removed and the body is burned at the Manikarnika Ghat, which operates 24 hours a day, in a plain white cloth according to caste; the higher the caste the further away from the Ganges the body is burned. One particular family even opened up the white cloth and proceeded to snap photos of their dead relative.

Despite being heavily polluted, the people of Varanasi bathe, drink and swim in the Ganges. I accidently fell into the Ganges and was ill for nearly three days. I can only imagine how resilient their immune systems are.                Every day at sunrise and sunset, Hindu’s come to the Ganges for puja (worship) and offer prayers to Surya, the sun God.

In order to break up my journey from Varanasi to Agra, I made a stopover in Khajuraho otherwise known as the sex temple place. The main attraction in Khajuraho is the tantric sex temples that graphically display positions found in the karma sutra. I unknowingly stayed in an ashram and the yogi at the ashram subsequently offered to teach me meditation and read my vibrations. I was skeptical and worried I wouldn’t be able to contain my laughter, but agreed anyways because this was part of the Indian experience. I was instructed to close my eyes and empty my mind, an excruciatingly difficult task for me. While I was concentrating on thinking of nothing, I felt his hand on my forehead as he began to hum and shake. I was half-terrified, half-amused, as this continued for close to an hour.  He insisted we continue to meditate for longer as my vibrations and energy were too high for sleep, but with drooping eyelids I carried my “high energy” off to bed and was only too happy to leave Khajuraho behind.

The Taj Mahal is world-famous and as a result of its reputation I was apprehensive it would be overrated and I would be disappointed. However, the white marble mausoleum exceeded my expectations and I could have spent days gazing at this grandeur structure. While the Taj Mahal is world-famous, I became quite famous in India. For whatever reason, Indians love having their pictures taken with foreigners and I was constantly asked throughout India. However in Agra, Indian tourists, in particular would sneakily stand next to you while their friend or family member would snap a few photos. It got to the point where I contemplated asking for 100 rupees ($2) per photo.

Each city in India was like entering a different country, the culture, food specialities, language, religion, landscape and people are all vastly diverse but yet share this common bond of being Indian. The state of Punjab is Sikh and the food boasts enough butter and ghee to give one a serious heart attack. Due to train schedules I had only 24 hours in Amritsar and I sacrificed sleep in order to observe sunrise at the Harmandir Sahib (Golden Temple), the holiest gurdwara (place of worship for Sikh’s). The exterior of the Golden Temple is marble with a large holy pool in the centre with two giant screens projecting the words of the prayers in Punjabi, Hindi and English. Inside of the actual Golden Temple, the gurus sit and play the sitar, drums and sing the prayers. Furthermore, there is a large kitchen that feeds up to 10,000 people a day, I however was suffering from a severe case of “Indian belly” and subsequently did not eat at the temple. Unfortunately, part of the Indian experience was bouts of diarrhoea, vomiting and stomach pains. On my way back to my hostel from the Golden Temple I got extremely lost and my stomach rebelled in protest. Desperate for a toilet but unable to find one, I did the only logical thing and found a dingy alleyway in which I half concealed myself with my scarf and proceeded to do my business. Even though no one saw I was slightly embarrassed, but this is incredible India and crapping in public is not uncommon. 

Regrettably, my stomach continued to misbehave. I stayed at an incredible hostel, Jugaadus Eco Hostel, which offered tours to the India-Pakistan closing ceremony. Beforehand we stopped for lunch at a traditional local Punjab restaurant which quickly unsettled my delicate stomach. But I ignored its groans and we continued onto the Mata Devi Temple, a bizarre temple that is set-up similar to a fun house. We had to crawl through caves filled with ankle-deep water with a plasticine cow udder, a room filled with mirrors and models of deities with clownish faces.

The India-Pakistan border near Amritsar is the only border I know that has a ceremony to close it. Every evening at four o’clock, thousands of Indians and a handful of tourists gather to watch this comical spectacle. The ceremony begins with a Bollywood dance circle followed by men dressed in beige outfits with peacock hats. The men march towards the Pakistan border doing funny little kicks to demonstrate a sense of authority over the Pakistani’s.  About 15 minutes into the ceremony, I felt bile rise to my throat and promptly vomited my palak paneer (spinach with Indian cheese) over the railing in front of two older foreigners. I apologized profusely as they yelled at me, “what the hell is wrong with you? Get out of here!” After I puked up the rest of my lunch in the bathroom, I returned in time to see the two countries simultaneously pull down their respective flags.

No Porters, No Guides, Just Us!

Five and a half years ago I fell in love with the small mountainous country of Nepal. Nestled between the two giants of China and India, Nepal didn’t open its borders until 1950, shrouding the tiny nation in mystery and intrigue.

  My first visit, I climbed to Annapurna Base Camp through my school, Neuchâtel Junior College in conjunction with the non-profit Light Up the World Foundation which enabled us to distribute LED lights to rural Nepalese families to replace the health hazardous kerosene. I instantly fell in love with the mountains, the calm of the villages mixed with the hurried chaos of Kathmandu and the relentless generosity of the people. When the opportunity arose to visit my favourite country again, I was ecstatic and ready to conquer a different trek with two of my friends, the Annapurna Circuit, a 230 kilometer journey within the Annapurna mountain region in central Nepal.

I typically agree with the famous phrase that “pictures are worth a thousand words,” but no pictures or words can compete with the up close and personal views of the majestic awe-inspiring beauty of the Himalayas. Nonetheless I have narrowed down my plethora of photos to my top ten to give a glimpse into the stunning landscape and our journey through the Annapurna region.

1. On our first day we were hit with a fierce rainstorm and therefore did not trek very far. But the rain allowed us to have this spectacular view of the lush jungle, on our second day from Bulebule (840 metres) to Ghermu (1130 metres).

2. Our voyage from Ghermu to Tal was scenic, with a lunch stop at the appropriately named Super Rainbow. The last hour was a brutal uphill, as we gained 400 vertical metres to reach our destination of 1700 metres.

3. Synonymous with Nepal are prayer flags and wheels. Littered throughout the Annapurna Circuit, the prayer flags and wheels are inscribed with the Buddhist mantras. The prayer flags promote peace, wisdom and strength and are said to bring good fortune to the bearer. Prayer wheels are spun clockwise and are the equivalent of orally reciting the mantras.

4. We decided to remain in Upper Pisang (3310 metres) for an extra day, so we could experience the extraordinary sunrise again. It was our first glimpse of the Annapurna peaks and snow-capped mountains.

5. During our 20 days of trekking, we crossed dozens of bridges. The sturdiness of the bridges varied greatly and we went across as fast as possible for fear of it collapsing. The wooden ones were rickety and creaked in protest, in contrast to the metal ones that generally were more secure but at times were missing cables and bolts. Thankfully, we made it across each bridge safely, perhaps the flapping prayer flags attached to the bridges had something to do with that.

6. The ever-present yaks kept us supplied with delicious yak burgers, cheese and milk. The furry creatures roamed around the Annapurna region with large packs strapped to their sturdy backs.

7. In order to help with our acclimatization, we did a side trip to Tilicho Lake and were not disappointed. The turquoise glacier lake was surrounded by snow-capped mountains with the distant rumble of avalanches in the background. Unfortunately at 4900 metres, I experienced a bout of mild altitude sickness that caused me to become dizzy and nausea. As a result, we headed down, with Jade and Oli helping me as I stumbled down the mountain like a drunken baby giraffe learning to walk.

8. On October 10^th, 2014, we began the ascent to the highest part of our trek, the Thorong La Pass. At 5416 metres, we were a bit light-headed but excited, exhilarated and a tad emotional about reaching the top. We enjoyed celebratory tea at the tiny tea shop before beginning our descent. Tragically, four days later a blizzard hit the pass and over fifty people lost their lives. I was astounded and saddened by the news and my heart and thoughts go out to the families of those whom perished.

9. Our first stop in Kagbeni was the infamous Yak Donald’s, which was thankfully much better than McDonald’s and the yak burgers were to die for. We loved it so much we decided to spend the night, just so we could have more yak burgers. Kagbeni is also the starting point for the trek into the restricted, protected section of Upper Mustang, in which one must have a special permit and guide in order to limit the tourist impact on the locals and the environment.

10. On our final day of the trek, we woke-up at the absurd hour of four am to catch the sunrise at Poon Hill (3200 metres). An hour and a half hike from Ghorepani (2800 metres) we made it in a staggering 45 minutes, I suppose after 20 days of non-stop hiking we were in quite good shape. We were the first ones to the top and claimed prime seats to wait for night to become day. As hordes of people arrived, an array of colours reached the night sky before the sun peaked over the mountain. It felt like ages before the sun fully hit us and warmed our frozen bodies. It was the perfect way to end the trek and to say farewell to the Himalayas.

 

Holiday Interrupted

As my head broke the surface and I filled my lungs with air, my head screamed in a panic.

I took up scuba diving two years ago when I did a study abroad in Australia and spent a glorious week on a boat on the Great Barrier Reef. After that I was hooked. However I did not have the opportunity to dive again until I came to Borneo. Because I wanted to ease myself back into diving, I started with two shallow ten metre dives at Tanku Abdul Rahman Marine Park, off the coast of Kota Kinabalu. I was nervous before my first dive but once underwater I felt comfortable again and my nerves evaporated. I was treated to a spectacular array of fish, a turtle and even a baby shark. The second dive had less visibility but was enjoyable nonetheless and I remembered why I fell in love with scuba diving.

Subsequent to my trip to the Kinabatangan River, I received numerous recommendations to dive off of Mabul Island, and I was not disappointed. I saw tons of turtles, clown, parrot and rainbow fish in addition to a variety of other fish and sea creatures I couldn’t even begin to name. By the end of the three dives I was exhausted but exhilarated and couldn’t wait for my dives the following day.

On my final day of diving, the first dive was incredible, we saw an octopus that proceeded to almost spill its ink, a barracuda with large teeth, puffer fish and other amusing fish with funny faces, clearly my fish identification needs some work. My second dive at a diving site called Paradise was an old shipwreck with a strong current and reduced visibility. That’s when paradise became hell.

My buddy, the dive master and I descended and were underwater for about ten minutes when I felt a bit strange, a feeling I’m not sure if I can attribute to what happened next, as the subsequent seconds were a blur. As I went to breathe in, I was met with a gush of salt water and it was then that I realized my regulator was gone. I couldn’t locate it and my buddy and the dive master did not notice my distress, as I suspect I had moved away from them due to the current. Therefore I did the worst thing possible, I panicked. Claustrophobia hit me and I wanted out. I ripped off my mask, my body went into survival mode and rationale went out the window. All my brain could think was oxygen, NOW!

I shot to the surface from 14 metres. In my distressed state, when the water became lighter I thought I had reached the top, only to take a deep breath and be met with a mouthful of water.My brain slowed and I remember thinking, this is it. Fortunately, my body wasn’t ready to give up just yet and propelled me the extra metre until my head broke the surface and I breathed in.

I was in a complete state of shock and dazed. My legs were still kicking keeping me afloat until the fog momentarily cleared and I inflated my BCD. I lay there whimpering, with thoughts of 1) I’m going to die 2) I want my mom and 3) damn, I won’t be able to do my third dive.

Time slowed as the diving boat came over and the captain helped me out of my gear before gingerly helping me into the boat. I continued to whimper in a state of disbelief, I just wanted to wake-up from this nightmare. Obviously, when the dive master and my buddy couldn’t find me underwater they surfaced. I was immediately brought back to the jetty, when BOOM, my body went rigid, the world turned off and I woke-up on the ground surrounded by several people with an oxygen mask on my face.

I laid on the jetty, my eyes with sheer terror in them trained on the ceiling, not wanting to see the worried expressions in their faces. They checked for rashes, made sure my toes, fingers and muscles were in working order (thankfully they were), before I wearily sat up feeling drunk and disorientated.
As accommodation on Mabul Island was on the expensive side, I decided to stay on the mainland in a town called Semporna and commute each day to dive. The silver lining of this ordeal was that I got to hunker down in the owner of the resorts cabin, which was beautifully made-up and way out of my budget.

The staff continued to administer pure oxygen and monitor my breathing and strength. A few hours later, when I displayed no symptoms of decompression sickness, they were confident I was going to be fine. But insisted I stay in Semporna for the night instead of my original plan to take the night bus to Kota Kinabalu.

Approximately nine hours after I had surfaced, my legs began to tingle and my mind wandered to the worst case scenario. The employees at the diving place managed to calm me down and distract me from my current predicament. But once bedtime hit and I was left alone, my thoughts began to wander again and Googling ‘scuba diving rapid ascent’ and ‘symptoms of decompression sickness’ did nothing to ease my worries.

I have never in my life, been so happy to wake-up and be able to wiggle my toes and fingers and be able to walk, although the tingling in my legs continued. I wolfed down a large breakfast, haven hardly eaten anything the day before and was optimistically informed the tingling could be from dehydration.

On the bus to Kota Kinabalu, I chugged water like my life depended on it, because as far as I was concerned it did. Much to my embarrassment I had episodes of crying on the bus as the tingling continued and I replayed the events like a horror movie. Half-way through the ten hour bus ride, I had consumed nearly 6 litres of water, when mercifully my legs stopped tingling. Of course I was peeing like crazy in the bathroom bus and got some looks after the tenth visit. I was just beginning to relax, when two hours before the bus reached Kota Kinabalu, my right arm went completely limp and I felt like a thousand needles were poking my skin. I attempted to remain calm and focus on anything else but I was scared to death.

I was set to fly out the following morning but was too nervous to fly as the tingling intensified. I made the snap decision to go straight to the hospital, to give me peace of mind. The bus station is located forty minutes outside of downtown and no one seemed to know of a nearby hospital. Frustrated and desperate I got into a taxi and tearfully asked him to take me downtown. As I sat blubbering in the backseat, my tear ducts were certainly getting a workout; the taxi driver looked at me with concern and asked if I was alright. The entire story came pouring out and he offered to take me to the best hospital in Borneo, the Queen Elizabeth Hospital.

I was immediately placed in the semi-critical zone, and was given a series of tests. My decompression sickness was considered mild and therefore I would not require a hyperbaric chamber, but the doctors had to monitor me for the next 24 hours in case my symptoms worsened.

Before, I could be admitted to the hospital ward, I needed to pay a deposit of 400 RM ($150). I was low on cash and tried the only ATM on the hospital premise but with no luck. I laid out my options for them: I had $100 US (for my Nepal visa) or my passport as collateral or I could go downtown and take out the money. Thankfully, one of the senior doctors gave permission to admit me on the grounds that I would pay once I had the cash.

I woke up the next morning disorientated and in a dream state as I didn’t fully comprehend where I was, all I knew was the tingling in my arm had stopped. Throughout my hospital stay, the tingling in my legs returned in intervals, although mildly and I was told I could fly again the next day.

I probably won’t go diving again for a while, not because of what happened but because my next destinations of Nepal, India and Canada are not diving places. But I am confident I will dive again, as the saying goes, when you fall off the horse you have to get right back on.

While my trip to a Malaysian hospital, is something I could I have done without, it was an experience and hey it makes for a great story.

 

The Adventures of Borneo

I knew after my year in Korea, I wanted a big adventure. For the past four years, India has been at the top of my places to visit and Nepal is one of my favourite countries. Therefore, when two of my fellow foreigners from Uiseong were headed in that direction I couldn’t resist tagging along. But I had nearly three weeks to “kill” before they were headed to Nepal. I contemplated the Philippines but with typhoon season in full swing, it didn’t seem like the best idea. Therefore on a whim I settled on Borneo, specifically the Malaysian province of Sabah and I knew I was in for an adventure.

 Going up: Hiking Mt. Kinabalu

As an avid hiker and lover of mountains, the 4100 metre tall Mt. Kinabalu was the ideal first destination. The cost of climbing Mt. Kinabalu is on the expensive side, as a result of the regulation that you  must be accompanied by a guide. Fortunately, I met up with two Canadian girls at my hostel that I was able to share a guide with in order to reduce my costs.

The first ascent to 3272 meters from 1800 meters was challenging but not impossible and thankfully, stairs, my least favourite part of hiking was kept to a minimum. The hike was filled with lush greenery, exotic flowers, picturesque views and sheer hiking beauty.

The ascent to the summit began at the absurd hour of two am. We struggled up the steep slippery steps in the freezing cold. The scariest part was the jagged steep rocks, in which the only way up was to cling to a rope with frozen fingers and haul yourself up the mountain. We finally reached the final check point but due to the deteriorating weather conditions we were unable to reach  the summit and were forced to retreat at 3368 metres.

Hanging with my cousins

Although I am fearful of monkeys, I am intrigued and unafraid of orangutans. Perhaps it’s because they share 96% DNA with humans or you can see the intelligence in their eyes or the fact that they appear docile. The best place to see them up close and personal is the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre. Unlike a zoo, the sanctuary re-introduces captured and sick orangutans back into the wild. There are two feeding times to observe the orangutans from a platform about 300 metres away. The afternoon feeding was much better attended by the orangutans as they entertained their audience with gymnastic-style antics and fighting over the food. As we were headed back, one mischievous orangutan plopped himself on the handrails a mere few feet away from  us.

Wildlife, Mosquitos and Uncle Tan

With a small taste of wildlife from the orangutan sanctuary, I was eager to see more. I headed to the protected region of Kinabatangan through Uncle Tan. As it was nearing the end of tourist season in Borneo, there were only four of us. We headed out into the wilderness via boat where we were immediately met by long-tailed macaque monkeys, crocodiles and various species of birds.

The accommodations were primitive but added to the rustic atmosphere, although going to the bathroom in the middle of the night was an adventure in itself; located five minutes away, you had to endure a rickety narrow bridge with a murky swamp underneath and hope you did not lose your footing.

The day safaris alternated between boat trips and trekking through the dense forest surrounding the camp. We were treated to proboscis monkeys, baby crocodiles, a variety of different birds, insects and trees and what seemed like thousands of long-tailed macaque monkeys. The night safaris were a tad frightening as it was pitch-black and all you could see where the glow of the hidden creature’s eyes, not to mention a host of fire ants that attacked our legs and quickly lived up to their name.

 

 

The RAINforest of Korea

I have never been to Hawaii, but Jeju is what I would imagine it would be like: volcanoes, tropical, beaches for days and an island vibe. Loaded down with fantastic ideas from Journey Count’s book, I made my last pit stop in Korea, the island of Jeju.

Much like the rest of Korea, Jeju has spectacular public transportation but unlike mainland Korea, tourism is one of their primary sources of income and the buses cater to the major tourist attractions. My first stop on the circuit was the Manjuggal Caves, a thirty minute sweat drenched walk from the bus stop. While the cool air of the caves was welcoming, the caves were less then thrilling and certainly not a must-see.

Luckily, the next stop turned out to be my favourite location in Jeju. Seongsan Ichulbong, a volcanic crater juts out magnificently into the sea. I walked along the surrounding deserted black sand beach and pitched my tent on a grassy knoll as I was concerned about the tide before tucking into my kimbap and fruit as I watched the sun disappear.

Thankfully, it didn’t rain in the night, as my tent is not waterproof, although I cannot say as much for the rest of my journey. My wake-up call came at the ridiculous hour of three am. Although I took my backpack, I left my tent flapping in the wind, hoping it would still be there when I got back. I waited until four am at the entrance of Seongsan Ichulbong to climb up for sunrise but it remained empty, dark and silent. Eventually, one of the famous female Jeju divers came along with giant bulging bags and I helped her carry them down to the diving area, when I saw people climbing up and decided to join them regardless if the place was open or not. It was a quick twenty-minute climb up and the sunrise was not the most beautiful but it was a beautiful moment.

I treated myself to a Jeju speciality for breakfast, abalone hot stone seafood soup with a plethora of sides, more than enough for only one person. The waiter instructed me on how to properly eat the soup and was overjoyed when I asked for chopsticks in place of the fork he produced.

Before heading to the big city of Seogwipo, I took a dip in the freezing cold ocean just as the army showed up to clean-up the beach. They stared and seemed stunned by the insane girl happily basking in the sea. They insisted upon taking pictures with me, which in Korea is a normal occurrence and I have become accustomed to.

My main purpose for my visit to Jeju was to climb the highest mountain in Korea, Hallasan. Therefore, another early wake-up call was in order. I hiked in a full-on monsoon and struggled with the wet and slippery ground as the wind whipped and the rain drenched me. At the last shelter before ascending to the top, we were told to wait as they were unsure of whether it was viable to hike the entire way up as a result of the weather. After a hot ramyeon we were given the okay to keep going. At 1,950 meters the peak was completely socked in and all I saw was fog, but it was still worth the effort, after all I had conquered the highest peak in Korea.

As a chocolate lover, I had heard the second largest chocolate museum in the world was located in Jeju. Of course, I had to try it out and was interested to see how it compared to Swiss and Belgian chocolate. Unfortunately, said chocolate museum was located in the middle of nowhere and as I have a blessing (or curse) of falling asleep on buses I managed to miss my stop twice. Despite, these speed bumps, I arrived at the castle museum to be treated to a comprehensive history and fun facts about chocolate. They had a small factory where they produced the chocolate but disappointingly no free samples and with the boxes of chocolate starting at $25 a piece I was out of luck and felt I had wasted my time, after all the whole point of a chocolate museum is to eat chocolate, right? But when I retrieved my backpack, the ticket lady handed me a handful of dark chocolate. As I bit into the gooey deliciousness, I knew it had been worth the trip.

 

 

Becoming Japanese

Whenever I travel to a new country, I like to immerse myself in the culture from the customs and traditions to the food, pastime and history. Therefore, after nearly a week exploring Osaka and Kyoto, I was off to Tokyo to spend time with two different Japanese families. I picked up my pre-purchased JR train pass and took the sickeningly fast Shikansan (bullet train) to Tokyo. I attempted to take in the ever-changing landscape at warp speed as the train made its way to the capital city in less than three hours.

Despite the pouring rain, I ventured out of Tokyo Station, an attraction in itself and meandered to the imperial palace. The royal family of Japan still reside at the palace and therefore you cannot see much.

Tokyo Station was overwhelming, between the constant stream of people and the signs pointing in a million different directions, only to stop abruptly. Thankfully, after a few wanders through the station I managed to find the correct train to Tachikawa City to visit my friend Hiroe, whom I met on the agonizing two-day delay in Shanghai on my way back from Vietnam.

At her parent’s cosy house in the countryside, I was treated to a mouth-watering dinner of homemade sushi along with a variety of Japanese side dishes. I learnt how to make sushi the traditional way: spread rice on top of the seaweed along with a leaf reminiscent of basil, add some minced cucumbers and your choice of fish and a dab of wasabi before dipping it in soy sauce.

The next item on my Japanese experience was a traditional Japanese bath. I asked if I could have a shower but Hiroe’s mother insisted on drawing me a hot bath. The Japanese bath is short and extremely deep, so deep that I nearly fell over as I didn’t realize how far down the tub actually went. I cannot remember the last time I had a bath, maybe when I was about four; nonetheless it was an invigorating and relaxing experience.

The night ended with a lesson on how to properly wear the kimono and tie the obi (the sash). Hiroe and her mother also changed into their kimonos and her father conducted an impromptu fashion shoot. It was lovely to be inducted into the family to truly experience Japanese culture.

I capped off my short time in Tachikawa City with a visit to their local temple, a quiet and serene place and a nice change from the hordes of tourists that crowd the temples in Kyoto.

For our day in Tokyo, Hiroe and I changed into our kimonos, as I had become fond of wearing the kimono. We hit up the usual tourist spots starting with Harajaku to view the infamous Harajuku girls and wander down Takeshita Street, which I mistook for take a s**t street, which Hiroe found hilarious, clearly I have a mature sense of humour.

In Shibuya, the area of the famous scramble crossing, I was interviewed by a local television station, because I was a foreigner dressed in a kimono. The translator was extremely nervous and was relieved once my fifteen minutes of fame were up.

The most bizarre experience was the maid café. I wanted to experience it Japanese style, so instead of heading to the English/foreigner floor we went to the Japanese section. You are obliged to pay a cover and are given a list of rules: do not touch the maids, which judging by the amount of single men in the café I understood,  and you cannot take pictures of the maids but are given a polaroid at the end with them. Being the only foreigner in the Japanese section, the maids gushed over me and kept dropping by our table to practice their English. My coffee came with a kawaii (cute) panda drawn on top in chocolate sauce. Before we could enjoy our drinks, we were instructed to make a heart shape with our hand and say “muy, muy, kun,” which is Japanese baby speak for cute.

Prior to meeting my next Japanese family, I raced around Tokyo, taking a heart-inducing elevator to the top of the old Tokyo tower to be met with a spectacular view of Tokyo. My final stop was the old town of Asakusa, to reveal in Tokyo’s oldest temple, the bustling Senso-ji.

I managed to make my way to the Tokyo suburb of Yokohama to meet Tomoko, an exchange student that my grandparents had hosted in Canada. Along with her husband and two children, we ate a traditional Japanese dinner that is typically eaten in winter and is similar to the Korean dish bulgogi jungol (beef stew). As a result of the holiday, we headed to the local festival in their neighbourhood clad in our kimonos to dance to traditional Japanese music, play carnival games and watch a dazzlingly display of fireworks.

At the end of my two-week vacation, I felt I had truly experienced the real Japan and I cannot wait to wear my kimono again.

 

 

 

 

Falling in Love with Japan

Prior to the end of my teaching contract in Korea, I travelled to kimono country for my summer vacation. Conveniently located an hour and half plane ride away, we had barely taken off before I landed in hot and humid Osaka, Japan. On the plane I met three fellow Canadian English teachers, whom were travelling with a German and they generously offered to let me tag along.

 We ventured out into the heart of Osaka and went for a delicious meal of sushi that has thoroughly ruined my opinion of all other sushi in the world. The food in general in Japan, was delectable and I never had a bad meal.

A favourite pastime of the Japanese is the arcades, a dizzying display of glaring lights and blaring noises and a constant gaggle of boys spending hours perfecting their favourite games. As someone who did not grow up on video games nor had any interest in them, I found the games difficult and despite playing sports my entire life, the hand and eye coordination required for arcade games is a whole different ballgame.

We ended our night at a nearby 7-Eleven for a late-night snack. The 7-Eleven stores in Japan are gourmet and have an array of food, snacks and drinks that one would not normally find in any other convenience store. However, we quickly made a faux pas, when one of my friends began eating her purchased snack inside the store, a typical custom in Korea. But not so much in Japan. The woman behind the counter started to freak out and kept yelling, “rude, rude in Japan!” By her response, it was as if we had spat in her face. Bewildered, we retreated into the street, laughing and shaking our heads over her reaction. I have read my Japan Lonely Planet guidebook cover to cover and have never come across this rule. Nonetheless we learned our lesson and never ate in another convenience store in Japan.

Our first full day in Osaka began with a delicious breakfast of udon noodles and a trip to the owner’s home for coffee and a tour of his spacious apartment.

Despite the rain we ventured to Osaka castle and capped off the night at a traditional sake bar. We tried a variety of sake, of which the names escape me, but warm sake was far better than the cold variety.

I fell completely and madly in love with our next destination, Kyoto, the cultural epicentre of Japan. Unfortunately, we ended up going the wrong way on the train which none of us noticed for a good thirty minutes. Once we realized our mistake, we had to ride the train back to Osaka and hop on a different train, thankfully going the right way.

The five of us split up and three of us headed to a kimono shop to be outfitted in the traditional Japanese clothing. Since it was O-Bon, a week-long festival to honour one’s ancestors, many people were also wearing their kimonos. We took our kimono-clad self’s for a magical night at Nijo Castle. We were given a slip of paper to write our wish and hang on a tree before being treated to a special light show projected onto the castle.

Kyoto was filled with days of temple and shrine-hopping. From Kinkaku-ji (the golden pavilion) with a stunning garden and lake, not to mention all that gold to Kiyomozu temple that offered a stunning view of the entire city. But the most spectacular was Fushimi Inari Shrine. It was a sweaty humid walk up, but well worth it to watch the sunset at the top and walk through the seemingly glowing bright orange arches.

 

Goodbye Korea, Hello Four Months of Travelling

My year as a native English teacher in South Korea has come to an end. It has flown by and has been a fantastic year filled with new experiences and opportunities, fabulous new friends, plenty of travelling and of course a few challenges. I have gotten to know Korea so intimately and feel I have explored every nook and cranny of this kind country. I have conquered seven national parks, four provincial ones and countless other mountains. I have explored from east to west, north to south and everything in-between. Despite the obstacles of living in rural Korea, the town of ALL the garlic, my Korean hometown of Uiseong will be sorely missed.

  These are a few things that I will miss the most about kimchi land:

1) The transportation. Having grown up in the enormous county of Canada, that lacks adequate public transportation in terms of price and availability, it was a welcome change to have public transportation readily available, even in the tiniest of towns. Not to mention, the buses, trains and subways are reasonably priced and extremely reliable, comfortable and clean.

2) The people. Koreans have proven themselves to be the  kindest people. Throughout my travels in Korea, Koreans have continuously gone out of their way to lend a helping hand and to ensure I got the best possible experience in their country.

3) The mountains. It’s no secret that I have a love affair with mountains and evident from this blog, I love to hike.  Gusan (Nine Hills) in my town of Uiseong will be greatly missed, as it is the mountain I have climbed consistently three to four times a week, at least. My favourite mountain and hike in Korea remains Cheongnyangsan, on the outskirts of Andong due to the spectacular fall foliage. The other mountains I have hiked had magnificent views, charming rustic temples, shrines and statues and have given me some incredible weekends!

4) The safety. Korea is by far the safest country I have ever been to. If you leave your phone in a coffee shop in Seoul, no problem, an hour later it will still be there. If you leave your wallet on the bus bench, no worries, it will find its way back to you with everything intact.

5) The friendships. I have made a few Korean friends in Uiseong from hiking Gusan (Nine Hills) and giving impromptu English lessons at my bus stop. But the foreigner friends I have made in Korea will last a lifetime, sappy I know. The foreigners in Uiseong became my family in Korea. We celebrated Thanksgiving, Christmas and birthdays, complained about our respective jobs, went hiking and camping and spent some memorable weekdays and weekends together. My wonderful roommate from orientation, who was my first friend in Korea and has been my constant hiking and travelling companion and has made me grateful, for the first time, for a random roommate. My Busan friends from orientation, who have always invited me to stay with them and have made Busan my favourite Korean city. In addition to other lovely people I have met from Daegu to Andong to Yeongdoek to Seoul.  

This is the end of Kickin’ it in Korea, but now I will be Wandering the World for the next four months from Japan to Korea’s Hawaii to Borneo-Malaysia to Nepal and India; so stay tuned for more adventure stories!