The Lost Girls

Crash and Learn: Part 2

hollycassandra — Mon, 9 Jul 2007 20:39:00 GMT

Jen: After spending two full days lapping up the luxury and relaxing atmosphere at The Golden Door Spa, I had almost forgotten about the fact that I’d kinda, sorta damaged our van just a teensy, weensy bit. That was until we were forced to drag our dirty backpacks out of our lovely world of tranquility back to a less friendly reality where the roof of our World Nomads loaner mobile was practically touching the steering wheel. Oh yeah, now I remember…my life pretty much sucked right now! Not only was my stomach doing flip flops at the thought of explaining my completely ridiculous display of driving to the car rental company in just a few hours, but the additional repercussions of my little mishap were beginning to pile up (oh you just wait, I’m full of witty car accident puns!). The biggest problem being that Holly’s sister was arriving tomorrow and we’d planned to pick her up at the airport and head straight up the coast to Byron Bay. Not only had had I destroyed our only form of transportation, but I’d put a serious dent (see, I told you!) in fabulous our road trip. But as I’d soon discover, the good-natured, ‘no worries’ attitude that most Aussies possessed was about to save The Lost Girls’ trip from further damage (yeah, I’m that good!).

After a tense, three hour ride back to the city, we pulled the van into the body repair shop and sheepishly slinked out, prepared to face the wrath of Auto Barn’s employees. But before I could spew out my long list of pre-conceived apologies and self-deprecating slurs, I was shocked into silence as the body shop manager, Phil, raised his eyebrow, laughed and said, “Hmm, yeah, you certainly did a bang up job here!” (Alright, he might not have actually used the word bang, but I couldn’t resist adding to my repertoire of clever puns!). But he did say, and I quote, “Well, you’re not the first World Nomads Ambassadors to get into an accident, but you certainly did the best at it!” Maybe I was still in a bit of shock over not getting reamed out, but it seemed as if the wonderful folks at Auto Barn were taking my accident in stride. As further proof, their main Marketing man, Chris Ford, who Amanda, Holly and I had met when we first picked up the van, grabbed me in a big bear hug and reassured me that accidents happen, everything would be OK and absolutely not to let it taint our trip at all, especially since we were in the final weeks of our year abroad. Well, if you put it that way!

Of course, there was still the slight dilemma of having to pick Holly’s sister up at the airport and getting up the east coast of Australia with no transportation to our names. Once again, our new best friends at Auto Barn came to our rescue. After a quick conversation with our reps at World Nomads (who were also seriously cool about the accident and wanted us to continue to represent their company as ambassadors), they got permission to give us a station wagon at no charge, so we could continue traveling. As if that wasn’t enough, Chris placed some calls to a few friends and managed to hook us up with lessons and accommodations at the coolest surf school on the east coast (see Amanda’s "Finding Our Mojo" blog, posted on 6/29, for all the juicy details) and a private dorm room at the YHA hostel in Byron Bay – all for a grand total of zero dollars and zero cents.

Now, I have absolutely no clue how, in spite of my best efforts to wreck our itinerary (sorry, couldn’t resist one more pun!), us crazy Lost Girls managed to get so supremely lucky - yet again! But here’s what I do know, which I pass on to you, dear blog readers:

1. Don’t ever leave the country without an insurance policy from World Nomads (www.worldnomads.com). I mean, I crashed their van and they still love us! I think! :)

2. If you need some wheels in OZ, don't even think about renting from any company other than Traveller’s Auto Barn (www.travellers-autobarn.com).

3. Low clearance signs are about as popular Down Under as Foster’s beer.

4. While the fiber glass roof on a standard camper vans can't be banged/pushed/shoved or coerced back into place like metal can (trust me, I tried), it does provide a nice, clean base for masking tape should you happen to rip a few holes in it.

5. If you accidentally drive under an awning that’s just a tad too short, Duck! Then blame the dent on a rogue kangaroo. Trust me! It makes for a much better story!

- - - Jen

For more fun, crash fodder, check out the video clip of our visit to Auto Barn!

Crash and Learn: Part 1

hollycassandra — Sat, 7 Jul 2007 22:28:00 GMT

Jen: All you loyal readers out there can attest to the fact that unbelievable luck seems to follow in Holly, Amanda and my footsteps throughout our round-the-world journey. For those of you just tuning in to our blog, allow me to recap. During our travels, The Lost Girls have managed to:

1. Convince the Brazilian embassy to put a special ‘rush order’ on our visa applications to get them back a few hours later (we didn’t realize they’d have to keep our passports which we desperately needed for a flight the next day!) 2. Foil the dastardly plans of two pickpockets / bag slashers (I kicked the guy who razored my purse in Thailand and Holly faced her Vietnamese assailant head on, scaring her away before she could steal anything) 3. Persuade (a.k.a. bribe with cash) the Cambodian border patrol that it was OK for them to place our visas on the last page of our passport (where stamps aren’t officially allowed) so we could get into the country. 4. Avoid any major illnesses despite eating street food and brushing our teeth with tap water in Kenya, India and throughout S.E. Asia. 5. Secure a countless number of hostels, trains, planes, tours, etc. when we were told it was impossible during the high tourist seasons in which we were visiting a particular country or region. And these are just to name a few!

We always joked that one day our good fortune was bound to run out, but with only a couple weeks left in our year-long trip, it looked like we were in the clear. Well, that’s what we thought anyway. As fate would have it, a road trip to Hunter Valley, Australia’s renowned wine region, would cause all our confidence to come crashing down on us – literally! Our tale of woe begins innocently enough…

It was a bright, beautiful morning in the vineyards as three cute, little Lost Girls cruised happily along in their psychedelic, pimped-out World Nomads’ camper van. The sun was shining, birds were singing, locals greeted one another with huge smiles and “G’Day Mate’s”, dingos realized the error of their ways and returned stolen babies! As if life wasn’t perfect enough already, the girls and I were headed to the area’s most luxurious and swanky spas, The Golden Door, where we’d scored a complimentary two-night stay complete with meals, exercise classes and massages. No sleeping head to toe in the van bunk beds tonight! Anyway, I digress. Back to the story:

I was driving through one of the vast vineyard/restaurant/resort properties that spotted Hunter Valley when I got a little turned around. “How the heck do I get out of here?” I asked Holly and Amanda. “Oh wait, never mind. I see,” I exclaimed as I realized all I had to do was simply follow the gravel road around the front of the nearby hotel and out the gate. “La la la la la. La la la la la. La la la la la la,” I whistled as I shifted into second, preparing to cruise gently under the charming, wooden awning of the lodge.

CRASH, BOOM, SHUDDER, SHAKE, SPLINTER, CRACK!!!!

(Repeat a few dozen times)

Oh, my God! The entire roof – and our picture perfect day – was caving in on us! As Holly and Amanda screamed and covered their eyes with their hands, I gripped tightly to the wheel, trying to keep the shaking van straight and praying we’d come out the other side in one piece. Huge chunks of wood rained down on the vehicle as shards of fiber glass floated down on our heads like snow. In that instant, the sun went behind the clouds, the birds stopped singing, locals’ grins morphed into horrified frowns and the dingos started stealing babies again, as I realized that I’d royally destroyed our only mode of transportation – and our perfect Lost Girls Luck record!

As the sawdust cleared, I managed to pull myself together long enough to turn the van off and slide out the door in a pool of shame as the hotel owner came running outside to confront the crazy American girl who’d defaced her property. Maybe it was my shocked expression or sputtering series of “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. Oh my God,” but she immediately took pity on us, asking if we were OK and trying to make us feel better with a “It’s OK. It could happen to anyone. Don’t worry about it!” pep talk. Since I was bordering on catatonic, Amanda took charge and followed the owner inside to exchange contact information. Sensing that I was in no shape to get back behind the wheel, Holly hopped in the driver’s seat and steered us away from the scene of my crime and back onto the main road.

We’d only gone a few miles, when visions of hundreds of dollars in deductibles and the shame of telling World Nomads we’d completely f@%ked up their van started tormenting me and a panic attack set it. “Stop the car!” I shouted. “I’m freaking out!” Holly and Amanda did their best to calm me down by reminding me that worse case, we were only responsible were $400 dollars, that this story would add flavor to our reign as World Nomads Ambassadors and that one day I’d look back at it and laugh. With a roof so severely dented it practically brushed our heads and slits of sunlight shining through gaping holes of ripped fiber glass, I found it hard to find the humor of the situation at that moment, but I appreciated the support of my fellow Lost Girls.

While I knew it would take a little time for me to feel better about my unfortunate and completely foolish accident (I mean, I freakin’ drove under an awning that was about, oh, 6” too short!), I didn’t want my stupid mistake to completely ruin our road trip. After all, we had a fabulous 2-day spa vacation to look forward (thank God, cause we sure as heck couldn’t sleep in the van now!) As we pulled our freshly-crunched vehicle into the parking lot of The Golden Door (‘hiding’ it in the furthest spot), I realized that good luck hadn’t completely abandoned us. I mean, what are the chances that the one time we get into a car accident happened to be the same day we magically scored a free stay at a five-star facility? Maybe all hope isn’t lost – even if Holly, Amanda and I are!

Stay tuned for our continued crash saga as we return to Sydney to face the music and the folks at Auto Barn!

Hunter Valley: A Hedonist's Playground

hollycassandra — Wed, 4 Jul 2007 20:48:00 GMT

HCC: There’s a lot more to Oz than the sunburned outback and endless beaches. When my fellow Lost Girls and I heard about the rolling vineyards, gourmet restaurants and relaxing spas that were to be found in Hunter Valley, we refilled the oil in our camper van (we learned our lesson!) and hit the road. Located just about three hours from Sydney, Hunter Valley sounded like the perfect place to recharge without having to waste too much of our dwindling vacation time behind the wheel.

It turned out to be a pretty big region encompassing lots of towns, so we decided to stop in Singleton for the night because it had a campground with powered sites. It was here that I met Makalah, a permanent trailer park resident who introduced herself to me in the bathroom. When I mentioned that we were on our way to visit the Singleton Information Center to figure out which wineries to visit, she laughed out loud. “The Information Center is about as useful as tits on a bull!” I felt like a silly tourist, which, of course, I am. But we decided to hit up the bigger Hunter Valley Information Center anyway, which was only a twenty-minute drive.

I can’t speak for the Singleton Tourist Information Center, but most of the ones we’ve visited in Oz have been lifesavers. The large one in Hunter Valley was stocked with maps and the staff even guided us in drafting an itinerary for the next four days, including wine school, food tastings and hot air balloon rides. Information is more than power—having it on a road trip makes everything more manageable.

It’s no secret that The Lost Girls live to eat, and Hunter Valley turned out to be a foodie haven. We were overwhelmed with the possibilities: There was the Hunter Valley Smelly Cheese Factory, Hunter Valley Olive Centre and Hunter Valley Coffee School. Worried that our tummies wouldn’t be able to handle all these yummy delights, we opted to simply satisfy our sweet tooth and drove over to the Hunter Valley Chocolate Factory.

I witnessed the girls’ eyes light up and then glaze over in anticipation as we examined the endless mounds of confectionary creations arranged in neat piles behind the glass display cases. I sampled chocolate-covered caramel frogs, rocky-road fudge and chocolate-dipped marshmallows. Then I tasted Jen’s toffee-filled treats and Amanda’s mango-mousse covered chocolate. Dieters beware: This is not a place to come if you’re counting calories, so it’s best to give yourself a break. I’m over dieting because it makes me bitchy. Chocolate, on the other hand, makes me very, very happy.

Rising before dawn, on the other hand, does not make us happy. But the next morning we did just that because we had the chance of a lifetime: To get a bird’s eye view of the sunrise over the valley. We signed up for a hot air balloon ride at Balloon Aloft that required us to meet our group at 5:30 a.m.

When we arrived, we were asked to fill out the mandatory safety forms and then sat around sipping steamy coffee and watching kangaroos have a boxing match in the grassy field that stretched out in front of us. By 7:30 a.m., the sun had risen, but our hot air balloon had not. Our guide ended up canceling the ride due to windy weather. We were bummed, but figured it was better to be safe than sorry (we made it this far around the world and would rather not have to report to our parents that we’d been involved in a hot air balloon crash).

We had the whole day ahead of us and made our next stop the Hunter Valley Wine School. Yes, they are opened for wine tasting at the ripe hour of 9:30 a.m. The Lost Girls became wine connoisseurs! Well, not really, but we graduated and each got our own certificate. Our teacher instructed us to wear these hardhats (even though we’re hardheaded enough) for a tour of the winery to watch just how vino is made. Then we sat down inside the wine bar and got to sample the goods.

Hunter Valley is known for four types of wine: Semillon (a light, dry white), Verdelho (a fruity white), Chardonnay (a full-bodied white that can be tart) and Shiraz (a spicy red). Though there are around 140 boutique wineries in Hunter Valley, we were disappointed to learn that we couldn’t buy many of the bottles in the States since the smaller ones don’t produce enough wine to export.

We walked out of there giggling like little schoolgirls. Seriously, how the heck did we get so lucky as to be able to spend our days tasting chocolate, sipping wine and watching kangaroos at sunrise?! However, our high soon became a low when our perfect road trip took a turn for the worse. Stay tuned for Jen’s story about how it all went sour…

- - - Holly

A Fine Day for the Opera (House)

hollycassandra — Mon, 2 Jul 2007 10:41:00 GMT

ADP: Last week, we learned that the Sydney Opera House just received official recognition as one of the most fabulous places on the planet, earning a coveted spot on the UNESCO World Heritage List (an honor it shares with such international treasures as the Taj Mahal, the Egyptian Pyramids and the Great Wall of China). Not bad for a building conceived just 50 years ago by Danish architect Jørn Utzon and finished in 1973…it's the youngest cultural site ever to be included on the World Heritage List.

As must-see, cultural important destinations go, this one certainly lives up to all the hype—few manmade structures thrill the soul quite the Sydney Opera House. I challenge anyone to stand along the waterfront at Circular Quay, spot the gravity-defying white “sails” billowing against a cloudless blue sky and not feel at least a little moved. It might have cost the city $102 million dollars to build (money they originally tried to re-coup selling kisses with singers on the Opera House steps!) but the end result was—and still is—spectacular.

I must admit, Jen, Holly and I felt pretty jazzed when we received an invitation to visit the Opera House and learn more about its soon-to-be launched "Essential Tour," an interactive program kicking off in August 2007. Trying not to sound too excited about having an excuse to dress up and act civilized, we responded “yes,” and started planning which martinis we’d order at the al fresco Opera Bar later that afternoon.

Splurging on a cab down to the harbor (mustn’t ruin our one and only pair of heels), we headed past the box office to meet up with Steven and Megan, our dedicated guides for the one-hour tour.

Once we’d all made introductions, our little quintet set off on a journey underneath the Opera House, passing through the quiet subterranean corridors that lead to each of the different dramatic venues. Each year, we learned, 1.5 million patrons catch 1,500 different shows on those five unique stages--making the Opera House one of the most active performing arts venue in the world.

Our first stop was the experimental theater known as The Studio, an abstract venue where you can check out that sort of edgy, avant-garde stuff that’s so weird and disconcerting, its entertaining. Tickets to most shows are only about $20, so it’s a great way for the young and the budget-conscious to “go to the Opera” without going broke.

Next, we took a peek at The Playhouse, a cozy 398-seat theater venue originally used for screening popular surfing movies (how very Aussie!) and now host to an eclectic menagerie of dance, comedy and classical theater performances.

From there our group moved onto the midsized Drama Theater, where Megan let us sit down so she could share a bit of the history behind the Opera House. She explained that in the 1950s, the city of Sydney held an open competition for the design of a new concert hall and opera theater. After much deliberation, Jørn Utzon’s revolutionary concept was plucked from the reject pile and it went on win the competition. The finished performance venue took 14 years to build (and went over its allotted budget by 95 million dollars!) but it was definitely worth the cash—and the wait!

When most people think of attending a fabulous performance at the Sydney Opera House, they’re probably imagining a night in the 1,500-seat Opera Theatre—it’s the venue that The Australian Ballet, The Sydney Dance Company and Opera Australia all call home. Compared to the ultra-ornate Teatro Colon in Buenos Aires or the Paris Opera House, the Opera Theater is streamlined and spartan. But don’t confuse that with boring: the understated simplicity places the focus where is should be—on the performers.

But the real jewel in the Opera House crown has to be the voluminous 2,679-seat Concert Hall, a gorgeous rose and cream-shaded space that somehow made me feel that I was sitting inside an enormous conch shell….and what a finely tuned shell it is. Since there’s no place to hide theatrical sets or for actors to run off to change, the venue is used almost exclusively for musical performances and concerts by the Sydney Symphony, Australian Chamber Orchestra and the Sydney Philharmonia Choirs, among others.

But before I could give the Concert Hall too much respect as a sacred musical space, Megan informed us that it was on this very stage that Arnold Schwarzenegger won his final Mr. Olympia body building title in 1980, and where the most recent Australian Idol was announced. Nice.

Our tour wrapped up with a quick tour around exterior of the building, where Steven shared that not only were the sparkling white roof tiles self cleaning, but one could, theoretically, park eight Boeing 747s, wing to wing on the Opera House site. He seemed to be such a wealth of knowledge that I asked him exactly how many of those self-cleaning tiles were on the roof of the building.

Ummm…..

(The answer, retrieved later from the Opera House press packet): 1,056,006

We decided to cut Steven a little slack because he was cute...and the tour was free.

To learn more about the Opera House or to book a space on one of its tours, visit www.sydneyoperahouse.com.

Finding our Mojo

hollycassandra — Sat, 30 Jun 2007 03:36:00 GMT

ADP: Even before Jen, Holly and I had set foot on Australian soil, we figured we had a pretty solid grasp on life "Down Under." Thanks to some quality American television shows, classic 80s movies and even a few cool advertising campaigns, we'd already gleaned several critical bits of information and pop culture knowledge sure to help us fit in with the locals once we reached the land of Oz. For example:

1. When Aussies really want to tie one on, they tap a keg of Fosters (hey, its Australian for beer, right?)

2. When Aussies get hungry, they throw a shrimp on the barbie and fry up a bloomin’ onion.

3. When Aussies want to play with their pets, they head out back and wrestle the family crocodile, Dundee-style.

4. When Aussies need to head to town, they saddle up their pet kangaroo and get hopping (it’s a long way from the Outback into Sydney).

5. When Aussies want to take advantage of the incredible waves crashing right on their doorstep, they slap on a pair of board shorts and go surfing.

Color us sunburned and call us tourists...as we quickly learned from our Sydney-based hostess Simone, these stereotypes are patently untrue! Well, all except for that last one. From Bondi to Byron Bay--and, indeed, along 34,000+ kilometers of Australian coastline--you'll find no shortage of local surfie chicks and dudes who absolutely live to catch waves. And, as luck would have it, no shortage of instructors willing to explain how to get up on a "stick" and "shoot a curl" all the way back to the beach.

Having watched watched Point Break so many times that we could literally embody the soul and spirit of Johnny Utah ("Can't I just walk with this board under my arm and look stoned?") and his guru pal Bodhi ("If you want the ultimate rush, you've gotta be willing to pay the ultimate price"), Jen and I were dying hit the surf.

Holly, who'd already learned how to "shred" in Costa Rica the previous year, was just as pumped to continue her education and told us about a school she'd heard of called Mojo Surf, which offered organized surf camps just a few hours north of Sydney. Since Hol's little sister Kate would be arriving from Syracuse the following week, we figured a little road-trip was in order and booked a three-day, two-night adventure at a secluded coastal area known only as "Secret Spot X."

Well, in the end, the "short little drive" actually took us about eight hours (stereotype alert: Like Texans, Aussie's are notoriously bad about estimating distances), and we had to find this top-secret beach in a cloak of darkness. Waking with the sun the next morning (not voluntarily, of course), we realized that our long drive had been well worth the trouble. Secret Spot X lived up to its name--we were perched along the far end of a wide crescent of sand that curved around the rugged coast for miles. Squinting into the distance, I couldn't spot a single resort, trendy cafe, sandwich shop or souvenir stand. Only sand, sun and perfectly breaking waves.

If there was better place to learn to surf, I couldn't imagine it.

The first part of our lesson took part on dry land, where we met with our quirky-but-kinda-hot instructor Dan and learned a little terminology (rails = the side of the surfboard), a little theory (waves are caused by squalls that form way out at sea) and a few random rules (if you pee in your wetsuit, you'll be forced to streak naked through the camp). Mental note: "wettie warmers" are only okay in scuba diving, not surfing!

Working together to lift the heavy, ultra-long beginner boards (made of a sturdy foam rather than hard fiberglass), the five students in our little class marched down to the beach and got a thorough lesson in getting up on the board....a procedure that I noted was a bit different from what Tyler had taught Johnny Utah in Point Break. Trying to keep an open mind, I listened to Dan's instructions as we repeated the drill over and over again. Finally, he deemed our little group ready to hit the waves.

I'd love to tell you how the other ladies looked when they succeeding in riding their first wave, but I must admit I was totally, completely consumed with catching my own. After paddling out past the break, I turned the board around towards the shore and looked behind me to spot a wave that would be big enough to provide some forward momentum (but not so big that I'd get clobbered!). After several failed attempts to stand up, I managed to get the hang of the momentum. Paddling hard just in front of a two-foot swell, I felt the board rise up beneath me...time to move! I slowly brought my right foot up into a lunge and carefully (don't fall!) brought brought the othe foot up to meet it, shifting into a bent-kneed, arms-out, crouching-tiger-hidden-dragon kind of position.

Hey, wait...I'm surfing!

I think I was so surprised by this realization that I actually jumped off the board, but something had clicked into place. Catching the next wave was a lot easier, and by the end of day two, I'd figured out how to ride those puppies for five and six seconds at a time. Who's the surf diva now, Cameron Diaz?!

Turning in our boards for the night (and hanging up our pristine, non-peed-in wetsuits to dry), we got changed and prepared for the other great joy of (surf) camping--beers and a bonfire!

The Lost Girls RTW Budget: Part 3

hollycassandra — Wed, 27 Jun 2007 23:17:00 GMT

Meals & Snacks, Intra-Country Travel, Entertainment & Extras and Miscellaneous. Plus Bonus Features!

Jen: OK, faithful budget followers, it’s trivia time on www.lostgirlsworld.com…

What do The Lord of the Rings, Back to the Future, Indiana Jones and The Lost Girls RTW Budget Series have in common?

Blog Readers: “They’re all trilogies that were created by pure and utter geniuses!”

The Lost Girls: “You are absolutely correct!”

Which also means that in addition to your impeccable taste and judge of talent, you’ve probably deduced what today’s blog entry is…all together now!

Blog Readers: “The third and final installment in The Lost Girls RTW Budget Series”

The Lost Girls: “Right again! We have the smartest audience of any blog ever!”

While Part 3 of our humble, little series may not sweep every Oscar category, require 1.21 gigawatts of electricity or solve the mystery of the Holy Grail, it will, however, brilliantly showcase the precise number of greenbacks The Lost Girls spent on: Meals & Snacks, Intra-country Transportation, Entertainment & Extras and Miscellaneous items. And before the end credits roll, we’ll also delight you with exciting bonus features (I know, anyone could have guessed this all from the blog's subtitle, but wasn't my Q&A so much more fun?!!)

So without further ado, we present:

The Lost Girls RTW Budget: Part 3

Actually, I must ‘ado’ for just a second for the sake of any budget beginners out there (you know who you are!). While I encourage you to scroll down the blog page and check out Part 1 and Part 2 of this series first, if 3 happens to be your lucky number, you don’t have time right now or your boss is starting to get suspicious of your online activities, here’s a quick flashback:

(Average, estimated costs per person (by category) for The Lost Girls RTW Trip)

Flights: $5000

Travel Gear: $500

Visas: $375

Vaccines: $450

Accommodations: $2786

Meals & Snacks: $3803

Intra-Country Transportation: $1490

Entertainment & Extras: $2872

Miscellaneous: $715

And the moment you’ve all been waiting for…

The Grand Total:

$17,991 per person

OK, I’m done ‘ado'ing! Here we go with Part 3…

Meals and Snacks

Average Dollars Drained ($3803): (Average $11.81/day for 322 days: $15/day-Peru, Bolivia, Brazil x 60 days = $900 + $8/day-Kenya x 50 days = $400 + $15/day-Dubai x 6 days = $90 + $8/day-India x 28 days = $224 + $12/day-Thailand-Laos-Vietnam-Cambodia x 77 days = $924 + $10/day – Bali x 14 days = $140 + $15/day – New Zealand x 27 days = $405 + $12/day – Australia x 60 days = $720)

LG Creative Cuts:

- - As was the case with most our of budget categories, the fact that we spent about 75% of our time in third world countries was the biggest factor in keeping food costs under control. In most of the places we visited, huge portions or delicious local dishes were available for a few bucks.

- - The girls and I became masters timing our days so we could get away with only two meals and snacks in between. The joy of not having jobs made it possible to sleep in, have a big brunch around 12pm, grab cheap snacks ‘til dinner, then have our second meal around 7pm or 8pm. Since food can be a surprising money sucker, sticking to this schedule helped make it possible for us to eat well within budget.

- - When times were tough, PB&J sandwiches and granola bars were our saviors!

Other Helpful Hints:

- - Follow your Mom’s advice: Share! While most portion sizes abroad do tend to be smaller than those in the States (surprise, surprise, right?) many of the local staples like chicken biryani in India or pan fried noodles in Thailand are automatically super sized (at no extra charge!). So grab a friend or a fellow solo traveler and split a dish for dinner. You’ll save money and still be full.

- - You might be ignoring your Mom’s advice on this one, but give streets eats a chance. It’s a great way to test drive exotic dishes with little financial risk (seriously, we got entire meals for 50 cents). If that thought scares your stomach, take heart in the fact that the girls and I never gotten sick from sampling vendor cuisine (knock on wood) even once during our time abroad. In fact, since the food is cooked fresh right in front you, it’s probably some of the safest on (or in) the market.

- - Make like the hardcore backpackers and prepare your own meals. Hostels worldwide come equipped with kitchens and refrigerator, so hitting the grocery store and cooking at ‘home’ will save you big bucks.

Intra-country transportation

Average Dollars Drained ($1460): (Peru/Bolivia: flights-$200, buses-$50, taxis-$10, boats-$10 = $270 + Brazil: flights-$150, taxis-$50 = $200 + Kenya: trains-$60, matatus (shared vans ) /boda bodas (bicycles)-$25 = $85 + India: trains-$100, taxis/rickshaws-$30 = $140 + U.A.E. (Dubai): taxis-$50 = $50, Thailand: flights-$75, trains-$40, buses/ferries-$25, taxis-$20, skytrain-$30 = $190 + Laos: buses-$25, tuk tuks-$10 = $35 + Cambodia: buses-$30, taxis/motorbikes/bicycles-$15 = $45 + Vietnam: flights-$80, trains-$30, boats-$20, taxis-$15 = $145 + Indonesia: taxis/shared vans/bicycles-$20 + New Zealand: rental car-$230 + Australia (est.): taxis/buses(est.)-$50)

LG Creative Cuts:

- - Clearly, our creative juices weren’t flowing at the beginning as we blew almost $350 on plane tickets during the first two months of the trip alone. The flight to the Amazon in Peru was worth it, but we could have opted for an alternative route for the others. Oh, well, live and learn.

- - After a little bit of practice, we realized the best way to save money was to not worry about how long it took to get somewhere or how uncomfortable it was (we still reserved the right to bitch about, though). So we started taking local buses and trains whenever possible, which saved us loads of money in the long run.

- - Another way we saved was simply by negotiating. In most of the countries we visited, everyone from tour operators to taxi drivers will come down significantly from their original asking price. It’s just the way the game is played, so learning the rules quickly will definitely help your bottom line.

Other Helpful Hints:

- - Other than, don’t visit as many countries as we did, our best advice is to not get too ambitious with your itinerary versus racing around and trying to squeeze in too much. It’s hard not to be excited and want to see everything, but you’ll avoid overspending and burnout if you prioritize your over land commitments and focus on getting to know one region well.

- - Sharing is key when it comes to intra-country transport. Taxi, mini-vans, tours, etc. are all more cost-effective when there’s a group of travelers to split the cost. We paired up with strangers several times to get a better rate into town from the airport or border crossing and by the end of the trip, we’d made new friends.

Entertainment and Extras

Average Dollars Drained ($2872): (Travel Insurance: 1-year policy from World Nomads (www.worldnomads.com) = $500; Peru/Bolivia: Inca Trail-$275, other tours/sites/entry fees-$40, sand boarding/dune buggy-$15, movies/shows-$20, cocktails/happy hours-$75, souvenirs/shopping-$65 = $490 + Brazil: capeoira/dance classes-$25, soccer game-$10, drinks/dancing-$45, souvenirs/shopping-$65 = $145 + Kenya: stargazing-$0, watching a baby calf being born-$0, bootleg DVDs-$10, scuba diving-$60, happy hours at the beach-$50 = $120 + U.A.E. (Dubai): cocktails-$50 = $50 + India: Golden Triangle tour-$100, yoga school-$70, backwater tour-$35, clubs/drinks-$55, souvenirs/shopping-$50 = $310 + Thailand: scuba diving-$115, muay thai boxing match-$15, muay thai classes-$10, beach buckets (liquor/mixer/straws)-$40, massages (3@$8/each)-$24, souvenirs/shopping-$60 = $264 + Laos: 2-day hike/kayak tour-$22, river tubing-$4, massages/reflexology (5@$3/each, 2@$5/each)-$25, souvenirs/shopping-$30 = $81 + Cambodia: Ankor Wat driving tour-$5, Tour of Killing Fields and school - $10, happy hours-$15 souvenirs/shopping-$20 = $50 + Vietnam: Museum entry fee-$3, 4-day tour to Sapa-$75, 2-day tour to Halong Bay-$35, souvenirs/shopping-$40, haircuts-$12, cocktails-$45 = $210 + Indonesia: DVD player/DVDs-$10, day tour of Bali-$15, drinks-$40, massage-$10, shopping/souvenirs-$20 = $95 + New Zealand: Abel Tasman 2-day hike/kayak-$70, bungee jumping-$150, bike tour of vineyards-$25, wine-$20, movies-$15 = $280 + Australia (est.): surf board rental-$12, scuba diving-$90, museums/sites-$30, wine tours-$20, mountain bike rental-$10, boat ride-$15, souvenirs-$25, cocktails-$75= $277)

Creative Cuts:

- - This is the one area where we attempted to be careful, but we just couldn’t help but overspend. When once-in-a-lifetime opportunities like hiking the Inca Trail, scuba diving in Southern Thailand or bungee jumping off the famous Nevis (a 400 foot drop) in New Zealand are thrust in your face on a daily basis, it’s difficult to stay cooped up in a dingy hostel reading a book.

- - Even considering our above admission of semi-reckless spending in this area, in general, we did manage to save a lot of money by simply opting out of activities or slashing all extra-curricular purchases when we noticed our monthly budget was in jeopardy. It sounds simple, but the old drug campaign “Just Say No” really works here.

- - Fortunately for us, there were dozens of free or cheap entertainment options in almost every country we visited. A few of our faves: DIY hikes, exploring local markets, horseback riding, running around town snapping photos, free movie screenings in local cafes (there practically on every corner in backpacker-friendly towns), hitting the beach with a good novel (purchased at a used book store or hostel trading shelf) or catching up on our journals over many cups of coffee – just to name a few!

Other Helpful Hints:

- - It sounds cheesy, but when you visit a country that truly inspires you, sitting on a bench and people watching or hiking to the top of a cliff and soaking in the scenery is often all the entertainment you need.

- - Prioritize! Decide which activities are absolute musts and set aside cash in your budget for them ahead of time. Also, allow a little extra for luxuries; they’ll help keep you sane!

- - Keep a detailed money journal to track how much you’re spending on anything that’s not a necessity. That way you can reel things in if they get out of control.

Miscellaneous

Average Dollars Drained ($715): (internet/communication-$30/month x 11 months=$330 + bank/ATM/credit card fees-$20/month x 11 months = $220, toiletries/personal supplies-$15/month x 11 months = $165)

LG Creative Cuts:

- - We signed up for Skype! It’s an internet based telephone service that allows you to call any number around the world for mere pennies a minute. You’d be surprised how many cafes around the globe cater to Skype users already, meaning they’ve downloaded the program on their computers (you just need to enter your log in and password) and provide headsets. It’s not a perfect system as calls can be patchy if the connection is slow, but in general it works great and definitely cuts communication costs. For more go to www.skype.com.

- - Before we hit the road, we called all of our credit card companies and banks to alert them of our departure and all the countries we planned to visit (we didn’t want them to shut our cards off due to suspected suspicious activity) and also to confirm exactly how much they each charged for international fees. By doing our research, we were able to save by opting to use the card with the cheapest fees, take more cash out at a time if there was a per/transaction ATM fee and using our own branches abroad where available. FYI-If you don’t have a Visa, get one. It’s often the only card taken in certain parts of the world.

- - The girls and I found that buying local brands of toiletries or cheaper imports (Nivea is huge in Peru!) resulted in significant savings in the personal supplies department.

Other Helpful Hints:

- - If you’re traveling with a laptop, type out all your email responses ahead of time before hitting the internet café. You’ll spend less money that way and have a more pleasant experience (connections can be frustratingly slow).

- - Pay cash when you can. Even with ATM fees and conversion rates, you’re probably better off using bills for purchases versus your credit cards. Visa and Mastercard can charge up to 4% on all international fees, with American Express generally coming in around 3%.

- - Learn to live without luxuries. It’s amazing how little you actually need when you’re traveling. All the fancy face washes, masks, scrubs, deep conditioners we swore by back home seemed a bit silly and extraneous on the road (and heavy to store in your backpack). It’s easy to save money in this category simply by pairing down to the basics.

************************************************************************

BONUS FEATURES:

Ok, so If your head isn’t completely spinning from all the random numbers, complex calculations and arbitrary advice above (and in the past two entries), stay tuned for the exciting special features that I promised. 5,4,3,2,1…and action!

Random LG Facts

- - We are not trust fund babies nor do we have sugar daddies.

- - The only people who cared enough to contribute to The Lost Girls travel fund were me, Holly and Amanda.

- - We saved specifically for this trip for a year and a half.

- - International travel has been a priority in all three of our lives since we were old enough to get our first jobs, so we always set aside a portion of our paychecks for that purpose.

- - We were willing to drain our bank accounts, dip into savings and even go into a teeny bit of debt in order to take our big RTW journey. Now, I’m not suggesting that others should necessarily adopt this mentality, but it was definitely a factor in our decision to go nomad for 365 days.

- - We will return to the States with none of the following: jobs, apartments, furniture (it’s all in storage but where the heck would we put it anyway?), health insurance, boyfriends (well, AP and I won’t) or a clue as to what our future brings. Oh well!

Savvy Saving Tips

Before We Left:

- - Had a set amount from our paychecks automatically deposited into savings.

- - Paid more attention to the little costs that add up. Example: bringing a mug of coffee from home rather than paying more to get it from a street vendor saved us about $50/month.

- - Immediately transferred tax returns and bonuses directly into our travel accounts.

- - Sold old clothes, books, furniture and basically all the useless crap we’d accumulated over the years on Ebay. Not only did we pocket a nice chunk of change, we also didn’t have as much stuff to store during our year away.

- - To completely eliminate storage costs, we begged our family and friends to adopt our possessions for the year in exchange for a few exotic souvenirs, a postcard from every country and, most importantly, our undying devotion! They’re so lucky!

- - For months before our departure, we limited our purchases to only essential items like food, rent, and bills and limited luxuries like clothes, taxis, dinners out and high priced cocktails (look hard enough and you can find cheap happy hours even in NYC!)

- - When possible, we picked up extra work writing freelance articles, babysitting and bartending. Good practice for us as these things will probably be our main source of income when we return.

On the Road:

Although we covered several specific ways to save in the above category breakdown, here are a couple other things you can do to stretch your travel dollars:

- - Pick up odd jobs: Hostels looking for help behind the bar, local vineyards in need of extra fruit pickers, a scuba shop searching for a new dive master. If you can fill any of these needs or the dozens more that are out there, you can make money abroad. A lot of people we met had a system going: they’d travel until they run out of funds, stop and work a bit until they earned more and then hit the road again. We’d definitely rank this method at the top of our savvy savings list.

- - Volunteer: While some organizations charge pretty high fees, there are several that provide amazing volunteer opportunities at a reasonable price. And since costs are generally fixed and include food and accommodations, signing up with a reputable program is a great way to see the world on a small budget, while helping to make a difference in the lives of others. We registered for a 1 month program in Kenya through Village Volunteers (www.villagevolunteers.org) and it was one of the most rewarding experiences of our trip. Plus, the money we paid all went directly to assist the organization and the local community where we worked (approximately $950 total, which included fees, meals, lodging, intra-country transport and 1 day safari in the Masai Mara-optional add on).

A Week at Disney World vs. A Week in New Delhi

This little exercise was really just for fun as it doesn’t proof anything particular and the figures are merely rough estimates I gleaned from various websites and/or from my own personal experiences. Still, it just goes to show that even trips to more remote or foreign countries can be just as affordable as many popular domestic destinations. Plus, you get the added advantage of discovering another culture, building a better understanding of how others around the world live and putting your own life in the States in perspective. That's just a Lost Girls opinion, though. Everyone has different tastes and travel personalities, which should be the main considerations when planning a vacation. Though you have to admit, these mock budgets create a pretty compelling case to think globally!

7 Days with Mickey, Minnie and Goofy

- - Airfare and Accommodations: (2) Roundtrip tickets from NYC to Orlando, FL and 7 nights at Disney’s Coronondo Springs Resort (double occupancy) = $1464

- - Meals: Sample menu – Breakfast (continental breakfast at the hotel-$10), Lunch at Casey’s Corner in Magic Kingdom (Hot dog, French fries and a soda-$20), Dinner at Bistro de Paris in Epcot (Asparagus salad, Filet Mignon, crème brulee and a bottle of wine-$40) – All meals estimated $70/day/person x 7 days = $980

- - Rental Car: $39/day x 7 days = $273

- - Park Admission: 4-day pass for 2 people = $450

- - Park Extras: cotton candy/popcorn/hot pretzels/icecream ($5/item x 3 per day x 2 people x 7 days = $210), water/sodas ($3/item x 4 per day x 2 people x 7 days = $168), Space Mountain photo-$35, Mickey ears-($15/pair x 2 people = $30) = $443

- - Additional Activities: 2 movie tickets-Downtown Orlando-$20, Cocktails at Universal Citywalk-$40, 2 tickets to Cirque du Soleil-$150, spa treatment-$80, miniature golf-$25 = $315

Estimated Total - $3925

COMPARED TO:

7 Days with Shiva, Brahma and Vishnu

- - Airfare: (2) Roundtrip tickets from NYC to New Delhi, India = $1900 ($950/person-estimate from Orbitz.com)

- - Accommodations: 4 nights at Sunstar Grand (double occupancy) = $224

(mid-range, 3 star hotel). Note: The remaining 3 nights spent on tour-see below

- - Meals: Sample menu – Breakfast (fresh fruit, toast w/jam, tea/coffee-$3), Lunch (masala dosa, lentils w/rice, papaya lassi-$7), Dinner (cheese stuffed naan, chicken tika masala, wine, dessert-$15) –All meals-estimated $25/day/person x 7 days = $350

- - Local Transportation: Taxi/rickshaws-estimated $5/day x 7 days = $35

- - Golden Triangle Tour: ($100 per person) Includes a personal driver from New Delhi to Agra, 1-night hotel stay w/breakfast-, entry fee and tour of Taj Mahal, personal driver from Agra to Jaipur, 2-nights hotel stay w/breakfast, entry fees to all temples and palaces, personal driver from Jaipur back to New Delhi = $200

(based on an actual tour the girls and I took)

- - Souvenirs/Shopping: Handmade saris-$30, Carved Ganesh statue-$15, marble table top-$45, incense burner-$10, bangles/earrings-$20, sandals-$8, silk skirts-2 for $12 = $140

- - Entertainment/Extras: Shows and site-seeing - $20/day x 7 days-$140 x 2 people = $280, elephant ride for two -$20 = $300

- - Vaccines/medication: Hepatitis A-$52, Typhoid-$55, 3 Larium tablets-$30=$137 x 2 people = $274 (source: recommended vaccines pulled from mdtravelhealth.com)

Estimated Total - $3423

Still not convinced to go international even after my beautiful side by side comparison? OK, fine. But at the very least, promise me that you'll stop and sample a few exotic dishes from the row of ‘foreign countries’ lining Epcot! :)

Happy travels - wherever they may lead you!

Jen

The Lost Girls RTW Budget: Part 2

hollycassandra — Sat, 23 Jun 2007 23:16:00 GMT

Flights, Travel Gear, Visas, Vaccines and Acccommodations

Jen: I hope all you readers out there enjoyed Part 1 of The Lost Girls RTW Budget series, which I posted a few days ago. If you’ve been waiting with bated breath for Part 2 (as I know you have!), wait no longer. Today’s entry will reveal the exact dollars drained from our first five budget categories: flights, travel gear, visas, vaccines and accommodations, as well as offer LG creative cuts and other helpful hints for each.

If you’re tuning in for the first time and have no clue what I’m talking about, I’ve included a quick recap below of what you missed. However, to get the full effect of my wit, charm and uncanny ability to manipulate a calculator, I highly recommend scrolling down to my May 4th entry and starting from the budget's humble beginning! :)

Highlights from Part 1: Showin’ You The Money!

After noticing that questions like “How the heck did The Lost Girls afford to hit the road for so long?” and “How much did they spend for the entire year?” were frequently popping up from readers, we attempted to provide answers by laying out our budget, by category, for the entire trip. Here are the average, estimated costs per person that I highlighted in my last entry:

Flights: $5000

Travel Gear: $500

Visas: $375

Vaccines: $450

Accommodations: $2786

Meals and Snacks: $3803

Intra-Country Transportation: $1490

Entertainment & Extras: $2872

Miscellaneous: $715

And the moment you’ve all been waiting for…

The Grand Total:

$17,991 per person

And now, ladies and gentlemen…

Part 2: A Categorical Breakdown

Flights, Travel Gear, Visas, Vaccines and Accommodations

Flights

Total Dollars Drained ($5000): $700 (round trip from N.Y.C to Lima, Peru) + $1000 (one way from NYC to Nairobi) + $2300 (RTW ticket: Nairobi – Dubai (free stop) – Bangalore – Bangkok – Bali (free stop) – Auckland – Sydney (via Christchurch) + $1000 (one way from Sydney to NYC).

LG Creative Cuts:

- - We could have saved a lot of money by cutting out South America, not visiting quite so many countries and/or sticking to one region of the world, but considering our complex itinerary, our trip was still economical thanks to the RTW ticket that we booked through Airtreks (www.airtreks.com)

- - For some reason, adding South America to RTW tickets often results in a large leap in price, as was the case with our itinerary. But we managed to save a few hundred bucks by booking our flight for that portion of the trip separately.

- - We also got ourselves to Africa as we found a great deal on a one-way ticket, which gave us more flexibility on dates (we were swinging through NYC and weren’t sure when we’d need to leave to begin our volunteer program in Kenya). Plus, starting our RTW ticket from Nairobi was a bit more affordable anyway.

Other Helpful Hints:

- - Generally, RTW tickets are the most cost effective way to visit multiple destinations without going over budget. Airtreks.com lets you plot out various routes, provides an instant quote and offers suggestions to save money/get more cities for your buck. So if you’re bored at work one day, hop on their site and see what your dream itinerary would cost. I guarantee you, it’s less than you think!

- - RTW tickets are often cheaper when you leave from Europe vs. the States, so booking a cheap one-way flight to London, for example, and starting your trip there, might save you a considerable amount.

- - Major alliances like One World offer multi-city tickets, so if you have frequent flier points linked to one of their airlines or just want to shop around, there are definitely options.

- - Research! Research! Research! Great deals are everywhere. You just have to look for them and of course book – immediately!

Travel Gear

Total Dollars Drained ($500): $175 Backpack + $75 Hiking shoes, $150 Clothes (windbreaker, hiking pants, thick socks, sports bras, etc.) + $100 Miscellaneous (water bottle, bug spray, first aid kit, medicine, flashlight, etc.)

LG Creative Cuts:

- - Like big girls are supposed to do, we learned to share! Fortunately we had each other to travel with and could split the cost of items we didn’t all need to bring (e.g. a universal converter, guidebooks, certain electrons/chargers, etc.)

- - When it came to bigger purchases like backpacks and hiking boots, we used all our resources, buying previously owned items (e.g. Amanda got an awesome pack from a friend for only $75 that was only used once and still in great shape), scouring the stores for sales and getting creative with items we already had in our closets.

- - Although we went a little overboard at the beginning (leaving our country for a year was kind of a big deal for us!), we did our best to limit our pre-trip gear to the essentials knowing that we could stock up again when we were passing through NYC on the way to Kenya or pick stuff up on the road.

Other Helpful Hints:

- - Borrowing gear from family or friends can really help your bottom line. You’d be surprised how many fabulous travel accessories are just collecting dust in people’s attics.

- - Take about ½ as much stuff as you think you need and get the rest on the road. Particularly if you’re traveling for a while, not sure what you’ll need, visiting a country or countries with drastic weather changes or simply don’t feel like paying full price in the States for staple items you can get for much less in many countries (e.g. we picked up 100% alpaca sweaters from a market in Peru for $6)

- - Start off with travel sizes and refill with local brands. We made the mistake of lugging huge supplies of certain items, like contact solution and tampons, with us because we thought they might be impossible to find on the road. All lies! Travel urban legends! Even the most remote villages in the farthest corners of the world are stocked with the essentials. Seriously, we bought an extra converter in Trivandrum, India, toilet paper on the Inca Trail, deodorant in Vang Vieng, Laos and shaving cream in Kitale, Kenya. Some things are more expensive abroad, but more often than not, they’re much cheaper.

Visas

Average Dollars Drained ($375): $100 Brazil + $50 Kenya + $75 India + $20 Cambodia + $70 Vietnam + $35 Laos + $25 Indonesia

LG Creative Cuts:

- - While mapping our itinerary, we researched which countries didn’t require visas, provided them for free (e.g. Thailand) or at a fairly low rate (e.g. Cambodia). That way, when there was a toss up between two options, we could save cash by choosing the cheaper one.

- - We applied for visas along the way versus getting them ahead of time (that wasn’t practical for our type of trip anyway), so if we changed our minds and nixed or switched a country at the last minute, we wouldn’t waste money.

- - As a side note, for those doubters out there, yes, it is possible to get visas as you go (Ex: we got our Brazil visa in Lima, Peru and our Vietnam visa in Bangkok, Thailand)! None of our visas took more than 2-3 days to process and sometimes we even got them the same or next day. Batting your eyelashes, smiling and/or begging also work in a pinch too if you’re really stuck!

Other Helpful Hints:

- - If you do have to pay for a high priced visa, avoid excess processing fees, postage, etc. by visiting the embassy in person vs. mailing away for it and be sure to budget for the cost when planning your trip. A couple less cocktails at the pool and the visa money will barely make a dent!

- - Also, in countries like Laos and Cambodia, where you can get your visa on the way in at border patrol, it helps to have U.S. dollars on hand as you can wind up paying more if you use local currency (For example: At the Laos border, our $35 visa ended up costing close to $42 when we paid in kip.)

- - Be sure to confirm visa requirements ahead of time so there won’t be any unexpected surprises or costly setbacks.

- - This may seem obvious (although it took us LGs by surprise), but the embassies actually keep your passport for the duration of the visa processing. This created a slight problem for us when we applied for our Brazil visa on a Friday in Lima, Peru, had a in-country flight to the Amazon on Saturday (for which you need a passport) and were told our visa wouldn’t be ready until Monday. Thankfully we are fairly savvy girls and managed to get our passports and freshly stamped visas back that same afternoon (see the last sentence of the last bullet in the above LG Creative Cuts if you’re curious how accomplished this feat.)

Vaccines

Average Dollars Drained ($450): (since the type of shots and the price we each paid varied slightly, I’ve adjusted the total number to reflect the average cost per person. In case you’re interested, here are estimated prices (at cost) for the vaccines we got: Hepatitis A ($52), Hepatitis B ($45) (can get Twinrix A/B combo for $78), Meningitis ($96), Yellow fever ($80), Typhoid ($55), Tetanus/Diphtheria ($24). We also spent about $150 on malaria medication since we were in high risk regions for about 4-6 months.

LG Creative Cuts:

- - Other than the obvious – don’t visit countries where you need vaccines - our best money saving advice is to do your research! The price of the same vaccine can vary drastically depending on whether you get it at your doctor’s office, a travel clinic or your county health department. We each shopped around to find the best deal (Hint! That means, getting the vaccines at cost), which saved us almost $50.

- - Since we were going to be in high risk malarial zones for several months, we opted to take Larium as it was only $10/per pill (which covers a week) versus Malarone, which was about 4x the price (and you have to take a pill every day) NOTE: Since we’re definitely not qualified to give medical advice, our best suggestion is to research all options thoroughly and weight the pros and cons of each. Ex: We were warned that Larium had more serious side effects than Malarone, but since saving money was critical for us, we decided to take our chances (and luckily we didn’t have any trouble).

- - We made sure to make the rounds with our all doctors and get all prescriptions filled before our health insurance ran out. I know, this is really specific, but if you plan to quit your job to travel, like we did, it’s a quintessential tip!

Other Helpful Hints:

- - Check with your insurance company first as some vaccines, like tetanus boosters or Hepatitis A, may be included. Most plans will also cover a small supply of malaria medication at the co-pay cost. After that, you’ll need to factor in whether visiting a malarial region for an extended period of time is worth the cost as meds can be very expensive.

- - Since certain vaccines can take days or weeks to become effective, be sure to take that into consideration and allow ample time to get them before your trip departure.

- - Separate your sticks! Speaking from experience, it’s no fun to get five shots in one day. My right arm swelled up immediately, producing a bright red lump the size of a baseball that refused to go away for almost 2 weeks – making it a fun conversation piece at The Lost Girls’ going away party! On a more serious note, it’s also safer to spread out your vaccines in case you happen to have an adverse reaction. Meaning, if you get multiple vaccines at once, you wouldn’t know which one caused the problem versus if you got one at a time.

- - Shot records - Don't leave home without them! Some countries may require proof that you've had certain vaccines, so be sure to carry a copy of your card with you.

- - Read Amanda's article, Cheap Shots, on the Travel + Leisure website (www.travelandleisure.com/articles/cheap-shots). Years ago, AP penned this brilliant piece, which, of course, coincidentally served as a great resource to The Lost Girls during our trip planning phase. We're so lucky!

Accommodations

Average Dollars Drained* ($2786): (Average $8.65/day for 322 days: $8/night-Peru, Bolivia, Brazil x 60 days = $480 + $9/night-Kenya x 50 days = $450 + $45/night-Dubai x 6 days = $270 + $5/night-India x 28 days = $140 + $5/night-Thailand-Laos-Vietnam-Cambodia x 77 days = $385 + $4/night – Bali x 14 days = $56 + $15/night – New Zealand x 27 days = $405 + $10/night – Australia x 60 days = $600)

LG Creative Cuts:

- - When it comes to saving on sleep (location, not hours!), The Lost Girls rely heavily on the three Cs: Country, Comfort and Compromise.

- - Sticking primarily to cheaper countries can drastically slash your budget and can mean the difference between affording to travel for a few weeks or a few months. For us, committing to an entire year on the road meant nixing Europe all together, limiting our time in New Zealand and Australia and spending the majority of our months in more cost effective regions like South America, Southeast Asia, India and Africa.

- - If you’re willing to sacrifice a little bit of comfort (OK, sometimes a lot) and stay in hostels and super cheap guesthouses like we did, you’ll save big bucks. Hotels weren’t even an option for us as they were nearly triple or even up to 10x the price.

- - Lastly, be sure to have a clear understanding of what you and your travel partners consider deal breakers (e.g. will only stay in shared dorm rooms ½ the time). Other than those few things (yes, there should only be a few), you must be willing to compromise on everything else if it means saving $.

Other Helpful Hints:

Get creative! There are tons of ways you can save on accommodations, but here are a few of our faves:

- - Book overnight flights. It sounds silly, but for us that was almost a week’s worth of hostels we didn’t have to pay for.

- - Expand your options and consider things like camping or renting a van that doubles as your transportation and a bedroom.

- - Call in favors / ask to stay with friends of friends abroad (if they’re willing and you promise to return the favor).

- - Negotiate! Negotiate! Negotiate! It’s pretty standard in third world countries to bargain on the price of a room, so don’t be afraid to show off your haggling skills, particularly if there’s stiff competition in the area or you’re willing to guarantee an extended stay.

*This was a pretty tough category to estimate considering how much the cost varies from country to country and hostel to hostel. In Laos, Amanda and I spend $5 for an entire double room, while in New Zealand, it cost about $15 for a dorm bed. What saved us in this category was 1) we spent 9 out of 12 months in third world countries where lodging is very cheap 2) we didn’t have to pay for lodging for 365 days as we spent a couple weeks with friends and family (for free) back in the States and on the road and 3) we were able to secure an apartment for only $300/month/person in Sydney – a city where hostels usually cost $20-$25 per night. Yikes!

Coming Soon!

Part 3: A Categorical Breakdown

- Meals and Snacks

- Entertainment and Extras

- Intra-Country Transportation

- Miscellaneous

Plus! Bonus Features

- LG Random Facts

- Savvy Savings Tips

- A Week at Disney World vs. A Week in the Life of a Lost Girl

The Lost Girls RTW Budget: A Look Inside

hollycassandra — Tue, 19 Jun 2007 23:14:00 GMT

When it comes to The Lost Girls’ RTW trip, there are definitely certain questions that tend to pop up time and time again from family, friends, fellow travel enthusiasts and, well, pretty much everyone. Are the countries we’re visiting safe? (Statistically most of our destinations are much safer than my hometown city of Washington D.C. Sad, but true!). How did we pack everything for an entire year in one backpack? (Simple! We ditched most of our girlie gear, like high heels and cute clothes, and resigned ourselves to wearing the same 4-5 outfits for 365 days straight!). Do we ever fight? (Only when we’re very hungry!).

But what tends to stoke people’s curiosity, above anything else, is:

“How the heck did we afford to hit the road for so long and how much did we spend?”

As you may have gathered from our previous entries, there’s not much that The Lost Girls aren’t willing to share with our blog readers (Umm, remember that time we described getting ‘samples’ taken at a Kenyan hospital to make sure we didn’t have a parasite? Or admitted to sliding face first in the mud during a trek in Sapa, Vietnam?). So, in keeping with the spirit of honesty, we’re going to let you in on our biggest ‘secret’ of all...(drum roll, please)…“Our trip was probably not as expensive as you’d think!”

Blog Readers: “We’re not convinced”

The Lost Girls: “Seriously! We’re telling the truth”

Blog Readers: “Umm, still not sure we believe you”

The Lost Girls: “Really, we swear on our dirty backpacks that we’re being honest”

Blog Readers: “OK, proof it”

The Lost Girls: “Our pleasure…”

A while back, we actually did post a “How We Paid For Everything” blog (currently on our sidebar), which offered a glimpse into our personal finances and how we secured enough ‘Benjamins’ to take a spin around the entire globe for a year. However, as we near the end of our trip (sniff, sniff!), we feel like it’d be a greater service to you, the readers, if we took this seemingly popular topic a step further and gave you exactly what you probably wanted in the first place – a detailed breakdown of our RTW budget.

As the designated Lost Girls’ math geek (Holly and Amanda make fun of all my Excel spreadsheets, but I know there really just jealous! :)), I actually got a bit of an adrenaline rush from crunching our travel data and compiling the below statistics (thanks LG fans for giving me an excuse to do all this!). So grab a comfy seat and a bowl of popcorn and get ready to be dazzled as we reveal our down and dirty figures for everything from visas, flights, vaccines and gear to food, entertainment, intra-country transport and accommodations. For your reading pleasure, I’ve also included a few behind-the-scenes secrets as well as bonus features (can you tell that I’m a film geek too?) like: Savvy Savings Tips and A Week at Disney World vs. A Week in the Life of a Lost Girl

Now, sit back, relax and enjoy the show!!

- - - Jen

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“The Lost Girls’ RTW Budget”

Presented by: www.lostgirlsworld.com

Made possible in part by: Jen, Holly and Amanda’s credit card receipts, bank statements and uncanny ability to blow through cash

Production Notes: Since the below budget is unique to our RTW adventure – one that covered four continents/a dozen + countries and spanned an entire year – we understand that certain sections aren’t relevant to all travelers. However, it is our sincere hope that spilling our (bank accounts’) guts and divulging all of our spending habits (the good, the bad and the ugly!) will inspire other travelers to crack open their piggy banks, pack their bags and finally take that one special trip they’d only ever dreamed about - - until now!

Act 1: Showin’ You The Money!

Although we try to keep track of every dollar that floats out of our money belts, the girls and I do occasionally misplace a bill or forget a few figures. I mean, if we claim to be lost ourselves, we certainly can’t be expected to find all of our receipts! So that said, the following figures are average, estimated costs per person for our entire RTW trip:

Flights: $5000

Travel Gear: $500

Visas: $375

Vaccines: $450

Accommodations: $2786

Meals and Snacks: $3803

Intra-Country Transportation: $1490

Entertainment & Extras: $2872

Miscellaneous: $715

And the moment you’ve all been waiting for…

The Grand Total:

$17,991 per person

Whether this amount seems shockingly low, pretty reasonable or absolutely exorbitant, really depends on who you ask. Hey, on any given day, even our answers could change a thousand times. But even though we occasionally freak out about how much we’ve spent or the fact that we’re now broke and unemployed, there’s one thing that Holly, Amanda and I know for sure…

We managed to take a year-long trip around the world with our best girlfriends for about the same price as our rent in NYC!

Blog Readers: “But still, you’re not suffering at all from buyer’s remorse??”

The Lost Girls: “Oh God, no. Nothing like that!” – Sorry, can’t help it. When a Clueless line calls, an LG answers.

Blog Readers: “Umm. OK. So I guess you wouldn’t take the trip back, huh?”

The Lost Girls: “Not for all the money in the world!”

THE END!

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Just Kidding! There’s still more exciting stuff to come. Much, much more! I’ve painstakingly analyzed our spending categories and broken each one down in great detail – covering everything from the price of pumping vaccines into our bodies and stuffing our backpacks full of supplies, to the cost of food, clothing and shelter by country and the unexpected extras that infiltrated our bank accounts and threatened to deplete them.

So, if you’re just dying to know exactly what we spent our money on, are planning a trip of your own or love facts and figures as much as I do (hell, even if you’re just bored at work), stay tuned for Act 2 of my budget blog which will be delivered over the next week in separate installments.

Coming Soon!

Act 2: A Categorical Breakdown

Scene 1: Flights, Travel Gear, Visas, Vaccines and Accommodations

Interviews with Each Other

hollycassandra — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 22:57:00 GMT

We have some fun news: Budget Travel magazine's annual special issue, Girlfriend Getaways (on newsstands this summer), thought we were quirky enough to include in their publication. They asked us some questions, and, as usual, we had no problem talking (and talking, and talking...). You can check it out at Budget Travel Online Since they asked for only a few hundred words and we gave them a book, we thought we'd share the unabridged version. Here are some highlights from our trip thus far.

Who is the leader?

All: There really isn't a traditional leader in our threesome. Part of the reason that we rarely fight is that our individual personalities—likes, dislikes, priorities and values—balance out the group dynamic. We all take turns getting our own way, and conversely, toeing the extra weight (literally, our backpacks are beasts!) to help each other out. Though we consider ourselves to be fairly well-rounded women at home, on the road, specific sides of our personalities do tend to take charge and we naturally fall into certain roles. In a nutshell, here's how to define us and our travel personalities:

Amanda (a.k.a. "The Regulator"): Instigator for the big ideas (such as taking a yearlong trip and launching the blog), Amanda is happy to turn over detail planning to Holly and Jen and simply enjoy the ride once everyone has agreed. She's take charge when it comes to matters of bargaining for a fair price, getting the best

possible hotel room and defending the group verbally against unwanted advances. When it's it time to get tough, the tough get Amanda.

Famous Quote: "Um, excuse me. Can I help you with something?" [Directed at

strangers who stare a little too long at the LGs]

Holly (a.k.a. "The Diplomat"): Eternally optimistic and rarely moody, Holly can find the positive in almost any situation (barring insects in her bunk and lack of sweets) and usually motivates the group's activities on a day-to-day basis. Her high energy level prompts her to rise well before her fellow Lost Girls to go running, plan a shopping excursion or find an internet cafe within walking distance. Each and every day, Holly has a mission to accomplish (must find new flip flops!) and very little will stand in her way.

Famous Quote: "Guys, can we swing by Antarctica and Turkey on our way to

Australia??!"

Jen (a.k.a. "The Chameleon" or "The Weekend Warrior"): Once the brainstorming results in a big idea, detail-oriented Jen steps in to manage the production. Typically the one to book the hostel, find a restaurant and double check that Holly and Amanda haven't lost anything, she often finds herself referred to as the 'responsible' one. However, when it comes time to take it easy, sip cappuccino at a neighborhood cafe or party 'til dawn, Jen throws herself in 110 percent. She works hard, plays harder and usually outlasts her fellow LGs during a night on the town.

Famous Quote: "Don't wake me before ten!"

Best moment:

JEN: Conquering the second day of hiking the Inca Trail, which is notorious for it’s sheer vertical climb to over 13,000 feet. With all the loose ends I had to tie up before taking this big trip, hitting the gym fell to the bottom of my priority list. But reaching the summit, a.k.a. Dead Woman’s Pass, where dozens of other hikers cheered the three of us on, showed me I was stronger than I gave myself credit for.

HOLLY: Scuba diving for the first time off the coast of Kenya. I had planned to get certified later on in Thailand, but had the opportunity to take a test dive with Amanda and Jen. It was a feeling somewhere between floating and flying that I didn’t expect to experience that day. Now I’m hooked and plan on fitting in as much diving as I can during the rest of the trip.

AMANDA: Having the opportunity to teach dance class to pre-teen girls in Africa, many of whom were orphaned by AIDS or were victims of abuse. I’d never seen kids get so excited to hear Jay-Z and Shakira blaring from my iPod speaker. By the end of the course, even the shy girls were busting a move and showing off the steps they now knew by heart.

Worst moment:

JEN: Thinking we all had an intestinal parasite. Holly had spotted a red, thread-like worm in the toilet that we all shared and, started crying for the first time the entire trip out of fear it had come from her. I hugged her as she collapsed into hysterics on the bathroom floor and consoled her by saying it could have come from any one of us. Of course, realizing that, we made a collective beeline for the urgent care clinic in Mombassa, Kenya, where we all gave, um, samples. Luckily, we each tested negative but were prescribed stomach-churning meds anyway as a precaution. All for one, one for all, right?

HOLLY: Sleeping with cockroaches. It’s hard enough to get a good night’s sleep on the road when we’re constantly switching locales without sharing my mattress with wriggling buds that could survive a nuclear fallout. Luckily, Jen was kind enough to let me sleep head-to-toe in her single bed. She even tucked me in with the mosquito netting. Notice the insect theme here?

AMANDA: Well, my moment involves a different kind of pest. I’d met Raul at a bar in Lima. I thought he’d make a good candidate for my first Latin lover, but he morphed into a slime ball with every drink he tossed back. Telling myself I’d never see this guy again, I grabbed the girls and blatantly blew him off. Leave it to Murphy’s Law: In a city of over TK-million people, who did I run into at my birthday dinner a week later but Raul? With his back to me, he ran his hands through his unmistakably greasy hair as I tried to hide behind my birthday cake.

Have you been given a key to a hotel room and walked into a honeymoon suite and thought, well this is awkward?

HOLLY: Well, we’ve never gotten the honeymoon suite, but we have been treated like newlyweds. While staying at Shaanti Holistic Health Resort in Diani Beach, Kenya, the owner encouraged us to try the indulgent “star baths.” We quickly agreed, but little did we know, it involved two outdoor sunken tubs overlooking the Indian Ocean, lots of scented oil and a bottle of bubbly. Three women, two tubs, you do the math.

JEN: Talk about beds, baths and beyond! No one wanting to be left out of the experience, we all happily leaped into the tubs like little kids. At this point in the trip, we had grown so comfortable with each other, this otherwise awkward situation didn’t even faze us.

AMANDA: Yeah, we were pretty unconcerned with what passersby thought of us. But that could have had more to do with the rum I snuck into the resort and ran back to the room to grab when I saw that the complimentary champagne was nonalcoholic. Even at a cleansing retreat, girls just wanna have fun.

One item we miss most from home:

HOLLY: My boyfriend! Okay, he’s not an item, just a sex object. Kidding! Seriously though, if it weren’t for being able to talk a lot on the internet-based phone service, Skype, I don’t know if our relationship could survive the year apart.

AMANDA: Celebrity magazines. The girls have to forcibly restrain me from spending $15 on a single issue at the airport newsstands abroad.

JEN: High heels. Flip flops are far more practical and take up less space on a trip like this, but nothing makes you feel more feminine instantly than slipping into a pair of stilettos. I wore them almost everyday in New York City and am going through withdrawal.

Reactions to us traveling together:

HOLLY: While running is a daily activity I take for granted back home, doing it abroad often turns into a spectator sport. During my jogs in Kenya, the locals looked at me like I had three heads and shouted out in confusion, “Sister, where are you trying to go?” The kids would get their daily dose of entertainment by pumping their arms and attempting to keep up with me as they erupted into giggles. Overtime I felt like I had a more devoted following than Lance Armstrong did during his last Tour de France.

JEN: While Brits have their Gap Year and Aussies have their Walkabout, it’s uncommon for Americans to travel for a whole year—and rarer still for three professional women in their late twenties. Being the anomaly that we are on the road can draw quite a bit of attention. In places like Rio de Janeiro, where gorgeous international travelers and finely chiseled locals pack the beaches, we were happy to oblige their curiosity by taking them up on their offers for caparinas and late night samba lessons.

AMANDA: At tourist attractions throughout India, I lost count of the number of times that giggling women and groups of young guys in aviator shades asked us to take a picture. At first we thought they wanted us to take their photos, but were shocked to realize they meant for us to be in the shots with them. For the first time in our lives we had a rough estimate of what it might be like to be D-list celebrities.

Favorite souvenirs:

AMANDA: Fertility dolls from the native Yagua tribe in Peru’s Amazon River Basin. They weren’t for me, but a gift to my dad for his third marriage. I figured he could use all the help he could get.

JEN: The red exercise top I bought from one of the original capoiera schools in Bahia, Brazil where the three of us trained. Although, after a week spent working up a sweat with private lessons, what I really wanted was a sexy capoeira instructor. But all I got was this lousy T-shirt!

HOLLY: I bought an enormous, sparkling citrine ring from the Hippie Ferria Market in Rio de Janeiro. I’m not normally one to treat myself to such a big piece of jewelry, but I took the opportunity to buy a beautiful item I never could have afforded back home. And, after admitting to the girls that I didn’t care about getting a flashy engagement ring, they insisted I have at least one big sparkler, even if I had to buy it myself.

Have you found yourself buying so much stuff that you have to ship it home along the way?

HOLLY: I’ve wanted to buy so much stuff that I’d have to ship it home, but I’ve managed to curb my shopaholic tendencies. Having to carry everything I need for an entire year on my back has forced me to recognize the difference between a want and a need. Plus, it’s often too expensive to send things back to the States.

JEN: When we do buy things, they tend to be small items that we can carry with us and that won’t break our bank accounts, such as interesting jewelry from street vendors and local handicrafts.

AMANDA: Sometimes for fun we treat each other to small indulgences. Like I bought the girls sugar-free lattes at Starbucks in Lima, Holly got us all matching scarves in India and Jen purchased Toblerone chocolate bars for us in Kenya.

How the trip has changed our lives:

HOLLY: It’s made me realize that the world is both a classroom and a playground. I can learn more about the political landscape of a foreign country by traveling through it rather than by reading about it in the Economist. As a woman, I’ve seen firsthand how lucky I am to have been born into this country of wealth and privilege where I have almost unlimited freedom of choice about what to do with my life. And witnessing how other people across the globe live their lives has inspired me to blaze my own path rather than make decisions out of complacency or fear.

AMANDA: I thought a year on the road would satiate my desire to travel so I would feel more comfortable with finally settling down in my 30s. But with each place we visit, the list of destinations I want to explore only grows. I’ve learned that no matter where I’m at in my life in regards to marriage, kids and career, travel will always be among my most important priorities.

JEN: Travel has always been a way for me to reevaluate my life and explore the world beyond my own borders, but after this trip I now view travel as a way to make a real difference in the lives of others as well.

Have we reached our goals?

HOLLY: My goal for the trip was to take advantage of this opportunity to see the world with two other like-minded women and figure out where I was going with my life. And while experiences such as attending yoga school in India and hiking the Inca Trail in Peru have helped me grow as a person, it’s often the small moments that invoke the greatest epiphanies. Case in point: When taking a 17-hour train ride in India, I didn’t realize you had to pack your own food. A mother of two toddlers wearing torn clothing saw that I didn’t have any lunch and offered to share hers-part of a banana. Feeling guilty, I tried to refuse but she adamantly insisted and nodded in approval as I chowed down. An otherwise mundane ride helped to remind me that, no matter what direction I’m headed, practicing small acts of kindness and generosity will keep me on the right track.

AMANDA: With Spanish classes costing hundreds of dollars a semester back home, I figured the best way to learn the language would be to head to a Latin American country. While the girls and I all learned dozens of useful phrases during our travels through Peru, I felt frustrated that I still hadn’t mastered the art of conversation. It wasn’t until I arrived in Brazil where I didn’t speak a word of Portuguese that I realized how much I’d come to depend on my basic Spanish skills to communicate. Now I’m looking forward to improving even more by heading to Colombia next year to attend a language school and a month-long homestay.

JEN: After watching the PBS-special “Flame Trees of Thika” as a young child, I vowed that some day I would volunteer in Kenya. Through the Village Volunteers, a U.S. based non-profit organization, I was not only able to realize a life long dream, but also witness firsthand how even small gestures can have a big impact on a community in need. The three of us had such a powerful experience that we plan to create our own nonprofit foundation to benefit women and girls from around the globe.

You Asked, We Answered

hollycassandra — Wed, 6 Jun 2007 23:01:00 GMT

Over the past few months, our fellow backpackers have sent us a ton of questions concerning all aspects of backpacking, vagabonding and round-the-world travel (as if we know more than the next Lost Girl!). Well, we're hardly experts but we figured that it might help to start responding to these great reader queries right here on the blog. This new section is meant to encourage group discussion, not provide hard and fast answers...feel free to tell us we're right, on the right track or on the wrong planet entirely (but don't forget to make a few suggestions of your own!)--TLG

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Q. My girlfriend and I are in the planning throes of a year-long trip to South America and I've just started to worry about the technical aspects...mostly to do with the laptop we'll need and how durable it has to be. Do you suggest we get aToughbook, or would a regular laptop with a good case have cut it? --Degan Beley

A: We actually brought two laptops on the road--a five-year old Mac iBook and the Panasonic Toughbook PC. Both computers held up really well, but towards the end, became SO stuffed with media files that they slowed down significantly. If you're shopping around for a new computer, don't settle for one with less than a 100 gigs of memory and an ultra fast processor speed. Nothing's more frustrating than getting the hourglass (PC) or the "pinwheel of death" (Mac) when you're trying to upload photos and type a blog entry at the same time!

The greatest benefit of the Toughbook is its extremely light and slim--at 2.2 pounds, people pick it up and are amazed that it barely weighs everything! Since every single ounce counts when you're on the road, you may want to go with a newer, lighter PC rather than taking your old standby.

As far as durability, we think you'd be fine taking along any light laptop loaded up with ton of memory (80 gigs minimum!) and keeping yourelectonics safe from scatches and bumps with a neoprene laptop sleeve. Companies such as Body Glove and Case Logic make them in basic colors, but you can find ones in funky designs...we love this striped one from Built NY.

No matter what, be sure to lock up you computer and the rest of your electronics with a PacSafe whenever they're out of your sight. The smaller and lighter the compuer, the more motivated you'll be to take it with you!--The Lost Girls

Have a burning backpacker question? Need an opinion on wardrobe choice? Want to share your own travel tips? Send queries and comments to lostgirlsworld@gmail.com

The Climb Of Our Lives!

hollycassandra — Fri, 25 May 2007 06:53:00 GMT

Jen: It was a beautiful, sunny morning in Sydney and Amanda, Holly and I were spending it in typical fashion - - a teensy bit hung over from the night before and running late, OK really late, for our scheduled activity du jour. Normally, we were happy to adopt the customary Australian “no-worries” philosophy and arrive at our destination whenever we could get there, but today was a different matter all together. As we raced frantically through the Sydney streets, flying off buses, dashing underground and dramatically flinging ourselves through closing train doors, we realized our tardiness could cost us dearly. In T-minus 20 minutes and counting, we were scheduled to experience one of the most notable and amazing adventures that Sydney had to offer – The Harbor Bridge Climb – yet we were at least a half hour away and not exactly sure where we were going (we take our title of Lost Girls very seriously!).

Fortunately for us, we also tend to excel in another “L” category – luck! While sprinting up the stairs of the Wynard station, simultaneously punching numbers on our mobile phone, we were fortunate enough to connect with a bridge climb coordinator and bump our departure time forward an hour. Whew! That was a close one! We grabbed a Starbucks latte to celebrate our small success – and to ease our pounding heads – then made a collective beeline for the harbor to get our climbing party started.

For once, we arrived at our destination ahead of schedule (based on our revised climb time anyway), which gave us a chance to explore the office lobby and chat with the employees about what to expect. After browsing the extensive Wall of Fame – one that housed snapshots of such famous faces as Nicole Kidman, Will Smith, Jodi Foster, Hugh Jackson, the Olson Twins and Brendan Fraser – Holly, Amanda and I were directed to a back room to get suited up for our big ascent. But a funny thing happened on the way to the equipment station. We were “pulled over” by an employee and asked to submit to a breathalyzer test to make sure we weren’t planning to climb under the influence. Uh Oh! Would last night’s cocktails come back to haunt us or had we burned them all off on our race to get here? Luckily, we registered 0.0% (anything under 0.05% is passing) and were approved to proceed. Whew! Another close one! OK, on to our fittings.

It didn’t take us long to deduce that when it comes to gear, the bridge climb folks aren’t messin’ around! After slipping into a sexy one-piece jumpsuit that any self respecting Trekkie would travel light years to get their split-fingered hands on, we were issued a fuzzy fleece for cold and windy conditions, a baseball cap to keep the harbor sun out of our eyes, a cord to keep our sunglasses from blowing off the bridge and even a handkerchief to tuck into our sleeves for, well, you know! We politely refused the thick gray scrunchies provided to keep our hair back, cause, hey, even donned in space suits, a Lost Girl’s gotta draw the line somewhere! After a quick equipment check and safety review with our guide, Mike, we made our way outside, down the sidewalk, past snickering tourists to the base of the bridge and took our first of many steps leading us closer to Sydney’s powder blue sky.

Rather than take the traditional route, the girls and I decided to give the newer and apparently more adventurous Discovery Climb a shot. Instead of journeying over the top of the bridge to the summit, we were going to cut straight through the heart of the structure, winding through mazes of metal, across suspended catwalks and snaking over massive steel beams punctured with rivets before emerging at the top. Now when the girls and I first heard about the bridge climb, we envisioned ourselves dangling precariously over the water, lashed to the bridge with carabineers and forced to scale the walls like Spiderman. Needless to say, we were dramatizing the situation just a teeny bit, as so far, the seemingly death-defying act of climbing the bridge was more like a gentle stroll.

Secured to the side with a special harness linked to a static line, we walked gracefully up a series of iron planks and staircases as our guide enlightened us with a detailed history of the bridge and prominent Sydney sites. We took in the passing cars and crowds of tourist below, while getting a sneak peak at some of the surrounding landmarks like the Opera House, Darling Harbor, Manley Ferry, Luna Park and John Howard’s house (our guide insisted he knew which one it was). And while the climb was an exciting experience in and of itself, the real reward came at the top. As our heads popped up from beneath the center of the bridge, we couldn’t help but marvel at the spectacular bird’s eye view we had of the glistening harbor and vast cityscape that stretched endlessly below. We took our time navigating the steal summit, posing for the guide’s camera as he snapped dozens of photos of us at every turn and prominent look out point. As we noticed more groups rising above the beams behind us, we realized our time was up, so we slowly began to make our way back down to the base.

A mere 3 ½ hours, dozens of staircases and thousands of steps later, our feet finally hit solid ground. Happy, exhilarated and only a tad wind blown, we headed to the office to take a look at our photos and get the skinny from the staff on where to go for a celebratory beer in the neighborhood (They suggested we hit The Australian for a frosty Victoria Bitters and deep dish pizza topped with kangaroo, crocodile or emu). So, was the Harbor Bridge Climb all we expected and more, you ask? I mean, should scrunchies have remained in the 80s? Of course! Not only did we get to experience one of Sydney’s most signature events, we had dozens of pictures showcasing The Lost Girls’ silliest grins to show for it. Bridge Climb Wall of Fame here we come! And in a nod to the company’s tagline, which I borrowed for this blog title, like Baby and Johnny, we did in fact, have the time (and climb) of our lives!

Oh, yeah, we went there! And there’s much more cheesiness, fun times and sheer craziness where that came from. Stay tuned for tales from our upcoming adventures in Hunter Valley!

Head for the Hills! Part II

hollycassandra — Wed, 23 May 2007 10:17:00 GMT

HCC: Marshmallows + cheap wine + your best girlfriends= recipe for the perfect camping trip. After constructing a kick ass campfire (if we do say so ourselves), we settled into our foldout chairs with the mission of toasting the perfect marshmallow and catching up—since we don’t see each other enough already!

Our girl talk was quickly interrupted by a “bogan,” which is the Aussie equivalent to a “redneck.” (Hey, we’re just sharing the slang we’ve learned from the Aussies themselves). Some dude named Troy materialized out of the darkness. He sported shaggy blond hair, a beer belly and held a “stubby” (bottle of brewskie). Troy announced that he lived in a nearby trailer without electricity and cut wood for a living. Then he kindly invited us to crash with him at his place rather than sleep in our camper van. Negative, Ghost rider!

The Lost Girls tried to bring the topic of conversation into safer territory by talking about the 18 km hike we planned on doing in the national park the following morning. Troy wasn’t as slow as we thought, and quickly found another “in” by offering to come pick us up in the a.m. and drive us to the trailhead. He’d even come get us when we were done with the big trek. Um, as if we’d willingly hop into a truck with a strange man and allow him to bring us to some secluded spot where no one else knows where we are. Though it was a tempting proposition, we had no choice but to turn it down before feigning exhaustion.

The following morning our exhaustion was not an act--we were legitimately wiped out after Jen and I were awoken in terror by Amanda’s blood-curdling screams during the dead of the night. She was having nightmares that an axe-murderer was trying to break into the van in an effort to dismember defenseless foreigners. Good thing we never saw the Australian slasher cult classic “Wolfe Creek,” or else we’d all be letting out imaginations run as wild as the Outback.

Here’s a quick clip of us hanging around the campfire pre-Troy invasion. Warning: The girl talk is not all that exciting, but we wanted to show off our pyrotechnic handiwork.

--Holly

Head for the Hills! Part I

hollycassandra — Thu, 17 May 2007 14:11:00 GMT

HCC: Since the Lost Girls scored an awesome camper van, we decided to take it—where else?—camping. Our premiere girlfriends getaway in the Blue Monster, as we affectionately named it, takes place in Barrington Tops National Park. I chose our destination in my usual last-minute fashion by flipping through the Lonely Planet for a quiet wilderness spot that didn’t require days of traveling. This World Heritage site is not actually a hill, but a 1600-meter plateau covered in mossy Antarctic beech forest and vivid green rainforest. The book said it was only about a three-and-a-half hour drive from Sydney. Our mission? To stay at a secluded campsite, test drive the van’s cool features and not crash the vehicle while doing it.

So far, mission accomplished. After going over the river and through the woods (we literally had to drive across ‘fords,’ which are shallow streams of running water) on a windy dirt road, we came across the perfect place to set up camp for the night: The Scooby Doo caravan park. Okay, it’s not really called that, but the random Scooby Doo billboard pointed towards the promised land: A park equipped with hot showers, laundry and (the best part!) a kiosk open until the late-night hour of 8 p.m. Hey, sleeping in the woods still counts as roughing it even if you’ve got access to goodies such as marshmallows and $10 bottles of Riesling. Score!

We love our little home on wheels. It saves us serious cash because we can store food in the fridge and heat up beans and coffee on the stove. And staying at powered sites where we can hook up to electricity costs just nine bucks a person (as opposed to a $28 hostel dorm room), shedding some light so we can read all those novels that have been weighing down our backpacks all year. The seats fold out into a bed big enough to fit all three of us, but there’s also a single bed up top. It may not be the Ritz, but we’re definitely sleeping in style. Check out this quick video for a tour of the Blue Monster. --Holly

Oil Changes

hollycassandra — Thu, 10 May 2007 02:17:00 GMT

ADP: I should probably be more embarrassed to admit this, but during the six years I held both a valid driver’s licences and a working vehicle (affectionately named White Fire, in case you care), I never actually checked, changed or gave more than a passing thought to the oil. I had some vague awareness that a dipstick was involved and my engine could potentially explode if I ran low on the stuff, but I always counted on the fact that if anything truly devastating was about to occur, a light on my instrument panel would flash and I could hasten to the nearest service station to rectify the problem.

Fast forward from my teens to circa right now, trade my trusty Chrysler La Baron for the World Nomad’s Ambassador Van and switch the location from sprawling suburban America to the pleasant but rather unpopulated stretch of rolling woodland known as Barrington Tops National Park (about four hours Northwest of Sydney).

That’s where Holly, Jen and I were the first time a little red oil lamp on our dash started lighting up, flickering at first, then glowing steadily and rather ominously.

“Um, maybe we really should have been checking the oil and water every day like the book said,” Holly reflected, referring to the small bound pamphlet of instructions we’d been given when we picked up the van at Autobarn a few weeks prior. The guys who’d explained the features of the vehicle had take the time to show us how to lift the seat and check the oil and coolant, and we’d taken it all in as if we were watching a cooking demonstration rather than serious instructions for the care and feeding of our only method of transport.

“Of course not,” I said with conviction, certain that something must be wrong with the light rather than with our oil levels. “In my whole life, I’ve never added oil to the car so we’ll just take care of this after we get back from camping.”

We all fell into a rare silence, contemplating the wisdom of my statement, and proceed deeper into the woods. A few minutes passed as we bumped along and splashed through ford after ford which separated us from primary civilization.

In the end, we decided to risk the consequences (can an engine really blow up if there’s not enough lubricant? what incredibly an incredibly poor design feature) and continue with our planned weekend camping trip.

The gripping narrative detailing our outdoor adventures is still to come, but I’ll fast forward to Monday morning when we coaxed our van out of Barrington Tops and back down the hill toward the Pacific Highway.

Finally rolling into a 7-11 with a few gas pumps out front, we figured out how pop up the passenger’s seat and open the hatch that exposed the inner workings of our engine.

We all stared at the twisted metal guts and waited expectantly for one of us to the lead. When it became apparent that neither Holly nor I were exactly leaping to the task, Jen volunteered to check the oil. As I watched her burning her fingers trying to open up the wrong valve, I gingerly pointed out the dipstick and suggested that she give it a tug instead.

Merging what all three of knew about engine maintenance—which you may have gathered at this point is about nil—we managed to clean the dipstick, lower it again and determine….that we had no idea what we were looking at.

In the end, we ended up enlisting the help of a very kindly Indian man who managed the 7-11 and thankfully, he wasn’t too harsh when he informed us that we’d basically run out of the slick stuff that prevented our car from grinding to halt.

Together, we grabbed a nice bottle of Castrol from the back of the store and took turns pouring it into our very thirsty engine. Not a drop was left when we were finished.

All topped off and ready to go, we thanked yet another great Australian who helped save us from almost certain catastrophe and got on the road again.

Kangaroo Invasion

hollycassandra — Thu, 3 May 2007 13:23:00 GMT

HCC: After living in the concrete jungle of New York City, the girls and I have encoutered wild life ranging from rats to cockroaches to drunken men. So when we heard that the hazy Blue Mountains were home to critters of a different kind—kangaroos—we hopped in the van and hit highway N4 in search of the furry marsupials. Not knowing where to find 'roos on our own, we were lucky enough to have a local firefighter named Adam, whom I'd met on the plane to Sydney, offer to be our tour guide.

Here's a clip of our adventure. It's not exactly "Animal Planet," but we were stoked to get close enough to reach out and touch creatures we'd only ever before seen in National Geographic. Who knows? Maybe we'll even spot a koala on our roadtrip through Oz.

Lonely Planet Pick of the Week: Beach Coastal Walk

hollycassandra — Tue, 1 May 2007 04:06:00 GMT

HCC: A Lost Girl’s favorite way to see a new place is on foot, so the famous Coastal Walk from Bondi to Bronte Beach was just our speed. After reading about the five-kilometer, two-hour trail in our trusty Lonely Planet, we laced up our sneakers and set out to take a hike.

The rocky bluffs, gemstone-blue waves and Aboriginal rock engravings created a colorful backdrop to the well-marked path winding around the ocean. Other spectacular scenery encompassed bathing beauties and bronzed surfers dotting the landscape. Sprinkle in plenty of cafes to refuel in along the way, and you’ve got a recipe for the perfect walking tour.

The ladies and I started in the north by the Bondi Golf Course. Since our putting technique is not up to par, we preferred to admire the Aboriginal rock engravings. Turning left onto Ramsgate Ave, we found ourselves on Bondi Beach. Families were relaxing on grassy patches with picnic lunches and runners were doing laps on the sand. I was sweating just watching them.

To the right, there was a crowd of surfers bobbing up and down as they waited for the next big wave. I went to surf school in Costa Rica about a year ago, and got hooked on the adrenaline rush that catching the perfect swell and riding it all the way into shore triggers. Watching the surfers in the zone made me miss this feeling that’s somewhere between floating and flying so much that I vowed to sign up for a few more surf lessons. After all, when I am going to live just minutes away from the beach again?

At the edge of Bondi Beach were the baths, where a pool was carved right into the rocks. Filled with saltwater, it allows swimmers to do laps without the danger of getting caught in a riptide. We climbed the steep stairs past Bondi Icebergs, a trendy restaurant and bar with hanging chairs, cozy couches and, of course, a breathtaking view. Note to self: Head here for happy hour.

I was seriously craving a cocktail until I forgot all about it after seeing the view around the bend at Tamarama Beach. Plunging rocks and crashing waves faced us while the wind whipped our hair as we climbed down the stairs and past a Technicolor mural entitled “Wonderland.” Apparently, this beach used to be some kind of amusement park back in 1877—complete with roller coasters, tight-rope walkers and even a lone penguin. I told Amanda and Jen that they’d be fit for the circus if it was still happening, but they didn’t find the joke as funny as me for some reason.

Around the corner we found (you guessed it!) another beautiful beach known as Bronte. The area’s even got it’s own freshwater creek and another set of baths for swimmers who prefer to be protected from strong ocean currents. It was time for a cup of joe, so we grabbed a latte from a little café to tide us over for the rest of the hike.

The next turn in the road led not to another beach, but to a cemetery. Set on a high cliff, an enormous graveyard overlooked the ocean. It felt creepy to me to walk by Waverly Cemetery and examine the sun-bleached, weathered gravestones. Some dated as far back as the 1800s and were impossible to read, while we spied others freshly carved from the 1990s. Jen, on the other hand, finds cemeteries interesting because she likes to read the stories on the grave markers and be in a place where people are remembering loved ones. I guess reading about others’ deaths is a fast way to bring you down to earth.

We made our descent to our final destination, Coogee Beach. It was less crowded than Bondi and had lots of little restaurants and grassy patches lining the sand to give it a laid-back air. At the southern tip were Wylie’s Baths, where the bargain price of about $3 scores you the chance to cool off with a dip after your scenic walk. Later in the week we’ll test the waters at another Coogee hotspot—the Coogee Bay Hotel, which boasts four different bars. Stay tuned…

All About the Anzac

hollycassandra — Thu, 26 Apr 2007 14:21:00 GMT

We'll admit it: As typical American's we had no idea what the heck Anzac Day was when we arrived in Australia two weeks ago. But by doing a little online research, we learned that ANZAC Day - 25 April - marks the anniversary of the first major military action fought by Australian and New Zealand forces during the First World War. Those landmark engagements demonstrated how Australia had truly become a nation unto itself--rather than just extention of the British Crown.

Thanks to dozens of friendly and patriotic Aussie backpackers we've met around the world, we've learned that the people in this country are very proud of their their history and way of life. They love their homeland, and on no day is this more apparent than Anzac Day.

We knew that we just had to join the millions heading out to celebrate their great nation (and a Wednesday off from work!) with a dozen pints and several times as many rounds of two-up. We decided to head over to The Beach Road Hotel on the early side and learn how to play before the place really got going.

Holly and I stationed ourselves around the edges of the game, which was already in screaming progress, and asked the guys around us to explain the rules. Fortunately, they seemed all too happy to help us get involved!

Six hours, fifty bets and a few cocktails later, Hol and I were on a roll, screaming like crazy--losing our voices, but winning big.

Eight hours, ten more bets and a few bottles of cheap beer later, we'd somehow lost all of our money but made a zillion new best friends!

Here's a short clip from our Anzac Day...are we having fun yet?

Picking Up the Van!

hollycassandra — Thu, 26 Apr 2007 11:44:00 GMT

Are you kidding us?!

We still can't believe that World Nomads is actually trusting us take possession of their freakishly tall, psychadelically decorated Amabassador Van. Its not that we're not responsible (totally trustworthy, we promise!)...its just that of the three of us, Holly is the only one who can actually drive a stick shift.

Our jaws basically hit the floor when the folks at Autobarn handed over the keys and told us that we'd have to figure out the manual transmission. We recovered long enough to take a tour of the van's cool features (two burner stove! sink with actual running water!) and film this video for the folks running the AB.

At this point, Jen and I still haven't taken over the driving duties, but we've promised Holly that we'll learn....soon. Can anyone recommend a good place to practice in Sydney before we take off for the Blue Mountains??

We Only Have Eyes for Sydney

hollycassandra — Sun, 22 Apr 2007 10:46:00 GMT

ADP: When the weather gods deliver a day as brilliant as the one we had yesterday in Sydney, it would be foolish not to spring out of bed and make the most of it.

Well, these Ambassador Girls don’t exactly “spring,” but we did manage to zip out the door by 10:00 am to grab a long black at Speedos Café in Bondi Beach. The place was packed to the rafters with sun-worships clad in sundresses, board shorts and bikinis, and we were slightly scandalized to see less spandex covering up the guy’s bottoms than the women’s. We were also shocked to note that the lithe and gloriously toned chicks wandering down the street were housing huge portions of French fries (or “chips” or “wedges” depending on where you’re from), yet they all looked like finalists from Australia’s Next Top Model. Mental note to the Ambassadors: Sign up for surfing lessons immediately and go running daily to neutralize calories from beer, cocktails and wine consumed nightly

After breakfast, it was time to hit the beach.

Maybe it was our ultra-pale skin, loud American accents or unabashed gawking, but we somehow managed to attract the attention of two massive lifeguards who were naked save four inches of navy fabric stretched across their important parts. Completely distracted by eight-pack abs and shoulders as wide as a Texas linebacker, I totally forget what their first words were. I recovered quickly enough to ask about “Backpacker’s Rip”….something that I’d heard about while watching my first episode of Bondi Rescue. They pointed in the direction of a group of surfers, but I’ll admit that I wasn’t exactly checking out the view of the water.

With the noontime sun beating down overhead (and no sunscreen in our bags), we decide to jump in the Ambassador Van and head check out those iconic Sydney sites that first captivated us eight years ago.

After graduating college in 2000, I went to New York City to work for NBC Sports Advertising Sales Department. My first assignment was to help assist with the Sydney Summer Olympics (rearranging the order of advertiser’s spots) and I probably watched 99.9 percent of the broadcast—including those incredible shots filmed of the Harbor Bridge, the Opera House and Circular Quay.

So, when I jumped out of the van and saw those images in living color for the first time, I was probably a little more thrilled than it’s cool to admit.

We spent the rest of the day checking out area at The Rocks (super touristy, but cute) and Circular Quay, polishing off the downtown experience with a glass of champers at the Opera Bar.

A great start in Sydney---here’s to many more experiences, drinks (and hottie lifeguards) to come.

From Lost Girls to Ambassadors!

hollycassandra — Fri, 20 Apr 2007 15:15:00 GMT

We—Holly, Jen and Amanda—have officially taken over as The World Nomads Ambassadors, a fabulous title that comes with more than a few precious perks. Not only have we snagged an unbelievable set of wheels (a totally pimped-out camper van emblazoned with more Technicolor logos than a NASCAR low-rider), a new Nokia phone, a fully-loaded Ipod and the very laptop we’re using to write this blog, we managed to convince the dream team behind the whole WN operation to spring for a three-martini lunch on Cockle Bay Wharf.

Do Sydneysiders—and indeed all Australians--greet every visitor with such flourish and panache? If so, we can’t wait to see what’s in store for us as we rumble through the continent over the next six weeks. In case this is the first time you’re checking out The Lost Girls on the World Nomads site, allow us to give you a (brief) backstory.

Jen, Holly and I are three Manhattan girls who quit our magazine and media jobs (insert Sex and the City references here) and left the States to travel the world for a full year. This many not sound all that unusual to you globetrotting Aussies, but as any American reading this entry could attest: it is wildly out of the ordinary for a trio of Yankees girls to go nomad for so long. Our parents were shocked. Our friends were confused. Our bosses didn’t know whether to congratulate us or fire us on the spot. Dealing with mass confusion aside, ditching our ordinary lives has turned out to be one of the very best decisions we’ve ever made.

Over the last ten months, we’ve visited five continents and more than a dozen countries including, Peru, Bolivia, Brazil, Kenya, India, the United Arab Emirates, Laos, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Myanmar, Indonesia and New Zealand. We’ve danced with half-naked Brazilian supermodel-types at the favela funk parties in Rio de Janerio, we’ve cleansed our auras (and learned a few yoga moves) at an Ashram in India and volunteered with a fabulous set of pre-teen students in Kitale, Kenya (You can read all about these madcap adventures at www.lostgirlsworld.blogspot.com).

Being a Lost Girl can be a blast, but starting now, we’re also embracing our roll as World Nomad’s cutest, best-dressed set of Ambassadors. We’re currently making plans to hit up—and write about—all locations we deem fabulous in and around Sydney, beyond the city limits and all the way up the East Coast. Check in with us every few days for updates on our adventures, Lost Girl recommendations and a few chick-on-the-street interviews. And if you witness us stalling out in our manual-transmission, 1999 World Nomads camper van, don’t just honk and wave….stop and say hello! We promise---you can’t miss us.

Xoxoxo,

Your Ambassador Girls

Lost in New Zealand: The South Island

hollycassandra — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 23:09:00 GMT

While New Zealand’s North Island plays host to the bulk of its population, many people believe that its Southern sister provides far more in the way of stunning natural settings, atmospheric small towns and brag-worthy adventure activities. Amused by the sibling rivalry and excited to indulge our inner adrenaline junkies, we decided to follow up our travels through the north—Auckland, Rotarua, Tongariro National Park and Wellington—with a two and half-week road trip through the South Island. We’re not saying which of NZ’s two half is the better one—but we’ll let this highlight reel speak for itself!

1.Bottom’s Up at the Top of the Island

(ADP): Almost as soon as we picked up our rental car (waiting for us in the ferry parking lot with the keys tucked behind the front bumper—how quaint!) we struck out for Marlborough Country, a region world renowned for the Sauvignon Blancs, Gewürztraminers, Reislings and Pinot Noirs, which ripen to utter perfection in its chilly marine environment. I’ve never been much of a vino aficionado—all that swilling and swirling and sniffing seemed far less interesting than the actual sipping part, but after learning that we’d be staying within walking distance of at least 50 wineries, I started to get into a Sideways frame of mind.

The girls and I borrowed bikes from the owners of our B&B (cheaper and more fun than paying $80 to get drunk with old folks on a tour bus) and hit up the first of several wineries. After sampling some of the world’s most exquisite reds and whites, I realized two things---1. The reason I’d never been much of a wine drinker is that I’d been wasting my taste buds on crap like Sutter Home and stuff that comes in a box or jug. 2. I was having an increasingly tough time staying upright on the top of my bike! The girls pulled over long enough for me to grab a sandwich from the local grocery store, and together we wobbled off in to the sunset.

2.Totally ‘WOW’ed by Nelson

(Jen): One of the best things about road trips is the ability to be completely spontaneous. While Holly, Amanda and I tried to stick to a tight schedule in order to fit in all the main South Island stops, an impromptu detour to the quaint and lovable city of Nelson reminded us that veering off course can sometimes be more fun. Ironically, what landed us in this town of eternal sunshine (seriously, Nelson holds the country’s record for the most clear days), was a sudden case of stormy weather. We had signed up for a 2-day hike/kayak trip in the nearby Abel Tasman National Park, but were greeted by a torrential downpour before we had a chance to step foot on the trail. As inclement conditions were considered rare in these parts, the tour guide suggested we hunker down for the night and try again the next day. Slightly bored by the string of one horse towns that fringed the National Park (or half horse towns as we liked to joke; we’re so funny!), the girls and I decided to make the 45 minute drive to Nelson to experience the lively arts, entertainment and coffee house culture that the city was so well known for. Little did we know just how lively the town’s art really was!

Intrigued by our Lonely Planet’s description of the World of Wearable Art & Collectable Cars Museum, we decided we had to check it out for ourselves. Although tiny in comparison to our favorite hometown art haunts - the Met, Guggenheim and Whitney – this funky, Nelson gallery packed a huge creative punch. Showcasing the highly imaginative, tactile and bizarre designs from New Zealand’s highly acclaimed Wearable Arts Award Show (held each September in Wellington); the WOW section of the museum is a dazzling spectacular of abstract fashion and avant-garde costumes, which included winners of the Bizarre Bra category. Amanda, Holly and I snagged “VIP” seats in front of an illuminated carousel turned catwalk for the collection of artfully adorned mannequins dressed in everything from chain mail lingerie and ball gowns made from boxes to glow in the dark handbags and multi-tiered skirts fashioned from astro-turf). When the fabulous fashion show was over, we headed to the other side of the building to check out the impressive display of vintage cars including a 1959 Pink Cadillac, a 1908 Renault and an E-type Eldorado.

We emerged from the museum feeling culturally satisfied, creatively stimulated and supremely happy that we opted to spend the day in Nelson rather than on a wet and muddy park trail. Plus, we had an entire evening ahead of us to relax, explore the town, grab dinner at a cute local café and maybe even hit up another vineyard or two for some more wine sampling. Just when we thought things couldn’t get better, the grey clouds overhead started to dissipate and the area’s famous sunshine made a surprise celebrity appearance!

3.To Hike Oar Not to Hike

(Holly): The weather may have took a turn for the worse the day the girls and I signed up for an overnight combo hiking-kayaking trip through Abel Tasman National Park (what’s the point of hiking if you can’t make out the scenery through the fog?), but we saw the bright side the very next day as the sun peaked out through the clouds.

So we set off in a water taxi to a remote part of the park and stopped along the way to watch seals sunning themselves on rocky islands. When we arrived at the drop-off point, we had a picnic on the beach (I’ve never eaten so many peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches in my life as I have this year). Then we walked for over four hours on a path that led past pristine beaches bordering the most emerald green water I’ve ever seen and lush rainforest.

It was dusk before we arrived at a proverbial fork in the road that lead to a communal hut containing bunks for about 30 people. A sign read “Stay right for high tide, left for low tide.” Not knowing where the heck the tide was, we opted to take the left. This, my friends, was one of those times when we should have taken the safe route. As we neared the bottom of a hill on the low-tide path, we discovered that it was completely flooded. And since we didn’t have enough time to retrace our steps before nightfall, we stripped down into our bikinis, carried our packs on our heads and waded through the chilly water. By now we’re accustomed to overcoming obstacles on the road (remember those cockroaches in our beds?), so we weren’t about to let a little water to stop us.]

Since there was no electricity at the hut and nothing to do, we dozed off immediately before waking at sunrise to head down to the beach (which was no longer flooded, f.y.i.). A boat had dropped off the remainder of our tour group so we could kayak the rest of the way back.

It was only two people per kayak, so I teamed up with a guy named Chris from England who was travelling with his two “mates” for a year (fellow Lost Boys!). It took us about five hours to make it back, but we stopped for a picnic lunch on the beach (and to periodically splash water on Jen and Amanda with our oars). High tides and dreary weather aside, I was sad when our trip through Abel Tasman came to an end—its speculator rainforests and azure-wave lapped beaches are Mother Nature’s gift to the world.

4.The Pirate Queens

(ADP): The Lost Girls love any excuse to get dressed up in wacky costumes, so when our kayaking captain mentioned that the annual Abel Tasman Pirate Bash was going off that night, we decided to crash the party in our swashbuckling best. Here’s what we pulled together, a look inspired by Jack Sparrow’s surly crew and executed entirely with crap pulled from the depths of our backpacks.

5.Freestanding Fruit

(HCC): I missed my favorite season this year—fall—because I was in Africa. But I still got to experience autumn because the seasons are reversed in the Southern hemisphere. And parts of New Zealand reminded me of Upstate New York—especially since the time was ripe for picking apples there. I bugged Jen to pull the car over as we sailed past orchard after orchard so I could buy apples from some of the help-yourself roadside stands. She reluctantly agreed, but became much more enthusiastic after she tasted the juicy fruit. There’s nothing better than an apple fresh off the tree, and New Zealand’s are especially sweet.

6.Blair Witch Beach

(Holly): We’ve made some pretty crazy pit stops during our Kiwi road trip—including stopping at the place where the Blair Witch Project was filmed. Just kidding! Seriously though, we pulled over for a bathroom break while driving down the coast to Queenstown and stumbled upon an eerie and beautiful beach. It was adorned with driftwood resembling human bones, the charred remains of bonfires and pale rocks arranged in creepy circular patterns.

There were tee-pee structures made of driftwood decorated with hanging stones tied by reeds. We couldn’t figure out what the heck they were for. Jen speculated that they were some kind of Maori offering. Amanda theorized they were a sacrificial burying ground. We could have stayed there for longer and really let our imaginations get away from us. But with the sun setting fast, we decided not stick around to find out.

7.Frozen Solid

(ADP): Clawing and pick axing one’s way up, over and through a huge melting mountain of ice may sound like an uncomfortably chilly way to spend an afternoon, but we totally dug our “hard core” climb on the blue tinged, 20,000 year old behemoth known as the Franz Josef Glacier. After getting suited up in a half-dozen layers of clothing (to defend against the elements), strapping crampons to our hiking boots (to prevent slip-sliding over the edge) and getting a crash course in glacier science (it’s blue because tiny air pockets only refract a certain wavelength of light), we trekked a few kilometres to the base of the beast and started our ascent. While it was definitely wet work, we felt pretty bad ass squeezing through the narrow crevasses and making forays through frozen caves such as this one. I loved acting like an ice princess, but my favourite part of the day was warming up with a massive bowl of chilli at the Landing Cafe later that night. Yum!

8.Road Rules

(ADP): Driving at night in New Zealand requires a certain kind of commitment. First, the “highways” really consist of unlit two-lane roads that careen around cliffs and whip around mountains, the kind that look fabulous in artsy car commercials but require 1000 percent of your attention lest you pull a Thelma and Louise and careen over the guardrail. Then there’s the wildlife: Rabbits and possums like to make their appearance once the sun goes down, and choose the very second that your vehicle is gunning down the road to make a mad dash in front of the tires (we were able to swerve most of the time, but one sickening crunch was enough to put us off our midnight snacks!).

For these reasons, and others I’m sure, Kiwis don’t really drive at night, but we had no idea that they locals actually hate and discriminate against nocturnal travelers until we visited the tiny town of Franz Josef Village. First, the reception desks at every single hostel had closed by 8:00pm, forcing us to pay nearly three times as much to check into the town’s resort hotel. When we tried to leave the next day after our hike, we found the only gas station locked up tight at around 7:30pm—the guy at the nearby service station actually seemed offended that we expected the place to be open. “Well what do you want….its the middle of the night?” Some of us actually like to get up early and get home early.” So, not to be deterred in our midnight trek, we coasted 100 km down the highway (most on fumes) and filled up at the one pump in the entire South Island that actually let you pay for gas by feeding bills into a machine. Apparently, even that pump didn’t like to be woken up from its deep sleep---it ate $20 of our money but spit out enough gas to fuel our ride to Queenstown.

9.Jet (Boat) Setting!

(Holly): Tours are like a box of chocolates: You never know what you’re going to get. Thankfully, the jet-boat excursion Amanda and I opted to go on in Queenstown was a blast. Our driver, a 21-year-old Kiwi who navigated Lake Wakatipu and the Shotover and Kawarau Rivers, got our feet wet as the boat hit speeds of 50 mph in water sometimes as shallow as four inches. While some passengers couldn’t keep from shrieking as he turned the boat in circles and narrowly missed granite boulders protruding from shore, we were pleasantly surprised by the joy ride. When it comes to speed, we say bring it on!

10.A Ring Around Queenstown

(Jen): Unless you’re living under a rock, it’s common, pop culture knowledge that Peter Jackson shot the internationally-acclaimed Lord of the Rings trilogy in his home country of New Zealand. But what the average tourist may not realize is that the dozens of stunning locations and natural wonders displayed in the films are being repackaged as ‘must see’ sites and served up as special movie tours by local companies across the North and South Islands. Practically every town in the country has jumped on the Hobbit bandwagon, cashing in on J.R.R. Tolkein’s epic tale through themed hikes, drives, boat cruises and even helicopter flights. And Queenstown was no exception!

Now, Holly, Amanda and I aren’t generally fond of hokey, guided excursions that we could just as easily do on our own, but when we heard about a four-wheel drive adventure tour offered through Nomad Safaris, we thought it’d be a fun way to see the area’s main attractions. As a hard core LOTR fan, I was happy to buy into the whole ‘walk in the footsteps of Hobbits, Elves and Dwarfs’ line, so I insisted that we pick the package that included fun facts and behind the scenes info about the local locations used in the three films. After a breathtaking, four-hour tour that wound up a steep, narrow dirt road to Skipper’s Canyon, ran above the Shotover River, took us off-roading through rushing creeks and provided gorgeous views of the famous Remarkables mountain range, we arrived back into town with a greater appreciation of the region’s natural beauty. Not to mention, a more in-depth knowledge of how and where specific LOTR scenes were shot. In case you’re interested, the accompanying photo of Holly, Amanda and me was taken at the river that Arwen (Liv Tyler) raced across on horseback as she fled the ring wraiths chasing her and Frodo (Elijah Woods).

11.The Queenstown Scene

(Jen): During our time on the road, Amanda, Holly and I have found that a city is often best defined by its people. And it didn’t take us long to discover that Queenstown’s laid back, extreme action and ‘totally radical dude’ culture cultivates a bad ass, yet carefree and seriously cool breed of residents. So when one of the hostel workers we’d befriended invited us to a house party he and his roommates were throwing, the girls and I happily accepted. Excited to replace the standard backpacker party fare of overcrowded clubs and beer soaked bars with a more authentic local experience, we met up with our new group of buds and headed into their hood. What started as a small get together soon erupted into an MTV Spring Break-worthy bash as neighbors, friends of friends and enthusiastic onlookers piled in to drink and dance the night away! A few hours and hundreds of candid snapshots later, Amanda, Holly and I headed back to our hostel to catch a few hours of sleep before hitting the adventure activities circuit in the morning. Were we worried about making it through the next day after a night of partying? No way! We’re Queenstown-ians now!

12.The Thrillogy

(ADP): Adrenaline junkies like my dear friend Jen seem to find hurling themselves out of airplanes and off of bridges to be good, harmless fun, so I wasn’t surprised when she told me that she wanted to sign up for AJ Hackett’s “Thrillogy,” three super sized bungee jumps that take place in and around New Zealand’s adventure capital of Queenstown. What did surprise me was the sound of my own voice, volunteering to do this insane thing with her. The night before our scheduled jumped, I was literally quaking between my sheets: when the time came to test both gravity and the strength of the cord tied to my ankle, could I really be counted on to take the leap? The answer—and lots more fun photos of me tweaking out—to be found in the next blog entry. Stay tuned!

13.Christchurch Chillin’

(Jen): Just like with Auckland, Christchurch was a city that many Kiwis and fellow backpackers told us not to waste too much time visiting. While the girls and I preferred to stay in Queenstown as long as possible, we were booked on a flight out of Christchurch, so it made sense to crash there for at least a night or two prior to our departure. As it turned out, The Lost Girls’ take on the city was a little different from all the ‘naysayers’ that had come before us. Lush botanical gardens, narrow, cobble stone streets, lively buskers, sweeping gothic steeples and colonial-era architecture gave Christchurch a unique and elegant charm that reminded us of Boston. Slightly burnt out from our 3 ½ week race across the country, Holly, Amanda and I greeted Christchurch with open arms. It was the perfect place for us to relax and refuel for a couple days before jetting off to Sydney. Between long jogs in the park, movies nights at the local cinema, a free buffet dinner at the city casino (hey, we had a coupon, alright!), beers at the neighborhood pub and impromptu photo shoots in town square, the girls and I perfected the art of Christchurch Chillin’ and arrived at the airport refreshed and excited to take on our last destination – Australia.

Stay tuned for The Lost Girls’ adventures Down Under!

- - - Amanda, Jen and Holly

Lost in New Zealand: The North Island

hollycassandra — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 23:03:00 GMT

Having alighted in a fantastically picturesque city where the streets were spotless, the residents spoke our language and we could indulge in the creature comfort we’d abandoned nine months ago (we now consider drinking water from the tap to be a rare treat), it was tough to fight the urge to plop down and spend the remaining months of our journey living the sweet life in Auckland.

Despite our local friend’s protests that living in the city was about as exciting as waiting in line at the post office or getting your teeth cleaned, we loved the town and lavished the attention and care dotted upon us by our new local pals Carmi, Wendy and Greg. By the fifth day in town, however, we realized that we needed to get our asses in gear and so Jen and I hightailed it to the travel desk at our hostel to find out if we should rent a car, invest in an intra-country bus pass or get tickets aboard the two main backpacker buses—Stray or the Kiwi Express.

Jen, who generally crunches the numbers for the group (I tend to be better at directions than budgets, while Holly does destination planning), determined that it would actually be the least expensive to split the cost of an economy car—and we’d have total control over where we’d go and when we’d get there. We’d learned that New Zealand is filled top to bottom with amazing wineries, fruit orchards and even boutique chocolate factories, so we were eager to pop in and sample the goods whenever the mood struck (as it often does!).

We had one last stop before leaving town—the New Zealand Tourism office (located near Pier 1 along Auckland’s waterfront)—to pick up discount passes for activities throughout the country. Lost Girls Tip: If you’re coming to Kiwiland, it’s very much worth your while to scout the racks in hostels, hotels and local tourism information offices for great deals and discounts—you can get from 10-30 percent off the listed price of an activity just for holding the right coupon. Even if you can’t find a coupon, you should call or email the tour company to see if they have any unlisted discounts—many properties are happy to give you a bit of financial encouragement to book with them.

We spent just under four weeks touring New Zealand’s superlatively gorgeous countryside. The impending autumn turned the whole world from mossy green to shades of gemstone rarely seen outside of a Harry Winston display case. The first part of our drive, through the slightly more populous North Island, took us from Auckland, through the volcanically active town of Rotarua, past Lake Taupo, onto the Tongariro National Park (where Mt Doom is located!) and finally ended in New Zealand’s social, political and cultural capital of Wellington.

Rather than recap the entire Crossroads-style highway adventure (do you really want to read about our 7-11 popcorn, candy and soda binges?), we’d decided to run the highlight reel of our top 10 favorite stop-offs, local interactions and Kiwi insights. Enjoy!

1. The Kiwi Experience

(ADP): Back in Auckland, the girls and I had to make a quick decision whether we wanted to tour New Zealand on a pricey guided-bus adventure, or a rent a car to make the same journey. We chose the latter, but we didn’t realize what a wise decision we’d made until the first time we saw a mega-sized tour bus pull up in front of a hostel and watch 60 exhausted gap year travelers spilling out into the road, straining under the weight of their backpacks, daypacks and bags of travel grub. They herded past the reception desk en mass, picking up their keys and shuffling off to rooms to prepare for another night of partying.

This is a generalization, I realize, but many riders on Stray and Kiwi Experience busses told us that the best part of the hop-on, hop-of adventure is the chance to knock back a pint or six with your brand new friends and fellow travellers. Honestly, if I’d come to NZ just after graduating Florida State, I’d have been the first one to sign up for a big bus tour, but as I’m rounding 30 (egad!), I’m thrilled to gas up my own little car and see the country with my best girlfriends. We can come and go as we please, stop anytime to take photos or stock up at country fruit stands and sing radio tunes at the top of our lungs. What could be better than that?!

2. Hell’s Gate Mud Baths

(HCC): Remember the “star baths” in Kenya where the three of us had to share just two tubs? Well, the girls and I went beyond getting our hands dirty and jumped right into a single mud bath at Hell’s Gate, a geothermal reserve near Rotorua. Heated by lava very close to the earth’s crust, the sulphurous water was hot—and stinky! But the natives of New Zealand—the Maoris—have long celebrated the geothermal pools for their natural healing properties.

The Lost Girls decided to soak up the benefits by ditching our bikini tops and smearing the clay-like mud across our chests and faces for maximum exposure. Not quite your typical luxurious spa experience, we felt like we were applying war paint. Still, we were reluctant to climb out and rinse off with a cold shower after we’d reached the twenty-minute time limit. And I don’t think it was simply power of suggestion that had us feeling so rejuvenated after only a short dip.

3. Lava Bar at Hot Rocks

(ADP): When you’re talking “nightlife’ in Rotarua, there’s really only one watering hole to speak of—the bar at the Hot Rocks Base Backpackers where we stayed. And since we were required to stroll past the place every single time we left or came back to our dorm room, we ended up getting sucked into conversations and boozy invitations quite often. Fortunately, the ultra casual, saloon-like atmosphere of the place meant that we could wear whatever we wanted, so the three of us ended up tipping back pints in our sweats while we watched teenaged girls, freshly scrubbed after their journey on the Kiwi Experience bus, pretend that they weren’t freezing their asses off as they braved near freezing temperatures in tube tops and sun-dresses.

During our nights at Lava Bar, we met an entire cast of characters, including two young American dentists—Dave and John—who not only bought us a round, but offered to provide free teeth-whitening procedure if we visited them in Portland and Seattle. We re-met a freaky Danish guy who’d already approached us in Auckland with an offer to snap our photo, and who did the same again in Rotarua. Somehow, over the course of the next month, this determined, bearded dude “re-met” us so many times and in so many places, we were convinced that he was stalking us! As for me, I ended up chatting with a gorgeous English guy whom I was planning to make my next boyfriend—until I learned that he’d just graduated high school. I normally love younger men, but when I found out that Jack was a mere babe of 18 years, I had to politely dip out of our flirtation. Oh my god, when did I become the dirty old woman at the bar?!!?

4. River Rats Rafting Adventure

(Jen): During our five-day stopover in Rotarua, the girls and I were determined to squeeze in as many adventure activities as possible. At first, we were a bit overwhelmed by the extensive laundry list of adrenaline inducing sports to choose from. But after perusing several glossy brochures, comparing various packages and chatting with other backpackers at our hostel, our mission was clear - - sign up for a white water rafting trip with River Rats! One of the regions most popular companies, River Rats offers daily cruises down the Rangitiaki, Wairoa and Kaituna rivers, even taking on a few Grade V rapids along the way. But what really caught our attention, was the promise of a death-defying plunge straight over a 21-foot waterfall – which incidentally, is the highest commercially-operated drop in the world! Always up for a challenge, Amanda, Holly and I registered for the next available time slot.

The next morning, a psychedelic pink and purple van pulled up to our hostel, carrying a motley crew of staffers, river guides and wide eyed tourists. We hopped aboard, taking in the rapid fire instructions, trip information and safety warnings as we headed towards impending doom, I mean, the rapids. Nervous laughter filled the vehicle as we each signed a waiver exonerating the company of any liability and stating that we fully assumed the risk we were about to take. Umm! Sure. OK! After getting geared up in sexy helmets, life jackets and water booties, we were issued paddles, assigned to a team and given detailed instructions on how to operate the raft and what to expect as we headed downstream. Confident that our guide wouldn’t steer us in the wrong direction – literally and figuratively – we hit the rapids with enthusiasm.

A few baby waves building up to a Class ‘3’s and some solid group paddle practice under our belts, we were ready for the Big One – we hoped! We could hear the roar of the waterfall in the distance as the raft glided closer to the edge. But before anyone started panicking, our guide stopped the boat a safe distance away for a pep talk. “Now, there’s a camera rigged to the trees to take your picture, so make sure you smile on your way down,” she prompted. Although grinning for a group photo was the last thing on our minds, it lightened the mood and loosened everyone up for the dramatic descent. Also, the group before us had made the fall without capsizing, so now the competition was brewing. Make it over in one piece or risk being added to the River Rats Hall of Shame! Not these Lost Girls! Ready, set, paddle. We propelled our raft forward as fast as we could and as soon as our guide yelled, “Drop”, we hit the bottom of the boat and braced ourselves for the 7 meter plummet. As we sailed off the edge, white water roaring below, it felt like more like we were flying in a weird rubber plane and that we’d keep going forever. That is, until we crashed back into the rapids. But wait, we were still right side up. We’d made it down alive and even had time to flash a quick grin to the camera before it went off. Are we rock stars or what?

Our group gave a dramatic high five with our paddles and then quickly prepared for the next big rapid that waited for us just around the bend. We spent the next hour enjoying the river, taking in the scenery and learning to “surf” – reversing the boat to head up stream then forcing the front end into churning water so it kind of floated there as huge waves crashed over our heads. Another perfect photo op! We arrived back on land looking like, well, drowned river rats, but totally pumped full of adrenaline just as we'd hoped for. Exhausted, but supremely satisfied, we patted ourselves on the back for being so brave and then raced over to the River Rats office to check out the candid shots taken of us on the river. With expressions on our faces that could only be described as “special” all we could do was laugh at ourselves, hop the next bus back to town and hit the pubs for happy hour!

5. Running with the Redwoods

(ADP): While in Rotarua, Jen and I decided to take a jog around the lake, but the overwhelming stench of sulphur and lack of a proper path around the water forced us to turn back. After chatting with a few friendly locals, we learned that there was a far more scenic—and far less smelly—jog to be had through a national park just a ten minute drive from the town center. Jen and I took a quick spin over to Redwood Forest Park to find tens of thousands of acres of towering trees and rolling green hills laced with enough hiking and biking trails to keep even the most dedicated outdoor enthusiast fascinated for months. Thanks to the help of one amazingly kind Kiwi (who literally stopped us three times to show us the proper twists and turns on our jogging path), Jen and I experience an absolutely breathtaking sunset run and felt like we were truly running at the feet of ancient, enchanted giants.

6. Fat Dog Café

(Jen): As you should know by now, The Lost Girls take food very seriously - - Holly has developed a unique rating system for veggie burgers, Amanda requires bakery employees to pass a cream cheese frosting test before she’ll buy their carrot cake, and I refuse to indulge a red meat craving without a glass of Pinot Noir and dark chocolate to follow! Unfortunately, living on a backpacker’s budget with often limited meal choices has forced us to lower our culinary standards significantly during our trip. So on the rare occasion we find a restaurant that falls within our price range and satisfies our discerning taste buds, we run – not walk – to the nearest entrance.

Such was the case in Rotarua when we discovered Fat Dog Café, a funky eatery serving an eclectic menu of nouveau Kiwi comfort food like BBQ chicken pizza, caramelized fruit pancakes, pumpkin and feta paninis, spicy potato wedges, fresh baked breads with Mediterranean dips and a wide range of gooey baked goods, including thick slices of carrot cake with Amanda-approved frosting. With portions plump enough for three LGs to share; we were able to save enough cash to justify a glass of wine and dessert with every meal. But the decadent dishes weren’t the only thing that kept us coming back. Dressed from floor to ceiling in hip, canine couture, with walls drenched in deep burgundy hues and quirky quotes splattered across crooked wooden chairs, Fat Dog Café scored high on The Lost Girls' ambience meter. Transitioning from a hip, coffee house by day into a cozy, candlelit bistro by night, Fat Dog Café was the ideal space for us to relax with a cappuccino, catch up on our journals, pour over celebrity gossip magazines (our first in months!) and soak in the local culture, which is pretty much what we did every day. Hey, if this is what life in New Zealand is all about, consider us converted Kiwis!

7. The Maori Experience

(HCC): While Jen and Amanda were off running in the Redwoods, I decided to go the tourist’s route and see a Maori Twilight Cultural Tour in Rotorua (it’s the lazy woman’s way to pick up some basic local history, fast). This involved boarding a bus with about 50 other travelers before getting dropped off in a “village” to watch poi dances (where women twirl balls of woven flax) and haka (war dances where the men paint their faces, wave spears and belt out fierce battle calls). Our group wandered around the make-believe village to witness woodcarving and tattoo demonstrations and listen to tribe members tell their people’s stories. Long before the Europeans first set foot on the islands, these Polynesian descendants called it home. Exactly when the Maori arrived, and where they originally came from (Tahiti? The Cook Islands? Marquesas?) is still up for debate.

After the history lesson and dance performances, we dug into a Maori feast, called a hangi. The meat- and potato-heavy meal was cooked for four hours in an earth oven. I carb loaded on my favorite veggie, sweet potato, which is known as kumara in NZ. Heck, the $85 price of the tour was worth it for the smoked meal alone.

Even without my fellow Lost Girls to share the experience with, I was having a grand old time. That is, until our guide announced that it was tradition for tourists to share songs from our home countries. I’d rather be stuck with a spear than forced to sing in public, so I tried to inconspicuously slump down in my seat and hide behind my hair. As luck would have it, our guide zeroed right in on me and thrust the microphone in my face. “Let’s hear it for Holly from New York!” he yelled as everyone applauded. How had he remembered my name?! The first song that came to my head was, of course, “New York, New York.” As the group fell silent in anticipation, I had no choice but to utter my best off-key rendition. I can guarantee that nobody wanted to hear me sing. Poor, poor people!

8. The Tongariro Crossing

(HCC): We admit it: We were hoping to spot some hobbits in this “Land of the Long White Cloud,” as New Zealand translates to in Maori. So we decided to make a pilgrimage to the gateway to Middle Earth where “Lord of the Rings” was filmed. Having a rental car granted us the freedom of the open road, where we cruised the

Geothermal Highway

and made frequent pit stops to check out the plethora of thermal springs, bubbling mud pools and spewing geysers that has sprung up from this land of molten volcanoes. Our final destination? The Tongariro Crossing, home to the setting of Mordor’s Mt Doom.

The 17-kilometer, one-day trek is one of the North Island’s most popular and winds around volcanoes, through glacial valleys, past emerald lakes and into lush forest. The downside was some over-crowding on the trail, but it was a small price to pay for such stunning scenery. The bigger cost? Seriously sore muscles—the girls and I felt like hobbits ourselves the following day after hobbling around with aching legs.

9. Wellington and Peter Jackson

(Jen): With so much to do in New Zealand and so little time (3 ½ weeks to explore an entire country can be a bit tricky), there were definitely some places we wish we could have visited, but didn’t get a chance to and others that we loved, but didn’t have enough time to explore properly. For me, that was the country’s capital of Wellington. A sci-fi geek to the core, I couldn’t help but get a rush at the thought of hanging out in Peter Jackson’s hometown. For those of you who don’t know who that is (shame on you), he’s the acclaimed director of Lord of the Rings – one of my all time favorite film trilogies.

A town built on its hip, café culture, thriving art community and sophisticated late night scene, Wellington is a place that you can just kind of “be” in without feeling the need to race around and play tourist. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of Lonely Planet-recommended activities to keep visitors busy for days (Botanic Gardens, Te Papa museum, Parliament House and the Carter Observatory – to name a few). But after only a few hours in this bustling hipster haven, I knew I'd prefer to experience this city through more low key activities like sucking down stiff espressos in local diners, catching a show at an art house cinema and bar hopping from one live music venue to the next. With barely a day to explore before we had to hop the ferry to the South Island, the only Wellington sites we really got to see were the inside of our hostel and a couple neighborhood cafes. Although, seeing Dominic Monaghan and Billy Boyd, two of the Hobbits, grab a meal in Fidel’s (a famous dive that serves the most amazing eggs, muffins and, of course, coffee) in one of the movie’s special features, then eating there myself – practically in the same booth – was pretty freakin’ cool. Hey, I told you I was a geek!

While I was a bit bummed at the lack of time we had in Wellington, our visit there really just affirmed something we already knew - - New Zealand is at the top of the list of countries we must re-visit in the future. And when a Lost Girl sets her mind to do something, you better believe it’s gonna happen!

10. Ferrying to the South Island

(ADP): When one speaks of “ferry ride” to a New Yorker, the first thing that comes to mind is the miraculously floating hunk of iron and steel that provides utilitarian transportation to and from Staten Island. This is the sort of vessel I was expecting to deliver us from New Zealand’s North Island to its South Island, so you can imagine my shock and delight to arrive at the dock in Wellington to find what can only be described as a first class airline terminal designed for water travel. Quite possibly the very last three passengers to arrive (isn’t that always the Lost Girl way?), we walked straight up the reception counter, placed our bags onto conveyer belt and boarded the boat, ascending six floor to a massive passenger lounge that remind me very much of American Airline’s first class Admiral’s Club.

Rather than stiff wooden benches and stale chips (the offerings on most ferries), this ship offered outstanding deli-style lunches, first-run movies on two big screens, incredibly comfy the lounge seating and even a cocktail bar for those who wanted to get loaded during the three hour journey across the channel. The girls and I were psyched to plug in on computers and get caught up on blogging and were actually a little sad when our ship—all too quickly—pulled into port.

And that's all for the North Island, folks!

Stay tuned for more adventures from the South Island!

Sweet As! Our Week in the City of Sails

hollycassandra — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 11:04:00 GMT

Casually mention to a Kiwi that you’re spending more than a night in Auckland (or just mention that you find the city charming) and 9 out of 10 will stop what they’re doing and stare at you in anticipation of some sort of punchline.

“Really?” they’ll inquire cautiously, as if they’re still not sure if you’re kidding or simply a misguided tourist. “Auckland?”

The most surprising thing about this nose-crinkling attitude is that Aucklanders themselves are usually the first to point out how lifeless and uninspired their modest little metropolis really is. They seem to feel that when you’re in a country that boasts some of the world’s most stunning natural formations--active volcanoes, steaming sulphur pools, electric blue glaciers, and knifed-edge mountains featured in a certain Oscar winning trilogy, what could possibly be of interest in their safe, distinctly un-edgy metropolis?

Having not yet visited the superlative sights of New Zealand’s great outdoors, Holly, Jen and I couldn’t make comparisons, but we found plenty to love in the town gracefully sprawled out across several periwinkle and slate-colored bays topped with silver spangles.

Part of the reason we spent so long in Auckland, nearly a week in all, was that we met two really fantastic sets of friends.

Our first, Carmi Ludlow (see: Lost Girl of the Week), played chauffeur and tour guide, taking us to The Auckland Museum, Mission Bay and The Queens Street Market…all the while regaling us with tidbits about Kiwi relationships.

“After decades of proving that women are equal to men, relationships between guys and girls are very progressive. You’ll usually see men looking after the babies, putting them in prams and taking them for walks while the mum goes off to work and earns the living.”

And on meeting guys:

“We definitely don’t go on ‘dates’ here like you girls do in the States…none of this Sex and the City stuff. It’s not like a guy will come up to you in a bar and ask you out. You usually just meet someone through friend and get together. That’s it.”

And on matrimony:

“You’ll find lots of couples who’ve been together for years and years and live together, but don’t get married. Marriage itself doesn’t really seem to be as much of a priority as it used to be.”

As always, we chewed on this information, considered it very carefully and filed it away for future reference. In the event that any of us jumped ship completely and decided to pursue a future in New Zealand, we’d have to know these things.

We were introduced to another second set of Kiwi pals—Greg and Wendy—through a friend’s of Holly’s from back home in Syracuse.

Much to our surprise and budgetary delight, this young couple (with a gorgeous one-year old daughter), completely opened up their home, inviting us to stay for days on end and fattening us up with gourmet multi-course meals that included perfectly grilled filet mignon, spice-rubbed pork chops, seared tuna steaks, artisinal cheeses and breads, wines from across New Zealand and the local kicker—Tim-Tams and Hokey Pokey ice cream. We were all awe inspired that Greg—the owner of a recently opened Pilates studio—could be such a genius in the kitchen and in the gym.

To work off the considerable caloric damage we’d done, Jen and Holly joined our new pals and their friends for the annual “Run the Bays”—a five mile race through Auckland that attracted tens of thousands of outdoor enthusiasts, athletes and community members. While I ended being too sick to go (non-stop travel does catch up with your immune system eventually), the girls spent their run checking out the million dollar homes overlooking the water and the gorgeously toned locals sprinting next to them on the race course.

That night, we got as gussied up as our limited backpack rations would allow and headed east of Auckland proper to attend a dinner party hosted by one of Greg and Wendy’s good friends.

There were four married couples in attendance, several children, three lost girls--and one seriously gorgeous single guy named Cam. When we weren’t sipping glasses of Sauvignon Blanc and taking turns gawking at the hottie across the table, the three of us did our best to make intelligent conversation.

Considering that we’d spent the previous three months filling out bellies with cheap bowls of ramen, questionable stir fries and countless portions of white rice with hot sauce, the meal laid out before us seemed a veritable feast.

When the expertly grilled, incredibly tender beef fillet finally made its way to the table, even Holly—a staunchly dedicated white meat eater—couldn’t help but finish her portion.

We topped off the evening with a slice or two of Pavlova, a fluffy meringue dessert that every Kiwi at the table swore was invented in their own country—rather their larger neighbour across the Tasman Sea. To this day, we still have no idea whether the Kiwis or Aussies really created the dish, but we immediately placed it on our don't miss dessert hit list.

Fluffy, sweet and impossible not to love!

Here's a recipe for Pavlova, courtesy of the BBC: http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/database/pavlova_2949.shtml

Easy, Breezy, Beautiful - Bali!

hollycassandra — Mon, 16 Apr 2007 23:21:00 GMT

So I know it’s a bit lame to steal the Cover Girl cosmetics tagline for the title of my blog, but honestly, it’s the perfect way to describe Indonesia’s famous hedonist hotspot. To proof it, I’ll break it down for you one word at a time! Easy: Everything from the low key, little airport and speedy taxi service into town to the top-notch tourist assistance and beautiful budget guesthouse we found in Kuta Beach were all firmly stamped with no hassle guarantees. Even before our toes sank into the sand, we were knee deep in appreciation for the simple and effortless existence held so dear by Bali locals. Breezy: Not only are the Balinese some of the kindest and most smiley people the girls and I have encountered so far on our trip, their ‘no-worries’ attitude and way of life paint the entire island a brilliant shade of chill (No, you can’t find it in your Crayola box, but I swear it’s a real color!). Radical surf dudes, bootleg DVD hawkers, enthusiastic restaurant touts, even the stray dogs sunning in the streets, are poster children (err, and poster animals) for Bali’s breezy, laid-back vibe. Beautiful: The uber relaxed, hippie scene isn’t the only thing that makes this tropical paradise a hit with travelers. Bali is also well endowed in the looks department, boasting gorgeous palm fringed cliffs, sweeping white sand beaches and lush gardens overflowing with exotic flowers, flaming tiki torches and intricately carved Polynesian statues.

Although the stunning surroundings and carefree culture provided me, Holly and Amanda with a much needed rest stop after our 3-month race across Southeast Asia, the most beautiful part of our Bali experience was the fact that we were enjoying all this fabulousness for free! Well, theoretically speaking, that is. I mean we still had to pay for lodging, meals and incidentals, but since Bali was an optional stopover added to our RTW ticket at no additional charge, we felt like contestants on Wheel of Fortune landing on the coveted bonus vacation panel. We could sit around and watch movies, take a jog on the beach and relax by the pool with a frosty cocktail in hand knowing we hadn’t spent even one extra penny to be there. In fact, everything on the island was so cheap (I’m talking $6/person for a guesthouse with a TV and pool, full body massages for $8 and free surf lessons from hottie local instructors), we actually saved money by staying Bali-side versus tacking the two weeks on to our next (and much more expensive) destination, New Zealand.

However, for me, the icing on the Bali cake was a bit more personal. As luck would have it, one of my best friends from Maryland happened to be traveling in Asia on business and was able to sneak away for a few days to join me, Holly and Amanda in Bali. Not only did Steph more than live up to her title of honorary Lost Girl, she provided me with something I was so very desperately missing – a friendly face from back home!

A quick 20 minute cab ride to the nearby resort community of Nusa Dua and I was face to face with one of the esteemed members of my Bowie crew (yes, that’s a real town in MD!). We squealed like school girls, reveling in our serendipitous reunion in Bali of all places, and then we immediately headed to happy hour. We did our best to maximize the few precious days we had together, filling them to the brim with hometown gossip sessions, hours of poolside sunbathing, missions to the market for souvenirs and tours of the island’s main sites - - followed by nights spent dining in cute cafes, dancing in Kuta clubs, catching live music performed by hip, local bands, sipping sundowners on the balcony of Steph’s suite and enjoying all the other swish amenities that her fabulous five-star hotel had to offer! Thanks again, Steph, for keeping this Lost Girl in a style that I’ve unfortunately grown unaccustomed to on our trip! I still dream about Westin’s beautiful breakfast spread! :)

Between my fabulous visitor and the island’s super cool vibe, The Lost Girls’ brief stint in Bali actually turned out to be one of my favorite – and by far the most relaxing – portions of our RTW journey. As we’ve discovered many times on the road, it’s usually the little – and often unexpected – moments that turn out to be the most memorable! May all you travelers out there find just as much joy in the small stuff!

- - - Jen

A Day of Remembering

hollycassandra — Fri, 13 Apr 2007 23:19:00 GMT

HCC: We interrupt your usual broadcast of travel follies, restaurant picks and sporting adventures for a more serious topic we felt important to include in this here record of our around-the-world trip. Due to the graphic content, parental discretion is advised…

Inaction itself is a choice. There have been many times when I’ve scanned a newspaper, read stories covering tough topics such as war crimes in Bosnia or genocide in Darfur, and then put them out of my mind. Why? Because the tales took place far away from my home. Because it was easier to go about my daily routine rather than to decipher the complicated motives behind the conflict. Because I didn’t want to believe that human beings could torture, rape and murder their fellow human beings on the basis of what class they belong to, religion they practice or ethnicity they were born into. Besides, what could I ever do to stop a bloodthirsty regime in a far-off country?

Then I traveled to Phnom Penh, Cambodia with the specific purpose of visiting the famous Killing Fields I’d heard so much about. Since the Killing Fields were about a 20-minute drive from the bustling city center, the girls and I hopped into a rickshaw as our driver expertly dodged the mayhem of pedestrians, cyclos and cars zigzagging through the crowded streets. He was even kind enough to hand us face masks to help block the clouds of pollution threatening to choke us.

Our driver waited outside patiently while we paid the $3 admission fee and entered the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek. Before the Khmer Rouge took over in 1975, the area was an orchard and an old Chinese cemetery. Afterwards, it was converted into a mass execution center to exterminate “traitors” thought to be against the Khmer Rouge’s communist agenda (such as doctors, professors, diplomats and other educated types).

A stupa containing about 8,000 human skulls housed a memorial for the roughly three million victims who lost their lives during the regime. Staring at the skulls riddled with bullet-holes and fractures from Lord-knows-what kind of atrocities, it was impossible to keep my stomach from knotting up. Standing on the same ground where so many people were tortured and murdered made the crimes nauseatingly real.

The largest mass grave contained 450 corpses, while another held 166 headless bodies. Though I didn’t want to believe it, all I had to do was look down at the earth to see where tattered victims’ clothes had washed up to the surface after heavy rains.

Our guide told us how soldiers often knocked on citizens’ doors unexpectedly ordering them to follow the soldiers so they could fulfill some sort of “duty” to the government. After being taken away, they were never heard from again. Other times, soldiers escorted entire families to this burial ground, where they were murdered with bullets or clubs used to smash heads. The girls and I were told that some were even buried alive. We saw a killing tree where children’s skulls were supposedly bashed to preserve precious bullets before being thrown into mass graves. The perpetrators were said to have played music from loudspeakers during executions to mask victims’ screams.

After I lit incense at a shrine in front of the stupa and said a prayer of remembrance, our guide recommended we head straight to the genocide museum in the city. Formerly a high school, the Khmer Rogue converted the grounds into the S-21 prison. This is where Cambodians were interrogated and tortured before being shipped to The Killing Fields for execution.

The grounds were eerily silent as we wandered through classrooms that had been converted into prison cells where captives had been locked to single beds with shackles. Bullet holes and bloodstains speckled the walls forming ghoulish patterns, and many cells displayed a photo of the prisoner, exposing humans with sunken ribs and bodies swollen from starvation.

Nothing in my life has taken my breath away and turned my stomach like staring at the monstrous display of victims’ headshots that had been snapped upon their arrival. Victims’ clothes were then taken and biographies recorded so the Khmer Rouge could keep track of the “enemies” before they were thrown into their cells.

Just about every single one of the hundreds of black-and-white faces staring out from behind the glass looked like they surely knew they were about to die. Some had eyes swollen shut from beatings; others’ eyes appeared hollow and devoid of emotion; others’ eyes virtually shone with terror.

In an act of remembrance, I walked through and examined each and every face in those horrendous photographs. And every so often, I would come across a face where the captive stared boldly into the lens and smiled ever so slightly at the camera. Each time I saw one of these rare expressions, a shiver traveled from the base of my spine up to the back of my skull like an electric shock.

If these people had endured being separated from their families, stripped of their clothing and forced from their homes, why the heck were they smiling? If they suspected that they were going to be tortured, raped and murdered, why did they smile?

Staring into their rebellious eyes, I formed my own theory: These seemingly odd expressions were actually sending a powerful message. They seemed to be saying, “You can take my clothes, take my home, take my life. But there is nothing you can do to me physically that will ever break my spirit.” The small gesture was an act of defiance and a testament to human strength. It’s a reminder to those still living on that we all have a part of us no one can ever steal.

So the next time I read a news article about mass violence in a far-off land, I will think of my day at The Killing Fields and know that it is not so far away from home because the world is much smaller than it seems. And while I may not be able to change the past or intercept an army to prevent future deaths, I can help keep the victims’ stories alive by choosing to share what I’ve seen. Forgetting may be easier, but I think it’s better to remember.

--Holly

There's No Place Like Home

hollycassandra — Wed, 11 Apr 2007 14:04:00 GMT

HCC: I never thought I’d travel halfway around the world to spend a Sunday night watching Sex in the City and ordering take out. When our new twenty-three year old French friend, Emmanuel (we met him on the train back from Sapa), invited us to his home for wine and cheese, we jumped at the chance to see how an expat lives. He’s spent the last year and a half working at a museum in Hanoi and rents a gorgeous three-story house on a lake. Emmanuel toasted bread to eat with the French cheese and escargot spread he’d set out on the table, while his Aussie housemate, Adi, poured us red wine and his Dutch roommate, Steve, took this photo of us in the traditional Vietnamese hats that were remnants from a recent birthday party. As if being in a real home with couches and bathtubs and a refrigerator wasn’t excitement enough, we spotted a Sex in the City DVD collection. Now, we can only speculate as to why these men had the entire box set. Some theories: Maybe they watch it for the sex scenes. Maybe they think the show contains the secret to understanding women. Who knows? Who cares? Jen “accidentally” hit play and we settled in to reminiscence about life in the big apple. After sitting through two episodes, Emmanuel asked if we wanted to go to dinner. “Um, can we get pizza delivery in Vietnam?” Amanda asked. And, just like that, he pulls out his cell and has three pies delivered to our door. We were in heaven. I guess you can take the girls out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the girls.

The Sapa Slide

hollycassandra — Wed, 4 Apr 2007 05:10:00 GMT

After spending several days pounding the pavement for essential cold weather attire, haggling hard core for souvenirs, playing endless rounds of “Frogger” with gangs of cyclo drivers and wading through the maze of overcrowded side streets in Hanoi’s bustling Old Quarter, Holly, Amanda and I decided it was high time to plan a little weekend getaway to the North. After all, one of the things that drew us to this region of Vietnam in the first place was the promise of spectacular treks through the misty mountains of Sapa, a quaint little town near the border of China. After doing a bit of research on various excursions and prices, we decided that our best option was the 3 night, 4 day trip offered through Kangaroo Café, one of Hanoi’s most reputable tour operators, and incidentally, one of the few places in the city that serves huge mugs of coffee (as a non-recovering caffeine-oholic, I tend to get a bit twitchy at the sight of the thimble sized tea cups that are the local standard). Not only did this popular package provide us with the chance to get in some hard core hiking (the stir fry, spring rolls and noodle bowls we’d been consuming in mass quantities were bound to catch up with us if we didn’t act quickly!), it also offered the unique opportunity to stay with a local family in one of the villages along the trail. Happy to trade the city smog for country fog, we packed small weekend bags and boarded the overnight train to Sapa. DAY 1: Compared to many of our previous trips on the tracks, this one to Sapa was a breeze. Our cozy little sleeper car came equipped with real pillows, fluffy blankets, lamps with actual shades on them, bottles of complimentary water, and most importantly, no cockroaches! Whoo hoo! (please refer to our previous “On the Rails” blog if you don’t know what I’m talking about). Although we arrived at the station at the ungodly hour of 5am, the girls and I were surprisingly well rested and ready to get our hiking party started. Well, that was until we actually stepped foot outside of the train and realized that the “slightly colder weather” we were told to expect in Sapa was actually closer to that of say, Oh, I don’t know, a post-apocalyptic Antarctica, perhaps? Now I know I’m being slightly melodramatic, but anyone who has known me for more than five seconds can attest to the fact that when the temperature drops below freezing (OK, who am I kidding, below 40-50 degrees really), I transform from perky Jen to pure evil Jen faster than Carrie on prom night. But despite the shockingly chilly conditions, the girls and I we were determined to maintain our enthusiasm. I mean, after spending the past 8 months in countries where eggs could legitimately fry on the sidewalks, who could blame us for being a bit wimpy. Our thin skin would toughen up again after a few days of getting used to the cold, right? Plus, the hotel where we were staying that evening was sure to have a roaring fire in the lobby and cozy heated rooms, right? Sadly, it turned out we were wrong on both accounts… After a nail biting ride through a series of windy dirt roads that looked like they just might drop off suddenly and send our van sailing straight over the cliff, we arrived in Sapa at day break. At least we thought it was Sapa; and that the day was probably breaking. Dense layers of fluffy fog cloaked the city like a blanket, making it impossible for us to see more than a few feet in any direction. Following the sound of our guide’s voice, we began the steep ascent up crumbling stone steps towards the lodge entrance. Our visions of sipping hot toddies next to a crackling fire were quickly dashed as we stepped into an open air lobby that seemed to double as a wind tunnel for the Nor’easter (or whatever Vietnam’s equivalent is). To add insult to injury, the only source of (supposed) heat in our room was a tiny wood burning fireplace hidden in the corner and covered in cobwebs thick enough to trap a small cat. Wait, is that meowing I hear? When faced with adversity or too-tough conditions, there’s one thing us Lost Girls can always turn to make ourselves feel better - - chocolate! So rather than spend the day holed up in our hotel under pounds of blankets, we hightailed it into town to find comfort in cocoa. We decided that the best cure for our wintertime blues would be to skip dinner all together and hop from restaurant to restaurant (all of the ones that advertised heat) sampling everything on the menu that contained sugar. After a few dessert disasters (here in Sapa apparently banana cake = fried banana fritters and chocolate pie = unidentified and tasteless fudge-like substance), we found a cozy little wine bar that served the most sinful “chocolate mousse” ever. Actually, it was more like raw brownie batter topped with peanut butter crunchies, but in this instance we didn’t mind the mix up in translation. A few glasses of pinot noir and six desserts later (Lost Girls Rule of Splitting: calories don’t count when you share dishes – even when you order 2x or even 3x more than society deems appropriate), we finally felt satisfied and warm enough to return to our overnight iceboxes. After donning every piece of clothing we had in our backpacks, pushing all the beds together in the center of the room and piling four comforters on top of one another, we actually managed to fall asleep. Hopefully the below freezing temperature would preserve our bodies in perfect form, so our first day of hiking would be a piece of cake (chocolate, of course!). DAY 2 After a quintessential a.m. carb-loading session (we couldn’t be expected to trek all day with only chocolate in our tummies?), we were introduced to Tsu (pronounced “Sue”), a member of the local Hmong tribe and our friendly tour guide for the next two days. Although a few sheets of Sapa’s signature mist had burned off during the night, an ominous rumble was spreading across the charcoal sky and freshly squeezed raindrops were beginning to pool on the trail. Noticing our lack of water-proof clothing, Tsu suggested we make a quick pit stop at her friend’s store to pick up some cheap rain gear. Our backpacks stuffed beneath yellow plastic ponchos with only our heads peeking out from the hoods, we looked like a strange breed of mutant turtles as we splashed through puddles and slowly navigated the first of many steep climbs. It didn’t take us long to discover that continuing our tortoise-like pace would be a necessary survival method if we didn’t want to pitch right over the edge of the path. After hours of rain, the hillsides were frosted in thick, gooey layers of mud and the trail had been instantly transformed into an obstacle course worthy of a Real World/Road Rules Challenge Gauntlet round. No matter; the Lost Girls laughed in the face of danger. Haa! We weren’t going to a little slop stop us from burning off the remains of last night’s calorie fest. We decided that the only way to arrive at our destination in one piece and in good spirits was to make game out of getting to the top of the muck covered mountain. After all, we were members of a generation that perfected the delicate art form of throwing our bodies down Slip ‘n Slides every summer. This was pretty much the same thing - - sans the long rubber runway, of course. A few wild arm flails, awkward hip shakes and face first nose dives later, Amanda, Holly and I had single-handedly invented a brand new dance. We call it…The Sapa Slide. Unlike its cheesy predecessors, like The Electric Slide, The Macarena or Mambo #5 (God, what the hell were people thinking?), The Sapa Slide doesn’t require any lame music scores, choreography skills or even hand/eye coordination for that matter. Success is measured purely on one’s ability to a) make a complete fool out of themselves b) avoid sudden death or dismemberment and c) keep inevitable turret’s syndrome attacks under control. But remember kids: The Lost Girls are trained professionals, so please don’t try to recreate our moves at home without adult supervision! Despite our best efforts to spread The Sapa Slide to the masses, it didn’t seem to be catching on with the locals. Both Tsu and the group of resident school children who’d been following us were working the trail like supermodels at fashion week, strutting gracefully to the end of the path, turning to only to offer words of encouragement to their awestruck audience. Some of the older girls even weaved small toys and intricate head crowns out of freshly picked grass and thistles - without so much as breaking a sweat - as they strolled past us, politely attempting to stifle their giggles. But despite obvious discrepancies in skill level, together, we formed the perfect team. They helped us successfully navigate the slippery slopes and we were their entertainment for the day - - it was an ideal match. After a few hours of hiking, Holly, Amanda and I had not only found our groove and were jammin’ right alongside our new Hmong friends, but we finally had a chance to stop and soak in the stunning views. With the rain finally tapering off and the gray clouds moving on to bluer skies, the girls and I were able to enjoy the beauty of Sapa’s unique and mythical landscape to its fullest. In this case, I consider it unnecessary for me delve into my arsenal of cliché descriptions and overused adjectives, when the classic story book beginning, “Once upon a time in a land far, far away…” is the best way to describe the sweeping scenery before us. Scenes befitting of a Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale stretched endlessly across the rolling hillside, sparking a powerful nostalgia within me and reopening a world in my childhood imagination where my banana seat bicycle could fly me anywhere, couch cushions were the building blocks for castles and giants roamed freely in the backyard. Even at my present day age of 28 (or 25 for the 4th year as I prefer to think about it), I half expected to see strange woodland creatures emerging from the mist or one of the many pigs indulging in an afternoon mud bath to sit up and start talking to us. Of course, nothing like that actually happened, but we continued to bask in our fantasy-inducing surroundings for the next several hours until we finally reached a little wooden farmhouse that would be our digs for the evening. After being introduced to our host family and the other hikers who were scheduled to bunk with us that night (a cute couple from Australia who were on their honeymoon), we all settled down by the fire to enjoy a hot meal of fried potatoes, sliced beef with ginger and a medley of fresh vegetables picked straight from the garden. For “dessert”, Tsu pulled out a bottle of homemade rice wine, poured us all shots and instructed us to gulp them down in one swift swallow. One part lighter fluid, two parts rubbing alcohol (so it seemed to our throats stomachs anyway), this popular local liquor burned away any residual chill left in our bones and probably put hair in places we didn’t want it. “Come on. You have to drink more,” Tsu prompted, topping up our glasses. Good God, I was going to die right here in this barn, wasn’t I? Luckily, after a few more polite acceptances of this seemingly lethal libation, we were still alive - - and on the plus side, warm enough to brave the drafty loft nestled in the rafters above that served as our bedroom. Despite the lack of chocolate, we eventually drifted off to sleep, attempting to rest of our aching bodies and mentally prepare to do everything all over again the next day. DAY 3 After a thoroughly satisfying home cooked breakfast (was it my imagination or do pancakes taste better at altitude?), we got an early start for what Tsu warned us would be a rigorous five hour hike. No problem! The weather was clear and we had The Sapa Slide down to a science anyway. But even we couldn’t have predicted just how much we’d have to rely on our newly acquired expertise to get us through the day. Even without the rain, the trails were a complete disaster with broken tree branches, slippery stones and thicker layers of muck stretching for miles. Even the locals were taking baby steps to get down some of the more treacherous inclines, many of them adopting The Sapa Slide as they tried to balance baskets of sticks on their backs. Oh, no! We were all in serious trouble! After replacing our original dance moves with the less refined “Fall on your Butt Every Five Seconds” routine, we eventually made it to higher and drier ground. But just when we thought the worst was behind us (or rather, caked on our behinds); we came to a bit of an impasse. Well, actually it was more like some random farm. Acting as if it was perfectly normal to just stroll across a stranger’s rice paddy, Tsu stepped onto the thin grass strip that linked one end of the property to the other and began to lead us across. Perched precariously on the leafy ledge, Holly, Amanda and I had only 6 inches of space to play with before we would become ‘one’ with the watery crop below. Performing a delicate balancing act worthy of a Barnum and Bailey’s main tent, we glided slowly across the makeshift bridge until we reached the safety of the path that continued on the other side. Whew! From that point on, we finally got the workout we’d been craving as the trail wound it’s way up steep but (thankfully) dry hills, through thick, tropical forests and over jagged rock formations (who needs a gym when you’ve got an all natural stone Stairmaster?). Despite our slippery start, we managed to finish the hike almost an hour ahead of schedule. We arrived around 1pm to one of the many makeshift restaurants set up for hikers on the trial where we dined on a gourmet lunch of Ramen noodles and hot tea. After a quick trip to the ladies bush, we bid our farewells to the forest and hopped in the van that Tsu had arranged to take us back to town – and unfortunately to the same arctic accommodations we had our first night in Sapa. Unable to bare the thought of a sub-freezing room, we made a collective Lost Girls’ decision to forfeit the few dong we’d spent on our current room and move to one of the other cheap hotels on the block that, thank the freakin’ Lord, provided space heaters to their guests. Hey, we’d already proved we could tough it out on the trail. There was no need to get carried away by unnecessarily braving torturously cold conditions. Plus, Holly and Amanda felt it was in their best interest to do whatever they could to stifle the release of pure evil Jen - - very wise decision if I do say so myself! DAY 4 I seriously think there were angels singing and violins playing as the girls and I awoke in a warm and toasty room for the first time in days. We practically skipped down the sun drenched streets on our way to breakfast, excited to have a few hours of free time to explore the town before we had to catch the night train back to Hanoi. After completing a 2 hour DIY hike that led us through a lush valley to a nearby waterfall, we spent the rest of the day browsing craft stalls at the weekend market, snapping cool scenic shots of the area and scouting new dessert locations. For those of you out there who are planning a visit to the Sapa, I strongly advise you to snag one of the stylish white leather sofas at Baguette & Chocolat, a snug French eatery right near the town centre. Not only do they serve the best hot cocoa we’ve ever had in our lives (and that’s a serious statement coming from us), all proceeds from the restaurant go to help local children’s charities - - something that’s very important to us LGs. We interrupt this blog for an important message: Please check out Holly’s latest “It Takes a Village” post to find out how you can donate to Village Volunteers, a charitable organization that’s near and dear to our hearts. We now return to our regularly scheduled blogcast: After spending four full days breathing in the fresh mountain air, releasing toxins through tough hikes, showing of our mad ‘dance’ skills on the slippery slopes and indulging in endorphin boosting desserts, the stress the girls and I had been feeling in Hanoi, was thankfully starting to melt away. And while our little mini break to Sapa didn’t completely erase the few unpleasant incidences we’d had to content with recently or cure the exhaustion that had begun to build in our bones (8 months of travel + a dash of bad luck = 3 weary Lost Girls) it did accomplish something far greater – it revived the inner travel optimist in each of us. With our backpacker juices free-flowing once again, Holly, Amanda and I boarded the sleeper car back to Hanoi with a newfound energy and confidence. No matter what the rest of the trip may bring, we knew we were strong enough to handle anything and were hopeful that good things were just around the corner - - or sitting right beside us on the train as we’d soon discover… STAY TUNED FOR HOLLY’S UPCOMING “THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME” BLOG TO FIND OUT HOW OUR FORTUNE IMPROVED! - - - Jen

Lost in Hanoi

hollycassandra — Wed, 28 Mar 2007 13:53:00 GMT

ADP: When Holly first visited Saigon, Vietnam in 1999 (during a post-collegiate voyage with Semester at Sea), she didn’t have the funds to take an extra excursion north to the country’s capital and the nearby regions of Sapa and Ha Long Bay. Fellow students who made the journey, however, came back raving about the stunning countryside and gracious people. "It’s one of my favorite destinations,” they declared, sentiments that Jen and I also heard reflected by friends and colleagues who’d ventured to Vietnam during its early tourism heyday. My addiction to glossy travel magazines had only added to the country’s mystique—some of the most beautiful landscape photography I’d ever viewed was snapped in Vietnam. Thanks to those images (and the fantastic word-of-mouth press), I spent the weeks leading up to our arrival dreaming of verdant tea fields, swirling candy-ribbon hillsides and limestone formations towering like dragons over crescent moon bays. It wasn’t until the girls and I started chatting with traveler friends who’d just returned from the country that we received the very first less-than-glowing reports. “It’s just so commercial,” said Harrison, a 22-year-old Canadian we’d met at yoga school. “You can’t take a walk without fifty people coming up to you, harassing you, trying to get you to eat at their restaurant, sign up for their tour, book a night at their hotel, buy their guidebook, CDs, batteries, bracelets, hats, whatever. It’s almost impossible to avoid the sales pitch…” This news didn’t particularly phase faze us. After getting acquainted with aggressive peddlers and street vendors all throughout India, Brazil, Peru and Kenya, the girls and I had developed entire systems for dealing with touts who seemed to view “no” and “not interested” as strong words of encouragement. Our friend Sarah had more to add. “It’s weird, because Vietnam is still supposed to be this socialist country, but I’ve never seen a place where, at the individual level, people are so capitalist,” she said. “Just be careful, or you’ll end up paying twice as much as you should for everything.” Well-accustomed to taking these doomsday warnings with an extra-large grain of salt, we thanked our friends but decided to enter the country with our eyes and minds open. The travel gods decided to test our resolve by throwing us a curveball almost the second we arrived in Saigon... *** The bus we’d taken from Cambodia weaved through a heavy cloud of exhaust and carbon monoxide (caused, no doubt, by the tens of thousands of motorbikes jamming every possible inch of asphalt) to drop us off near a cluster of taxicabs. We pushed past the men snatching at our bags and found a far more subdued driver dozing off behind the wheel of his cab. After we pointed out our destination on a city map, he grinned, nodded vigorously and agreed to use the meter. Twenty minutes later, we’d dodged our way through a hornet’s nest of cyclos (motor-taxis), snaked around the circumference of a large city park and turned to a corner to our final coordinates—almost the exact spot where the driver had picked us up in the first place. Pointing up at a Vietnamese street sign, the cabbie demanded his metered fare. He’d literally taken us for a ride—right around the block. ] We gritted our teeth, and paid the man. After all, we’d been green enough to request a taxi when we were practically sitting in the shadow of our hotel. Who could blame the guy for trying to make a quick buck off the dumb American tourists? Things didn’t improve dramatically once we’d shuttled several hundred miles north to Hanoi. It was well after midnight when the front desk clerk at our next hotel explained that he’d given away the triple room we’d reserved several days in advance. “We have two double rooms available,” he said slyly. “But of course, you’ll have to pay the difference in the price.” With little possibility of finding alternative lodging long after dark, we suffered the night in our overpriced hotel before finding a cheaper and more specious place right next door. The following day, we outfitted ourselves for Hanoi’s chilly winter weather, we stepped out into the street, determined to find the alluring side of Vietnam so many people before us had raved about. As it turned out, there was a lot to love about the city. We instantly found the charm in the Old Quarter and Latin Quarter—the tangled lanes surrounding the lake, the dimly lit wine bars and the scent of cardamom wafting from sidewalk cafes serving beef noodle soup. For the first time since we’d started traveling, Jen, Holly and I made room in our backpack for gorgeous souvenirs, including made-to-fit silk dresses, hand-carved stone chopstick boxes and color-saturated lacquer bowls. Always big fans of Vietnamese cuisine, we found far more amazing places to stuff ourselves with spring rolls, banana flower salad and stir-fried chicken than we had nights to visit them all. The dining, shopping and culture were standouts in Southeast Asia. Local friendliness: not so much. In stark contrast to the cities we’d visited on the trip so far, the girls and I found that we often received a chilly reception in Hanoi. At first, we wrote off the individual incidences, figuring that the language barrier and sheer number of tourists crowding the neighborhood might explain why we felt an overall lack of warmth and friendliness. But as the days passed, and the confusing, disappointing and outright upsetting interactions added up, we started to wonder if we were doing something to inspire such hostility. First, there was the woman in Hanoi’s discount clothing district who absolutely refused to let me try on pants, indicating with unmistakable clarity that I was too fat to fit into them. When I held up a size XXL workout pants, the woman at the stall snatched them away, holding up her hands wide in front of my waist to indicate my obvious obesity. Then there was the street vendor who screamed “fuck you!” at Jen when she declined to buy an illegally photocopied edition of Lonely Planet Vietnam. When our jackets were “accidentally” snatched from our table at a local pub called Funky Monkey, the cocktail waitress icily claimed that it was not her business and refused to ask the staff if they’d been taken somewhere by mistake. When the clothes did mysteriously turn up in a back room, no apology or explanation was offered—our questions were met with tight lips and stony stares. And perhaps most sadly, Holly had her purse slashed one afternoon while she was shopping. The would-be thief ran out of the store before Holly could process exactly what was happening. Fortunately, the woman wasn’t quick—or brave—enough to grab anything valuable before she took off. Even after all this, the girls and I tried to chalk up these interactions in Hanoi to bad luck. Theft happens everywhere, especially in highly trafficked tourist areas. The scenario at the bar could have been a misunderstanding. Even copyright infringing street touts can have a bad day (but I still refused to write off the “you’re-so-fat” gesture as mere misunderstanding). We wanted so badly to discover the best parts of Hanoi, but we were all started to feel edgy and snappish. Each day, we’d prepare ourselves for the constant yelling and selling and honking and hawking, determined to stay upbeat and positive, but by days end, our resolve and patience had melted. What happened next didn’t help… **** Returning to the capital from a three-day side trip to the Sapa region (see Jen’s upcoming entry), we arrived at the train station at the lonely hour of 4:00am and needed a cab back to our hotel. When a driver approached us and agreed to use his regulated meter, we hired him, prepared to spend the 35,000 dong that our tour company had indicated the trip should cost. I threw my purse and overnight bag in the trunk and we were on our way. Almost immediately, the girls and I noticed that our driver’s meter was spinning wildly out of control, clicking upwards like a stopwatch almost every second we were in the car. We’d been warned time and again about unscrupulous cabbies who tried cheat unsuspecting passengers, but never had we encountered a driver whose meter was so obviously rigged. “Um, sir, we can all see that your meter is incorrect and we’re not going to pay you more than 40,000 dong,” said Jen, in a loud, clear voice. “So, you can stop your cab right now and let us out, or you can just take us to our hotel for the fair price of 40,000 dong. We knew he heard and understood Jen’s English, because the driver jammed his foot against the gas peddle. He seemed desperate to get us to our destination so he could make his money and pretended not to hear Jen repeating the statement over and over again. When he finally responded and stopped his car along the relatively well-lit lake front, he demanded the 100,000 Dong fare the meter displayed. My first big mistake in the wee pre-dawn hours had been putting my bags, including my passport and cash, in the trunk. The second? Handing the driver only 40 dong. The second the cash hit his palm, he went ballistic, screaming in our faces, demanding that we pay him the full fare. “You give me my money. GIVE ME MY MONEY!!” We knew that in the grand scheme of things, those 60,000 extra dong wasn’t going to bankrupt us, but we were hardly about to reward a guy for taking advantage of three women (especially at such an unsafe hour). Still, getting up on my high horse wasn’t solving the problem of the locked-up luggage. Ignoring my pleas to release my stuff, he refused to open the trunk and the girls and I were effectively held hostage by a guy who was rapidly transforming into a madman. Holly grew very quiet, completely in shock at his irrational behavior, and Jen and I suggested to the drive that we should find a police officer to help resolve the situation. The suggestion seemed to send him into a panic, final confirmation that he was, in fact, trying desperately to cheat us out of the extra cash. He slammed the car into drive, speeding away from the relative safety of the lakeside and into the darkness of the surrounding neighborhood. We were momentarily stunned into silence until a terrified Holly whispered, “Guys, we have to get out! He could be taking us anywhere; we’re definitely not safe in this car.” Her panic infected all of us and I wondered if she was right. The guy, still screaming about his money in the front seat, was carting us off down a very dark side-street. Holly opened the door of the speeding cab to jump out. “I can’t leave my stuff!” I cried, torn between fleeing for safety and relinquishing my passport, overseas visas, cash and other valuables. Believe me, I know when you’re being mugged, nothing is as important as your life. But I wasn’t entirely convinced this guy was dragging us off into the night to hurt us. Holly, however, didn’t want to take any chances. While her flight instinct took over, Jen’s urge to stay and fight won out. “Holly, we can’t just leave Amanda or her bags,” she said, turning back to the driver. “Where are you taking us?!” “We go back to the train station! You pay me money or I take you back now!” “Sir! We want you to stop this car, right now! You are scaring us. You need to let us out of this car…NOW.” He ignored Jen yet again, slamming his foot into the accelerator. Torn between proving my point and just getting all three of us the hell out of the car, I thought about throwing some cash over the front seat, hoping to end this rapidly escalating ordeal. But would this guy—acting like a lunatic desperately in need of his next heroine fix—actually surrender my stuff if I gave him what he wanted? Was leading my loyal friends into a potentially violent situation? “If you do not stop this car, I am going to open up the door and scream and as loudly as I can for help” warned Jen. The driver hesitated but didn’t deviate from his original path. Maybe he thought Jen was bluffing but we all soon learned that she wasn’t. “HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLP! HEEEEEEELP!” Jen leaned over Holly and used every ounce of her lung power to alert everyone in a 20 mile radius to our predicament. The driver slammed on his brakes, snapped around in his seat and raised a fist to backhand Jen. That only made her scream louder. He tumbled out of the front seat, yanked open Holly’s door. Jen held her ground and tried to make a deal. “If you open the trunk right now and let us get our stuff, we’ll give you the rest of your money.” Talk of cash seemed to break through the guy’s insanity and he moved around to the trunk, finally springing the lock and releasing our gear. I grabbed my bags and started to walk off, with Jen trailing right behind. Terrified that he might not get his cash, the driver accosted Holly, taking a running start and move in to kick her in the stomach. Jen and I saw this and flipped out, now determined to defend our friend. As we approached, the driver shrank away, probably debating whether or not he wanted to take on three very pissed-off Lost Girls. In his last ditch effort to share how much he despised us, he reared back and hocked a huge spitball in Jen’s direction, then flinched and backed up as if he was worried she might sock him with the huge bag of books she had gripped like a weapon in her hand. He kept spitting in our direction, cowardly creeping backwards towards the driver-side door. With our stuff in hand and safety almost assured, we grabbed Holly and hauled ass through the misty darkness towards our street. *** When we ducked into our hotel it was going on 5:00am. Apologizing profusely, the owner informed us that our room wouldn’t be ready for a few hours. Too bewildered to respond, we all just slid into chairs in the lobby dining room, trying to make sense of what had just happened in the cab. How had things spiraled out of control so fast? Could we have avoided the entire situation? And most importantly, why did we keep having such bad luck in Northern Vietnam?! Exhausted, shaken and depressed, I knew the girls and I had hit a pretty low point in our trip. Demonic cab drivers aside, we’d now been traveling for seven solid months, spending every minute of our time glued to each other’s side, trying to figure which end of the map was up. Just when we’d get a sense of our surroundings and learn a few phrases in the local language, we’d be off again, bound for another place where we couldn’t help but stick out like sore thumbs. If traveling for a year can be compared with running a marathon, we’d hit the proverbial brick wall. Our reserves of energy were just about depleted and I hoped that we’d have it in us to get past what had just happened. As if sensing just how much we need a boost, the owner’s wife Thom walked over to our table and presented us with a complimentary platter of eggs, toast, jam, bananas and tea. We broke into smiles for the first time that morning and got busy serving ourselves (hey, you know the Lost Girls love our food). It might have been a small gesture to apologize for making us wait for the room, but we all felt a little less shell-shocked thanks to Thom's random act of kindness. Polishing off the last of the meal, we grabbed the room key from the front desk clerk and crawled upstairs to bed.

21 Reasons We Fell in Love with Bangkok

hollycassandra — Thu, 22 Mar 2007 21:51:00 GMT

ADP: New Yorkers tend to assume (or more aptly, believe with a deep, zealot-like conviction) that there’s no big city on earth that’s as funky, hip and prodigious as the one they call home. And, having spent most of my twenties falling in love with and ultimately moving to one of the world’s fastest moving metropolises, I tended to agree with my fellow Gothamites. Where else can you rub elbows with A-list celebs at the corner bodega, sample two dozen flavors of rice pudding at 2:00am, argue with cab drivers in 142 different languages and grab cocktails with your friends every night for a decade—never visiting the same spot twice?

Blame it on our stubborn NYC pride, but we just didn’t expect Bangkok—a city we were scheduled to pass through four times during our trip to Southeast Asia—to give the Big Apple such a run for its money. We often remark that it only takes a day to form a first impression of a new city, to decide whether or not you’ll love or hate it and if you’ll want to spend several weeks exploring its hidden corners—or use it as little more than a one-night crash pad.

Blame it on the five-star coach treatment we received on our overnight flight into town on Emirates, but the decision to fall for Thailand’s capital city took less than a New York minute. After our plane touched down, the girls and I joined three other American backpackers we’d met at the airport and made a beeline for the campy but well-loved

Kho San Road

. With time to kill before our hostel opened (it was only 5:00am!) we flagged a waitress and ordered our very first round of Tiger Beers.

The following encompasses just a few of our favorite things about Bangkok. Sure, its quite a laundry list, but believe me—we could have kept right on going!

1. Gourmet Street

Vendors: As much as the Lost Girls love to splurge on crispy dumplings with dipping sauces and heaping bowls of chicken stir fry (yum!), we’re huge fans of lighter treats that you can buy cheap on the street. Bangkok’s got both in spades—stands serving up heaping plates of noodles and carts where you can get melon, pineapple, papaya sliced to order and served with sugar (optional, of course) for just about 30 cents. We also loved the takeaway cartons of steamed spring rolls and sushi—all freshly made and available for just a few Thai baht.

2.Little Siam: Situated down an unassuming side alley off the massive Siam Center super-complex, this clothing and accessory market boasts the original works of up-and-coming designers—all of whom are personally ringing up the wares they’ve just created and sewn. Warning to mainstream label lovers: what’s here isn’t upscale mall gear but completely original fashion, from jackets designed for punk rock goddesses to heavily trimmed baby doll dresses to unabashedly adorned stiletto boots. You can amp up your entire wardrobe in Little Siam for what you might spend on a single boutique piece back at home, so bring a fistful of baht—most designers seem averse to Visa and Mastercard.

3. Bargain Basement Beauty: As twentysomething gals staring down the fine-lined of thirty, we decided it was time to get serious about skincare. Fortunately for us, this mission to remain fresh and glowing for the next several decades coincided with our arrival in Bangkok, a place where women (and body conscious men) can get all manner of treatments for a fraction of the price in the United States. While we’re not really ready for any major surgery, the girls and I opted for a series of three photofacials, a process that lightens spots, diminishes fine lines and evens out skin tone. While it was tough to fork out $100 for each treatment (we are backpacking after all!), we all saw results almost immediately and effectively saved ourselves about $600 over doing the same thing at home.

4. Daily De-stress Sessions: If there’s one activity guaranteed to put a smile on our faces (besides digging into an extra large chocolate dessert, of course), it’s hitting the spa for a long, languorous full-body massage. Back home in our real lives, forking over $100 for a rubdown would actually create more tension than it would remove, but here in Bangkok, we could get unbelievable, spine-twisting, muscle kneading, acupressure sessions for the mind-blowing price of for just $8. Add scented oil or an extra half hour and you’re looking at $10 to $12. For those prices, we could—and did—hit spas all over town. In case you’re wondering, no—you can never get too many massages!

5. The Suvarnabhumi Airport (and Air Asia): New York City may boast some of the world’s most recognizable buildings, but there’s a reason that LaGuardia and JFK airports aren’t among them. As airports go, NYC doesn’t have a lot to brag about, but Bangkok can definitely be proud of its gleaming, ultra-modern Suvarnabhumi terminal. Completed just last year, this mammoth airport services thousands of international and domestic flights a week—yet there’s hardly any wait at customs and immigration. By the time you’ve gotten your passport stamped, your luggage is already parading its way down the baggage carousel. Metered taxis abound, there’s dedicated office waiting to help you store extra baggage and a zillion ATM machines so you never have to wait in line to withdraw Baht. When you’re ready to zip off to your next location, the bargain-basement carrier Air Asia (hubbed in Bangkok) can transport you all over Southeast Asia for the same price—or far less—than a train ticket to the same destination.

6. Fabulous Cab Drivers: Dedicated readers of this blog know that I’ve have more than my fair share of run-ins with surly cab drivers, but I could hardly find a single cabbie to duke it out with in Bangkok. While several drivers still tried to haggle for a set price rather than turn on their meter (the latter always a better deal for the passenger), most eventually agreed to do so and ended up practicing English with their three chatty passengers. I have to give these guys credit—Bangkok’s streets aren’t easy to navigate and it’s incredibly easy to get lost. Rather than leading us all around the city, most of our drivers played it straight and were incredibly grateful for even the most modest of tips.

7. The Reclining Buddha: I went to check out this fabulously huge supine statue when my family flew to Bangkok to visit me during the month of February. This Buddha is one of the city’s most touristed landmarks, but the teeming masses don’t detract from the big man’s appeal. Lying on his right side with a satisfied half-grin spreading across his face, it’s almost as if he’s reminding the visitors that its okay to kick back and chill out once in a while. Who are we to argue with that?

8. The Kids: How adorable are these little ladies??

9. Sukhumvit Neighborhood: Indisputably the “Soho” of Bangkok, this lovely little area once played host to the city’s notorious sex trade. Thanks in part to the introduction of the Sky Train (which runs through the very heart of the neighborhood) and the overall revitalization of the city, Sukhumvit is now better known for its upscale bridal boutiques, swanky cafes, gourmet grocery stores and lemongrass-scented spas. Its also home to…

10. Big John’s: The hostel we returned to again and again during our weeklong stints in Bangkok. This six-story guesthouse, opened by a burley Australian who named the place after himself, has become mecca for savvy backpackers who’d rather avoid the cheap-n-dirty hostels found along

Kho San Road

. We loved Big John’s air conditioned rooms, friendly café and the massive chocolate-chip cookies sold there for just 60 cents apiece.

11. The Sky Train: An incredibly efficient mode of transport completed not long before our arrival, this two-line, elevated monorail system was Bangkok’s answer to the endless traffic choking off every major roadway. Now it’s possible to bypass the bumper-to-bumper action by hopping on one of the spotless, air-conditioned cars and catch a series of quirky commercials and music videos being shown on flat screen televisions. Thanks to convenient transfers between the river ferry system and city’s underground metro, you’re always bound to arrive at your destination far faster than you would in a cab.

12. Lumpini Park: We still maintain that very few urban green spaces can hold a candle to Central Park, but Lumpini (named after Buddha’s birthplace) provides a blissfully peaceful space for the masses to take a much needed break from hustle and bustle of Bangkok. The girls and I went running in later afternoon and were delighted to find thousands of spandex-clad locals performing extremely high-impact aerobics to some unrecognizable tunes blasting from the outdoor speakers. Everyone looked insanely happy to be there—most notably the Thai Richard Simmons-type leading the whole group—and if I could figured out a single step, I might have joined in. Instead, I kept running and was surprised once again when at 6:00pm--as if some giant electric plug had been yanked from the socket--every single sound and movement in the park stopped cold. Not knowing what else to do, I froze in place and listened as strains of Thailand’s national anthem piped through the park’s speaker system. Locals all around me sang along and I felt inexplicably pleased to witness this evening ritual.

13. The Gem District: My cousin Cerise and I picked up gorgeous strands of semi-precious stones at one of the many wholesalers in the city’s Silom district. While buying precious rocks like emeralds and rubies can be tricky—pay too little and you may end up with a bagful of cut glass—you can still get a real bargain through a reputable dealer. You can find one by contacting the Thai Gem and Jewelry Trader Association.

14. The Davis Hotel: The guestrooms in this boutique hotel are so chic and stylishly designed, they makes ones at Manhattan’s W and Hudson look like prison cells. When my family and I stayed here during our Bangkok reunion, the hotel staff graciously upgraded us to the Ambassador’s suite, which came with sweeping views, a steam room and a hot tub for eight. All this for under $175 per night…

15. Chinatown: It seems there’s one in every major city, but my family and I got to hang out in Bangkok’s during Chinese New Year on February 18th. Lots of noise, street food and shiny toys for everyone!

16. Kho San Road

: Okay, I know I mentioned the sub-par hostels above, but there’s a certain charm to this tiny, ultra-touristy lane (yet another stop on Leonardo DeCaprio’s The Beach tour). Where else can you pick up a mini iPod speaker, a fake press badge, a beach sarong, a bootleg Beyonce CD, discount antibiotics, a miniature laughing Buddha and custom-made dress, all for under $100?

17. 7-11s Galore: There must be hundreds of these green, red and-orange emblazoned convenience stores smattered throughout the city and it’s almost impossible to walk more than three blocks without accidentally strolling into one. And thank heaven for 7-11—they contain miniature versions of everything we could ever need to get through the day, from cereal to conditioner to Snickers bars. The only major flaw? There are no Slurpees, Big Gulps or Kraft caramel apple lollypops at the Thai 7-11s, good things I’m sure that got sacrificed to make way for the red bean bun and pork dumpling stations.

18. Flower Market (Pak Khlong Talat): Visitors to town should not miss this fairyland of blooms located not far from the Memorial Bridge on Thanon Chakphet. Some ceremonial creations take dozens of man- and woman-hours to make, but the finished result is spectacular.

19. Coffee, Coffee Everywhere: After months of traveling through countries where all of the rich, delicious java beans are shipped to overseas markets (and Nescafe is de rigueur), we were thrilled to sip the real thing in Bangkok. Thais absolutely adore their espresso drinks and have even instituted new ways to drink them. Coffee in a plastic bag? Even caffeine addicted New Yorkers never thought of that one!

20. Praying Ronald McDonalds Pass one of these red-haired burger guys, and you'll be unable to resist posing. Promise.

21. The King: You’ll find plenty of Americans who dislike their president (and plenty of folk abroad who despise him), but the Thai people have nothing but love for their royal highness. During out time in Bangkok, the kindly looking King Bhumibol Adulyadej celebrated his 80th birthday, and the outpouring of love for the man was overwhelming. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could elect a leader who inspired such adoration? You chance is coming in ’08 people….get out there and vote!

Beyond the Full Moon

hollycassandra — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 09:01:00 GMT

Although it probably didn’t seem like it from my previous blog entry, Amanda and I actually didn’t spend our entire time in Ko Pha-Ngan sipping buckets. In between the half moon, New Year’s Eve and full moon parties, the rest of our time was spent exploring the island, working out, catching meals with new pals or just sitting around and people watching. There’s definitely a lot more to Ko Pha-Ngan than meets the hazy eye. Here are our top picks and random observations in no particular order:

Eclectic Youth: As former Florida State University alumnus and ex-sorority girls (Oh, I can’t wait for the comments on this one!), Amanda and I figured we had it in us to party like we were college students again at least for our time in Ko Pha-Ngan. What we hadn’t planned on is that almost everyone there would actually still be in college! Like as in ages 18-22. Yikes! Not that really mattered; we were still in our 20s after all and we did find a good group of other backpackers closer to our age. But after hearing one too many comments like “Chemistry 101 was, like, so hard” or “My parents are totally getting me a new car for graduation”, Amanda and I were tempted to put certain people’s buckets where the full moon don’t shine! But of course we’re too ‘mature’ for that kind of behavior!

Road Rash Horror: OK. Here’s the deal. Unless you want to look like a character from The Night of the Living Dead (that’s an old horror movie for those readers who fall under my first bullet), renting a motorbike on the island probably isn’t the best idea. Don’t get me wrong, I’m normally not afraid of this kind of stuff (I’ve been sky diving, bungee jumping and white water rafting on Class 4 rapids if you needed a resume), but after Amanda and I noticed that every 1 out of 5 backpackers were either hobbling around on crutches, resembled a fighter who went head to head with Holyfield or were wrapped in more gauze than Ashley Simpson after her “non” nose job, we decided that walking everywhere was much safer. If we wanted a special tattoo from Ko Pha-Ngan, we’d stick to the neon paint kind.

Muay Thai Tough: For those of you unfamiliar with the sport, Muay Thai (Thai Boxing) is a famous and pretty brutal form of martial arts practiced across the country. While seeing a live match in Bangkok was one of the coolest things Amanda and I did, practicing the actual art form ourselves in Ko Pha-Ngan was definitely the most bad ass. For about $5 at the local gym, a well-trained fighter will kick your butt around the ring for over an hour, teaching you how to kick, punch, knee and elbow your opponent like a pro. After one class, Amanda and I were sucking wind and sweating buckets (literally, the booze from our previous night’s buckets was oozing from our pores), but were fully prepared to defend ourselves again any unruly revelers at the full moon party.

Dark Side of the Full Moon: Before we left for our round-the-world trip and throughout the journey, one comment from family and friends pops up time and time again…Be Careful! With the exception of a few places notorious for theft (Rio de Janeiro, Nairobi, etc.), the girls and I knew that the majority of countries we planned to visit were statistically safer than most big cities back home in the states. Still, we always use common sense on the road and keep our wits about us wherever we went and fortunately had not encountered one single incident…until Ko Pha-Ngan that is. While what happened to us there only occurs on occasion, future full mooners should be prepared.

The 411 on the incident: At the very beginning of the night during the full moon party, Amanda and I were strolling along the beach with some of our friends and thousands of other people, when I felt something catch on the small purse I had slung across my chest. I reached down and caught the main pouch just as the strap snapped and the purse began sliding down my side. It took me a second to realize what had happened, but when I looked at my bag in the moonlight and saw the frayed cord, I realized someone had razored it off of me. I spun around to see two local men standing right behind, the only still creatures in a sea of swaying ravers. I started screaming that they were trying to steal my purse, holding up the evidence and getting in their faces. One ran off immediately, but the other one stood dumbstruck in the sand. Maybe he was used to having less attentive victims or wasn’t expecting a ‘5 “3 white girl in a jean skirt and tank top to call him on his attempted theft, but he didn’t move for a good 15-20 seconds. I used that time to put my newfound Muay Thai skills in effect and kicked him in the knees over and over again until he snapped to and ran off to find his partner in crime. It was then that Amanda turned and realized what was happening and, of course, being the loyal LG that she is, was like “Which way did they go? Let’s go find them and kick their asses!” She even grabbed some random dude who she thought I was pointing at and started threatening him. In the end, we put aside our pissed off feelings (no one tries to ruin our fun and get away with it) and be happy nothing was actually stolen. We enjoyed the rest of the night without thinking twice about the “Stupid Slasher” (as he’d become to be known) and sleep soundly that night with the knowledge that the first guy who tried to mess with The Lost Girls had bruises to show for it!

Shake It Up: During our time in Ko Pha-Ngan, we kept noticing that there was one huge bar perched high above the cliffs that crowds of people would flock to as the night’s partying progressed. We weren’t exactly sure what the appeal of that particular place was, but we soon heard threw the Hat Rin grapevine that The Mountain Bar was a main source of the area’s ubiquitous happy shakes. A completely organic and legal concoction, these special slurpees promise to give partyers a new outlook on life – for a few hours anyway – without any harmful long term side effects or risk of arrest / heavy fines (Quote from Lonely Planet: “Even though it seems like the entire island is a drug buffet, narcotics are illegal in Thailand and police enforcement is stepped up during full moon parties. The police take it very seriously. The going rate for a small pot bust is 50,000 baht” – that’s over $1400). Throughout our time in SE Asia, we’ve noticed that many restaurants have more happy meals than McDonalds, serving curious backpackers (the exact number isn’t posted on their signs, though) special pizzas, sandwiches, teas and frozen drinks at very reasonable prices. So, the one happy value item on The Mountain Bar’s menu didn’t come as a particular shock to us. Did Amanda and I get our shake on, you wonder? Sorry, you’ll have to wait ‘til The Lost Girls book comes out to get the answer to that one! :)

A Different High: While backpackers are notorious for finding ways to give themselves an extra lift during the full moon party, Amanda and I discovered an alternative method for getting high during our time in Ko Pha-Ngan. We’d read about a couple DIY hikes from Hat Rin to other nearby beaches, so one day, we decided to swap our flops for hiking boots and go exploring. After a few wrong turns and unintelligible directions from a few passersby, Amanda and I found the path we were looking for and started to follow the spray painted arrows (that’s the local area’s version of trail markings) up the hill. And up and up and up some more. We clawed and climbed our way over rocks, vines and tree stumps until we reached the top of the surprisingly steep mountain. As we came out of the woods into a clearing, we realized what had first attracted visitors to this island decades ago. Without a doubt it was not the party scene, but rather, the unbelievably spectacular view.

Far beneath us, foamy waves crashed onto uninhabited crescents of white sand nestled between jagged limestone cliffs. Long tail boats that looked like tiny moving particles in the vast ocean, sailed over the teal blue waves, their passengers oblivious to our presence above. Amanda and I relaxed on our look out rock soaking up the view and the fresh air for about 20 minutes before deciding we should continue heading down the trail to beat the sunset to the next beach. The rest of the hike was a grueling downhill battle down steep dirt leaf covered paths, so the by the time we reached our final destination, we were happy to rest a bit. And we could not have happened on a better place to relax. Our two hour trek landed us directly onto Hat Thian beach, a thin stretch of powdery sand rimmed by a rocky cove that offers seclusion and plentiful hammocks to its low key inhabitants. Settling down on comfy cushions at The Santuary (the area’s popular vegetarian restaurant, yoga center and health retreat), Amanda and I had finally found a balance in our Ko Pha-Ngan life. In reality, the only thing that stood between us and Hat Rin raver status was a few miles of ocean, on this side of the island, we felt a million moons away!

--- Jen

Full Moon Dance

hollycassandra — Tue, 13 Mar 2007 20:49:00 GMT

When it comes to certain famous cities around the world, most people tend to paint a romanticized picture in their heads about the specific type of experience they’ll have. You know, like dancing ‘til dawn in the streets of Rio with elaborately beaded and feathered revelers during Carnival or heroically rescuing a baby from a wild dingo in Australia’s Outback, or jetting off to Paris with a gorgeous man for an all-expense paid weekend of boutique shopping, wine tasting and romantic strolls down the Champs Elise (OK, OK, I’ve digressed to a specific Lost Girls’ fantasy, but you get the point).

On a much smaller (and more realistic) scale, the majority of backpackers making the popular pilgrimage down South to explore Thailand’s vast chain of islands have a very specific image of what each floating hotspot has to offer. And while some of the island’s reputations are based solely on urban travel legends or cliché descriptions handed down from one generation of Lonely Planet readers to the next, this much is true…whether you’re looking an uber chill hideout, a raging party scene or an unlimited offering of water sports, there’s a locale to satisfy everyone’s tastes.

As a general rule of thumb (and in case you haven’t caught up on all our recent entries – shame on you!), you should head to Ko Tao for world-class dive sites and cheap certification courses, to Phuket for a first hand encounter with lady boys and other ubiquitous street walkers (Readers: please refer to the multiple comments under Amanda’s “What the Phuket” blog before piping in on this one! :)) and to Ko Phi Phi to relive Leonardo DeCaprio’s “Beach” life. And, most importantly, if the timing works out and you don’t mind sharing the sand with thousands of overzealous ravers, it’s definitely worth a trip to the most notorious island of them all, Ko Pha-Ngan, to rage at the famous full moon party.

With a little less than two weeks to go before our reunion with Holly (yes, she was still freakin’ meditating in India – poor thing), Amanda and I planned our final days as a duo to coincide with Ko Pha-Ngan’s legendary lunar event. Joining hoards of other backpackers with the same idea, Amanda and I began the long and arduous bus – to another bus – to ferry boat– to yet another bus – to tuk tuk journey. For those of you out there who plan to follow in our footsteps at some point in the future, I have two critical pieces of advice. One: plan to arrive in Ko Pha-Ngan at least a week in advance and Two: the second you get to Hat Rin (ground zero for the big moon bash) …RUN! Run like hell, seriously! Any slow pokes in the bunch will end up sleeping with their backpacks on the beach as accommodations are notoriously difficult to find without a reservation. Although there are always exceptions to the rules, it’s up to you if you want to take the chance.

As the ever-resourceful Lost Girls that we are, Amanda and I hatched a grand scheme to guarantee our spot on the island. We stopped at the first hotel we saw, paid them a few baht to watch our bags for an hour or so and proceeded to sprint down the side streets inquiring about vacancies. With no weight to carry, we left many other hopefuls struggling to drag their packs across the sand. Oh well! It’s a cruel world, right? As luck would have it, we secured what we're certain was one of the last available shacks for miles, which incidentally came with a huge mold covered bolder growing in the middle of the room at no extra charge (don’t ask!). We also had to share the space with a few gargantuan spiders and slimy slugs, but, hey, we’d arrived in one piece, had a place to dump our stuff and a semi-comfy cot-like structure to sleep on for a few hours a night. We couldn’t expect much more during full moon time anyway, especially on our measly daily budget. We were here, though, and that was what counted, right?

So, lux accommodations aside, was our experience in Ko Pha-Ngan all we hoped for and more, you ask? Does a Lost Girl look twice when a hot guy walks by? Absolutely! In terms of party points, the island scored high across the board. We quickly learned that Hat Rin provides visitors with many opportunities to practice their full moon party skills ahead of time. A few days after we arrived, Amanda and I, along with half the island, were escorted deep into the nearby forest via shuttle buses (a clever euphanism for rickety trucks driven by locals) to pay homage to the half moon with a requisite trance dance around neon painted trees.

Before barely having time to recover, New Year’s Eve was upon us. We rang in 2007 on a packed beach with an insane number of tourists that rivaled any seen in our hometown Times Square, not to mention tons of locals, including a colorful cast of fire twirlers, tattoo artists (think day glow paint, not needles), bucket peddlers (huge sand pales filled with your choice of liquor, mixer and bendy straws), the best DJs in Thailand and a hearty police presence. As cheers (and beers) erupted at the stroke of midnight, bonfires blew misty rings of smoke into the jet black sky and fireworks boomed overhead to the rhythm of the pumping base, Amanda and I couldn’t imagine how the actual party we’d come here for could be much better. Well, let’s just say we were proven wrong.

Without going into too much detail (we can’t be expected to remember (or tell) everything after all! :)), Ko Pha-Ngan’s full moon rave more than lived up to its infamous reputation. It offered all the craziness and fun of the half moon party and New Year’s Eve beach bash, but with an even greater presence of ravers (seriously, people come in by the boat load from nearby islands), trance and house spinners, pyrotechnic artists, beach bar specials and, of course, a much brighter sky.

Although a bit exhausted and sweaty (our room rock emits an odd heat wave) Amanda and I woke the next morning (well, it actually was the same morning, but whatever) feeling satisfied and happy. While we were more than ready to lead a normal life again on the mainland, we’d always look back at our nine day stint in Ko Pha-Ngan with fondness - and a newfound appreciation for full moons!

- - - Jen

TO BE CONTINUED…Think the story ends here? No way! Stay tuned for my next blog entry “Beyond the Full Moon” for other fun tales, quirky observations and random ruminations about our time in Ko Pha-Ngan.

Blame it on the Beach

hollycassandra — Tue, 6 Mar 2007 18:34:00 GMT

ADP: Long before there was a Sex in the City tour highlighting Carrie Bradshaw’s favorite cosmo-sipping spots and a DaVinci Code tour tracing Robert Langdon’s quest for the Holy Grail, backpackers were following the footsteps of their own unlikely hero—Leonardo DeCaprio—who stumbled upon a white sand utopia in the 1999 cult-classic The Beach.

In Alex Garland’s best selling novel of the same name, the mythical Beach lies in a protected marine reserve off Thailand’s east coast. But don’t tell that to the millions of travelers who storm the country’s west coast year. Ever since a Hollywood director filmed Leo jumping off a waterfall, beating up a shark, getting it on with a French girl, having a mental breakdown and nearly getting executed by drug dealers on the ruggedly beautiful island of Kho Phi Phi—that’s where Beach bums have been trying to recreate movie magic.

And so, perhaps swept up by the hype like everyone else, Jen, Beth and I found ourselves boarding a ferry boat bound for Phi Phi, praying we could find a dirt cheap hotel with a vacancy. From the rumors, the island (pronounced “pee-pee,”) had been sold out for months, so we didn’t have a prayer of spending our holidays there.

Another Lost Girl lesson: When everyone from burnout wannabe hippies to the anal-retentive reservation makers tell you that a place is “totally and completely sold out,” that’s usually when you’ll stumble upon an ideal room that someone bailed on at the last minute. Our ferry boat had barely bellied up to the pier when the girls and I leapt ashore, trying to outpace the other unprepared arrivals seeking shelter. We quickly found our crash pad at the Phi-Phi Don Chukit—a triple room that might not have had air-con, hot water or an ounce of charm, but did offer clean sheets, towels and daily maid service, all for the bargain price of just $13 per girl. Boo-yah.

By now we’d learned that Leonardo’s cinematic stomping grounds (known locally as Maya Beach) lie just a long-tailed boat ride away on uninhabited Kho Phi Phi Leh, but our goals were more shortsighted: After getting up so early and racing around to find a hotel, we just wanted to crash on a lounge chair—preferably in the vicinity of an all-male beach volleyball game.

Changing into bathing suits, tank tops and dousing ourselves liberally in SPF 30, we backtracked along the path towards “town” and stumbled upon a veritable backpacker nirvana. The walkway leading to the island’s second most popular stretch of sand was lined with cheap massage parlors, internet cafes with flat screen monitors, dive centers promising shark sightings, ticket agents with walls of low-low prices, all-you-can-eat restaurants, second-hand bookshops, double-decker bars with 2-for-1 drink specials, pharmacies advertising everything from pain relievers to “preg tests,” and an endless stream of gorgeous, lithe and perfectly bronzed 20-somethings.

In my non-OC-Laguna Beach-Real World-MTV Spring Break life, I’d never seen so many attractive people with six-pack abs clustered into the same small space. Guys accessorized their fuzz-free chests with beaded wooden necklaces and an assortment of tattoos they supposedly designed themselves. The girls observed a strict dress code of stretchy striped skirts, floaty beach tops, Reef sandals, cotton headbands, big hoop earrings and the kind of bug-eyed sunglasses that even Nicole Richey would acknowledge are out of style. As a group, they chain smoked packs of cigarettes bought at the island’s one and only 7-11, drank sand-pail sized containers of alcohol (known everywhere in Thailand as “buckets”), recovered from the previous night’s debauchery by downing mountainous stacks of banana pancakes and watching Borat, Casino Royal and Wedding Crashers at one of a half dozen outdoor cafes.

In short, exactly the sort of crowd Leonardo was trying to escape from when he went searching for The Beach.

After getting a little sidetracked by cheap (yet shockingly flattering) bikinis and sundresses, we finally made it the water to discover that there was, in fact, an all guy’s volleyball game in full swing. Beth, who’d played competitively in high school, wasted no time in jumping in; Jen and I grabbed chairs and started making plans for our first night on the town.

As it turned out, there wasn’t much to plan: No matter where the night began, almost everyone rolled down to Apache Bar--a multi-tiered, Indian-themed joint with a nightly fire-show--or Carlito’s--a huge, Swedish-run place with fairy lights, tons of chairs and tables on the sand, a big dance floor and great mix of reggae, house and old-school tunes. We initiated ourselves into the mindless mayhem of Kho Phi Phi by ordering our first round of buckets, Beth toasting to her long vacation and Jen and I toasting to unemployment. By the time we got to the bottom of our drinks, we’d magically made friends with half the people on the beach and were already planning on where to go tomorrow (not a tough choice, as I mentioned).

Hangovers not withstanding, our week on Phi Phi turned out to be just what the travel doctor ordered. We surrendered to the local mindset without a fight, shopping for stretchy dresses, watching pirated movies, eating stir-fry lunches and taking afternoon naps on the beach. We went out ‘til all hours at night and still managed to get up early the next morning to spot sharks, moray eels and scorpion fish on scuba diving excursions. We even broke down and watched The Beach, which I realized, was actually a pretty crappy movie with one really great thing going for it—the spectacular setting right outside our door.

Blame it on the buckets or hitting the six-month mark of this yearlong journey, but it became as clear as a vodka tonic that not every experience we have on this trip has to enhance our view of the world—sometimes, blurrier is actually better. I may not have grown intellectually during our week in Kho Phi Phi, but I did have two alcohol-inspired insights: Sometimes, taking a break from culture is the very thing you need to learn to appreciate it all over again. And occasionally, even travelers can use a vacation from their vacation.

What the Phuket

hollycassandra — Tue, 27 Feb 2007 20:47:00 GMT

Nearly every backpacker we’d spoken with in Thailand vehemently recommended we skip Phuket in favor of one of the islands that hadn’t been choked to death by concrete and commercialism. Unfortunately, having not done enough advanced word-of-mouth research, we’d already advised Beth Frey, our college friend and NYC roommate, to meet us there to kick off her winter vacation. Incredibly, the three of us actually ended up bumping into each other in the massive domestic check-in area of the Bangkok Airport as we prepared to make our connecting in-country flights (insert typical squeal-filled girlfriend airport reunion here).

During the 45-minute drive from the Phuket Airport to our hotel, our taxi weaved through a series of narrow streets dominated by sprawling super-resorts, each one hemmed in by a massive concrete wall designed to give the impression of safety and seclusion. I’d been warned that Phuket had been transformed into a theme-park for package tourists more eager to immerse themselves in bowls of rum-punch than Thai culture, so the fortifications weren’t a surprise. I wondered though, if there were any locals still left in the area to keep out.

After Beth recovered from her jet-lag (and Jen and I took turns removing 27 layers of traveler grime in a much-missed hot shower) the three of us decided to take a shuttle bus to Patong Beach, the epicenter of the island’s nightlife. When we pressed our hotel manager for a description of the scene, he told us with a heavy French accent that it was “all shiny and glittery, with lots of the blink-blink lights and the sounds and the constant activity.”

Hmmm. This sounded more like a description of the Vegas strip than a beach town, but seconds after arriving, we realized that our man had been dead-on.

In Patong proper, night had been blasted into day by enormous neon signs, floodlight ATM terminals and the artificial glow of cheap restaurants, sports bars, tour companies, travel agencies, nightclubs, pirated DVD stalls, tattoo parlors and by-the-hour hotels. Little kids trying to sell cheap crap were unflaggingly persistent, but try as we might, we couldn’t escape from the three hardiest space invaders: Starbucks, Haggen Daaz and McDonalds.

As we walked, we saw gaggles of lady boys parading in their spandex, nylon and taffeta down the main drag (so to speak). British and Aussie teens on gap year poured huge buckets of Red Bull and vodka directly down their throats, then moshed spasmodically to alt-rock music pouring out of Buick-sized speakers. We guessed there was a two-for-one special on hookers, because almost every middle aged man we saw sported a barely dressed, under-aged Asian prostitute on each arm.

As Manhattan girls who’d long since learned to push through the commercialized mayhem of Times Square without batting an eyelash (without even looking up, really), the three of us were struck speechless by what we witnessed in Patong Beach. By comparison, old 42nd Street seemed downright provincial.

A few cocktails did nothing to enhance our perspective, so we called it a night.

When I got home, another shower seemed in order.

Making a Run for the Border

hollycassandra — Tue, 13 Feb 2007 15:31:00 GMT

ADP: After experiencing life at a languorous pace for nearly two weeks in Laos, Jen and I procrastinated as long as we could in booking the taxis, tuk-tuks, buses and plane flights we’d need to meet up with our friend Beth several hundred miles south in Phuket.

With several tight connections ahead of us, Jen and I decided to pay the extra two dollars to ride the “VIP” bus, which was scheduled to arrive in Vientiane (the capital of Laos) an hour earlier than the standard coach. We hardly complained when the AC refused to cough up cool air, the windows wouldn’t open and the humidity shot up to a level somewhere between “greenhouse” and “dishwasher,” but once we realized our driver was operating some profitable side-scam (stopping the bus every twenty minutes to transport cargo between roadside towns), we started to get a little prickly. Rolling along in the mobile sauna, it seemed we were going nowhere—and as slowly as possible.

Finally, more than ten hours after we’d departed from Luang Prubang (and nearly three hours late), we reached the Northern Bus Station in Vientiane and learned our troubles weren’t over. If we had any hopes of catching the final bus over the border, we now had to transfer to the Southern Station, completing the twenty-minute drive in about six minutes. Throwing almost all of our remaining currency at a delighted tuk-tuk driver, we raced across town and spotted the very bus we needed just as it was pulling out of the depot.

“That’s our ride!” I screeched, pissed that we’d come so close just to watch our carefully laid plans go up in a cloud of carbon monoxide.

By now I knew that there are several things a backpacker should never count on, with responsible bus drivers, on-time schedules and working air-con topping the list. But I was also learning that for every local experience that frustrates the hell out of you, you’ll have one that blows you away.

Hearing my screams from the back of his vehicle, our tuk-tuk driver rammed his foot into the gas paddle like Dale Earnhart, Jr. coming down the home stretch. He chased the bus down the road, pulling up alongside so he could scream up to the operator and gesticulate wildly with his free hand. I’m not sure how he managed to convince the guy to open up both the passenger door and the cargo hold in the middle of a four-lane highway, but the next thing I knew, my bags were being tossed underneath the bus and Jen and I were dodging between cars to jump up on board.

“No forget shirt!” the tuk-tuk driver shouted after us, then proceeded to send the long-sleeve top I’d left across the road in a Hail Mary pass. Jen lunged to catch it, then leapt up to join me on the bus just as the stalled cars and trucks drowned us in a cacophony of honking.

Once the doors slammed shut, we started walking down the aisle and noticed every single passenger gaping at us like we’d suddenly transformed into Ed Rooney at the end of Ferris Buller’s Day Off.

So much for trying to blend in.

Lazin' in Laos with Friends

hollycassandra — Tue, 6 Feb 2007 20:29:00 GMT

"Oh My God! This is the one where Ross and Rachel first get together. I love this episode,” we heard an overly-perky blonde exclaim from across the crowded restaurant. Hmm! Very interesting! This wasn’t the sort of thing we'd expect to hear in Laos of all places, but Amanda and I quickly discovered that statements like this were status quo in Vang Vieng.

When we’d skimmed the Laos section of our Lonely Planet, the description of this small town hadn’t particularly jumped off the page at us, but after hearing from several other travelers that Vang Vieng was definitely worth a visit, Amanda and I decided to schedule an impromptu stop there to see what all the fuss was about.

Known for its vast array of water sports and ubiquitous Friends cafes, Vang Vieng has become an increasingly popular destination for backpackers, luring them in by the busloads with promises of wild river tubing trips (read: half naked holiday-ers and cold beer) and mindless American TV shows playing on every corner from dawn ‘til dusk. Now, I know what some of you may be wondering, “Why would Amanda and Jen go all the way to Laos to wind up indulging in such culturally devoid, soulless activities?” Well, it’s simple really. Over the past 8 months, we’ve crossed 3 continents, 1 sub-continent and over a half dozen countries with our 40+ pound “homes” on our backs - - and we’re freakin’ tired!!

Not to digress this blog entry too much, but it's worth clarifying that The Lost Girls have long since given up the insane notion that some travelers have that the only way to have a “real” experience in a foreign country is to get off the backpacker trail. After being on the road for as long as we have, we’ve realized that nothing is “real” and everything is “real”, that no matter how hard you try to be different, you're still the same as everyone else and that the road less traveled doesn’t always “make all the difference” (wow, that was way too many air quotes in one sentence; forgive me!) It’s not that we feel this way all the time, or don't still try to pursue more genuine interactions abroad, but spending a few days in Vang Vieng certainly shouldn’t mark us with a permanent scarlet “S” for sell out, should it?

Fortunately for Amanda and I, most Vang Vieng visitors also shared our sentiment for the superficial, so before barely stepping foot off our overcrowded bus, we linked up with other newbies who were organizing a tubing trip together for the next day.

After rising at the “ungodly” hour of 9am (yes, it’s awesome to have no job or responsibilities) and catching a few episodes of Friends: Season 5 (you just gotta love the one where everyone finds out Monica and Chandler are a secret couple!) over breakfast, Amanda and I headed to the tube rental shop down the block to meet up with our fun, new pals – Tim, an American (a rare commodity in this part of the world), Andy, from Munich, Germany and Lorraine, a "Dublin"-er on holiday.

Functioning like a well oiled machine, the friendly staff quickly ushered us from one line to the next where we paid 30,000 kip (approximately $3) for a full day rental, were issued an over-inflated black floatie and water proof bag and then asked to review the company policies and general regulations. My favorite was a posted sign that suggested: “ To save money no smoke marijuana on the river!”(see picture at right for proof). This is particularly hilarious because it uses the phrase, "Save Money", rather than something that would seem to make more sense, like "Stay out of Prison!" or "Avoid Arrest!" In case you’re wondering why this is, let me explain. It’s common knowledge that slipping the local police a few bills is usually all that’s required for a busted backpacker to secure a get out of jail free card. So, the sign does not lie. Smoking illegal substances while tubing may very well deplete your bank account; so don’t do it!

Once we had a full grasp of the river rules, we were crammed into the back of a pick up truck with dozens of other people and their tubes and driven to the starting point of our day’s adventure. The five of us had barely made it 100 yards before we were lured back out of the water with shouts of “BEER LAO! BEER LAO! BEER LAO! (deep breath for dramatic effect) LAO BEER! ONLY 5000 KIP!” Wow, they're only charging 50 cents for a huge bottle of beer? Well, reel us in immediately!

As we floated closer to the makeshift bar - an uneven platform lashed together with bamboo and river reeds - an enthusiastic little man extended a long pole in our direction and gracefully whisked us to the edge. We cracked open our first Beer Lao of the day then took turns climbing up a rickety ladder to test our skills on the suspended zip line the locals had set up above. After crashing head first into the water a few times, we decided to take our beers to-go and continue our lazy journey down the river. Apparently, there were stands like this every few minutes, so we didn’t want to get stuck for too long at the very first one. After leisurely drifting for awhile, we heard a low thumping and periodic squeels in the distance. As we rounded the bend, we joined hundreds of fellow tubers paddling furiously to the side to make the steep climb to river’s biggest and most popular pit stop.

A scene pulled straight from an MTV Spring Break Special raged above us. Music pumped from suspended loud speakers, bikini clad revelers danced across a string off connected gazebos and adrenaline seekers waited in line to try the 100 foot Tarzan swing. Were Amanda and I brave enough to 'make like Jane' and take the death defying plunge, you ask? Well, so far on this trip we’ve conquered the Inca Trail, sparred with a capoeira master in Brazil and stared down an 8 inch Kenyan golden orb spider, so the answer could only be…HELL YEAH WE DID!! I’ve posted video clips of our big jumps at the end of the blog for any skeptics.

After spending a few hours soaking in the sun, mingling with other travelers and sufficiently filling our bellies with foamy Beer Lao, Amanda and I hopped back in the water to begin the 3 hour trip back to Vang Vieng. As a soft tangerine glow settled across the sky and gentle waves rocked us downstream, we quickly went from pumped up party goers to ultra relaxed river cruisers. Amanda and I felt like characters painted into a water color as our tubes floated past local fisherman hauling their daily catch to shore, brightly colored hammocks swinging from thick tree trunks and jagged limestone peaks carved unevenly into the landscape like crooked teeth in a jack-o-lantern. Any residual tension left in our arms from the day's acrobatic activities (swinging from ropes and lifting heavy bottles of Beer Lao can really do a number on your biceps!) melted away as we continued to drift.

By the time we reached town, we were completely chilled out and ready to continue our pursuit of laziness at one of the many outdoor restaurants near our guesthouse. After dumping our tubes back at the office and changing out of our wet clothes, Amanda and I headed over to our favorite cafe to meet Tim, Andy and Lorraine for dinner. And of course, we happily welcomed Joey, Phoebe, Ross, Rachel, Chandler and Monica to join in our party!

---Jen

The Woman Behind The Wat

hollycassandra — Wed, 31 Jan 2007 11:48:00 GMT

After Jen and I melted into rosemary and lemongrass-scented puddles at the forest temple (called Wat Sok Pa Luang), I decided that I had to meet the pleasure-loving mind behind the herbal-infused steam baths and tropical group massage sessions. I was actually somewhat surprised to learn from Noi, the vociferous gal coordinating treatments and handing out brightly patterned “modesty” sarongs, that a Buddhist nun had created the spa, and that this devout sixty-something holy woman was actually her aunt.

Somewhat impulsively, I asked Noi if it would be possible to chat with her aunt to in order to learn how to recreate the intoxicating steam experience back home.

The skeptical New Yorker in me was pretty sure that Noi was putting me on when she immediately agreed to meet me for breakfast at a café the next day and whisk me away to the countryside on her motorbike. Oh yes, and since her Aunt didn’t speak a word of English, she’d be translating the whole conversation.

Eight-thirty is okay then?” she asked, writing down the name of my hostel so she could find me the next day.

Of course. Sure thing. I quashed my suspicions that she might try to charge me some exorbitant fee for this whole experience and instead wondered how she could take a morning off from running the spa to shepherd some tourist around town.

“Easy, the place doesn’t open ‘til 2:00 in the afternoon,” she laughed as she broke the yoke on her eggs at breakfast the following morning. Noi seemed in no rush to get moving so we sipped a few more cups of steaming Lao coffee and let the conversation drift from business to family to the topic all 20-something women seem to care about around the world—relationships.

At 27, I learned that Noi considered herself way, way over the hill, but loathed the idea of arranged marriage (for herself anyway) and hoped, someday, to meet a guy who could keep up with her modern sensibilities and ambition. I told her lots of American girls could relate.

Noi grew comfortable enough that by the time I hopped on the back of her “moddah-bike” two hours later, she’d started to delve into Cosmo territory. I soon learned that she’d lost her virginity to a long-term boyfriend at age 24, but things between them hadn’t worked out. Since then, she’d had a small string of affairs with men she’d met at her job and was currently pining away for a young American guy who’d promised to email her after he left town two weeks ago. So far, he hadn’t.

Again, I told her American women could probably relate.

We quickly breezed out of Vientiane’s touristy historic district and I could see that Lao’s capital looked a lot like a small mid-western city in the US. Car dealership and repair shops lined the main road. Traffic was bad. Entire families were perched like circus performers on the backs of mopeds, with Dad driving in the front, Mom cradling an infant behind and a toddler sandwiched in between both parents. Pseudo-tough guys turned to stare at me as they zipped past. Noi shouted that I should keep my purse situated between us as locals had a bad habit of snatching them.

I followed her instruction and we spent the next 45 minutes or so in the comfortable silence that occurs when the wind makes it impossible to have a real conversation.

We passed acres of recently harvested farmland before finally reaching Wat Pahakounoi, where Noi’s aunt Meekow Koe Moungsen was there waiting. She only had about twenty minutes to spare, as it was nearing mealtime and she had hundreds of monk mouths to feed.

As you can see from the photo (picture-to come), Auntie wasn’t big on smiling and I suddenly felt awkward about grilling her on the various healing properties of herbs. Would she wonder who the heck I was, poking around her monastery and trying to poach the steam(y) secrets she’d accrued over a lifetime of practice? Was she staring at my sleeveless shirt and Capri pants and thinking what an American tart I was? Would she tell Noi to put me right back on the motorbike and take the disrespectful Westerner home?

Clearly, my neurotic New York sensibilities had kicked in again.

Despite the language barrier (as well as my bare shoulders and shins), Auntie made me feel right at home on her lovely tree-shaded meditation platform. With Noi’s help, she answered all my questions about the therapeutic benefits of lemongrass, rosemary, mint and citrus, and made some suggestions for a do-it-yourself herbal steam treatment.

After my twenty minute interview had passed and I’d snapped a few requisite photos, I stood up, prepared to let my conversation partner return to her tasks at hand. I was startled when she took my hand and gently pulled me back to a sitting position. She stared at me, intently, and said something to her niece
“She says that this not the last time you come here,” translated Noi. “You come back to learn meditation, learn about plants and you study with her, in this place. She says that she knows this and it will be in a few years.”

I turned to look at Noi, surprised, but determined not to let me inner city skeptic get the best of me this time.

“Kop Chai. Thank you,” I said, looking at Auntie who finally cracked a small smile.

I had no intention of studying Buddhism in a rural temple in Laos anytime in the near future, but who the heck knew? Maybe I’d have some Eat-Pray-Love style midlife crisis which would propel me around the world a second time to seek answers and absolution through intense meditation, 24-hour silence and self-denial.

When you’re a Lost Girl, anything can happen.

Holy Laos!

hollycassandra — Thu, 25 Jan 2007 03:34:00 GMT

While there are some drawbacks to following the backpacker trail - - competing for the same Lonely Planet-recommended hostels, squeezing onto over-crowded buses and trains and being constantly reminded just how much Bush sucks (for the love of God, we know already; none of us even voted for him!) - - there are definitely some advantages of taking the road most traveled, particularly in SE Asia. Not only are we surrounded by tons of fun people our age to party with (OK, maybe they’re slightly younger. Gulp!), there’s always someone around to give us the inside scoop on where to get the cheapest cocktails, how to avoid common tourist scams and which pockets of the continent are really worth visiting. In fact, if it wasn’t for the advice of several other travelers, Amanda and I would have completely missed what we now consider to be one of our favorite countries - - Laos.

For those of you who as unfamiliar with this region of the world as we were, Laos is the thin country sandwiched between Thailand and Vietnam. Also, the ‘S’ in Laos is silent, so it’s actually pronounced like COW, but with an ‘L’. Readers: Now that you know this, feel free to take the time to reflect upon and chuckle at my witty blog title. OK, now that we’ve all acknowledged my cleverness, let’s move on…

After arriving in Bangkok (our first stop in SE Asia after leaving India), Amanda and I had about a week and a half of free time before we had to meet our friend and former NYC roommate, Beth, for a little requisite island hopping in Southern Thailand. Since we planned to hit Northern Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam once Holly re-joined us on the road in January, we decided to do a bit of research on Laos to see if it was worth visiting. While our guide book did an excellent job painting the former French-territory as an appealing tourist destination, it was the rave reviews we got from other travelers that cemented our desire to check out the country for ourselves. Every person we polled gave Lao two enthusiastic thumbs up in all categories (in backpacker world that translates to gorgeous setting, chill vibe, comfy hostels, frequent happy hours and most importantly, uber low prices). With visions of scenic, mountain treks, yummy street food, lush beer gardens and $3 massages dancing in our heads, we immediately hopped the next overnight train bound for the Thai-Lao border.

The moment our tuk-tuk rolled onto the sunny, tree-lined boulevards of Vientiane (Laos’ capital), Amanda and I knew we’d made the right decision. Everything and everyone around us exuded a whimsical, carefree attitude - - fresh faced vacationers leisurely sipped cappuccinos at sidewalk cafes, shopkeepers charmed new arrivals with handmade silks and intricately-carved Buddhas and tight-packed clusters of monks, donning freshly shaven heads and tangerine-tinted robes, streamed from golden temple gates.

After churning in smoggy, spicy and chaotic India for almost a month, we happily melted into Laos’ relaxed culture and tranquil ambiance like marshmallows in hot chocolate. One day blended into the next as Amanda and I whiled away the hours exploring the town, shopping for clothes and jewelry in trendy boutiques and sampling tasty cuisine from local markets. But just when we thought life couldn’t get any better, we discovered an unexpected path to paradise through one of the country’s most popular tourist activities – massages.

Despite an abundance of cheap parlors on every corner, we again headed the advice of fellow travelers and decided to check out the area’s famous herbal sauna and outdoor massage center. Eager to experience a luxurious steam and rigorous, 60-min rub down – all for the bargain price of $4 – Amanda and I gladly braved the bumpy 3km ride deep into the woods in search of Vientiane’s legendary ‘spa’. Like every tuk-tuk driver in town, ours knew exactly how to get to the secluded wat paa (forest temple) but after dropping us off at the entrance, we were on our own. Amanda and I wound our way down the long gravel road past ramshackle huts, dingy hammocks and the occasional barn yard animal, hoping we were headed in the right direction. We followed a convoluted series of hand-scribbled posters and several ambiguous gestures from the resident monks for nearly 10 minutes until we heard a voice from above directing us where to go. “You want steam and massage?” “Come this way!”

Perched 30 feet above ground, nestled in the tree tops, was a makeshift wooden platform packed to the brim with tourists in bathing suits and terry cloth robes. Amanda and I climbed slowly up the rickety staircase to join our fellow hedonists in the large ‘foyer’ and put our names on the list for treatments. After changing out of our clothes, we were handed a silk cover up and led into an attached outhouse-like structure. A wave of sweet, hot steam smacked us in the face as we blindly felt around for an empty bench, tiptoeing carefully around the hissing coals packed in pots on the floor and trying desperately not to sit on someone else’s lap by mistake. We finally found an empty board and reclined back against the wall prepared to sweat off at least ten pounds. It didn’t take long before we were puddles on the floor, infused from head to toe with the sauna’s magic blend of lemongrass, eucalyptus, citrus, rosemary and mint that we’re pretty sure also included a ‘special’ herb to give guests an extra kick. Hey! Who are we to deny the effectiveness of ancient Lao healing practices?

When we couldn’t stand the scorching temperatures any longer, we stumbled outside and flopped down on one of the many massage beds that packed the wide back porch. Along with about 8 other people, Amanda and I spent the next hour being pulled and stretched like salt water taffy by hyperactive and overzealous little men. Snaps, crackles and pops filled the air as each of our body parts, which were now incredibly limber and malleable from the steam bath, were adjusted one by one and kneaded into perfect shapes. What looked and sounded like medieval torture was actually one of the most blissful and satisfying experiences we’d had since leaving yoga school (see ‘Om’ My God blog for details). Pumped full of endorphins, we floated back down to the ground and settled into a tuk-tuk alongside other satisfied customers.

To add a perfect ending to an already perfect day, we accepted an offer from our driver and fellow passengers, two local girls and a French couple, to grab a sundowner at a popular outdoor bar in town (these invitations are oddly commonplace in the backpacker community). As the sun melted into the Mekong River, we raised our super sized bottles of Beer Laos and toasted to the many more yet to come!

---Jen

The Beach Girls

hollycassandra — Fri, 19 Jan 2007 07:01:00 GMT

ADP: Until now, we’d spent weeks struggling to keep pace with frenetic, chaotic, religion-centric, sanitarily challenged, confusing, stimulating and draining India. But here in Goa, we finally had a chance to dig our heels in the copper-colored sand, lean back in a plastic chair and finally relax.

Sure, the local salespeople were still aggressive as hell (“Hello-where-are-you-coming-from-where-do-you-go? Look at my skirts/jewelery/antiques/paintings/saris! Ees free to look!”), but once we got past the hard sell, we found that most folks were just happy to have a conversation for no extra charge.

After waving off the first 170 young women and children loaded down with wares-for-sale on the beach, we couldn’t help but fall into conversation with a gorgeous 15-year-old girl named Rebecca. Even after we swore that we hadn’t brought enough cash to pay for a new beaded necklace or tunic top, she stuck around and chatted us up like guests on a Barbara Walters special.

She told us all about the ins-and-outs of selling stuff on the beach—she did it to support her younger brother and sister, pay for them to go to school and to put food on the table. Since her parents had passed away, she’d stepped up to the challenge of becoming the head of the household—a notion that boggled our minds, but didn’t seem to be too out of the ordinary for Rebecca.

“Do you ever get harassed by the men you sell to on the beach,” Sarah asked. “Are you ever afraid to go walking back to your house after dark?

Rebecca contemplated the questions. “Naw. The other ladies selling on the beach, we team up and make the walk back to our houses together. One time this man tried to touch me, and I just stood right up and told him to bugger off!”

I was completely impressed by this little lady who, despite never having attended school herself, seemed sharper and more motivated than most of the young women I’d once interviewed for internship positions back in New York. While I’m normally the first one of the three of us to discourage giving money to kids on the street (or beach in this case), I knew that I had to do something to help Rebecca.

We offered to buy her a meal (she declined) but she gratefully accepted the pens and school supplies that I dug out from the bottom of my daypack.

“For my little brother and sister,” she said, solemnly, turning to head for home before the sun sunk too low behind the clouds.

As I watched her walk away, I felt a weird mixture of pride and aching for someone so young who’d already experienced such a tough grown-up life.

The next day, we switched to a guesthouse a couple of breaks away from Rebecca’s spot on the beach. I kept an eye out, hoping she’d wander my way again. We never ended up running into her, but I replenished my supply of pens and pencils—just in case.

Gotta Goa

hollycassandra — Sun, 14 Jan 2007 05:51:00 GMT

ADP: After spending nearly a week purging our bodies, minds and auras of all sorts of impurities at the Sivinanda Ashram in Southern India (who knew onions, sugar, alcohol, garlic and salt were so evil, anyway?) Jen and I decided that it was high time to roll away our yoga mats and start the inevitable and immensely enjoyable process of "retoxification."

According to a long line of pleasure-seeking backpackers who've hit the hippy trail before us, there's no place better to fall off the wagon than Goa, a sandy string of laid-back, choose-your-own-adventure beach villages, each with its own personality--and a cure for whatever you're craving.

Interested in raving to endless trance anthems, hopping from club to club, then scarfing down a chicken tikka breakfast at 4:00am? Start and end your party in Baga Beach, home to a tightly packed row of waterfront bars, restaurants and open-air nightspots so slick, you'd swear you're in L.A. instead of India.

Want to spark up a spliff and discuss why Bush sucks with the group of Israeli dudes staying in the bungalow next door? Drop your pack at Vagator, a sleepy cluster of restaurants and guesthouses overlooking two pebbly beaches patrolled by roaming herds of cattle.

Need to replenish your accessory collection, update your wardrobe and pick up a few cool holiday gifts for the folks back home, all for a few Jacksons? Swing by the charming little village of Anjuna, home to a massive day market (Wednesdays) and night market (Saturdays) featuring everything from ornate Tibetan chokers to brass statuettes of Hindu goddesses to silk saris in a rainbow of colors. Just be sure to bargain hard: pay over 1/3 of the original asking price and you've officially been had.

We spent nine days exploring these hotspots (and several others) with Sarah Bailey, our friend, former co-worker and fellow Lost Girl. As we watched the fluorescent citrus sunsets over the Arabian Sea, we sipped cheap cocktails and tried not to snort them through our nose as Sarah shared strange-but-true tales from her job as a safe sex campaign manager in nearby Chennai, India.

"It's incredible how much misinformation the local health care workers have here," she told us, shaking her head. "And these are the people who are supposed to be teaching the general public what's up. Some of the men believe that if you masturbate too much you can die. They tell women if their husband dies, their bodies close up and they can never have sex again."

Jen and I knew from reading through Maire Claire India and Elle India that there's a ton of sexual misinformation brewing in the subcontinent (the reader letters depressed the hell out of us) but we couldn't believe what we were hearing from our friend. But Sarah's next story took the cake:

"After counciling a transexual man during the last couple of weeks, I learned that being gay is technically illegal in India," she said. "But what constitutes gay is up for interpretation. If certain cops bust two men going at it, they won't haul them to prison--so long as they recieve oral sex as a bribe. I'm not kidding!"

After spending four months in Chennai, Sarah had accrued enough anecdotes to keep us riveted (and completely baffled) through our second and third rounds of drinks. If we hadn't heard the stories firsthand, we'd hardly believe 'em ourselves!

More to come from Goa...

The remaining two LGs

PS: Check out more about our newest fave beach spot at: GoaBlog.org

On the Rails

hollycassandra — Sun, 7 Jan 2007 03:36:00 GMT

ADP: While it’s theoretically possible to snag a cheap fare from Delhi to Chennai on one of India’s new low cost carriers, getting from A to B in the subcontinent (especially on a backpacker budget) usually means traveling by train. And when cities and attractions are as spread out as they are in India, going the distance can mean you’ll be spending anywhere from four hours to four days pitching and rolling along with your fellow passengers.

Depending on how much you’re willing to spend on a ticket, doing the locomotion can be relatively comfortable affair—shell out for the 2 AC class and you’ll get a full flat “bed,” clean sheets, air conditioning, full board and an electric outlet perfect for recharging your camera battery while in transit. A slightly less expensive seat in 3AC class earns you similar perks, but you’ll be bunking up with eight people instead of six. And, the third overnight category, is the “sleeper” class, located in a car that doesn’t have air-conditioning but does come complete with a full militia of cockroaches that can actually be heard laughing at your feeble attempts to squash them dead.

Of course, Jen, Holly and I were blissfully unaware of the distinctions when we booked our seats for the 14 hour overnight ride from Bangalore to Trivandrum. After inquiring about the cost of 3 AC, we were promptly told that all upper classes were sold out and that sleeper was our only option. No sweat, we said, figuring if we’d mastered the matatus in Kenya we could handle economy class aboard an Indian train.

No sooner had we slid into our assigned spots when a steady stream of six-legged critters starting pouring down the walls and over the seats like a scene straight from the short lived Jerry O’Connell show “Joe’s Apartment.” But these little guys didn’t sing and dance like they did on Comedy Central. Our new insect bunkmates were hell bent on showing us who’d invaded whose territory—and swooping in to claim any crumbs we might drop between shrieks of pure terror.

As we ran around the compartment swinging wildly at the walls with our shoes, rolled up magazines and even our Lonely Planet South India book, the rest of the passengers started filing on and seemed astonished—then incredibly amused—to find three white girls engaged in a full scale freak out over a few tiny little bugs. With a mix of sign language, Hindu and English, one kind woman tried to explain that there was nothing to be afraid of, that unlike mosquitoes, cockroaches didn’t bite.

Of course we knew this—the girls at Pathfinder Academy didn’t mind roaches and said “there is no reason to fear them.” Blame it on our American socialization or one too many Raid-Kills-Bugs-Dead commercials, but we definitely did fear them…at least, for the first few hours of the train ride.

But as the hours rolled and the city lights grew dimmer behind us, something interesting started to happen. Or rather, stopped happening. While the bugs continued to commute down the walls behind our heads, their presence ceased to evoke such a strong reaction. Eventually, there was barely a reaction at all. We’d spot a bug crawling in the direction of each other’s hair and without a word, we’d lean over to squash it and move back to our seats in one fluid motion.

Skin no longer crawling (well, not as much), we were finally free to observe the action all around us.

Each sleeper car housed about a dozen compartments and each one was packed to rafters and with extended families large enough to comprise both sides of a regulation soccer game. We saw groups of glossy haired women—moms, aunts, grandmas—swathed in electric hued saris, bouncing babies sporting kohl smudged eyes and more jingly gold jewelry than your average hip hop mogul. Hunched over tin foil packets filled with steaming mutton biryiani or chicken tikka masala, dads ate dinner, pressing the food into a sticky ball between their fingers and scooping it directly into their mouths, throwing the containers out the window once the contents had been spent.

In the absence of something more interesting to occupy their hands, groups of middle aged men with 70s disco-style mustaches stood in the train car vestibule, untying and retying the thin plaid and flowered fabric that encircled their waists (called a mundu or lungi), sometimes so short that I had to look away for fear of getting an unwanted glimpse of the goods.

And then like clockwork, at 10:00pm, the sleeper beds were pulled down and everyone snuggled in together, sometimes three to a bed, to start the process of drifting off to sleep. Within minutes, snores, wheezes, sneezes, coughs, farts and other exotic sounds filled the air, a cacophony set to constant rhythm of train wheels clattering over the tracks below.

I wriggled into my sleep sack and pulled it up tight around my head, praying that insects who shared our car would be bunking down as well—just not with me.

Okay, I knew better, but tried not to think about it.

Morning came way too early (Who gets up at six when they don’t have to?!) and the howls of drinks sellers hawking “CHAI COFFEE CHAI COFFEECOFFEE CHAI CHAI CHAAAAI” pierced my sleep like a smoke alarm. By 7:00am, most families had already snapped their beds back into place and one group in particular was trying to share its breakfast with a too-kind-to-refuse Holly.

Having wisely chosen the top bunks, which didn’t have to be folded back up, Jen and I hung out and watched and a.m. chaos from scalp level, finally jumping into the fray when became too hot and steamy to remain perched at the top of the car.

No sooner had we hopped down when this adorable brother and sister duo approached us to say hello and see if we were having more fun on our side of the car. Jen, trying to be friendly, placed one of her Ipod earbuds next to the little girl’s head.

At first, the girl shied away, totally unnerved by the sound emitting from the tiny speaker. But just as we all did five years ago, she quickly caught onto the joys of the Mp3 player and as she listened to the music, a huge grin spread across her face.

Her brother, noting that his sister had a toy that he didn’t, grabbed the other earbud and together they rocked out to some classic Bon Jovi until their tug-of-war war nearly split Jen’s headphones in two. After Jen took back the headphones to prevent them from being damaged, the little girl decided to move on to something more interesting—slapping, scratching pinching and hitting the two of us until we were black and blue.

Across the aisle, the girl’s mother looked on lovingly, laughing in delight as her oldest child pummeled the two nice ladies currently babysitting her.

Shocked by her strength and determination, I was torn between the instinct to control the little four year old hellion in front of me and the desire to abide by the rules of Indian etiquette I’d yet to learn. Was it rude to discipline someone else’s kid, to tell her that physical violence isn’t cool and to try to calm her down—especially in a language she might not understand?

In the end, I didn’t have to do anything. Attention Deficit Disorder won out once again and she started a new game of unbuckling her sandal, throwing it across the train car and bringing the shoe over to Holly to help her put it on again. The two of them were well into their third round when the girl’s mother finally came over to intervene: they’d reached their destination.

Our stop came about twenty minutes later and the three of us all disembarked, not so much rested, but at least in one piece. We’d officially made it through another Indian rite of passage, one of totally idiosyncratic, hair-raising experiences that make this country seem challenging—but one of the least boring places one earth.