Knights Off The Grid

My Scholarship entry - A local encounter that changed my life

chrisaknight — Mon, 9 Apr 2012 14:30:00 GMT

Puja gives me a convoluted look made of equal parts optimism and boredom. Her face, a Mumbai roadmap of wrinkles caked in Day-glo chalk, is so hypnotic that it takes a moment to realize she’s requesting a handout. Not knowing proper Indian elephant feeding protocol, I do nothing.

A cacophony of trumpets—our cue to come to order—echoes up the alley. Seconds later, a dozen torchbearers materialize out of the crowd, fire their lanterns, and march into the dusk. A ragtag ensemble of flutes, horns, and varying percussion quickly follows suit, while a troupe of adolescent girls, each wearing traditional Rajasthani festival attire, dances effortlessly in their wake.

The camels lumber by. Perched atop the lead ungulate, the bride resembles a Disney princess as she waves to the crowd. Puja, me and the throng of other guests are awash in a contagious air of raucous celebration as we bring up the rear.

Weeks prior, as I deplaned and took in that first breath of Mumbai air—a strangely approachable buffet of exhaust, incense, humidity, curry, and urine—I knew that to make this trip successful, truly successful, I needed to witness an Indian wedding. I had no plans as to how to make this happen, no inside track with well-connected locals, and a foreboding sense that it was potentially deadly to appear, uninvited and alone, at a third-world familial celebration.

Fast forward twenty days and I'm wearing a turban; I'm dancing like nobody's watching; I'm surrounded by a bewildering array of sights typically reserved for a child’s imagination.

Locals cheer from every available vantage point as we parade through Udaipur’s 15th century labyrinth. Considering my competition includes an elephant, a bride and camels, I’m bursting with pride at the number of photo requests I receive from both guests and bystanders alike. Only later, when approached by a visibly flustered wedding coordinator, do I discover the source of the attention: my turban has been on backwards the entire evening.

Photos: The Lost Coast

chrisaknight — Mon, 9 Apr 2012 10:09:00 GMT

Northern California 40 mile hike

Photos: Southwest Colorado

chrisaknight — Fri, 9 Mar 2012 11:18:00 GMT

Photos: Yosemite Backcountry

chrisaknight — Thu, 2 Feb 2012 13:14:00 GMT

Clarks Range Hike - 60 miles

Yosemite Moonbow

chrisaknight — Wed, 3 Aug 2011 05:04:00 GMT

On June 15th, 2011, a rare thing occurred in the valley of Yosemite National Park. The previous winter, the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California received a record two-hundred percent above average snowfall, which was followed by a breathtakingly fast spring warming trend that happened to coincide with a perfectly-angled full moon. All these factors came together to create a blinding moonbow hovering in the large mist cloud below Yosemite Falls.

By a completely random sequence of events, I was there that evening. Based on a tip from a neighbor in the Upper Pines Campground – mentioned between the all-too-frequent Marlboro drags and AA stories – I learned the where’s and when’s of Yosemite moonbow photography. With my brand new Nikon D-something in hand, tripod ready for the 1:18am mooncrest, batteries fully charged, nice whiskey-buzz to add to the excitement; I was ready.

And, I blew it. The photos were awful. They came out as blurry half-moonbows, and the Big Dipper -- looming large in the background -- looked more like street lamps, not the sharp points of twinkling light that the Big Dipper is supposed to look like.

I swore I wouldn't miss my chance the next month – the last opportunity before the end of the spring run-off. No whiskey this time. I'll read that damn Nikon Manual. I'll pray. I'll overload the memory card with photos from every possible angle and fiddle with every knob and gadget on the camera just to make certain, one-hundred-percent sure, I don't screw it up this time.

July 15, 2011: my night of redemption. I was heading back into that godforsaken valley to get my full moonbow shot.

So, while standing in the Ansel Adams Gallery, headquartered within the illustrious confines of Yosemite Valley National Park, I asked the seemingly obvious question that I figured was on everyone's mind, “If it’s called a moonbow, why don’t they call the daytime version a sunbow?" The best photojournalistic moment of the entire weekend happened moments after that last syllable – “bow” – left my mouth. The Senior Manager of The Ansel Adams Gallery looked at me like I was blowing spit bubbles. Considering I was well within earshot of dozens of reverent A. Adams picture viewers, it should have crossed my mind to lower my voice when I fired off that query. It didn’t. Later, while sitting on the sidewalk outside The Ansel Adams Gallery, licking an orange Creamsicle as well as my wounded pride, I pretty much figured out that prior to my line of questioning he’d never even contemplated that thought; I honestly don’t think anyone had ever asked. Yosemite, BTW, is ground-zero for world class moonbow photography even though it only happens a couple times a year.¹

Being the budding journalist that I am, I Googled “First expression of moonbow” and “Who made up ‘rainbow’”, etc. and came up with an interesting mixture of websites that I won’t go into. Ok, I will. Once you get past Yahoo Answers and Wikipedia, you get into sites competing for your viewing pleasure that include gay stuff, unicorns and Bible pages.² That one thirty-second inquiry was as far as my sharply honed journalistic instincts took me. I got bored and moved on to squirrel statistics.

Seven bears have been killed in Yosemite this year alone.^3&4 There’s certainly more dead bears out there but the only ones the Park Service tracks are vehicle-related bear deaths. The reason I know this is that you can see signs posted along the road wherever a bear got murdered saying “Speeding Kills Bears.” The only reason I know about the Speeding Kills Bears sign placements is that I happened to ask a ranger. Without that unflappable journalistic inquisitiveness, I wouldn't have had a clue as to why those damn signs were placed so randomly -- and inconveniently I might add -- around the park.

My 5am arrival at Camp 4, the Backpackers Campground, ended up being a totally useless endeavor. I was 77^th in line and at 8:46am when Ranger Kathy did the ticket endowment and I placed three short of the 74 lucky ticket holders. This Filipino family right in front of me had two, literally 2, exactly kalog⁵ people waiting in line right up to the moment the Ranger started pixie-dusting the crowd with housing permits. Suddenly, out of nowhere, their group swelled to nine.

Moments after I got screwed over by the Filipinos, Ranger Kathy mentioned, in passing, that Bridal Veil Falls Campground was opening that morning for the first time of the season. This was an absolute godsend to the newly-homeless Yosemite population and we quickly hauled ass up the mountain -- obliviously speeding past several bears as well as several Speeding Kills Bears signs -- to claim our spot.

One thing I noticed pretty quickly about Bridal Veil Falls Campground, at least that weekend, was the diverse mixture of cultures you can’t find anywhere other than possibly a Benetton commercial. My typical campground MO is to pour a heaping cup of merlot in a used Starbucks cup, shut off my headlamp, and wander around the campground listening to the competing dialectics and languages. That night alone, I heard “Muy Bien” at least four times. I also heard “Boat Ache” (Hindi) as well as “Ne How” (Sischuan Chinese) a couple of times each. Once, I heard a highly emphatic “Cock Sucker” (Ohio).

Seven bears and over one hundred deer involved in vehicle related accidents in Yosemite alone during the 2011 season to-date. That seems like a lot but it's statistically on track to be an average big-animals-killed-by-big-vehicles year in the park. Squirrel deaths? They don’t track squirrel deaths. I know this because I asked that very question during the 7pm Bridal Veil Falls Campground Junior Ranger Campfire Chat. I don’t really want to go into it, but after I asked that question I received the exact same look from Ranger Mark that I got from the Senior Manager at the Ansel Adams Gallery. My follow up question, the one about the average lifespan of a Yosemite squirrel, didn’t inspire that look from Ranger Mark – although it was getting dark so I can’t actually say whether it did or didn’t – but I do know for certain the pregnant pause that settled over the crowd prior to him telling me he didn’t have a clue was uncomfortable to say the least. In my defense, I must not have been the only squirrel-curious individual in the group because, as we were leaving the talk, I overheard one of the dozen or so adolescents that had been sitting with me on the Astroturf mat ask her mother a litany of questions about car-related Yosemite squirrel deaths. It was definitely dark by this point but the lady’s glare, as well as the direction it was being focused, was unmistakable.

Yosemite squirrel deaths should be tracked, recorded hourly and documented with diligent enthusiasm. Each reported killing of the California Ground Squirrel, Spermophilus beecheyi, should be met with raucous celebration. Yosemite squirrels are cute. They’re also the animal kingdom’s version of Atilla the Hun. The average common ground squirrel lives six years and Yosemite National Park was created on October 1^st, 1890.⁶ A quick run of the numbers tells you that there’s exactly 20.167 generations of squirrels living in Yosemite Valley that have absolutely no clue what to do with the common American acorn. I can easily imagine the first tourist season in The Valley where one squirrel is rat-holing acorns, busily preparing for that brutal, unforgiving Yosemite winter when he suddenly looks over to see his neighbor gnawing on a chunk of San Francisco Sourdough that’s bigger than the two of them combined. That precise moment in history started the vicious cycle of squirrel vs. man in an all-out food war. Sadly, the damn kids don’t help the situation one single bit; they think squirrels cute⁷. And let’s be honest, squirrels are cute. But, Yosemite Ground Squirrels are cute the same way a Box Jellyfish is cute; you reach out to pet it and suddenly all hell breaks loose. Squirrels in The Valley are both evil and brave and are capable of coordinated, multi-pronged, tactical assaults executed with military precision. One year, while hiking in the backcountry on a 5-day trip, a squirrel pack⁸consisting of at least four individuals charged from the front attempting to relieve me of my Cherry Vanilla Cliff bar. While I swatted and stabbed at them with my hiking pole, another squirrel snuck up from behind, chewed a hole through my brand new Osprey Weekender backpack and stole several much-needed Kit Kat bars.

Another time, I must have stepped on a Raisinette or something because a solo squirrel chewed a quarter-sized chunk of polyurethane off the starboard side of my port boot. With a large rock, I tried to beat that furry little guy into a furry little pulp. I failed, but it wasn't due to lack of effort, I can tell you that!

I can totally understand the eraser-sized brain of a squirrel failing to comprehend two tons of metal barreling down upon it at 55 mph while standing innocently in the road. Squirrels are stupid; that’s why they die in such prolific numbers. Bears, by comparison, are smart. I’ve seen bears steal, quickly assess, then unlock -- within seconds -- bear canisters that I’d just spent hours trying to ‘bear proof.’

On June 24, 1900, Los Angeles native, Oliver Lippincott became the first individual to drive a car into Yosemite Valley. That same afternoon, unbelievably, he clipped a bear cub. This became the first recorded vehicle related bear death in U.S. National Park history.⁹ You’d think bears would learn. They don’t. Vehicle-related bear homicide stats have remained stable in Yosemite for decades.

Day four: No moonbow. No shower either. I’ve noticed my new BFF, Campground Volunteer Olivia, is just as happy to see me when I wander over each morning to beg for coffee, she just seems to stand a little further away each time while we shoot the breeze. I've also noticed she’s starting to strategically place herself up-breeze whenever I'm around. I should mention that I forgot to pack soap for the trip and that quick one handed once-over each day in the Auschwitz like restroom in the Bridal Veil Campground is a useless cleansing routine that requires circus-like contortions. It’s one of those sink dispensers that doesn't work unless you have one hand engaging the knob which makes it ergonomically impossible to cleanse yourself unless you have three arms or have opposable digits on your feet.

I’m certain the scariest moment of my entire adult life happened yesterday afternoon. I was hiking around a place called Mono Meadow near Glacier Point when I jumped a tiny, blond bear cub. I mean tiny. He/she was so small; in fact, I first thought it was an adolescent marmot. I chose Mono Meadow because the Glacier Point Day-Hike Tip Sheet said this particular hike was very strenuous and muddy due to the severe altitude gain/loss and above-average snowmelt. These two factors are definite deal-killers when it comes to Yosemite Day Hike popularity contests. It’s basically the same as saying you have Chlamydia and can’t go within 500 feet of a grade school on your Match.com profile. I must have been right in my assumption because five miles down the trail I still hadn’t seen a single park visitor other than this Sikh couple hanging out in the parking lot. I was walking through a heavily forested area on a trail basically made up of sand mixed with pine needles and, although I didn’t realize it at the time, was being utterly noiseless. I must have been Ninja silent because the bear cub saw me one instant before I saw it and we were within spitting distance of each other. The little guy screamed like I’d just kicked it and took off running across the trail to my right.

Did you know baby bears sound like screaming one-year-old kids when they’re scared? They do. It's a terrible sound and definitely makes you question why you'd ever want to have a child.¹⁰ So, I watch this petrified cub haul ass in front of me - slamming into trees, falling ass-over-head trying to jump a downed log, getting hung up in some underbrush, extracting himself, look over his shoulder, screaming again, then starting the process all over again. I was absolutely mesmerized until I thought, “Hey, a bear that young must certainly must have a mom arou….” At that exact moment I heard a branch snap right behind me. I won’t go into it but thank god I brought that extra set of underwear. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I tried not to pulse. I stood there motionless, absolutely terrified, waiting for the inevitable mauling to begin. Soon, the bear cub was well out of site, but there I was, stock still, too afraid to turn around. Eventually, I slowly turned my head and right behind me was…nothing. I know, it’s totally an anti-climactic ending but it scared the crap out of me nonetheless.

Oh yeah, The Moonbow Photo. Thursday Night: Cloudy. Friday Night: Cloudy. Saturday Night: Slept through my alarm.

=======================

1.) Number of actual Ansel Adams moonbow shots? Zero. He filmed in black-and-white: a definite deal-killer when it comes to capturing the ROYGBIV spectrum of light.

2.) Noah, floods, God's-promise-not-to-massacre-the-planet-again-and-here’s-a-rainbow-to-prove-it. :-)

3.) As of the date of this post, there have been fourteen human deaths in the park during the 2011 tourist season. Three deaths occurred the weekend I was there; although, for the record, I had nothing to do with them. On average, there are twelve to fifteen deaths in Yosemite NP per year. With 4 million visitors annually, that body count actually seems low to me.

4.) Most common cause of death: stupidity.

5.) The word for ‘two’ in Filipino.

6.) See, I'm perfectly capable of journalistic fact finding. I don't need fucking Ranger Mark spoon-feeding me all the answers.

7.) And when you’re a kid, the equation is simple: Cute = Feed It Something.

8.) Flock, herd, school, gaggle?

9.) I totally made that up.

10.) Or want to have a bear cub for that matter

Photos: Faces

chrisaknight — Thu, 7 Apr 2011 03:00:00 GMT

Tanzania/Rwanda/Kenya

INDIA: I'll Never Do It Again

chrisaknight — Thu, 31 Mar 2011 01:44:00 GMT

Hey guys, a pink goat!

Sadly, after a couple of weeks here sights like this barely even register. This was probably the fifth pink goat we'd seen that morning so he was completely justified by looking at me like I'm pretty strange - or the paparazzi - for photographing him.

The India anagram above was heard several times during our planning for the trip and I couldn't disagree any more. This country is a paradise: a honking, stinking, silent, beautiful, hot, cold, unforgiving and loving world unto itself. I may never leave.

Mumbai Times, October 5, 2009:

A baby, born in a train toilet, slipped through the filthy discharge chute onto the tracks. The distraught mother flung herself from the speeding train in complete darkness to rescue her baby. They were both found a few minutes later, shaken but alive.

That’s not even the most amazing aspect of the story. What's really incredible is that this exact same sequence of events happened 18 months ago! See below:

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/kolkata-/Newborn-falls-off-train-survives/articleshow/5099602.cms

Chris Knight Times, October 18, 2009:

Emily Knight leaves her beloved iPhone in our room at the Lake Ghat Palace in a town called Udaipur and heads for Jaipur which is about 350km away. In route, she realizes the error and makes a phone call to Napis, Lake Ghat’s owner. Within minutes, Napis gives the phone to a runner who gives it to a tout who then gives it to another guesthouse owner who gives it to an Australian tourist who gives it to a taxi driver who gives it to a bus driver who then carries it to Jaipur and hands it to another rickshaw driver who delivers it safely to Emily. The final rickshaw driver then tries to refuse payment for the effort. This happens in a 24-hour time period. Granted, our story lacks filthy discharge and a child, but if Emily lost her iPhone in the same manner she wouldn't hesitate to fling herself out of that speeding train in complete darkness to retrieve it.

(As a Blackberry person, I have no concept of this level of devotion).

This country is about contradictions. The ‘Emily Story’ contradicts a lot of what we’d heard about India before we arrived. The ‘Baby In The Toilet Story’ confirms most of it. 2 weeks into the trip and we've both decided India is one of the truly great places on earth. It's impossible to explain, but it's both disgusting and beautiful simultaneously. It's disgustingly beautiful.

Sounds like an oxymoron doesn't it? Here's some more: this place is repulsively approachable, horrifically sublime, chaotic simplicity.

Despite our better judgement, when these street kids come up we immediately drop our backpacks, throw our arms out and say things like, "Hey there little fella', you look like you need a hug! How about we head around the corner and grab you a Happy Meal? Wow, that's quite a cut on your shin there...it looks kinda infected. What do you say we make our way back to the guesthouse for a good ol', much needed bath! Man, I sure hope that skin rash isn't contagious. I've got about 150 rupees on me...take it. The ATM opens tomorrow at 7 and I'll get you some more."

But here's the thing; you say all these things on the inside. On the outside, you look straight ahead, completely ignore them, thank the lord for creating sunglasses, and pray the kid walks away before you break down and betray your emotions.

It's brutally painful...and it repeats itself every day. Talk about your contradictions.

Here's another one:

After we settled into our guesthouse in the heart of Agra, I wandered outside into the evening to find a rickshaw to take us on a tour around the city. As we bumped along the backroads around the fort, I asked the driver what he thought about the famous Taj Majal.

"It leaks" was his response.

We met up with Alexander Hunt in Jaipur and spent the next 9 days traveling around North Central India. We hit a number of forts, a palace or two, Agra and the famous Taj Majal, and finally Varanasi, home of the burning ghats. This site is the most popular Hindu cremation destination in the world, and they burn between 200-300 bodies a day on the edge of the Ganges. Visitors are allowed to watch but photos are strictly forbidden. We also happened to be there for the Shiva Festival which is a 2 day affair where tens of thousands of local women come down to the waters edge at sunset to dedicate offerings to Shiva, the Hindu Sun God. They then take the offerings home and return at dawn for more dedications and religious formalities. With every woman and man dressed in their traditional colorful hindu garb and with the with silent, brown Ganges providing the backdrop, it made for one of the most strikingly colorful scenes ever. It looked like one of those Udaipur kids took a firecracker to a 64 box of Crayola crayons.

In about 10 minutes we start the Annapurna Circuit in Nepal. It’s a 20-day circuit hike around Annapurnas, one of the highest mountain ranges in the world. We’ll be totally off the grid for 3 weeks.

Wish us luck.

Photos: Nepal: Annapurna Circuit

chrisaknight — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 11:29:00 GMT

Photos: On Safari: Tanzania

chrisaknight — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 11:22:00 GMT

Animals and stuff

On Safari: Tanzania

chrisaknight — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 11:13:00 GMT

I travel halfway around the world to get a shot of a lion and the one I get up-close and personal with has a comb over. Super.

You ever have those moments in your life when you see something that your brain just refuses to process? Emily and I have had them constantly for the past several days. My synapses simply refuse to compute a giraffe staring at me like I’m the weird one; or being forced to slow our vehicle down to allow a herd of zebras cross in front of us; or waking up at 3am in the Serengeti because we can hear hyenas whining outside our tent; or just the simple fact of having a huge male lion acknowledge your presence; or watching a cheetah eat a cute, newly dead Thompson Gazelle. Every experience was too surreal to be real - thank God for Nikons.

Em and I spent 4 nights and 4 days on Safari with Lucas and Hezron, our guide and cook respectively. It was a budget safari which, as we learned, definitely had its advantages. Unlike the high-end safaris, our tour didn’t follow the rules line by line. When you’re forced to ask your guide to quit throwing rocks at the lion cubs, you know you’re in for something special - they were sleeping and, in our guide’s defense, nobody wants a photo of sleeping lion cubs. The rules got thrown out the window another time when we found a cheetah that had just taken down a gazelle about 100 meters off the main road. That’s way too far for a good photo op so without blinking our driver takes off across the Serengeti and parks literally 10 feet from the action.

We spent day one at Lake Manyara Park - famously known for their lions hanging out in the trees. Unfortunately, Emily and I only know this from the t-shirts and stories we heard from our guide; no lions in trees for us. However, we did see countless elephants, baboons, wildebeests and hippos. It was a good day.

Day two and three was the famous Serengeti and it definitely lived up to its billing. As I’m sure happens to every tourist in the park, by the end of the first day you could probably delete 90% of your photos from that day. You actually get spoiled. I’d be messing around in the vehicle and Emily would say something like, “Look Chris, a Cheetah!” and, without looking up, I’d ask “Is he doing something special?

We didn’t think it could get any better than the Serengeti but then we headed to the Ngorongoro Crater - named by the Maasai after the sound a wooden cowbell makes - which is a collapsed caldera and one of the coolest geographic areas I’ve ever seen. It’s a complete ecosystem in itself due to the near vertical walls surrounding the crater. The crater is an ecosystem in itself - even the Wildebeests move from one end of the other during the annual migration.

We returned to Moshi in the evening of the forth day and immediately took 45 minute showers. It was the first time in my life I’ve had to wash my hair 4 times before I could get it to soap up (and this is Chris writing - imagine how Emily’s shower went!) One notable experience during safari was the evening Emily and I got to share a goat leg for dinner. Not bad considering it looked exactly like a goat leg.

Did you know a giraffe is over six feet tall when born and an adult giraffe has a tongue typically longer than 17 inches Again, I don’t know why you’d care, but I learned it on safari and just thought I’d pass it along.

Udaipur Wedding

chrisaknight — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 10:07:00 GMT

After the 14-hour trip by car and 17-hour trip by train to Southern India, it was nice to join the industrialized world again, however briefly, and catch a plane north to the old city of Udaipur. This is the state of Rajasthan, home of the oldest known civilization and several of the greatest warrior tribes in history. It’s located in the middle of the Great Indian Desert and one side of the state borders Pakistan.

It kinda feels like I’m doing a book report here.

Upon arrival, we decided take a breather from having to continually focus on the “how, when and where” of travel for a while. The second we arrived in our guesthouse, Rama V, we knew we’d picked the right place. The view was incredible. The city of Udaipur centers around Pichola Lake and The Taj Lake Palace - literally an ancient palace surrounded by a huge moat - is located in the center of the lake. It’s a place only described in fairy tales. I’m sure many Indian travelers arrive here and breath a collective sigh of relief due to its laid back atmosphere and dry climate - I know we did. Emily and I spent days exploring the narrow, cobblestone back roads, ate off-the-charts Northern India cuisine, checked out some forts and temples, and watched fireworks every evening from our rooftop while the locals celebrated Diwali.

Diwali, known as the Festival of Lights, is the largest Hindu festival in India. It’s a 3-day affair that’s similar to what Christmas would be like on the beaches of Normandy during D-day.

From Wikipedia:

In Hinduism, Diwali marks the return of Lord Rama to his kingdom of Ayodhya after defeating (the demon king) Ravana, the ruler of Lanka in the epic Ramayana. It also celebrates the slaying of the demon king Narakasura by Lord Krishna. Both signify the victory of good over evil. In Jainism, Diwali marks the attainment of moksha by Mahavira in 527 BC.[3][4] In Sikhism, Diwali commemorates the return of Guru Har Gobind Ji to Amritsar after freeing 52 Hindu kings imprisoned in Fort Gwalior by Emperor Jahangir; the people lit candles and divas to celebrate his return, which is why Sikhs also refer to Diwali as Bandi Chhorh Divas, "the day of release of detainees". Diwali is considered a national festival in India and Nepal.

In modern times, Diwali means lots candy, new clothes, candles and fireworks. Lots of fireworks. These people really, really like fireworks. Their firecrackers aren’t even firecrackers, they’re hand grenades sans the shrapnel. I remember the instructions on a package of Blackcats in the United States that read, “Light fuse. Get Away.” The Indian version should say, “Light fuse. Run For Your Life.” When these things go off - which typically starts at 7am - you actually feel the concussion of the blast move through your body.

According to the Journal of Reconstructive Surgery, there were one hundred fifty-seven firework related injuries reported in India between 1997 to 2006. This doesn’t sound like a lot until you realize these were the cases requiring plastic surgery. There are no statistics for non-plastic-surgery injuries.

The definite highlight of this portion of our trip - and our lives in general - was being a part of a traditional Indian wedding celebration. Dennis Plink, an Australian that has traveled and done business in India for over a decade, decided it’d be neat to marry his long-time girlfriend, Connie, in Udaipur during Diwali. Who wouldn’t want to get married on Christmas during D-Day? Like all Indian weddings, the event was a multi-day affair that featured fireworks, a “henna night,” LOTS of food, and group day trips to the area sights. The night of the actual marriage kicked off with a parade through Old Town that was quite possibly the biggest thing to hit Udaipur since they filmed Octopussy here in in 1982. We met Dennis, Connie and the rest of the wedding party on a rooftop one evening, hit it off with everyone, and summarily got invited to join the festivities. It was a huge honor...huger than we could have ever imagined.

The wedding party (which included about 50 guests, 10 dancers, 20 members of a marching band, 6 or so animal attendants, and the cooks/servers) left the hotel dressed in traditional Indian wedding attire and marched the full 3km to the site of the ceremony. By the time we arrived, we had a small army of wedding-parade-crashers following in our wake. The groom, unbelievably, rode an elephant, a camel was provided for the bride (which she dumped in lieu of a car), while the best man rode an elaborately decorated war horse.

During the parade, I couldn’t help but notice I was drawing a high level of attention from the locals. This was a huge honor considering my competition included an elephant. I stood a little taller, walked a little straighter, posed for several photographs and absolutely oozed pride. This feeling was shattered later in the evening when the wedding coordinator pointed out that I had my turban on backwards.

That walk was easily one of the most surreal experiences of our lives. One thing we’ve figured out about India: you never, ever know what’s going to happen from one hour to the next. Our fears of this place were both dead-on and way off base. We’ve already been looking into extending our trip as there’s just too much to see in a short 3 weeks.

For some, INDIA stands for I'll Never Do It Again. For us, India is a place we never want to leave.

Photos: Zanzibar, Tanzania

chrisaknight — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 05:04:00 GMT

Spice Island

Photos: Rwanda

chrisaknight — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 14:49:00 GMT

Rwandaful

Kilimanjaro: Land of Ever Beens

chrisaknight — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 10:11:00 GMT

The coldest we’ve ever been. The highest we’ve ever been. The most exhausted we’ve ever been. The dirtiest we’ve ever been. The most exhilarated we’ve ever been.

At 19,344 feet, Mount Kilimanjaro is the highest peak in Africa and the largest free standing mountain in the world. It’s so high in fact, and with so few obstacles blocking your view of the horizon, that it’s is the only place on the planet where you can actually see the curvature of the earth’s crust. Sadly, by the time Emily and I reached the summit, we were so exhausted that that amazing, not to be missed, bend in the earth was the last thing on our minds. We were totally consumed by the quest for rest, warmth, oxygen and Mars Bars.

Emily and I started our quest 5 days prior at the Lemosho Route trailhead, a relatively new trail up the western side of the mountain that, although longer than other trails, allows for an extra day of altitude acclimatization. This extra day supposedly increases your chances of success. Our team included five porters, two guides as well as a couple of cooks. We also had one last-minute addition to our team: Anna from Australia. She was just off the plane from Sydney and had a ready-for-anything, “die before I quit” attitude that we found infectious. It was a welcome addition and provided us a much needed shot of confidence.

Apparently, Anna also thought, contrary to 100% of the information available, that Mount Kilimanjaro was flat.

Day one started out easy enough: a 3-hour hike up a relatively steep incline that ended at Big Tree, a modest campsite where we found our tents and dinner already prepped and ready for us. This was the first time we’d seen our “mobile home” for the next week and we were pretty impressed. Our site included a sleeping tent, a mess tent where we’d eat for the next week, a cooking tent and a hole in the ground surrounded by warped boards for a toilet. Our first impressions were shattered once we got a look at the adjacent campground. It included ten climbers with an entourage of over one-hundred-twenty porters. They had brand new, just out of the box, monolithic tents from Mountain Hardware. They also had actual toilets that included seats, a flush, and a tent surrounding it so you could do your business in private. Solar panels were included in their gear, although I never figured out why. That said, I wanted a solar panel desperately.

We found out later that this team included the russian guy named Abrohomovich, the owner of the Chelsea Soccer Team. This guy was the buzz on the mountain. Emily and I had never heard of him, but we had the inside track on all the rumors because he took the same route up the mountain as us.

He didn’t summit, by the way; blamed it on a sore throat. What a sissy!

The next 4 days started at 6:30am with a knock on the tent door followed by a monotone “Wake up time” from Abbas, our camp helper. We had a hot breakfast typically including eggs, white bread and fruit. On day 3 we started to see a pattern in the eggs; our guides called them “omelets” and they invariably included leftovers from the previous evening’s meal. One morning it was french fry omelet. Another day the main course was spaghetti omelet. (Strange combo, I know, but it’s not that bad). After breakfast we hit the trail. The scenery was amazing, the trail well defined, and it was an all around good experience with one exception - the constant background banter of

“I’m sleeeeeepy,” “I’m tired,” and “I just want

to sleeeeeep” from Anna, our

un-ignorable travel companion. The locals call

Kilimanjaro “Crazy Mountain”. This is partly

due to the unpredictable weather patterns but

mostly because of the continuous stream of foreigners that show up every year expecting the trip up to be like a chairlift ride. Anna never verbalized her request for a chairlift but she got it anyway.

September 8, midnight:

We got the typical alarm of Abbas saying

“Wake Up Time” just outside the tent.

Knowing the trek ahead, we were already

dressed for and ready to go. Our outfits: 4+

layers of clothes, including 2 long underwear shirts

and pants, fleece jackets, GoreTex shells, 2 layers of

gloves and multiple layers of socks. We ate a couple of candy bars and hit the trail. We reached Anna, who started 1.5 hours ahead of us, in a mere 45

minutes. She was literally, being dragged up the mountain by Julius, our super-strength Assistant Guide.

Things were going well, and although the climb was difficult and straight up, Emily and I felt pretty good about ourselves. We were actually sweating under our outfits. Then the wind hit. At about 3am, a forty-mile an hour wind came whipping across the mountain and all the accumulated sweat on our bodies froze immediately. The wind chill dropped to well below zero. Emily cried these cute little frozen tears...or at least I think she did, it was too dark to see and I was too busy crying myself. At one point we dove behind a large boulder and just held each other for a couple of minutes in the attempt to generate some warmth. We couldn’t feel either our hands or feet. At this point, I started to seriously question that advice given to Emily prior to the trip, telling her that she wouldn’t lose any toes. On top of that, Emily started to have some altitude issues; the main symptoms being a sharp headache and the inability to catch her breath.

That said, we never actually thought about turning back. At just after 5, we saw the the faintest line of light on the horizon. I’ve never, ever been so happy to see the approaching dawn in my life. With the constant reminder from Shani, our guide, of “Pole’ Pole’” (swahili for slowly slowly), we kept trudging upwards.

We reached the summit, just over 19,000 feet, around 8am. Once we hit that point, we were so exhausted that we collapsed in front of the Congratulations Sign and lay there motionless for 5 minutes.

Incredibly, around 9am, once we’d taken our photos, congratulated each other and started down the mountain again, we found the Anna 300 meters shy of the top still being dragged up the mountain by Julius. Now that’s true customer service! It’s also highly dangerous - altitude sickness isn’t something you want to fool around with and Anna definitely had the symptoms.

As difficult as we found the climb up, the 7000’ climb down to Mweka Camp was in some ways an even greater challenge. All in all, it was a 14 hour day of scrambling, hiking, half-falling our way up and down Kilimanjaro.

We loved every minute of it.

Zanzibar: Enough Said

chrisaknight — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 10:04:00 GMT

Welcome to Zanzibar, a place everyone’s heard of, several know where it’s located, and few know it’s details. I knew one out of those three.

Let me say the name again: Zanzibar. The name alone sounds incredibly exotic and makes you want to say it like this: “ZaaannnzzzziiiBaaarrrrr!” Talk about sensory overload - it's one of the Spice Islands so the smells overwhelm you; the local music and dialect is infectious; the seafood’s so fresh you’d swear it came from the sea seconds ago (and it did); ocean blues so magnificent nobody has thought to name the color yet and greens more vivid than a child’s imagination.*

The island definitely lived up to it’s reputation as one of the most unique places on earth.

Stonetown, the main port on the island, was a major hub for the spice, ivory and slave trade from the 15th through the 19th centuries. It’s been claimed by at least 5 different countries - mainly the Portuguese, Arabs and British - and quite a few “engagements” have been fought for its control. Each entity added their unique sound, cuisine, dialect and architectural look to the place. With that rich history, you could spend weeks walking around the back alleys of the city without ever once becoming bored.

The last days of Ramadan were winding down during our first days on the island, which was unfortunate for the islands’ nearly 100% Muslim population because Emily and I were busy throwing back as much fresh pineapple, mango juice, papaya smoothies, orange whips, calamari, tuna, shrimp, lobster, kingfish, bananas and newly baked bread as we could get our infidel hands on.

I fully realize we should have been more respectful to the muslim daylight fasting ritual, but that was simply impossible.

Ramadan, the holiest month in the muslim religion, ends once someone sees the new moon. This year, 2009, everyone was supposed to start looking for it on Saturday evening. I once asked the seemingly obvious question of what would happen if it was cloudy and was assured that they’d be notified of a sighting by cell phone from a clear spot not too far away.

This begs the question: What, exactly, was protocol prior to phones?

In fact, everyone did see the moon Saturday evening - sans phones - and suddenly it was like Mardi Gras, Jazzfest and Christmas all rolled into one. All the kids get new clothes, the mosques blare the End of Ramadan Prayers - which sounded identical to the other 5 prayers blared through the sound system every day - and everyone hits the streets. The celebration lasted 4 nights and Emily and I were more than welcome to join in.

There’s not much alcohol in the public parties, although we did see several police officers confiscating contraband mango wine in the days prior to the festivities. What we did see was tons of food, totally decked out children, lots of henna and the most outgoing atmosphere we’ve encountered during the entire trip. It was an experience I’ll cherish for the rest of my life.

Bracketing Ramadan, we rented a motorbike and checked out several of the islands beaches - the main ones being Kendwa in the Northwest, Matwme facing east and several unnamed beaches facing south/southwest. At each beach, the sand was unbelievably white with silica granules so small that Emily exfoliated herself every single day. It was a much needed antithesis from the living in dirt and zero-running-water lifestyle of the Kilimanjaro and safari excursions. And, Emily did her first dive and loved it! We saw dolphins and a bunch of other stuff. The neatest thing I saw was around 15 meters below the ocean surface: I looked over at Emily and gave her the “OK” sign and at that exact moment she had one side of her mask completely full of water and the other side half full. Her face was twisted up and she was kind of winking at me. She was most definitely not “OK”.

4 weeks in Tanzania is enough to scratch the surface of this wonderful place but not nearly enough time to experience it all. We’ll definitely be back.

=========================

* I totally stole that line from a 1980’s Kodak commercial.

Tanzanian Fact:

Did you know there are 23 types of bananas in the country? That was told to me by a Chagga Tribe guy with highly questionable English. The internet here is too slow to fact check, but I like to think it’s true even though we only saw 3 types.

India = MORE

chrisaknight — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 10:00:00 GMT

I am about to die. Emily’s not going to make it either. What will I tell her parents? Oh yeah, I'll be dead. I knew we should’ve filled out that Notify In Case Of Emergency page in our passports. Who’s going to take care of the dog? And I forgot to delete that photo of me peeing on the beach in Rwanda. How am I going to explain that one...oh yeah, I’ll be dead. Dear lord, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here. Dear lord, make me a bird....

This is basically my entire thought process for 14 straight hours during our “simple” drive from Mumbai to Goa. You know that feeling you get when you lean back in a chair and almost fall over but then you don’t? I had that feeling for 14 straight hours.

It started out so easy. We needed to get from Mumbai to Goa and didn’t want to wait for the overnight train. We hooked up with a former cop from Toronto, rented a car and driver and headed south. That sounds simple, right? Unfortunately, the western side of India was experiencing their 100 year flood and our driver was a 21-year old named Santos (I’m spelling that phonetically - it could have easily been Saounamoulatous) that spoke zero English and was either too young to grasp the finality of death or had an unbelievably strong faith in the afterlife. Either way, it was the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life. The cop seemed fine. I was beyond freaked out.

It seems like that’s the way things work over here; you move from one near-disaster to the next with everything working itself out in the end. Usually.

In India it really is about MORE. More people. More poverty. More smells. More animals. More pollution. More destinations. More smiles. More colors. More sounds. More everything. Sensory overload in the truest sense of the word.

Just stepping off the plane is an experience to remember. First, it’s the veritable buffet of smells that hits you: best described as a delicate bouquet of curry, B.O., burning tires, and urine. (Emily debates me on the curry part.) The second thing you notice is the heat - I can’t see it on the map, but India is situated in the middle of a red-hot clay oven. In the south of the country, the air’s so moist you can chew it. In the north, so dry that it’s...well, it’s really dry. Third, this place is basically a 1.3 million square mile petting zoo. Dogs, goats, stoned-looking cows, sheep, camels and monkeys all vying for the same, extremely limited road space. Yeah, road space. It doesn’t make any sense but in India every living thing attempts to hang out in the road.

Goa, ground zero for the hippy revolution, was our first stop once we survived the satanic introduction into India’s roadways. It was the travel destination for everybody that was somebody in the 60’s and 70’s. Namely, the Beatles put the place on the map in the early 60’s which really kicked open the travel floodgates. Like a lot of hyper-growth tourist destinations (i.e. Acapulco, Fort Lauderdale, Six Flags), they tend to get loved to death. That, sadly, was how we felt about Goa. Maybe 6 weeks on the road has left us spoiled, but we found ourselves a bit underwhelmed by the place. The scenery is stunning, and I’m certain there are great places to get-away-from-it-all, but it’s kinda touristy and uninteresting. The biggest letdown was the Dominos Pizza right down the road from our guesthouse. They did have spicy paneer masala pizza on the menu so it wasn’ttotally American.

After 2 days, Emily and I hopped a southbound overnight train for the state of Kerala. You guessed it, we headed for the world famous Keralan Backwaters just outside Alleppey. Actually, we’d never heard of it either until the day before when we decided to ditch Goa and start looking at where to go next. The greatest thing about India, other than the food and the people, is the absolute wealth of amazing stuff right in front of you, and it’s all within reach by, at most, a 40 hour ride and a $16 dollar train ticket. This place is unbelievable in its destination depth and breadth. The India Lonely Planet - or The Book as it’s known by travelers - is bigger than the entire African Continent Lonely Planet. It’s not a book so much as it’s a brick (if I was ever in a book fight, this would definitely be my weapon of choice). The Backwaters are on most Things To Do Before You Die lists and almost all travel journal/bucket lists. Again, we’d never heard of it but it sounded cool so we booked a trip on an overnight houseboat. The photos don’t do it justice, but it’s definitely a “must do.”

I’ve heard that in India it’s not a matter of if you get sick, it’s when. So far, Emily and I have thrown caution to the wind without being stupid - we’ve eaten fresh food from the street stalls, brushed our teeth with sink water, hugged the kids, etc. and have yet to go through that dubious right of passage. One India tip we received from a seasoned traveler was that when you do catch “it” just go to the nearest pharmacy and point at your gut then at your butt and buy whatever the guy offers you. Sage advice - hope we don’t have to use it.

We’re heading north to Udaipur in Rajasthan to settle in and brace ourselves for Diwali, the annual Festival of Lights.

Namaste and Subh Diwali.

Rwandaful

chrisaknight — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 09:57:00 GMT

The 300 pound Silverback looked over the rim of the creek bed, placed his hands under his chin, and just sat there. Our guide, carrying an AK-47, said “Don’t move.” I swear I've never been so still in my life.

Rwanda is quite possibly the most incredible place on earth. There’s entirely too many highlights to mention in the past 9 days but I’ll try. Let’s get started with what’s sure to be a long, desperately rambling blog.

About the size of Maryland, Rwanda is a tiny nation by any standard. About 10 million people live here making it the most densely populated country in Africa. Rwanda is a landlocked territory in East/Central Africa that’s bordered by Uganda, Tanzania, The Democratic Republic of the Congo and Burundi. The country is bracketed by several of the most stunning, and least well-known, National Parks in the world. Appropriately named The Land of a Thousand Hills, the entire country is covered with rolling hills followed by severe mountains followed by volcanoes. It looks like a place out of a Tolkien novel.

Oh yeah, and just over 1,000,000 ethnic Tutsis and moderate Hutus got massacred here in 1994 in a period of about 3 months.

We’ve only spent a few days “in country” but have been going at breakneck speed since the moment we touched down. Molly, my old roommate from San Francisco, and her husband, Matt Bonds, have lived here for over a year working for non-profits in the least developed areas of Rwanda. Matt works for Partners In Health (PIH), Paul Farmer’s organization - the one that’s highlighted in the phenomenal book Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder - just outside Akagera National Park. Prior to PIH, this area had zero access to health care and included a population of over 250,000. I’m still not totally sure what the hell Molly does for a living, but I know it has something to do with environmental sustainability and modern farming techniques. I do know her project site is located in Nyungwe Forest National Park in Southwest Rwanda and is easily the most remote, totally off the grid, won’t find it in any travel books - much less any maps - place we’ve ever been.

Our week

We took off from Kigali, the Capitol of Rwanda, and spent the next 9 days covering as much territory as possible. We first headed east to Akagera National Park for some camping and spent a couple of days touring Rwinkwavu, the site of PIH’s project and the hospital where Matt works. Seeing what PIH has been able to accomplish in a short 4-year period is one of the more inspiring things we’ve witnessed and definitely the highlight of this portion of the trip. Also, Emily and I were asked to be godparents for Molly and Matt’s just born calf, Caddy, short for Caddywompus Rhombus. Having a godcow has never been a real goal for me, but I got surprisingly choked up nonetheless. Caddy’s mom, Johnny, is a cow purchased by Matt that provides milk to patients in the Rwinkwavu hospital. This is the first program of its type for PIH and it’s now time for our godcow to carry on the tradition. Go Caddy!

From there, we headed to The Virungas - Volcanoes National Park - and the home of the endangered mountain gorillas. The park looks like a huge mountain range but it’s actually a string of nine freestanding volcanoes - six inactive, three active and you can actually see lava coming off one peak. It’s also home to the highest concentration of mountain gorillas on earth. Emily and I signed up for the Susa Group, the largest and arguably most famous “family” in the forest. When we showed up at 6am, we were the only ones to sign up for this particular hike. This seemed mildly odd due to their popularity. We soon found out why: the group has moved WAY up the volcano and is now a three hour, 3000+ foot hike straight up a barely penetrable bamboo forest and, to us at least, a nearly impenetrable rain forest. To add to the drama, a couple of months ago there was a soap opera-esque falling out within the group: The #2 Silverback apparently slept with the #1 Silverback’s #1 girlfriend. This didn’t go over too well with #1 and he abruptly ended their BFF relationship. Fourteen of the 40+ gorillas took off with the #2 guy. This was the troop we stumbled upon. I’ll save the gorilla gushing for a live conversation and let the pictures speak for themselves.

Immediately after the gorilla venture, we drove west to Lake Kivu and a little town named Gisenyi. We absolutely fell in love upon arrival and were already talking about how we could live and work here before we even got to The Paradis, our guesthouse. By Rwanda standards, the town is a well developed community and sits on the shores of a huge freshwater lake. We booked a bungalow for the outrageous price of $50 and settled in with a couple of goat skewers, a cold one and one of the most jaw-dropping sunsets ever. Sadly, the next day I put it together that that goat I heard screaming soon after I ordered was probably our skewer du jour; that would have definitely put a damper on the sunset. Later that evening, when they threw us out of our bungalow because they had overbooked rooms for the night, the management put together a tent on the shore of Lake Kivu and let us stay there for free. Cha-Ching!

From there, we headed southwest to the unheard-of Nyungwe Forest National Park. The park encompasses over 500 square miles of the last old growth forest left in Africa. With over 200 types of orchids, 278 birds, 38 reptiles, 120 butterfly species and at least 500 chimpanzees, you definitely need to bring an extra memory card for your camera. Banda, Molly’s NGO site, is home to 2000ish residents who were solely hunter-gatherers a mere 30 years ago.

This place definitely didn’t fit the mold of your typical tourist go-to place. We spent 2 nights and 3 days in this amazing setting and didn’t realize that we were without electricity or running water the entire time. If you ever want to know what it’s like to be a celebrity then you should definitely check this destination out. I gotta tell you, being famous is absolutely exhausting! As I mentioned earlier, Banda isn’t in a single travel book and is relatively new to the NGO community, and for these people to see a Mzungu (white person) is a truly unique sight.

Every day was filled with hugs, handshakes, and Kinya-rwandan versions of “Hello,” “Good morning,” “Good Afternoon,” “Good Evening,” and just general old “Howdy.” We also once got a “What time is it?” which stunned us all to silence for a moment. I then dug around, found my watch, and only realized after answering the question that he had absolutely no idea what he was saying; I got a totally blank stare after I said “Well, it’s about 9:45am.”

I would have gotten the same look if I’d been standing there blowing spit bubbles.

With the entire country basically being wiped off the map 15 years ago, Rwanda has been given a real opportunity to rebuilt itself without all the baggage that drags down most third-world countries. The typical government payoffs and bribes are nonexistent and it’s a real, functioning democracy. One great real-life example that surprised us was that Rwanda has outlawed all plastic bags nationwide due to the litter factor and waterway degradation issues.

Another example is Umaganda; a monthly national “day of work” where the entire country rolls out for community service. Projects include trash cleanup, road repair, home building, etc. Belief in the future and support for their country is incredibly strong here.

Rwanda has been an awesome experience and we actually looked into staying for another week but ticket changes wouldn’t allow it. So, tomorrow we’re off to the sub-continent of India. Wish us luck.

Sunset for the Annapurna Circuit

chrisaknight — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 09:47:00 GMT

As we trudged into the stone walled, medieval-looking town of Chame on day four (or was it five?) of the trek, I asked our porter what the day would look like tomorrow. In pidgin, barely intelligible English the answer came in his honest, emotionally-crushing way by saying, “Up, up and also the up.” As usual, this was not the response we were hoping for.

Welcome to the AC, or ‘The Circuit’ as it’s known by veteran trekking enthusiasts everywhere. This is the Annapurna Circuit, the holy grail of long distance hiking for the past 30 years. The 160+ mile hike through the Himalayas of Northern Nepal takes you over the highest usable pass in the world, then through the deepest canyon, skims the southern edge of the fabled Tibetan plateau, includes 13 distinct ecological zones that range from subtropical to alpine and even allows you to crash each night with the locals in the 70+ ancient villages located along the route. The circuit takes a meandering path counterclockwise around the Annapurna Massif, a monolithic mountain range with 10 mountains exceeding 19,500 feet. Annapurna, the highest, reaches 26,545’.

Finally, in a couple of years, the Annapurna Circuit will be lost forever, crushed, quite literally, under the roads of progress.

Unfortunately for Nepal, it’s sandwiched between China and India, the two largest population densities on Earth. About a decade ago, someone decided it'd be great to build a roadway between these consumer behemoths thereby dramatically increasing trade between the two. The wheels of progress sprung to life and this dream is now, to the horror of hikers worldwide, becoming a reality.

Unknown to many of these industrialists, I’m certain, commerce had already been alive and well between these two populations for centuries. The route had been blazed and then formalized by a parade of interesting characters that included wandering Buddhist monks, salt traders from Tibet, Mongol raiders from the Silk Road, as well as a helplessly lost Marco Polo. When the planners mapped out the new highway it was a no-brainer to place it right on top of the trail that had been achieving their goal, albeit it on a much smaller scale, for over 400 years. Adios Annapurna Circuit.

The Trek:

Like most big endeavors, our hike had a typically inauspicious beginning. The 8-hour public bus we'd taken from Kathmandu stopped when the road abruptly came to an end. We then got out, slung our packs over our shoulders and started walking; we didn't stop for the next 17 days. In the past decade, fear of the Maoist uprising as well as knowledge of the new road has seriously hampered tourism in the Annapurnas. Although it's unfortunate for the locals, it was a godsend for us because the prices were down, the guesthouses were typically less than half full, and we never felt the trail was overloaded with foreigners - mules, yes; foreigners, no.

Like most adventures of this scale and duration, the trekkers we met on the trail became close friends within highly compressed timeframes and this companionship will easily be remembered as one of the greatest aspects of the journey. The circuit isn't difficult by climbing standards, although with 15,000 feet of incline, and subsequent decline - combined with several weeks of hiking - it can seriously wear you down physically. Disparate groups and individuals tend to band together and share the hardship, moleskin, duct tape, Mars Bars, travel stories and motivation. A number of travelers came and went from ‘our’ group, but the core remained the same: Biggi from Germany; Judith and Nout from the Netherlands; London James; Crystal and Amanda from Maine; as well as Morag and Dave, our new friends from Scotland. This became our nuclear family for the next couple of weeks. Others repeatedly crossed our paths and took on names like "That Quiet French Couple," "The Israelis," the "Maybe Lesbians," and "That Sweaty Irish Guy." One thing we didn't expect yet witnessed in abundance was the attrition rate of travelers on the trail. Issues included:

- James: Food poisoning

- Nout: Food poisoning

- Judith: Food poisoning
- Birgit: Lack of intestinal fortitude

- Alex: Physical stamina issues

- Sand: Irreconcilable spousal differences

In a guesthouse one night, I took note of the attendees at the dinner table. The countries represented were France, the UK, New Zealand, Australia, Nepal & Israel. Quite a diverse crowd, I thought, and I was proud to be offered a seat within the group. Around the yak-dung-fired stove, everyone nursed their hiking wounds, swapped travel stories and ate dahl baht, the national food of Nepal,

My favorite story from the trip:

Several nights previous, the New Zealander was playing charades around the stove with a group of travelers that included a number of Israelis and Germans. When it was time for her turn, she drew and was forced to subsequently pantomime Schlindlers List. How uncomfortable would thatbe? Several of the other members of the group admitted later that they’d figured out what the answer was but were just too embarrassed to shout the answer.

I will forever dislike this one French couple that flitted in and out of our lives every few days. Every chance they got, the two of them sped off the main trail to complete the many ‘optional’ multi-day side trips. I bet they added on another 70 miles to the journey which included, at the minimum, an additional 8000' of elevation gain/loss. And, to add insult to injury, they looked great doing it - no bruises, no blisters, no limp, no complaints, nothing. I hate them.

My journal on Day 9 states, "Emily got bit by a horse today." That's it; nothing else. I was too tired for words. From the window of our guesthouse that evening I remember we had a view of a truly awesome sight - the peak of Manaslu, a titan of a mountain that shoots 25,758 feet straight up, looking so close you could rare back and spit on it. Sadly, there’s no mention of it in the journal. The horse altercation was pretty funny though...and Emily deserved it.

One day bleeds into the next and after a week or so you get in this zen-like frame of mind that resembles a kind of meditative state. Your life becomes euphoric - you walk, you fully relax, don’t think about to-do lists or cell phones - you just absorb the energy of being surrounded by the world’s most awesome scenery. The company joining us on the journey assisted in our euphoria as well. At least most of the company. Nirmal, our intrepid porter, was the one blemish continually assaulting our nirvana-like existence. In Kathmandu, based on a recommendation from other travelers, we hired a "Porter In Training." It's a great concept; hire a guy to carry one of your bags for $12 a day, put some money back in the local economy, and give a young, ambitious kid some much needed experience on The Circuit.

Nirmal was tee’d up as the guy that knew the trail intimately, yet understood and spoke about "20% English." Once we got on the trail, we found out we were told only part of the story. Nirmal did, in fact, understand 20% of what was spoken to him and knew most of the trail, but he was convinced he spoke and understood English at a rate that far exceeded 80%. By Day 5 I kept catching myself thinking how easy it would be to shove him off a cliff. (Fortunately for Nirmal, he was carrying one of our backpacks which is quite possibly the only thing that saved his life.) With his limited grasp of our language and total lack of internal filter, our days were filled with his aimless, nonsensical verbal ramblings. As I briefly mentioned earlier, one welcome, and equally heartbreaking, trait he possessed was his blatantly honest answers to our occasional trekking questions - when asked what the day would look like tomorrow, his response was "Up, up and also the up." On the other side of the pass, it was "Down, down and also the down." Questions like “Short day tomorrow?” would invariable be answered with hysterical laughter.

When we asked something he didn't understand, which happened more times than I’d care to admit, his eyes would glaze over, he'd blink slowly while staring at some imaginary object a half mile away and stand open-mouthed, motionless until you rephrased the query. It's actually a wildly successful diversion tactic, and I can't wait to try it out in the States.

One morning two guys in handcuffs passed us going the other direction surrounded by several important-looking men with guns. I asked Nirmal what was going on and the response was his typical convoluted series of unconnected nouns and verbs. His story: "Helicopter, woman, rupee, house, buffalo, stabbing, finish, burn, also the slapping."

The story, as we found later from some English speaking porters, was that these two thugs broke into a guesthouse, slapped the owner and his wife, stabbed him to get the money and then burned the place down to hide the evidence. He got flown out on a helicopter the next day. Even after a number of follow-up questions, I still haven't figured out when the buffalo showed up.

Every few steps on the trail were met with religious symbols that included prayer wheels, ‘mani stones,’ stupas or chortens, prayer flags, Buddhist and Hindu shrines, alters of all sorts, as well as rest benches below Bodhi trees. The different ethnic groups you meet along the trail is mind boggling. (I’m using the term ‘ethnic group’ as a convenient catch-all phrase to describe each tribe, clan, religion and caste on the trail). Within one 100-meter stretch of the trail one day, we counted a multitude of Buddhist prayer wheels, a pile of Mani stones, tikka dots on the locals’ foreheads, an Animist alter and a wall-etched quote from Jesus Christ. It’s amazing to think about the spiritual influences that have impacted this place over the centuries - even more so when you find little to no religious tension between the groups.

After Throng La Pass, we limped down several thousand meters to Muktinath, home of The Bob Marley Guesthouse. Upon arrival, we gorged ourselves on cast iron pizzas, yak sizzlers, and a couple of cold ones. One thing we did find interesting about the pass as well as Muktinath, is that these old men kept trying to sell us seashells - ammonites to be exact. We’re talking about the top of the world here - in the not so distant past, the area that is now the Himalayas was a giant inland sea. Ammonites are now found by the millions and if you keep a look out you’re liable to find one yourself. Sadly, we didn’t.

The next day we headed south through the Kali Gandaki Gorge, the deepest canyon on earth. It’s so deep, in fact, that in several places it’s a 3+ mile vertical from the river floor to the top of the surrounding mountains. It was an awe inspiring couple of days. We ended up in the little town of Tatopani, home of the famous natural hot springs, where we stalled out for a couple of days doing laundry, sleeping, eating croissants and dahl baht, veg noodles and whatever else caught our eye on the elaborate menu.

On Day 17 we walked out of the canyon, negotiated a taxi, then listened to re-mixed ‘Om Mani Padmi Hom’ Nepali music for the next two hours until we reached civilization. Our destination was Pokhara, the gearing-up and tearing-down point for almost all major Nepali expeditions and a great place to replace some much needed sleep and calories. Yak steaks, nak cheese (as it was eloquently explained to me, “Yaks don’t make cheese, stupid. The nak has the udders!”), Everest beer and pizza were on every menu and we indulged frequently.

Namaste and Dhanydhad,

Chris and Emily

Off-the-grid redefined: Raja Ampat

chrisaknight — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 09:27:00 GMT

As the boat pulled up to the cliff, someone asked Keith, the owner of the pearl farm, how old the skulls were. His response, “About three years”, was a real eye opener. He obviously felt our heightened tension because he quickly added, “but head hunting season ended in November.” The date was December 22; still a little too close to headhunting season for my tastes. The story he’d just finished, the one about the pirates raiding and killing several workers at the pearl farm the previous year, was still fresh in our minds as we arrived at the site and took a closer look at the twenty-five severed heads displayed along the cliff wall. “Thankfully,” Keith said, “animals picked the rest of the tissue off them last year.” Clean skulls, as everyone knows, are much more pleasing aesthetically.

Welcome to Raja Ampat, Indonesia, home to pirates and head hunters! (I doubt that will make the tourism brochure.) Just west of Papua - which used to be Irian Jaya - and dead north of central Australia, this isn’t your typical “should have been there ten years ago” place. As a matter of fact, it is ten years ago. It’s also twenty years ago as well as one hundred years ago and maybe even five hundred years ago.

Due to its remote location, headhunting reputation, and overall extreme environment, Raja Ampat hasn’t changed much since Alfred Russell Wallace, my all-time favorite travel hero, visited here in the 1850’s searching for the fabled Bird of Paradise. It was due to the inherent remoteness of the island chain as well as it’s strangely diverse animal population that he developed his theory of natural selection, which was stolen, some say, by Charles Darwin. The 15,000 square mile archipelago of Raja Ampat encompasses 610 islands, has less than 30,000 human inhabitants, includes the most diverse, densely populated marine life on the planet. It also enjoys a near-zero tourist population. This place is literally a paradise on earth for scientists, serious scuba divers and tag-along travelers - ie. Emily and me - alike.

Several years ago, a marine biologist at Raja Ampat set the record for the most species seen in one hour: 283. Think about that for a second - that’s over four sightings a minute for sixty minutes. If I saw twenty species in an entire day, I’d be surprised. To date, six hundred species of coral have been identified within the archipelago. By contrast, the entire Caribbean boasts sixty.

So, how did we get here?

Molly, an old roommate of mine from San Francisco, invited us to join her family and friends on an 11-day exploration of the area on the Archipelago II, a live-aboard boat modeled after a traditional, 18-century Indonesian schooner. Molly’s father used to head up the Pacific Rim branch of The Nature Conservancy and was a leading figure in the project to have Raja Ampat listed as a protected marine biodiversity site. The trip included a number of scientists, marine biologists and other notable characters. I had a dinner conversation one evening with Jane, the woman sitting across from me, and she mentioned she worked for the U.S. Government. I found out later from her business card that she is the Head of NOAA (National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency) within the Department of Commerce. I’m sure she was wowed by the fact that I can clap with one hand and swallow my tongue.

Anyway, this trip was all about diving. Raja Ampat is, without a doubt, the best dive destination on earth. When Disney filmed their 3D IMAX movie, “Under The Sea,” this is where they came. Emily and I did twenty dives in ten days. We could have done thirty - we just weren’t that ambitious. Almost daily, we’d see wobbegong sharks, a six-to-eight foot long meat eater with a beard; giant manta rays; pygmy sea horses the size of an eraser head; nudibranchs; giant clams; octopus; and the holy grail of dive sightings, the harlequin ghost pipefish. We also saw a number of other random creatures like the electric clam (my personal favorite), frogfish, blue stingrays, lion-fish, barracuda, moray eels, ribbon eels, crocodile-fish, scorpion-fish, cuttlefish, etc, etc. (Out of this entire list, Emily’s favorite was the ferocious clown fish - aka “Nemo”).

As I mentioned, we could have gone on thirty or so dives during the trip but there were too many other activities available to just focus on one. We sea kayaked around the atolls, walked for miles on totally deserted beaches, snorkeled among coral reefs 2 feet below the surface, went caving, hiked up the near vertical limestone karsts, and went deep sea fishing for mackerel and tuna - we subsequently ate the freshest sashimi ever several nights on the boat. This place is a paradise, and thanks to Molly and her family, we got to witness it firsthand.

Looking back, our days on the boat all bled together to form a single action-packed experience. Typically, it started with a 7:30am dive prep followed by a “Let’s Go Diving!” yell from Made’, our dive master. That call will always be one of my favorite memories from the trip. Breakfast was served at 9:30 followed immediately by the second dive prep at 10:30 with masks in the water by 11am. Lunch was served around 1:30pm, then we’d start get ready for the 3pm dive. If there was a night dive, the prep usually started at six and we’d be in the water by 7pm.

After that, we’d eat dinner, tell stories, dance, play music, simply read or engage in horrifically competitive games of Taboo until bedtime. Most evenings the boat would motor all night to the next dive site and at 7am we’d start the drill all over again. Talk about exhausting! Waterlogged ears, sea sickness, the general pains & aches of travel and the grueling schedule definitely took it’s toll. I still have water in my right ear, coral spines in my hand and Emily thinks her toe might be broken.

The days of Raja Ampat being a safe, inaccessible bastion for marine wildlife are numbered. Due to unregulated overfishing in the Philippines and Malaysia, places that once produced huge tuna, grouper and mackerel yields have now been completely fished out. The companies behind these slash-and-burn fishing techniques - that include shark finning, dynamiting, and cyanide - are now turning their attention to eastern Indonesia. And it’s happening faster than you’d ever believe. This is why Conservation International, The Nature Conservancy, World Wildlife Foundation and others have all gotten involved and are trying desperately to save this place. Ever wonder why you can’t buy orange roughy at Sam’s anymore? I hadn’t until we went on this trip. It’s gone; fished-out to the point of near extinction...and they aren’t coming back in our lifetime. Blue-fin tuna is next on the list followed closely by, yellow-fin, Atlantic halibut, grouper, cod and possibly salmon. BANG - that’s the sound of me jumping off my soapbox.

Touring Raja Ampat with an amazing group of people on the live-aboard boat, Archipelago II: this was the icing on the cake for our around the world adventure, and it more than exceeded our wildest expectations. You wouldn’t believe the raw, pristine beauty of this place. Hopefully, the pictures can speak for us.

Let’s go diving!

Laos State of Mind

chrisaknight — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 09:16:00 GMT

Wedged between Vietnam, China, Cambodia, Thailand and Myanmar, this place is literally the land that time forgot. It wasn’t until several years ago that the Laos telecom industry had to increase from four to six the number of digits in their phone numbers. In 2001, I had to search all over Vientiane, the capitol, for some clear tape because there wasn’t any glue on the back of Lao stamps. Tourism is finally catching on here, but it doesn’t take much, like 100 yards or so, to get completely off the grid.

Laos (it’s pronounced like “cow” but with an “L”) holds the dubious honor of being the most bombed country in the history of the world. Between 1964 and 1973 the United States held a monumental grudge against these guys for a couple of reasons: eastern Laos was a major Ho Chi Minh Trail thoroughfare during the Vietnam war and this area also happened to be the headquarters of the Pathet Lao, a Russian-backed communist insurgency.

The statistics are absolutely staggering. The United States dropped over two million tons of bombs on Laos in just under under nine years. We spent around $2.2 million per day during that time attempting to free the hell out of these people. More than two tons of bombs were dropped on Laos every 9 minutes for 9 straight years. Amazingly, we managed to do this without ever declaring war on the country or even notifying Congress.

Thirty percent of these munitions failed to detonate, so Laos is now a really, really big minefield. The countryside is stunningly beautiful. Unfortunately, it will also kill you. About sixty people a year, mostly kids, become casualties from these left over unexploded ordinances (UXOs). On the bright side, these spent bombs and shell casings and make fantastic flower pots and school bells as well as provide the area hotels and restaurants with a great way to separate themselves from the competition. You see this morbid creativity everywhere.

So, why would anyone want to come here?

According to me, Laos is probably the last remaining cultural bastion of “Old Southeast Asia.” With 49 distinct ethnic groups, the Mekong River cutting a path through the heart of the country, a rich French colonial history, and jungles so remote that elephant and tiger sightings are relatively common, this place is a third-world paradise. It’s also an immediate must-see because the rest of Asia has realized it left one of its own behind and is rapidly rectifying the mistake.

The trip we’d originally planned for Laos was dramatically different than the one we completed. In Bangkok, Em packed a 15 lb backpack that included 2 shirts, 2 pants, a couple of scarves and not much else. We left the majority of our gear behind with the thought of spend 3 weeks touring Laos by motorbike. The 12-hour overnight bus to Vientiane was uneventful with one exception: we got to watch the new Star Trek movie on large screen complete with Digital Surround Sound. Sadly, the center speaker was broken so every aspect of the movie’s audio was blasting us with 21st century technology except for the dialog. I still don’t have a clue what that movie is about but the special effects are breathtaking.

It’s always the other travelers we meet that make the trip. From Vientiane, we made our way north with our new found friends/family: Johnny, Maca, Ruben, Shannon, Ryan, Markus and Ana. This was an interesting mix of Spaniards, Irish, Canadians Germans, and us. We spent the next 7 days moving from one location, and comical situation, to the next. I won’t go into it, but within one 24-hour period alone Ryan got two black eyes (no idea how), Maca married some Dutch guy, we were forced to rescue Markus from being helplessly adrift on an inner tube, and Emily and I happily adopted Johnny, the Irish Guy, as our son. He’s absolutely thrilled, BTW, with the name Johnny Knight.

We ended up in Luang Prabang, the former royal capital of French Colonial Indochina. Then disaster struck; Emily got a cold. A terrible cold. And she couldn’t shake it. At least that’s what she said. According to me, Emily’s cold is highly suspect actually. You see, Luang Prabang is quite possibly the most exquisite small city in the world (and I don’t ever use the word “exquisite”). It sits on a peninsula overlooking the Mekong and has the perfect blend of Asian and European influences. You can get up in the morning, throw back delicate croissants, drink locally grown Lao coffee, wander the backstreets of town admiring the colonial architecture, then sit back sampling the competing flavors of expertly cooked Lao food while watching the sun set over the river. You get all this with the backdrop of hundreds of Buddhist monks silently walking the streets behind you. It’s a paradise. Emily happily stayed there for 9 days.

Once I found out Emily was sick and that she wasn’t getting any better but didn’t seem like she was going to die either, I did what any good husband in this situation would do: I left. I rented a motorbike and headed out for a few days to eastern Laos. It was sad parting with Emily, our first in over 3 months, but I swear as we said our tearful goodbye she kept glancing over my shoulder at the french patisserie just behind me. I drove east to check out some ethnic villages and hopefully see the famous Plain of Jars, possibly the most remote UNESCO World Heritage site on earth. The Plain of Jars is actually bunch of ancient jars that are situated, amazingly, on a plain. The jars are around 3000 years old, there are thousands of them, and nobody has a clue what they were used for. (Rice storage and funeral tombs being the big theories.) There are dozens of jar sites in Laos, however there are only 3 major sites open for viewing due to all the unexploded bombs and mines left behind by Uncle Sam.

The different ethnic groups and Hmong tribes I came across quickly became too many to count. It was approaching their New Year so a number of the communities were out in full regalia. The most noticeable aspect about these groups, I found, was their complete lack of animosity for me, an American. The number of amputees you see in eastern Laos is absolutely appalling. That said, I was welcome into a number of homes, was shown an overwhelming amount of kindness, and was even given a parting gift by one of the guesthouse owners; a Russian hand grenade. It was one of the greatest presents I’ve ever received and couldn’t wait to show it off to everyone back in the States. Several days later it was pointed out to me, just before we left Laos, that airports aren’t very understanding about packing unexploded bombs into luggage these days. The grenade is still in Luang Prabang.

After 4 days on the road, I headed back to rescue Emily. I soon found out she’d made a heap of local friends while I was away, eaten at most of the local restaurants and even played a gig or two. I think there was even a bit of croissant crust on her lip when I burst in announcing my return. In retrospect, I’m not completely sure she knew I was gone.

The next day Emily and I headed north up the Nam Ou River into the outback of Northern Laos. We completed some hikes, checked out a cave or two, ate the local Laos cuisine - including fried crickets and grubs - and generally lost ourselves in the spectacular scenery and laid-back Laos lifestyle. Several days later, we made it back to Luang Prabang just in time to celebrate Emily’s 28th birthday. After 9 days in town, she’d made some lasting friendships, and they managed to pull off a small, intimate birthday party while watching the sunset over the Mekong. Her birthday present from me, a handmade spoon cast from the spent casings of old American bombs, wasn’t necessarily a cry-with-joy moment, but I fully expect it to grow on her with time.

You’ve never been out there until you’ve been Laout there. Enough said. We'll be back.