Harmonious Transmissions From A Small Blue Planet

Gallery: New Zealand

jmbworldpilgrimage — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 10:32:00 GMT

Sheep, etc.

Ode to Cambodia

jmbworldpilgrimage — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 09:07:00 GMT

Shiva effortlessly dances,

Destroying centuries of labor and toil.

Jungle creeps hypnotically to his rhthym:

Trees and vines twist and tangle,

Topple and tumble.

The Great Mother reclaims what she once lended...

Farewell to the great civlizations of yesteryear.

Let memory fade into history,

As history becomes legend,

And legend becomes myth...

For what is a myth, but a dream of the past?

And what is a dream, but a vision of Now?

O Cambodia,

When will we awaken to this precious moment?

Our past is clouded in gunsmoke,

Stained red with bloodshed.

Today I glimpsed the brilliance of Light,

Radiating in your children's eyes.

It just reminded me:

Wake up...

Hanging Around the Ho Chi Minh Trail, Part 2

jmbworldpilgrimage — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 07:51:00 GMT

Dalat is an anamoly of Vietnam. While the rest of the south is blazing hot, Dalat remains cool and collected. Really, it's a breath of fresh air...perhaps because of the alpine-rainforest fusion; on the other hand it could be the Vietnamese "highlanders" laid-back demeanor. A handful of other trademarks could define Dalat...the hub of higher education in Vietnam; the quintessential hangout for domestic poets, philosophers, and artists; it's also renowned for its zen meditation school, which roots have spread to pagodas all over the country. With such an ecclectic blend of people, nature, and culture...it would be hard for most not to feel at ease in Dalat.

The best way to describe my experience in Dalat is serendipitous...(As is always the case, although I usually remain unaware) I happened to be in the right place at the right time...The people, job, my family and girlfriend all seemed to manifest themselves to contribute to an overwhelming sense of well-being and good fortune each day I spent in Dalat.

My experience at the Dalat Foreign Language School was that of personal transformation. Each day I planned and prepared lessons for my classes, and each day LIFE EXPERIENCE would take over the class as the true teacher (for both my students as well as myself)...for example, a lesson planned listening and filling blanks to Louis Armstrong's "Wonderful World" could turn into a class discussion about life, love, and the beauty of nature. The best sessions presented their own voice...planned with structure...yet, allowing some room for improvisation which let the students breathe life of thier own into the process...it felt so satisfying to sit back and watch the drama unfold.

If you visit Dalat, please stop and say "Xin chao" to my family and friends at the Phuong Thanh guesthouse. You won't find luxurious accomodation or four star services here...instead, you'll be treated with the friendly company of an interesting Vietnamese family...and if you're really lucky, Dung will cook you some of the best Vietnamese food you'll eat during your stay in Vietnam. Ong Tu will likely be playing solitaire or singing along to something from his CD collection...and Baa Tu will probably sit relaxed in her Ab-Chair...it's here I keep my fondest memories of Dalat...spending my afternoon talking, reading, eating lunch, and sipping a coffee or tea with my Vietnamese family.

I wait patiently for my next homecoming...

Gallery: Thailand

jmbworldpilgrimage — Sat, 31 May 2008 23:38:00 GMT

Gallery: Cambodia

jmbworldpilgrimage — Sat, 31 May 2008 22:36:00 GMT

The Land of a Thousand Temples

Hanging Around the Ho Chi Minh Trail...Part 1

jmbworldpilgrimage — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 20:33:00 GMT

If I had a Vietnamese dating network profile, it would read some thing like: enjoys motorbike rides through the countryside, sipping fresh highland coffee with a good book, and watching sunsets silhouette fishermen sliding by in small teacup boats. Actually, there's dozens of reasons why I love this coutry so much, and I've made it my home for the last few months.

I'd be lying to say I wasn't a little apprehensive of America's history in Vietnam...but the warm smiles and friendly interest quickly put my worries to rest. Hanoi provided my first impression of Vietnam...with more sights, flavors, and culture than I had time to discover. Among some other personal highlights, the 2,000 dong glass of Bia Hoi served with ice streetside probably tops the list (translation: about 15 cents for a pint of ice cold beer). The shopping in Hanoi couldn't be more logically organized...need a new pair of shoes, walk three block to shoe street; maybe a new guitar is what you're in the market for, in that case walk a block and hang a left to music street...that simple.

A visit to Hanoi's museum of ethnography supported my decision to immerse myself in the capital of Vietnam's ethnic minority, Sapa. Unfortunately, typhoon season prevented my first attempt to live my Motorcycle Diary fantasy. In Sapa, the women advertise their age, marriage status, and ethnic tradition in a symphony of colorful and exotic beauty...including indigo-dyed long dresses with intricately embroidered patterns, hand-crafted metal and stone earrings, and blood-red headresses...in the market, one could describe a new catalog of color for Crayola, between the people and produce.

During a homestay with my friend, Pan, of the black H'mong people, I experienced a small piece of a farming family's life in northern Vietnam. I spent the day there "working the land" during the new rice new harvest. However, I have to sadly report that after six hours of the most strenuous labor I've ever tried, I was physically wrecked and depleted of energy. I gained a new appreciation for the rice farmer (whoever said it was the simple life?), who devotes his time and care for the sole purpose of feeding his/her family...Did I mention Pan's older sister was running laps around me with her baby strapped to her back.

Dinner that night in the family's log-cabin style home was a memorable experience in itself. I said my parting words to the unlucky chicken that was picked for dinner...its life up to that point must have seemed so simple, running free around the beautiful rice terraces all day without a care in the world...I said "hello" again to my unlucky friend as his piercing gaze stared out at me from my soup. Actually, I had a food epiphany in that moment...I felt an appreciation for the life that was being served for my own well-being, while simultaneously feeling the notion of how previously detached I had been towards what I eat...all the hamburgers, chicken nuggets, and strips of bacon consumed without any awareness or appreciation. Up to that point, I'd never even seen my meat slaughtered...and it was a stirring sight that I'll probably remember, if only for a moment, every time I eat chicken...and I definitely have never eaten ALL the edible parts of my meat like I did that night. On the other side of the food pyramid, the rice and vegetables were freshly harvested and deliciously prepared. Eating at the dinner table with all men, while the women shared their meal at a separate table induced a flashback on a middle school skating party. The entire family seemed in high spirits upon the completion of the rice harvest, and the rice wine (Vietnamese moonshine) was poured around the tables accordingly. I dropped out of the drinking exhibition after the 5th or 6th round in a half hour, curiously spying the H'mong style smoking device propped in the corner of the room. One rip from the bamboo-carved bong (combined with the hill-tribe moonshine) almost knocked me off my stool...I wasn't sure the smoking mixture was only tobacco like the family convinced me it was...I choked, they laughed, and I was forced to sit in a corner of the room in exile while my friend nursed me with sips of water as my sober-consciousness crept slowly back. I slept like a baby on my cot that night.

My friend, Pan, joined me on my next excursion to Ha Long Bay, the otherworldly karst seascape in the South China Sea. The Vietnamese legend explains the formation of the limestone towers by a giant ancient sea dragon...I felt the mystical presence of the sea dragon as our tour boat drifted through a fantasy labrynth of karst towers and floating villages, while the saltiness of the sea permeated not only my sense of smell but my entire being. When our vessel stopped for a break, women paddled rickety hand-crafted boats out of sea caves to peddle exotic fruits I'd never seen before. Pan and I spent the rest of our time together in the magical area on the protected Cat Ba island, exploring the bay by kayak and playing on the quiet beaches in the meantime.

Departing by night bus from Hanoi, I left the city for the third time, again as a solo traveler. I arrived in the ancient capital city of Hue, in one of the central coastal provinces of Vietnam. Unfortunately, like many other historical relics in the region, the central palace has been rebuilt (partially) since the devastation of the American war. Actually the tour of choice in the region is a collection of historical buildings, VC tunnels, and museums that commemorate the struggle the Vietnamese endured during that dark era of war. The Americans called the region the DMZ (the Demilitarized Zone), an imaginary line that separated the territory of conflicting political ideals. I visited the area on a cool, rainy day and the weather made the experience feel more visceral. My imagination transported itself four decades into the past...a time when I, like thousands of other American men in their mid 20s, would have been dizzied trekking through a land of the unfamiliar...smells, plants, sounds, and terrain...all contributing, in those circimstances, to an impending and suffocating sense of danger and fear. The Dave Matthews lyric danced through my mind, "Don't you ever wonder...could I have been someone different?" I warped back to the present moment...driving by motorbike with my friendly, Vietnamese guide, Hung...dry (thanks to the technological achievements by our friends at Gore-Tex), with the oppportunity to stop at my discretion for a hot cup of coffee. I thanked the universe for my good fortune in this lifetime. A forty year shift in time seemed like a parallel universe, the difference between heaven and hell.

I felt my soul needed a jumpstart after the DMZ tour. I found a revival of inspiration at the former monastery of spiritual leader and peace activist, Thich Nhat Hanh. Ironically, instead of a garden of enlightenment, the monastery, temple, and garden resembled many of the other run of the mill Buddhist temples I'd visited in Asia...quaint and quiet, and of course not lacking the typical koi pond. I took a walk through the peaceful gardens with my friend Hung and reflected on one of Thich Nhat Hanh's most notorious mantras...Peace is every step. Here, at this home of such a world-renowned and venerated guru I imagined peace as the geographical location of paradise, or maybe possessing a community of saints which could telepathically diffuse enlightment to the average spiritual pilgrim. Instead, in that moment, peace seemed to be the frame of mind we carry with us on a daily basis...a cultivated awareness complete with patience and appreciation of life's everyday subtleties...a breath of fresh pine air in that forest grove or the feeling of human comradery when sharing a walk and a laugh with a new friend. I took this lightness of spirit for the rest of time in Hue, enjoying some bike rides around town and listening to traditional music with my friend, Katie.

What came next was the motorbike trip to inspire all future rides...the journey through the central highlands...a unique and remote region of Vietnam possessing some of the country's most stunning landscapes and profound historical heritage. Along the way the forests seemed to change from tropical to alpine, with the occasional oasis of a dusty one-horse farming village. Sadly, even in this quiet, remote corner of Vietnam, every village we stopped at seemed to possess some symbol of cultural imperialism...a captured Republic Army tank on display in the center of the town square or a 3-story church steeple dwarfing a sea of traditional thatched-roof houses that surround it. But the motorcycle trip for me was less about the history, and more about the RIDE! Riding along the original Ho Chi Minh trail I absorbed the uplifting sense of freedom that motorcycle touring instills...a cool breeze across the face, no traffic, open road, smiling farmers hauling their daily harvest on their backs, uniformed children yelling and laughing on their bicycles on their way home from school, and random coffee stops in small villages where conversation with the locals is conducted in charades.

Driving up, up, and up into the crisp, alpine air of Dalat, I knew I was in for a special treat. How can I resist its charm: perpetual sunshine, city streets lined with beautiful French villas transformed into cafes and museums, and enough hiking and mountain biking trails to keep me occupied for years. Here in Dalat, I was welcomed with out of the ordinary friendly hospitality at the Phuong Thanh family-run guesthouse. And it's been here in this guesthouse where I've enjoyed the Vietnamese family life for the past few months. The traveler's lifestyle seems to take its toll, if one isn't cautious enough to slow down and take it all in. Everyday I feel bombarded with sensory stimuli of sight, sound, smell, taste, language, and culture...to name a few. It seems that Dalat has been the place where I can just stop and process the last whirlwind of a year of travel...and to recharge the battery for the adventures to come. I've found travel for me is not a list of sight, cities, or countries I can just check off my "to do" list. Instead, travel is the opportunity to reflect, learn, grow, and ultimately transform oneself with insight one gains during his/her travels. I'm starting to understand Lao-Tzu's little piece of invaluable travel wisdom...

"A true traveler has no fixed plan, and is not intent on arriving"

Movies, Mickey Ds, and Mochas...oh my!

jmbworldpilgrimage — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 19:50:00 GMT

I've never tasted a better Frappucino than that first sip in Hong Kong. After a couple months of drinking green tea, eating rice and stuffed dumplings, I savored a quick fix of caffeine and indulged in a plate of Indian curry. 7-11s, Outbacks, and those famous golden arches glowed with neon familiarity. I even managed to get lost in a couple shopping malls...in Hong Kong they're cunningly placed at key pedestrian crossings and subway hubs, disorienting even the most indiferrent passer-through.

Fortunately, Hong Kong also has some great out of the way, chilled-out hideaways in its outlying islands. The best part of waiting in a half hour line for movie tickets to the Harry Potter 3D extravaganza, was meeting Zen, the HK native who showed me some lesser known HK hangouts. Among them was the car-less Lantau island...accessible only by ferry and enough remote beaches and short mountain hikes to keep us busy for the better half of a day...it was also impressingly wind-powered! Zen and I also made a night-tram trip with a couple of his lovely lady friends to Victoria Peak...where we gazed upon a magnificent neon rainbow of a skyline, courtesy of the dozens of ocean-front skyscrapers.

A visit to Hong Kong by independent travelers would be incomplete without a visit to the epitome of backpacker ghettos worldwide, the Chunking Mansions. 30 floors of poorly-lit, windowless, curry-smelling, prison-cell sized accomodations provide the perfect answer to the 4-star, $300+/night Hiltons and Sheratons a block down the road. Only here can you find Nigerian businessmen drinking a can of Guinness at an Indian food stall...a truly international community.

Luckily, my HK entertainment didn't end with the chaotic Chunking Mansions...the mid-autumn lantern festival was in full swing during my stay. Children haggled parents for sweet moon cakes, incense dragons danced though to thunder-drums, and live music and traditional costumes were in no short supply. On the other side of town, HK high society sip $15 martinis (I preferred the $8 Guinness) inside 4-story dance clubs in the posh Lan Kwai Fong district. Actually, my favorite down-time activity was perusing the amazing 3-story library in the city center. Some Ginsberg here, a little Yogananda there, and some free internet to top it all off left me a happy bookworm. By the end of my second stay in HK, I'd probably seen five new movies...most memorable was the Jane Goodall's "Wild Chimpanzees" IMAX experience. I was the only other patron to join the field trip group of special education students at the science museum. The film was captivating...interesting and heart-warming, with some amazing cinematography of the Tanzian landscape. While the credits rolled the end of the movie, the entire audience (including myself!) were howling like apes as we left the museum.

Journey to the East

jmbworldpilgrimage — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 19:39:00 GMT

The Far East greeted Jake and I with some much appreciated showers. Our ambassador capital to Asian culture seemed fitting...Beijing...a relic of ancient Chinese culture and a vision of its future in the same place...and currently developing at lightspeed to gear up for the 2008 Olympics. Although too vast and diverse to be summed into a single snapshot, Beijing comes close to defining modern China. The cuisine, exotic and flavorful; its people show simultaneously where China's been (thousands of laborers roam the streets with weather-worn, yet resilient faces) as well as where the younger generation sees its future (subways filled with teenagers and businessmen alike playing PSPs while talking on cell phones). Its landscape reflects what it takes to feed and sustain a nation of more than a billion, as not one square foot seemed unoccupied by a farm or factory. China was my introduction to Eastern culture and philosophy, light years away from anything I've ever experienced...slow moving and mysterious...a place where people's life and work are woven deeply into the fabric of their community...a place to rediscover myself.

What better welcoming commitee to greet us upon arrival than Jake's sister, Kate and mother, Mama Mary. How wonderful it truly is to see familiar faces after an extended isolation from your home and culture...the heart indeed grows fonder with time. Our newly formed gang trekked atop the Great Wall, indulged in culinary delicacies and debacles (although the chicken head and claw soup doesn't seem so gross since it's made recurring dinner table appearances in Vietnam), and explored some of Beijing's ancient cultural wonders. Shopping at the three-story Wu-Mart was always good for an hour or two of family fun, as it took an average of 15 minutes just to navigate the rat maze of escalators to find the food level. We also shared barrels of laughs practicing Mandarin in taxis. In Beijing, I spent my 24th birthday watching some live kung-fu performers punch and kick each other silly, and later that night enjoyed Spanish tapas and cold beer in great company. Riding one-speed bicycles beside fellow pedallers and rickshaw drivers remain a Beijing personal highligh for me...stopping along the way to visit incense filled pagodas, peruse the enormous Olympic Games park, and sip a cold green tea.

However, I found China's true beauty is the countryside and western lands. After a couple marathon train rides (56-hours on a hard seat leaves your butt pleading for mercy) zig-zagging around the country's vastness, I felt at home in the small villages of China's Sichuan province. Famously known for their ridiculously spicy, yet delicious cuisine...more impressive were the parks, pandas, and pagodas of the region. My first excursion from Sichuan's capital, Chengdu, was the stunning Juizhaiguo National Park. The park is known for its psychadelic-colored streams and lakes formed by mineral deposits deep in the earth...surrounded by dozens of these pools and waterfalls, not to mention groves of birch and maple...I kept my imagination occupied by wandering around the impressive hiking trail network.

Next, I set off with a handful of fellow backpackers and said "Happy Trails" to the small, sleepy village of Songpan. The accomodations for the next few days...two person tents and blankets; the food...vegetarian soups cooked by campfire; the guides...Chinese cowboys; and the transportation...of the four-legged variety. My first horse trek! I was lucky to get a handsome, well-mannered stallion...I named him the Speedy Green Gobbler...he was fast, but only when he was motivated to get a five minute jump on the rest of the group...then, he found a grassy hillside where he could spend his leisure time nibbling on the local flora until his friends caught up...then he was off again!

Back in Chengdu, the zoologist in me couldn't pass up the opportunity to see the charismatic giant pandas in their natural habitat. I hopped on a local bus with my new friend, Lily, and we paid a visit to the giant panda sanctuary just outside of town. Western China is the last island of refuge for the dwindling giant panda population...they're dependent on the massive bamboo groves. However, the development projects in the area seem just as eager to clear and utilize the bamboo as the pandas in the area. Fortunately, at the refuge, the pandas have four-star accomodations along with some first-class facilities. Visitors can watch adults playing on their jungle gym (although they used it mostly for sleeping in the most akward poses while I was watching), witness the miracle of new life among the incubating apple-sized newborns, and even handle some of the giant pandas smaller cousins, the red pandas. It was great to experience some great conservation programs taken seriously in a country where development usually takes top priority.

My final Chinese destination was an impromptu surprise spurred by an email from my climbing buddy Ranni (see Spain and Israel blogs). After talking with him, I made it a goal not to leave China, without first checking out its premier climbing destination. At first glance, Yangshuo (in southern China), is more of a backpackers party stopoff...as the carless, cobblestone-paved streets are lined with bars and restaurants. But a five minute bike ride into the countryside reveals this region's true beauty. Mammoth limestone karsts (singular pinnacles) tower over endless stretching rice fields in every direction. The ambitious climber is rewarded with a spectacular view over this landscape, including the Li River. Rice farmers are spotted from above by their stereotypical woven cone-shaped sunhats. Particularly impressive is the mystical Moon Hill. An immense perfect circle sculpted from a 100+ meter karst is the stuff that makes rock climber's dreams come true. Fang-shaped stalactites drip off horizontal roofs...and the strongest climbers test their will amongst the cheers of tourists and climbers alike. Some worked on a single route for weeks...trying, calculating, falling, recalculating, improvising, and finally ascending.

China seems to be sprinting ahead to modernization in the 21st century. While rare to see anything but beam-built wood cabins in the countryside of the Sichuan...4-star hotels and glass skyscrapers dominate the Beijing skyline. I ate silk worms as a traditional delicacy in Guangzhou, but also waited in line for a table at a Pizza Hut at the other side of the country. The mix of culture seems to blend relatively harmonously for now. But a look at projects like the Three Gorges Dam (where thousands of families were forced to relocate to escape the rising flood waters) or the deforestation of the panda's bamboo groves will indicate that big changes await the people and culture of China.

A View From The Roof of the World

jmbworldpilgrimage — Sun, 13 Jan 2008 22:04:00 GMT

Have you ever visited a place so surreal, it seems each passing moment is that of a dream? My imagination conjures up places like Yosemite Valley, the Olympic rainforest, the boulder forest of Fontainebleau, and the underwater world of Dahab...and now I can add one more place to that list...Tibet.

A list of superlatives come to mind when trying to describe Tibet...the skies are the deepest blue, the air is the freshest (and thinnest) in the world, the water is so clean, one can see for dozens of meters below the surface. And if you are into photography, you would be pleasently surprised that almost ever Tibetan you'll meet could make an award-winning National Geographic cover. Maybe it was a lack of oxygen, but I felt on cloud 9 for two weeks in Tibet.

Disembarking from the marathon train ride from Beijing to Lhasa, the blue skies and fresh alpine air immediately erased the beauracratic mess of organizing the permission permits into Tibet (which unsurprisingly, you never actually use). And like any good road trip, I was pleased that the 48 hour hard seat journey climaxed in altitude and scenic splendour for the last 12 hours across the Qinghai plateau. Tibet also marked a major transition in my travel adventures, as my travel companion and best friend, Jake parted for his return to the US to start a new dream.

Traveling solo now, I am constantly seeking my own personal adventure and inspiration. The first of these being a 5 mile hike in pitch darkness under a blanket of morning constellations to the Drepung Monastery for the Shoton Festival (literally the yoghurt festival...yak style). Scents and not so subtle sounds were intensified as I hiked through the darkness...Tibetan chatter echoed from seemingly deep in the forest while strong smelling herbs burning by the bushel illuminated the path up. Knowing my 5-month travel companion was now thousands of miles across the Pacific, I felt more isolated in this strange environment than any other place on the trip yet. But I also felt exhilirated and surprised by my own tenacity to continue on my way and to immerse myself even deeper into the unknown. After scramling up a hillside to the perfect boulder perch, I had an amazing view overlooking a sea of thousands.

Pilgrims from all over the world congregated for this festival highlight...burgundy and gold clad Buddhist monks mingled with colorful and animated backpackers easily recognized by their neon quick-dry travel tees. And the traditionally dressed Tibetans are pure photogenic inspiration. The men dress with a sort of cowboy-businessman fusion, with their John Wayne hats and pin-stripe 3-pieces worn simultaneously. And the women dazzle the amateur photographer with crowns of turquoise stone, green braids tied into their hair, pink and purple long dresses, gold teeth, and a permanent smile glued onto their faces.

The light grew and stretched a swirling pink-orange-purple haze across the mountains opposite the valley from where I sat. An eerie fog also slowly crept towards the crowd as it ran away from the sun. There was magic in the air...and also electricity as the soft chatter of the crowd grew into a rock concert roar synchronistically with the sunrise. With the main stage set in the center of the valley and the multi-colored crowd surrounding, I felt like the scene transformed into some kind of psychadelic Buddha-Bonnaroo. And the main event...the unveiling of the giant hand-painted Sakyamuni Buddha...the Indian prince who traveled through Asia in search of enlightenment. The tangka (traditional Tibetan hand-painting) covered half the moutainside and quickly dwarfed the thousands-strong crowd that surged with emotion with its unveiling. The culmination was a deafening crowd roar and ecstatic barrage of white silks being thrown to the Buddha in homage (possibly just as mad and rowdy as an underwear homage to Axl Rose at a GNR show). I felt so rewarded to have made the morning adventure seemingly alone, eventually realizing that I was only one of the many pilgrims to share the collective energy of this sunrise celebration.

As the Shoton festivities continued, I met many new friends...including friendly Phoebe from Wuhan, who invited me along with her friends for a day of Tibetan opera and dumpling eating...It wasn't your typical night out with Pavarotti, however...it was more of the 6-hour epic history of Tibet-style opera...complete with masks, two-person elephant costumes, sword battles, and royal lineages. The songs captivated the audience...enchanting them with sometimes haunting, sometimes jubilant melodies. The songs were constantly evolving, a solitary voice would be powerfully joined by an angelic chorus that tickled goosebumps across my body.

The culinary traditions of Tibet can be summarized as hearty, comforting, and of the yak variety...(insert Bubba's voice from Forrest Gump): yak stew, yak dumplings, stir-fried yak, yak yoghurt, etc. It wasn't so surprising to learn that Tibetans regard the yak as a cultural relic...it's their primary food source, farming tractor, clothing source, and fertilizer supplier (among other uses)...and one of the only animals burly enough to live and roam on the inhospitable Tibetan steppe. My zoology lesson for the day: The yak store most of its body fat just under the skin instead of in the muscle tissue, in order to keep warm in the cold climate...the good news for us carnivores is a lean, tender meat perfect in a simmered stew with potatoes and carrots. On the stranger side of the spectrum, there's the salty, oily yak butter tea. Admitedly, I was a little turned off after my first sip, but after a long hike in the cold, rain...it's the perfect spirit lifter when sipped slowly and quietly by a warm wood furnace.

It would be hard to choose which aspect of Tibet I found more inspiring...the people or the landscapes. Actually, it would be more true to the spirit of Tibet to consider them a singular unit. They've co-existed harmominously with each other for centuries. The temples seem as part of the countryside as the mountains. Along many roads, one can observe the migrating pilgrims...prostrating themselves at regular intervals for hundreds upon hundreds of kilometers...all for the lifetime dream of catching a glimpse of two of Tibet's most sacred relics in Lhasa, the captivating Jokhang temple, and the royal Potala Palace. Upon arrival, the pilgrims become satellites of the temples, revolving around them tirelessly from sunrise to set.

And no trip to Tibet could be considered complete without at least a small taste of the endless expanse of its rugged mountain scenery. I was extremely fortunate to meet Danielle, my good friend from Chengdu in the Sichuan province of China. We hopped on some local buses together (which would have been impossible for me without her Mandarin) and explored a little piece of a truly virgin land. The silence and beauty filled my soul, and every moment contained within it a cleansing presence of emptiness and timelessness...the crystal blue waters sculpting the same boulders for millenia and the ceaseless winds playing the music to make entire forests dance together in jubilation.

Tibet is a place that naturally heals oneself...but presently it also needs some healing of its own. I earnestly hope that autonomy returns to the people of Tibet. Sadly, I fear the people recieve only a small fraction of the economic benefits that current development and tourism is bringing. However, history shows that the people of Tibet are, above all else, resilient. They've survived Mongol invasions and Chinese assimilations. I hope and pray the Dalai Lama returns to his rightful place in Potala. Every Tibetan keeps him close to their hearts, and I can't think of a more fitting leader for their nation. How inspiring that they can patiently await his return, while the wave of complete social and political transformations are threatening their existence. The Tibetans choose to follow a leader exiled in another country thousands of kilometers away...Love knows no political boundaries...The Spirit endures...I offer my thanks to the people and spirit of a land which have encouraged me to also follow my own leaders, Truth and Spirit.

Walk Like An Egyptian

jmbworldpilgrimage — Sun, 13 Jan 2008 18:12:00 GMT

If the overcrowded confusion of the ferry from Jordan to Egypt was any foretelling indication of my travels in Egypt, I knew I was in for a rollercoaster of fast-paced chaos. Arriving at port, I left behind a sea of stationwagons, with every piece of furniture needed for a 3-bedroom apartment tied by twine to the roof. The horns were on continuous blast as each wagon vied for their golden opportunity to nudge up one car length to escape the rat maze onto the desolate Egyptian highway.

As for our transportation, Jake and I were cramped into some kind of ancient herse-mobile with 4 other backpacking comrades, the driver, and our collective hundreds of liters of backpack cargo. But the drive was a splendid welcome into Egypt with the windows down, open desert road, and the Fugees belting out their brand new single, "Killing Me Softly" with Jake on background vocals.

I have a permanent image of Dahab, jewel of the Sinai, etched into my memory. Picture if you will: Jake, Tim (our new Kiwi partner in crime since Wadi Rum in Jordan), and I entered the famous Funny Mummy restaurant with the type of appetite you get from eating one falafel sandwich 6 hours ago. So we tore ourselves from drooling over the fresh snapper, squid, and prawns on ice display...and by the time we sat down we already had cold beers and a freshly prepared sheesha on its way, to alleviate the hallucinations of fresh grilled seafood prepared with mango salsa. What hit me next was a mezmerizing full milk white moon rising over the dead still Red Sea and distant Saudi Arabian highlands. I looked across the water and couldn't find a ripple as the moon mirrored a perfect identical on the surface. Sloowww doooowwwwwnnnnnn. The atmosphere sucked me into a timeless dream world, where mere imagination seemed to physically manifest a free flow of food, drink, smoke, and laughter. Below the dining balcony dozens of bohemian travellers lay strewn across blankets and pillows in every imaginable reclining posture. Some drank banana-mango milkshakes, others tranced out to the hypnotic lullaby of bubbling sheesha and Marley dub. And of course there were the divers and snorkellers...easily recognized because they still aren't wearing a shirt at 8 pm. They told stories, sometimes in sign, of majestic underwater beasts...and I knew I had to have a go.

I soon experienced firsthand the excitement behind all the late night diving chatter I overheard during dinner every night. After the first practice dive in open water (which I mostly spent akwardly trying to bend my body into proper swimming position), I was instantly hooked. The rhythmic sounds of a clean inhalation of compressed air, followed by the gurgled release of CO2 into the great blue puts one into a calming trance. Combine the sensation when you actually realize that you are BREATHING underwater with the euphoric sense of weightlessness as you hover between the sandy floor and ocean surface...and you can imagine the exhiliration of rookie divers like Jake and I.

The icing on the cake for me was the abundance of life the Red Sea possessed. On land, the Sinai is dry and inhospitable...but only a couple meters into the water and one is immersed in an a truly living, breathing, dynamic ecosystem. The changing light patterns refracting through the moving ocean surface produce a kaleidoscope of color, texture, and light over the neon corals. Upon closer inspection, one can find equally flamboyantly colored fish species hiding and interacting with their diverse environment. Schools of large fish would shuttle by, performing an underwater synchronized dance performance. A clownfish ("Hi Nemo") would ceaselessly protect its anenome territory from predators over twice its size...the small fish with the big heart. And a million other beautiful creatures of all shape, size, and color including pufferfish, eels, lobsters, slugs, and octopi also performed their own unique behavioral rituals for the stealthy observer.

A personal diving highlight was the 25 m plunge into the famous canyon of Dahab. On the sandy floor, both Jake and I were feeling the light-headed giddiness that a mild case of nitrogen narcosis produces in the brain at such depths. I had to pay careful attention to not lose my respirator amidst a fit of hysterical laughter during our underwater "paper, scissors, rock" battle. 25m down, I flipped onto my tank, laid back and watched the sun's rays dance through the aqueous ether that engulfed me. The rays seemed to illuminate the canyon walls in a constantly transforming neon light show while the haunting shadows of fish effortlessly hovered overhead. As I lay there, I truly felt I could pass my remaining days right there on the sea floor, to watch the ocean play out its timeless theatrics.

Dahab was definitely one of the more difficult places to leave behind. But alas, Jake and I had ancient Egypt to rediscover. In the back of my mind I knew Petra (see Jordan entry) would be a tough act to follow. But the temples at Luxor and around Aswan did disappoint. Sphinxes, obelisks, and ancient Egyptian gods dwarfed the droves of tourists that scampered througout their labrynths. The interior decoration of the temples must have taken centuries to complete as not one square inch was left naked without an eye of Rah, ibis, or other typical hieroglyph. I felt proud to live in an age where people devoted their life's efforts deciphering and retelling the millions of stories and secrets etched into those sandstone walls. However, the best translation I receieved, was from the couple of unofficial tour guides eager to earn a little baksheesh (note: this word means tip for the locals and must not be whispered over a half decibel while traveling through Egypt). My taste of ancient Egyptology went something like: "These here...crocodiles....very dangerous....this...sun...touch...holy...brings good luck!" After a few Egyptian history lessons like these, I felt more satisfied make my own sort of hieroglyph Mad Libs...using the glyphs to conjure a grand fairy tale of kings and queens, gods and goddesses, and old wolf-men with long goatees. A felucca cruise from Aswan to Luxor was enough to leave me a happy camper in Egypt, but we still had our final stop in the Middle East...chaotic Cairo.

Actually, all the travel "horror" stories I was told leading up to my visit to Cairo left me craving a little more madness. True, there were tons of traffic, and even more people...but the city seemed just as charming as the rest of the Middle East with its mosques, sheesha cafes, and spice markets...only it seemed to continue for a dozen miles in all directions, jampacked into a megacity metropolis.

Cairo has it all, and hits your middle eastern sensory organ (yeah everyone has one) with full force. Muslim calls to prayer are echoed from every direction at any time of the day. Walking through its street, one is greeted with an olfactory extravaganza of lingering cardamon, incense, and grilling kebabs. The city's streets are packed with highrises, and the architecture is intricately ornamented with flowing arabic script chiseled in stone. And for the real feel of bustling Cairo, Jake and I ventured to the central market, where pedestrian-only alleys are flooded with walkers and hawkers alike. Managing to find the hidden gem historic cafe, Fishbaw's, we nestled down with the obligatory sheesha, sweet tea, and backgammon board...content to observe the infinite hoardes flow like a human river through a concrete jungle.

My final Middle Eastern memory is as fitting as Indy riding away from Petra into the sunset on his trusty steed. Well, my steed was a grumpy, mistreated camel. And instead of sunset, Jake and I decided to brave the sweltering noonday desert heat in the heart of summer. But the location was unequivocable, the quintessential Egyptian icons: the great pyramids and the Sphinx. What a grand introduction like that, it must be noted that the Sphinx left me yearning for something bigger and more impressive We had actually seen dozens, if not hundreds, of equivalent sphinxes along the way in Egypt. The pyramids, on the other hand, were quite awe-inspiring. Walking up to one of the goliaths, the visitor is instantly dwarfed and left in wonder as to who and how these architectural beauties ended up in such physically demanding construction site. Actually, there were pyramids scattered about everywhere in the outskirts of town. In between farming and cattle villages along the way, one can catch glimpses of a distant pyramid almost as frequently as McDonald's are found along stretches of American highway.

With a full day walking and riding around under the desert sun, I felt complete with my taste of the Middle East. I know I've only scratched the surface in the three, blink of an eye months I spent. And actually I now have a longer list of Middle Eastern countries I'd like to visit than I've visited. The food, mosques, sun, sheesha, tea, sand, deserts, landscapes, and cities all blew my mind. But more importantly, the people opened my heart. They welcomed me into their homes, religions, and cultures. They showed the simplicity and reflective nature of the desert as well as the sensory indulgence of their major cities. I was introduced to a new auquatic universe, which I know will never cease to amaze me. I even danced under the stars with in a circle of teenage boys to "Barbie World". I've come to realize that you don't get to see and experience every sight, city, and event that any place has to offer while traveling...you just get enough to leave you amazed and thankful.

Gallery: Egypt

jmbworldpilgrimage — Sat, 12 Jan 2008 21:09:00 GMT

Divin' and Glyphin'

Gallery: Vietnam

jmbworldpilgrimage — Tue, 6 Nov 2007 00:32:00 GMT

Ho Down in the Land of Ho Chi Minh

Gallery: Hong Kong

jmbworldpilgrimage — Tue, 4 Sep 2007 20:22:00 GMT

everybody was kung fu fighting

Gallery: Tibet

jmbworldpilgrimage — Tue, 4 Sep 2007 20:05:00 GMT

small on oxygen, big on beauty

Welcome to Jordan

jmbworldpilgrimage — Sun, 2 Sep 2007 00:17:00 GMT

Arrving by night to Jordan's second largest city, Irbid, I awoke to a much different scene than I had yet witnessed in my travels. As I peered out my third story window, a colorful and fully-clothed mass of Arab men and women scrambled around the numerous clothing, electronic, and spice shops below. Women were covered in traditional Islamic fashion...sometimes only a small slit around their eyes showing their only physical exposure. The men were equally robed in full-length neck-to-feet longsleeve jellas. Thinking in typical Western fashion, I wondered, "If I'm roasting in my shorts and T-shirt, these people must be on the brink of spontaneous combustion!" I was surprised to find many of the underwear botiques at full shopper capacity, convinced that none of these people in their right mind would dare put on any extra layers than they already had.

My first (mis)adventure in Jordan ensued promptly after leaving the hotel. Inquiring about the nearest bus station with a local street merchant, I was quickly whisked away by his posse of friends, neighbors, and relatives...all speaking Arabic and ponting fingers in opposite directions. After the madness subsided, Jake and I were left with our personal guide to the streets of Irbid...an elderly, Arabic-speaking, toothless Jordanian, fully clad in the traditional white robe, red and white plaid turban, and walking cane. Immediately he took my hand in his own, and we were strolling the streets of Irbid as if we were old friends. I only became worried of our destination after he seductively fondled my fingers (which I'm embarrassed to say he even lubricated with his own saliva) and asked with his charming toothless grin, "Mavibus? Madame?" At that point I was utterly confused as to whether he was leading us to the bus station, or to his brothel. I was compelled to switch tour guides, and we eventually made it to the Roman ruins of Umm Qais...via a crowded mini-bus...the new standard mode of transportation on this new leg of the world tour.

I soon learned in Jordan that when venturing any distance outside of the hotel, one will inevitably be invited for tea in someone's home, restaurant, cafe, street stall, hookah shop, etc. Some hosts, unsurprisingly, are interested in the potential for you to spend 10 minutes and a load of cash perusing an endless array of art, clothing, spices, and a plethora of useless tourist souveniers. But more often than not, the host is genuinely interested in sharing a conversation avout life, love, and their puzzled perspective of America's imperialistic role in the Middle East. Many times I found it difficult to explain the mentality that many Americans possess towards the Middle East and its people...but I could also reassure them that were many who were sceptical of the way the Middle East is portrayed in the western media. They really felt the impulse to inform me that a few isolated events of violence and terrorism by the extreme minority should not be means to stereotype their people and culture...and I sincerely agreed. Besides the inhumane attitudes toward Muslim women, I generally found the Arab people, especially Jordanians, to be genuinely warm and welcoming to foreigners, and surprisingly, to my American presence in their country. In fact, I think the first English words that every Jordanian child learns are "Welcome to Jordan!"

My staple food transitioned from falafel to kebab, still of the street stall variety. Only now me near vegetarian diet of hummous and falafel in Israel was viciously replaced by grease-dripping spits of lamb and chicken sliced into pita bread stuffed with tahina. My taste buds rejoiced, while on multiple occasions my bowels screamed in agony. I discovered there was a direct relationship my ease (or lack) of digestion, and the increasing inexpense of food and accomodation in Jordan.

But what Jordan lacked in cuisine, it made up with its abundance of natural beauty. Desert landscapes of sandstone towers and canyons between seas of shifting sand dunes appeared commonplace throughout the country. It seems even Hollywood has caught on to Jordan's natural splendor with Petra appearing in Indiana Jones, and Wadi Rum as the setting of the film version of Lawrence of Arabia. The challenge of exploring these areas of deafening silence and unsurpassed solitude was staying hydrated and energized enough through the grueling hours of the summer sun and heat. However, every adventure seemed to hold a special treasure at the end of the day, a desert sunset...the perfect balance of light, temperature, and mood...pastel skies fusing with golden sands...creating the perfect moment of silence and beauty.

When the desert becomes shrouded in darkness, the refreshing evening breeze carries new life and energy to the nomadic Beduoin people of the desert. While slow moving while herding sheep during the day, by night they freely unveil their wild side through song and dance to the rhythm of the tabla hand drum.

Our final night in Wadi Rum was the perfect summation of everything Jordan...throwing frisbee and running across timeless sand dunes, another mezmerizing desert sunset, and a Beduoin barbecue of chicken, potatoes, and eggplants cooked amongst coals buried beneath the sand. Exiting our desert mess tent with full stomach, my soul also took its fill with the canopy of a thousand stars set against a jet black blanket...they seemed to stretch in all directions as the black faded into a deep blue across the horizon. This was the setting for a night of tea drinking, singing and dancing complete with drums and strings. As our collective energy wound down, I lay down on my outdoor mattress, smiled, and pondered the infinite expanse of the most beautiful universe one could ever wish for.

A New Education

jmbworldpilgrimage — Fri, 24 Aug 2007 19:40:00 GMT

Exhausted from a red-eye flight from Athens, my first short-lived sleep in Israel was on the Mediterranean golden sand beaches of Tel Aviv as the sun rose and illuminated the sky and clouds various hues of pink, orange, and blue. I soon realized that I had a new constant companion in the Middle East that didn't care for much for daytime siestas, the sun. And this new companion would stick with me for the next two months through sweat, sunburns, and more sweat...as for the first time in my life, I desperately yearned to feel the rain shower over me.

But it seemed the sun was the only true stereotype of the Middle East I found. Tel Aviv was a far cry from the images of bombs and bloodshed that plague the western media of Israel and its neighboring Middle Eastern countries. Instead, I was immersed in the Rodeo Drive-esque fashion botiques of the downtown area, and unregretably, swarmed by a sea of some of the most beautiful half-naked sunbathers the world has to offer. However, the military presence in Israel was very real. It wasn't uncommon to see teenage soldiers wielding AK-47s while dining out with family, helicopters and warships patrolling the coastline while surfers waited for the next big break, and rigorous security checkpoints at every bus station, shopping mall, and even supermarkets. That said, I couldn't have felt safer if I had an entourage of body guards following me 24-7.

And Tel Aviv provided some amazing ambassadors to Israel. Rannie, a climbing buddy we met in Spain, had stepped up his his climbing technique and was ready to show us three of Israel's climbing hot-spots. Uriel was our urban ambassador to Tel Aviv, eager to show us some superb Tel Aiv skyline vistas from his top-floor apartment...where we drank, joked, and jammed to Matisyahu into the wee hours of the morning. And Guy, from Jerusalem, taught us how to elbow our way onto a crowded afternoon Jerusalem-bound bus...and took us to the heart of the old city via the dramatic David's gate.

Ahh, Jerusalem...City of Light...if I forget you...let my right hand forget what its to do. After millenia of being destroyed and rebuilt, the city still radiated its soul. While some travellers found it annoying, I loved to wake up to Islam's morning prayers sung for the whole city to hear. Wandering through maze-like alleys that never saw sun, I sometimes felt like a lab rat in some higher being's scince experiment. Only the merchant stalls selling their yamakas, crucifixes, or Qu'Rans gave me clue to which "holy neighborhood" I was in. The pilgrim-watching here was mezmerizing, and I generally found their devotion to be quite inspiring...Christian monks clad in black with their crucifixes dangling to their waste, Hasidic Jews with their tall, fuzzy hats and long curls, fully-robed Muslim men and women...all crossing paths on their way to prayer, yet rarely giving even a shred of recognition to their fellow man.

My own spiritual revelation occurred to me as I walked through the dark, echoing halls of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre...the supposed site of Christ's burial and resurrection. As I watched tourists and pilgrims alike superstitiously touch and kiss various slabs of stone and other relics...I couldn't force myself to believe some divine blessing was being bestowed on me for touching a stone. It didn't even matter to me if Jesus died in this tomb or the other room around the hall. What I found was a living place. Here, in this city, lived a man so courageous he died living his message of pure LOVE...loving those who wronged him as much as his family and friends...turning a cheek and resisting adversity non-violently, to show others a new radical way of thinking and living. I felt inspired by the man, who lived truly by his own heart, who has much to teach the people, especially the current political leaders, of the Middle East today.

The stone walls of Old Jerusalem taught me a similar lesson. As I stared down at layer upon layer of ruins...struggle, destruction, rebirth...I wondered...For what? What lesson was taken from all the battles fought in the name of God? An interesting conversation with a wise, yet tired, Palestinian helped me put it into perspective. If Jerusalem is truly a holy place, sacred to millions around the world, maybe it's humanity's collective spirit that keeps it from an exclusive possession. Just as a mountain remains indiffernt to both the pilgrim who humbly admires its timeless majesty from a distance and the climber who dies trying to conquer its summit...so Jerusalem remains indifferent to both worshiper and warrior. I believe the only lesson the history of this magnificent city has taught us is the world will never be content with the exclusive ownership and worship of this magnificent place...it's destined to be shared by ALL. Only the humble pilgrim lives to return to revel in the mountain's majesty (side note: I think all this Eastern philosophy is starting to rub off on me...hehe)

I tried to hold on to this sense of reverence of place as I visited more of Israel's landmarks...floating in the Dead Sea, biking around the Sea of Galilee (actually its a lake...I just like to believe I rode a bike around a sea), walking around Haifa's beautiful Baha'i garden terraces, and exploring the sea caves of Rosh Haniqra. Leaving Israel overland by bus, I reflected on the Israel I spent 3 weeks travelling through...an Israel much different from the one shown on ABC News. So if I ever become reporter I think I'll give Israel a good spin for once...something like, "Today in the news...Israel's most delicious falafel stand was discovered by a ravished American tourist!"

Gallery: Jordan

jmbworldpilgrimage — Fri, 3 Aug 2007 04:30:00 GMT

Now we're in camel country!

Gallery: China

jmbworldpilgrimage — Thu, 2 Aug 2007 03:36:00 GMT

Gateway to the East

Gallery: Israel

jmbworldpilgrimage — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 22:26:00 GMT

Adventures in the Holy Land

Gallery: Greece

jmbworldpilgrimage — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 21:55:00 GMT

A Visual Representation of my Scooter Diaries