We arrived to the tiny international airport within an hour of each other and were in a cab by 11:30pm.

25 minutes later we were being greeted by Alegria, a petite Colombian with welcoming smile with only a hint of weariness from the day.

From the minute she said hola, she had a way about her that made you put complete faith in anything she said, a matter of factness mixed with a warmness that made you feel like you’d been friends for years.

We found ourselves being ushered into the best room in the house as all the other rooms were full. With huge windows on both sides we had a panoramic view of the city. That and a ticket to la villa, a bar about 15 min away in taxi.

It was midnight, I was dead tired not having slept for 2 days and to be honest going out was the last thing I wanted to see before a pillow, but how could I not rally with the woman who rose from the dregs of a Zanex induced coma in Bangkok the year before.

By 1 we had a cocktail and had already begun swapping stories with a few travelers from the hostel an some locals. A bottle of Johnny Walker red surfaced while a loose footed Colombian passed out shots. Thankfully, it was only a few hours before the lights came up signaling it was time to head back.

Not even 24 hours passes and I can’t help but remember te first lines of Charles dickens, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It started innocently enough. A leisurely walk through La Candeleria off carrera 2 we came across a lovely little vegetarian cafe called quinoa. Having no tables available we meandered on and found a typical columbian restaurant serving ajiola. A traditional Colombian dish made with shredded chicken in a potato broth topped with creme.

Sated and wanting to explore the city more we walked to the square off carrera 7. Llamas, ponies, Santa clause, shriek, and a grouping of protestors filled the square that seemed littered with pigeons. As the crowd seemed a little denser as we walked on, Emele warned me to put the camera on an inside pocket. Since we wanted easier access to it I told her to put it in her purse…well, it wouldn’t be a missadventure if it didn’t entail a robbery of sorts.

I turned around, seeing we’d passed our destination and looked back to hear Emele in the face of a Colombian woman yelling give me back my camera. I darted back and grabbed the thief’s wrist. Emele trying to open her jacket which she had zipped up and would not remove claiming she had no shirt on. She thrust her chest forward, but not wanting to grope the woman there was little left to do. She walked away just minutes before some police showed up.

Feeling bad for us the officer decided to give us an impromptu tour of the city enthusiastically pointing at sites of interest, concerned that we not leave bogota with a bad impression.

While Christmas is a great period to get vacation time, it’s also a time when crime is on the rise, the poor, struggling to make ends meet with the added burden of gift giving. Turns out we could consider ourselves the lucky ones as two Germans came back to the hostel after having been held up at gunpoint and machete, escaping with no violence but having lost all their valuables.

We arrived to the hostel with our evening plans set by Alegria who informed us that we’d be heading to a concert close by. What transpired was nothing short of magical. Each moment seamlessly flowing into the next. We walked into the concert and found ourselves on stage with the band a song later. The energy was palpable, intoxicating even.

Later we’d walk through candle lit streets dancing to a live Mexican mariachi band as Alegria passed out shots of aguardiente. More people joining the group as the night continued. An hour later and we were inside a bakery/market turned night club dancing salsa and ended early in the morning at a jam packed apartment of Cesar. Apparently everyone knows Cesar…

Muchas gracias a Alegria! Por un tiempo que no podemos olvidar.

Let’s be completely frank, the full moon party has nothing to do with the culture of Thailand, it’s an adult playground where thousands of 20/30 something Europeans roam the fire dancer filled beach with literal buckets of alcohol and a mushroom shake or two and dance till the sun comes up only to sleep the day away to do it all over again the next night. I still marvel at how the locals can cope with the constant influx of tourists looking for their next drug induced good time. wooden booths line the beach touting buckets of thai whiskey and red bull. each vendor trying to outdo the other, “no bucket, no boom boom,” “fucking buckets cheap,” “me love you long time bucking fuckets.” The atmosphere is more than palpable, it practically thumps through your body and clobbers you over the head till your unconscious.

After 3 days I’d had enough. Bags packed, ferry tickets bought, music still pumping from the beach at 10:00 am I was ready to get the hell out of there as was Emele.
Was it a good time? Of course it was…do I ever need to do it again? No, can’t say that never stepping foot on that island again will covet any response more than the nostalgia of time well spent and thankfully behind me.

For those dying to visit the largest full moon party in the world a couple of helpful tidbits:

1. Neon paint does not come off of towels and sheets and guesthouses may charge you extra for it.

2. While it’s almost inevitable that you’ll need to put your bucket down be wary, many a traveller winds up drugged only to awaken on the beach with no memory and no money from the evening before.

3. take only what you absolutely need. enough money for a couple buckets and if you dare your camera. I’d donned a belt with small pockets which worked out well. so far this trip, muggings/ theft 0 (though the moped dealer might as well have had thief tattooed on this forehead)

4. if you want to get any rest ear plugs are essential. All the resorts lining Haad Rin on sunrise beach are susceptible to the drum and bass beats of the seemingly endless party scene.

4. the bungalows towards the edges of the beach tend to be quieter with cactus bar at it’s epicenter, though when full moon comes about there is no escaping so you might as well consume a red bull and dance off some alcoholic calories till the sun rises.

5. If you are a new couple beware, the number of travelers who arrived together only to depart alone or with someone else was evidently quite commonplace.

I had scoped out parts of the island in the morning since Em, a little tired from a late evening was napping so I went to return my moped first. The nonchalant dealer, who’d seemed so easy going was quick to point out a small scratch on the side of the bike, literally less than a cm in width. I told him i hadn’t noticed it and it was probably there before, but he was insistent. Not wanting to be there too long and knowing we’d be back to return emele’s bike I said we’d discuss it later, thinking at worst I’d have to pay another 10 bucks or so. fast forward an hour later and we would come to find out my estimate was far from accurate. He wanted 6000 baht, close to 200 dollars. I was floored and in no position to shell out that kind of cash for something I’d not even done. our first tactic was frankness, it was a small scratch and there was no way such a thing would cost that much to fix, he dropped the cost to 3500, which was still ridiculous. so we resorted to the “I’m a poor student tactic and have no money” with a couple of tears thrown in for good measure. little did I know I could put on such a performance, Emele put her head down trying to mask the laughter, but when it became clear that wasn’t going to work either, she flipped and tried yet another tack. “GIVE US OUR F’iNG PASSPORTS!” she screamed. it was enough to get the old obese woman in the corner out of her chair. he returned the volume telling us to F’ ourselves. at that point we decided to leave, regroup, and try to talk with the police, which was a complete waste of time.

With his shirt unbuttoned the officer simply pointed to a sign warning tourists about renting vehicles and asked why we didn’t think more about it. We were obviously not going to get any help there. After another pow wow we decided I would return alone since em’s outburst was probably not quite so helpful and try to offer all the money we had in our money pouch, which amounted to a little over 30 usd.

I would ultimately burst out in tears, amazing even my own self with my Oscar worthy performance and plea with the con artist about how with only a few days left he would be taking all the money I had left, which technically was sort of a truth. it was all we had left in our pooled monies. after rounds with the owner, a police officer, and the sleazy moped dealer I would ultimately leave $30 poorer but with passports in hand. But not before witnessing the same scam on two incoming Brits who got slapped with a 3000 baht bill and a group of Aussies who were told an entire part would need to be replaced for the bargain price of 11,000 baht. they would fork it over and demand the part for a keepsake. what they would end up doing with the slightly dented metal piece who knows but it makes for an interesting souvenir.

it’s a bit flooring to realize someones entire career is built on shamelessly extorting money, but then again it wouldn’t be a missadventure without some instance of theft, robbery, or con game.

I leave off with a few tips for those traveling to these parts:
- Never give your passport as collateral, at one point the Max Rental attendant blatantly admitted he could sell my passport for more money.

- If you plan on going to Ko Phangan stay away from Max Rental located across the street from Same Same.

- Regardless of the outcome, don’t let it ruin your holiday. The bitterness of the event passes quickly and at the very least you’re left with an entertaining story.

Our plans were to leave Cambodia this morning, but an hour before our bus was scheduled to pick us up, we decided that we hadn’t had quite enough of Siam Reap and decided to stay a bit longer.

“You know the cobra snake?”  I asked the hotel receptionist.

“Yes” he replied, giving me a weird look.

” I want to eat the heart and drink the blood”.

“Are you sure?”

“I am absolutely positive”.

“I can help you. Let me call a friend”.

And just like that we were off in a tuk tuk to the outskirts of town for our illegal quest of reptilian slaughter.  We pulled into a driveway and met a few Cambodians.  They gave us a discount if we did not take the meat with us. We assured them that we were only after the blood, the heart and the liver.

Our slithery friend was brought out in a mesh bag in an Ankor beer box. One of the men gave him a poke and he angrily hissed. Next, one man held his head down while the other beheaded the beast. Even after his head seperated from his 4 foot body, his mouth continued to open and close as if saying “how could you cut my head off, you pricks?”

The crimson blood was drained into a bowl filled with whisky. The snake was then slit from top to bottom as they searched for the prizes inside. And there it was. The cobra  heart, in all of its pink and purple glory, still beating.  I have found what I have been searching for over the last five days.

The heart was placed in a small glass as was Mihae’s liver (apparently the latter is great for your eye sight).

Cheers! And they were gone in a single gulp.  The blood was mixed with whisky and we took a few sips. the rest was packed in a plastic bottle on ice for us to take with us.

Mission Accomplished.

It’s hard to describe the city, which seems to oscillate between third world poverty and 5 star western opulence. The ride along the single straight main road has you passing everything from massive modern tour buses to motorbikes strapped with pigs bigger than the bike and driver put together. With all four legs in the air, strapped back to the bike, we’d thought the pigs were already dead, but upon opening the window to get a better look, the unmistakable high-pitched squeals of an animal off to slaughter could be heard. Apparently the animals are tranquilized for transport, but that doesn’t mean a stray kick or squeal doesn’t escape every few minutes…the scene stayed with Emele who later declared, “I think I’ve now seen it all.”

Siem Reap, the capital of northwestern Cambodia, is probably most famous for it’s jumping off point to the Angkor Temples, ruins made famous by Angelina Jolie’s movie Tomb Raider. We’d grabbed some bicycles and rode to the temples taking in the surrounding environment and marveling at how quickly scenery changes from street to street. Go to Pub Street in the middle of town and the manicured alleys make you feel like you could be in Vegas, walk two blocks in another direction and you’ll come to a pot-holed riddled dirt road and dimly fluorescent lit shops of knick knacks, which all seem to cost $1.

We’d walked through Angkor Wat, doing the usual photo shoot and making a little bit of a spectacle of the moment, to the amusement of other visitors…pics to come…but while worth the visit, it somehow lacked a bit of the majesty that had been built up in our minds prior to entry; maybe it was the line of Japanese tourists that snake through every path, hall and courtyard, or the bombardment of children with their postcards and bracelets on exit, but somehow the memory doesn’t pull with it that same sense of awe that came with viewing the Taj Mahal or the Pyramids of Giza…it was, well, “same same but different.”

When we finally got to the large open air market, the sun had already set and some shops were packing up for the day. We meandered through the aisles of produce coming to what appeared to be the meat area and figured we were in a good spot for it. Equipped with cameras and our note, we approached a seated gentleman and politely presented our handwritten message, snake side. Not quite certain if what we were doing was ill-advised or not, we were hesitant, but when he approached a security guard who gladly pointed us in the correct direction, we were relieved and excited all in one breath. Guided by another on looker, we reached the “cobra heart” vendor, which was pretty much a street stall restaurant, where 3 seated army officials sat peering at us.

We’d learn that the live cobras had sold out earlier in the afternoon, but that a dried variety of the same quality was still available. Rather than miss the opportunity in it’s entirety we sat with the military officials and ordered up a blended cobra heart whiskey.

A shot and cab ride later, we’d find ourselves marveling at its effects. Granted Emele’s heart was pounding out of her chest as we approached the market and the adrenalin mixed with a strong shot of whiskey might have also had a role in the euphoric after effects, but we’ll definitely be back for the real thing.

• It stands for: “I‘d Never Do It Again”
• “If you go to India without patience, you will learn it.  If you go with patience, you will quickly loose it.”
• “He would have described the journey as insufferable except that the limits to which human endurance could be stretched in India made the word meaningless” (from “The Train to Pakistan” by Kushwant Singh)

We can attest that all of this is extremely true and completely incorrect all at once.  It is a country of such extremes that it has the ability to inspire, frustrate, challenge and dazzle you all within the same day.  We found our sanity constantly tested, but we also found ourselves more relaxed than we’ve been years.  We quickly came to realize that nothing in India is as you would expect.  Here’s some of the highs and lows of our Indian sojourn:

Highlight: The Taj Mahal was breathtakingly gorgeous.

Low Point: Getting scammed, our train tickets ripped off and having to take a second class train to get there.

Highlight: The abundance of mouthwatering fresh seafood in the southern states.

Low Point: Food poisoning, Montezuma’s revenge, Bombay butt, New Delhi belly, whatever you want to call it.  Three times.

Highlight: Making friends with some lovely ladies and having a blast drifting through Kerala’s beautiful backwaters together.

Low Point: Being constantly gawked at by perverted Indian men who followed us around taking our picture.

Highlight: Riding an elephant through a spice farm.

Low Point: Getting mauled by an angry bull (this is not the bull that attacked us, mind).

Highlight: Endless days cruising Goa’s countryside on motorbikes.

Low Point: Motorbike accidents are plentiful in India…just ask Mihae, who crashed into a roadside shop and ran over some poor man’s entire lot of onions.

Highlight: Feeling completely rejuvenated by a relaxing day at the beach, riverboat cruise or an ayurvedic spa treatment.

Low Point: Seva (selfless service) duty:  Shoveling cow manure, sweeping and mopping a huge temple under the watch of the evil “Sweeping Nazi”, being in charge of herding naughty cows, picking weeds and planting corn in the blazing sun…wasn’t this supposed to be vacation?

Highlight: Two blissful nights in the luxurious Taj Mahal hotel in Bombay, our balcony overlooking the harbor and the Gateway to India.

Low Point: 28 nights of ghetto hotels that cost no more than $12 per night, with cold bucket showers, mosquitos galore, and beds so hard you might as well be sleeping in the middle of the street in Mumbai.

Highlight: Hangin’ with the locals and hearing their stories.

Low Point: Constant harassment from the locals: “you like change money, no problem,”  ”Come ride my boat, no problem”, “look my silk shop, no problem”, “do you want to buy hashish, no problem?” Can you spare one rupee, no problem?”

Highlight: Experiencing daily life in Varanasi as Indians come to the Ganga River to bathe, fish, pray, swim, practice yoga and wash laundry.

Low Point: Getting sore throats from the  fumes of  burning human bodies just outside our hotel window in Varanasi.

Highlight: Beautiful India: Mother Nature at her best.

Low Point: India’s ugly side: Witnessing overwhelming poverty during a visit to Dharvai Slum, the largest in all of Asia.

Highlight: Coming to India to connect with her spiritual side through yoga, prayer, meditation, temples and a stay at an ashram.

Low Point: Coming to the realization that we completely failed at connecting to anything remotely spiritual and would rather be partying on the beach any day.

Highlight: Never missing the opportunity to “GOA BIG.”

Low Point: Having to “GOA HOME.”

We took a tour with Reality Tours and Travel, our guide was a young man who grew up in the slums himself. When asked what it was like, he simply replied “it was fun.”

We took a train to the Darharvi Slum, the largest in all of Asia, which located on the outskirts of the city between two railways.  Before we entered the grounds, he gave us a few rules: “no picture taking.  It will smell bad, do not make any faces of disgust, this will hurt the feelings of the residents.”

We nervously entered the slum and found it to be much like another any other part of Mumbai, it was a city within a city, just a bit more dilapidated.  The interior consists of vast sewer-lined alleys with mazes of concrete dwellings, where families live in shoebox dorms, not more than 10 feet across.  We were fortunate to be invited into a home of one of the residents, he proudly introduced us to his wife and two small children.  There was not much room for the six of us to move around in the tiny space, but they did have a roof over their head and a place to sleep, much more than many people in the country could ever hope for.

The slum got its start in 1933 and incorporates only 1.7 square kilometers.  More than 1 million people call this home, yet it does not feel as nearly as crowded as a typical day strolling the streets if New Delhi.  Each part of the slum inhabits residents from different parts of the county with different trades.  We visited a small plastic factory and watched workers sort through the various recyclables that have been shipped from all over the world.  At the leather factory, a worker informed me that my belt was made from Indian leather. Our group entered a soap factory to witness men slicing large bars into small cubes, and along our walk we stopped by a bakery and were given fresh, warm pastries from a baker who wore a wide smile and would not take a single rupee for the treat.  After being broached by so many beggars on the streets, it touched me how generous the poor can really be and I found it beautiful.

We entered a small, barren dirt lot covered in rubbish and found some children happily playing cricket.  They were all too excited to take photos with us.  Our next stop was a small chai shop, and despite the intense heat, we stopped  to savor a glass of the warm, sweet milky tea we had grown to love.

At the suggestion of one of our fellow tour mates, we decided to visit a bar. We were quite shocked there was even a bar here, and despite the fact the bartender stated “no foreigners allowed,” our guide had a talk with him and we soon found ourselves tucked away in a dark booth at the back of the room.  All eyes were on us, but this was no different from any other experience in India.

Our group members shuttered when I stated that I wanted to use the public restroom but it was something I wished to experience. Most homes here do not have a toilet, so they come to the public toilet, mornings tend to have long lines, so we are told, although many use the railways or open fields as they tend to smell better.  For the men, there’s many open urinals along the streets, and you can smell the stench much sooner than you can see them.  While the women’s loo was not all bad, it wasn’t pleasant either.

I personally found our day at Dharavi to be incredibly eye opening.  The people here do not have modern luxuries but that does not stop them from living a good life.  Their industries are thriving, their children run and play like those in any Western city and they are happy.

Reality Tours (www.realitytoursandtravel.com, 9820822253 phone) runs tours daily.  Costs range from 300-600 Rs and last 2.5 to 4.5 hours (unless you stop for a beer).  A large part of the profits go to a Dhararvi -based NGO.

The Temple of the Ashram.

Surrounded by the Arabian Sea on one side and the backwaters of Kerala on the other, Amma’s Ashram simultaneously dwarfs the surrounding village while being engulphed in a sea of palm trees. Amma, aka the hugging mother, appears to have become a sort of institution, her books, cds, calendars, and pamphlets are everywhere. Followers, don sandalwood beaded necklaces adorned with her picture. I don’t know what my mind had anticipated before arriving but what we’ve gotten ourselves into is definitely far from my imagination.

Kept running by a system of volunteers and donations, the Ashram houses over 2.000 people, making it quite literally larger than most villages in the area. Currently “on tour” in the West, Amma returns sometime in December. It seems the Ashram itself slows down in her absence but not having been there or even heard of her prior makes it hard to judge. It’s difficult to describe the poeple here. We arrived by taxi from Varkala, a small cliff-side beach town full of aging Europeans and couples. We entered the gates of the ashram compound wide-wyed, almost gaping at the white draped ashram occupants. Literally tripping over ourselves. I stop to survey one side, Emele’s head turned to the other still walking, coming to a standstill only after bumping up against me. The white clad, head shaven monastic asked and then thought better of himself and told us to head to the international check-in area at the temple with a nod and smile.

Once there, we were given a tiny pamphlet on the ashram rules and code of conduct, which we were already in breach of having shorts on. We checked in for a mere 150 rupees per night and headed to the room to change. The rooms are simple with a single bed, desk, and a few plastic chairs. Though, it’s just the two of us on check in, as Amma’s arrival nears, the room will hold up to four, which is hard to imagine given that with just two the room seems pretty full. Though the days vary slightly, the general schedule is as follows:

4:00 Prayer/chanting

9:00 Breakfast

10:00 Seva

1:00 Lunch

2:00 Seva

5:00 Meditation

6:00 Bhaman Singing

8:00 Dinner

11:00 Gates and buildings are locked

View from the dorm of our escape route...over the bridge to freedom!

Each resident/guest is required to do 1-2 hours of seva, or selfless service, each day. Emele’s on temple duty while I’ve been relegated to the compost area by the elephant, Lakshmi. I wouldn’t say scraping dried woods shavings off the top of huge mounds of food and cow dung my dream job but it beats the monotony of temple floor sweeping. Lorded over by a beyond zealous sweeper supervisor, dubbed the sweep nazi, it almost makes two hours of shoveling shit preferable…almost.

Mihae and her friend Lakshmi.

Despite the seemingly anti-Western Westerners, we’ve met some really interesting women, all brought to the ashram for varying reasons (none to become a follower, which is probably why we were drawn together) and surprisingly all traveling as single females.

Emele and new friend Ana.

We first meet Cathy, a petite twenty something English lass who’s just finished a teaching assignment in Vietnam. Blond curly hair with a few, newly woven dreadlocks frame her round cheeks. Her blue eyes sparkle with a sweetness that becomes apparent in her personality the minute she says hello. She tells us of some of her travel stories, one including a crazed, drunk man who stabbed her backpack repeatedly, believing she was sleeping with his girlfriend. She recounts the drama with an almost everyday reference. We like her immediately. Next is a young German girl, Sarah, who’s at the tail end of her month long trip through India. We both marvel at her audacity; arriving in bus and train stations alone at 4 in the morning, with no place in mind to stay. Her typical German frankness with her anything goes, laid back attitude is an unlikely but entertainingly enchanting combination. Next is Aurelie, a full bodied French woman with an appetitie for life that matches her equally indulgent diet. Her blunt French humor and vivacious personality is balanced out with her body soothing hands that seem to mold the body, like a sculptor of clay. It’s not long before we are all lining up for massages. Then there’s Vera, an older red-headed, slim German woman, who’s lone wanderings seem to echo a painful past, despite which she’s got a kindness in her eyes and a sincerity of inquiry that’s almost childlike. We meet Rebecca, a transient soul and Buffalo, NY native at breakfast the next morning. Getting meals feels almost prison like, with lines of people grabbing tin dishes to hold the liquidy rice and curry/vegetable mix, that’s altered ever so slightly for lunch and dinner. Lastly, there’s Ana, a raven-haired Columbina, who’s long wavy locks make me long for my recently chopped off tresses. Full bodied, with a bosom to match, it isn’t long before she’s told to cover up more, despite having a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Recently laid off from her job in Spain, she’s been traveling for five months and still has six to go.

It is by far the most unlikely mix of women, but it isn’t long before we’re all lingering outside the Ashram walls smoking cigarettes and swapping stories.

The rest of our tip will be spent in the south, where we have been for the last week.  Its much more tropical here than the north, and for the most part, more calm.

We left the Ashram of Amma, the famous “hugging Mother” guru, three days ago.  While the experience was interesting, I can’t say that I had any sort of enlightening experience.  The best thing we got out of our visit there is that we made a whole bunch of friends that we convinced to leave with us for a few lazy days cruising along Kerala’s waterways on a luxury houseboat (so much for our spiritual connection).

There were seven of us, all nomads in our own way: Em&M; Anna, a Colombian gal who has been living in Barcelona and  is now spending a year backpacking through Asia; Rebecca, a fellow American on her third trip to India, Cathy, a Brit who has been teaching English in Vietnam for the last two years, David, a Spanish guy who’s traveling the world for the next year, and Aurelie, a French party girl her in India to learn to do Aruvedic massages (and meet lots of men).

The backwaters of Allepey are filed with houseboats to suit every need, from floating rust buckets to luxury liners.  We decided on something in between.

Our boat was huge: four bedrooms and bathrooms, eight beds and  four servers to attend to your every whim.  There’s not much to do, but we we easily filled up 24 hours: drifing along as we watch people from the little villages at the waters edge; swimming; and cracking open a few beers and some good conversation.

All this for about $30 US dollars a night, mouthwatering meals  included.  We were in heaven with the Keralan cuisine.  We even stopped in a little village to purchase giant prawns that looked and tasted like juicy lobsters.

Five of us decided to stay an extra day.  With the stress and hussle and bustle of India, it was perfect to be in our own quiet world for a fews days.

We are now in the Fishing Village of Cochin.  We will be heading to the fishmarket tonight to buy some fish and lobster for dinner.  In the morning, Mihae and I will be heading to Udupi to work on a farm for a few days.  Yes, we are going to learn to milk a cow…

Then off to meet up with our friends again in the party town of Goa…stay tuned!