I thought that I would dedicate a chapter to the amazing drivers in Myanmar, and actually to the drivers in all third world countries. On this one particularly notable occasion,  we were about to embark on a long bus ride on the famous (because of Rudyard Kipling)  “Road to Mandalay.”   Mandalay is a fairly  large city in the northern part of the country.  We had spent that day leisurely  strolling around town until we got back to our guest house to grab a cab to the bus station.  Apparently,  the bus station in rush hour traffic was a lot farther away than we had anticipated and the people at the guest house insisted that we grab a cab NOW;  ” You must go now, madame…(all freaked out and shit)  it is very far.”  So they were kind enough to flag one down,  rush us over to it,  and instruct the cab driver as to where we needed to go and how fast we had to be there.  (Instead of us wasting ten  minutes with the severe language barrier,  trying to communicate to him where we needed to go.)

The cab driver was a sleepy, overweight and slightly disheveled man who’s cab was in the most atrocious condition that I had ever seen.  Upon first glance, it looked like it had been hit by a bus, with more dents in the body than not, and with the passenger side of the windshield was completely shattered, as if someone had thrown a brick at it ( and in country like this, its quite possible that they had.)  It looked  like all that it would take would be  a very small pebble or something  to completely smash that window it to a zillion pieces.  The trunk would not open from the outside, so he had to literally  remove the entire fucking  back seat of the car  in order to put our bags inside of it.  We were all sort of looking at each other like, ” do we really want to get into this bucket of shit?” But at this point, we really didn’t have enough time to be picky about our ride,  so my friend and I jumped in the back while  my husband reluctantly stepped into the front seat, and off we went.

The roads in Myanmar don’t really have any lanes so cars pretty much travel down the street without any sense of order.   Our driver really took our “time crunch” to heart and began to literally RACE  through the traffic to get us to where we needed to go.  We had about an hours journey ahead of us, and honestly I don’t know how we made it there in one piece. How he got the engine on that clunker to even perform as it did was a minor miracle, and even more of a miracle was how he was expertly weaving through the crowd of cars.  He would slide through the narrowest of passes where we would be maybe centimeters away from colliding with whatever was beside us.  There were several occasions where I thought we were going to collide head on to either a passing bus, truck, or car and I had to stop looking ahead of me because I was going to have a heart attack.  My husband  sort of slid his day pack into his lap so that It could serve as a cushion in case we actually did crash into something.  If we had, there was no way that he wasn’t going to fly right through that window.  My eyes were  bursting out of my head and my mouth was dropped open for the entire duration of the cab ride in total shock and disbelief, while the cab driver was completely calm and collected.  He was even looking back at us and chatting and laughing, as if it was just another walk in the park for him.

But apart from the complete chaos,  It’s truly amazing to witness that there is a sort of invisible harmony that weaves through and holds this crazy world together.  Drivers communicating with each other with the honk of their horn and squeezing through the most impossible places to move forward in their vehicles. (I actually think that the most important part of the car that needs to be in good working order is the horn, followed second by their brakes. ) And what’s equally as funny, is who else is on the highway.  Besides the cars, the hulking trucks and buses, the random trucks carrying hundreds of passengers just piled in or hanging off the back,  there are thousands of mopeds, rickshaws, and bicycles all sharing the same road.  There is no such thing here as a bike lane, everyone and I mean everyone is moving together in this hodgepodge of traffic.  Not to mention the pedestrians who pop out of nowhere and run across the street just barely inching passed cars that you are convinced will run them right over.  It is so crazy that your only choice is to laugh to relieve the tension of the moment;  I mean when you step back and look at the scene objectively, it is so ridiculous.  In our world, that kind of shit would NEVER happen, on so many different levels.

Anyway, this lovely man managed to get us to the bus station, with an extra fifteen minutes to spare, and completely won my respect.  The adrenaline and fear pulsing through my body probably shaved a few years off of my life, but we did get from point A to point B on time.  While the experience was completely frightening, you have to give these people props for their meticulous instincts on the road.  It doesn’t logically  make sense that they should be so successful pulling the crazy maneuvers that they do, but somehow they manage to pull it off.  I have never witnessed driving on this level, and it seems to be something that most third world country drivers have in common;  governing the streets without any rules or regulations.  After a certain point,  you have to just trust these people.    Again,  total faith and surrender to something that your mind is completely fighting against.  You want to criticize or offer your two cents, but you have to just shut the fuck up and go with it.  This is where they live and this is how they get things done. You are in their hands and their is nothing you can do about it.  And I must admit that  they are by far the best drivers, I have ever seen.  Walking or rather, driving to the beat of their own drums.

We decided to leave the islands for a little city time; too much island= island fever= equals never wanting to move. We were heading to northern Thailand, but had to spend a night in Bangkok. Yes we actually had, “One Night In Bangkok,” like that song we all love. Bangkok is a city on a whole different level. I’ve been to several of the world’s major metropolitan cities, but this one was something else. There is this feeling in the air that is pulsing, and you know that absolutely anything is possible in a city like this. I could feel the combination of all the different energies; there was darkness, crime, sex, pain, joy, poverty, wealth…. you could call it Pandora’s Box. I loved it. There was almost too much stuff going on, and the noise….the people, the trains, the scooters, the cars, the taxis and the famous Bangkok Tuk Tuk.

Tuk Tuk’s are these crazy little car/scooters that you will find all over Thailand. It’s the cheap local transport/taxi, and they are really fun to ride in.. but the Bangkok Tuk Tuk’s, or rather the Tuk Tuk drivers are a totally different beast. We had our first experience with them almost immediately after we stepped out into the city. We took a train from the airport that dropped us off in the city center, but we still had to get some kind of transport to the area where we were staying. It’s kind of overwhelming standing in the middle of Bangkok with your huge travel packs on your back, looking like lost children, while the sun beats down on you, because you have no fucking idea where you are. And we weren’t in an area where we could easily find a quiet little corner to regroup. And since all we wanted to do was be at our destination, we decided that we would grab a Tuk Tuk.

Now, up until this point, we had heard about the notorious Tuk Tuk’s and how the driver’s try to scam you. Basically, an innocent tourist hails a Tuk Tuk and asks to be dropped off somewhere. The Tuk Tuk driver gives the innocent tourist a ridiculously low price for the ride, or for a tour of the city, and they think that they have totally scored. (Bargaining, as I mentioned before, is a huge game in Asia, so scoring a good deal means a great deal.) Then the driver proceeds to take the innocent tourist to their destination, but has to make a “stop” before he gets them there. The innocent tourists are slightly suspicious, but will just shrug it off as paranoia and go along with it, I mean how bad could it be. Well, the driver basically takes you to either a suit shop (I mean who needs a suit in this weather), or a ” precious gems” (yeah right) shop, because the owner pays him a commission to, and the innocent tourists find themselves in a shitty situation where they are forced to either buy what the guy has to offer, or if they absolutely refuse ( after a lengthy and not so friendly dispute with them) they have to pay the driver like quadruple the price for the ride, so that they can get themselves out of the situation.

So back to the two of us standing on the street corner. We thought, that since we had our bags, maybe they would just drop us off where we needed to go without any hassle. So this guy stops, and looks at us and asks us if we’ve ever been so Bangkok, and me, like a dumb ass naive tourist, says “no” all chirpy like a bird. My husband looks at me and says in Armenian ( our very effective secret language in foreign countries): ” Are you fucking crazy” you never tell someone you’ ve never been to their city.” Oops.. damage done. Anyway, we asked how much it would cost to get to our destination, and he just eyes us over and names a price, and we bargain him down….(again, the joyous bargain game) and get into the Tuk Tuk. Then the driver turns around and says that we have to make just a “few stops” before he drops us off. And of course, the warning bells go off, and I’m thinking; ” No fucking way, two seconds in this fucking city and we are already being scammed.” We said “NO!!!” to him and insisted that he take us straight to our destination. He kept arguing with us, saying “It’s okay, just a few little stops” until we just got out of the Tuk Tuk and refused his ride.

I mean, it was very lucky, that he actually told us what he was going to do in advance, so we had the choice to leave, but it was still a big bummer. It just sucks knowing that it is so easy for someone to choose to take advantage of you. And then you get bummed because you should have known better. I should have been able to determine by the look in his eyes, that he didn’t have the best of intentions, but when you are hot, flustered, and unsure of where you are standing, you sometimes loose your skills of clear perception. Thankfully we were somewhat clear and experienced enough at this point to get out of the fucking Tuk Tuk. We have heard so many horror stories of people who didn’t listen to their gut, and got stuck in an extremely bad situation.

Im sure there are some Tuk Tuk driver’s that aren’t out to get the best of you.. but its fair to say that there are more than quite a few out there who are. You can’t do much to change it because that’s just the way it is. What you can do, is listen, very closely to the quiet whisper inside, that can always tell the difference between a thumbs up and a thumbs down.

When we arrived in Thailand, a beautiful feeling washed over me and I felt as though I had been “lifted.” It is hard to explain in words, the feeling you get when you know you are in the right place… a place that feels good so good, like you are on the same frequency with it. This sensation or feeling has become our primary guiding force for our travels. You go out to see the world, and you have a list of places that you would love to visit. You hear tons of advice and opinions from others, to try this or that; you know there are places that you thought you should or would go to… but with so many places to see, where do you actually go? We have learned that we are not the kind of travelers that really care whether or not we see all the ” sights,” rather, we are interested in really experiencing the vibe of a place, meeting the people, and just enjoying life. There are others who have lists of destinations to see, and fill their days with tours and excursions, etc.. so they can pack as much in as possible. The thought of that alone gives me a fucking headache. Its natural to ask other people about their thoughts and opinions, but you really have to take what they say with a grain of salt. There have been so many times when we took people’s advice and checked out a spot that was supposed to be “amazing,” and when we arrived there, we just felt like something was off. At first, I doubted this feeling, I thought..”Okay, this place is supposed to be amazing, so what is our problem?” So we would agree to stay, but I couldn’t shake this feeling, that the place wasn’t right for us. It just felt kind of bad, like there was no energy there that we could connect to. Finally, we would just pick up and go because things just were not flowing. And then we would arrive somewhere else, and get that lovely lifted feeling, and it felt right again. We decided that it was clear, that these “feelings” were serving as our road map. (Thankfully, my husband and I have always been in agreement about these how we felt.)

Ultimately, we are all individuals, and we all vibe with different things. What one person loves isn’t necessarily what you are going to love. A great and specific example was that we absolutely hated Kuta Beach in Bali, which was basically a huge and nasty frat boy meat market. The place was all about the party; the sort of disgusting, drink till you drop, and then drink some more scenario. But then there were those who’s sole purpose was to party like rock stars, so they absolutely loved it (I still can’t wrap my head around loving Kuta, but whatever.) Kuta is an extreme example; there were other places, that were seemingly “nice…” I mean, they were pretty locations that seemed to be popular with so many people, but they just weren’t for us.

And then came Thailand. I just love it here. It is beyond beautiful, and I have not yet seen nature quite like this in my life. We are currently off the western coast on the Andaman Sea. You have the amazing waters that are like every shade of blue you can imagine, with huge rock formations that shoot up out of the ocean and tower over you. I feel like its a cross between Lost and The Lord of the Rings. We would sail through these massive rock formations on the local longboats, looking up at the rocks that looked like warriors or sentinels guarding the sea, with our mouths dropped open just in total awe of the place. The people of Thailand are so fucking laid back and friendly, and everything here is ridiculously inexpensive. I have always wanted to be here and every part of my being feels like its at home, so it really is a dream come true for me. Thailand is a place that is buzzing with the “feeling.”

Really getting in tune with our intuition in this respect, has made a world of difference in our experience on the road, and as we continue deeper into our journey, our “knowing” has become extremely precise. When you are away from home and anything familiar, your life simplifies in a profound way, because you literally have the bag on your back and that’s about it. You aren’t distracted by work or chores or the daily grind of maintaining a “stable life.” There is so much less that you “need,” and you find that you are satisfied with just enough, and the thought of taking more, for the sake of it… is just not worth it. For me, this drastic simplification has brought my desires into a very clear focus. I know exactly what I want, what I will put up with and what I absolutely won’t tolerate. And I could give a fuck about the should’s and shouldn’ts, in a way that I couldn’t quite accomplish at home. It feels as though I am completely aligned with the universe and my place in it, and that “the force” is with me.

We have had an interesting Thanksgiving in Malaysia. It has been strange to be away from home and family during this time of year; eating Char Key Teow noodles instead of turkey and stuffing, with it being like 100 degrees outside with 100% humidity instead of sitting around the fire. Strange, but definitely interesting and fun. Unfortunately though, that night my husband woke up with a pounding migraine headache and an excruciating tooth ache. Anybody who has ever experienced tooth pain knows how unbelievably painful and devastating they can be. He could barely stand straight and no amount of pain killer or beer could numb the pain, so we were forced to locate a dentist. I literally stayed up all night and googled “safe dentists in Penang” and found an office close to where we were staying. We gave them a call the next morning and although they were totally packed that day, they told us to come down and they would see what they could do. We arrive and have to wait in the office for a couple of house, but they did see him, they did treat the problem, they did prescribe him with the necessary pain killers/medication, and we did pay only $33 fucking dollars for the whole thing.

I honestly could not believe it. We got a same day, emergency, dental visit and treatment for, again… $33. I’m in this foreign country, that is in so many ways more backward that our great United States of America, but here, in Malaysia, when we needed help, we were able to get it. (Without seriously setting us back financially) I was grateful for being in a place that actually cared about the welfare of not only their own people, but for those who are visitors to their land. But at the same time, I found it sad that we would not have been able to receive the same kind of help in the place that I called home. There are too many people in our country who can’t enjoy the peace of mind that comes from knowing, that if you need healthcare that you can get it, no matter who you are or how much money you have. I know that as a country we can do better. I read all about the Occupy movement happening in the States, and although I can’t be there myself, I am so proud of all the people who have the fucking balls to stand up and say that none of the bullshit that is going on in our country is “OK” anymore. This is definitely a time of great and profound change in the world, and may we all brave these changes with clarity, grace, and strength.

We left Kuala Lumpur and made a stop in a city called Ipoh on our way up to Penang.  Ipoh isn’t exactly a “tourist” destination, because there was literally one or two other travelers that we saw hanging out there when when we arrived.  It was cool in some ways, because there weren’t like a thousand tourists everywhere we went, but it was a bit challenging because it was harder that usual to communicate with the locals and find our way around.  We had been trying to arrange our accommodations in advance, so that when we got  to a new place,  we would have somewhere specific to go instead of  walking around like chickens with our heads cut off.  Like most travelers, we were trying to find places to stay that were cheaper than the normal hotels.  Since there were no “travel’s hostels” in the area, we found a very cheap hotel that seemed like it would be ok and had decent reviews on the travel blogs that I had been using as resources.

When we got to the train station, we grabbed a cab, and when we told the driver where we were going, he gave us this funny look and with a bit of hesitation, said “okaaaay.”  He asked us if we were sure we wanted to stay there, and that he could recommend somewhere else that was better.   We didn’t pay attention to his suggestion at the time, because normally cab drivers try to take you to a hotel that they have some kind of deal with to get commission for bringing tourists there.  We arrived at our destination on this very shady sort of street, and proceeded to enter the even shadier looking hotel.  The guy at the counter (who ended up being lovely and helpful) gave us another long stare as he showed us to our room.  We walked into, perhaps the nastiest room that I have ever seen in my life.  It was clean and everything, but there was something “off” about it that I couldn’t put my finger on.  The one perk was that the walls were painting pink, which I thought was kind of cute, but other than that, it was just dank.  But we were only staying two nights, so we thought that we would just suck it up, because hey, we were traveling, and we would brave a nasty room every once in a while.

So we went out to explore the city, and everyone was looking at us like we were aliens, but it was actually kind of funny.  Through a good friend, we had the contact information for  some locals who lived there, so they picked us up and took us out to an amazing Malaysian dinner.  We walked up to a nearby “nice” hotel and had them pick us up there, because I was a little embarrassed to have them come to where we were actually  staying.   We ate local foods that I would have never known to order; pork knuckles, ribs, clams, and a special local fresh water fish that was specific to that area. It was a ridiculously amazing dinner, as the cuisine in Ipoh is renowned as some of the best in Malaysia.  So with full bellies, we got dropped back off at our “decoy” location, then walked back to our seedy hotel.  We ignored the nastiness by  losing  ourselves in our books until we heard this crazy loud scratching on the wall.  We looked at each other like “What the Fuck was that?”  I was convinced that it was a giant rat in the wall or something, but since there was nothing we could do… we tried to just ignore it and crash out for the night.

The next day was spent exploring some cool caves outside of the city that we used the local buses to get to.  Wow, with these buses.  They were these rickety old school busses, that were barely running anymore, but it was fun to be using the local transportation.  The people were sooo nice to us, as we didn’t know where the fuck we were going; offering us help with where to stop, what to pay and how to get back.  We actually really enjoyed the experience.  After another great dinner, we headed back to the hotel.  Mind you, at this point, we never once saw another hotel guest there, while the owner always had a sign up that said “Full.”  We wondered where everyone else could possibly be, but we didn’t really pay too much attention to it at the time.

So as we walk into the hotel, we see this other “couple” walk down the stairs.  The guy was adjusting his “package,” while the girl was sort of covering her face up.  As they pass the reception desk, the guy tosses the key to the owner and they walk out without any luggages or bags.  Again, we didn’t think twice about it, until we got into our room, and my husband looks at me and says; ” Oh shit, Nat…I think this is a fucking brothel.”  We stared at each other for a while, all wide-eyed and shit… and as we went over the events of the past two days in our head; from the weirded out cab driver, to the scratching on the walls, to the embarrassed girl exiting the building… it all became clear. I was literally speechless for a few minutes, then totally repulsed, and then feeling like a total ass for not realizing that we were staying at a FUCKING BROTHEL!!!.

Needless to say, I had a hard time getting a good nights sleep that night, and could not wait until morning, when we were getting a bus out of there.  I mean, we have definitely had our share of “lessons” on the road, but this one was a gnarly one.  It is not always in your best interest to go for the cheapest deal, even if you are a budgeting traveler.  Thankfully, we haven’t passed through any other brothels after that.  We take care to really look before we agree to stay somewhere, and I am definitely not as trusting when I read other people’s reviews on a hotel.   I mean, it is kind of funny when you think about it, but damn, I never need to experience that shit again.

We’ve made our way to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. A bustling metropolis filled with a myriad of people, sounds, smells, and sights. It’s so crazy because the city is totally modern in some ways: with huge malls, subway systems, and amazing high rises; and in other ways, it is totally a third world country with its overflowing local buses, dirt cheap restaurants and sprawling open air markets. The most interesting thing is that the population is made up of so many different cultures and religious backgrounds. There are local Malaysians, Chinese, Indian, Arabic, Buddhist, Hindu, and a large group of western people who work here in the financial district. The largest group by far is the Muslim population, marked most obviously by the clothing that the women of this very rigid religion wear.

The general custom is that women have to cover their heads/hair with a head wrap called a Hijab. The idea is that women are not supposed to show their hair in public because it is sensual, and they have to hide this so that they will appear less beautiful or attractive to men. In it’s most mellow form, the Hijabs cover the hair but can be colorful and bejeweled and women can still rock a bit of style by mixing colors and wearing them with modern clothing, like jeans or dresses.

On the flip side, you’ll find the really devout women who are covered head to toe with what are called Burqas. They are completely geared out in veils, and full robes, usually all in black, with small slits for their eyes. Apparently underneath their burqas, they wear full nylon body stockings so that absolutely none of their skin shows to the public. And it is ridiculously hot here, so I couldn’t comprehend how they could handle the heat. Its not like their robes were a light cotton, they were heavily draped in a fucking thick black fabric. Heavy. I’ve seen this in magazines and on television, and read about why they do this, but I have never experienced being among them in real life, and I was really blown away by the reaction I had to this.

My own cultural background is Armenian, and since we are a Christian based religion, I have never had to deal with covering myself up. But my background is Middle Eastern so in a way, I’ve always felt a little connected to the culture in general. I’ve had mixed feelings about the fact that these women have to cover themselves up, but it was always a concept or an idea, as I was never caught right in the middle of it; that is until I walked the streets of KL. I want to be clear that I am not standing in judgement toward their choices, because everyone has the right to do what they want, but I will comment on my reaction to what I saw.

I saw these women walking all around me, always on the arm of their husbands and almost always walking with their heads bowed down. And I have been surprised by my very emotional reaction to their appearance and their general vibe. I found myself being sad, and angry and wanting to just walk up to them and tear their veils off. Of course, I couldn’t do this because I would literally be shot or something…but it pained me so much to see them. Literally cloaked from head to toe and clearly repressed as fuck. My husband, who was born in Syria grew up around this, so I’ve been obsessively drilling him for information. I wanted to know all of the details of this very specific and strict way of being.

As they walked passed me on the street I could not keep my eyes away, like I was trying to connect with them, to get a glimpse of what was going on inside, but not one woman would look me in the eye. If I did catch their eye, it was for a split second and then they quickly turned away. I literally found myself wanting to cry, but from a place that was completely removed from logic, a place very deep place inside, a place that I didn’t understand. It’s like I wanted to “help”, but I felt totally helpless.

The irony of course, is that you can see their eyes. Their beautiful and sad eyes, and from my perspective, the eyes were the most alluring and beautiful thing about them. Some had their eyes painted with striking makeup, while others left their eyes bare, either way they were so sexy! It’s like I was more attracted to them because of that, and I was more intrigued to know what they looked like because of their crazy eyes. (I did a little research on the Burqa, and some of them have a thin mesh layer covering the eyes as well, but I saw none of that here in Malaysia. I would say that’s a more Middle Eastern thing probably found in hard core militant country’s like Iran.)

And it was interesting, because I am darker and clearly have some Middle Eastern blood in me, and I’m walking around in my tank top, bearing my shoulders, wearing my hair freely, and man.. the looks I would get from both the men and some of the women (if they risked glancing my way.) Looking at me so disapprovingly, like I was some kind of a whore or something. Luckily, I was always walking with my husband, but damn… it was as if I was the one who was crazy to be wearing what I was.

It’s hard because they so deeply believe in their ways; was it fair for me to say that they are brainwashed? I don’t know. Why do I even care? But I found myself caring and feeling deeply disturbed. But such is life, I guess. You step out into the big wide world hoping to open your eyes a bit, but sometimes what you find is very intense, and extremely challenging. I will say that I feel grateful to have been given the opportunity in my life to make a choice. To choose how I wanted to think and what I wanted to believe and how I was going to live my life. You begin to appreciate small things like that, especially when you are in a place where the parameters of “choice” are very shallow and narrow. Having the right to choose is a precious gift, use it well.

Our journey continues… leaving the city life of Peru and moving to the tropical island life of beautiful Bali. It has been a huge cultural and climate shift as we settle into the much more mellow and slow-paced lifestyle that we’ve found here in Indonesia. There have been many traveling adventures; braving countless boat rides (on crappy local boats, hoping we make it across the water without the fucking thing sinking;) dealing with the extreme insect populations (namely a massive cockroach infestation in one of our hotel rooms;) whitewater rafting down the Telaga Waja river (my new favorite activity;) and the most interesting and by far the most challenging experience has been dealing with the locals. Dealing with the issue of trust.

We hear the word “trust” so often these days; written on cards, bumper stickers, magnets, t-shirts… talked about in every fucking new age and spiritual anything…”just trust.” You tell yourself and others that if you just trust, then all will be ok. As I started to deal with the local culture here, I found that I needed to revise my perspective on this word and find a new definition of it for myself, because just “trusting” wasn’t completely doing the trick.

As travelers in South America, my husband and I fit in and looked like we were locals. We have dark hair and features, so everyone assumed that we were from some South American country, and it really helped that my husband also spoke decent conversational Spanish, so we got by pretty easily. Of course, we dealt with some shady characters trying to rip us off, but we were well equipped to deal with the scenario. As you might guess, our “cover” was pretty much blown when we stepped off of the plane in Bali. So for the first time on our trip, we were totally and obviously tourists, and we were treated as such.

It’s so crazy, because everyone, and I mean everyone lies to you. Not in a “bad” way but, they will tell you anything at all as long as it serves their purpose. Everyone has a different explanation or answer for everything, so it is really hard to know who and what to believe. And by far the most extreme lie is what the price of things are. The issue of money is alive and well in different ways all over the world and it is always when people and things get a little tricky. And look, I totally get it, they see that you are a green tourist all wide eyed and excited to be in a new place and they take full advantage of the fact that you don’t know shit. It feels very strange. At first, I was very frustrated, because I couldn’t get a straight answer from anyone, and it was so clear that everyone was trying to fuck us over. It immediately puts you on the defensive and you start to walk around in total judgement and fear. We were irritable and I found myself just being mean and trying to show that I was a fucking tough-ass and no one was going to get the better of me. And of course, that kind of crap attitude does not work with anyone, but I felt too vulnerable and wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with the situation we were in.

So that brought me to the idea of trust. I tried to just be nice and to trust, but that shit got me nowhere, and of course, I was determined at this point to figure a way around the situation. I mean.. I was going to be here for 5 weeks, and after that I was just going to go deeper and deeper into other foreign lands, so there had to be a better answer than being a tough- ass bitch.

I began to distance myself emotionally from the situation and just look at what was happening. It was a fact that everyone was lying about stuff. It was something that I didn’t’ agree with, but I totally understood. If I was in their position, watching all these tourists coming into their homeland, spending all this money on “stuff,” while I was struggling to make ends meet, then yes, I would fucking lie to get as much as possible too. Because to be honest, there are tons of people out there who are on like 2 week holidays, who don’t care about a budget or how much they are spending, so the locals can easily get away with scamming them. But we were traveling for at least a year and had to make our money last so the “tourist price” wasn’t going to cut it.

Anyway, I started to see very clearly the “pattern” of what was happening. It wasn’t new information that I was being offered a “tourist price,” it was just what they did, not good, not bad.. just what it was. So I decided to change my views on trust. I was not going to blindly trust in someone or something because it was the compassionate or spiritual thing to do, instead I was going to trust that people are going to just be what they are. I approached every interaction I had with the knowledge that there was a great possibility that I was first going to be lied to, so instead of being upset or taking it personally, I just looked at them in the eye and offered what I was willing to give because a person’s eyes will always reveal the truth. And I stood my ground, without being mean, or upset… just confident. And then we would barter for a few minutes and it became fun instead of threatening. And the people really get into it when you barter with them because that is a part of the culture, and we would end up laughing and in the end we reached a compromise that worked for both of us. It was really so simple, and from then on, the burden of the situation was lifted and everything became easy.

It was then that I began to enjoy the beauty of this place and these people who are so devoted to their customs and traditions. There are daily offerings handmade by the women of the house that are placed outside each and every threshold, whether it be a home, a shop, or a restaurant. People pray daily in front of these shrines for good fortune and abundance for themselves and their families. The community is so tight and everyone knows and helps one another. Smiles can be genuine and eyes can sparkle at you as you greet people on the street. The lush and gorgeous landscape is heavenly and peaceful in this truly magical little land called Bali. These are the things I see now, because I have taken the time to set my judgements aside.

The world is a crazy place, and when traveling you learn that cultures are so fucking different and you just have to trust yourself to access the situation and deal with it. You have to trust that things are not right or wrong, they are just the way the are… and how you navigate successfully is to just know what you are getting into and not get emotionally attached to the situation. If you sense that someone is a shiester, don’t get mad, just leave the situation. When you know what you want, and where you stand, everything around you becomes a choice. When you clear your mind from emotion, the path that is right for you becomes illuminated and the steps forward are there for you to see. And as a result, the people around you regard you and treat you with respect.

Of all of my “lessons” on this trip, this by far was the most poignant. It has changed the way I see everything in this world and how I will deal with people whether I’m In Bali or back at home in the States. You empower yourself by digging through vague blanket statements like “love,” “trust”, “faith,” or “believe”… to come up with your own way of walking through this world, based on what is true and right for you.

So the day came for us to fly out of Cuzco and make our way to Lima, our last stop in South America. We had a quick layover in Los Angeles, so the plan was to drop off our warm and wintery clothes with my family and then continue onward to our next destination, the beautiful beaches of Bali. We took advantage of the fact that we were dropping stuff off to do a bit of extra shopping; we had tons of amazing Peruvian rugs, bags, and other little tidbits. We decided to get a little creative in the packing of these items by purchasing a cheap bag that a lot of the locals used to transport goods. Its the kind of bag your grandma would have; huge, plastic, plaid, and hideous. But it was big enough to stuff all of our shit in it so we could just check the bag in, in addition with our travel packs.

The cab drops us off at the airport, and we decide to wrap our ghetto fabulous bag up in the plastic wrap that the airport offered. A hideous neon green color, but it made sure that our bag was safe and that our goodies wouldn’t be messed with after we checked them in.

So we go to the counter, and are stopped by the airport security. No big deal, they just wanted to check our bags, so we unlocked our packs and they sifted through our stuff, but then we got to our ghetto bag and they were like ” we have to check the bag, so you have to unwrap it.” Ugh. Really? We just paid to have the fucking thing secured, and now we had to tear the whole thing apart so they could make sure we weren’t smuggling anything in it. “Ok, fine.” So we start to unwrap the bag, and it is so well secured, that the guard had to take out his knife to cut it open. Well, this caused a bit of a commotion, because the line behind us started backing up, and suddenly this other dude in regular clothing appears and asks for our passports. We look at him like, “Uh.. why do you need our passports?” So he pulls out his Police badge and says he is with the Drug Police, and I’m thinking.. “Oh Fuck.”

The security guard tells him that we are cool and that he has just looked through our bags, and all we have were a few fucking blankets, but the young buck of a cop says that we have to come with him. Great. So his partner shows up and they escort us to this little room in this quiet corner of the airport, which is the Drug Police interrogation room. So my husband and I are silently tripping out, and I can’t believe that we are being pulled into “the big bad back room” you hear about in movies or the news.

We go in and there is this hard core chick, who is clearly the boss, and a few other guys. They start to question us; “Where are you from? What are you doing? Where are you going?”… etc. So we answer, and I am so pissed, but I know that I have to keep my cool, because you don’t want to mess with the cops in Peru. They make us open our bags, and start to look through EVERYTHING. My beautiful packing job, that took me a couple of hours to accomplish was being destroyed as they pulled everything out of place. Not only were they going through everything, but they were smelling all of our stuff, clearly trying to bust us with drugs or something. Of course, we aren’t stupid enough to have anything on us, but they are convinced that we had some stuff stashed. They kept asking us if we smoke, and we’re like “Yes, we smoke tobacco.” So they grab our tobacco pouch and all four of them took turns practically inhaling the fucking tobacco out of the bag to see if there was any trace of a Mary Jane smell.

What we were really thinking was, ” Why would we bring your shitty weed back to LA, when what we have there is so much better than yours?” But we decided to keep our mouths shut. Then of course, then had to pat us down to make sure we hadn’t taped anything to our bodies, and they started to take my husband away to the “strip search” room, but the head bitch told the little fuck of a cop to chill out and just pat him down. And I am so fucking livid at this point. I had never been through something like this before, and I couldn’t believe what was happening. I’m in a drug interrogation room at the fucking Cuzco airport in Peru.

Then, they started to look through my little carry on, which has all of our electronics in it. And the stupid cops started acting like kids in a god damn candy shop. ” Ooh, iPod? Oooooh, Macintosh?” And I’m all “Yeah, yeah”… and thinking, don’t you fucking touch my shit, you mother fucker. They started asking us all about our stuff, and had suddenly taken this crazy interest in us, our stuff, and how cool everything about us was. The head bitch cop was annoyed with them and was angrily telling them to just get a move on… because she was convinced we were guilty. She said something in Spanish to the effect of: ” I know they have stuff on them…. find it!!! ” As they dug deeper and deeper, they were starting to realize that we didn’t have anything on us, and that they had made an incorrect assumption about us.

So they finally let us start packing up, while continuing to inquire about our lives. “Where did you get your shoes? How was your wedding?” (we mentioned we were traveling because of marriage)… etc. I’m thinking what the fuck, is this an interrogation or 20 questions? Anyway, they finally excuse us from the room and escort us back to the plastic wrap kiosk. They made the dude there re-wrap our bag for free and then walked us to the ticket counter. They proceeded to shake our hands and wish us well in our travels and our life. Go figure.

It was definitely an unsettling experience. I have never felt so violated, and it really sucks to have people treat you as if you were a criminal. I was a bit shook up and upset, but I was glad that we managed to keep it together. I again found myself wondering, Why? Why us? But ultimately, I believe that everything is always as the universe wants it to be. This experience was a great lesson for me, because when life throws you tough situations like this, you have to hold on to your own power, and not let the situation fuck with your sense of self and self- confidence. Keeping my cool and my strength ultimately allowed me to keep myself on an equal playing field with these stupid ass cops, and helped guide us out of this very tricky situation. Where you are is where you are supposed to be, and What Is, is always right.

One of my dreams, for many years now, has been to hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. I’ve been so fascinated by the place and have always felt a strong call to go to Peru, so when we decided to take this world journey, I of course had to include this experience in our itinerary. I didn’t know much about it other than it was fucking hard and fucking amazing. So I’m thinking, ok, Im pretty physically fit, between my yoga practice and roller skating, I would definitely have the stamina to pull this off. Mind you, Im not a “hiker” or a “trekker,” and I’ve never owned a pair of hiking boots or a piece North Face apparel. But I thought, hey.. we can do this, I mean how hard can it really be? Well…

Day one.. We have to be up at 5am, and any of you who know me well know that I hate getting up early, its painful and cold and immediately pulls the big bad bitch out of me.. but we do it. Our guide picks us up at our hostel and we’re off to meet the rest of our group. We all pile in the little bus that takes us up to the beginning of the trail. After we get over the early morning wake up bit, we are all just buzzing with excitement. There are a bunch of groups going on the trek and we all meet at the base camp to get our gear ready and then we are off. Thankfully we had a clear day as we began, because we are at this point entering the rainy season in Peru, so the weather had been very unpredictable with rain, sun, hot, cold, etc…The first day was about a 5 hour hike on what they considered the “easy terrain.” So many ups and downs and we were all like ” fuck,” this is the easy day? We were huffing and puffing along and sharing the road with llamas, donkeys, horses, and the local Peruvians. These cute old ladies dressed in traditional gear who were effortlessly walking the trail in sandals, and Im all, ok, if these chicks can climb the trail, then we can fucking climb the trail. I can’t explain the beauty… the fresh air, the connection with nature… really was so uplifting, and a few hours into it, I was feeling good, like ” I can fucking do this shit.” The trekking groups all have hired porters that run ahead of the group to get the camp ready before we get there.. These dudes were fucking hardcore. Men of all ages carrying 50 kilo packs, running up the trail in sandals. I couldn’t believe it. Im trying to drag my sorry ass up with boots, and walking poles etc.. and these guys are whizzing by me.

Anyway.. we arrive at camp and the tents are set up and we pick our tent, set up sleeping bags, etc. This is another challenge for me, because I’m more of a cozy hotel kind of girl rather than a camping kind of girl, but I was gonna suck it up and be in the great outdoors with joy! We have our first meal with the group, and we are with an awesome bunch of people, so we’re all chatting and eating (ravenously) and get ready to go to bed because our wake up call is… yes, 6am. And we were all preparing for day 2 which was supposed to be the “hardest day.”

Day two… we’re up, packed, with breakfast in our bellies and off to tackle the challenge of the day. So the reason why this is the hardest day is because we have a 3.5 hour pretty much vertical climb uphill to about 4200 meters, then a very steep drop back down into the valley. It starts slow.. the ascent is gradually moving up, and then boom we are going straight fucking up. Climbing old cobblestone stairs that are anywhere from 1 to 3 feet high, twisting and turning up the mountain. It was treacherous. My husband and I and two other guys were leading the pack up and I really can’t explain the amount of physical, emotional, and mental effort that we had to exert to get ourselves up. You can’t go too slow, because you give yourself too much time to think about the pain; you have to move with somewhat of a quickened pace so you can create a momentum. So we are moving like this for a while, until we hit the ” really hard part.” Again, an almost vertical climb up, and at this point we are quickly climbing in elevation, so its getting hard to breathe. Agony. And here, it doesn’t matter how fit you are, or how much experience you’ve had… the altitude owns you at this point and it makes moving and breathing so fucking difficult. There were people who had to climb back down, because their bodies just couldn’t handle it. It was interesting though, because when you have no choice but to make it happen, you really can make it happen. I just zoned into the experience (really being here now) and meditated my way through, without allowing one drop of self-pity to enter into the equation. And then eventually, I was at the peak. My sense of accomplishment was magnificent and I really felt like a fucking badass. Day 2 ended with a fun and misty climb back down the other side of the peak. It was wet, and a little tricky, but it was downhill, and all was good.

Day 3… was a 9 hour day. At this point my legs are starting to feel the burn. Its funny, because every time we asked the guides, if there was any more “uphill”.. they said “no… just a little bit.” uh… yeah, so day 3 begins with another vertical climb up…nothing like a heart stopping climb at 6 in the morning. We were all pissed, my husband was livid, and was like” I’m fucking over this shit..” me, I surprisingly zen about it. The rest of the day took us through all sorts of terrain. Mountain, cloud forest, rain, hail, up, down… for 9 fucking hours. But you just do it. There is no one to complain to, to one to cry to, you just pull the strength out of you and go on. The beauty and majesty of this forest was like nothing I’ve ever seen. Just feeling the cool air on my face, the mist on my skin, the stones beneath my feet, my legs moving me through… I felt like a fucking animal. Strangely peaceful and surprisingly strong. There is this great sense of camaraderie on the path because everyone is feeling it like you are. Everyone you pass, you say “hola,” to exchange a knowing smile, sharing the intensity of the moment in a glance. Day 3 ends, we are worked, but we are almost through, and excited to make the final journey into Machu Picchu the following day.

Day 4… It has been raining all night, and we wake up to a very brutal 3:30 am wake up call. We have to pack up and get ready to go. Thankfully I have brought my big rain parka, but my husband was stuck with a jacket that we thought was waterproof, but actually wasn’t. He is not a happy camper at this point. We had bought these cheap rain ponchos, but they ended up being these worthless sleeveless plastic bags that offered no real defense from the rain. Again, you have to make it work, so we managed to scrounge some extra plastic bags from the porters and I had to create a working poncho for him by slipping the plastic bags onto his arms and taping them to the poncho, a real fashion work of art. It was a real project runway moment, and we thought Heidi Klum would be proud. So its pitch black outside and pissing rain. Everyone in the group had their headlamps and full rain gear, then there was us, with our makeshift ponchos and our little bike lights. It was pretty hilarious. But we persevered and although we were rickety and unprepared, we managed to navigate our way down to the main gate, where we had to wait an hour in the rain for it to open. It is now 5:00am. Finally they let us through, and we begin another 2 hour hike to get into Machu Picchu. The road was very wet and was basically carved out of the mountain, so one wrong move and you were pretty much gonna fall right off the cliff. Our last crazy climb was the 100 (again vertical) steps that would take us to the Sun Gate, which was the official entrance from the Inca trail into the ruins. They were so steep that I had to literally climb up on my hands and knees, because my legs were so fatigued that I couldn’t just climb with my legs alone. So we’re up, and the sun is starting to rise, and it is shining on the great and magical ruins. It is a moment I won’t forget. Pictures just do not do this place justice, it is huge and magnificent and seemed to be just growing out of the mountain. How the hell the tribal Incas managed to build this place was mind boggling. We continued down the trail to get to the official entrance where you have to show your tickets etc… to get into the actual site. This part kind of sucked, because it felt like we were waiting in line for space mountain at Disneyland. Thousands of tourists are there, looking all clean and fresh; some come by train, some come by bus, and then there was the trekkers, fatigued and smelly and thoroughly worked. I must admit that there was a small part of me that felt that I was more entitled to be there because of what I had endured to get there… but I let it go of that and spent the next few hours enjoying the place that I had so longed to see. There is true magic in this place, you can feel the energy, it is so thick and real. It was worth every effort that I made.

The journey to Machu Picchu taught me so much about myself. Not only had I accomplished a huge lifelong goal, but I could see what I was really made of; that I could truly conquer anything. My mind and my determination gave me the strength to pass my physical limitations. This experience changed my life forever and I am so grateful for the opportunity to break through my barriers of self- doubt and pain. Mind over matter and a finish line crossed. Thank you.

Surrender has been a huge theme for me on my travels. My personal perspective on the word surrender is letting go of the illusion that we are in control of our lives. I mean, we make choices everyday that take us in one direction or another, but in reality… we are completely out of control. The universe has the last word when it comes to our destinies. My own choice to surrender was born out of the desire to truly be in harmony with the flow of energy around me, to stop trying so hard to make stuff happen, and to be open to opportunities that present themselves. And so yet again, I’m given an amazing opportunity to just fucking let go.

We crossed the border into Peru in a car called a “collectivo.” You pay a guy to drive you over and handle your paperwork, and they usually fill the car to the max with passengers to make it worth the trip. So its me, my husband, and four Peruvian locals stuffed in this car crossing the border. The driver asks for our passports and runs away to take care of paperwork. And of course I’m thinking, ” Wow, I just let some dude run off with my passport, am I fucking crazy?” Surrender opportunity number 1. What am I gonna do ? I have no choice but to trust this guy… and of course he returns with our paperwork, and makes the border crossing super easy. I have to admit, It felt very exciting and slightly dangerous… like I was some kind of renegade hero in a movie.

After we cross the border we arrive in Tacna, the Peruvian border town. Kind of hard core and not really the place you want to hang out for too long. We crash a night there just to get a feel for it and decide to grab a bus to Arequipa the next morning; a much friendlier and more beautiful city. We pay this company for some tickets and they stick us on this random bus for another long journey. (Yes, I know, another bus story) So we are on the bus, and usually we are traveling with backpackers or other travelers, but this bus is filled with locals, and we were excited because we were going to have a “local experience.” By the way, these buses are huge double decker buses, and on this particular bus we get the very front “panorama seats” on the second level, and now we really feel like we are really traveling in style.

So we hit the road, and about an hour into the drive we get pulled over at this federal checkpoint station. They are pulling all the buses over, so we stop and are waiting for them to do their thing so we could move on. We are sitting there, and 20 minutes passes by… then 45 minutes passes by… and we’re like “What the fuck is going on?” We look out the bus and the fucking Peruvian swat team has arrived in addition to the regular border patrol and has the cargo hold open and is going through ALL of the baggage. And we’re thinking, “Holly Fucking shit, I mean is this a drug bust?” It wasn’t quite that exotic, but it turns out that the reason the particular bus we were on was a “local” bus was that these folks were running a smuggling racket and they just got busted. Thankfully is wasn’t drugs, it was clothing, and all of the passengers on the bus had tons of new garments with tags stashed in their bags, their bras, their underwear, you fucking name it. So imagine there was us two in the front, and a bunch of petty thieves in the back. The swat team confiscates all the clothing, which takes over an hour, and the little Peruvian ladies are crying and screaming and hitting the cops. It was unreal. How the fuck did we get ourselves on THIS bus… with the hundreds of buses running up and down the country, we get on this bus? Whats gonna happen to us? Are we safe? What if they decide we’ve seen too much and kill us? And cut to… Surrender opportunity number 2. Its all good. We are fine, lets move on. (Mind you I am so proud of myself for keeping it together, but it turns out that my true test was yet to come.)

We are driving again on the Andean Highway which is one solitary two lane road that runs throughout the countryside. It’s a crazy ride because you are constantly rising in altitude; there will be gradual climbs and then it will plateau out… so the beginning of the ride was very pleasant and a wonderful way to see the Peruvian countryside, which might I add is breathtaking. We roll for several hours at this pace until we really start to climb in elevation and by this time it is getting dark, and we are driving up these crazy mountains with that teeny two lane road, and we are sort of teetering on the edge of these cliffs who’s drops were hundreds of feet down. And we have these “panoramic seats” where I can see everything this rickety and crooked double decker bus is doing and here is where I start to lose my shit. The perspective on the front seat of those buses is weird because it distorts your position on the road and at every turn it looks like the bus is going to drop off the cliff. Again, breathing… deep, deep breathing, trying to remember..”Hey, just surrender, Nat… no biggie.” If you are gonna die on a bus, you can’t do much to avoid it. And again, I am proud to say that I got it together… and we cover another couple of hours like this. At this point we are so close to the snow capped Andes Mountains and its all so beautiful, and this is where I can talk about the pleasure. I had front row seats to the pure majesty of nature. I’ve never seen countryside like this… with my iPod playing my favorite tunes, I was cascading along, so full of joy for the moment and for the surrender that allowed me to enjoy this place that I had never seen before. It was truly a moving experience.

Then… we hit the last stretch of our ride to Arequipa. It’s nighttime and we are climbing the craziest curviest mountain pass that we have dealt with yet. And before we drive up, we have to pass through this industrial zone, where the highways fork off to various part of Peru. So in line with the buses taking their passengers to their destinations, are the semis and rigs taking petrol, wood, supplies, up the mountain as well. And of course, these trucks move very slowly, and Im thinking, “Shit! This is going to slow us way down…” but actually it wasn’t because all the massive trucks and busses started to play chicken, i.e., ” who and how many vehicles can I pass ” on these curvy, steep, and very high fucking cliffs. And I am still in the front row seat and am watching ( because I can’t stop watching at this point) a suicide driving mission.

You know how people get when you are playing the “passing game”.. IT is ON… I know, I love the passing game, but I play it on a straight road where I can clearly see what’s ahead … Not on a mountain pass with acute curves, overlooking the death drop cliffs, at nighttime! Oh my god… My heart fell to my stomach and stayed there for what seemed like forever. I literally can’t explain the sheer terror that I was experiencing and again… The crazy thoughts: “My god, Im gonna die on the god damn fucking bus!!! Why me? Why didn’t we fly? What right do these fucker’s have? Don’t they know they have all these people’s lives in their hands? WAAAAAAAH!!! I went from being the renegade crossing the border to the chicken shit, literally screaming to god for help, on what was probably a very typical bus ride for all the fucking crooks on the bus. (oops did I say that)? Surrender opportunity number 3.

Anyway… yes… we made it… and yes I learned yet again. I made the choice to be here and to receive all these experiences that I know will forever change the way I see the world and myself in the world. I sat on that bus, so humbled by the vast power of the universe. I am in its hands, at all times. Its hands hold it all, the beauty, the love, the fear, the joy and the pain and it was so interesting to watch myself clutching on to the illusion of control, clutching for dear life. But my grip is slipping, and I am falling into the vast joy that is life. It is so much easier to talk the talk, than walk the walk. Getting there, one step at a time. xoxo