Balinese Bliss

It's been hard trying to find a minute to write in the midst of horrible Internet connection and perfect beaches. It's hard enough to find Internet access or even give a shit who emailed you that day, or poked you on Facebook, when there is the most perfect beach in the world on the most perfect island in the world right outside your bedroom door.

After Jakarta, we met my friend Inbal and went to Yogyakarta, which is a hippie town full of brightly colored art galleries selling batik paintings and sleepy cyclo drivers lining the streets. We stayed in a five dollar a night hotel that provided us with free chocolate toasties for breakfast and tea. One morning we awoke at 4 a.m. to watch the sunrise over Borrobodur, an ancient temple an hour away from Yogyakarta. It was a beautiful place to be at 5 a.m. As the prisma colored sun stroked it's mammoth curves. The mist over Merapi volcano started to diffuse, slowly covering Borrobodur in gauzy layers of fog.

After a few days in Yogyakarta we headed to Bali where we spent one night in Seminyak--a horrible, beach town with the worst beach I have ever seen, and completely overrun with designer stores. It was not the Bali I had dreamed of. We quickly left and went to the Gili Islands, our first stop, Gili Tarwangan. The minute I stepped off the boat, I knew I had found heaven. No cars were in sight, because there are no motorized vehicles on the island, only horse drawn carriages. Small bistros and dive shops line the dirt roads that are surrounded by a ridiculously picturesque beach. We spent four amazing days there, laying on the beach, drinking fresh papaya juice, and eating freshly grilled fish at beach side restaurants. Gili Tarwangan is a little piece of heaven. One night after a few Bintangs at the local bar, we met two New Zealand surfers, Jon and Paul, and a Canadian, Ross, who were all going to this supposedly amazing and remote island, Kuta Lombok a few hours away from Gili Tarwangan. After careful consideration, we decided that this island sounded too awesome to pass up and that we were going to make it our next destination.

A quick boat ride and a two hour drive away, we found ourselves in Kuta Lombok--an even more perfect and remote island than the Gilis. The next three days were spent in bliss. Days were exhausted on motorcycles, feeling the breeze in my hair as I passed by rows of palm trees and one deserted beach after the other. I had finally found heaven and it was so perfect, that it felt like a dream. How could this place exist, and how did I get so lucky to find it? I didn't think it could get any better than Gili Tarwangan, but it did, I had found it, and never wanted to leave. The night before Christmas eve we were hanging out with Jon and Paul--our New Zealand surfers, two beautiful Colombian sisters--Diana, and Paula, an Austrian traveler, Martin, and a handful of locals in the street. The locals were sitting in a circle with a guitar, drinking home-made Arak wine and singing soulfully to Jack Johnson and other Western tunes. The circle in the street, turned into a bonfire on the beach, complete with Bintang beers and fire jumping. It was one of my memorable nights on the entire trip. Even as the fire faded and the beers were emptied, the stars on that seemingly endless beach never did. It was an amazing night. The next day was Christmas eve, but it never felt so far away from it. So far away from Christmas, from my family, from all the things I've ever known Christmas to be. It wasn't a sad feeling though. As much as I missed my family, it was kind of a beautiful thing to see locals in sarongs wearing Santa hats and to celebrate with new friends at a beach side bar, with live music, as we did that night. Christmas day was spent on my motorbike, scouting out deserted, sunny beaches with the clearest and most amazing water I had ever seen. The night was spent at a buffet at the Novotel hotel, with our new friends laughing. It was a great way to spend Christmas, and it will be one of my most memorable, especially because of the randomness of it all. Sometimes, the most random things, can be the most beautiful.

I was somehow convinced to leave heaven to go back to Bali, where I find myself currently in rainy Ubud, a place I have wanted to go to since I read Eat, Pray, Love. It's an awesome town with an incredible bohemian and artsy vibe, reminiscent of Yogyakarta but to a whole new level. There are a million art galleries and the best shopping I've seen in all of Indonesia. After an intense bike ride around some rice fields, I found myself at a two tiered market haggling for a bunch of things I have no need for, including a bunch of presents for my family, and two more scarves that will just add to the fifteen or so scarves I have already accumulated during my travels around Asia. I have a weird fascination and obsession with scarves. I swear I have the best collection of anyone I know. I love them and can't stop buying them. There's a "Scooter Appreciation Convention" that has been going on the two days we have been here. It's annoying the crap out of me, the streets are filled with hardcore bikers in leather and last night I was woken up more times than I can count by the live band outside my door--a live band that sucks. Maybe I should be appreciative of these kinds of interesting happenings, but I found it more annoying than anything else.

I also got a massage and body treatment yesterday ... it was RAD. It included an hour full-body massage followed by a full body yogurt scrub and then a milk bath to top it all of ... all for ten dollars. I love Indonesia. It's so cheap and amazing and beautiful and I never want to leave. Sigh. The people here are the friendliest and happiest of anywhere I have ever been in my entire life. I remember, Elizabeth Gilbert talking about how happy the people where here in Eat, Pray, Love, and I tell you, she's spot on. Everyday that I have been here, I have been greeted with genuine kindness, open arms, and beautiful smiles. They seem so happy, so content, and so alive. Americans, really need to take a lesson or two from the Indonesian. Everyone back home is so consumed with hating work and hating their lives that they don't even take a moment to realize how beautiful life is. They know it is here, and the more time I spend here, the more I realize it too. It's truly amazing and wonderful here, everything about it, and leaving here will probably be harder for me than leaving any other place I've been. Maybe because, I know it means I have to go home soon, but maybe it's because I just love this place so much, even though it was by fluke that we came here. I always say everything happens for a reason, and coming here is proof of that.

New Year's is approaching and Denny, Inbal and I are trying to figure out where to go next. Pedang, Pedang in the Bukit Peninsula may be the place. It may not be my perfect island, but hopefully, it will do. Hopefully, there will be sun, and deserted beaches, and I can ride a motorcycle and feel the wind in my hair. That's all I ask for, and maybe, a beer or two on New Years ... a kiss would be nice too, but at this point, I'm not betting on it.

Sianara Tokyo and Jakarta my Hearta

So Tokyo was what I expected it to be--cold, exhausting, expensive, over-crowded, over-indulgent ... but amazing. I love that city. I'm always tired there, maybe because of the ridiculous amounts of people, and ridiculously-overcrowded trains that make you feel like a hyperventilating sardine in a can of squished sardines packed with the sweat of hundreds of Japanese, instead of oil. Sometimes, I can feel the next person's breath on the back of my neck, it's such close quarters. Creepy, super creepy.

After I spent some quality time in Iizuka with my grandparents, parents, and sisters, I hopped over to Tokyo for a week of hanging out, reminiscing, and revisiting. Me and Denny stayed with my old pal, Eugene, squatting on his floor, like a bunch of homeless vagabonds, for a week, sleeping on a futon and a couch in the middle of the living room. Tokyo hasn't changed a bit, but most of my friends aren't there anymore which makes for a much different experience. I saw Eugene, Susan, Jeff, Julian and Mina, which was great, and felt like a sordid reunion of sorts with just a few lonely faces instead of the typical bunch I was used to. I really missed Mia, Steph, Cherylle, Paul, Teresa, David, Sudarshan, Olivia, and my entire old crew that I loved so much in the Tokyo of two years ago. It made me realize that when I think about Tokyo, it was more that I was thinking of them, than the actual city itself. Without them in Tokyo, it just wasn't the city that I loved, and it wasn't the Tokyo that I cherished in my heart as one of the best experiences of my life. It was more of just a beautiful, crowded metropolis with nameless faces and memories of things I used to know. It's like returning to the place of your youth when you are eighty-five, only to realize everyone you knew is now dead. OK, maybe that's a bit over-dramatic but Tokyo has become an urban oasis that looks exactly the same on the outside, but feels entirely different to me now.

Don't get me wrong, I still love this city like I do any that I have had a life-changing experience in--the constant pulse and electric energy of people on the go, the soothing breeze of calmer Shimokitazawa, which transfixes me into vintage-shopping bliss while it's picture-perfect cafes give me time to reflect. It still gives me shivers of excitement, when I get off the train at Shibuya station and see thousands of people trying to cross the notorious street, Tokyo is epitomized in. I still love and envy the uber-stylish and impossibly hip fashionistas in Harajuku with their hair pulled up in a perfect bun, donning hipster boots, and the most perfect makeup I've ever seen. I still love the smell of yakitori and okonomiyaki being grilled at streetside izakayas and I will always miss dancing the night away at a Japanese disco after missing my last train. Tokyo is a city that has everything, but coming back here has truly showed me how much I have changed. I don't think I will yearn for Tokyo the same way that I have the past two years--constantly regretting leaving when I did and feeling pangs of nostalgia and regret in my gut. It's no longer home to me and I think I understand why now. I love it the same as I always did, but I think I finally made peace with the decision I made to leave. Perhaps the only way to get closure is to revisit that place again, and realize in your own time the reasons you left were perhaps, the only way fate could have it.

I went to my old apartment with Julian and we went to my old favorite, neighborhood restaurant--Sushi Ondo. It was nostalgic being there, talking to Julian about our old friends and neighbors. Gossiping about our lives and seeing how much we have and haven't changed in the past two years. I felt pricks of longing being there--revisiting my old apartment and being in the company of an old neighbor. It was that weird feeling where you go back to a place you haven't been to in a long time, like your elementary school, and all of a sudden like a pre-death montage of your life in a movie, a flood of flashbacks engulfs your brain, and emotionally you feel like crying because it's so overwhelming. It's a feeling of yearning, that is hard to typify in words. Most people have felt it before. It's like getting your heart broken by someone and then finding a love letter they wrote you in a shoe box under your bed a year later. No matter how long it's been or how over that person you think you are, that letter will bring back every sweet (or sour) memory.

We are now in Jakarta, Indonesia. After weeks of contemplating whether to go to India or not, we decided not to. I know I haven't touched on the bombings that were happening there, maybe because it's painful for me to write so I've been putting it off. Denny and I were supposed to go to India for the entire month and travel with our friends Zach and Inbal, but while I was in Kyoto with my family, Bombay was getting bombed by terrorists. My precious Taj and Oberoi hotels, which I have had so many childhood memories in--drinking sweet masala milk and icy-cold falooda during sweltering hot December days with my family, are now something of the past and can only be cherished as sweet remembrances. It broke my heart. I watched CNN everyday from Japan, and everyday I felt more heartbroken for my beautiful Bombay and my family. Thank god, my entire family in Bombay is safe. When I heard my aunt's friend was having dinner at the Taj when the bombs went off, and they all died, the gravity of what was happening there really set in. My friend Inbal has been living there for a while now, and was living in the heart of the destruction. She's safe and meeting us in Jakarta tomorrow, but knowing that she was there too, and thinking of what she witnessed, being alone without her famiy, is beyond me.

It was a hard decision not going to India, being a place I've always felt entirely safe and at home in. I know I will return to India soon, but I can hardly imagine the aftermath of Bombay after what has happened. Can a city completely recover after something this big? Or does it just evolve into something stronger? I don't know the answer to that, but I guess we will see how Bombay will grow from this. I love that city so much and to see things of such familiarity burn up in flames, and knowing your family and close friend is there without knowing they are safe, is something I wouldn't wish for my worst enemy. The only way I can really describe it is like heart break.

I guess it's true that you never know what can happen and you never know when your life will be in danger. My biggest fear is that I don't live my life to the fullest. The more I see of the world and the more I travel, the more I comprehend how much there is to explore and that you are only given one life and one chance to live it. I met a guy in Phnom Penh who I spent some time with, and he said something to me that was so simple yet for some reason has stuck with me since that night ... "life is too short to regret anything, you know that." It's something that is so cliche, but at the instant he said that to me, while hanging out in our dingy three-dollar a night hotel, it felt like I finally really got it. I think traveling does that to you ... it makes you think you have these life changing epiphanies, when really you knew it all a long deep inside you, it's just that traveling opens you up and gives you the clarity to really hear it.

So, I've been in Jakarta for the past two days waiting for my friend Inbal to get here from India. We are traveling together for a few weeks and I can't wait. Jakarta is a dirty, smelly, congested city with some of the best fried rice and tea I've had in my entire life. We are staying off a small, lively street called JL Jaksa, teeming with open air cafes that radiate hookah smoke and bars that emanate the late night sounds of karaoke and live bands singing love ballads. I love watching the barristas pour steaming hot chai into warm pots and smelling the street side vendors frying rice and eggs for nasi goreng. Tomorrow Inbal gets here and we may go to Borabodur, which is famous for a temple that is supposed to rival Angkor Wat, if that's even possible. Tonight I'll be content sipping on frothy Indonesian tea at the KL Village cafe while the cacophonous tune of the Indonesian band next door at Memories bar, covers the worst rendition of Wham's Careless Whisper I've ever heard.

Singapore Slingin' and Tokyo Tales

I met Denny in Singapore from Phuket where, literally all i did was eat ... and eat ... and eat some more, for two days. It was ridiculous. I think i gained five pounds from all the delicious grubbin we did. From the minute i got off the plane and to the amazingly grungy Cozy Corner Hostel there was food shoved in my face. First thing first, whenever one goes to Singapore eating chicken rice is absolutely mandatory--I saw Anthony Bordain, my future husband, lovin on it in No Reservations, and ever since then, i had been determined to try it if I ever got to Singapore. It was the first thing I ate and boy did it live up to its reputation. Think perfectly steamed chicken, with chicken flavored rice (that tastes like it was deep fried in chicken fat or somethin, it is so damn tasty) smothered in soy sauce, chili sauce, and garlic ginger paste. we also munched on BBQ pork and green veggies with oyster sauce. After that we thought it absolutely necessary to make our way to the mall across the street, just to be complete gluttons and go shopping for more things I absolutely do not need, and can't fit into my monstrous backpack, and what else, but to eat some more at the food court.

The food court was a glorious experience. Every type of food you could ever imagine was at your disposal here--Japanese, Italian, Indian, Korean, Dim Sum, desserts of every variety ... you name it and this mall has got it. I bought a dress from one of the stores in the mall and then started feeling a grumble in my tummy telling me I needed to take more advantage of the local cuisine. I only had two days in this culinary capital after all. We went and found a Singaporean dessert place and settled on some soupy looking jelly dessert type things that　wet my appetite for something more delicious ... downstairs there was another food court and it was a must. Here we found ourselves stuffing our faces with BBQ pork sandwiches, strawberry donuts, and fish cakes stuffed with mushrooms and cheese. It was disgusting and amazing all at the same time. I have never eaten so much in my whole life (alright that's a lie) but seriously, it was a lot of food. That is basically all I did the day I got in. Great day. Fabulous day in fact.

We met up with Rav, my friend Rikkis boif that night for drinks. We ended up checking out the Supper Club, Singapore that night and it was dead. As dead as the cockroach I saw smashed on its back earlier that day at the Cozy Corner Hostel. We were the only people in the bar, but it was still kind of a cool place to see. Denny was set on seeing it and taking pictures to show our friends what cool, expat urbanites we are cool we are. The drinks were about fifteen dollars each and it was not much different from San Francisco Supper Club, minus the crowd. After Supper Club Denny dragged me to Chinatown, where supposedly, all the best gay bars were situated. We went to one, it was dead. As dead as Supper Club ... dead like the cockroach i saw on its back earlier that day in the hostel.

The next day we went to the zoo, which was ... full of animals. It was a zoo, and typically uneventful but Denny really wanted to go so i gave in. The rest of the day was spent eating more ... more chicken rice, a pork sausage breakfast sandwich, a chicken burger stuffed inside a fried egg, Turkish ice cream with chocolate sauce .... oh the glorious gluttony. I love Singapore. Really, the food is divine. Yeah, the media is completely censored, porn is illegal, oral sex is illegal, and if you get caught smokin a doobie you might get the death sentence, but ... the food really makes the place livable despite all the totalitarian, archaic laws they have in place. Oh, and spitting on the street ... totally illegal, but prostitution? Totally legit and legal. I'm not gonna lie it's a weird fucking place but they know how to make a mean chicken rice and the streets are really, really clean. Clean like Disney land on crack.

Rav took us out again that night and luckily for me, it was ladies night at a few bars which meant everything for me ... was totally free. Free drinks, free cover all night--just another fabulous thing about Singapore and being a lady. After eating some more chicken rice, we went to a bar in Clarke Quay that was serving free margaritas for the ladies. I had four ... obviously since they were free of charge. Rav and Denny had a twelve dollar beer each while I got tanked off of passion fruit margaritas. We then ventured off to O Bar, which i got into for free, and Rav and Denny had to pay twenty bucks each ... the good thing about this place was that they had pitchers of alcohol for twelve dollars, not bad for Singapore's usually exorbitant drink prices. I waited in line for a few free, watered down vodka cranberries, then started sippin on Rav and Denny's pitchers of Jack and Coke. The crowd was overly cheesy and the bar was all hip hoppin Singaporeans, but after a lot of free bevies, its all the same really ... fun. Lots of fun and a game of I Never--me and Denny's favorite get to know you drunk game. The night predictably ended with me stuffing my face in a chicken paratha. Pretty typical.

We left for Tokyo the next day, and I sit here now at my grandparents house in Iizuka after a night in Tokyo at Eugene's house. It feels good to be in Japan again, like no time has past at all, even though it has been two years since I used to live it up Tokyo style as an English teacher for Nova. Most of my friends have now gone home, and luckily for me i still have Eugene to bring me back to the old days of Shibuya nights ending in us passing out on the train at 7 a.m. while onlookers in their business suits stare awkwardly at us drunken gaijin in high heels and mini dresses from the night before--just another day in the life of an English teacher. I'm spending a few days here with my family then off to Kyoto with them and back to Tokyo. There's so much to relive and revisit, though i know it wont be the same without all of my friends there. Regardless, I can't wait to check out my old neighborhoods that i frequented weekly, see my old school that is now something else because of Nova's bankruptcy scandal, and undoubtedly shed a tear or two while reminiscing of what my life used to be like, and what it could have been if i stayed.

I hate regretting things, but its hard not to when you realize how much you love a place and wish you could still live there. I miss Tokyo daily ... a part of me always regretted leaving when i did though i know i did it for the right reasons--love. But now my love lies within a city instead of in a person, and a part of me wishes and hopes that i can find it again through Tokyo's falling autumn leaves and crowded city streets.

Travel Lessons Learned in Ko Phi Phi

Lesson 1 of traveling alone: sharing a room with a random dude you met on the bus, who seems nice, is NOT always the best idea, even if you are trying to be adventurous.

Lesson 2: If said random dude tries to grope you the first night you share a room together while you are sleeping, probably best to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible.

Lesson 3: If same said dude shares a room with you again the next night, he'll probably try to grope you again ... and when you refuse ... again, he'll make a nasty comment.

Lesson 4: It's best to be honest if you aren't happy with a situation. I should have just told the dude to FUCK OFF instead of feeling bad for ditching the room situation.

For some reason I thought he was cool the day I met him, but after that it was all down hill. He was annoying, way too opinionated, immature, gross, stingy, a douche bag, clingy, and wouldn't leave me and my friends alone. Literally, I had to run away from the guy twice. Like literally, run away and hide in Francis's room. Thank the lord for Pete, Orla, and Francis. They were my angels who came to Ko Phi Phi and saved me from the random ass twenty-two year old I stupidly decided to share a room with, and a bed. A fucking bed. Worst decision of my life. I gave the guy the benefit of the doubt that he was a harmless, nice guy who just needed a roommate to split the cost. I didn't think he'd want to hang out 24/7 and/or grope me at night whilst I tried to sleep (while I was actually not sleeping because I was too scared of what the dude might pull). I ditched him after the first night and hung out with Pete, Orla, and Francis at the beach. Some how he made his way at our dinner table and after a few hours of hearing him talk we made excuses; I just walked away and ran into Francis's room to watch Old School and bitch about how fucking annoying this guy was. Plus, he awkwardly invited himself to hang out with us the next day on the boat trip we planned to see some Islands around Ko Phi Phi. He invited himself. Who does that? Cringe ... cringe ... cringe, whenever I think about him.

Oh another thing. The second night when I regretfully and painfully walked back to my room (openly wishing I had just crashed in Francis's bed for the night) I was definitely not friendly to him. In fact, I was being a total bitch. I went to bed, he went out for the night and I secretly hoped he would get drunk and lost, or meet a girl and not come back. He came back. He tried to grope me again while I was sleeping, I told him to get his grubby little paws off of me and the fuck away from me, and word for word, this is what he said:"stop being gay, be a traveler." I am not lying, that is what he said when I rejected him. Who says that and what does that even mean? First off, I hate it so much when people use the word gay in a derogatory, negative way. Many of the loves of my life are gay and whenever someone says that, I want to kick them in the balls. Secondly, if being a traveler means hooking up with a disgusting, immature, clingy dick face, who acts inappropriately, and is a sleaze bag, annoying piece of crap ... then send me home right now, because i'm not a traveler. Fuck that guy. I don't dislike many people, I really don't, but this guy I really, really, really don't like. I even went as far as to "de-friend" him on Facebook. This is how much I dislike this guy.

Today, I just wanted to hang out with Francis, Pete, and Orla since it was my last day with them, but dick face invited himself a long, and Francis, Pete, and Orla being the nicest people in the whole world went a long with it because we all felt to bad to ditch the poor loser. I'm being mean, I know I'm being mean, but this guy really pissed me off. I hate feeling uncomfortable and disrespected and that's how he made me feel. We got on a boat at 7:30 in the morning and went to Maya Beach, the beach where the movie, The Beach was filmed. Since it was so early in the morning, there was no one there and it was breathtaking. We had the whole place to ourselves. The water was a sparkling turquoise and magenta and prisma-colored fish swam around you in circles. The beach was surrounded by rock formations that were reminiscent of Halong Bay, and the white sand felt sweetly silky between your toes. It was amazing. Stingy roommate decided he didn't want to pay the extra 100 baht ( which is literally like three dollars) to go on the beach and stubbornly sat on the boat or went snorkeling or whatever, while Orla, Francis, Pete and I lazied around and took photos of the gorgeousness. After that our boat guy took us snorkeling and we went swimming in a lagoon. It was an amazing day and I'm glad I got to spend it with the gang, albeit the douche bag tag along.

I love Pete, Orla, and Francis. I really do. They made me feel so at home with them in Ko Phi Phi and I hope that I get to see them again some day. It was sad saying bye to them at the dock because it was one of those moments where you just feel ... this could be the last time I ever see these people and a part of you wants to cry a little with the thought of that. There's always those friends you meet that make you realize how wonderful people really can be, if that makes any sense at all. Just genuinely kind, good-hearted, fun, hilarious, and real people that you would love to have in your life. Hopefully, I'll see them again in Ireland or California, or who knows where. The sole sad thing about making friends while you travel is that you never truly know if you will ever see that person again. Regardless, it doesn't make their friendship any more significant, sometimes more so.

I left without saying bye to douche bag and ran to Pete and Orla's room to shower and then to eat before I had to leave for Phuket. I'm here now. It's a shithole. A nasty shit hole and there is nothing to do. The only redeeming thing about this place is this hostel that is surprisingly nice, clean and there is free Internet which I am hogging as we speak. Tomorrow I leave for Singapore and meet up with Denny. I'm excited to explore a city but I really will miss the beach. Even with the fucked up roommate situation, I still think Ko Phi Phi is a beautiful place.

Full Moon Party Fiasco

The rain stopped eventually. I'm currently in Ko Phi Phi and spent the afternoon lazying away on the beach. This place is beautiful, albeit touristy and overcrowded with non-natives. I'm used to that in Thailand though. I'm usually the only brown person around in a sea of white, and this is fucking Thailand. The only Thai people I see here are the ones working at restaurants and guest houses and such. I guess that's just how Thailand's touristy Islands are. I split up from Denny for a few days and am traveling on my own. I have to say I'm really proud of myself for doing it. It's always been a fear of mine to travel by myself, but so far it's been really amazing. I met a half Israeli, half English guy on the bus and we decided it would be a smart idea to share a room together in Ko Phi Phi for the next two nights and save us some cash. I've never done anything like that before. What is it about traveling that makes you throw out your bearings and inhibitions and just do these things that you would never do at home? Seriously, if I was in San Francisco would I meet a random dude on the bus and then share a hotel room with him for the next two days ... hell no. No way in hell. I'm hanging out with Pete, Orla, and Francis again here in Ko Phi Phi; It's fun to see some familiar faces. Everything is an experience though, and as a writer, it's good to have new ones everyday. Traveling is the best material I've ever had.

Before Ko Phi Phi Denny and I met Jenna in Ko Phangan for the Full Moon Party. Honestly, the full moon party should be an entry on it's own because it was by far, one of the most ridiculous nights of my entire life but I'll try to sum it up as best I can. We met up with our whole crew from tubing in Vang Vieng--Mark, Lee, and Andrew--the chill Minnesotan hippies, and Pete, Orla, and Francis, the Irish gang. The night of the Full Moon we had a pre party at the Minnesotan's bungalow on the beach, fittingly monikered, Mellow Mountain, which is known for it's "happy shakes." God, how I love the term "happy shake," it can mean anything you want it to be. Their bungalow was a typical cheap, backpacker bungalow with dirty floors, and a lonely fan, but with the most beautiful balcony with a view of the ocean. I was supremely jealous. The pre-party was a blast--full of buckets of various alcoholic beverages, our reunited friends, and loads of body paint that not so quietly made it's way ... everywhere. All over their bed sheets, on the floor, and of course all over everyone's bodies. After we were drunk and body painted up like we were going to a rave circa 1999, we went down to the beach with a big group of us, say 7 or eight of us. Let me paint a not so clear picture of what the Full Moon Party entailed--think rave on the beach, body paint, 20,000 people, techno music blaring, fire dancers, drunk drunk drunk Europeans sipping on buckets, (save a few Americans and some Israelis and a few actual Thai people), fratty douche bags without their shirts on making out with girls, girls wearing stupid outfits, loads of white dudes with dreads, and just ... an all around fabulous mix of randoms dancing to techno and house beats until 7 a.m. I think that's as clear as I can be at the moment.

Once we reached the beach, in a matter of drunken minutes, we lost Orla, who was wasted off her ass, Denny who wandered off to get a drink, and Francis who with a blink of an eye disappeared. Then it was just me and Jenna, wandering around, dancing, drinking, taking photos with random dudes on the beach. etc .etc. Eventually Jenna met a boy and was talking to him, some random Brazilian was giving me a piggy back ride and I turned around expecting to see Jenna, but she was gone. Like dust in the wind, I knew I'd lost her for good that night. I gave up shortly after, ran around like a crazy drunk nineteen-year-old, dancing with random dudes, and finally found some people who we were at the pre-party with. I kept hoping to run into Denny or Jenna, but of course, they were no where to be found and I knew I wouldn't see them in the morning. If you lose someone at the full moon party ... you've lost them for the night. No ifs ands or buts about it. I lost the other group I was with at around 7 a.m. and found myself, what felt like, all of a sudden drunkenly laying on the beach with a twenty-seven-year-old boat designer from England, I met 5 minutes earlier.The sun was coming up and I was confused as to how the hell it was morning already. Five or so buckets and a big Chang beer will do that to a girl, I suppose. So that was my night in a nutshell, save a few major details that are blurry in my mind. It was a great time, something I'm glad I experienced but don't know if I ever want to experience again. I've been hungover for three days. I need a detox, I need something to flush out all this crap and alcohol from my over-traveled body. Oh well, like Denny and I always say--detox in '09.

I wish I had more time to stay in Ko Phi Phi but I have to leave tomorrow to go to Phuket, so I can catch my flight to Singapore on the 18th morning. I heard from many travelers that Phuket is a shithole. A Thai wonderland of crap, cheesiness, and Thai prostitutes in come-fuck-me-heels. I'm over it, but I gotta do it for a night. Maybe I will make a new friend on the boat and share a room with him. Who knows ... everything is an adventure right now and I love it.

Still Raining ...

It's still raining. I woke up this morning with hope for a sunny day. I looked out the window and it was gloomy as hell, but I still had hope and even went as far as to put my bathing suit on under my dress, on the off chance that it would get nice enough to actually lay on the beach. I even said to Denny, "I don't care if it starts raining, I'm going to the beach." Then as I walked to get some food down the street it started drizzling, and I thought, shit. Then as I sat eating my mediocre and overpriced french onion soup, it started pouring. Not just like a little a mild drizzle, but a full on rain storm. Now, as I sit here in this Internet cafe, pouting over the start of my day, it started down-pouring again. I can't even leave the damn Internet cafe because it's raining so hard. I hate Ko Samui.

Last night we decided to stay in, which is the first time I've done that in a very long time. To be honest, I can't even remember the last time I stayed in and didn't drink, so last night was much needed for me--physically and mentally. We rented a DVD player and bought some bootleg DVDs--Once, an Irish movie I've wanted to see for a long time and W, the new movie about George bush that literally came out last week in the States. We watched Once first and it was fine quality, totally normal to be honest. Then we put in W and it was bootsy. Ghetto. Hilariously bad quality. The film quality was the worst I've ever seen and there were moments where we could hear the audience laughing at something stupid George said. Damn, did they make George seem dumb but I guess that doesn't take much work. Speaking of George, can I just say how fucking ecstatic I am that Obama is going to be our new president. Good riddance George. We were in Bangkok when we heard the news and a huge part of me wished I could have been in San Francisco for it, just to be a part of everyone freaking out with excitement. I sat there with tears in my eyes as I heard Obama speak from the TV in our guest house restaurant as other non-Americans sat around not really giving a shit. The prospect of living in America now for the next four years doesn't sounds so detrimental. I'm actually, for the first time in years, proud to tell people I'm American. Thank god for Obama.

Anyways, I fell asleep mid movie and woke up the next day feeling hungover. How does one feel hungover without even drinking the night before? Who knows. We leave for Ko Phangan tomorrow for the Full Moon Party. I'm excited to get the hell out of douchie Ko Samui and to meet up with our old friends (as old as travel friends can be I guess) Pete, Orla, and Francis, and to meet up with my actual old friend, Jenna. Can't wait to leave this rainy place and ... go to another rainy place. At least the change of scenery will be refreshing.

Bye Bye Bangkok

It's raining. It sucks. I hate Ko Samui today. Two of my memory sticks on my camera have viruses (fuckin' great) and it's been raining for the last two days and we can't really do anything. What's the point of being at a beach town if you can't go to the damn beach? I'm pissed. I miss Cambodia, I miss Laos, I miss Vietnam, and I'm over Ko Samui. This place is a veritable playing ground for douchiness. It's tourist central. Our hotel is across the street from a Mcdonalds, a Starbucks, and a Haagen Daz and next door to a Subway. I hate it. I had no idea it would be like this. We went out last night and it was amazingly douchie. Everywhere I looked there were major douche bag spottings. I swear, it was like a sordid convention for douche bags or something--douche bags with accents, eighteen year old douche bags, douche bags with bad hair, douche bags who can't dance, hippie douche bags, drunk douche bags, high douche bags, douche bags without shirts on, hipster douche bags ... it was amazing and horrible all at the same time. I can't believe this city. It's like spring break but in a bad, bad way. Not in the this is hella fun and I'm drunk and pretending like I'm eighteen. It was more like, everyone here is horrible, I feel like I'm at a frat party and I'm twenty-six years old. Where am I?

We are going to Ko Phangan in a few days to go to the Full Moon Party and meet up with some friends we met in Laos. I'm meeting up with Jenna too, so it should be a blast, but to be honest, I'm terrified that it's gonna be like douche central-spring break-frat party plus a few white guys with dreadlocks. I guess at this point I should just say ce la vie and enjoy it. I am in Thailand after all, and I know I'm lucky.

Bangkok was a riot. Me, Daniel, Denny, Jan, and Emma ventured to the notorious Soi Cowboy, famous for it's ping-pong shows and prostitutes, for some ridiculousness. To sum it up, we watched a show which constituted of the following ---smoking cigarettes, magic flowers, shooting darts at balloons, pulling out strings with needles on it ... all out of their vagina. It was horrifying, sad, and intriguing all at the same time. I've never seen anything like it, and I hope, I never will again. I don't really think there is anything else to say about Soi Cowboy. I think I said it all.

We reluctantly left Daniel in Bangkok to head to Ko Samui; I couldn't wait to get to the beaches. Now I'm here and it sucks. I think all in all, Thailand has been my least favorite place by far. From what I've seen it's overly Westernized and consumed with tourists. I miss Sihanoukaville, I really miss Vietnam, and I miss the lazy pace of Laos. I wish I could go back to all of those places and do it all over again. They are amazing. It's crazy that it's already almost been two months. I can't believe it. It seems like I've been traveling forever but also seems like it's been no time at all. Does that make any sense? Hopefully the rain will let up for the Full Moon party, and hopefully I'll stop being so negative and get in the groove of Thailand ...

Angkor What?

I had just drank a "happy shake" on the beach in Sihanoukaville, Cambodia and for a moment I thought, w0w, I never want to leave this beach. This is fucking amazing. Then I started to try and devise a completely unrealistic plan in my head to return to Sihanoukaville after my last stop in India and idle away days on the beach, being a bum drinking "happy" shakes all day and working with a bunch of Cambodian potheads at a random beach bar. That would be the life. I have a friend who spent three weeks in Sihanoukaville doing just that and I'm jealous. If we weren't on a time crunch to get to Singapore on November 21, there is no doubt in my mind that I would have stayed for much longer than the allotted three days of bliss.

After Vientiane, which was aight at best (the best part was meeting up with a"friend" I met and spent time with in Nha Trang), we took a plane to Phnom Penh where we met our limping friend Daniel, who we first met in Hanoi. Apparently, the poor guy fell into a hole in some pitch black village in Vietnam and sprained his ankle. Phnom Penh is badass. We painted that town red and black and blue ... and neon green all in one night. Daniel had met some friends, Jan and Emma, (a ridiculously fun English couple on their honeymoon), on part of his trip to Vietnam and we spent the night with them drinking and dancing. The night started at this unexpectedly and way-too-hip for-it's-own-good bar called Chow, where we acted like P-Diddy when Denny treated us to a bottle of champagne and we sipped it on it's rooftop terrace overlooking the lake to the beats of some Swedish DJ with a shaved head and glasses. The crowd was dressed to the nines and I felt like a tragic hippy backpacker in my rainbow flip flops and ethnic printed scarf wrapped around my waist. After uber-hip Chow, we went to a club on boat called Pontoon, and then after that got lost in a tuk tuk as the rain poured down trying to find some random-ass club fittingly moniker ed, Heart of Darkness. We found it, eventually, and it ended up being a blast but a bust at the same time. The dance floor was crowded with Cambodian prostitutes and old Cambodian men trying to grab my ass. After Heart of Darkness we went back to our hotel, the dingy, dirty and all together disgusting Wonderland 2 Guesthouse for some late night refreshments.

Phnom Penh, was of course, not all fun and games. Cambodia's history is a tragic one and it's really interesting and heartbreaking to see the remnants of what is left from the Khmer Rouge and the impact it's had on their country and it's people today. Cambodia is poverty-stricken. The kids break my heart the most. I can't resist their beautiful faces and whatever they are selling, I have a hard time not buying. My arms are full of crappy bracelets I've bought from adorable Cambodian kids, because I just can't say no. Denny gives me a hard time for it and says it doesn't really help them to buy from them, it doesn't go to them blah blah ... but I can't help it, I love them and my heart hurts for them. It's hard to be in Cambodia and not want to do something to help. It's impossible really. I wish I did more; I wish there was more that I could do. When I was in Siem Reap their was a group of adorable and sad orphans who put on dance performances, handing out fliers. I talked to one of the little girls that danced and in that moment I wished I could have adopted her and taken her home with me. The thought of all those beautiful children as orphans, killed me. I thought about coming back and volunteering at that orphanage, just because they were so gorgeous and the thought of all of them without homes or families or anyone but themselves was heartbreaking. I wish I could take them all home with me.

After our night in Phnom Penh we took the bus to Sihanoukaville where I had epiphany after epiphany about life as a backpacker and what bliss means to me. Sihanoukaville is my favorite beach town thus far. You have no idea how chill this place is. When I say chill, I mean so chill there's nothing to do but sit on the beach and drink happy shakes and Angkor beer all day while Cambodian ladies give you five dollar massages. It's heaven. I came to the realization one night as I lazily sat in a hammock sipping a bucket of vodka tonic, that this whole backpackers world is crazy. It's like the twilight zone; I feel like I have entered another dimension where everyone you meet is a traveler. No one really has jobs and you are in this constant state of happiness, adventure, and spontaneity. You see the same people over and over and over again, all over Asia and make new friends constantly. You party like you're in college, you eat like it's impossible to gain weight, and just do whatever you want, whenever you want. It's so strange, yet so brilliant. It's literally a whole new world away from having an apartment, a job, and serious commitments. No wonder people do it for years and years and years; it's fucking fantastic. I love it and I wish I could do it forever. I never knew that life could be like this and this trip has incredibly opened my eyes to a whole new way of life. I think back about how miserable I was at times before I left for this trip--getting laid off, working at temp jobs I hated, etc. and I realize that it was all for a purpose. The purpose being: me, here, now, traveling, learning, loving, and experiencing ... everything.

Wow do I love Sihanoukaville. I wish I could have stayed forever. We met up with Jan and Emma again in Sihanoukaville and spent a few nights lazying on the beach. We also ate the worst Indian food I've ever had in my entire life, which scared me from ever eating Indian food anywhere but at home and in India again. We left Sihanoukaville the next day to my dismay, and the persuasion of Denny and Daniel who aren't beach bums like I am.

We decided to go back to Phnom Penh for one night and then to Siem Reap to see Angkor Wat the next day. The day we got back to Phnom Penh we went to the Killing Fields which was really depressing and the Genocide Museum which was equally depressing but necessary to see. At the Killing Fields there was an overwhelming feeling of tragedy and pain there that took over my entire being. It was something in the air, it was just there; you could feel the fear and sadness of all the people that had died there. There was still remnants of the clothes on the unearthed graves of the dead. A piece of a blue shirt or a pair of pants lay solemnly in the dirt and little white specs of teeth stuck out from the muddy ground. On their graves there are new signs of life, which is ironic and poetic simultaneously. Vines and lush green plants were slowly growing over the graves, forming new life over ones that were lost.

The genocide museum was equally as sad. Walking through the school turned prison, and now museum was intense. I kept on getting shivers throughout my body as I walked through the eerily preserved cells where inmates were tortured. I could tell that it was haunted.; like the Killing Fields their was a heavy aura of sadness and tragedy in every corner of this place. The stench of mildew emanated from the tiny prison cells and there were times when I was alone in them, without another onlooker and this overwhelming feeling of anguish and pain took over my mind. It was like you could feel all of the wrongdoings that were done there. You could feel it in your bones--their pain, their sadness, their lives. The photos of all those who died there were plastered over the walls and my heart felt heavy with sadness for all those who died, who were killed for no reason at all, and those who endured torture and losing their loved ones to a corrupt and evil dictator. I found myself asking, why? Why would someone kill thousands of his own people? It will never make sense to someone like me, or most people for that matter.

Phnom Penh was an amazing place and I feel fortunate to have been able to see the city now, slowly changing. We left for Siem Reap the next day. When we got there I felt as if I was in an urban bazaar for backpackers. The streets were filled with hip bistros and cool boutiques. I couldn't believe this urban oasis existed in Cambodia of all places. We bought a three day pass to Angkor Wat and the next morning at 8 a.m we met our tuk tuk driver and guide for the day to see Angkor Wat and it's surrounding temples. We started with some temples around Angkor Wat, which were beautiful and surreal. It felt so ancient and grand that it almost seemed fake. We saw the temple where tomb raider was filmed, and it was gorgeous. Large tree roots stuck out from the ground and covered the structure.

Angkor Wat, the main attraction, was amazing. It was massive and impressive and when the orange-pink sky set behind it, it was a beautiful, beautiful thing to see. We spent the next day with Jan and Emma exploring other temples around Angkor. Daniel had the idea to go to one that overlooked a waterfall and we spent an hour hiking up to it in the rain. When we got there, there was no temple. Nothing. Just a waterfall with some carvings. Beautiful yes, but no temple. We left disappointed and laughing.

The next day we took a cab to the border of Thailand and Cambodia and then a mini-bus to Bangkok ... wow, Bangkok, and what a night we had in Bangkok. I'd write more now, but I'm exhausted and I've been sitting at this Internet cafe for two hours. I think it's time to go explore Bangkok some more .... maybe go to a ping pong show tonight .... if you don't know what a ping pong show is, look it up. Or don't, it may frighten you.

Laos Lovin' and Learning

Why is it that the one person you want to run into you don't, but those that you don't give a shit about, you do ... weekly. We've been running into the same people over and over again during our travels. We give the mandatory, "hey, what's up, how you doin," salute and then go off doing our own thing. Sometimes you talk for longer, bullshitting a bunch of bullshit you don't care about, then that's it. I even ran into the guy I made a fool out of myself with in a Luang Prabang bowling alley (I'm seeing a tragic trend here), in Vang Vieng. It was awkward, he pretended not to see me, I tried not to make eye contact, then Denny screamed his name and it was all over ... mandatory five minutes of awkward conversation and nervous laughing.

It's been a great/tumultuous week. After Hanoi we took a flight to Luang Prabang. Luang Prabang is a gorgeous city--orange-robed monks roam the streets and crowd beautiful gold temples, elephants walk around town like it's the norm, small open-air cafes surround the idyllic mekong, and at night, the streets are glowing and rich with open air markets selling .... everything I could ever want to buy, and believe me I wanted everything--jeweled toned scarves, beautifully patterned bags, Laotian artwork ... you name it, I wanted it. The minute we got on a tuk tuk from the airport, the first thing I saw was a man on an elephant and a monk in an orange robe ... seriously? How could you not love this city, it's a writer's dream and most definitely a photographers dream as well.

Luang Prabang was not, unfortunately, ideal in every possible way. As I sat at a cafe sipping a Lao Beer and writing in my journal, I thought, WHERE THE FUCK IS MY CAMERA! Oh and it was gone. No where to be found. Then I remembered, Denny and I were sitting here, my camera on the table, when two kids came up and sold us one dollar bracelets. We bought some, and after he left, it was gone. That's the only thing I can think of. I don't want to blame some poor kid, but I have to blame some poor kid because that's the only explanation. Damn kid. I spent the next couple hours sulking .... oh and to top it all off, in my manic-frenzy of trying to find my camera I lost the bag I literally just bought. It was a beautiful one too. I've come to the conclusion that I lose everything. It's almost come to the point where I lose something and just think, eh it figures, whatevs, because I'm so over being disappointed in losing things.

During my freak out of losing my camera and all my photos of the past three weeks, there was this amazing boat festival taking place. The city was literally lit up with glowing paper boats making their way in a procession down to the Mekong river, the temples were illuminated with brightly colored lanterns and the sound of banging drums and laughter filled the night air. The city was beautiful, it was such a wonderful thing to see, but I was too upset about my camera to really take it in. I went back to my room, sulked for a half an hour to Denny, and he gave me a pep talk and basically said, "don't let this little thing ruin your night, look at what's going on outside, you don't want to miss this." I decided he was right. I was letting something material get in the way of this experience.

We left the shelter of our air-conditioned room and went outside. It was amazing--a sensory overload almost too brilliant to handle. The smell of egg-crepes covered in condensed milk filled our nostrils, the sound of laughter, of kids running around, and of banging drums filled our ears. The sight of ancient Laotian temples, surrounded by monks in richly colored robes, while star-shaped, jeweled-toned lanterns, and fire crackers illuminated the city of Luang Prabang made me forget that I ever lost my stupid camera. I wanted to slap myself for almost missing this because of something material. We followed the procession of paper boats down to the mekong and watched them float away on the river, forming glowing pools of amber and sparking champagne-colored crystals slowly floating away from us down the tepid river.

After the boats left, we made our way back to the city center and walked through the myriad temples that make up Luang Prabang. We walked into one--it was relatively small, the outside a rich golden color. On the inside there were two monks sitting on the side and chanting something in Laotian. I couldn't understand a word but it really didn't matter. A large golden Buddha stood in front of me and a few others were kneeling down to pray. I kneeled down and at that moment an overwhelming sensation of gratitude came over my entire being. I didn't know what it meant or how to handle it but I could feel my eyes well up with tears as I closed them to the calming sound of monks chanting. I clasped my hands and I thanked that golden Buddha in front of me for giving me that moment. I thanked whatever force out there for giving me this trip, for letting me feel truly and utterly alive again, for showing me, for the first time in a long time, what travel does to your soul. For giving me that boat festival on that muggy day in Luang Prabang, for helping me realize that a camera is just a camera. Someone can steal your camera, your photos, but they can never take away your memories. I know that overwhelming feeling of emotion and thanks I felt at that temple will be with me for the rest of my life ... sans photograph.

After Luang Prabang we left for Vang Vieng where we spent five glorious days tubing, relaxing, drinking shitloads, and meeting new friends. To add to my list of fun individuals we've met, are Franz from Germany, we lovingly call Air France because of the way he flies through the ropes in Tubing, Orla and Pete, a lovely (and ridiculously fun) Irish couple who could and did literally drink me under the table, Leslie an adorable Scottish girl, and Francis another Irish dude whose general sweetness was impossible not to like. This was our new found group of friends in Vang Vieng, our temporary friends who we hung out with, drank with, tubed with and spent time with for a few days. It's strange having two day friends and it's always sad to say goodbye in the end, but it's something you just get used to traveling. We all plan to meet at the Full Moon party in Thailand but who knows if that is going to happen. I hope so.

Tubing in Vang Vieng is hard to explain. Vang Vieng in general is fucking surreal, there were so many days where Denny and I would look at each other and just say, "where are we?" It's full of backpackers--mostly white backpackers with dreadlocks, douche bag backpackers, hippie backpackers, hardcore alcoholic backpackers, and basically, everyone speaks English. Cafes are filled with westerners and episodes of Friends or Family Guy are played back to back. Denny and I are always the token brown folks. Many think Denny is the tour guide or the waiter at the restaurant. I on the other had am harder to figure out. Where the hell am I from? She doesn't look American, why the dark skin? Oh travelling ...

Ok, so I've come to the conclusion that tubing in Vang Vieng is fucking brilliant. You rent tubes and a tuk tuk drives you down to the Nam Song river where you start your totally un-sober journey. As you float down the river, a plethora of bars surround you on every side. I think there are ten total (we only ever ended up making it to five). As you lazily lay on the tubes, natives throw you a rope, or a stick, or whatever, and pull you into the prospective bar. Each bar is the ubiquitous spring break fiesta, full of youngsters chugging Lao beer, taking free whiskey shots, sipping buckets of god knows what, chain smoking, flirting, and just generally partying in the sun. Once you are bored with one bar, you go to the next, and the next, and the next, until you are so wasted and/or high that you can't even imagine how the fuck you are going to get back to land via tube. The first day it was six of us, linked together in our tubes trying to make it back home. It was literally pitch black the only thing we could see were stars and some dim lights in the horizon (which gave me hope). It was pouring rain, Lee, the hippie from Minnesota kept our spirits high by singing Bob Dylan songs, and kept on reassuring us he knew where the hell he was going. Turns out he did and we made it back safely, only to drink more at the notorious "Bucket Bar." I'm gonna give a shout out to buckets right now because, they are amazing. It's a bucket full of alcohol, fuck glasses, who needs glasses when you can literally have a bucket full of delicious alcoholic beverage, with four straws in it. Fabulous and dangerous, but all in all ... fabulous. I'm bringing buckets to San Francisco.

Vang Vieng was great. I miss the friends we made. I always do, but then, I guess you make new ones and move on with your travels. We are in Vientiane now. It's boring so far, but I haven't seen anything yet. It's definitely not tubing. After Vientiane we are meeting our friend Daniel, (the San Franciscan we met in Hanoi), in Phnom Penh to explore Cambodia. I can't wait.

I've realized something about myself on this trip, that I guess I've always known but been somewhat oblivious too. I live my life with my heart completely exposed. There's no armor, no protection, it's completely open to everything and anything. To falling in love--even though I've been disappointed more times than I can count, and my hearts been broken so badly I literally thought I was dying. It's not just about love though, it's about friendship, new experiences, new people, to just new sights and smells, and emotions I've never felt before. Everything affects me so much, everything has meaning, and I always take chances with my heart. Even if it means at the end of the day that it hurts, at least there's no regret. At least, I learned something and at least I am really living. I remember conversations on this trip, with exact clarity and I know they will stay with me forever. One in particular. I asked a guy I met in Vietnam if he felt at home there. He said no, but told me something his friend said to him which I thought was just lovely. His friend who is traveling with his girlfriend, whenever he wants to be at home, he closes the hotel door, looks at his girlfriend, and there he is. At home. It made me realize that home can be a person, it can be a love, or it can just be a memory. I thought that was beautiful and I don't think I'll ever forget that or him. I can't say I feel at home in Vientiane, but I feel at home with myself, no matter where I am. I guess your home really is wherever your heart is. Right now my heart is traveling and in travel I feel at home. I've also realized on this trip that the only regrets I've ever had have been when I didn't follow my heart ... so heart here goes. I guess I'm back to following you again.

A Word With my Heart in Hanoi

It's been a while since I've written. I feel wretched that I haven't been keeping up with my blog, but I've been majorly preoccupied with traveling, drinking, and the like. Too much drinking, too much of "the like." I need a break. We are in Hanoi now, staying at the Hanoi Backpackers Hostel which is the most fun I've had on the entire trip, but also the most cliche thing I've done on this entire trip. It's the ubiquitous frat-party, playing ground of twenty-something backpackers, getting trashed every night off fishbowls of vodka red bull, hooking up with other drunk travelers like it's their day job, and hanging around in circles conversing about their epic Asian adventures. Needless to say it's a blast, but I think I need to get out of here and stop making a drunken fool of myself. Good thing we leave tomorrow for Luang Prabang, Laos.

From Hoi An we went to Hue, which was interesting but semi boring. After coming from beautiful, romantic, enchanting Hoi An, I was disjointed in Hue. We saw the Forbidden City which had nothing on the one in Beijing, took a few cyclo rides at 2 a.m., stayed at the DMZ hotel which was attached to the DMZ restaurant/bar which served exorbitantly expensive drinks and mediocre cheeseburgers. We met some cool travelers, hung out with them for a night and then made our way via overnight bus to Hanoi.

In Hanoi, we decided to take the Halong Bay two night/three day boat tour that the hostel provided. I expected a booze cruise of sorts, full of other alcohol consuming backpackers and hippies, but never expected the views to be so spectacular. From the hostel, Denny and I met Daniel--a lone traveler born in Texas who is now a San Franciscan transplant. We also met a group of hilarious and fun girls named Misty, Emily and Ally--Emily and Ally also from San Francisco. The group of us had a blast on the boat and made the typical plans of hanging out after the trip is over in San Francisco. We are trying to meet Daniel in Cambodia in a few weeks; I hope it happens because he's a seriously legit dude. Legit.

The first day, we took a four hour bus ride to Halong where we got on a beautiful dark-wooden boat that we would be staying the night on. There were thrity-something of us and immediately we all started talking, sippin beer, and hanging out as the boat made it's way through the gigantic rock formations that encapsulated us on every side. Halong Bay is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been, hands down. Every five seconds I would look at Denny or Daniel and just say, this is amazing, this is unreal, I can't believe we are here right now. It's one of those places that just pulls at your heart strings and makes you want to cry because you can't believe you can be this lucky to see something so beautiful. It made me feel so, so grateful to be alive--to be traveling, to be able to see one of the worlds natural wonders, and just to be a part of it all with new and old friends.

In the past three weeks I have had so many moments of clarity amongst the drunken haziness, so many moments of deja vu which always freaks me out a bit but makes me think that this trip was fated in my destiny. There have been so many "wow" moments where I just realize that I am really living for the first time in a long time, I am truly happy, and that there are endless opportunities in this world for me. I can live anywhere. I can say fuck it to San Francisco and move to Hanoi and work at a hostel, like so many others I have met. I can say fuck it to San Francisco, move to Thailand and be a writer. I can do anything I want, if I really want it, and for the first time in a long time I don't feel stuck. I'm scared to try to find a job in San Francisco, the economy is shit. I don't know how long it will take, and now, I'm seriously thinking of moving abroad and finding a writing job. I want to find something that is me, that is more adventurous, that will make me feel excited everyday to get up in the morning, instead of just working for the weekend.

Wow, I just went off on a tangent. I've just been thinking a lot about what this trip has done for me so far, and I'm only three weeks in. If I was in San Francisco, I would be doing the same shit. Working (or not, since I am jobless at the moment), going to Beauty Bar on a Saturday night , and just generally doing the same crap I have done every week for the past two years. Not that there's anything wrong with a routine; it's just nice to break out of it for a while. I'm a restless soul, It's a blessing and a curse--it's one of my weakest qualities but also the one that makes me adventurous.

Back to the boat trip. The first night was spent on the boat, where we had a massive party, full of bottles of Hanoi vodka, a seemingly endless supply of beer, random ipod music, and dancing, people hooking up left and right, all while under the star-light sky of Halong Bay. That was the first time in my life I've partied on a boat while being surrounded by breathtakingly beautiful views. It was a once in a lifetime experience and I loved every minute of it. After getting an hour of sleep I woke up, devoured some breakfast and we went kayaking for the day. Let me start by saying, I'm not a kayaker. I've been maybe once in my life in Mexico when I was seventeen on a booze cruise. Regardless, it was amazing. Being in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by Halong bay, going through caves, looking up and seeing thousands of rock formations sticking out from the serene water, covered in lush greenery, is something I will never forget. Now, I love kayaking, but I think this is as good as it gets. It's hard to even explain how beautiful this place is and photos don't do it justice. If it didn't take two hours to upload ten photos I would put some up to exemplify the sheer beauty of this place. Right now, I don't have the patience. That night we stayed in a hotel and spent another night at a bar partying with the group. Basically a lot of drinking which resulted in me getting three hours of sleep. Four hours of sleep in two days is not enough, let me tell you that. My body knows that too well. Regardless of what my body tells me, sometimes, often, I don't listen.

Since last night was Misty, Ally, and Emily's last night with us we got drunk ... again. Not the best idea as it ended somewhat dramatically with me on a motobike with a dude I met on the Halong bay trip, who I yelled " I hate you" at by the end of the night. I didn't mean it, I was just drunk and dramatic. (Story of my life.) After that, I went on a rant about how I hate all men (pretty typical of me as well), drunkenly told some poor Swiss dude that I thought all men are dicks and that I hated him, and went to bed drunk, angry and laughing because of the ridiculousness of myself. Pretty typical drunk Lena move--all of it. I need to stop saying hate. I really don't hate anyone or anything, I just like to be dramatic sometimes and people don't get it. Pretty typical. Pretty fucking typical. I won't go into detail, it's too much too expose right now, but I'm pretty sure I'm embarrassed today. Pretty sure, and I think I need a word with myself, a word with dude, and a word with my heart.

Denny is the only person keeping me sane, telling me I'm too emotional, that I need to stop thinking with my heart and with my head. Hella cheesy but it's true. If my head was to have a word with my heart, it would say, " Listen heart, stop it now. You are lying. Stop being flattered by every, little thing a hot guy says to you. It doesn't mean shit. It's a lie. Don't be fooled by that adorable accent. Think with you're fucking head for once in your life. You're on vacation. Vacation! Romance is important, but remember, you're on fucking vacation. You have to stop expecting shit. Actually, don't expect anything. You're here for two days, three days whatever. Stop taking everything so damn seriously, you are ridiculous. You are too romantic. Snap the FUCK out of it. Have fun, stop being a drunken mess and move on with your life. You can't trust everyone you meet. You can hardly trust anyone you meet, and why would you trust someone you've known for two days or three days or one day, or whatever. Learn you're lessons and move on. It's all part of the experience and you are learning from it. There you go heart, that's all I have to say to you. Please listen to me." I know it won't. It never does. I think it's just one of those things it needs to learn on it's own. For now, I'm traveling and so is my heart. It keeps bouncing around from place to place ... being fucking confused. Sorry heart ... I'm sorry.