Whatever the Weather: an Icelandic Honeymoon

Note: All italicised words are hyperlinks.

I find that whenever I am about to start a new post, I am inclined to set my current scene. To remind more than my readers, but myself, where I am currently grounded. At present, I am scanning our Seoulful living room, taking in a plant that flourished over the summer and gazing at a wedding photo that has been newly propped on the entry table between the living room and kitchen.

It was a bit strange to come home this week, after a summer of celebrations and our wedding, and our grand honeymoon — when Dae-Han and I walked into our apartment, now as husband and wife, it actually felt more like “home.” What does that even mean, I ask myself now. It felt strange. Unfamiliar. Stuffy. It caused a bit of an ache in me, not a regret that we were back in Seoul, necessarily, but already a missing for Minnesota. For the familiarity of all of the family around us, and nieces’ and nephews’ voices, and game nights, and my original roots.

While Dae-Han noted the strangeness of the apartment, I have watched him settle into Seoul this week so smoothly. This is an interesting part of our relationship — his connection to the city, and my sometimes uncertainty about my place in it. I do not deem this a “good” or “bad” aspect to our life Korea, that he feels so much comfort here and my relationship to Seoul is a bit more … ambiguous. It just is.

So it just is that I have busied myself this week by nesting back into our apartment, to restore my sense of home here. Returning to Seoul nearly two weeks before school begins is affording me the time to do things slowly, and reacquaint myself with life here with patience for that process. I’ve slow cut veggies, taken slower walks, and continued slow reading books that I began before we left for our big wedding summer.

And I keep slowly going through the photos from our summer. The best summer yet. Remembering Dad’s most wise words, though, the best is always yet to come, so this summer is simply the prelude to many more “best summers yet.”

This Best Summer Yet did include, as noted in that title up there, a honeymoon in Iceland. Iceland was a brilliant choice for our honeymoon, and I think you’ll see why as I take you through our itinerary, whose authors are 1. Lindsay’s good friend, and 2. Dae-Han Song.

Day 1: The arrival

I begin here with a screenshot of the itinerary that Dae-Han created in Google sheets.

Important points to note:

1. Renting a car is wise. It would have been wiser to rent a car with 4-wheel drive because Iceland has some rocky terrain. Additionally, when you rent the car, do not let them talk you into the pre-paid refueling. Your jet-lagged brains may miss the refueling station that is literally outside the door of Alamo, but your alert brain reading this now will know better.

2. Breakfast at the airport, or anywhere, will be delicious, but expensive. Two bagels with cream cheese and lox and two coffees will cost $35 — and that will be cheap for Iceland. Likely the cheapest meal that you eat. Iceland is worth it, though. Hey, that salmon is truly fresh.

I do not remember how much this ice cream cost, but no matter, we both do encourage you to find the Omnom Chocolate store. Zac Efron told us about the shop in his Down to Earth Iceland episode and we are glad we followed his lead.

3. My husband wrote relax on our itinerary. This is big because any tension leading up to the trip was about the pace at which we would explore and experience Iceland. I’m a “show up and see what the day brings” kind of woman, and Dae-Han has been schooled to plan every minute of a trip. As it turned out, the newlyweds did find the Goldilocks approach (and sometimes Dae-Han even wanted to slow down more than me!) that seemed to generally suit both of us.

4. The Edition Marriott — Thank you, Mom and Dad, for this gift that made us feel like royalty. The 5-star experience did not disappoint. The location of the Marriott was clutch — we walked to each part of our itinerary from the hotel to fight our jet-lag.

5. Rainbow Street is really awesome. There are so many shops and restaurants and bars. Also, I’m in this place where it’s really fun and novel to say “husband.”

6. Additionally, Rainbow Street leads to …

Hallgrímskirkja. This Lutheran church extends … really high into the sky and has architecture worthy of much marveling. My photos hardly does its beauty justice. If you’re in Reykjavík, go see her majesty in person.

7. Not listed on the itinerary but coming from us to you with two thumbs up is Loving Hut. We ended up here twice during our time in Reykjavík. Very yummy, very fresh.

8. We loved a store called ZO-ON Iceland. It is family run, sustainable and sells great outdoor gear. We chose hats with the logo “Whatever the Weather.” Our stay in Iceland began with a couple of days of wind advisories, and that was just the beginning. In terms of our marriage, we have all the decades to come to weather all of the weather: rainbows, rains, snow, and sun.

Day 2: Plans foiled, new plans made

It was that wind that kept us from what we kept trying to schedule. The puffins. I wanted to do a tour to see puffins, Iceland’s cool soaring seabird.

Puffins. The cutest. Image from: Arctic Adventures

Even if the best laid plans of honeymooners go askew, we weren’t going to spend too much time pouting over it. We instead relaxed with a massage at the hotel — vacation Dae-Han had found his way to Iceland and let go of the notion that we should fill each moment with sight-seeing. Afterwards, we walked to the nearby maritime museum. We loved the museum — in our experience, all of the museums in Reykjavík were wonderful — the exhibits are interactive and the artifacts so interesting.

After the visit to the museum, we ventured to Fly Over Iceland for quite a flight. This simulation has special effects so that you can smell the flower fields you are “flying” over and the winds through the mountains you are flying through.

A few moments after we took this photo, when we were belted into our seats, Dae-Han leaned over to me and said, “Any regrets about your flight today.” “Nah,” I responded. “Okay, well if you get scared, you can just squeeze your husband’s hand,” he replied chivalrously.

We did hold hands the whole time. One of our hands was very sweaty by the time our flight was complete. It wasn’t mine. Hehehe.

At $40 per ticket, I felt the ride was well worth it. Dae-Han says it was worth it “for a honeymoon.”

After flying over Iceland, we decided to walk along the ocean, embracing the wind and enjoying the sun that doesn’t wholly set in the summer. There was a little rain and a spectacular rainbow. And we were loving Iceland, whatever the weather.

Day 3: When the winds don’t go away; and Snaeffellsnes Peninsula

We had tried to reschedule the tour to see puffins, but it was canceled again because the winds wanted to stay. This kept us indoors for the morning and afternoon, which turned out a little treasure and some more inquiring into Iceland’s history.

I love that my husband is a reader. A lover of books. I have no idea where all of the books that keep arriving to our house are going to go — I think we will have to build furniture out of them. Dae-Han did find a book on Icelandic culture at this bazaar across from our hotel and was peppering me with history for the rest of our trip as he consumed the pages.

With new book in hand, we walked to National Museum of Iceland. We loved this museum too. Something we haven’t seen anywhere else (yet) was a rainbow icon that provided audio for a LGBTQ perspective on that part of history. As an educator, I also loved the inquiry questions posted by certain exhibits.

Learning does create quite an appetite and so we made our way to the cheapest meal of the trip (I was mistaken, it wasn’t the breakfast at the airport), the Bæjarins Beztu, Iceland’s famous hot dogs. So good. I toasted Grandpa Art who watches over us with my Pepsi. He would have loved these dogs too.

It was at this point, around 3 pm, that we decided to start a road trip outside of Reykjavík to the Snaeffellsnes Peninsula. Dae-Han had noted on our itinerary that this was a “full day” of sight-seeing. While it’s really cool that Iceland is the land of the midnight sun, I maybe don’t advice driving back from a road trip at midnight while jet-lagged, but I have no regrets about the beautiful sites we saw from 3:30-11:45 pm.

All of the hours we spent on the Icelandic roads throughout our trip were made interesting by 1. Dae-Han’s singalongs with many songs, and 2. story time that often began with a question from a deck of cards a friend had gifted us for our wedding. My answer to question 2 will come with Day 4 below.

Along our route on this road trip was a cute coffee shop, sweet seals, and a stone statue of a saga character.

On our way back to our hotel, we made our final stop at Mount Kirkjufell, the location of some Game of Throne Scenes. Damn, it was beautiful.

Looks almost mythical, right? Welcome to Iceland, where the land is so beautiful it’s surreal.

Day 4: The day that we went down … down ... down …

the length of a whole Statue of Liberty, to the bottom of the belly of a volcano. Thrihnukagigur is a dormant volcano that erupted 4,000 years ago, leaving this deep subterranean world to be discovered only in the last decades. There is no other site like this in the world. It was the most expensive excursion we did in Iceland at $362 per person, but it was our honeymoon. It was worth the adventure. To answer the question on the card, above, what is the most fun way to spend 5 hours? Going on a novel, once-in-a-lifetime adventure with your husband.

The only tour group that you can do this venture with is Inside the Volcano. The guides are great — knowledgeable and personable. You also get to eat this delicious lamb stew when you come out of the volcano.

Lamb stew can only fill you up for so long, so we capped off the evening with a dinner at Sushi Social. It was some delicious fine dining.

After such an adventuresome day, we went back to the hotel and crashed.

Day 5: Oh, those waterfalls

Another day of road-tripping, this time to Thingvellir National Park. It’s worth it to pay to see the visitor center exhibit on the history of the area. After we were saturated with more Viking chronicles, we began a day of easy hiking to stunning sites.

Öxarárfoss Waterfall, and a Jesus-man interloper.

Gullfoss Waterfall. I just … I mean, can you even? The beauty. It’s so wild. So beyond.

The way back from our Golden Road tour to our last night at the Edition Marriott in Reykjavík had us melting into the thermal waters of The Secret Lagoon.

It had been a good day for a great day of taking in more of Iceland’s beauty. I was looking forward to seeing another part of Iceland when we left for Vik the next day, but I felt a bit sad to say goodbye to Reykjavík, a city that boasts history and culture and food, but also runs at a just-right pace for me. Even in the city, people feel so grounded in Iceland. Time does what Time does, though, and the hour came to part with our loft hotel room and city life.

And we were off on the Part 2 of our honeymoon.

Day 6: A little more moon than honey

Does there always come a point in the honeymoon where, for even a few moments, the sweetness is swallowed and something stubborn surfaces? Well, it was on this day, even as the sun never set, as Dae-Han put it, we had some “more moon than honey” moments. I stand by my mood at these moments.

The day started off just fine. The drive to our new lodging, Grand Guesthouse Gardakot was rather lovely as we continued to chat, sing along with songs, and take in the ever-changing landscape.

The arrival to the guesthouse was wonderful. Super cute room, very cozy house, sweet and friendly owners with very happy free range animals — a dog and a rooster and some chickens. We relaxed and read for a bit in the shared living space as we were the only guests there at this time.

And then Dae-Han decided we should adventure. It was determined — I suppose this was a joint decision of sorts — that rather than drive to the beach, we would walk through the tall grasses. The owner of the art shop connected to the guesthouse had said that at this time of year, we may have to take off our shoes and socks to wade through some water, but that it wouldn’t get too deep. (We later learned that what we waded through is quicksand during the springtime.)

I wasn’t too moony yet here — there was something kind of magical about the walk to the beach. Perhaps I was in my head a bit, romanticising it, thinking about I would walk anywhere, through any sand or soil or muck, with my new husband. And then we got to the beach, and that was really pretty.

Dae-Han had really hit his stride here. Full exuberance mode. It was about now, though, that I started to wan … or wax, really, into moon-y-ness. The ocean is beautiful. It had just taken longer to walk there and then walk towards the cliff, and now we had to walk home. And we didn’t have any Snickers bars. And the bewitching hour was going to be upon us.

It was at this point that my new husband, who had just a week previous, listened to Papa Baci, in his Father-of-the-Bride speech, tell of how terrified I was climbing up a steep mountain in Montana a couple of decades ago, decided we should climb up the grassy side of cliff to the top of the cliff rather than just head home. Full moon coming.

Here is my pleading husband. “Please. I really want to climb it. Hey, if it’s too much, we can turn around. Please. Let’s just try it.” I try to reason with him. “I think you are under-estimating this. It’s really steep.” (Additionally, there is no one else around. We don’t know what we’re doing. The woman at the guesthouse said not to climb it without knowing the path to do so really well.)

I saw I was outnumbered by … all of the cells in his body propelling him to step onto that slope and start ascending.

I followed.

Listen, these photos do not do justice to how steep this climb was. Before leaving on our honeymoon, upon hearing of how much adventuring we would be doing, my grandma says to Dae-Han, “Is this a kill your wife honeymoon?” I mean, I’m here to tell about it, but once again, I found myself on a steep climb terrified for my life. At one point, I was lying on the grasses, clenching them with my fist, trying to figure out how to move myself forward because at that point, going down was going to be even worse than trying to scramble to the top.

Obviously we did make it, and at the top, Dae-Han proclaimed, “We were both right. We could do it, and it was harder than I had anticipated.” I did not have a response. A full moon does not speak.

In my wordlessness, we walked atop the cliff, and what do you know, we got to see some puffins. Watching them soar is something else. Was it worth the steep climb? No. We could have driven to the top of this cliff. But I am glad that they added a bit of levity to this moment. Not quite enough for full sentences yet, but they started my waning phase.

We found the honey pot again over burgers and beers at Smiðjan Brugghús, after we had walked home along the roadside, making friends with a lot of sheep. So many sheep.

Alright, I still look a little tight-lipped here. Once I had consumed that whole beer and burger, the sun was starting to rise in the dusk of this day.

Day 7: Hiking Hatta

We woke up in time for the guesthouse’s 8 am breakfast — yummy fresh bread, cheeses, veggies, granola, and good company. We had loved our time at a 5-star hotel, but the guesthouse was affording us a sense of community. There is connection even in fleeting moments, when you won’t see new acquaintances again, but you’ve broken bread over stories of how you came to be where you are and what you’ve loved of Iceland so far.

After loading our day pack into our cute red car, we drove 15 minutes into the heart of Vik, a small seaside village. Vik offers stunning views from the top of Hatta Mountain. The description of this hike noted that it was challenging and that we would not likely encounter many others on the trail. So we began …

Throughout the honeymoon, I was reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass, a nonfiction book that speaks to the beauty and necessity of a relationship of reciprocity between humans and nature. As a botanist and member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation, Kimmerer’s book is rich in stories — her own and those of her indigenous brethren and ancestors — of what nature has to teach us, the ways in which we have foresaken our connection to and with nature, and visions of how we can restore our relationship.

As we stepped along an increasingly steep path up the mountain, my heart was pounding, my adrenaline rising, my awe unfolding, and Kimmerer’s words returning to me:

“In the Western tradition there is a recognized hierarchy of beings, with, of course, the human being on top—the pinnacle of evolution, the darling of Creation—and the plants at the bottom. But in Native ways of knowing, human people are often referred to as “the younger brothers of Creation.” We say that humans have the least experience with how to live and thus the most to learn—we must look to our teachers among the other species for guidance. Their wisdom is apparent in the way that they live. They teach us by example. They’ve been on the earth far longer than we have been, and have had time to figure things out.”

It was not just this moment on the mountain in Iceland, but our entire trip that reminded me of the sanctity of nature. I felt humbled as a human in the face of Her beauty and bounty. In Iceland, the land has been cared for, not overworked or exploited.

So we took step upon step to reach the summit of Hatta, to be able to take in the sea far below from a new vantage point. As the website had read, we did encounter few others on the trail; in fact, just one other couple had begun ahead of us and then our paths had diverged a bit and we had made our way in front of them. The honey having returned to my veins, I started to wonder … what would it be like to have sex on the side of a mountain. I began to try to calculate how far the couple was behind us now. They weren’t even a speck on the trail, which had become increasing more desolate and winding. I scanned around to see if there were any small grassier patches of earth around. Would Dae-Han go for it? He’d been down to scale a grassy cliff the day before, would he be down for hanky-panky on Hatta?

As I was considering all of this, I lost my footing on the next steep step of the trail, the sexy fantasy shattered by the proverbial mountain lion that had jumped on my back. Survival, I thought. More focus on the summit and less on sex, I reminded myself.

By the time we reached the peak of Hatta, I was rather breathless. Dae-Han, though, retained his ability to narrate this moment.

The hike was so worth it — the view … again, Kimmerer’s words come back to me:

“Paying attention is a form of reciprocity with the living world, receiving the gifts with open eyes and open heart.”

Above, Dae-Han is pointing at sheep. The animals are so happy in Iceland; they are all free-roaming, grazing on grasses, living their lovely lives. We loved the sheep, all of them.

In the matter of mere hours, my husband had become a mountain man, and as I crab-walked down parts of that mountain, he took off his shoes and ran down the trail, bounding along like a student just set free from the captivity of a classroom.

As Kimmerer recognizes, nature is the best teacher. We weren’t really rooting around in the soil or surveying the health of an ecosystem like she often is in her book, but we were reminded to appreciate the power of fresh air and presence in the moment, a commune with our first Mother and each other.

We closed this day by returning to the guesthouse and cooking our own pot of Icelandic lamb stew. We may have tinkered with the spices, but I think we still get to claim authenticity. It was delicious.

Day 8: The tip of the iceberg

Well into the real adventure part of our honeymoon, Dae-Han had signed us up for a big day. First, hiking a glacier, followed by kayaking amongst icebergs, capped off with our final Icelandic hike. We used Arctic Adventures to book a package that included the hiking and kayaking.

While the glacier hike wasn’t a highlight for either of us, it certainly wasn’t a loss. It was pretty. We got to drink glacier water. The guides were great.

I think what happened with our perspective on the glacier is that it just couldn’t hold a candle to the rest of the day.

When I hear “tip of the iceberg” it often has an ominous connotation. We may think of the sinking of the Titanic, the captain unaware of the danger of the iceberg because he could not see below the surface of the waters to see how the heavy ice plunged into the dark depths, bringing great danger to the ship and passengers.

Indeed icebergs can be dangerous if we do not know how to navigate around them; if we do not understand how to respect their space in their waters.

Our guide for this two-hour expedition was a French man who had been living in Iceland for 18 years. Laurent told us that we needed to follow his lead carefully, not diverting onto our own path in the water. Sometimes icebergs flip over. This is awe-some to watch, and it is important to keep some distance as “big icebergs have big consequences” when they create waves from their somersaults.

As we glided through the waters for these two hours, what we took in was grandeur, mystery, and pristine beauty. The afternoon inspired teamwork, evoked imagination, and illicited a lot of “ooohs,” “ahhh's” and “wowwws.”

As I look back on this day, I find myself connecting the icebergs and the adventure to marriage. It took skill, care, and consciousness to navigate around the glaciers. It took some patience and communication to coordinate our movements. It is true that an iceberg could have inadvertently tipped our canoe as it turned over in the water, and that would have been perhaps both scary, surprising, and … pretty darn cold. But we would have had the opportunity to help each other right the kayak and get back in, probably shivering for awhile, but synching our paddle strokes to get to land and dry off. (I am certain I will need to return to my own words here when we have our “tippy canoe” days.)

Icebergs are these organic bodies that are both known and enigmatic at once. If you bring your presence as an offering to shared space with them, they gift you breathtaking beauty.

The beauty of our day did not end with the icebergs. I got on board with Dae-Han’s desire for at least one full day of activities, and this led us up a trail to Múlagljúfur Canyon. When you go to Iceland, we recommend you put this hike on your itinerary too.

Day 9: The Blue Lagoon

For our final night in Iceland, we had splurged on a night at the Silica Hotel, a short 200 meter walk from the famed Blue Lagoon. We had sparkling wine and put on face masks while we enjoyed the thermal pools. The Silica does have its own private lagoon as well, which is quieter and maybe a bit more peaceful than the Blue Lagoon, but I am grateful we got to experience both.

Day 10: See you next time, Iceland

Throughout our time in Iceland, I had an ongoing negotiation with Dae-Han in my mind about moving there. It is true that I want to live in all of the places and live all kinds of lives. Perhaps Iceland also spoke to my Scandinavian blood because I just could not stop thinking about a life in this grounded, beautiful, best-kept-secret of a country.

It is also true that Dae-Han and I ground each other in different ways. I know that for the foreseeable future we will be nurturing our Korean nest.

But we did talk about returning to Iceland for our 5-year anniversary. For this second trip, we think we’ll rent a camper van and see more of Iceland by parking at some of its campsites in various national parks.

Looking back over the photos from our trip, I am grateful to be in the canoe with you. Whatever the weather.

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Bonus Material: A Baci Song Wedding

If you’ve traveled through these 10 days and you are still with me, I wanted to add some notes and photos from our wedding weekend. I was not a woman who had had some clear image of what she wanted her wedding day to look like since she was young, but the youngest of the Bacichx brought to fruition the most beautiful of days. Dae-Han and I have unending gratitude that we essentially rocked into town and asked where we needed to be at what time.

The wedding fun began when the Songs came in from California. I had a hunch that the Song’s and the Baci’s would hit it off, but honestly, what developed between our families has been something so special — we are looking forward to the next time that our nieces and nephews get to play together, and when the adults get to compete in the next game of Pegs and Jokers.

We started our wedding day with a run with a few friends. Dae-Han at first questioned why I would want to expend energy on a run when the day was going to demand so much of us, but after our 5k, he gave the idea two thumbs up.

Oh boy. All of these moments keep squeezing my heart as I pour over these photos.

I think it was a combination of the way there is such an ease between our families, the sisterhood of grandma-mama-sisters-nieces, being 40 years old rather than 24, and marrying my just right man that made me feel so grounded the whole day. People say that your wedding day goes by in a blur. But the thing is, I can remember mostly every moment with clarity.

Like this moment, from the bridal room at our venue, The University Club.

And the moments of The First Look with Dae-Han.

And with my papa.

I remember the texture of these moments as the wedding party lined up to begin the processional, some of our flower children following their fearless leader Natalie, and then Greta leaping into Cassie’s arms as she and Linds and Min-Kuk began their walk.

I remember the moment right before I turned the corner with Dad to walk down the isle, when I saw the emotion on my Aunties’ faces and felt my own emotion broaden and stretch across my heart and chest, bringing deep and happy tears to the surface.

I remember these moments ….

And all of these …

After the ceremony, there were great and funny and sentimental and witty speeches from Min-Kuk, Linds and Cass, and Dad. And then we started the reception with some choreographed dances by Dad and I and Dae-Han and I and our wedding party. So. Much. Fun.

I remember cutting the cake that Natalie made for us. When Natalie and Gia were a bit younger, I would enroll them in Auntie Jamie’s Little Sobrina School of Baking when I was home during the summers. This history made the fact that she baked our cake even sweeter.

This baker has also started her own website called Limitless wherein she seeks to support and share stories of others with spina bifida.

And then there are all the moments in between and before and after all of these that I remember. My gratitude for our friends and family that support us and celebrated with us is so expansive …. like a great big fluffy Minnesota summer cloud. I hope you feel it floating over you now, whether you were there on our wedding day or you are reading this now. We love you. We are so grateful for you.

And my heavens, I am grateful for this man. I hope this sense of wonder that I feel today, that we get to spend the rest of our days together, stretches on and on and on into all of the days to come.

 “And for love, I will be, you will be, we will be.” ~Pablo Neruda

Our Seoulful Life

This morning

I sat with five friends. We sat in silence, and in meditation, in community, and in conversation. My friends Lindsay and Jason’s campus-apartment living room, where we had all gathered, had that Good Vibes Only feel. That is not to say that everything that we were talking about or feeling was all “good.” It is to say that we were a group of six who were holding space for one another and ourselves to sift through the many thoughts and emotions and energy that was surfacing as Jason guided us through an inquiry.

I am new to this group, this being my second time attending the inquiry session and if you ask me to explain what it is the best response I have right now is “A safe, meditative, reflective sharing of space.”

Last year my new friends and colleagues pointed out how much I say the word “space” and indeed here I go again today. I like space — sharing space, creating space, finding new spaces, exploring internal and external spaces.

Before we all experience semantic satiation with the word space I will get to one of my larger takeaways from the inquiry session today. As one of my friends was sharing some of what she has been processing this week, she quoted Debie Thomas’s Into the Mess and Other Jesus Stories:

“Sometimes, accepting what we haven’t chosen is sacred work.”

When Thomas writes this, she is reflecting on John 13:3-15. How these words were useful to me is outside of the context in which Thomas is writing and I am going to be a bit roundabout in getting to why and how the words struck me.

Six weeks ago

I was in Tokyo for a conference. It took about three hours to find myself enamored with the city. The chicken skewers with all of the yummy sauces with the Asahi beer with the aesthetic of a much-quieter-than-expected street with the strangers who were so eager to help us even when we didn’t ask with the early cherry blossoms

and the blue blue sky and then the sushi with old friends and the soba noodle soup with more Asahi and the city-so-safe-a-six-year-old-could-navigate-the-bus-alone. And the 7-Eleven. Seriously, the 7-Elevens. So many new snacks and bento boxes. It was all of it for me.

“I love Tokyo",” I thought again and again throughout my five-day stay. “How cool would it be to live here! I could totally see it.”

Three Weeks Ago

Dae-Han and I were on our first international trip together. Arising well-before dawn, we had landed in Da Nang, a coastal city in the middle of Vietnam, at 10 am. As soon as we debarked the plane, we began breathing in the warm, humid ocean air and tripdorphins (the endorphins that kick in when I travel) flooded my system. Looking over at Dae-Han, holding his hand, I could feel a grin stretch across my face. “Are you excited?” I asked him, the last syllable of my question reaching towards the hazy sun. Smiling and laughing a bit at my giddiness he replied, “Yep.”

It took me no more than three hours to fall in love with Da Nang and its neighboring city, Hội An. It was the warm ocean and the fresh seafood and the open-air neighborhood coffeeshops and the phở and reading books at the beach and then at the pool and the fresh coconuts and the gritty sand under my feet and the grit on the street where people walk with smiles on their faces and the chill vibes of the slower life with the fresh fruit from the vendors that scooters speed by boarded by four family members at a time and walking everywhere with Dae-Han’s hand in mine as we shared space in a new place. Together.

Two Weeks Ago

We flew from Da Nang to Ho Chi Minh City, formerly Saigon. We were spending twelve hours in the city to see Ceci and Carlos — kind of wild, flying in for less than a day; the life of international school teachers is one of #privilege.

I had been twice before, but this was Dae-Han’s first trip to Vietnam’s largest city. Our twelve hours were spent sipping champagne at Ceci and Carlos’s beautiful apartment, eating tacos at a hip restaurant, and then toasting to friendship at a speakeasy. It was some kind of dream.

I knew I loved HCMC from my previous visits, and walking down the street with Ceci, Carlos, and Dae-Han, once again I found myself thinking …

“How cool would it be to live in Vietnam? The vibe is so nice, the people are so kind, the flowers are always blooming. I could totally see it.”

It’s a little bit bananas that changing schools when I was thirteen years old put me into a depressive state for the better part of a year and now I am living in Korea with a sense that I could live just about anywhere in the world.

This early evening

I sit on my couch accompanied by the sound of passing cars outside and vapor puffing out of the essential oil dispenser beside me. Dae-Han is gone, on an overnight retreat. I have lived alone for most of my adult life, but I now find that I miss Dae-Han as soon as he is gone for one of his quick trips.

In this solitude, with the sun casting shadows of our monstera plant onto the couch, I come back to Thomas’s words. “Sometimes, accepting what we haven’t chosen is sacred work.”

In three months from today, Dae-Han and I will say the vows we are writing for one another as my dad officiates our wedding ceremony. These vows are a choice. Co-creating a life together is a choice. I am in love with Dae-Han, and I make the choice to be loving towards him each day as he does to me. If all of this has been rooted in my own mindful choices, why am I so drawn to Thomas’s words?

Thomas’s words connected to something my therapist offered me this week. Tracy pointed out that while Dae-Han and I have agreed that Seoul is a long-term home for us, I continue to consider living in a dozen other places. I do not think that fantasizing about various scenarios is inherently harmful, but Tracy’s point was that perhaps it could keep me from really leaning into our life here in Seoul, that I could be holding back from a fuller immersion into what we can create in Korea. So when I heard Thomas’s words, what struck me most was “accepting” “choice” and “sacred work.”

I am in an interesting and challenging and beautiful space right now. One in which life is no longer about my own personal agenda or whims. In previous relationships, there often came a point where considering combining my life with someone else’s became too scary, sometimes altogether frightening. This moment feels nothing like that. Because what it is is sacred. The connection Dae-Han and I have with one another, the way we love one another, it is sacred. And I think I am now beginning to understand what it means to then engage in the sacred work of building the Us. With that building comes accepting that some of my vision for life will shift in both small and more pronounced ways.

This moment

I do not have a particularly witty way to close today’s post. I think I just want to end with gratitude — for people that consciously or inadvertently offer me wisdom to consider, and for the man with whom I get to run, bike, and build with for the rest of our lives. It took me such a short time to fall in love with you, and so I can picture us together in any city, especially Seoul. #OurSeoulfulLife

Busan and the Abundance Mindset

I am 58 hours into a trip to Busan, the second largest city in South Korea. For 38 of these hours, I have been a solo explorer. For the other 20, Dae Han, my love, spent 9 hours traveling in order to have almost 1 full day together. While I cannot quantify the gratitude I have for him and the way Dae Han cares for me, 100% of my heart was happy to share in this weekend with him.

I have 4 hours remaining in this trip, 4 hours until I board the train bound for Seoul that will take 2.75 hours to return me to my home in South Korea’s largest, most densely populated city.

In the past 2.2 days, I have spent roughly:

5 minutes shopping for a sun visor because I arrived to the beach without my sunglasses, and to be honest, I would have bought this visor regardless because its giving me those cute beachy vibes.

7 hours reading 2 books: Pachinko with Dae Han and The Beginning of Spring on my own. We found a lazy spot in a park to read Book III of Min Jin Lee’s epic novel turned Apple TV series.

45 minutes appreciating Haedong Yonggungsa Buddhist Temple. The temple was especially popular on this day as Buddha’s birthday is near and it was Children’s Day, an important holiday here in Korea.

5 hours eating yummy meals, some of which started with 반상, side dishes that offer sweet, savory, and umami flavors — for a food and culture lesson on 반상, give a listen to my student Jihoo’s podcast episode entitled, “Where Side Dishes Take Center Stage”

Some amount of slow moments savoring the feeling of home that I always have with my handsome man, while sipping Earl Grey and letting dark Ecuadorian chocolate truffles melt in my mouth.

1.75 hours running along the water, finding spots for moments of meditation or a place to complete a short HIIT circuit of squats, pushups, and planks

3 hours walking and watching fisherman, surfers, and swimmers.

20 minutes becoming two of those swimmers, finding the sea’s very cold waters at first almost intolerable, and then … really refreshing (Dae Han spent at least twice the amount of time submerged in the sea than me).

Some hours just gazing out at the aqua water washing over the sea stones.

Since moving abroad almost 9 years ago now, I have become increasingly aware of how time passes. Perhaps it is because settling into life abroad brought with it a sadness of missing time with family and friends Stateside. It has also meant a keen awareness of how, over time, I have been expanding through challenging, sometimes uncomfortable, often delightful experiences. Perhaps, too, the sands of time have become the focus of my attention so often because as we age, we fear we are “running out of time".

Being on the beach this weekend, I have been reminded to try and work away from the notion that there is a scarcity of time. While deadlines, timelines, and checklists have their place, what I am choosing to breath into is abundance right now. The world would often have use believe that we need to produce more, buy more, be more … if you listen to the world, there is a mindset of never-enough-ness.

I have 35 minutes before I need to start walking to the bus to take me to the train station. That is a finite amount of time left to spend sea-gazing, but I can also recognize that there has been enough exploration and restoration to return me to Seoul a better-rested woman.

As I finish this post, I am back in the BaciAbode. It will take awareness to maintain my abundance mindset as I begin preparing for the week ahead, but I am hopeful that remembering the many slow breaths I took in Busan, I can also give myself permission to do the same in Seoul.

Before I sign off today, I want to acknowledge that there is a truth to scarcity, generally truths that I do not have to face if I avert my eyes, but truths nonetheless that I feel because of being part of a collective human psyche. Some in our communities and countries do not have enough support, resources, or seats at the table. Scarcity is indeed part of their reality, and a reality I believe we all have the capacity to shift. Dae Han is a devoted leader of the NGO called the International Strategy Center. The ISC hosts online forums (usually once a month) in the spirit of solidarity with people around the world, to understand current events and issues more deeply.

On May 21st, they will be hosting a forum on Korea’s Disabled People’s Movement. While I know that many readers here are not Korea based, I think the forum could be worthwhile for all of us in our respective places in the world. I encourage you to join the forum, to listen and learn and consider those near your homes that are facing scarcity, not as a mindset, but as a reality. First my parents, and now my partner, help me to understand that we have the power to bring more abundance to others.

Peace and love,

BaciAbroad

Sexy Drifting in Shanghai: A How-to Guide

Let's begin today with the term sexy drifter. This concept was first coined by Katie Venugopal (now Kathryn Hobbs). Before she met the love of her life, got married, had children, and became a sexy skater mom, she and her friend Amanda came up with the brilliant idea of being single forever and drifting from one exotic city to another wearing nothing but bikini tops and flowing skirts, meeting men for a flirt and fling, and then slipping onto their next catamaran to sail to the next adventure. This was the dream.

One day rather recently, Katie and I were talking about my most recent dating woes. As I began to reflect upon the many things my single life does afford me, though, sexy drifterhood drifted right into my mind's eye. "Really, how I have not been owning this?" I wondered to myself.

As this conversation was taking place mere weeks before my spring break was about to begin, I thought, to hell with men. I'm taking my hot bod to a sexy city and I'm going to be my own best date! I declared.

So, I packed a suitcase with cute clothes, a dozen shoes, my red lipstick, and I bought a one way ticket to Shanghai. And then I sexy drifted all around that sexy, sophisticated city. And this is how it went:

Step 1: Choosing the hotel

The most important consideration here: location, location, location. A hotel closest to some of the hottest eats in Shanghai is just where you want to be. Your best bets are hotels in The French Concession, Jing'an, or Xintiandi. Here, booking.com is your best friend. The second measure of the best place to nest for your sexy Shanghai stay is the size of the bathtub. After drifting by foot all over the city, you'll want to run that water, add your favorite essential oils, and soak away any soreness. Finally, as you are solo traveling, consider lodging where the hotel staff will see you and get to know you, at least enough to expect you to come home at night. In the midst of your drifting, you don't actually want to disappear in a foreign city, but if somehow you do, you'll want someone who's got your WeChat and has some tabs on your whereabouts so that they can assist the authorities, if need be.

The winning auberge for this trip: Miju House. While the room is just the tinniest bit musty, in short time it will be eau de must, which is the same as shopping at Tarjay rather than Target. The bed will having you feeling like Goldilocks with its just right duvet and perfect pillows and the huge bathtub will become an ocean of sorts in the evening. You will most certainly book this guesthouse again, especially as the woman at the small "front desk" is one of the kindest Shanghainese people ever. And she'll definitely be able to describe your face. If she were to need to. (Fact: many a sexy drifter has a wild and somewhat morbid imagination; it comes with the sexy territory.)

Step 2: Indulging yourself at restaurants (and shops) around the city

By the time you've become a sexy drifter, you are many, many moons beyond the time and space of "watching what you eat" in any diet-esque way. In this liberated space of listening to your body and not Weight Watchers, when she wants fresh bread, the large slice of chocolate cake, and the second glass of wine, you say, Yeah, babe, you got it. And when you're in Shanghai, know this: your body is gonna want a lot. As you've sagely chosen an inn nearby all the good eats, you'll be able to walk to Barbarian for a custom-made cocktail, to Tacolicious for the Street Heat Fried Chicken and Steak Asado tacos, and then to Tres Perros for late night tapas and the red, red wine.

As you're window shopping up and down Fumin Road (and then subsequently taking out your credit card to buy all the things in the windows), your SmartShanghai app will help guide you to Egg for an energizing peppermint latte, and then to incredible Tom Yum soup at the plant-based Duli. Before dinner at Mercato, sexy drifter whims lead you right to Spoiled Brat Jewelry where you'll find an incredible pair of earrings. The woman who crafted the earrings will remark that they have finally found their owner as soon as you try them on. Aaaand, you're sold.

Step 3: Drifting into the art and culture scene

As a sexy drifter who moonlights as a bookworm, your first touchstone for arts and culture is choosing the right book to read while sipping lattes and wine throughout the trip. A superb choice is Kazuo Ishiguro's When We Were Orphans, set in both London and Shanghai during the 1920s, 30s, and 40s; you'll find the detective-ish novel adds further allure to the city. While reading at breakfast one morning, sitting at a cafe on a busy boulevard, you'll feel all the feels as you read, "That's where she's gone now. Off to find true love. Perhaps she'll find it too. Out there, on the South China Sea, who knows? Perhaps she'll meet a traveller, in a port, in a hotel, who knows? She's become a romantic, you see?"

A rather romantic spot in Shanghai is Tsutaya Books in Columbia Circle, a historical expat compound.

From the arched entrance to the walls of books up to the cocktail lounge on the third floor, whether drifting alone or with a new companion, this bookstore has some very sexy literary vibes, especially when you enter under the waxing moonlight.

This cocktail I chose because of its description. The Grapefruit Gimlet is "reminiscent of the glamorous woman at the bar." Shameless, the entire trip.

On another night, you must drift along The Bund. The architecture is a marvel, and the lights that cast changing motifs onto the buildings are magnificent. Evenings on The Bund are bustling, and between the crowds and cityscape you get an incredible sense of how Shanghai simply pulses with life.

There is so much of China embodied in this photo. I find it all quite beautiful.

It's worth rising at an early hour to watch the day dawn on The Bund as well. A much quieter scene, you'll see ships beginning to drift about and runners enjoying the peace of a space that has calmed in the night.

The skyscrapers surpass the surrounding clouds at this early morning hour.

Later in the morning or early afternoon, the Jing'an Sculpture Park is the perfect place to plant yourself on a bench and read your book, surrounded by flowering trees, manicured lawns, and an altogether aesthetically pleasing array of sculptures by many different artists.

Love Love Love. This is how NieNie always signed her cards and emails; love, love, love is here.

This woman, she was made for this city and this trip and this day.

I offered to take a photo for these women. Instead they pulled me in! Loved it.

When you are ready for a break from the Shanghai sun, walk into the Propaganda Poster Art Centre. While a rather small and obscure museum, it offers as much culture and history as a university course. You'll find posters dating from the beginning to end of the 20th century, you'll learn about the rise and fall of Mao, how women rose to prominence in advertising, and how capitalism is portrayed in propaganda.

Step 4: Connecting with friends, and making new ones

Any trip is, of course, enriched by spending time with special souls; the known and the new.

Meeting for breakfast, navigating public transportation, dining on fine Italian fare, and dancing along The Bund are fabulous ways to be in the moment with your own people.

Hyon Jeong and her 6th grade son, Alex. We met this summer on a yoga trip, and we became fast friends.

I met Jenn in Hong Kong a few years back. She was a friend of a friend, and now she's my friend!

And then there are new friends you can make, if only for a handful of moments, that will have a felt impact on your heart. Keeping a smile on your face, an open spirit, and showing an appreciation for another's joy can lead to profound interactions. You'll walk away with a deeper sense of the way human connection knows no bounds of culture, age, or race.

The beauty here, in the movement and spirit of a morning routine.

A 67-year-old Shanghainese woman and a 38-year-old American woman find they are quick kindred spirits.

Step 5: Extending your stay

It felt super sexy to buy a one way ticket, but you didn't actually do it. Because someone inside the Sexy Drifter in you also lives Reason. So, you originally booked a 4 night, 5 day trip, reasoning that it would be a good idea to return to your home city with a couple of days to rest up in your own apartment before the reality of work begins anew.

But.

When you fall, for someone, or some city, you fall hard. You're all in. And so you're going to STAY LONGER. Trip.com does not do you wrong as adjusting your departure date does not break the bank. That task will be left to Madame Mao's Dowry where you'll find organic cotton cuddle duds for your unborn baby niece that will cost you your own firstborn. But, it'll be worth it in the short term because Baby Greta will be here so soon and you are not immune to the millennial's love of instant(ish) gratification.

Staying over the weekend will also afford you more time to simply sit at tiny parks in the midst of the hustle and bustle, devour more tapas, this time at Pirata, and finish the book you started on Day 1. After all, who could depart a city before the story is finished?

From a sweet, peaceful park situated in the middle of the city.

The Wrap-Up

I have found my relationships with people and with cities to be quite similar. There are those that you might be quite content to pass along or pass through quite quickly, those that, over time, become quite significant for you, and those that draw you in right away. Shanghai, for me, was the latter. It is everything I had imagined, and more. As my Taiji boxing friend said through a WeChat translator, "Shanghai is warm, safe and inclusive. Passion, friendly."

If Shanghai is your just-right-Goldilocks city, you will feel sexy, sophisticated, bold, while also grounded. In the end, sexy drifters can become a great many things. Like Katie, a sexy skater mom, or like others, sexy single moms, sexy book moms, or forever sexy bohemians.

Someday, I am sure my sexy drifterhood will drift into a new beautiful identity and space. For now, I will soon be sexy drifting to a city near you.

Writing from Phuket, this Side of Paradise

I feel like I have lived a lifetime since I last wrote an update in the Life and Times of the Coronavirus. Some days, it has felt that an entire Universe has existed inside of that one day. Two weeks and three days ago, I left Shenzhen for Phuket, Thailand. I was hesitant to leave at first, actually. I had settled into such a routine in Shenzhen, and I felt safe and secure in this routine; changing locales felt a bit riskier, at least that was my perception. Originally, for spring break, I was supposed to go to Taiwan for a yoga retreat. When Covid-19 hit, Taiwan closed their borders to China, so Plan A was foiled. I was disappointed, but I decided I would make my own personal yoga retreat in Shenzhen, until I came out a discussion with my therapist having decided to take a chance on a retreat in Thailand, one of the last countries to keep their borders open.

As I reflect on this decision, it feels like the Universe had conspired to make it so from the beginning. The past two weeks have offered space for my heart to open and expand and sigh into beautiful spaces. Before I left Shenzhen, I was worried that I would lose my writer’s flow, and while writing has not been a priority in Phuket, being in a flow state sure has persisted.

The first days in Phuket were spent on the beach. The woman in this photo did not yet know the trajectory of the trip. I have extended my stay twice so far, finding just what I have needed here in Thailand.

My days have been spent practicing yoga in the morning and evening, and in between, spending time with some of the best souls and living in the moments. If you find yourself seeking a place of solace in Southeast Asia, I must highly recommend CC’s Hideaway. The curry is delicious, the smoothies are divine, the yoga is transcendent, and the staff is so, so warm.

For me, what has also been extraordinary about this time is that my anxiety has been kept in check. For anyone, a time of such uncertainty can cause a great deal of stress and anxiety, and understandably so. Somehow, I have leaned into the uncertainty, and it feels that my spirit has used the life I am living at a slower pace to level up. I have seen and felt a great deal of fear around me, and yet I have continued to maintain a state of wellness for myself.

Thailand has been liberating. And that liberation, and the centered feeling I continue to be in touch with, looks a bit like this ...

Slow afternoons have sometimes given way to nights of dancing, followed by swimming in the middle of the night under the light of a full moon.

These folks are such good energy. Looking at this photo, I consider how special it is when you cross paths with the right people at the right time.

I watched a shooting star streak across a corner of the sky as I turned my attention away from the moon for a moment during our moonlit swim. It seems that some of the world has gone daft with the current viral state of affairs; my world, though, floats in a sea of just right moments. I have deep gratitude for what this time and space is allowing me to explore.

This morning, I am preparing for the first yoga practice of the day, and then I will get online to connect with my students. Teaching from Thailand is a bit harder than teaching from Shenzhen, but I will not complain about teaching from paradise. I have been meditating on words that I heard from my first yoga instructor here: More open heart, More happy life.

One of my favorite poets, Rumi, once wrote,

“There’s a morning when presence comes

over your soul. You sing like a rooster

in your earth-colored shape. Your heart

hears and, no longer frantic, begins

to dance.”

Wherever you are, I hope that you find space for deep movement, for peace, and for presence.

Sending lots of love from Thailand,

Jame

Buttery, the Story of a Neighborhood Café

It's Sunday afternoon. Lulu, the owner of my favorite neighborhood café, Buttery, moves about her open concept kitchen space gracefully. She's making lattes and delivering them in small artsy mugs to the few of us here working today. As Lulu moves over to the stove to check on her chili, Mary Wells' words Nothing you can say can tear me away from my guy/ Nothing you could do 'cause I'm stuck like glue to my guy softly float into the air from a tiny iPod placed underneath the table with hand-crafted jewelry that Lulu sells in the cafe.

Those of us enjoying this warm space today are breathing in the aroma of blueberry, raspberry and blackberry jams simmering on the stovetop. Fresh pumpkin spice and blueberry scones are propped up in front of me, deservingly elevated on a cake stand -- the flavors from Buttery have been raising the community's spirits for the past three weeks, the same amount of time fears and restrictions from the novel coronavirus have been spreading.

Lulu opened Buttery in May of 2019. I remember catching a glimpse of the café as I descended Nanshan Mountain in the spring. I peaked in a couple of times, but it wasn't until this fall that I opened the door and ventured inside her haven.

"This is so much of my love," Lulu told me as we sat down to talk last week, a lull in the afternoon business opening up space for some storytelling. When you walk into Buttery, you feel the love, the warmth, the sense of community that emanates outwards from Lulu into the space surrounding her.

Lulu at her industrial-sized mixer. She bakes bread daily.

The set-up of the café is an open-concept kitchen with a horseshoe of small tables and chairs surrounding one end of the cooking space. The decor is eclectic: carved gnomes stand on a shelf along with hand-crafted pottery and other knick-knacks; it's not kitschy, nor does it exude sophistication. The entire space works together to embrace you; you have the warm feeling of having just eaten your grandmother's best comfort food even before you've sunk your fork into Lulu's homemade dishes.

Photo courtesy of Lulu

The menu at Buttery is inspired by Lulu's memories of watching her grandmother cook homemade recipes for the Chinese New Year. As Lulu and I continued to sit and talk, her tone becoming more animated, she told me of how she wants people to understand that wholesome eating is achievable.

Soup Joumou, steaming with pumpkin, chunks of savory beef, squash carrots and fragrant herbs. Photo courtesy of Lulu.

In 2006, Lulu met her husband, Kodiak, at a wellness center in Harbin Hot Springs, California. Lulu's friends brought her to the retreat after she volunteered at an event for Obama's campaign in the Bay Area. Kodiak was helping to build a temple at the hot springs.

As the two were getting to know each other, Lulu shared with Kodiak her dream to open a café someday. "What will you sell there," he laughed, "frozen food from Trader Joe's?" Lulu stubbornly told him that living her younger years in Shanghai and Shenzhen, she knew about cooking fresh food. When he asked her to make something, she didn't have any recipes at her fingertips ... yet.

Kodiak and Lulu's relationship deepened, and the two moved to Mendocino County in 2007. They were surrounded by people who were growing their own vegetables and Lulu's consciousness of the impact of whole foods on our health deepened. She began spending time with new friends who taught her about growing her own food. She began to read and watch videos about food science. She began to experiment with making her own bread. She noticed how she felt when she ate such fresh foods.

You can dine in or out at Buttery. It is placed on a quiet corner, so it offers the perfect nook for some reading. Photo courtesy of Lulu.

After spending five years in Mendocino County, Lulu and Kodiak made the move to China. In 1983, when Lulu was four years old, she had moved to Shenzhen with her family from Shanghai. Over 30 years later, her return to Shenzhen would see the realization of the dream that she had shared with Kodiak, though not for some years still.

Lulu and Kodiak opened a language center once they had settled into Shenzhen. In a small space at the learning center, Lulu began to bake fresh goods such as bread and scones. In time, two food bloggers stumbled upon the space and wrote about her "mysterious confidence."

Over time, Lulu and her husband grew tired of teaching English at the center they had opened. Their vision did not always match what parents who sent their children wanted. When Lulu and Kodiak received a strong offer for the space, they sold the center, serendipitously drawing Lulu even closer to the location that would become Buttery.

On Sundays, Lulu, Kodiak and their son, four-year-old Atticus, came to Shekou to walk Nanshan Mountain. One day, as they were dining on their favorite dumplings after a hike, they noticed that there was a vacant storefront nearby. In January of 2019, Lulu and Kodiak began renovations and five months later Buttery opened to the public.

The public includes the neighborhood cats. When Lulu saw this sweet one outside, she rushed to her refrigerator to get fresh, organic chicken to serve her.

"I remember the day that you first came in," Lulu told me. "You were the first foreigner to order my chicken." I feel special in this moment, that I have somehow made a mark on Lulu. The truth is, I have, but so has everyone else that has entered Buttery. Lulu has a knack for names, and for remembering others' stories. It is, in part, the reason why, even after a lull in business from July until October, the café is now thriving. At Buttery, you are at home.

Most days, during this coronavirus outbreak, I have snuggled right into a chair here, feeling safe and cozy. While many restaurants have remained closed, Lulu has kept Buttery open, becoming a haven for the community.

Lulu uses her calligraphy to communicate to café visitors that we all live under the same sky and the same moon. We are one, she reminds us as she paints this Buddhist message.

As we close our conversation today, I am getting ready to go cuddle with the cats, and Lulu is getting ready to return home to Kodiak and Atticus, she leans towards me, and says, "Life just kind of takes you ... you plan ... but what's inside of you drives you. You will say verbally what you want to do, but in the end, you will be driven to where your heart is."

Update, May 5, 2022

The pandemic has brought so much change to the world, on global and community scales. Not so long after this article was first posted, Lulu and her family left China for Japan. Since Kodiak does not have a Chinese passport, the family was locked out of China long term. Due to these circumstances, Lulu and her family moved to the United States where they have extended family. Last we spoke, her spirits were high and she was doing well.

Life with Chinese Characteristics, Chapter 17: Camping out in Cambodia

Well hello there, friends,

It's been quite some time since I connected with you here, and I am glad to be back to writing in this space.

If the title to this post has elicited images of me in REI pants crawling into a tent near a beach or in a jungle or whatever your ideas about Cambodia are, I have misled you. While in Cambodia, my Barcelona Bestie, Liz, and I did not sleep outside -- though we may have thought we were sleeping in a tent with the number of mosquitoes that kept us company some nights -- nor did we experience harsh living conditions (actually quite the contrary).

But I'm an English teacher. And I like alliteration.

And thefreedictionary tells me that camping out also means to live in a place other than one's own home for a period -- in our case, one adventure-filled week of living out of our suitcases in three different Cambodian cities.

To begin, we almost missed our plane to Siem Reap, which would have meant camping out in the Hong Kong airport for some time. China dealt Liz a curve ball in the form of #chinabelly. I'll leave it at that. Liz and I have actually missed a plane before -- to Dublin from Barcelona -- and we are familiar with the expensive repercussions of such a disappointing event, but luckily, this time we made it onto the plane and landed in our first host city as originally anticipated.

The first night of our vacation found Liz tucked into bed early at our lodging, the Saem Siem Reap Hotel, with me, ever the true friend, whispering nos vemos and slipping out the door to find some fine dining. Thanks to Aunt Linda's recommendation with honorable mentions to Google Maps, I found my way to Malis, known for its "living Cambodian cuisine." I ordered a delicious set menu comprised of six delicious courses and I wish I could show you some of those plates, but the camera did not eat first. I did.

While I was dining, sipping out of a fresh coconut, I reflected back to my middle school days. I had had a small part in the school play. I do not remember the name of the play, but I do remember the subject: the Khmer Rouge. I also do not remember understanding the content of the drama well, but I can recall understanding the tone to be very dark. Before landing on Cambodian soil, I read Loung Ung's memoir First They Killed My Father, and upon closing the book, I understood much more about the horrors brought upon thousands of innocent people.

I am reminded of one of the most powerful quotes I have read. Travel writer Mark Jenkins writes,

"Adventure is a path. Real adventure -- self-determined, self-motivated, often risky -- forces you to have firsthand encounters with the real world. The world the way it is, not the way you image it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind -- and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white."

During our week in Cambodia, Liz and I experienced first hand the beautiful kindness of countless people. As part of our itinerary, created by Xoa at AsiaTourAdvisor, we also visited Security Prison 21 in Phnom Penh. The experience grew our awareness of Cambodia's recent dark struggle. The lessons that come out of studying the regime led by the Khmer Rouge tell us less about Cambodia in particular, and more about, as Jenkins names it, the "bottomless cruelty of humankind" and what happens when people's desire for power is fueled by corruption and is deeply, darkly self-serving.

Alas, the trip did begin with a great deal of light and exciting adventure, especially as Liz woke up our first morning feeling much better than when we had landed the afternoon before.

Day 1:
After breakfast, our guide Vuthy met us to take us to Ta Prohm and Angkor Wat, two oft-visited ancient ruins of the Khmer people. Having trekked four days to see Machu Picchu in Cuzco, Peru, Liz and I were quite kiddy to be exploring another ancient civilization together. Rather than overwhelm this post with history, I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. (In truth, I don't remember the historical facts about the ruins, but I do remember vividly our delight.)

In truth, I don't remember the historical facts about the ruins, but I do remember vividly our delight.

The afternoon finished with Liz sitting down for her sak yant, or magical, tattoo. You'll notice in the following photos that this tattoo is made permanent using a needle attached to a bamboo stick. This was a fascinating, and rather hair-raising activity to view. Liz gave an offering before she sat for the tattoo, and the tattoo was blessed after it was completed.

Nothing will make you hungry like watching your friend summon her superpowers to sit for an hour of traditional tattooing.

We made our way to Marum for dinner.

A note on Marum: It is part of the tree-alliance organization that works to take youth off of the streets and equip them with life-long work skills. Tree-alliance has sprouted restaurants in many Cambodian cities, including one in Phnom Penh called Friends. We loved the food, cocktails and service in the tree-alliance restaurants, as well as the hand-made, fair trade goods in the attached stores.

Day 2:
I so highly recommend using a guide for this trip, especially those from AsiaTourAdvisor. I am receiving no kick-backs from lauding their services. I simply could not have imagined a trip of more ease when it comes to the logistics of travel. And in wanting you to have such a wonderful experience too, I advice you to seek them out if you are traveling to Cambodia, Vietnam, Myanmar, Laos or Thailand.

Vuthy arrived to the hotel on our second full day with bikes in the van. We were heading out to more temples, those of Angkor Thom, on two wheels. It's cool that we were getting our steps and peddles in so far on the trip because we weren't going to be skimping on the amount of Cambodian fare we were shoveling into our mouths.

After a morning and afternoon of biking, Xoa had booked us for a personal cooking class. The ambiance was refreshingly rural and beautifully authentic as we chopped farm fresh meat and produce to whip up green mango salad, curry and coconut soup.

Day 3:
On the way to the Battambang, "the leading rice producing province for the country," Vuthy took us on a high-speed, open-air adventure: a bamboo train. Now I haven't ridden the high speed trains in China yet, but I don't think they will offer the same hair-whipping, grin-plastering experience that the bamboo train did. If this was my mode of transportation to work everyday, I wouldn't need coffee.

Day 4:
We arrived to Phnom Penh the following day where we checked in to the Harmony Hotel. The infinity pool at Harmony proved a perfect place with a cool view for lackadaisical froggy laps in the afternoons.

The best part of this day was seeing a friend who had worked in Shenzhen and now works in Phnom Penh. Leti is a beautiful wife, mother, friend and fellow runner and she invited Liz and I to her family's home for wine before our dinner at Friends. Spending some time with her, her husband Eric and two young boys, Gael and Luke was a delight. I have written about it before, and I continue to marvel at how this big world is actually rather small in the way that our paths can cross time and again. With your wine or tea, let's toast to friendships around the world. ¡Salud!

Day 5:
This morning began in somber fashion as our guide brought us to Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. On a date last year, the man I was dining with noted that he would never pick Cambodia as a vacation destination because it would be a trip too laden with darkness. My experience was much too full of light to agree with him, though the genocide museum and Khmer Rouge Killing Fields are how he was defining Cambodia.

The museum was a difficult experience, but I feel drawn to understand the world and humanity in all of their truths. As Liz and I walked the grounds of the prison, which had previously been a school before the Khmer Rouge occupation, we read the stories of the prisoners, nearly all of whom were executed.

What can be learned from such a museum? I continue to ponder tonight. I do not know the answer entirely. I do think about how much the world needs each of us to shine light. This will strike you deeply as you look on into the cells where men and women were mercilessly tortured. Again I am reminded of striking words, these from writer L.R. Knost:

"Do not be dismayed by the brokenness of the world. All things break. And all things can be mended. Not with time, as they say, but with intention. So go. Love intentionally, extravagantly, unconditionally. The broken world waits in darkness for the light that is you."

What is most difficult, perhaps, about visiting the museum is knowing that such atrocities continue in our world today. Do I feel capable of stopping them? I do not. But my single voice, my single light, combined with all of yours, they can shift energy, and bring goodness into dark corners and help to ease others' suffering.

When I walk down the street, am I aware of the woman on the corner who could use a warm smile? When I step into my classroom, am I ready to embrace my students, whatever their moods? When I am shopping online, am I considering who is making those clothes, and in what conditions they are working? No, I cannot stop a regime, but my decisions can bring mindfulness to the world, and I hang on to hope that through some sort of butterfly effect, they spread something light far and wide.

After our time at the genocide museum, Liz and I followed our guide to the Royal Palace, which was quite the juxtaposition to the prison.

We then continued on to the National Museum which houses "many fine examples of Angor Wat statuary" within its sandstone walls.

Day 6:
Another biking expedition ensued on our 6th and final full day in Cambodia. While the bikes we rode through the temples in Siem Reap were spanking new comfortable mountain bikes, the ones we rode through the Mekong Islands were not. By the end of our ride, I was wishing that all of the food I had eaten on the entire trip had gone straight to my ass to add extra cushion.

This complaint aside, the quick ferry to Koh Dach, or the Silk Island, offered us a glimpse of more rural life. Living in Shenzhen, and working at Shekou International School, I am surrounded by fast-paced life, bright lights and a great deal of technology. Koh Dach is quite the contrast to my everyday life, and refreshingly so in many ways.

As we rode along, uniformed school children rode their bikes and scooters past us, smiles plastered on their faces as they returned home for lunch. Men and women worked in a field under the hot Cambodian sun. And a woman drove a mobile market around -- with who seemed to be her grandson -- selling meat and produce.

Our final night in Cambodia was spent back at the National Museum watching a performance from the Cambodian Living Arts troupe. As we settled into our seats to watch Earth and Sky, a "magical journey through Cambodian mythology, ancestral traditions and village life" I felt the pulse of Cambodia. It was one of life and dynamic spirit.

While Liz and I did not camp out in Cambodia in any rustic sense of the phrase, we did settle in for an epic experience. With each trip that I take, I am grateful for the new layers of life that I become privy to as I am immersed into vibrant cultures and places.

Until next time, Cambodia.

Barcelona Besties in Peru: Machu Picchu

Liz, my Barcelona Bestie, and I serendipitously met on our layover to Amsterdam, en route to our final destination, Barcelona, almost 13 years ago. I feel I am aging my 33-year-old self right now. When did I get to the point where I could age myself? Oyy. Anyway, Liz is likely the reason I did not beg the pilot, as we flew over the Atlantic, to turn the plane around and promptly drop me back on American soil. Riddled with anxiety over being away for four whole months, there was some semblance of stillness, or at least a temporary calming of nerves, when we started talking and decided immediately that we would be friends.

As it turned out, we became the inseparable kind. We ran all over Barcelona, much of Spain, and we attempted to take Dublin by storm, but we missed our RyanAir flight, actuallyhad to stay at a four-star hotel in Girona as there were no more trains back to Barcelona, nor were any hostels open that night, and thenhadto dine at a fine restaurant, again, because that was our only option.

Liz and I have a knack for making the most of anything. Our latest adventure was in Peru and it began in a much more auspicious manner than the day we boarded the train for Dublin, and proved to be one of the trips of our lifetimes.

It has been just over a week since returning from Peru. I have stared at the photos an inordinate amount of times now. It is true that all we have is the present, but I have been allowing myself to relive those delicious moments of awe and grit and laughter and camaraderie. Where history mingled with the now, where the voices of the past seemed almost audible, and where Inkan spirits were nearly visible.

I think each moment does form some kind of intangible atom that adds itself to our being, changing us, while sometimes nearly invisibly, still, significantly. Machu Picchu was just one of those experiences that added many atoms I seem to feel vibrating within my body. It was a four day trek that I believe I will distinctly remember.

If I cannot, through the current of my touch, transfer the emotion and significance of what this trek was, how will I put it into words, so that I can share with you some semblance of the experience? So that you too can know something of the magic and the beauty of the scenery, and the endurance demanded of the trail. I think the photos will speak to you, and with some interludes, I will seek to add a bit of the humor, hardness and awe that we experienced on the 42 kilometers of Inka trail, from Ollantaytambo to Machu Picchu.

In the weeks leading up to the trail, as I was reading Kim MacQuarrie's The Last Days of the Incas, gleaning all kinds of fascinating--and very violent--history, I wondered what the trek would be for me. Spiritual? ... Sacred? ... Profound? It was all of those things, in a sense, but the word that really surfaced as we connected, step by step, with the ancient Inkan-laid stones was mystical. It was four days of mystery, awe, fascination ... where the divine felt ever-present.

In the evenings, when we would crawl into our tents around 8 pm, I cracked open the book I had bought at the airport on our short layover in Lima. Mark Adams' Turn Right At Machu Picchu: Rediscovering the Lost City One Step at a Time was worth the $25 my Maracuyá Sour saturated brain decided to pay for it. While MacQuarrie has me wrapped up in names and events of the past, Adams had me chucking aloud as he recounts following the path of Hiram Bingham, the man who rediscovered Machu Pichhu (for the larger world) in 1911. I was a very eager school girl by day, nodding my head enthusiastically as the guides would stop us along the trail to give a lesson about the ruins or the Inkas that I had just read about. This was the most authentic historical learning I have engaged in and damn did it make the trek so cool.

While Machu Picchu is the "lost city" (that actually isn't the lost city because the lost city, Vilcabamba, harboring the Inkan gold that was hidden from the Spaniards, is actually still lost) that was our Mecca, so to speak, on this particular trek, there are breathtaking ruins along the way, which is reason #37 why any able-bodied person should most definitely make the trek rather than take a bus to Machu Picchu City. You simply do not want to miss this ....

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It was quite fortunate that we had new ruins to renew us each day; the trek was a good deal more difficult than I had thought. Thiiiis was in part due to being a terrible packer. Had you opened up my pack, you would have found high-healed sandals, a change of clothes for each day trekking, a pair of shorts, and then some other articles of clothing and chocolate that actually made sense to have along for the trail. I had packed everything for the entire Peru trip, including three nights combined in Cusco and Aguas Calientes, in my pack, and felt accomplished for it, until I took my 17th step on Day 1, with no fewer than 17 million to go, and felt the weight of that pack on my shoulders -- I had failed to actually try on the pack and it was now clear that it did not fit me right. But, suck it butter cup, and that I did.

I had a few moments of dread that first day when I felt the bruises already forming on my collar bone, but in the end, the extra weight contributed to feeling even more like a bad-ass lady when we played a game called "Guess the weight of Jamie's pack" and everyone gave it a lift ... with both hands.

There was reason enough, aside from a big bag, to feel like we had engaged in some real badassery on the trail. For one, on Day 2 you haul your booty up to 4,200 meters, or 13,799 feet, gaining 1,200 meters, or nearly 4,000 feet, in five hours.

You better get your game face on for Day 3. Because Day 3 is all down hill. And this sounds like a dream, exactly like the one you had on Night 2, but, in fact, it's not. No, Day 3 is a Gringo Killer. Better yet, say the 6,000 year old stairs, 3,000 Gringo Killers.

Until the cry came from my BB: Never. Give. Up! No, never give up. Because the finish for Day 3 is stunning.

So, the upside is that our third day had this really lovely, magical finish with that rainbow over the valley, and the downside is that because of Day 3 my knee replacement surgery just got 10 years closer, which means I'll be going under the knife like next week, but there are always trade-offs, aren't there?

I think we slept for about two hours this third night. It was the combined effects of a hard ground and anticipation of arrival to the sacred site, so when the cheery porters shook our tent at 3 am, their sweet buenos días was met with a couple of groans. The grumpiness did not last long, though, as Machu Picchu was now a mere five kilometers away. Within two hours, something began to materialize ...

We had several hours to traipse our tired but enthralled selves through the ruins of Machu Picchu City. Here is just a sampling of what we stumbled into ...

It’s a vibe.

As Liz and I planned our South American adventure, we decided to stay a night in Aguas Calientes, the town that "lies in a deep gorge below the ruins." It sounds refreshing, especially after four days of sweaty hiking without a shower, but I would not recommend it to a fellow traveler. Aguas Calientes is home to hot springs ... that house the grime of thousands of other dirty trekkers. The pueblo also boasts dozens and dozens of sketchy places to get a massage. We did enter one of those suspicious looking abodes to try to soothe our aching muscles, and indeed questionable massages are part of the title to this post, but it is nearing that bewitching hour, where if I do not fall asleep soon, there will be no sleep to be had, and you have been reading along for a good while now.

So all that I will mention is that you shall enter the massage parlors with caution. You will likely end up in a couple's massage with your bestie, lying on a makeshift massage table, in a room with ratty curtains that do not cover the open-air window, where construction workers are within an arm's reach, and, rather than listen to the zen music, you will hear the beating pop/hip hop mash-up blending with the voices blaring into a megaphone. It will not be relaxing, but ... but your calves will be back in working condition upon your exit. And they will agree to walk you to Indio Feliz where you will dine on the best fare of the trip.

As I close tonight, I did think that after a week of reflection and looking over photos I would be able to articulate the impact that the trek had on me -- how it is exactly that everything in me feels so awake. My heart, my brain, my soul ... it is like a fire has been stoked inside. But something is still percolating. I cannot quite name why the Inka Trail was what it was. But whether I can define it or not, the awakening exists. Sometimes we just have that sense that we were precisely where we were supposed to be. The connecting to nature and disconnecting from other distractions, experiencing the hardness and the humor with one of my soulies, the sense of ancient souls around me, it must have been just what I needed in that time and space.

Mark Adams has written it quite articulately: For the first time since dropping out of graduate school, I remembered an unpleasant weekend spent struggling to comprehend the philosopher Immanuel Kant's explanation of the difference between calling something beautiful and calling it sublime. Nowadays, we throw around the word 'sublime' to describe gooey desserts or overpriced handbags. In Kant's epistemology it meant something limitless, an aesthetically pleasing entity so huge that it made the perceiver's head hurt. Machu Picchu isn't just beautiful, it's sublime.