Monks collect morning alms in Luang Prabang.

One hour after landing in Luang Prabang, Allana and I were walking along the bank of the Nam Khan, looking for a fruit-shake and green papaya salad.

Laos is hot in August, and kids jumped from the roofs of riverboats, cannonballing into the brown current. Everything felt soft and slow and easy. “Laos has got to be the most chill country in the world,” said Allana.

It’s strange, how easily I find myself easing back into Luang Prabang. A few flights, a few airports, a night in Bangkok, one last flight up the Mekong and all of sudden I’m squeezing fresh limes into my noodle soup and stopping by Joma for coffee and air-con.

The rivers are higher than I’ve ever seen them before, and there aren’t many tourists this time of year.

Tourists, water – everything flows past Luang Prabang. Sometimes there’s more water, sometimes more falang, but the old woman still fans her cooking fire in the alleyway, and the monks will wake up early to collect their alms.

This town has never lost its calm.

Photo: Jorge Santiago

The first dilemma hit when I tried to choose a chair.

Faculty members did an awkward shuffle, turning this way and that like confused middle-aged couples in salsa classes. I loitered over a seat and pulled back, loitered and pulled back…

Then the deans strolled in with grace and unconcern and seated themselves in the two seats closest to the door of the banquet room. Somehow, everyone unraveled neatly into seats around them without further ado.

I later learned that the seats closest to the most important guests are occupied by the second most important guests, and then the ensuing chairs are filled in the same way, with the least important people being furthest from the guests of honor.

The university staff must’ve known this and waited for the cue from the deans, and the other professors swiftly slid into their places accordingly. I, being the youngest and newest professor, sat squarely across the table from the deans.

It was our first university banquet. I was new to everything in China and I took in the scene with an air of intrigued bewilderment that didn’t leave me the whole time I lived and worked in Beijing.

The younger dean was in charge of the menu. This is a great honor and an even greater responsibility. Unlike in American restaurants, in which each person studies a menu and chooses a dish, in China one person orders a variety of plates for everyone to share. This ordering must be done according to several cultural givens:

There must be way, way too much food for anyone to eat.

There must be a mix of hot and cold dishes, sweet and spicy dishes, meat and vegetable dishes, and dishes cooked according to the different styles of Chinese cooking.

There must be rice and/or noodles. The rice should follow the meal.

There must be soup.

The dean ordered a cold wood ear mushroom salad, a cold Spinach salad, a plate of crunchy chrysanthemum greens, a plate of cold, firm tofu, and the ubiquitous cold cucumber salad with grated garlic.

The dishes kept appearing after that. Again, unlike in an American restaurant in which the entree dutifully follows the appetizer, in China all the dishes come out as they’re prepared. Just as the gong bao chicken is put on the table the sizzling platter of fish with Sichuan peppercorns comes out. Then, three waitresses in qipiaos bring in over-the-rainbow ribs and the Peking duck.

All of these dishes are placed on the revolving banquet table. Guests push the table gently so that each person has access to the array of dishes.

This is when mad chopstick skills come in handy. I had been mastering mine, eating peanuts in the house with a precise pinch of the chopsticks, picking up slippery cashew nuts between sticks of stir-fried celery. I could sneak in and snatch a piece of passing broccoli before it was lost to my neighbor.

The visiting English department head was not so lucky. She knew, however, how to handle the situation with grace. She asked a Chinese staff member to serve her, and the Chinese woman placed small portions of each dish on her plate. She did a fine job of not making the two major cultural mistakes I’d been warned about: stabbing portions of food with a chopstick, and sticking chopsticks straight up in a bowl of rice or a dish of food.

The soup and rice presented she and I with less possibility for peril. I swooped in with my spoon and served myself each after the main courses had been sufficiently depleted. A small bowl is reserved for rice and another for soup, and I learned by example that it’s important to serve each in its proper place. It’s also critical to hold off until the meal is wrapping up; soup and rice are generally reserved for after a meal, as they’re considered to aid in digestion.

Luckily, this banquet was not one of the alcohol-drenched affairs which end with someone stooped over a bowl of fish soup and others gesturing in flagrant, drunken revelry at the waitresses. But I’d heard stories from enough people about this to know that my situation was the exception to the rule. In the case of drunken abandonment, my friends had advised sipping…sipping…slowly…and if necessary, pretending to pass out at the table so as to avoid further damage.

The banquet ended tranquilly, with the dean paying the bill and all of us pleasantly stuffed, sipping green tea. I was, above all, relieved. I’d survived the first major social experience in China, and I hadn’t dropped anything in my lap or lost face or greatly offended anyone’s honor or the group harmony.

I learned something tonight, I thought. I can do this again.

Each Friday, Matador Abroad features a new learning experience. Want to share yours? Check out how at call for submissions: learning experiences around the world.

Community Connection

Interested in China? Check out Christoph Rehage’s time lapse video about a walk across China. Or read our tales from the road from China and Tibet. And if you’re thinking of moving there, you might want to look into how and why to move to China during the recession.

Photo: author author

Most foreign travelers looking to learn Spanish in Guatemala make Antigua their first and longest stop, charmed by its cobblestone streets and its lively bar and club scene. More serious travelers, however, take the 4-hour bus ride to Quetzaltenango (or Xela) for a different kind of experience.

While Antigua offers a lot, there are compelling reasons for giving Guatemala’s second city another look.

Fewer Gringoes

Antigua is well known for its influx of would-be Spanish speakers, and that’s the very reason I recommend avoiding it. With an estimated population of 35,000, many of them European and North American expats, the odds alone suggest you are more likely to end up in conversation with another English-speaker in Antigua.

In Quetzaltenango (almost eight times the size of Antigua) you’re more likely to meet serious Spanish students and groups from universities who stay for stretches at a time rather than the casual travelers learning how to order a cerveza.

And homestays, which are as common as black beans and rice in Guatemala, suffer the same pitfalls as the language schools in Antigua. The abundance of gringoes has converted many a host family’s dwelling into more of a hotel.

Aside from the included meals, your experience ends up offering a hostel environment rather than a glimpse into Guatemalan life.

In Xela, you’ll spend more time engaging with your host family in Spanish there and less time planning your social life with the rest of the U.S. travelers.

Better Study and Volunteer Opportunities

With an estimated population of 250,000, Quetzaltenango has a distinctly more urban feel than Antigua or any of the more remote villages of Guatemala often pictured in photographs. As such, its schools offer a wide array of cultural, volunteer and social opportunities not to be found in smaller locales.

The Instituto Central America (ICA), a 30-year-old Spanish language school in Xela, has a sister organization called ICAmigos which pairs students with volunteer projects ranging from reforestation to literacy.

Meanwhile,the Celas Maya Spanish School emphasizes the importance of education for indigenous people, and offers students language classes in K’iche, the Mayan language of the region.

Hooking up with schools is easy. Book online or inquire after you arrive. Classes at most schools last 4-5 hours per day, in either the afternoon or evening, while volunteer opportunities can take up the rest of the day.

One tip: don’t be afraid to switch schools, teachers or homestays, even mid-week, if things aren’t working out. Teachers have different styles, schools have different philosophies and all homestays are, obviously, unique. You’re there to learn. No one will be offended if you ask the director of the school for another arrangement.

Exploring Xela

On the weekends, you can explore the Mercado la Democracia, a sprawling commercial district of vendors hawking everything from traditional Mayan wares to Pampers and plantains.

Or you can sip coffee on the terrace of Café la Luna and gaze out over the central park of Xela while you practice your verb conjugations. Guatemala is one of the largest coffee producers in the world, and here you can sample some of its finest.

And on any night of the week you can find free salsa lessons. Unlike Guatemala City, spending the night out is relatively safe, and unlike Antigua, you actually have a chance to converse with locals rather than other travelers.

Surrounding Areas

Most schools organize activities in the surrounding area, such as hikes up Volcan Santa Maria, or afternoons at Fuentes Georginas, the country’s most popular natural springs.

To go to Santa Maria, leave first thing in the morning from Xela. The ascent takes 4 hours at a brisk pace, although you’ll probably get passed by Mayan women in sandals balancing baskets and babies on their backs. It’s a humbling experience as you’re huffing your way up.

On the weekend you may encounter a Mayan religious ceremony at the summit, with indigenous people participating in call-and-response style prayers that include shouting, jumping and singing in a mixture of indigenous and Catholic beliefs.

Alternatively, many tour operators and Spanish schools offer monthly moonlit tours. Bundle up and bring a flashlight.

The hot springs at Fuentes Georginas are phenomenal. Spend enough time in any Guatemalan town of decent size and undoubtedly the exhaust from the chicken buses will start to wear on you. These springs are a brilliant relief from the pollution and frenzy of city life.

From Xela, the hot springs are about an hour’s drive. Fuentes consists of four pools, each one hotter than the next, all heated by natural sulfur springs. There’s also a nature walk, restaurant and bungalows if you’re inclined to stay the night.

From Xela, you can take a four-hour tour from any number of operators in town, or venture on your own. Take a chicken bus to Zunil, the nearest town, then another up to the springs.

Xela might not yet be on most travelers’ itineraries in Guatemala — and that’s exactly why it’s worth checking out. Even if you’re set on studying in Antigua, it’s worth it to pop down for a weekend or so to check out what Xela has to offer.

Community Connection

Planning a trip to Guatemala? Read Rachel Ward’s story of losing her travel virginity in Guatemala. If you’re interested in volunteering, check out options for working with A Safe Passage.

A worshiper being blessed. Note the sheep. All photos by Sarah Vazquez.

From the moment you step off the plane in Kathmandu, you will notice several obvious cultural differences from your home in the Western world.

Perhaps these tips will leave you a little less jolted during your first few days in Nepal, and a little more prepared to dive into a new culture!

Eating with a Baba.

A Bit on ‘Om’

In Nepal, religious practice is not limited to one day a week, but is displayed, practiced and respected every day, all day long.

It is refreshing and intriguing to see a Shiva shrive rather than a Starbucks on every corner.

About 80% of Nepali people are Hindu and the rest are mostly Buddhist with a touch of Christian and Muslim followers.

You will see and hear puja (worship) mostly in the early mornings, when woman are walking to shrines and temples to give daily offerings.

Puja will often include loud noises from blowing into conch shells or from chanting; there will be brief gestures of faith when people touch their heads when passing an image of Shiva or longer gestures when monks sit and recite their dharma for hours on end.

The best time to witness the intricate practice of devotion is to walk around temples early on Saturday mornings, the main day for worship.

Unless you are Hindu, you will not be able to enter the Hindu temples, but you can still be blessed if you bring an offering (money, flowers, or rice are typical gifts).

Life size prayer wheels in Kopan Monastery.

There are several gestures and motions to follow when being blessed or when worshiping; just follow the local example and you should be okay.

You will see religious symbols and references all over Kathmandu and Nepal. There is a subtle difference between religion being over commercialized and simply being omnipresent in daily life.

In Nepal, religion is omnipresent, which is a refreshing difference compared to the West. Take note of the symbols you see, such as “om” and the “swastika.”*

If you can see the effect that worship has on the daily culture in Nepal, religion will become a beautiful part of your visit.

The Clump and Push (vs the Lift and Drop)

Traditionally, Nepalis use their hands to eat their meals. Although you will almost always be offered silverware, you will impress your hosts if you show them you can eat properly with your hands.

This technique will make your culinary experience more authentic and adds a personal connection to meals. However, do not embark on this adventure unprepared.

Most beginners will try the “Lift and Drop” method. They pick up their rice (and fail to pick up their lentils) with their fingers, tilt their head back and drop the food into their mouth, like eating trail mix.

This will undoubtedly result in spilling on your clothes, not capturing the full flavor of your dish and simple embarrassment.

Instead, try the “Clump and Push” method. Use your whole hand to clump all the food together.

Mix the lentils with your rice; throw the meat on top; mush those juicy flavors together! You’re going to have to wash your hand no matter what, so you might as well use the whole palm and all five fingers to really clump it properly.

The food will stick together quite well and you can make a little ball of deliciousness. Then hold this ball of food on top of your thumb (as if you were going to play a game of Marbles or flip a quarter), raise it to your face and gracefully push it into your mouth.

By successfully executing the Clump and Push, you will have no problem leaving your plate clean, your tummy full and your hosts impressed.

Hindu gods dressed for a festival.

Intra-sexual vs Inter-sexual

It is common to see two men walking down the street holding hands or linking arms. Likewise, it is common to see two women showing the same affection.

Intra-sexual relations can be public and quite affectionate and are a sign of friendship and kindness.

However, PDA of any sort between a man and woman is not common. In fact, husband and wife will rarely show affection in public.

These guidelines hold true for rural parts of Nepal and among the older generations throughout the country, although sometimes in cities you will see the youth adapting more modern social guidelines.

No matter where you are, however, sticking to conservative social guidelines is important to avoid offending the locals.

Rawness

If you visit Kathmandu, you will notice a certain quality of rawness.

Traffic is hectic, animals roam the roads with free will, butchers slaughter animals next to corner stores, dogs bark, beggars sit with compelling grief, horns honk, and pujas are preformed loudly and frequently.

Animals are everywhere in Kathmandu!

Shopkeepers pursue you aggressively, dead animals are left on sidewalks, and the dust in the street can add a haze to your day.

Despite these unfamiliar exposures, once you step past the raw edge of Kathmandu, you will notice that it is also an very human place.

Kathmandu is alive. Its pulse is vibrant and its activity is dynamic. With a steady look, you will notice Kathmandu’s rich history and its world-renowned architecture. If you invest some patience you will notice a sincerely approachable city.

Don’t hesitate to initiate a conversation with a neighbor on the microbus and you will soon find that for all its rough edges, Kathmandu is distinctly personable and friendly.

Bathrooms, Showers, and Water

The general state of water will be a new and foreign concept to most travelers sojourning to Asia for the first time.

Nepal suffers from a severe water shortage; there simply isn’t the infrastructure or management to supply enough water for washing, bathing and drinking year-round.

For this reason, water is very scarce and is used with precious mindfulness; the amount of water a family has will often reflect their economic ability to tap into limited sources or collect rainfall during the rainy season.

Bathing with scarce water.

You will immediately notice that the bathroom situation is quite different from the Western norm.

The toilets are Asian style (squat toilets), of course, but in addition, many households will equate “taking a shower” as “taking a bucket shower.”

You should feel free to ask for water to shower with, but know that it is a valued commodity and that you will receive about one cooking pot full of cold water.

If you ask politely, you can have a little extra boiled water to make your bath water warmer. Because of the scarcity of this resource, it is normal for people to shower only once a week.

At first, these bathroom differences can be uncomfortable for travelers, but you will adapt faster than you think.

Electricity

Like water, electricity has a lack of infrastructure and management and therefore is also a precious commodity.

Electricity will typically be available for between four to eight hours of the day. The entire city of Kathmandu is divided into a grid system where each zone receives electricity at different times.

Not a symbol of fascism!

The tricky part of this situation is realizing which shops, houses and offices fall under what zone.

No house or store is invincible to the frequent power shortages; businesses will often casually shoo you away with a flick of their wrist if there is no electricity available (it is wise to note what hours your closest internet café runs on).

Occasionally, houses and shops will have generators that grant them electricity throughout the day. However, sometimes these generators don’t work.

Basically, it is in your best interest to become accustomed to patiently letting go of a strict time schedule and calmly watching how the rest of the country reconciles these inconveniences.

Kathmandu is a dusty, culturally rich and energetic city. It may present inconveniences at first, but it will undoubtedly leave you will a greater sense of patience and a new found appreciation for the vivacity, diversity and culture of Nepal.

Ramro sanga janusna!

* The Swastika is a ancient religious symbol of good luck that predates the Nazi regime.

Going to Nepal?

Get inspired by a photo essay on trekking Langtang, read Andris Bjornson’s classic guide to the Mt. Kangchenjuna circuit and peruse the 5 best treks in Nepal.

Finally, study up on your Nepali language skills with Sarah Vazquez, and get ready for your Himalayan adventure.

Laos photos by wili_hybrid

If you’re looking for a fine collection of travel websites, check out the nominees for the 2009 Ecotourism Spotlight Award, sponsored by Planeta.com.

Destinations

Community Connection to Laos

Ecotourism Laos, the official website of the Lao National Tourism Administration, gets my vote because it’s packed with information about the National Protected Areas of Laos.

I’ve been fortunate enough to explore some of the Lao Protected Areas, and they encompass some of the most epic landscapes and fascinating cultures on the planet.

The other nominees include Failte Ireland, the official tourism website for Quito, Ecuador and the Responsible Tourism Guide to the Mekong.

Please take a moment to cast your vote!

Feature Photo: drunkprincessPhoto: dhilung

Ta da! Tim and I are psyched to announce the arrival of a regular Friday column called….

“Do It Yourself Study Abroad: Learning Experiences Around the World.”

The column will feature a new learning experience each week from a different part of the globe.

We want to highlight unique, local skills. We’re not so interested in how to study Spanish in Mexico, but we’d love to know how you learned to crush, roll, and fold the maize to make tortillas. And we don’t really need to know which university you chose for a study abroad semester in France, but we’d be into hearing about how you learned to play boules in Marseilles.

We’re interested in the skills that form the backbone of cultures, the learning experiences that’ve been passed down from generation to generation and are perhaps at risk of being lost as societies undergo rapid changes.

Tell us about the flower-arranging class you took in Japan or how you learned to conduct an Ethiopian coffee ceremony in Addis Ababa. Your experience doesn’t have to be a formal course attached to an institution, but it should be something other travelers can search out and replicate.

Remember to focus your story on the learning experience and not on explaining how to do something. Don’t tell us where to put our fingers in order to play the Chinese harp. Instead, tell us where and why you learned how to play it, and explain why other travelers should learn it, too.

Please send 300-800 word submissions in the body of an email with “Learning Experiences” in the subject line to Sarah(at)matadornetwork.com or Tim(at)matadornetwork.com. Don’t forget to include your full name, your Matador profile URL, and any photos and links related to your experience.

Show us what you’ve learned, readers! We can’t wait to kick off this new venture at Abroad.

Your editors,

Tim and Sarah

Natto photo by jasja_dekker. Feature photo by tamakisono

These are the slimiest, hairiest, chewiest and smelliest foods commonly eaten in Japanese households.

1. Natto

Natto are fermented soybeans notorious for their pungent smell, which reminds some of dirty old socks. These slimy beans are commonly slurped for breakfast with hot rice, with the optional raw egg mixed in for added nutrition.

2. Umeboshi Plums

If you thought Lemon Heads were the sourest food of all, try placing an entire umeboshi plum in your mouth—it’s salty sour flavor will be sure to pucker your face.

Umeboshi photo by tamakisono

The potent red plums are rarely eaten on their own, used instead to season rice, vegetables and meats. I’ve even seen umeboshi flavored potato chips.

The Japanese believe that the umeboshi plums help ease nausea from motion sickness, and some carry around the freeze dried or individually wrapped version for air travel.

3. Mozuku

This stringy and soft seaweed may remind you of the handful of hair accumulated in your shower drain, but mozuku is far more nutritious.

The hairy seaweed has got fucoidan, a polysaccharide touted for its ability to enhance your killer T cell activity, giving your immune system an added boost.

Mozuku is usually served cold in a vinegar sauce to distract you from thinking that it’s the algae growing in the fish tank.

4. Shishamo

Shishamo photo by yomi955

Imagine a skinny little smelt with its entire body cavity crammed with millions of small crunchy eggs. These small fish are grilled and served on a platter with their heads and tails still on.

No chopsticks here – shishamo is finger food. Rip the fish head and tail off and nibble everything in between.

5. Inago

The small brown crickets resemble roaches when viewed from far away, but I assure you that roaches aren’t a part of the Japanese culinary repertoire.

Inago are caught in rice paddies and either fried crisp or cooked in a sugary soy sauce broth and served as a condiment with steamed rice. Everything on the critter is devoured—including its sex organs and puny brain.

6. Dried squid or octopus

Dried squid is the Japanese equivalent to beef jerky snacks, but with more omega 3s and a fishiness that can be smelled from across the room once a package has been opened.

Dried squid photo by sushiboy555

The squid or octopus is seasoned, then dried in shreds or rings. Try the jar of dried baby squid or dried octopus legs made extra chewy with its tentacles.

These dried cephalopods are usually served with some icy Sapporo beer.

7. Mochi

Mochi is a chewy rice cake made by pounding sweet glutinous rice and forming it into discs—commonly served on New Years Day, which is also the day when mochi choking incidents are the highest.

If you’re tired of your regular bubble gum, you can blow and pop bubbles with mochi instead. I find mochi delicious when served as a dessert, stuffed with sweetened azuki beans.

8. Konnyaku

Wobbly and low in calories, this rubbery rectangular lump is loved by dieters. Konnyaku is made from the wild Konnyaku potato. It’s very high in dietary fiber, which gets your system clean while expanding in your tummy and tricking you into feeling full.

You may identify konnyaku immediately in the nabemono (hot pot) because it’s slippery body is very difficult to grasp with chopsticks.

9. Koya dofu (freeze dried tofu)

Destinations

Community Connection to Japan

Koya dofu is tofu which has been freeze dried, and sold in many Japanese supermarkets.

Don’t attempt to eat it uncooked as you may chip your teeth. When cooked in broth, its texture becomes that of a sponge that soaks up flavors—much like your kitchen sponge soaking up sink water.

10. Niboshi (dried anchovies)

When you see a pile of niboshi, it may remind you of a morgue for desiccated small fish. These dried, salted anchovies are used to make dashi, or fish stock commonly used in Japanese cooking.

The crunch of niboshi are also enjoyed as snacks when sold pre-seasoned with a sweet and salty coating.

If you’re going to the movies, they’re available at concession stands, and their crunch is similar to that of popcorn – but fishier.

11. Anko (sweetened azuki bean paste)

Anko and Mochi photo by jim212jim

Most of us are used to eating our beans in savory dishes, and wouldn’t dream of eating them as a dessert.

Let this be an eye opener for you, as anko finds its way into many traditional Japanese sweets, ice-creams, popsicles and bread fillings.

You may forget that anko is made of beans, as the high sugar content often overpowers the bean flavor.

For beginners, visit a Japanese Dunkin Donut shop and have an anko filled doughnut with some coffee.

Want To Live In Japan?

Check out: How To Get A Job Teaching In Japan

All photos: author

How on Earth did I get here?

The cramped lifeboat, rigged twenty feet above the ship’s main deck, swayed in the afternoon storm.

I had been sandwiched between two families outside when the downpour began. Now, having followed a band of Indonesians up a ladder into the covered lifeboat, I hunched over, trying to calm my stomach as they sang a local pop song led by a badly tuned guitar.

When they finished, the guitarist, a wiry man named Agus, looked over at me and smiled. “You scared?” he asked in English, and the rest of his friends howled with laughter. I tried to laugh with them, but all I could think was: How on earth did I get here?

Windows Into a Culture

Pelni, Indonesia’s government-run ocean liner, had shown up a day late to its destination, leaving throngs of us to a humid night in Bitung’s port.

When it finally arrived the next morning, it took the better part of the day to board its eager passengers—men carrying 50 pound bags of rice on their backs, women lugging crates of goods for export, families laden with children and prayer rugs, all of them pushing against the frenzied tide of passengers trying to disembark.

I could have taken a short plane ride from Sulawesi to Ternate, but I was on a tight budget. And though cheap transport in a developing nation can be uncomfortable, even harrowing, often, the cheaper it is, the stranger and richer the experience. As Rolf Potts puts it, “traveling on the cheap can offer you windows into a culture that go beyond the caricatured stereotype of what a place is supposed to be like.”

During their exploration of Indonesia in the 1970’s, the Blair Brothers spent each night of a 2,000-mile journey in coffin-sized, cockroach-infested spaces below deck of a traditional boat. Their reward? A once in a lifetime adventure with the legendary seafarers of the Bugi tribe.

The Pelni ride in economy class couldn’t match the Blair Brothers’ experience, I knew, but I had a feeling it would give me a realer sense of Indonesia than a plane ride most of its population could never afford.

There are certain travel experiences, however, that life back home can never prepare you for. Once I’d made it onto the liner—a mission that lasted two determined hours— I was hit with a wall of cigarette smoke, the stench of food gone bad, and the worst travel conditions I had ever seen.

As the stream of the incoming crowd forced me along, I stared at the absurd amount of passengers stuffed into the first compartment of economy. I’ll find a cot in the next room, I thought.

But every room was the same. The cots— vinyl cushions laid out on metal platforms—were all taken, single cushions staked out by entire families. Old men squatted on the cement floor; kids perched themselves on bags of rice, blocking the entryways to flooded bathrooms.

Televisions blared Muslim sitcoms and government propaganda. The heat was unbearable, each room its own kind of cramped village. And they were endless.

“They don’t care about us: they treat us like animals.”

Pelni’s website boasts that “staying in cabin class is as comfortable as a luxurious hotel.” However, as most Indonesians can’t afford that experience, the private cabins are few.

The web site goes on: “sailing is so smooth, one hardly feels a difference to being on land.” That, too, must be a luxury reserved for the cabin class, because the three levels of economy were so far below deck that its passengers might as well have been inside the liner’s rumbling engine.

“Indonesia’s government— it’s inhumane,” Agus, said, motioning his cigarette towards the main deck below us, where hundreds of people crouched in the rain. “They don’t care about us; they treat us like animals.”

In a country as timid as Indonesia, these words were biting ones. After three months of travel throughout the archipelago, I’d never heard the question of humanity mentioned. Most Indonesians carried a hard-earned reticence, in part left over from the days of Suharto’s oppressive rule.

I could see what he meant. I hadn’t found a cot down in economy; in fact, I hadn’t found any space at all. The stairs leading to each level of the ship were a maze of passengers, each landing more impossible to maneuver. The main deck outside looked like a refugee camp, hundreds of families huddled on tarps, men balanced on the ship’s railings playing cards, boys laid out on beams above, baking in the heat.

The most impressive were the elderly, sitting like little Buddhas, patient and serene. Many of these people, Agus told me, were looking for temporary work, others exporting goods. Some of them had been traveling like this for days, even weeks. Agus himself had another four days before he reached Papua to find logging work.

I gazed out through the hard rain at the passengers below. Did they, too, feel abandoned by their government? For me, this was a twelve-hour ride. I could get off this boat and never come back. I could fly out of this country, fly away over its lush volcanoes, its ocean-side villages where floods took homes, and fevers took children, and return to an air-conditioned, carpeted world.

I felt guilty at that moment—not because I had found shelter from the storm, but because for me, and perhaps only me, the storm was a passing one.

Encounters with Hardship

The sunset burned red, filling the sky with its last light. I had surrendered to our precarious shelter, sending my new friends into fits of laughter with my imitations of Sulawesi slang. Now, the storm over, we stood atop the lifeboat. The island of Ternate had finally come within view.

“Photo?” Agus said, pointing to the camera in my pocket. I took it out and snapped a shot of the smiling group. “Thank you,” he smiled, not caring that he’d never see it.

“Terima Kasi,” I said back in Bahasa Indonesia, wishing I had more words to explain. As travelers, we are often drawn to unfamiliar experiences because they open something in us, free us to be stronger, wiser versions of ourselves.

But it was the locals’ grace and humility, not my own, that gave me that freedom. And they learned it from the hardship I only briefly encountered.

Because I don’t have to worry about directing traffic in La Paz. There are men in zebra suits to do that for me.

Because the Andes are jagged, raw and breathtaking.

Because api and pastel is quite possibly the most indulgent breakfast on Earth.

Because trout from Lake Titicaca really is that good.

Because co-instructors like these make life (and work) a breeze!

Because there are ample opportunities to play with the “color accent” feature of my camera.

Because these are 11 of the best teenagers on Earth.

Because sometimes there are no words…

Because our home stay families in Sorata welcomed us with open arms.

Because this is the backyard of the Program House in Sorata.

Because teaching gringos to dance is always funny.

Because local, fresh fruits and vegetables are the norm, rather than an expensive indulgence.

Because this is one of those places…where there be dragons.

Because Lake Titicaca has an energy that is inexplicable, yet oh so tangible.

Because even men can weave.

Because glaciers such as these won’t be with us for much longer, and I feel honored to be in their presence.

Because of the sheer joy felt upon arriving at our first high altitude camp.

Because of high altitude soccer matches.

Because alpacas are awesome.

Because even altitude-induced vertigo can’t erase the beauty of this place.

Because glacier lakes still exist.

Because the starkness of the land is only part of its beauty.

Because making it to the top feels OH SO GOOD.

Because some feelings can cross any boundary.

Because cow dung fires are actually really warm.

Because accomplishments like these do not get old.

Because jumping pictures are always in order.

Because crossing one range of snow-capped mountains to reveal another equally majestic range in the not-so-distant view instills in you an extraordinary sense of place.

Because condors have up to a 10 foot wingspan and seeing them is said to bring one luck. We saw four.

Because these hands have touched so much.

Because sitting down at the end of the day feels fabulous.

Because sometimes the cheapest meals are the most delicious.

Because a little dust from the road can’t hide a smile.

Because even a LOT of dust from the road can’t hide a smile.

Because there is green in Bolivia as well.

Because keeping day packs dry going over rapids on the first day of a river trip seems like a good idea.

Because even 18 hours of constant rain can’t stop us from having a good time.

Because inner-tubes and baibo trees make a great raft.

Because I will never tire of taking pictures of my Chacos.

Because eating cow hearts is considered a delicacy.

Because learning the meaning and value of a hard days’ work is invaluable.

Because coca is a tradition, not a drug.

Because kids are beautiful.

Because a fresh coat of paint goes a long way.

Because service to others is infinitely fulfilling.

Because exhaustion is real.

Because salteñas are indescribably delicious.

Because the altiplano is truly, expansively inspirational.

Because a battered flag serves as a brilliant reminder of the strength, diversity and beauty of a nation.

Because some of these cactuses are over 2000 years old.

Because we made shirts that say “Where There Be Llamas”.

Because Maro is really strong.

Because fourteen people together for six weeks will not tire of group photos.

Because Liza is an amazing leaper.

Because jumping pictures never get old.

Because they were always willing to help.

Because deserts and active volcanoes blow my mind.

Because lunch came with a view.

Because reflection is found in so many places and forms.

Because vicuñas are probably my favorite animal.

Because flamingos live at 16,000 feet.

Because the colors of these mountains are other-worldly.

Because the altiplano sky really is that big.

Because a new band has just been born, and this will be its album cover.

Because we travel to where there be dragonz.

Because I am on this journey too.

Most photos and captions by the author. Additional photos provided by Marolyn Vidaurre de la Riva and Andy Coval.

Community Connection

Check out a trip-report of a incredible backpacking route in Bolivia, learn about the organization Sustainable Bolivia and read an interview with a photographer who specializes in Big Bolivian Sunsets.

If you’re jealous of Helen’s job, check out employment opportunities with the educational youth travel organization Where There Be Dragons.

To further stoke your wanderlust, read the full description of the Dragons 6-week Bolivia summer program.