Bali, Bali - Oxen Free

I've got to stop booking early morning flights out of Singapore....I just can't help myself. Why fly into a new city in the middle of the afternoon when you call pull yourself from sleep and get there bright and early in the morning? I regretting my notion the minute my phone blared me awake at 4:21 AM. I jumped out of bed to find the lists I'd left myself right on my floor. Garbled words like "Passport!!" "Sing. cash for taxi!" and "phone charger!" lay on my floor and were clear enough to decipher. Oh yeah, I was headed to Bali today so do yourself a favor and don't forget these essentials. Just a regular Friday morning, you know? A quiet taxi ride, a breakfast while watching the airport crowd and once the Sing sky had been streaked with pink, Latvian friend Laura and I were off to Uluwatu. Yes, please. 

Our driver met us right outside of immigration where I bulldozed by a group of Chinese tourists obviously more eager (read: more awake) than myself. We met our driver, hopped into the van and were off, zooming through narrow roads, passing Balinese temples poking out from the dense jungle, blurring fruit stalls strung with browning bananas, carefully stacked bottles of petrol and plastic chair eateries. Chickens poked at the ground next to surf shop after surf shop. Singapore, it was not...but that's the way I like it. 

Our Air BnB in Uluwatu was a dream, stepping stones in varying shades of eggshell green, smokey charcoal and a creamy beige allowed a tranquil pathway across the infinity pool, curtained doorways and hanging shell chandeliers. We sipped a flower adorned lime drink till our room was ready — which by the way, seemed to embody peace and tranquility itself...but we didn't stay long. With the promise of "Dreamland Beach" just a walk down the road, it was obviously time to don swimming suits and make our way there. 

A jumble of signs pointed the way towards a narrow walkway of villas (and a field of dolefully grazing cows and vocal roosters), through a derelict ally littered with tangerine and fuchsia colored petals and baskets woven out of banana leaves. Oh and cigarette butts and other rubbish, but who wants to hear about that? Bali's not *quite* perfect, but I digress. Through this derelict alley, we found a long and narrow set of stone steps that gave us a first glimpse of said beach. Truth be told, I looked at these photos after I initially took them and was disappointed — they didn't quite capture his incredibly stunning the scenery was. So if you think the photos convey that, you're wrong and will just have to go for yourself. Pockets of deep navy waters swirled with creamy turquoise patches taunted me from the stone steps. I had to get the water ASAP. 

This long set of stairs spat us on the rocky shore; we'd traipsed onto the surfer's section where the frothy waves broke over jutting rocks. Undetered, Laura and I made a treacherous walk across rocks and powerful surf (avoid crabs and abandoned coconuts) to very private, very beautiful and very sandy cove, set under a sheer cliff and to the right of a trio of fisherman, who were sitting atop one of the volcanic rocks that jutted out from the ocean. Basically, we found perfection. 

It was effortless spending a few hours swimming in the strong surf, lying in the sun and just reveling in the how unbelievable this beach is. Don't get me wrong, I adored my time in Thailand. But this is something out of a falsified postcard. Despite my base tan (days my apartments pool had trained me for this) I felt the beginnings of a sunburn and Laura and I climbed this very unofficial set of stairs out of paradise and back onto the country road back to AirBnB. I say unofficial intentionally. This abandoned house on stilts seemed to be home to a few surfboards and was eerily grafittied with random phrases, but had a very clear depiction of the word "kidney" (or maybe "kidsey" but I like my version better) at the top. Not sure if was some sort of kidney drop off but hey, the view was great. 

The walk home was rather uneventful — just kidding. We got lost, found a heavily guarded (by vocal dog) mart where we negotiated prices and thirstily purchased water in broken English. The shop keeper was, however, articulate enough to ask if I was married — and ask a follow up question in her limited English: "Why?". I don't know, lady. Let me know if you figure that one out. 

When we did reach our dreamy room, a shower and lunch was in order: Mangosteen and dragonfruit smoothie bowls were the highlight, though I'm a sucker for anything coconut, so the coconut ice cream was a close second. I also had an entree, but is that ever as good as dessert? Fed and feeling the after effects of our sunny afternoon, Laura and I got a 5 second tutorial on driving scooters after arguing down the price. Then we were off — on the wrong side of the road. Sorry, American driving. I was quickly corrected and then we were really off. There was a bit of a learning curve, several stops for directions and a random toll road stop where I fumbled with the currency (1,000 IDR is not even 20 cents, but I still was wary because a 1,000 bill has got to be more than that, right?) and we'd arrived just at sunset at the Uluwatu temple. After buying a ticket and wrapping up in a purple sarong I hoped distracted from my hair (helmets and humidity had not played nice), Laura and I watched the sun melt into the waves high from the above cliffs. The waves at the shore crashed violently into the cliffside which I could've watched for hours, if I wasn't rudely interrupted. 

I felt the pressure of someone's arms on my neck, coming from behind. In a panic, I thought to myself, "Who is the world do I know in Bali who is hugging me from behind?" as the more cynical thought in my brain took over "What sort of stranger is trying to hug me?" Turns out, no one I knew was in Bali and was not being assaulted by a stranger. An enormous monkey had jumped onto my back in order to get close enough to snatch the pearl earring out of Laura's ear. Once the sun had sent, hordes of monkeys swarmed the ground in some sort of freakish "olly olly oxen free call".  Now, I'd seen monkeys up close before. The ones in India? Cute. The ones in China? Cute but also terrifying. Turns out Bali has the cute but terrifying kind and after the pearl snatching, it was our cue to leave. 

Donning helmets and revving up our scooters for a drive back in the dark, a wrong turn led us to a convince store that mercifully had wifi (where I could re-download a map home) but more importantly, had a roadside stand selling fruit smoothies. Tragic, I know. Post smoothie  Laura and I zoomed more confidently onto the now quiet and dimly lit roads, stopping to admire the stars in an empty field along the coast — you don't get sunsets really, not to mention stars, in Singapore. It was only the allure of the thread hammock strung up by the empty pool that kept me from collapsing straight into my bed after returning our scooters. I got up before I feel asleep by the pool, knowing I'd sleep better in my Balinese bedroom. We had a busy itinerary planned for Saturday, after all. 

I See You, Malaysia.

We had loose plans for our last day in Malaysia- it was planned to be short trip and unfortunately had to stay that way, but I would have loved to stay longer. Still yawning from a late night eating all that Jonker Street had to offer, I started a lazy morning photographing the sleepy streets before we really got going. Metal racks held green coconuts ready to be trimmed and sipped, shops were still boarded up, giving the cats a porch to snooze on without fear of being interrupted by curious shoppers. 

The morning melted into early afternoon, marked only by the museums we slowly crossed off our list. The Dutch Square was first to be looked at; The historical influence and cultural was something I've been craving in Singapore. The cleanly paved walkways and English signs are convenient and modern, but I'd been missing that cultural signficance and general chaos I instantly associated with Asia. The things I love about this side of the world — the zooming motorbikes piled high with whole families, alleys crowded with vegetables and fruits for sale, tiny carts pulled by hand selling bowls of noodles and dumplings and ancient temples and relics hidden between buildings is completely erased from Singapore. Yes, Singapore is modern and urban, but to me that translates to sterile and lackluster..and certainly not the Asia I think of. That thriving busyness, crowded alleys of food streets and Dutch, French, Malaysian influence is thriving in Melaka and I was soaking it up. 

The afternoon quickly passed by as Malay wedding dresses, Arabic manuscripts, Vietnamese pottery and governmental homes were admired.  A leisurely lunch at a backpacking hostel (adorned with vintage wine and beer bottles, scribbled walls from past residents and dreamy French music) consisted of chilled cucumber juice and nasi (or rice) dish topped with a fried egg — in any country, I'm a sucker for a fried egg. Tented vendors tried to tempt us with rubber chickens, small stools painted with the logos of famous sports teams and businesses (loads of UK soccer teams and coffee shop slogans) and foot massage flip flops on our walk to the hostel but it was time to shove yesterday's clothes into our backpacks and walk the now bustling streets to find our departing bus terminal. The traffic back to Singapore was maddening- the 3 hour drive took a grand total of 9 hours due to Chinese New Year traffic; 30 rest stops stretched into an hour or so, where Laura and I ran around, spending our last remaining Ringgets on various cookies and chocolates to lift our spirits as the blue sky slowly turned inky black. A headache at customs (crowds will do that) and a bouncy bus ride brought us back into sleeping Singapore; I calmly queued up for a taxi (no need to shout or push on this side of the peninsula) and once home, flipped on my water heater, only to opt for a cold shower before bed. Malaysia exceeded all sorts of expectations and gave me that dose of culture I'd been missing — hopefully it'll last a few weeks...then I'll need to cross the border again. 

I Like Melaka.

When you've got the chance to hop on a bus and drive to another country, you take it. I think it's where I grew up that created this fascination to being able to drive to another country. I mean, sure, you could grab 30 hours worth of music and jaunt down to Mexico or go straight north for a few hours and make it to Canada from my home state; but for some reasons, Mexico and Canada doesn't seem as foreign as it would seem if you packed a basket full of bread and cheese for a picnic in neighboring Germany or France. So before I'd even left for Singapore in November, I knew I'd need to drive up to Malaysia. I just had to. 

That day came the weekend over Chinese New Year; I had day off work so my Latvian friend Laura and I got up bright and early to bus over to Melaka. Once we'd passed the Singapore border (a short bridge over the ocean, gone through customs, etc)  we left the glitzy high rise behind and entered into and into the oceans and oceans of palm trees which was Malaysia. A rest stop gave me a first taste of Malaysia which made me love it instantly; pineapple for around $0.20. The jungle soon transformed into the city, though not in the sense of Singapore.. Streets were fringed with run down homes, derelict yet painted in shades of bright turquoise and corals, tiny shops poked between foliage, selling bowls of noodles and cigarettes — it vaguely reminded me of India. The bus hub was busy and there was a fight for a cab. I knew I'd been in Singapore too long when I lined up for "my turn" at the taxi queue. In Singapore, you can't really hail a cab off the street — you find a taxi queue, and wait your turn in a very orderly fashion. Sometimes, there's even a type of official who ushers in the taxis and makes everything run quite smoothly. In Malaysia, you had to elbow your way past people and grab your driver first hand. But we got to our hostel A-OK and were eager to get out exploring the minute we dropped off our bags at the hostel. 

10/10 would recommend this hostel. 

Stop one was the oldest Chinese temple in Malaysia, where a sweet lady insisted we empty the bin of mandarin oranges into our bags; we obliged, of course. The dragon painted doorways and burning incense brought a wave of China nostalgia; I miss those temples. I quietly snapped a few pictures, watching a few locals worship and pray — it's always been something I've felt a little uncomfortable with, being able to create a place of worship like a tourist spot since no one seems to stop by my LDS chapel to pose in front and post onto Snapchat. But I digress. 

The river cruise was a suggestion made by our helpful hostel staff and we took them up on the offer — the boat ride gently guided us down a river that cut through fabulous mural walls, splashed with geometric patterns, depictions of dim sum and vivid faces — I really like wall murals, so yes, I really like Melaka. The cruise ended  just at sunset and the small city was thrown into darkness, which made things only that more fun. The crowds really came out, throes of people swarmed around these hilarious lit up rickshaws I couldn't stop photographing. Plush toys were zip-tied to create a backrest to the seats which were strung up with vibrant LED lights, complete with obnoxiously loud soundtracks that pumped out a beat you could hear for miles. I was partial to the Pokemon/Pikachu model. 

Not pictured: Frozen, Hello Kitty, and other Pokemon versions. 

The sea of people pushed us towards Jonker street; an alley we'd passed earlier in the day but wouldn't be able to recognize now. Tables lined the streets, piled high with vendors shouting out their wares. Oh, and the buzz of a hand mixer being shoved into an entire watermelon. Yep, you could buy a whole watermelon that had a small hole cut out of the top: a hand mixer had swirled the contents into a slushy juice you could just shove a straw into and drink away. It was fabulous. We squeezed our way through the insanely busy street, oogling at cheap electronics, knickknacks, old rusted coins, ornate tins, gadgets worthy of American Informercials and the food. 

We ate loads, sharing Taiwan Burgers (octopus sandwiched into 2 pancake like buns), rows of quail eggs lined up on skewers and dipped liberally in spicy sambal, fish ball dim sum, plastic containers of sushi, fried dumplings placed in translucent bags and stabbed with mega-toothpicks and coconut ice cream. I was stuffed, but couldn't resist the ice cream. It was scooped into a tiny pot, covered with Oreo crumbs and topped with a mint leaf. It was too cute to not eat. 

Asia, I love how cute your food is. 

Exhausted from all the eating and navigating the insane crowds that come with a good food street, it was time for a shower in our rad hostel — I didn't really appreciate it beforehand but I loved the exposed copper pipes and minimal design. I'm never too tired to appreciate things like exposed copper pipes. Despite the noise still blaring from the main road, I crashed — fully intent on getting a good night's rest before diving into another day in Melaka. 

A Saturday In Singapore's (Actual) Jungle

The shiny urban high rises of Singapore is something I think is a little lost on me. I have to remind myself to look up and appreciate some of the stunning architecture, because I'm normally rushing to find the hidden gems squeezed between these 40 story apartments. There is one exception; Some Saturdays I'll take the slow bus to the deserted city center; the city square normally swarming with fast talking business men and women having stern conversations and folding newspapers is completely empty. I'll pop in my headphones and wander the seemingly abandoned plazas, doused in shade by the towering buildings, scouting out geometry patterns in the concrete. 

Ah, but this weekend was different. It was time to explore Singapore's real jungle. Nestled at one end of the island, away from hustling MRT stops and crowded hawker centers is the MacRitchie Nature Reserve; an expanse of tangling vines, enormous umbrella like foliage that makes it hard for even the rain to pass through and tall towering trees, slightly reminiscent from the high rises that are only a few stops away. I hadn't realize how much I needed the time outside — Don't get me wrong, trying to find flea markets and walking from bakery to bakery in Tiong Bahru counts as being outside, but it's a completely different feeling when you are out in the forest. The hike in was nice, you slowly perforated the dense foliage, counting down until the next wooden sign told you how many more kilometers were left until you arrived at the treetop bridge. 

The bridge is pretty magical to walk across. A sturdy base and high railings were not the sort of things I found in China while waltzing across jungle tree tops; this is Singapore, so safety is one major concern and all safety instructions are clearly outlined in 4-5 languages. Ah, but I digress. I hadn't realized how much the din of the city had been weighing on me. I've taken to wearing an eye mask at night for bed because the illuminated high rises outside my windows don't power down until 3 or 4 in the morning. But that doesn't muffle the deafening blur of expensive race car engines that seem to zoom down my street at all hours of the day. Seeing butterflies flit in and out of the trees and even spotting monkeys from time to time was a nice break from the urban jungle I'd surprisingly gotten used to. 

Though, this guy was ready to pounce, thinking I'd reached into my bag for some snacks, rather than my camera. Not sure the picture was worth the risk. Though this may be Singapore, I bet these monkeys would still pounce on you for a bite of trail mix just like the ones in China. 

My Singlish "Home"

After a couple whirlwind weeks bowing with exaggerated "sawadekaaaaaaaahhhhhhs" (and an obscene amount of coco and Pad Thai) a jet lagged Christmas (and a 2 week period of wearing as many sweaters and scarfs as possible) it was time to be back in Singapore; my forever-88-degree-humidity-swathed-home for the next 3 months. It felt good to get back to wondering my bougainvillea fringed alleyways wedged between towering skyscrapers after Utah's cold. Being January, all of Singapore was getting ready for Chinese New Year, so my traditional haunts were now decked out in red lanterns while tiny shops selling red lidded bins of cookies popped up in unsuspecting places. Enormous and weighty globe-like pomelos (or 柚) were piled high on fruit carts and everything was plastered with some sort of drawing or poster of a rooster. The year of Monkey was coming to a close...made official in my book by the gigantic and rainbow painted inflatable rooster that was blown up to sit at the entrance of Singapore's Chinatown. It was both entertaining and terrifying. I mean, come on...how is a giant inflatable chicken at least a tiny bit terrifying?

I'd grown quite fond of all the Chinese New Year celebrations (and little stands) and was sad to see them go...but not before I made the trek down to Chinatown on the actual Eve to purchase yet another red-lid-bin of my favorite cookies. I'm partial to the pineapple tarts, but think I like the little buttery rounds topped with a cashew more. Let's just say the bin didn't make it to actual New Years Day. After the maddening crowd, the lantern hung streets, inflatable rooster and swarm of tourists, I had a quiet bus ride home in the dark to come home and finish up another episode of my current binge series (with those cashew cookies not far from reach). Call it a sort of coping mechanism for the crippling sense of nostalgia I always seem to get after a visit to Chinatown. Oh, I miss China.

As January whizzed by, time was also spent in what I've dubbed as Singpore's "Little Thailand" — as if the swirling melting pot of culture found on this tiny island needed another ethnic identity. I've been keeping an ear out for the trademark "Singlish" found here in Singapore — the official English has been infused with Malay, Indian, Chinese to create a tasty linguistic creole, much like my favorite dishes at the local hawker centers. I think I'm getting the hang of it. I've decided to spend my time off the glitzy shopping streets and in grocery stores instead. I particularly like wandering the aisles of the dimly florescent lamp lit grocery store in Little Thailand, examining teeny shrimps crammed into jars and seeing gnarly knobs of ginger waiting to be grated into some sort of curry. Little Thailand is about a 40 minute bus ride away, but I make the trek to get an avocado shake at my favorite place that sits just right across the pedestrian bridge. And yes, though it takes over and hour to get there and back, I did get a punch card for a free smoothie after 10 purchases at this favorite stand. I'm determined to go through at least 1 punch card (and realistically, two) before heading back home, home (the one in America). Too bad there isn't a punch card for this waffle-and-ice-cream monstrosity below. In all honesty, I had no problem polishing this off at around 10:00 AM. Waffles are breakfast, right?

It's probably a good thing there isn't a breakfast punch card for this waffle dessert, but I have found a new favorite way to start the day: Dragonfruit. I'll saunter down to the nearest wet market and pick up a couple of the deep purple, black seed studded, and Dr. Suess-like fruits along with a couple fresh pineapples and walk home to chop them both ; always chopping the pineapple first so the golden pieces aren't stained with streaks of modena purple. Tip into a bowl and drizzle liberally with thick and floral coconut milk. It's dreamy and I have more photographs of my repetitive breakfast than I care to admit. 

Between hours of editing and entertaining Pokemon obsessed kiddos, I tried to plan my Singapore excursions in such a way that I would avoid the deluge of rain that seems to happen on the daily. I will admit that at times, I did sit in my flannel and drinking pot-after-pot of tea, imagining the brooding gray skies didn't mean it was still 80-something degrees outside. Time this month (it's hard to consider January as January when free moments are spent sipping soursop by the pool in 80° weather) has evaporated. Sure, I flip through my sketchbook and see that forts were built, avocado smoothies were sipped, hawker centers were frequented, but where did time actually go? Surely it hasn't been a month down in Singapore quite yet — I feel as though I'd just arrived.

A Jetlagged Christmas.

The flight home was brutal. I hit Bangkok's airport around 3:00 AM, waited for my 9:00 flight to Singapore and bid a hasty "goodbye and I'll see you in Utah" to my sister and friends. I slept hard on the flight over and made the long trek from the airport to my Singapore home — I'd forgotten enough Sing. cash to call a cab, hence the longer trek via public transport from the apartment. I had barely 24 hours in Singapore before I'd be back at the Changi airport but I tried not to think about that. There was zero food in the apartment, so I ran down to the corner store in my unshowered state to get some dinner ingredients (and some plane food for tomorrow) — I was ravenous and should have bought more Pringles. After a looooong shower and a scattered dinner I went to bed. Early. Oh, and I completely crashed that night — sleeping so hard I snoozed straight through my alarm but did wake up in time to make my flight, don't worry...but I had the beginnings of a sore throat. You know that swollen burning you hope goes away by morning but doesn't? It persisted all the way through the Guangzhou airport, the 5 hour layover and through the longer 14 hour flight to LAX; I hadn't gotten much sleep and had that annoying breathy cough you can't shake (and a peppermint hot cocoa can't even soothe?) when I landed.  I spent my whole string of flights sucking hard caramels and wishing the time away before freezing on the platform once I made it to Utah; Temperature wise, I was in SLC, that's for sure.

The Christmas break didn't exactly go as planned: week one was basically spent hacking, trying to swallow copious amounts of tea and binge watching Christmas movies while trying to battle jet lag. Week 2 was better: a magical snow came Christmas Eve and the holidays were lovely, spent with family, twinkling Christmas lights, and lots of foods I'd missed while in Asia. The sisters and I got more than a few thrift shopping runs in (complete with a score of Ikea plates and a rad plaid) and there was lots of get togethers with good friends. Cheese plates, and cakes, and lots of Mexican food with excellent conversation. That's one of the "behind the scenes" aspects of this passport stamped life: I dislike the stress of being home for just a scant number of days, running from appointments and calendared lunch dates. I crave that normalcy of being able to just reschedule for next week instead of penciling in friends in my calendar- who does that? Oh, but I digress. It went all too quickly and I soon found myself repacking my carry on (it was mostly food...but really. I crammed a box of cereal in instead of packing an extra outfit) and made the stormy drive for a very early flight from SLC to LAX. There was a horrendous 17 hour layover in LAX which included a frustrated yours truly when my bags couldn't be checked. Thank heavens for a family friend who lives in this sunny state who was willing to lug my luggage around in her car and take me out for some beach time and Greek food before taking me back so I could make my flight to Shanghai. 6 more hours on a plane and I'd landed back in Singapore. I can't wait to get an avocado shake.

Thailand's Glass Temple

I knew I wanted to see this place when I saw images of the intricately woven mosaic tiles on my sister's Instagram. I mean, who doesn't have Thailand on their bucketlist? But this temple - The Glass Temple - isn't one I'd seen along Bangkok, Phuket and other favorite places in this area of South East Asia. Luckily for me, the itty town of Phichit sits pretty closely to this marvel, making it an easy Saturday day trip.

The girls and I got up early, and hopped on bikes to ride through the still snoozing Phichit, past the Pad Thai place, over a narrow bridge suspended over chocolatey brown water to the old train station. A ticket that was real-life punched by a man in a conductor's uniform got us to the metropolis that is Phitsanulok. Now, this made tiny Phichit look even smaller. Though it was still early, rows of shops bustled, huge outdoor fruit markets were flooded with customers man handling tiny bunches of bananas and a glittering row of colorful tuk-tuks honked their horns, eager to zoom through traffic to get you to  your destination. We hopped into one and rode to the bus station, where a good deal of charades (and showing a few people a string of Thai instructions - or so we were told) got us onto the right bus. It was a sleepy ride out of P-lok. The 3 hours passed quickly, distancing ourselves from the city and passed little hut-like shops on the outskirts of town selling a menagerie of snacks. These faded quickly too and our tired sounding bus trekked higher into incredibly green mountains as passengers got on and off and seemingly random and unplanned stops. Mountain villages were few and far in between and we'd passed into another world but I felt we were getting close to Nai Mueang. Showing our driver the Thai instructions, we were told to get off here so we did. 

Apparently, "here" was the split between 2 major freeways; not exactly where I figured the Glass Temple would be. Luckily 2 men were there to negotiate a tuk tuk ride up to the temple. It took some time to negotiate how long we wanted him to wait up at the temple and how much we were willing to play - this gambling game is just that, a total game. Our driver spoke only Thai and unfortunately, the second man wouldn't be coming so we were eager to make our demands clear. Success. We piled into the tuk-tuk, knees bent and humidity curled tendrils whipping across our faces as we made the windy road into the mountain, the tip of the stacked white Buddha Temple peeking between the emerald hills. 

And we were there....I knew I'd have a difficult time describing this place and I hate to be one to say "you just have to see it for yourself" but you just have to see it for yourself. We decided to overwhelm ourselves first with the Buddha Temple, first taking off our shoes so our feet could step across the swirling mosaic flooring. As if that wasn't enough detail to take in, the massively stark Buddha's framed against the mountains was something else to take in. I had to tear myself away, being told by the girls that the other temple was way - way - better.

Oh they were right. The circular patterns on the ground, the plates and crushed tea sets set into columns that melted into more intricate swirls, huge pillars, rainbow mosiacs creating a staircase into more tiny and tiled patterns that folded into winding corridors. All of it, every single inch, was covered in hand laid mosaics. 

It was mesmerizing. 

It was absolutely mesmerizing. 

And our pre-negotiated 3 hours seemed more like 30 minutes and we were already well overdue, so we met our agitated tuk-tuk driver and made the ride down the hill where he dropped us off in the middle of an interstate. It was an adventure getting back to Phichit; Apparently the bus we had taken up there was due to come in about 40 minutes, or not at all. We met a man with an empty pickup truck who was willing to take us to to P-lok for about 3 times as much as we had paid for our bus ticket up here. The lack of windows, doors and places to sit made that a tempting offer. Luckily our bus did arrive at the unceremonious interstate stop (the same bus actually, driver and everything) and we all snoozed through a odd Thai film that seemed to straddle the line between horror and comedy. We made the best of our evening in P-lock, taxi'ing over to the crowded walking street to pick up *real* Adidas sweatshirts and all manner of street food. A late night train ride got us back to Phichit where a ride through the dark streets (all while avoid the dogs that keep watch) got us to our school, where we talked, snacked and laughed...and still marveled at the Glass Temple until about 3 AM.

Phichit's Pad Thai

I'll spare you the agony of explaining every single moment that happened the week I spent in Phichit, Thailand, but I'm showing no mercy when it comes to the Pad Thai. You've been warned. 

The girls and I bid goodbye to the island of Koh Chang (aka, dreamy paradise land) and boarded the bus to Bangkok which would drive through the night and drop us all off where my sister had called home for the past 4 month; the itty bitty town of Phichit. It didn't look like much around 3 AM but the sunrise quickly brought me to my senses. Consensus? It's adorable. Day one was spent recuperating from my travels while the girls taught - but of course I bolted upstairs to see a classroom of cuties during their "milk bread" the second I got the text. Um...imagine dozens of little Thai kids just hanging out, drinking cartons of milk. Dy....ing. It was so adorable. After class was over, it was really time to crack down and see the highlight reel of Phichit. The girls would all be leaving for America at the end of the week and needed to hit their favorite spots just one more time and we had a lot of cram in. I was only so happy to agree. 

So that's what happened that week. I wandered around the grassy grounds of the school, peeking into banana laden wheelbarrows while the girls taught, then we would snag the rusty bikes parked under the trees and wave at all the locals as we rode into town, determined to eat as much food as possible. We stopped at roadside stands and slurped up "yellow noodles", finishing them off with scoops of ice cream before shopping for dozens and dozens of socks (my favorite pair I purchased is adorned with dragonfruits. I adore dragonfruits). There were several 7-11 runs made (purchasing 5 Baht candies, these ice cream cones I was infatuated with in China and to snag bottles of chocolate milk and containers of the microwaveable lava cake. Sevey is life). Restaurants serving plates of cashew chicken and lemon chicken encircled by fried kale were devoured. We peeked into shops and stalls, searched through flea markets and wandered our way through vendors selling piles of old sweat shirts, mingled with stalls laden with fried bananas, next to creaking tables piled high with mysterious to me soups sold in bags. I love it here. 

The bike ride into town was both cute and a bit rough in the heat, though I'm told December is the nicest month to visit Thailand - we whizzed past the little roundabout, chatting about life in Thailand while pointing out favorite haunts while locals shouted out "hellos". Just cute, cute, cute. The real obsession though for me was the cocoa and the Pad Thai. And the roti. And just all the food in Thailand, but I digress. I'd heard about the magic of cocoa from Laura for months and was just itching to get my hands on a bag of the stuff. I drank my weight of that stuff in a very short amount of time. Embarrassing? Nope. I even made the mistake/excellent life choice to start the day off with both a bag of cocoa AND a bag of Thai tea. It must have amounted to about a full can and a half worth of sweetened condensed milk and I downed both.  Ah...and I digress again  Onto cocoa: It's rich - a velvety chocolate that's bitter and biting, mellowed out by the silky and sweet condensed milk that is stacked in pyramids at every reputable establishment. There's a splash of evaporated milk too that adds a creaminess, all poured over ice. It's yummmm. 

And to make things even better, the best cocoa place is right across the street from *the best* Pad Thai in Thailand. I didn't even need to take a bite before falling in love. Someday I'll speak as fondly about a person than I do about this Pad Thai. Possibly.

 It's the classic Asian situation where rickety plastic chairs surround rickety plastic tables and you walk in, and the cute lady at the wok just smiles and nods before cracking eggs expertly into the fired steel rim. Rice noodles are tossed in along with a range of other ingredients, all quickly stirred together into a steaming mass and divided up onto plates. Top liberally with crunchy and fresh bean sprouts, douse in a squeeze of lime and sprinkle with crushed peanuts. Unreal. Wash it down with a chilled Thai Tea and be sad that nothing else you could ever purchase or make will be as good as the Pad Thai here. Needless to say, we went many times before hitting up the 7-11 on the way home again, before stopping off to get roti. 

Trust me, there was more things going on besides eating...but not much.  The girls and I would stay up late in the evenings, talking and laughing and attempting to put off the inevitable task of packing. Oh and the kidsssssssss. I loved them oh so much after only one week and watching the teachers say goodbye only brought memories of the sob-fest which happened after a semester in China.  But who wants to read about that? (If you do, check out this post and get tissues) but we are all here to hear about more food. So onto the roti. Again, a favorite I'd been hearing about and I wasn't shy about ordering. Round 1 and I got 4 of these beauties and ate myself sick. It's a thin dough, slapped and rounded out till paper thin before sizzling in a liberal pool of bubbling fat on a flattop — the start of something good. The edges get folded in, crisping up in the fat before it is flipped and drizzled liberally with sweetened and condensed milk. Fold up in a wrapper that starts to bleed a lovely oil sheen before you can even get your hands on it, then take a bite. It's crunchy, sweet, toasty warm and leaves a lip-gloss shine behind and I obviously was too infatuated to take  a proper picture of it. Oh well. 

It's a good thing there was a lot of biking involved this week, because there sure was a lot of eating. 

Scoot-Scoot Sisters in Thailand.

You know you are living life right when you change into a still salty swimsuit before even meandering down to breakfast. A wooden table perched on the upper deck of a small neighboring restaurant provided a glimpse of the sea (and limitless cocoa and pineapple) which was fine in my book. After breakfast, I caught Clem by the pool, who had rented a scooter to find a bungalow where she could spend the rest of her week in Koh Chang. We said our goodbyes and promised visits if we were in each other's neighborhoods. I'd love to visit Spain and let Clem know I'd send her a message if I was in her neck of the woods. 9:00 AM seemed the ideal time to park it on the sugar sand and meet some hermit crab friends before Laura and her other teachers would be arriving. I poked around at the little bistro type restaurants that stretched across on side of the beach and opted to camp out in the opposite and commercially abandoned side of the beach, by a little islet that was cut by a deep channel before the ocean shallowed out on a sandbar. It was gorgeous which was good, because I was dying for Laura and her little entourage to finally get here. 

I got antsy and decided to wait by the hostel's pool and before I knew it, there they were! Aw, sisters in Thailand. The girls got all checked in and I gave them the grand tour; Adorable hostel, cute pool, rad music playing, shaded 1 minute waltz to the beach, then paradise itself. They were tickled. And on the calendar? Nothing but sun and sand. We all made camp at the deserted side of the beach where we collected sand dollars galore and McKenzie and Kelsi (Laura's little group of 3 she's been partial to since Day 1 of teaching) filled me in on who was who. It was a delight to put a face to the names I've been reading/hearing about for the past semester. 

You can only take so much sun before rinsing off and keeping your salt swirled curls while you search for dinner; and we were in luck. The 7-11 (a favorite haunt) had the cutest little kabob lady right there which you just can't say no to. Royally purple cabbage, crisp cucumber and pops of orange carrot kept things fresh, a spicy sauce mellowed out by a creamy mayo smoothed over the crunchy ends of the shaved spit of chicken all wrapped in a blistered tortilla type wrapper. Addicted to Thailand's Kabobs at first bite.

We wouldn't dream of missing the sunset so it was back to the beach before getting dinner (more curry please!) at our breakfast place and staying up late (poolside of course) that evening before planning on Sunday's itinerary: scooters.  

Pinapple, toast, cocoa, noodles and repeat was breakfast before hopping 2 to a scooter ($3 each) for the whole day. Zoom, zoom and Laura and I were off, zipping passed roadside signs, brightly colored in Thai, down steep (crazy steep) and windy jungle roads, blitzing past 7-11's and a Chinese Temple. The wind that whipped our hair drowned out our conversation, meaning I could really catch up on who was who. We all stopped to fill up on water and ice creams at Sevey before finding another good beach. We turned down narrow roads to find a red sand beach which was good, but we were looking out for something...something else. When peeking down a sharp dip down (which was actually a road) a man in a truck pulled us over and said "If you have fear, do not go. But it is a beautiful beach." That was our something else. Leaning back and heavily on the brakes, Laura and I made our treacherous way down a pothole riddled road that spilled out into a pool of asphalt, creating a break in the jungle. Then, a little path opened up to my favorite beach to day. 

Koh Chang's white sand beach is just everything you wanted. Fringed with dense greenery, glittering waters seamlessly melted into truly sugar sandy shores. We all bought tons of these elephant printed tapestries to nap on before venturing out to find lunch. Hopping on scooters let us find a noodle house (Pad See Ew, always) right next to passionfruit and mango smoothies for around $1.50. Have I already mentioned how perfect this day has been so far? We ventured into a bayou-like Lagoon before going to our beach for the sunset..then off to more food.  A long scoot back to the food street let us walk down while drooling and wanting to taste all the things. 

Smoky stalls swirling woks full of thick noodles and oyster sauced vegetables, kabobs studded thick with chicken and vegetables, quail eggs carefully cracked and skewered, noodles swimming in a soup  — sold in bags, mind you...oh, and ice cream. We fell in love with this lady who made massive amounts of Pad Thai for around $1 and we made short work of it and got more smoothies on our walk back, of course. Next up was shopping; discovering last minute trinkets the teachers were collected before going back home. After things stated closing down, me, Laura and Kenzie piled on one scooter (Asian Style) and I held on by my legs, laughing the whole scoot home which didn't stop once we got to the pool to talk and laugh some more. Not bad, Thailand. Not bad at all.

Hello, Thailand

As it so happens, my sister Laura has been teaching English in Thailand for the past 3-4 months and as you may know, it is loads cheaper to fly to Thailand from than it is to fly from the States. Go figure. So that was the plan; hop over to Thailand for 2 weeks to see what life has been like for the little sister (pull my arm, right?) And let me tell you, life in Thailand is an absolute dream.

It was a tiny bit of a hassle to actually get there; an early flight from from Singapore to Bangkok where I picked up some Thai Tea before waiting for my tiny airplane to take me to the tiny airport of Trat, Thailand. The customs line was stuffed with a bunch of partying teens waiting to wreck havoc on Bangkok and I was all too happy to be bused onto the tarmac to board this itty-bitty plane to a more remote place in Thailand. The flight was brief and gorgeous; glittering rice patties faded once you hit the ethereal cloud layer before landed besides the jewel tone ocean. Seriously, the Trat airport can't really even be called an airport; a stretch of road cut away from the jungle made the runway where a wooden platform and covered roof created the terminal. Oh, and topiary elephants adorned the entrance. So. Cute.  A bus took me to the ferry over to the island of Koh Chang where I met the lovely miss Clementine; French-raised and Spain-resdeint, Clem has literally been everywhere. The kind of traveler whose well worn passport flips open to show double stamped sections and visas from around the world. Okay, I'm only a teeny bit envious.

We actually were staying at the same hostel (the adorable Pajamas Hostel) which doesn't seem too much a coincidence because if you have the chance to stay at a hostel called "Pajamas" that boasts both a pool and a 2 minute walk to white sands, why wouldn't you stay there? After the ferry salty breeze properly got my curls all out of order we bused through the jungle to the hostel and settled in to paradise- I mean, our rooms. It was reminiscent of Mikanos, the white washed walls painted with deep blue shutters which is never a bad thing.

It didn't take long to wander off to find the beach and 2 minute advertised walk was an exaggeration. A paved suspended walkway opened to white sand and Instagram-worthy water, dotted with sailboats and fringed by dense foliage's mine in less than a minute. Beachside mango smoothies were then in order, of course, before the warm sun melted into a creamy orange before dipping into the sea. Next up, checking out the local restaurant scene for yellow curry and papaya salad while chatting about adventures. There is something about talking with someone who craves that same sense of adventure and excitement from being thrown in a completely new culture that you look for.  Despite the sparkling conversation, I'd been up since 4 AM and called it an early night, slipping into white sheets listening to the sharp squawking jabs of the local birds that peppered the evening's oceanic soundtrack. No surprise, I woke up feeling like I was still dreaming.

Singapore's Joss Sticks

I'd been feeling a little reminiscent of China being here in Singapore but couldn't really put my finger on it. Then it hit me; I'd recently spent months and months in a country that had thousands — thousands — of years of history. Weekends were filled exploring neighborhoods that were encircled with a city wall that had withstood dozens of attacks over the hundreds of years. Pagodas had been burned and rebuilt and burned and rebuilt again. Everything was so old, so ancient and so embedded with a sense of history. Singapore has many things, but it doesn't emit that cultural history like China does.

So imagine my delight when my church planned an activity to explore one of the only lasting arts this country has to its name; joss sticks. These incense sticks are commonly found in countries all over South East Asia, India and mainland China but underwent a transformation when brought to Singapore. This man's store front is found in one of the industrial neighborhoods, a cab dropped my off where I wove my way through storefronts crowded with engines to be repaired, furniture to be mended, and motorcycles to be fixed until I knew I was in there right place. Intricately carved six-foot tall incense sticks were sort of a dead giveaway.

Tay Guan Hong's workshop was dusty; various tools you'd expect and other you wouldn't, hung from various hooks and strings from the ceiling, where bags of a rich brown clay lay wrapped in a thick plastic. Various wire forms were halfway formed into a man carrying baskets of fish or about to artfully blow into a flute were strewn about, carefully drying and waiting until they were completed.

Tay did a careful demonstration and explanation of his craft; the clay he uses is simply ground cinnamon bark and water, that's it. This tradition has been in his family for generations, who brough and elaborated it from Mainland China. Tay carves various figurines, Christmas ornaments and gingerbread houses for the Christian population, and of course the enormous Joss Sticks. He used mostly his hands in the demonstration, and the only tools he did rely on can be found at any fast food spot. A straw helped him carve out details with a flick of his very experienced wrist. He carefully formed a hand, then snipped 5 fingers before deftly folding a thick pancake of clay into a beautifully draped sleeve and robe. It was ah-mazing to watch. 

I left still feeling nostalgic about China. I'm probably due for another lunch of tomato and eggs in Chinatown.

Singapore’s Little India

Apparently, my *next* adventure until grown up life (you know, the one with car payments and succulent filled windows?) is Singapore. While living in China, I met a lovely family with 2 kids at the Nanjing LDS branch who need someone who could pick up and move their  life abroad without interrupting school or a career and hang out at their high rise for a few months…that person is me! And I couldn’t be more thrilled to be in Asia, though I did not miss the (long) flight — didn’t I just do this? The minute I landed in the Guangzhou, China airport, I’d been traveling some 20 plus hours but was just tickled to see those little orange juice squeezer vending machines. Oh China, how I’ve missed you. A short layover, then it was off to admire a jewel tone ocean and Malaysian coast out of my 3rd airplane window seat in the past 30 hours. I love you Asia, but you’re a beast to get to.

I’ve been in Singapore a week now, and have gotten pretty settled in. I adore the view from floor 17; you can just see the corner of 3 different swimming pools in between the geometric slats created by the towering apartments that dot the skyline. Singapore is a far cry from the adventures in China - the city’s shrouded in dense greenery pocketed by fancy hotels, high rise apartments and very ritzy shopping malls…at least, that’s the view from Orchard Lane (kitty corner to where I’m living). I’m all unpacked and got into the groove of working, taking afternoon breaks sipping Milo (South East Asia’s obsession - it’s basically a slightly more bitter, barley tasting chocolate milk. I love it.) while visiting the pool or going out with the kids until mom goes to work and I’ve got 3-4 hours to learn all I can about Pokemon while whipping up dinner. J., age 6, looooooooooves Pokemon.

While I rather like my weekday schedule, I’ve been itching to go out and do some exploring — and ever since I saw the “Little India” metro stop on my MRT app, I knew it would be adventure number one. I don’t nanny on Fridays, leaving me to get up early, snag a banana and Milo breakfast on my way out and take the 15 minute walk to ION, the ultra fancy shopping mall to catch the Metro. I say ultra fancy because this mall is bursting with stores like Tiffany’s, Louis Vuitton, Christian Louboutin, Dolce & Gabanna and others I can only dream of buying knock offs from. Time in China made me a metro pro, the whole transferring/line/“passengers please alight on the left” slogan is pretty familiar, as were the streets of Little India. 

I stepped off the metro about an hour before the stands had really opened, but even that early, the oppressively humid air was thick with spices. Vendors were just opening up, but I imagine coriander and pepper corns were being toasted for the day’s curries and masalas, because the swirl of spice hits your nose while walking down the quiet and vibrantly painted avenues. It’s quite the combination paired with the flowery scent from the bright orange and yellow floral garlands sold near the temples. 

Not that there was time to kill, but I spent an easy 2 hours wandering the expansive “everything” store that is Mustafas. Imagine 6 floors of everything….everything!; luggage, shoes, reams of fabric, electronics, fresh fish on ice, stacked canned drinks with text in Hindi and Chinese and English and anything else you can think of. I spent my time poking around the floor-to-ceiling shelves, searching the aisles for…nothing, but isn’t that the fun of it? I’ve got plans to come back. Several times. 

After spending most of my time in the grocery section of Mustafas, it’s only natural I stumble across another grocery store, — though this I suppose would be classified more as a “wet market”. Stationed in some type of open warehouse, whole chickens (and other proteins with parents) hacked up on wooden blocks created the outer ring, while piles of fresh vegetables and fruits created the next layer of color. People were milling about, discussing prices in an assortment of languages while riffling through piles of prawns and pomegranates. Though fascinating to watch, the middle ring is the reason I’ll be coming back. It was as hot as a sauna, but the most interesting little food court I’ve seen — tiny stalls of primarily Indian (but a few favorite Chinese meals were present too) created a maze  advertising quite the lunch selection. Still being early, I opted for a thick mango nectar…but will go back for lunch (and the lychee tea). It's nice to know I can revisit my favorites in India by hopping over a couple metro stops, at least for the next few months. 

My 100 Year Old Mansion

I knew I wanted to take some time to travel after graduating college. The lack of a job proposal after I walked to get my diploma did help with that decision, but I knew after my *next* trip I'd get a job, get an apartment, and decorate my windowsills with succulents while stressing over a car payment. That's the life, right? The summer after graduation was peppered with trips to Yellowstone and drives down to southern Utah. Thanksgiving travels brought a spontaneous trip to India. After Christmas, Chinese visas were stamped into my passport. Now, that gap year I had planned after graduating has turned into a year and some change. But after China, that's when I'd settle in and start work in a proper office like a grown up, right? Now I find myself typing away in California cafes and coffee shops during an extended stay in Coronado.

The invitation was too good to pass up. I write and edit for a couple different companies on a contracted freelance basis, meaning I can rack up my hours wherever there's wifi. And there happens to be wifi in this gorgeous home I'm staying in. Now, technically this mansion isn't mine. Just in case you didn't get the "I can't afford a house in Coronado because I work as a writer then spend money on plane tickets vibe", I can't even think of being able to afford to live here because I work as a writer and spend money on plane tickets. My cousins are managing the property in their own inspired turn of events, and there happens to be 14 or so extra rooms for me to stay in. How could I say no?

I've got hours to spend with my 3 darling second cousins; I mean, you can't resist when an adorable little curly haired 3-year-old says "Can you pick me up and read me a story?". I'm more than happy to play on the rope swing or pick oranges with the kids while parents can run errands without their energetic entourage. I'll plug away in the library reading articles or out the porch with a cuppa tea in the mornings, read some stories and join the princesses in their castle or battle with lightsabers before packing a bag for the beach. It's a walkable 10 minutes past charming beach homes and sprawling estates before reaching sandy shores and ocean views, interrupted only by the massive naval ships out in the distance. I'll stay for the afternoon, devouring novels and snacking on goodies from the adorable grocery store down the street. My calendar has the local farmer's market pegged and I'm already used to scheduling in the beach a couple days a week (in between appointments at the princess castle, of course).

I still am infatuated with the blue tiled and old styled bathtub knobs, and the ivy carpeted windows. Everything is so old and enchanting. Sure, a house this old has its quirks but it's an adventure to live somewhere with old metal door knobs that twist to open heavy wooden doors, or black and white tiled kitchens with an actual icebox refrigerator.

It's lovely.

I bought a one way ticket to California and don't know what the next chapter will be in my extended gap year. Maybe I'll get that succulent filled window sill and car payment, or maybe my post graduate year will spill into two...or three.