First Visit to a Motherland

My Great Great Great Great Grandfather Andreas Eidelwein was born in Bavaria some time ago, although I did not see him there on this, my first visit to the great nation of Germany. So on May 25 (I had to refer back to my journal for this date, as I'm writing about five weeks after the fact now), just after sunrise, I entered the small city of Freiburg in the Southwestern corner of Germany and detrained at the station.

As I waited on the platform, I had an awkward conversation with a painfully drunk local, which ended as soon as I saw my friend Franziska, whom I had not seen since our travels together ended in Moscow a few weeks prior. I was happy to see a familiar face and we headed back to her house on the other side of the town, me riding a street car and her a bicycle, the bicycle being the preferred mode of transport in this university town. After a pleasant German breakfast we headed back out on the town, as I received a set of wheels (two wheels, to be exact) and we set about exploring a bit of this pleasant place nestled in the Black Forest.

After a tour of the downtown area, Franziska headed off to class as I rode a short distance out of town to a trailhead, at which point I locked my bike and ascended through green forest, eventually reaching the top of the hill that rises just south of town. I climbed the artful metal spiral tower at the top of the hill and enjoyed the 360 degree views of Freiburg and the forests and countryside surrounding it. I ate some fresh strawberries that I had purchased from the church market before descending slowly, savoring this glimpse of nature after so many days and weeks in cities.

I rejoined Franziska and her friend (whom I had also met on the train from Beijing) for coffee, then we bought a couple local beers and headed down to the river to sit and enjoy the warm afternoon. After we were thoroughly relaxed, we headed home to make a salad for the evening's barbeque (that's right, a real German BBQ!).

We rode to a big house in a nice neighborhood where several friends of Franziska lived, and the next few hours were spent eating lots of food and having compelling conversations with some truly cool Germans regarding guns and American culture, as well as other cross-cultural topics. I appreciated the fact that every one of them spoke proficient, if not fluent English, despite the fact that I was in their country. In the end I drank far too much delicious German wine, and Franziska and I rode home, not without stopping by a hip bar for a nightcap.

The following day, we met some of Franziska's friends whom I had met the night before and we had some lunch and relaxed on the campus lawn before the two of us headed out to explore the Black Forest. Our plan was to try to catch the tram and then the bus out to a chairlift that goes up a mountain, providing good but expensive views of the forest and the land. By an act of grace though, me met a kind young German woman at the second bus stop who recommended against dishing out 12 Euros for the lift and instead suggested that we follow her back to her village, thus providing a more authentic experience for far less scrilla.

Yes, as good American children we all learned not to trust strangers, but when traveling perhaps the opposite should be suggested. Besides, this woman spoke good English and was a Chinese herbalist, so she seemed trustworthy. We caught the bus with her and talked about her times living in North Carolina and also her times working for a popular German television host.

We got off the bus at the base of the chairlift but instead of taking that, we followed our new friend through the forest and up a steep and narrow trail towards her home. She described how she had moved out to this village recently to find a peaceful life, and as we rounded a bend and the place came into view, I understood what she meant. For the next couple hours the three of us walked around this small village upon a hill overlooking the Alsace Lorraine region of France, discussing history and borders and eating schnapps-infused chocolate cherry cake. This is the kind of experience that a traveler loves: free and "authentic". We eventually descended the hill and took the bus back into town.

That night and the next morning were rather uneventful. Franziska helped me secure a ride to Paris for the following day through a popular German ride-share website, so early the next afternoon, we rode into downtown, got some ice cream, then patiently awaited the black Mercedes SUV that was set to pick me up. The guy finally showed up and I once again said my goodbyes to Franziska as I disembarked on an awkward but rather interesting trip to the city of love.

I thoroughly enjoyed my short time in Germany. The people I met were incredibly friendly and accepting and I loved the relaxing atmosphere of Freiburg, a town which reminded me not just a bit of Flagstaff. It was a joyful feeling to know that I was really getting the local experience by staying with a native and seeing the place through her eyes. It was great to get out of the hostels for a few days, and I see my time here as some of the best of my European adventures.

Paris of course, would prove to be a totally different experience.

Euro Catchup Pt. 1 - The Joys of Prague

Oh yes, a wondrous city it is, that Prague. The next stop on my whirlwind tour through Northeastern Europe was reached via an overnight train from Krakow arriving on May 21. I shared a compartment with an Indian guy and two giddy Polish girls but sleep was badly needed and I slept throughout the whole night, as is natural. I was awoken by the friendly Czech attendant at 6:30 am, just prior to arrival.

It was a beautiful, warm morning and I had a pleasant walk to the ELF Hostel, the place in which Andrew stayed five years ago when I failed to join him on his European adventure. I dropped my bags and killed the 4 hours until check-in time by walking around the hip neighborhood that surrounded the hostel and doing some reading in a park above the river. The afternoon was spent true to my travel style, wandering solo around the city in an attempt to record the plan of Prague in my mind for all eternity.

Satisfied with my efforts, I returned back to the hostel come evening and was fortunately sucked into the social backpacker atmosphere of the ELF Hostel. As it was Saturday and it would be a shame to waste my only weekend-night in this city, I went with a pack of Europeans and a couple lovely American girls (one from Portland) to a popular beer garden, followed by an underground club (underground not because it was obscure, but because it was in a basement). It was a night of Euro-beats to remember.

The next two days were filled with some more of those experiences of walking around the city and exploring holes in the walls and other Bohemian establishments. On Sunday I was joined by the two American girls, and later on a French-Canadian dude. On Monday I did some more of that solo-tripping until that night, when I had a mild evening on the town with some other backpackers. I found myself surrounded by loads of college students taking summer Eurotrips.

On Tuesday I had a ticket leaving for Germany, but not until the evening, so I spent this blisteringly hot day doing some minor shopping, buying a vintage Bohemian suit for the wedding with the help of the posh English shopkeeper, and a correspondingly vintage suitcase in which to carry it and the vinyl records I picked up (it seems that now that I'm approaching the end, I feel able to burden myself with a bunch of large vinyl discs and a formal suit). Otherwise I spent the day reading Nietzsche (I was going to Germany after all) and playing video solitaire on my iPod. I did get a chance to share a couple Budweisers (not that American barley water, but the real Czech Budweisers) with my cool Quebecois friend. After that I shouldered my rucksack and picked up my rockin' new suitcase and set off for the train station.

For I was heading on to Freiburg, a small city in the SW corner of Germany. I had a few hours of daylight before bedtime and my arrival the next morning at my destination. In that time, I hung out with some more Americans that were in the same compartment as me (Ok, seeing an American in Asia was unique and comforting, but it's getting old fast in Europe), before climbing into my bunk for the night.

And thus ended my Prague experience. And yes, it was a great time. I met some sweet people and got some Bohemian attire, and I just loved the spirit of that city. Sometimes it's hard to explain what makes your experience of a place good or bad, but it seems to be a combination of the character of the city, the situations and people you encounter in said city, and your own internal processes and emotions that coincide with it (OBVIOUSLY, Brett).

Ok, so enjoy this post. I know I'm a bit behind, but I think you will see why I have fallen into such a funk with my blog writing. There were simply better things to be doing. Since Prague, I have been to Freiburg, Paris, and London, and just today I arrived in that place that has occupied much of my thoughts and dreams since the first time I heard Sigur Ros, Múm, Björk, and all that jazz. Yes folks, I am in Iceland, and no volcano could keep me from getting here (though it remains to be see whether it will keep me from leaving).

More updates to come.

On on to Beijing

As that lonesome train pulled away from the station in Kunming on the night of April 15, I took my place in the six-bunk compartment that was occupied by a group of Chinese geriatrics (that means old people). I laid down for the night and was disturbed by strange dreams throughout. In one of them I became lucid and flew into the sky, but soon lost control and fell softly back to earth.

There's not too much to say about being on a train for forty hours without anyone with whom you share a common language. I finished reading Mark Twain's Innocents Abroad, which I have been working on nearly since I disembarked in Malaysia, and started reading some Carl Jung, because sometimes I am comforted by the way he tries to rationalize the human spirit. I wrote endlessly in my journal and even wrote postcards to some of you people. I listened to music that reminded me of isolation and transportation, like Radiohead, Sufjan Stevens' Age of Adz, and anything from Iceland. I ate nothing except for a bag of warm milk that one of the old women insisted that I take, because I seemed to have no appetite. And then I spent another night on the train.


In the morning on April 17, I awoke to the passing agricultural flatlands of Northeastern China, having left behind the majestic Karst formations and subtropical foliage of the South. By 11:00 that morning the train abruptly entered an urban zone and we soon pulled into the Beijing western railway station. I managed to meet a Polish-German couple and with the use of their guidebook and a decent amount of non-verbal communication, we were able to navagate two metro lines and a long walk to find a good hostel, that was booked completely. Instead I checked into a subpar, windlowless room in a hotel with a staff that enjoyed talking about me in Chinese and laughing (or maybe I'm just being overly self-conscious). Thus began an underwhelming two-and-a-half day stint in this nation's capital.

Beijing is, from the accounts I have heard from other travelers, an interesting and fun-filled city. And I do not doubt that. I even saw some of it myself. But I hardly think that the two days I spent there were time enough to really get to know this city or find the right places to enjoy myself. I'll give you a briefish recap of those two days and try to spare you the more boring details.


Upon arriving and settling into my room, I set about looking for Mr. Shi's restaurant based on a business card I had from there, given to me by Sasha. Eventually I was able to find my way there and ate an outrageous amount of fried dumplings (jow-dza!), which filled my completely empty stomach more than sufficiently. That night I did next to nothing.


My first full day here, I slept in a bit and then went in search for the travel office where I could pick up my train ticket to Mongolia. Navigating the metro and the huge (nearly unwalkable) city blocks of Beijing, I found the office, and with my task for the day being complete, I got back on the metro for Tian'aman Square, the center of the city. Once there, I navigated the throngs of tour groups and scam artists and entered the huge walls of the forbidden city, the capital of the nation during much of the dynastic period. I took lots of pictures and tried to be impressed by the architecture and history.


After that, I hung out in the concrete desert that is Tian'aman Square for a brief time, hoping to find the spot where that guy stood in front of the army tanks in the 1980's, but for some reason there was no monument to mark the spot, so I gave up looking for it and left. I went back to Mr. Shi's for some more jow-dza, boiled, not fried this time, and then passed the evening uneventfully in a non-social sort of way.


My final day I had a list of tasks to accomplish, including catching up on this here blog, buying a camera memory card and a jacket for Mongolia and Siberia (I got a sweet US Army jacket), emailing friends and family, changing currency (finally got rid of the HK$'s that have been weighing me down), researching a place to stay in Ulan Batar, and taking a shower. I'm proud to say I accomplished everything on my list, nearly at least. After a good day's work, I got some more jow-dza (I'm not always this monotonous with my food choices), and then passed another uneventful evening, observing a Chinese bar scene.


I awoke at sunrise the next morning and made my way to the metro station, through the quiet Beijing streets of morn, and to the Beijing main railway station for my departure from China.

China, I can't say I knew you well, though as for your southern pearl of Yunnan, I feel I gave it a fair shake. I know one day I will come back and see more of this land, but it may be years yet (although my visa will allow me one more entry before January 28, 2011). In China I saw true beauty, in the land, in the people, natives and foreigners alike. I saw true charity and some disgusting habits, but it is a time in my life I will not soon forget.


And now, lady's and gentleman, begins the grueling portion of my journey, in which I am unlikely to spend more than two days in any one place; meanwhile I travel endless days and nights by rail, from the capital of China, through the desolate expanses of Mongolia and Siberia and the great civilizations of Europe, the airs of the Atlantic and the barren ashes of Iceland, and finally, once again, land on the eastern shores of my native country, the land of the free, and travel the vast plains and deserts and mountains by bus and train and arrive rapturously in Flagstaff on the night of June 14.

I am more than halfway through my trip by time standards, but I have 2/3 of the Earth's longitude to cross yet. The days of warmth and comfort and bargain prices are over, but I remain myself, however changed by my experiences in South Asia. I feel like this is the end of one thing and the beginning of another, and if I let myself to it, I could keep writing pretentious things for hours (I'm in the mood), but I'll save it for my diary; it's time to explore the capital of Mongolia before I leave for yet another country.

Yunnan Catch-up Part 3: The Road to Goodbye

The friendships that one makes on the road are some of the most intense relationships that I can fathom. They often form in an instant and are snuffed out within a matter of days or even hours. Such is the case when you cross paths with truly like-minded people whose journeys coincide with yours for only a short time, and in nearly all cases you never expect to see them again. It is for that reason that having to say farewell to someone you've only known for a week can be one of the most painful goodbyes you will ever have to face. At the same time, the experience really teaches you to live in the moment.

Upon arriving back to Lijiang on April 9, our group of four checked back into Mama Naxi's to be sheltered from the Saturday night tourist fest outside on the streets. Sasha and I went out after midnight, at first looking for a bar but then finding it cheaper to enjoy a bottle of sour Chinese red wine and explore the now nearly deserted town. We observed a sort of Chinese-hippy drum and music circle and then explored the maze of alleys of the ancient city. After say 1:00 in the morning, the tourist vibe of the town fades nearly completely and all that you are left with is the bare cobblestone streets with streams running alongside them, and the seemingly imperial-era architecture. It was more magical than disneyland on steroids.



The next day more stuff happened, like exploring the nature park with Sasha and eating dumplings (jow-dza?!). That night we went to a bar run by a sloppy, bearded Irish guy and it was a truly life-changing experience. Not knowing what I was doing the next day (I was still mulling over going to Shangri-La), I decided on a bit of a whim to head back down south towards Kunming and on to the Yuanyang rice terraces with Sasha, and in turn, Mary as well. So upon break of the morning on April 11, I got in a taxi with Sasha and Nadya to the Lijiang train station and hoped to the sweet lord Buddha that they would still have a ticket available so I could join my friends. They did and we boarded the train towards the capital of the province, Kunming.

And now I feel like I'm just giving a dry recap of my mundane travel activities without any artisic flourishes that any decent writer should employ. I just got off a train from Beijing to Ulan Batar, Mongolia, and for hours was reading Henry Miller's account of his travels in Greece. I was hoping I could try to emulate his powerful prose, but instead I am at the end of my patience as this girl on the computer next to me shouts at inanimate objects because Skype isn't working, and I'm not in such an artisic mood. I'll end this tangent but my feelings remain.

So we were on the train, I and my two friends from other ends of the earth. We passed the time as people do by talking and drinking beer until the sad moment when Nadya had to disembark in Dali to follow her diverging path. It was an emotional moment. The train continued on and Sasha and I continued doing what people do, you know, talking and drinking beer, and sometime that afternoon arrived in the city of Kunming. We navigated the train station exit and then the city bus routes and evenutally even found our way to the Cloudland Hostel whereupon, almost immediately, we were reunited with our good friend Mary, our Irish mother, to whom we had said our fare-thee-wells two days prior in Lijiang.

The night was mellow after the tiring journey (perhaps from too many daytime beers), and aside from a dinner with a miserable vegetarian australian and some other wonderful things, was not noteworthy.

The next morning was another long travel day beautifully-spent with Sasha and Mary. We arrived into the region of the Yuanyang rice terraces just in time to catch the tail-end of the water festival, where the locals throw water (via buckets or supersoakers) on each other and any unfortunate passing tourists. We were protected from the onslaught by the windows of a bus, and later a van.


We got off the bus in a mountain town called Xiejie or something to that effect, which in the fading light of evening and the parting mists of a passing rainstorm, turned all shades of orange and red and the beauty was astounding. We demanded that our taxi driver pull off to allow us to enjoy our beautiful sun setting over the terraced hills, because you know how we love our sunsets.


We arrived into a small village that started with a "D" as darkness set in and were led through a labyrinth to a lovely hillside guesthouse looking east over the terraces. After that we took care of our basic needs, finding shelter in the form of a room, sustenance in a family-style dinner, and joy in the form of Dali Beer and Bai-ja (a sort of rice-moonshine). Sasha and I enjoyed the quiet solitude in rocking chairs as the fog rolled back in, promising to ruin our sunrise view.


Nonetheless, we woke up before sunrise to try and see the sun breaking over the eastern mountain range, but it was totally foggy (I believe this is where it would be appropriate to use the simile, "it was like pea soup"). We ambled between the borders of the terraces and found a spot where the fog was particularly beautiful over our immediate surroundings and took some pictures. After then it was back to bed until 11:00 when our hired driver came to drive the four of us, including Mary and another American woman with whom we had met up, around the region in search of sublime views and interesting experiences.


Our driver for the day was hilaroius and spoke not a word of English, which only added to the humor. Along the way we saw lots and lots of hills carved out into snaking levels of rice terraces, as well as tea plantations being tended by local women with children on their backs. We saw some small villages where women wore bright tails of textiles like peacocks and pigs were butchered up in the streets. We were taught how to eat rice the proper way and drink bland noodle water from a bowl. And we even tried to see another sunset; the sun itself was obscured, but the time spent was not wasted, as I was in good company.

don't worry, this beautiful device is used for smoking tobacco

We drove back to that village that starts with a "D", our lives nearly ended by an oncoming truck on a mountain road, and then we spent another night (refer to my entry on the prior night for details). Again we awoke early, this time to catch a bus back to Kunming, but were treated to a decent sunrise. I took some pictures to show you. Here is one of them:


And then there was another long and tiring bus trip back to Kunming. This was not noteworthy.

That night, upon arriving back to the Cloudland Hostel, Sasha and I were determined to have a good night out, Chinese-style, knowing that tomorrow we would have to part ways. We wandered the city for ages in search for a restaurant or a bar, as if in a desert looking for an oasis (ok, there's a sort of metaphor, or is that another simile?). We chanced upon an unassuming bar and entered to order our beers and drink them the good old American way: out of the bottle. But our plans were upset, perhaps for the better, when a group of Chinese youngsters insisted that we join them at their table to drink in true Chinese fashion.

Let me tell you some things about drinking in China, so you may perhaps better understand the progression of this night. In China, one does not drink beer from the bottle, but rather pours their beer into large shot glasses from a communal bottle (of which there is an endless supply). Upon filling your glass, the Chinese guy across from you will undoubtedly raise his glass to yours and demand that you clink them together. Once this part of the ritual is done, and perhaps a one-word toast is said, the glass must be immediately drained into the respective mouths of the involved parties. This is repeated until the foreigners surrender and leave the bar. And by no means will the foreigner have to pay for the beer.

So we stayed at that bar for a while until we'd had quite enough, then walked back down towards home, getting some street food along the way, and then happening upon another joint that seemed to be inviting us in. This place was a true Chinese nightclub, with maybe hundreds of small round tables around which young people were standing. Needless to say, we were the only white people in the bar and drew some attention. We spent the next indeterminate number of hours roaming from table to table until a group invited us over and repeated the whole beer drinking process. When the scene got boring, we moved on to our next hosts.

I describe these things not to brag about my shenanigans (maybe a little bit), but more to describe a chapter of life in China as experienced by a foreigner; think of me as an anthropologist and not a drunkard. It was a memorable experience, to the extent that I can remember it. We miraculously made our way the last two blocks back to the hostel.

The next day I was set to leave on a two-day train to Beijing to start the next chapter of my spirit wandering (but not until 9:00 pm). The day was a bit dreary and was spent arguing with waitresses over whether french fries were ordered or not, and going to post offices. This was the saddest day of my journey. Perhaps I have not described all my newly-made friendships in detail, nor do I feel like this is the place to do it, but I'll just say that when you meet a truly special person and spend endless days with them, there is bound to be considerable pain in the parting. And there certainly was.

So thusly, in the city of Kunming, we said our goodbyes, and I watched as my friend walked away. Then I gave 20 Yuan to a guy on a motorcycle and he drove me and my bags to the train station. Then began the train of tears which, 40 hours later, would bring me into Beijing, a small town in the northeast of China.

And fyi, as of early this morning, I am in the land of Chingis (aka Ghengis) Khan, in its capital city of Ulan Batar. I have seen the Gobi (check).

On the Road Again

In an effort to get to the heart of my trip (Cambodia/Laos) more quickly, I bought a one way ticket to Hat Yai in southern Thailand. I boarded a train departing on February 23 at 21:30. The sleeper seats were sold out, so it was a rough night of fleeting sleep in a coach about half full with Russians, chatty old Indians drinking whiskey, a Japanese hippie, a dutch guy, and even a couple genuine Malaysians! I awoke from my shallow slumber shivering a couple times, having to put on another layer to protect me from the frigid AC. I knew there was a reason for carrying a bulky sweater to the equatorial regions!

Time passing as it does on an overnight train, we arrived around 10:00 in the morning in Hat Yai, about 45 minutes past the Thai-Malay border where they checked me out of Malaysia and the Thai officials gave me a 15-day pass to enjoy their beautiful country. Upon arrival, I joined forces with the Japanese passenger, Gon, who was also heading to Bangkok. We bought our tickets to BK on a sleeper train that didn't leave until 18:45. Thusly, we checked our bags at the station and set about exploring this little city a bit.

We grabbed a quick meal of rice and chicken curry at a street vendor, with the bill coming to 25 baht (just under one USD). We ambled aimlessly after that, dodging motos and tuktuks, soon coming to Chinatown and the frantic stalls spilling out into the street from storefronts. When you have 8 hours to kill in an unknown foreign city, you will do anything to eat up time. We caught up on some internet time, stopped in for some Chang beer at a small restaurant, sat on the steps of the bus station napping and watching the young army recruits march around, then grabbed some more food (again, sticky rice and whatever dish looks appealing).

Finally we had done it! We had successfully wasted 8 hours and it was time to board the next train. Gon and I split up into separate cars. The sleeper cars were comfortable enough. What you have is banks of two seats facing each other. The seats fold down into one bed, and then another bed folds down from the ceiling. I would advise any future travelers on this route to reserve the lower berth, as you get a wider sleeping surface, no risk of falling out, and a window! As it were, I was stuck in the upper berth, which felt more like a plastic coffin than a bed. Nevertheless, I quickly fell asleep, exhausted from the night before.

Also quite interesting were the toilets, which had an added feature: when you flush them, you get a quick glimpse of the tracks passing beneath the train.

Once again, time passed quickly on the night train, and soon it was morning. We folded up the beds and I set about looking out the window, hoping I hadn't slept through Bangkok. Bangkok, however, was the end of the line, and around 13:00, I was turned loose into this bustling city, to set my bearings and hopefully learn something about myself and the world (that is, after all, why we travel of course).

And for the next installment: Bangkok (!)