Before we set out on our trip around the world, we had grandiose ideas about the number of countries we would travel to while we were away. It wasn't because we had a numeric goal, it was because every book we'd open would describe another wonderful place we wanted to visit. The salt flats in Bolivia? Yes, let's go. The markets in Morocco? Check. The ruins of Petra in Jordan and the pyramids in Egypt? Without a doubt. Italian food in Italy and art in France? Sign us up. The beaches of Malaysia, the history of Vietnam, and the mystery of Burma? Consider it done.

All of these ideas and places tumbled onto our itinerary. We added countries, cities, and villages without understanding the logistics required for this type of travel. And while daydreaming is good – I'd say vital when it comes to opening your mind to a trip around-the-world – at some point you need to realize that although Thailand, Malaysia, Cambodia, Laos, Burma, and Vietnam are right next to one another, they are not right-next-to-each-other. Pesky things like bus schedules and stomach bugs and political turmoil do not understand daydreams.

By the time we stepped on the plane for Buenos Aires, we had something like 24 countries we were shooting to see in the next twelve months (this was even before we extended the trip by an additional six months). Doing the math, that meant two new countries each month.

"In the fields and woods more than anything else all things come to those who wait, because all things are on the move, and are sure sooner or later to come your way." – John Burroughs

John Burroughs was an American naturalist, following in the footsteps of Henry David Thoreau, and friend to Walt Whitman. He was a man who enjoyed immersing himself in nature and then shared his impressions in nearly thirty published books. I imagine him on an early morning in September walking through the Catskills, sitting on a tree stump covered with moss, waiting patiently to see what part of the world would go by.

What I don't imagine is him sitting with a list of 24 things he needed to see.

When we were only a week into our trip, we headed from Buenos Aires over to Uruguay. I was in need of some quiet time, away from a bustling city. The years and months proceeding our trip had been hectic at best, and now that we were finally traveling, I needed a vacation.

On the advice of a fellow traveler, we headed north to Punta del Diablo, a sleepy fishing village not yet on the tourist map or in the travel guides. Along the way we spent a night in Montevideo and two nights in La Paloma.

We arrived in Punta del Diablo early in the morning, the village was still sleeping and the sun had just awakened. Sitting high on a rock formation being splashed by the ocean below, Tim and I realized that we may never want to leave. In a village with nothing to do but look out to sea, we could have quite easily lived there forever. We had barely left the United States, and already we had fallen in love with some place new.

Forever, however, could only be five nights. Not only were we running out of cash (the nearest ATM or bank were several hours away by bus), but there was just too much of the world to see, too many places to go. And so six days later in the mid-morning sun, we boarded a bus to leave paradise. It was the first time I cried leaving some place, but it wouldn't be the last.

I don't regret staying in Punta del Diablo for only five nights. I consider myself lucky to have been there that long. And I feel had we stayed there longer, even if just for another five days, there is no telling the number of other unique experiences we had while traveling that would not have happened the way they did.

I only mention our time there because it started to open our eyes to the beauty of traveling slower. During the short amount of time we were in Punta del Diablo, the local shopkeepers already began to recognize us. We developed a favorite restaurant and a favorite place to swim. We knew the best time to sit on our deck was in the early evening with music playing, a cold bottle of Pilsen between us, and our imaginations firing with possibilities. We had even been adopted by one of the locals, an old sea dog who we named Flipper who joined us on all our walks.

We had only spent five nights and six days in the fishing village, but already we developed a sense of familiarity, of home. If we could have stayed longer I imagine this feeling would have been magnified. But if we had stayed shorter, for only two nights instead of five, then I don't think those feelings would have developed. Punta del Diablo would simply be a memory, another place we had passed through. It would be a beautiful one with gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, but it would not have started to carve a place in our hearts.

"To absorb a thing is better than to learn it, and we absorb what we enjoy. We learn things at school; we absorb them in the fields and woods." – John Burroughs

Even with the luxury of twelve or more months to travel, time still ticks away. You have to make a compromise – travel to more places and see less, or travel to fewer places and see more.

Many travelers are able to keep a quick pace. Two new countries each month for twelve months, to many fellow travelers reading this entry, will sound laughably easy. But Tim and I soon discovered that keeping pace didn't suit us. We wanted to stop and absorb, we needed to. Stopping, for us, was the only way to see.

Punta del Diablo, it would later become obvious, was but the tip of our slow traveling iceberg. Eventually we'd come to consider five nights in one place a quick stop. Ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty, even fifty nights became our norm. Other travelers playfully teased us about our turtle pace. We enjoyed learning where the locals ate. We relished deciding to stay one more day somewhere if it meant the chance to do something that was never planned or expected.

"I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see." – John Burroughs

Every traveler needs to decide what approach works best for him. And many travelers will tell you their way is the best. We would say, traveling quickly or traveling slowly, in the end what matters is the travel, the experiences you have along the way. And only you are the best person to decide how you experience things the most.

Our travel style meant missing many countries, but it also meant living in Argentina for three months and Thailand for five. It meant traveling in Ecuador for two months, and Turkey for two and a half. And while I don't have a photo of the sunrise in over twenty countries, I can tell you how the sun rises, raises, and falls in the Cambodian countryside when you slowly travel through it.

Staying in place for longer periods of time meant that the world and life came to us. It meant we could experience things to the fullest without having a check list or an itinerary to fret over. It was freeing. The salt flats of Bolivia, the food of Italy, the art in France, the ruins of Petra, the history of Vietnam – for us, all of these things, all of these places, may come another day (or more likely, over several). For the hundreds of places we dreamed about before our trip, there were dozens we lived in during it. And I dare say we saw more of the world by visiting less of it.

And as a result, we've been neglecting our beloved HedgehogsWithoutBorders. We do apologize.

This has happened before, of course, and under somewhat similar circumstances. Nearly eighteen months ago, we emerged from sixty or so days of seclusion in the jungles of northern Thailand. Having discovered the treasure that is Elephant Nature Park (and the amazing woman named Lek who founded it), we'd scrapped the itinerary we had planned out for the rest of our trip, and just spent the whole time there. (We even pushed back our flights home to stay just a little longer.)

But eventually, it was time to go. We left the Park three days before we were set to depart Thailand, and checked into a swanky, romantic hotel (with a private garden in our suite!). Ostensibly the plan was to luxuriate in the last few days of our trip, but we basically spent the whole time getting the ENF website up and running on the hotel wi-fi. We didn't get around to posting to Hedgehogs until the last possible second.

Jessica was packing our bags as I furiously typed up what was to be our most teaser-laden entry ever. It was deliberately vague, in part because we didn't want to post about the elephants until we could spend a bit more time doing so, and in part because we were still lying about when we were coming home (so that we could surprise everyone). And in part, just because we knew it would drive everyone crazy.

Amidst the forest of teasers in that entry was this ambiguous little sentence: "We’ll tell you about a young lady named Tong Jan, the luckiest of her kind in the world by far."

And with that, I have at last come to the actual purpose of this post. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving here in the United States, a day when we're supposed to take a moment to express our gratitude for all that is good in this world.

Let me tell you about a young lady named Tong Jan.

:: Fah Sai ::

In the past, we've told a story or two about the kind of abuse that elephants suffer all too often. And as heart-breaking as these tales are, they really only scratch the surface. And there are times when we're doing work for the Park that these sad stories can become almost too much to bear.

Last month, a baby elephant and her mother were brought into the Park by their mahouts. These elephants were from a trekking camp down the road, but in cases of medical emergency all eyes often turn to Elephant Nature Park, and the baby was in critical condition. I'll spare you all the details (those interested can read the whole sad saga here). It is enough to say that in the end, the baby passed away. Her name was Fah Sai ("Blue and Clear Sky after Rainy Storm").

I can't even write this brief, untidy summary of those events without crying.

So yes, sometimes the work we do for the elephants can be heartbreaking. And sometimes it gets so hard that I can't bear to take any more.

And when that happens, I take a deep breath. And I think about Tong Jan.

:: Olivia ::

When Jessica and I went back to Elephant Nature Park to get Belly, we met a remarkable young lady named Olivia. Like so many remarkable people, Olivia didn't especially seem to know she was remarkable. In fact, if it had been up to Olivia, we might never have learned about the remarkable thing she'd done.

But our dear friends Karl and Michelle knew just how remarkable Olivia was, and they told us her secret.

In April 2005, she had first come to Elephant Nature Park as a volunteer. Like virtually everyone who visits the Park, she was deeply moved by everything Lek was doing, and she wanted to do everything she could to help.

There are no laws in Thailand that would take an abused elephant away from its owner and place it into the loving embrace of Elephant Nature Park. For the most part, rescuing an elephant means buying it. It means giving thousands and thousands of dollars to the same person who was abusing the elephant in the first place. But for the elephant, it means escape. It means sanctuary.

Her parents had promised to buy her a car for her 21st birthday. Olivia asked them if she could give that money to Lek instead, and they agreed. She augmented this with all the money she had in savings, giving it all to Lek in one lump sum. The timing was fortuitous. Lek used the money to rescue an elephant named Mae Bua Tong. Moreover, it was enough money to rescue both Mae Bua Tong and her 4-month-old daughter.

Tong Jan.

:: Tong Jan ::

The way elephants are "broken" and made subservient to humans is the same in Thailand as elsewhere around the world. Here is it called pajaan, or "training crush". (More information on this practice can be found in the fifth chapter of Vanishing Giants, an award-winning National Geographic documentary. Viewer discretion advised.)

The pajaan is the most horrible thing in the world, so I won't dwell on it here. What's important is that Lek abhors it, and will never let it be done to Tong Jan. Instead, this bright little ele is being taught soley through positive reinforcement. Instead of learning via pain, it's learning via bananas. Lek pioneered this approach with two other elephants, Hope and Jungle Boy, but Tong Jan is her star pupil.

She will never be tortured. She will never be taken from those she loves.

Elephants are social animals. One of the greatest things about the Park is the way they get to choose their own family groups. Every baby is tended to by several "aunties". For her part, Tong Jan is looked after by Thai and Somboon...

...and of course, by her mother, Mae Bua Tong.

I like to call Tong Jan the luckiest elephant in Thailand, because not only will she never be tortured, not only does she get to live a carefree life at the Park for the next seven or eight decades, but because she will never be separated from her mother. And that's a really big deal. In fact, for an elephant born into a Thai trekking camp, that's unique.

Twenty years from now, Tong Jan might have a calf of her own. And among the aunties helping her raise that calf will be grannie Mae Bua Tong. An honest-to-goodness family, just like you'd see in the wild.

And that's why I like to think about Tong Jan. Whenever it gets too hard, whenever I can't take all the horrible stories anymore, I pull out a picture of her and I smile. I think of the long, happy life she has ahead of her, and I'm thankful.

:: Thanksgiving ::

On the ENF website, there's this Foster an Elephant program. When you sign up, you get a certificate and a bunch of information and photos about the ele you've fostered. You can also do "gift fosterings" in someone else's name, and arrange to have their stuff sent to them on a specific day.

My mother wanted to inaugurate the new website by fostering elephants for me and for Jessica. When she asked which elephant I'd like to have as a foster child, I asked for Tong Jan. At the time, I didn't tell her why.

Now I have.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Part of the reason we loved bus rides so much is that we saw them as an adventure. You never knew what to expect. All buses everywhere are different – company to company, country to country, continent to continent.

As you travel, you'll gain a sense for a country's bus system and how it (usually) works. Do you have to buy your ticket a few days in advance or can you show up a few minutes ahead of time? Is extra baggage tied to the roof, stored underneath, or piled on your lap? Do people sell things on the bus? Do locals fill up the aisles when seats are no longer available? Are unmarried women and men asked to sit apart? Is it commonplace for bunches of bananas to be piled under your feet? Does everyone always get on the bus with a machete? Do young boys hang out the front door yelling, trying to attract more riders, while the bus is moving at top speed? Does the bus stop to pick up people at seemingly random points or only at bus stops? And most importantly, is there a toilet on the bus or do you have to wait?

Learning all of these things not only helps you prepare for a comfy bus ride, but also gives a wonderful insight into the country you're traveling in. Comparing an 18-hour Cruz del Sur bus ride through Peru to a 5-hour PPPT bus ride in Cambodia is like comparing jalapeños to tarantulas. Both have their positives, both have their drawbacks, both say a lot about where you're traveling, and both are delicious if you're in the right frame of mind.

So with all of that said, I now present to you the hedgehogs' top 13 tips for long bus rides. Our hope is these tips will help get you ready for your own bus ride adventure. But as always, your mileage may vary.

:: Tip #1 - Go with a company you trust ::

More often than not, there are a lot of companies to choose between. And there are good, bad, and downright dangerous companies too. Check out reviews on Lonely Planet's message boards, ask other travelers in your area (better yet, ask the locals too), and do some information gathering at the bus station. Is the person from bus line Z a complete ass and not helpful, but the person from bus line B is bubbly and informative? Then trust your instincts and go with B. (Yes, even if they cost a few bucks more.)

:: Tip #2 - Travel as the locals do ::

Part of the fun of traveling is traveling with and like the locals. It's no fun sitting on a bus with 20 other backpackers on the gringo trail with air conditioning, when you could be on a bus with 20 locals and the windows open. (Laos, I'm looking at you now.) And when the local buses are first rate (hey Argentina!), spring the extra $2 for the top notch seats. (Most likely all the backpackers are in the cheaper seats anyway.) Trust me, after 27 hours in the same place, those extra 10 inches you got for that $2 are well worth it.

:: Tip #3 - Bring some snacks ::

Even if you're in a country (say Argentina) where they feed on the bus you like there's no tomorrow, always bring some food with you on your trip. Relying on the bus company for your food might leave you hungry when you find out you don't like what they have, they run out of trays, or you discover you're extra hungry. (My appetite always doubled on long bus rides, while Tim's always diminished.) What type of food to bring on the bus is completely up to you. In Argentina, we often packed a few extra empanadas, in Ecuador we were in a honey-nut Cheerio phase, and in Turkey we were fans of small baguettes and cheese. Whatever is tasty, filling, easy-to-pack, and easy-to-eat is your best bet. (And remember, being fed on a bus is rare - more often than not you'll grab food along the way at pit stops. If that's the case, it's even more important to bring some food with you: sometimes that next pit stop can be a loooong way away.)

:: Tip #4 - Don't forget some water ::

Like on an airplane, it sucks trying to track down water when all you really want is a sip now and then. You also never know when your bus will break down in the middle of nowhere. So having that extra bottle of water easily accessible can feel like a lifesaver sometimes.

:: Tip #5 - Discover the joy that is plastic bags ::

I guarantee while you are traveling you will become enamored with plastic bags and all their lovely qualities. The plastic bag, aka the food bag on travel days, is your lifeline to all that is good in the world. Store your food and water in this sturdy sucker for easy access in one place without using your carry-on bag space.

:: Tip #6 - Put your essentials in your carry-on bag ::

Just like with air travel, if you have to check things, make sure you have what you need for the bus ride in your carry-on bag. The bus will not stop because you've left your iPod or your tampons in the undercarriage. (Or, better yet, follow Tim's guidelines and don't check anything at all.) Oh, and if you do check things, remember not to check your valuables. Bring them on the bus in your carry-on or in your pockets, and keep them on your person.

:: Tip #7 - Dress in layers ::

I can't stress this tip enough. Even after traveling as much as we did, I often made the mistake of not dressing in layers which either left me freezing or sweating. An important thing to consider is the weather outside too. With air conditioning and heaters (that also have a tendency to not work or overwork), you almost want to dress for the opposite season. Is it winter in Argentina? Go on the bus wearing a tank top. Is it summer in Spain? Put on your parka. Trust me, you'll thank me for it. (Oh, and fuzzy travel socks are always nice too no matter the weather outside.)

:: Tip #8 - Take advantage of pit stops ::

You might feel like you can't be bothered to get off the bus when it stops. But it's often worth it to refuel your snacks/water, grab some local food, stretch, and take advantage of a clean(er) bathroom. Our mantra: always take advantage of a toilet even when you don't think you need to go. Speaking of which...

:: Tip #9 - Toilet paper, Imodium, and motion sickness pills are your friends ::

Toilet paper, Imodium, and motion sickness pills should be easily accessible on your bus ride. You don't need a giant roll or an entire bottle. Just fold a few pieces of the soft stuff in your pocket, and toss a few of the pills in your bag. Even if you're not prone to motion sickness, it's amazing what 23 hours up and down, round and round, back and forth at altitude through the Andes Mountains will do to you. And if you travel long enough and far enough, there will be a time when you need toilet paper when you least expect it (even if you've followed rule #8 above). Our fingers are crossed you make it to the bus toilet or a rest stop in time. (I won't say that we always did, but that rather embarrassing story is for another time.) And when you do, you'll be happy to have toilet paper there too.

:: Tip #10 - Expect the unexpected ::

No matter how many bus rides we've taken around the world, a few surprises always took us, well, by surprise. So don't unpack your entire carry-on once you're on the bus. You may have paid for your ride, but you are not in the family sedan. You never know when you'll be kicked out of those first rate seats in the middle of the night because your bus broke down and thrown in some rather craptastic ones instead (with water dripping on your head non-stop, no less). It's important that you are able to move and pack quickly when need be. (And if an unexpected quick change of plans does happen, remember your handy dandy plastic bag. It's a great place to shove everything in a hurry.)

:: Tip #11 - Don't sit at the front of the bus ::

Aside from the unlikely event of flying through the windshield in an accident (remember, there aren't usually seatbelts available), you can also see out the windshield when you're sitting at the very front of the bus. I know you're reading this right now thinking it would be great to have such a wonderful view out the windshield as you travel the world by bus, but it's not. I can not tell you the number of times I watched as we went around a curve, at night, at top speed, on the wrong side of the road, on a narrow mountain pass, with nothing but the horn being sounded. I am certain I cut off several years of my life by staring, scared shitless out the windshield of a giant bus careening down the middle of a Bangkok highway on the wrong side of the divider. So do yourself a huge favor and sit away from the windshield. Which brings us to...

:: Tip #12 - Learn to let go ::

You can't control everything while you travel and you'll go crazy if you try to. This is magnified on bus rides. That doesn't mean you need to get on the bus where the driver clearly smells of alcohol or where your instincts are screaming at you to grab the next bus. It just means there will be many choices any driver any where will make that aren't your own. Rather than lamenting and worrying about them, sit back, look out the window (not the windshield), and breathe. The chances are overwhelming that you'll arrive at your destination safe and sound and probably with a few good traveling stories too.

:: Tip #13 - Remember the journey is just as important as the destination ::

Listen to your headphones while you look out at the landscape or bury your nose in a good book, but don't be so distracted by these home comforts that you miss the elderly Ecuadorian lady next to you who wants to practice her English. Watch the kids and the parents during your bus ride - it's amazing how much you can learn about a country from the different parenting styles. Take note of the countryside you're driving through; look at the houses and the buildings and the signs that you pass along the way. Listen to the music (even if it is bad karaoke) or the television show (even if it's showing bad karaoke music videos) that the bus driver is playing. Eavesdrop on the chatter of locals in their native language. And above all, take a moment to remember your bus ride is a journey through another land. If you do, I guarantee you'll come home missing long bus rides too.

]]> http://www.hedgehogswithoutborders.com/weblog/images/entries/TTT.jpg 2008-10-04T00:40:12Z 2007-07-10T22:44:07Z tag:www.hedgehogswithoutborders.com,2007:/weblog//1.138 2007-07-10T22:44:07Z

I miss meeting new friends, travelers and locals alike. I especially miss the instant connection we had with other travelers – the instant bond where all the bullshit and the small talk is cut out, and you get to what's really important.

There's a song where one of the lines says, "There's not a word yet for old friends who've just met." (Bonus points to whoever guesses the singer and his species.) Tim mentioned that song to me the other day and tears came into my eyes because that sentence alone captures our dear, dear friends who we met on the road.

We were lucky enough to have two of those friends visit us in Washington, DC for six days last week. Becky and Andy from England made an impromptu visit to DC (Andy for a work conference and to see us, and Becky simply because "life is too short not to see your friends"). And although Andy did have to work a bit (just a wee bit), we made the absolute most of the time. Sightseeing, lounging, cooking, eating, drinking, reminiscing, joking, and above all else enjoying our time with the four of us together again.

Now I have happy memories of long car rides and good conversations, of the small falls and the Great Falls, of a Saturday afternoon picnic, and flamenco dancing. I have happy memories of racing to the Capitol Building at top speed, watching two Brits admire the Magna Carta, crawling through air ducts, and seeing the Lincoln Memorial under the light of the full moon. I have happy memories of shopping at an outdoor market and hunting for fish sauce, homemade pizzas and pad thai, pitchers of Sangria and bottles of beer, exchanging presents and hugs goodbye. And above all, I have happy memories of the four of us sitting on our back deck with the warm Washington DC breeze floating past, music playing, and the conversation (and wine) flowing.

Before their visit to DC, we had only spent about 10 days with Becky and Andy: around 7 days in the Galapagos Islands, and another 3 days in England. Their recent visit nearly doubled the amount of time we've spent with one another, but looking at us you wouldn't know that we've only spent a handful of days in person together. You would only see that we already share a lifetime of memories and we're keen on creating many more.

I can't think of any other way to describe that bond than by saying again, "There's not a word yet for old friends who've just met."

Tim and I have thousands and thousands of memories (and probably even more photos) to remind ourselves of our unbelievable, life-changing trip around-the-world. But what I'm happiest about are the strong friendships we've made. With time, our memories may fade. But I truly doubt the friendships we made on the road will.

So, here's to all our friends. To talking non-stop and laughing even more. To reminiscing about the past and creating new memories for the future. To acting impulsively and to planning a bit too. To sharing stories and sharing dreams. To understanding what's important. To feeling at home. And to knowing life is too short not to see your friends. Cheers, everyone, cheers.

Oh, and Bex and Andy: come back soon. We miss you.

There is not one piece of equipment more integral to the backpacker than the eponymous backpack itself. Given this fact, it seemed only right to ruminate briefly on what makes a good backpack, a well-packed backpack, and a backpack likely to confer happiness onto its wearer. These thoughts are arranged here in no particular order, and although they are written as tongue-in-cheek commandments, remember that your mileage may vary.

That being said, and without further ado, I present Five Hedgehog Commandments About Small Backpacks...

:: Commandment #1 - Um, Get a Small Backpack ::

In our pre-trip research we uncovered a telling pattern: everyone seemed to complain that they carried too much stuff around with them, and no one seemed to complain that they carried too little. With that in mind, we specifically bought smaller-sized backpacks - Jessica's in particular was smaller than the daybags of many of the other travelers we met. Going with smaller bags forced us to be more disciplined about what we carried with us, and in hindsight it was one of our best early decisions.

Having nice small bags meant we could walk further with our packs on. It meant we could stick them under our seats on buses rather than having to toss them up onto the roof. Most of all, though, it really felt good. We'd glow whenever another traveler commented admiringly on how small our packs were. You will too.

So don't buy that 6,000 cubic inch monster. Don't sentence yourself to spending your trip with 25+ kilos of crap you don't need strapped to your back.

The two of us came in at less than 5,000 cubic inches combined, and our packs never weighed more than 8–10 kilos each. How? See commandments #2 through #5...

(If you're planning on camping and need to carry sleeping bags and a tent and whatnot, then this doesn't apply to you quite as much. But read on nevertheless, or you'll hurt my feelings.)

:: Commandment #2 - Thou Shalt Not Covet More Cubic Inches ::

If you have a 2,000 cubic inch bag, you'll wish you had 2,500. If only you just had 2,500 cubic inches, you'll think, you'd be able to take everything you need. But if you have a 5,000 cubic inch bag, you'll be just certain that you can't possibly get by on less than 6,000.

You will always want just a bit more room than you have. But the inverse of that is even more important: you will always fill your backpack, and be sure that you need everything you have in there.

The more room in your bag, the more stuff you'll bring you don't need. Which brings us to...

:: Commandment #3 - You Don't Need That ::

But now you're looking at your packing list, and you're worrying you've made a mistake. How on earth are you going to fit it all?

The answer is simple: you aren't.

I can't help but chuckle when I look back over our initial packing list. If we'd packed every single thing on that list, we'd have filled five backpacks. But since obviously that wasn't an option, we had to whittle it down to just what we could fit (see commandment #2).

Take the bare minimum of clothes. Scrutinize every little gadget and gizmo you've convinced yourself you can't travel without, and make sure it'll pull its own weight. Keep an eye out for these potential problem areas:

• Books, magazines, notebooks: These are the worst offenders. I guarantee you you'll be able to cut deeply into what you're bringing here.
   
• Water purifier: I know, this part is sacrilige. But I have to tell you, some of the money I wish most I could have back is the $130 we plunked down for our MSR MIOX purifier. Oh, sure, it's pretty, and small (about the size of a magic marker), but we virtually never used it. Bottled water is everywhere, and is incredibly cheap in most of the world. (And the parts of the world where it's expensive are without fail the same parts where you can drink tap water without worrying.) If you're going camping or mountain climbing, then this tip isn't for you. But otherwise, as far off the beaten path as you're planning on getting, I bet you'll be surprised to find you can still buy a liter of BonAgua for a quarter...
   
• Shoes: This one will kill you if you're not careful. You aren't going to need more than maybe just a pair of sneakers and a pair of sandals. Really. I know, you don't believe me. You're planning on dancing the night away and so must take at least one pair each of low- and high-heeled shoes. Go right ahead. You'll be mailing them back home in a month.
   
• Clothes: I can't tell you how much clothing you'll need to bring. I can only tell you that the answer is somewhere between 5% and 40% of what you feel is the absolute minimum you can afford to bring. After our first purge (see commandment #5) a month in to the trip, I was left with two pairs of pants (that zipped into shorts), three shirts, a swimsuit, three pairs each of socks and underwear, and that was it. The pants lasted me the whole trip (thank you REI!), while the shirts would wear out every couple of months and be replaced by new ones (see commandment #4).

Now, these cuts are going to be painful. They were for us. And you don't need to be too religious about it. We did, after all, travel the world with a large stuffed pig.

But do try and whittle your packing down as much as possible. Especially given that...

:: Commandment #4 - You're Not Going to the Moon ::

You don't need to take enough toothpaste to last you a year. The same goes for malaria pills, and bugspray, and T-shirts. They do, in fact, have pharmacies and department stores in Peru and Thailand. (This was a concept we kept losing track of.)

This commandment has two purposes. The first is to remind you that you don't need to buy a full-year (or however long your trip is) supply of anything before stepping onto your first plane ride. Just bring along one tube of toothpaste. When you run low, buy another one. I don't care where you are in the world, you'll come across a tube of toothpaste for sale somewhere.

The other purpose of this commandment is that a lot of this stuff will be cheaper if you buy it on the road. This is especially true of medications. In most of the places we traveled, everything we needed was available over the counter and cost a fraction of what it had cost in the US. On our next trip, we'll probably buy all of our initial stock of travel meds once we reach our first destination... it'll save us a fortune. (And again, buying your doxycycline as you go is far preferable to carrying ten bottles of the stuff around.)

Note: For most medications, you'll be able to find a generic or another brand if you can't find exactly what you're looking for. These are usually identical to what you're used to, but with different inactive ingredients. For any medication you've been taking daily for a long time (ie, birth control), you may not want to chance the side effects that could come from switching brands. In this case, you may want to consider leaving half of it or so with someone at home, and having them mail it to you along the way.

:: Commandment #5 - Purge, Purge, Purge ::

However much you whittle your stuff down, you'll still probably start off with more stuff than you need. I recommend monthly purges.

Every four weeks or so, sit down and go through everything you're carrying with you. Set aside every single thing you haven't used in the past month. You'll be surprised how big that pile is.

Now, start going through this purge-pile. For each item ask yourself, "Do I really need this?" Be brutal. You spent a lot of money on that electronic pocket translator, but you've never once pulled it out. The idea of catching your own fish with that little line-and-hook kit is romantic, but you always seem to buy something at a food cart instead. You swear the very next place you're going is the one where you're going out dancing in your dress shoes.

Purge 'em. Send them home, sell them, give them to someone else. Be ruthless.

(Not too ruthless, mind you. Just because you haven't needed those anti-diarrheals yet doesn't mean you shouldn't hang on to them. Tread carefully when purging your medical kit. Just remember that you probably don't need to carry around 12 doses of Cipro. See commandment #4.)

:: In Summary ::

When backpacking, you're going to be carrying your whole world around on your back.

It just doesn't need to feel like it.]]> http://www.hedgehogswithoutborders.com/weblog/images/entries/TTT.jpg 2008-10-04T00:40:27Z 2007-04-15T17:22:56Z tag:www.hedgehogswithoutborders.com,2007:/weblog//1.135 2007-04-15T17:22:56Z

Dragon fruit. Jackfruit. Mangosteen. Rambutan. Lychee. Tolep. Dragon's eyes. Lang Sam.

These various fruits, native to Southeast Asia (and heartily enjoyed by the two of us in Laos, Thailand, and especially Cambodia) are some of the things I miss most. I'd never heard of any of them before we left, but somehow seem to have trouble living without them now that we're back.

Don't worry, though: this isn't a story about fruit. The fruit's just where it starts. This is a story about one of our favorite places in the world, a place that until now has received only passing mention in this journal.

It's about a place called Kampot.

:: A Breakfast of Dragon Fruit ::

The date is January 23, 2006. Jessica, Klaus, and I, fresh off our pilgrimage to Bokor Hill, are relaxing in the charming Orchid restaurant, enjoying a breakfast featuring the world's most marvelous fruit salad. We've seen some of these fruits before, but others (including the sumptuous dragon fruit) are completely new to us. The day is off to a most promising start.

Over by the kitchen, the owner's adorable little girl is playing next to the ice bucket. In Kampot, as elsewhere in Cambodia, ice is big business. It's often produced at local "ice factories" from filtered water, something one local told us was a remnant of French colonialism. The ice is delivered daily in enormous blocks. As it melts, it becomes water that barang (foreigners) can drink without getting sick.

Here at the Orchid, the proprietor has some of his ice in a plastic bucket, melting in the morning heat to yield drinking water for his patrons.

We're amusedly watching his daughter's antics as she plays beside this bucket when, unexpectedly, she turns to it and proceeds to clamber inside.

We've already made plans to come back here for dinner tonight. I make a mental note not to have any ice water when we do.

:: Walkabout ::

Kampot is the essence of why we fell in love with Cambodia. This sleepy provincial town could not be more removed from the hustle and bustle of hectic Phnom Penh. Instead of cars and motorcycles, here it seems virtually everyone travels by bicycle.

We take it pretty easy for most of the morning, given that our spines are still recovering from the bone-jarring trip up and down Phnom Bokor yesterday. Just before lunch, though, the three of us begin to set about our mission for the day: to explore this marvelous place, an exercise in random wandering. We’re going on walkabout.

As far as I'm concerned, Cambodia is just the nicest, friendliest place in the world. Everywhere we wander we're greeted by enormous smiles and occasional calls of "hello!"

It is during this pre-lunch meandering that we resolve to stay another day here in paradise, so that we can explore the countryside surrounding it tomorrow.

:: Scary Indian Guy ::

Full disclosure: it turns out Scary Indian Guy is in fact from Sri Lanka. Never mind that, though, as he will forever be Scary Indian Guy to us – SIG for short.

We stop at the well-reviewed Bamboo Light Café for lunch. The only other patron is just leaving as we get settled, and the proprietor – the aforementioned SIG – is yelling at him. It seems that another customer paid her bill with an ever-so-slightly torn $1 bill (in Cambodia, any US dollar bill with even the tiniest tear won't be accepted anywhere), and SIG is taking his frustrations out on the guy. SIG then turns to us, and spends a little while complaining about it to us as well. We make sympathetic noises and exchange bemused glances when he isn't looking.

We order our lunch (samosas, chicken with noodles, and apple curry – all of it truly marvelous) and enjoy the riverview while fighting the heat with some ice-cold pineapple shakes. Our relaxation is continually interrupted by SIG, however, who keeps coming over to us to complain about absolutely everything. Of particular annoyance to him are his Cambodian waitresses, who "can't even speak English, can you believe it?"

Satiated, entertained, and perhaps a little scared, we pay our bill with decidedly untorn bills and return to our mission.

:: The Market ::

We make our way to the town's central market, a large concrete building that is both filled with and surrounded by dozens upon dozens of rickety little stalls. Klaus's trademark bucket hat has suffered a large tear, and he's looking for a seamstress to patch it for him.

The three of us wander the labyrinthine corridors of the market in search of anyone with a sewing machine. At every turn we are met with looks of astonishment and amusement, with smiles and giggles. We pass collections of tin cookware and plastic flowers, gutted fish and embroidered pillows, ornate vases and plastic toys.

Eventually, we encounter a seamstress. She speaks no English, and we possess only enough Khmer to cover the very basics: hello, goodbye, thank you, etc. But with an inspired bit of charades (and the helpful visual aid of a torn hat), Klaus successfully conveys his request. We sit there for a few minutes in contented silence, listening to the whrr-whrr-whrr of the sewing machine set against the muted marketplace hubbub that surrounds us. Soon enough, the hat is miraculously mended, Klaus pays his bill, and we're off.

:: The Best Advice We've Ever Given ::

You are of course free to ignore any of the advice we offer on this website. Go ahead and stay in the lake district of Phnom Penh. Go ahead, if you must, and buy yourself a ticket to Siem Reap from a travel agent or guest house on Khao San Road. (No, seriously though, for the love of God don't do that.)

But if you ignore everything else we say, please, please take this one piece of advice. It is the single best suggestion we will ever make on this website.

Ready?

Walk past a provincial Cambodian school at about 4pm.

You will not be disappointed.

:: The Clock Strikes Four ::

On our way back from the market, we happen to be passing by the local school at four o'clock, just as it lets out.

Out pour several dozen kids, all between the ages of five and ten or so. They all gasp and whisper to one another when they see us, and the majority of them keep their distance at first.

One brave little soul starts it. He marches up to us, takes a deep breath, and yells "Hello!" before panicking and running away. The three of us smile and wave, and say "hello" back.

Thus it begins.

Inspired by the fact that we seem relatively harmless, the children get bolder. Another approaches, then another, then three more, and suddenly we're surrounded by the friendliest mob in history. They all desperately want to practice their English on a real, live barang. We're peppered with yells of "Hello!" and "Good day!" and questions like "What is your name?" and "How are you?" Each time we respond to one of them they instantly light up with pride and joy, and then panic and run away.

One particularly brave little boy even gallops up to Jessica with his hand out. When she shakes hands with him, he beams with accomplishment. Then he runs away, whooping.

:: "Skip" ::

As we make our way back to the river, another boy rides past us on his bicycle. He doesn't yell "hello" to us, but smiles broadly as he passes.

A few minutes later, he rides past us again, slowing down to smile and wave. We respond in kind.

By the third or fourth time he rides past, we've become inordinately fond of him. When we finally reach the river, we see the silhouette of his ridiculously oversized bike propped up beside the low concrete riverside wall, just beside where he sits looking out at the water. Once more, he turns to wave at us as we cross the street to join him.

The four of us sit together on the wall, watching the sun dip low behind the Elephant Mountains on the other side of the river. Jessica, who is sitting closest to our new friend, asks him his name.

He responds by vigorously shaking his head and pointing to his ears and mouth, while making a small screeching noise. It takes a few moments to understand. He cannot hear or speak.

But he lights up when he smiles. And he smiles most of the time.

We sit together for quite some time. At one point, Jessica idly tosses some pebbles into the water. The boy jumps up, struck by some brilliant idea, and searches the ground around the wall for a moment before popping up with a broad, flat, round stone. With a practiced poise, he flicks it into the river, where it effortlessly skips several times before sinking. He once again flashes that magnificent smile as we cheer and applaud him. And then it's on.

We spend the next half-hour or so skipping stones together. Skip, as he is inevitably named, teaches Jessica how to do it, and soon she's skipping like a pro. With Skip's patient tutorage, even Klaus and I manage to skip a stone or two. On two separate occasions, unsatisfied with the quality of stones around, Skip leaps onto his bike and heads off in search of better armament. By now our rapport is such that, although I can't explain exactly how we know what he's doing, we somehow understand his intentions. Both times, he returns several minutes later, the butterfly-adorned plastic basket on his bike just brimming with perfect skipping-stones.

Eventually, probably late for dinner, Skip indicates he needs to go. Goodbyes of a sort are had all around, and then he climbs back aboard his enormous bicycle. With one final wave, he pedals his way out into the empty street and heads for home.]]> http://www.hedgehogswithoutborders.com/weblog/images/entries/kampot/header.jpg 2008-10-04T00:40:02Z 2007-02-27T18:51:21Z tag:www.hedgehogswithoutborders.com,2007:/weblog//1.134 2007-02-27T18:51:21Z

The day we landed in Buenos Aires, March 4th, 2005 marked the beginning of everything. I'm sure there are people in the world (perhaps even reading this right now) who think we were a bit crazy to do what we did. Selling everything we owned, quitting our jobs, and saying goodbye to life as we knew it to chase a dream. We might have seemed a bit crazy. But I wouldn't change any of our decisions for the world.

Jessica www.hedgehogswithoutborders.com jessica@hedgehogswithoutborders.com Post-trip First of all, welcome to the many Haverford College students and alumni who have been visiting our website for the past week or so. It's been great hearing from many of you regarding your own plans for future travels. Keep the emails coming!

(A few months ago I was asked to write an online piece for my alma mater's monthly newsletter. It was just published last week in their February edition, and if you're interested in reading it, you can find it right here.)

Second, we're hoping to find some time in the next month or two to spruce HedgehogsWithoutBorders up a bit. We've been busy volunteering for a few non-profits since we've been home (among them, of course, Elephant Nature Foundation), but we're going to start making more time for Hedgehogs too. A few pages are out of date, not to mention the Photo Gallery still only has photos from Argentina in it. So keep your eyes out for the improvements, friends.

Now, on to the post...

This Saturday marks the second anniversary of my and Tim leaving on our trip. Two years ago on March 3, 2005 we stepped on a plane headed to Argentina and we never looked back. We had no idea what the next 1.5 years would bring (indeed, we didn't even know we'd be gone for 1.5 years!).

I still remember getting off the plane in Buenos Aires. The next hour or so would be the test of what little Spanish I remembered from high school. And I had no idea my first few sentences spoken in Spanish would lead to me falling in love with a language.

Shortly after leaving the airport, we made our first Argentinean friend: a man named Alejandro who noticed our lost faces and directed us on our way (but not before giving a requested Spanish lesson to me, and my giving a requested English lesson to him). The bus ride on bus #86 into the heart of Buenos Aires was exciting. We were the only non-locals on the bus and we only had a vague idea where we were going. We had no reservations and no set plans.

Our first task of the day was to find lodging. After getting off in the general vicinity of a well-reviewed hostal, we started walking with our packs on. About ten minutes into the walk, we realized something: it was past noon and we were starving. After our 13 hour flight, it was time to eat. And so our first task quickly changed from finding lodging to finding food.

We ended up in an odd little local place with Freddy Mercury posters on the wall. Knowing absolutely nothing on the menu, with our backpacks at our feet, we pointed to the menu and ordered. It was our first meal in another country together, and it was good.

While sitting at the table, Tim set an alarm on my watch to go off daily at noon. We knew that with all our future travel days and sightseeing days, that we'd need something to remind us to eat (or, at the least, to remind us to start looking for food). It's hard enough being in a familiar place when you're hungry and looking for food, it's ten times more difficult when you're in an unfamiliar place and can't read the language. To this day, the noon alarm is still set. And to this day when we hear it we both say, "It's noon, time to eat."

After eating, we checked out the hostal that we were interested in only to find that it was booked. But with some help from the staff, we quickly found out there was an available room at another hostal across town. Walking in the new direction, we had no idea we were walking towards our new home: the St. Nicholas hostel. It would be our home three different times, each of the three times we visited Buenos Aires. The first time for 8 nights, the second time for 7 nights, and the third time for 31 nights. I am not kidding when I say we became part of the tour during our last stay there ("and these are our oldest guests").

The other day I asked Tim if he thought our old room (room #5 was our favorite, although we stayed in a few of them) was the same as it was two years ago. He replied that he assumed it was, and how heartbroken we'd both be if it wasn't. Room #5 served us well: after hours of sightseeing, during hours of my studying for Spanish class, after many nights of drinking, and a few nights of feeling overwhelmed with everything. I love that I know when Tim and I visit Buenos Aires again, we'll go straight to St. Nicholas. It's home to us more than virtually any other place in the entire world. It is where we lived when we fell in love with Buenos Aires, where we lived when we learned the early tricks of travel, and it is where we met our dear friends Paul and Caroline (who taught us several of those travel tricks).

Buenos Aires remains our favorite city in the world. It is, in my humble opinion, the epitome of everything that is beautiful about cities: beautiful architecture, gorgeous streets, museums and parks, fantastic food, and faces of every color and class imaginable. You can not help but fall in love with a place where there are festivals held in the street so people may dance the tango together under the light of the moon.

The day we landed in Buenos Aires, March 4th (or as our friend Marisa pointed out in a comment: March Forth), marked the beginning of everything. I'm sure there are people in the world (perhaps even reading this right now) who think we were a bit crazy to do what we did. Selling everything we owned, quitting our jobs, and saying goodbye to life as we knew it to chase a dream. Throw in the fact that we never booked rooms ahead of time and that we were traveling with a bright pink toy pig, and yea, we might have seemed a bit crazy. But I wouldn't change any of our decisions for the world.

Although two years ago we landed in Buenos Aires, one year ago we were in Bangkok, on our second tour through that intoxicating city. In the end, we would pass through Bangkok five times, spending nearly two months there alone. The differences between Buenos Aires and Bangkok are enough to fill three or four posts alone. We loved them both, although Bangkok has a way of ripping at your heart and tearing at your soul just enough that you think you'll break...only to give you something fascinating to keep you going for a few more days and keep you coming back for more. It is a city of paradoxes and it gets under your skin.

In our notebook that we kept while traveling, the March 3rd 2006 entry has "one year anniversary of travel" written down next to "filed taxes" and "received monk email!" (This time last year while in Bangkok, we were doing our US taxes. And we had just received an email from our friend the monk too.) A few days later, we would be joined again by Klaus before embarking upon our quick trip to Laos before heading back into Cambodia again (via, wait for it, Bangkok).

This year, there will be no crossing into Laos or watching people dance the tango in the street of Buenos Aires. (Although we may receive more monk email.) This year, there will probably be little traveling outside the country as Belly adjusts to life in America, we adjust to being doggy parents, and our bank accounts attempt to adjust to being used in America again.

When I look back at the pictures of our first few weeks traveling, I'm struck by a few things. First, how short my hair is. Second, how short Tim's hair is. Third, how pale we were. (By the time we got home, we were furry and tan.) But our faces overall just look...younger. We just looked...younger. I'm not saying we're old and wise now, just that I definitely feel a bit older now that the trip is over. I think I lived more life in our time abroad than I had in all my previous years combined.

There's not a day that passes when I think of our trip that it doesn't all feel surreal. And there's not a day that passes that I don't miss traveling with a passion. It hurts sometimes to be home. But then again, if we had never come home I may have never known how important it was to me to travel. I certainly had no idea of that when we stepped on the plane two years ago. And not a day passes that I am not forever thankful that I know it now.

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We would spend another two weeks or so traveling in Cambodia. During that time we re-visited Phnom Penh, we spent more time with Sam and the monk in Kratie, and we traveled to the remote northeast to a little village still fairly off the beaten path called Ban Lung. There are, of course, many stories to share from our return trip.

The story I share below happened the few days before it was time for us to cross the border back into Thailand once again. It is a story we deliberately did not tell while we were traveling in order not to worry our families unnecessarily.

It was another sunny day in Phnom Penh. Tim and I had spent the past few hours walking around the friendly, chaotic, and exciting streets of Cambodia's capitol. Our time in Cambodia was coming to a close and both of us were reminiscent and sad. We were nearing the end of our entire trip around-the-world, and we knew we wouldn't have another chance to return to this beautiful country for quite some time.

We had just returned from a walk to three of the city's bus stations. None of them, it seemed, did the route we needed to take from Phnom Penh to Krong Koh Kong, the little town we enjoyed so much with Klaus located on the border with Thailand. We needed to get there preferably by the next day, and at most two days later. But the road to Krong Koh Kong over the mountains involved 5 river crossings. Currently there were no bridges, so the crossings were done by tiny bamboo ferries. Buses weren't scheduled to go that way until the bridges were completed sometime in the distant future.

As such, we had two choices in front of us. One choice meant going south via Sihanoukville and then via boat to Krong Koh Kong before heading to our next destination in Thailand. It would take two very long days, and would mean a very busy (and possibly improbable) travel schedule on the second day, including a border crossing. It would also mean spending more time in Sihanoukville (something we did the first time in Cambodia, and something we didn't really feel the need to repeat), and no time in Krong Koh Kong (something we were very much looking forward to again).

The second choice meant hiring a private car to take us on the route we needed to go on. It would cost more than the first choice, but it was direct and we'd get to spend more time in Krong Koh Kong. It would also mean we'd be able to cross the border as soon as it opened in the morning (as opposed to the afternoon/evening with the first choice), and there'd still be plenty of time to get to our next destination in Thailand (requiring no less than 4 modes of transportation). An additional bonus was this schedule meant we could find lodging before dark.

Making our decision, we checked with a few of the local hotels and guesthouses for ballpark prices. And then we booked a private car through the brand spanking new (and adorable) guesthouse we were staying at, The Townview Guesthouse.

It was 8am and Tim and I had loaded ourselves and our packs into the backseat of the car that would take us from Phnom Penh to Krong Koh Kong. Our driver, Hak, was friendly and talkative and was busy chatting away about the different people he drives around the capitol.

"I have one man who comes from Texas. He is very nice. When he comes to Phnom Penh on business, he always asks for me. On his last visit, he gave me a very big hat."

The banter was light and we enjoyed listening to him tell stories. As the world passed outside our window, he told us about the drive to Krong Koh Kong.

"There are many ferry crossings. Sometimes we get there in time [for the ferry], sometimes we don't. Sometimes we need to wait to cross. One day they will have bridges to cross and then it will be a quick drive. This time, I don't know. Maybe 3 hours. Maybe 6 hours."

Reassuring him we weren't in a rush to get there quick and that we enjoyed seeing the Cambodian countryside, he continued.

"The drive is through the mountains. Ohhhh, they are very big mountains. I think the highest point is 1700 meters. The road is not finished. It goes up and down, up and down. Many turns. The last time I drive this way, the road is very bad. But I think they work on it more since then because of the bridges. But I don't know. It will be very bad if I have to drive through it at night. It will be very dark, and the road is bad."

We had left Phnom Penh at 8am. The drive to Krong Koh Kong was estimated to take 3-6 hours depending on the road and the five river crossings. At the latest, we would be dropped off around 2pm. The driver would then need to make the return trip to the capitol. Depending on the hour he dropped us off, though, he might have to do some of the return trip in the dark.

"We think maybe it'll be ok though. If we make all the ferries and the road isn't that bad, we will probably arrive in Krong Koh Kong by twelve or one. You'll be able to do the return drive in daylight. It will be ok. You don't have to drive so fast," we reassured him.

Nodding in agreement, Hak continued the journey. But his speedometer, from time to time, would keep going up to speeds that indicated he felt otherwise.

It didn't take long for our day's journey to take us out of Phnom Penh and into the countryside. Three, four, and five story buildings were quickly replaced with tiny huts. The capitol city's hectic traffic fell away - soon we were the only car on the road headed through the middle of nowhere. And eventually we turned off the main paved road and onto one of the country's many unpaved, red dirt roads. This was the road that would take us over the Cardamom Mountains.

I've mentioned before how much I love the Cambodian countryside, but it's worth repeating. If ever there is a more beautiful landscape, I have yet to see it. I love driving through rice paddies and around water buffalos, between houses on stilts and old schools, and past local kids riding bicycles slowly along the red dirt roads. Even when the sky is cloudy, everything is beautiful.

"You have to be very careful on this road. It is good luck if a pig crosses in front of the car. But sometimes there are tigers in the way. That is not good," Hak said, pointing to the right side of the road.

Surprised at the mention of tigers, Tim and I looked to the right. Seeing a small herd of animals, we quickly realized Hak's tigers were, in fact, dairy cows.

About 30 minutes down this new road, we came to the first of five river crossings. This first crossing would be on a small, but reliable looking boat. (Most likely because it was the least remote of all the crossings.) The rest of the river crossings, though, would be on things generously described as rafts consisting of nothing more than several bamboo poles tightly woven together on top of a metal buoy of sorts, with some scrap metal thrown on top and nailed down relatively flat. Add a huge motor of sorts to the back of it, and you were ready to go. They were a bit wobbly and very slow, and they could only handle two or three cars at a time. (However, being industrious folk, the Cambodians would make sure to pile on an extra car and a few dozen extra people for good measure.)

Our timing for the first river crossing was perfect: we were the last car to arrive and as a result, as soon as we navigated our way onto the boat, we started sailing over to the other side.

Sometime after the first river crossing, Hak started talking about going to school in Cambodia.

"I had to stop school when I was twelve. Pol Pot got rid of all schools. But when the Khmer Rouge were gone, people could go to school again. I had a family and could not go back yet. But later, I went to school to finish my studies. I felt like an old man. Everyone in my class was younger than me."

Aside from the emotional visit we had to the Tuol Sleng Museum and a few roundabout comments made by our friend the Monk, we had never heard a Cambodian mention Pol Pot or the Khmer Rouge during our time in Cambodia. That's not surprising of course: why would they talk about it with anyone, especially with a barang (foreigner). According to an expat friend who lives there, the schools didn't even teach that part of their history until the final year in school. For the most part, it seemed like people wanted to forget and to move on from that dark period. And, really, who can blame them for it.

While our car slowly snaked its way up the side of the mountain range, Hak continued to tell us a story.

"One day after class, my teacher said he wanted to speak with me. I waited, and then he told me he was worried about my grades. He said I was 13th in the class and that I needed to do better. I promised him I would."

Surprised by what he had just said, I replied, "But 13th sounds like a very good rank. I think maybe your teacher was silly."

Nodding, Hak responded, "But there was only 15 students in the class."

Thinking for a moment, I answered, "Well, 13 is better than 14, right?"

Smiling at my response in the rearview mirror, he repeated what I had said. "Yes, 13 is better than 14."

Throughout the drive, our timing for each ferry was perfect. We had already completed 4 of the 5 river crossings, and were only about 60 minutes away from our destination. Our arrival time was going to be around noon.

The road was nowhere near finished, but it was certainly better than some of the roads we had seen in northeastern Cambodia. It was clear the construction crews must have worked hard to create the road, carving a place for it amidst the jungle, slowly making a path up one mountain and down the next. And everywhere there was the traditional red dirt found throughout Cambodia. But this dirt was loose and not compacted down yet. In some places, it was almost like gravel.

Hak had been silent for a little while, focusing instead on the road in front of him. It was demanding more attention. But over the course of the past few miles, he had slowly started increasing his speed, undoubtedly because we were nearing our destination. And at times, the car was beginning to lose just the slightest bit of traction on the loose red dirt. It was barely noticeable, but when you're in the middle of nowhere you tend to notice the smallest things.

Coming to the crest of the next mountain, I whispered to Tim asking if he felt comfortable with the speed we were going given the state of the road. He shook his head no, and I started to lean forward to ask Hak to slow down just the slightest bit.

But before I could even get the first word out, something happened.

At the top of the mountain, where our car was right now, there was a curve in the road. But Hak had approached the curve and the downward slope too fast. And as we started down the other side and around the curve, the car's tires lost all traction.

Our car started spinning out of control.

My voice caught in my throat. And I felt Tim reach across the seat to put his arm across me: the protective arm, we called it. It was something we had always done back in the US when we were driving and had to stop unexpectedly for whatever reason.

I don't remember if I looked at Tim. I think my head was locked into place, staring ahead. My view would change as the car spun. And ahead of us, down the road we were spinning out of control on, the road curved again.

It had to curve again, you see, because straight ahead was an edge of the mountain.

At best we were going to hit a tree and it would stop us from going over. At worst a tree wouldn't stop us, and we were going to go over.

Since we've been back in the US, I've been terrified of being in the car. Some days are better than others, but overall I can't stand it. More often than not, I have my eyes glued shut in the passenger seat. Our adventure in Cambodia was my first car accident ever. And it seems my body is taking a while to get over it.

Last week, safe in our cozy apartment in Washington DC, Tim and I were watching the movie Frida. I've wanted to see it for some time but hadn't had the chance yet.

About ten minutes into the movie, I had to ask Tim to turn it off for a while. There was a scene on the screen that made our living room fall away: Frida was watching as the trolley she is on spins out of control towards the corner of a brick building. And all I could see was our car spinning out of control down that lonely mountain road.

Red dirt, tall trees, the edge.

Red dirt, tall trees, the edge.

Red dirt, tall trees, the edge.

There are many things you can prepare for before a trip around-the-world. But no amount of guidebooks, or travel shots, or places to hide your valuables, or street smarts can prevent those things that just happen. There's very little that can prevent those freak accidents that happen in a split second.

There were a few bus rides during our travels when I was scared we would crash or get into a wreck. But I don't know if I had ever experienced such a strong fear of dying before that day.

I remember while the car was turning, I was worried about our families: they would have no idea what happened to us. And all I could think about was that I wouldn't be with Tim anymore.

And I remember a new worry that crept into my head. If we went over the edge, but didn't die in the fall, how long would it take for someone to find us alongside this lonely road?

It's amazing how slowly a few seconds can take to pass. I never knew how slow time could go until our car started spinning out of control down a red dirt road...in the middle of nowhere...in a jungle...on the side of a mountain…in Cambodia.

I'm sure it must have lasted under thirty seconds. Perhaps under fifteen.

I remember my last glimpse of the edge that was fast approaching. We were only about 15 feet away at that point. The next rotation of the car was going to send us over the side of the mountain. There was no going back.

Suddenly, the car was whipped around even faster than before and came to an immediate, bone-shaking halt at the edge.

I'd be lying if I said I remembered much of the very next part while we were still inside the car. I think I remember a flurry of "Are you alright?" and "Are you ok?" questions being asked between the three of us. I think I remember Hak saying "Oh my god."

Getting out of the car, my legs were shaking. And as I turned to look back at the car, I noticed what had happened: one or more of our tires had gotten caught in a ditch directly between the road and the edge of the mountain. It was a natural ditch, carved out by the torrents of rain that would pound the jungle relentlessly during the raining season. And today, instead of carrying the rain down the side of the mountain, it stopped us from going over it.

The next several hours would pass slowly. My legs would still be shaking. Tim would still be asking if I was ok. And our driver would still be mumbling "Oh my god" repeatedly. But eventually a truck went by who, with the help of about 10 people, pulled the car back onto the road. Instead of taking the remaining one hour to get to our final destination, the next part of the journey would take over two hours. Hak, it seemed, felt safer going slower this time. The car, meanwhile, was struggling to keep any sort of pace on only two good tires.

One of the most distinct memories I have of the car accident on that lonely jungle road was a few minutes after we had stopped spinning. Tim, Hak, and I were standing on the side of the road in shock.

Looking at where the car had stopped only inches from the edge, I thought a moment and asked, "Well, 13 is better than 14, right?"

Nodding together, both Tim and Hak replied, "Yes. Yes, it is."

:: A Flamewar is Not the Place to Find a Mentor ::

When you're bored on the road and trying to kill a little time in an internet cafe, one amusing little diversion is to browse amongst some of the more heated discussions on online travel forums: ThornTree, BootsnAll, etc. (Or, if your name is Klaus, wade right into them and stir up some trouble.)

One of the topics guaranteed to encourage some feisty debate is the question of whether or not to take a money belt with you on your travels. You know, one of those canvas belts full of zippered pouches, which you wear beneath your clothes and pack with all of your most valuable posessions: your plane tickets, your money, your credit cards, your travelers' checks. So, do you need one? People get crazy over that question sometimes.

When planning for our trip, I approached these sorts of forums as a soon-to-be-backpacker, thirsty for knowledge. For instance, I wondered whether I should wear a money belt when we traveled, to keep our stuff safe. I was looking for guidance, and didn't find it. Or rather, I found far too much of it, all completely contradictary.

Everyone had their own idea. Everyone disagreed with everyone else. And everyone was absolutely convinced that they were right and everyone else was crazy.

:: The Most Precious Thing ::

Quick, what's the glaring omission from the above list of "valuable posessions" you might be hoarding away in your money belt? If you said "passport", then you get two points. (And if you're now randomly thinking of the movie Sneakers, I get a point too!)

Many travelers consider their passport to be the most important thing they posess. You need it to get back home. You need it to board that flight to Fiji. You often need it to check into your hotel. And as you travel, and it fills up with those oh-so-precious stamps, it becomes special as far more than proof of identification and citizenship.

So, unsurprisingly, another common question is what the heck to do with it. Not when you're flying somewhere or checking in someplace, but just when you're walking around town. And once again, opinions are like feet: nearly everyone has one or two, and we all seem to be pretty sure everyone else's stink.

We know people who swear blue that you're just asking for trouble if you do anything but leave your passport in the hotel safe. Others say that's just crazy, keep your passport on you at all times! (Preferably in that money belt we were talking about.) Some hide their passport beneath the mattress, while others shove theirs into a slash-proof backpack and chain it to the bathroom sink. And every one of them is convinced the others need to have their heads examined.

Especially when you're just starting out on your trip, you can sometimes find yourself wanting someone to tell you what to do. You want black and white answers to gray-area questions. If I can't drink the local water, can I brush my teeth with it? Should I give money to street beggars? Is it safe for them to shove my beloved backpack up onto the roof of the bus?

Usually, there isn't a real "right" or "wrong" answer. But you wouldn't know that from asking people.

:: The Luck of the Draw ::

Many readers will remember our good friends Paul and Caroline. During those lovely days the four of us spent in El Bolsón, Jessica and I recommended to them a bus company named Andesmar. Andesmar, you may recall, puts on quite a show as far a busrides are concerned. Whenever the two of us took a bus anywhere in Argentina, we'd take an Andesmar if we could. They are just spectacular beyond words.

Well, Paul and Caroline booked themselves an Andesmar for their very next bus journey, from El Bolsón up to Mendoza. When we caught up with them a week or so later, we were shocked to hear that it had been awful. The bus was suffocatingly hot, stunk unsettlingly of gasoline, and was just a crappy experience overall. Egads. What had become of our beloved Andesmar? Why had they let us down so?

The fact is, we never had a bad experience with them. But sometimes, shit happens. If our first experience with them had been the trip that Paul and Caroline had had, we'd have never taken them again. And we'd have smack-talked them six ways from Sunday.

:: Negotiating With a Band of Armed Gunmen ::

It was in Vilcabamba, Ecuador that we first met our friend Klaus. One evening, the three of us were briefly joined at dinner by a couple with whom Klaus had arranged to exchange some currency. (It's not uncommon for travelers to exchange currency after crossing into a new country: "Oh, you're headed into Peru? Here, let me sell you my leftover soles!")

While Klaus and the gentleman counted out their money, Jessica and I made conversation with the young lady. We never filed her name away into long-term memory, and today I can only remember her as "BoliviaGirl". (She had been living in Bolivia for a year or so when we met her.) As so often happens among travelers, the talk turned to itineraries, and soon we found ourselves discussing our beloved Argentina.

"I hate Argentina," she pronounced sharply, "it's the worst country in the world."

Again, we were shocked. Surely she was mistaken. Not Argentina. Surely not.

We asked her why she hated Argentina, and were taken even more aback by her answer.

"In Buenos Aires, a group of armed gunmen broke into the hostel we were staying at. They had machine guns, and they ransacked all the rooms, stealing everything everyone had. It's an awful place, Buenos Aires."

:: The Pantheon of Cities ::

Buenos Aires is our favorite city in the world. Number two is Istanbul, then Phnom Penh, then Bangkok. But Buenos Aires is head and shoulders above the rest. Never before and never again did we feel so at home.

BoliviaGirl's story about Buenos Aires was as bizarre and surreal to us as it would have been had it been set in Philadelphia. Machinegun-armed bandits? In Buenos Aires? No wonder she hated Argentina.

If we'd met BoliviaGirl before traveling to Argentina, we might never have gone. We'd have had this impression of it as a dangerous, awful place where armed gangs broke into hotels.

And I found myself thinking of Montevideo. We hated that city with a passion. We'd been telling people for months to avoid it like the plague.

What if Montevideo had just been having a bad day that day, like Buenos Aires was for BoliviaGirl, like Andesmar was for Paul and Caroline? Maybe there's someone out there who adores Piura the same way we love Phnom Penh.

There's so much chance involved in trips like these. If we'd never met our friend Sam Nang, we may never have fallen for Kratie the way we did. When we tell people they should make a trip up to Kratie when they visit Cambodia, I can't help but wonder if they'll fall for it like we did. What if it's their Montevideo?

:: YMMV ::

Over the course of many Tuesdays to come, we'll be both talking about how we approached certain aspects of traveling (like finances, what to bring, etc) and giving specific recommendations for specific cities (like which hotel to stay in when you visit Göreme).

Just remember: your mileage may vary.

We didn't take money belts. We left our passports in our room when we went out. That doesn't mean that's right, or that's what you should do. It's just what we did.

You might hate the places we loved, or love the places we hated. Don't cross some place off your itinerary just because we didn't like it. Remember the lesson of BoliviaGirl.

Whew! Now, that said, we can get on with the Travel Tips...

...but not until another Tuesday.]]> http://www.hedgehogswithoutborders.com/weblog/images/entries/TTT.jpg 2008-10-04T00:39:45Z 2006-11-15T20:20:22Z tag:www.hedgehogswithoutborders.com,2006:/weblog//1.131 2006-11-15T20:20:22Z

In my last post, I mentioned that even though we've only recently returned to the United States, Tim and I had plans to visit Thailand again for 2.5 weeks from the end of October to mid-November. In addition to spending more time with the elephants and our friends at Elephant Nature Park, there was a very specific reason we were returning to the land of smiles so soon after our round-the-world trip ended. The following story is the reason why.

Since I can remember I've always had a soft spot for those things that other people might not like as much. When I was younger, green became my favorite color because everyone else seemed to like the color blue. The number 8 with it's plump curves always seemed to lose out to the number 7 in popularity contests, and as such it became my favorite number. And whenever we'd go to the store, if it was time for me to buy a toy, I always chose the stuffies who were lying on the floor. I was afraid no one else would love them and take care of them like I would.

I think Lek (the inspirational woman who runs Elephant Nature Park) does the same thing. She has a soft spot for the elephants who have been neglected and who are unwanted. In an industry that is focused on tourist dollars, Lek is focused on the well being of her elephants. The elephants who are broken, abused, blind, crippled, and the ones who are cast aside...if Lek knows about them, she will find a way to bring them to her park so they can finally rest and be elephants again.

But anyone who's ever been to the park knows it's not just elephants that she rescues. It's cats, and cows, and dogs, and - dare I say it - people too. As a result, the park is alive with activity: elephants trumpeting, cats meowing, dogs barking, cows mooing, volunteers chattering, and mahouts singing. It's a family, dysfunctional and fluid at times, but a family nonetheless and one that is filled with the stuffies who fell on the floor.

---

Aside from the elephants and our friends who work there, the dogs at the park are our favorite things. There are 36 of them ranging in everything from size and color to age and personality. Several of the dogs are related directly or distantly, but most are not and have come to the park in a variety of roundabout ways. Whether abandoned by villagers or picked up on the side of the road in Chiang Mai, these dogs have found a home in the midst of an elephant sanctuary in the middle of the Thai jungle. (For those who are curious: all of the dogs are friendly and all have the appropriate vaccinations annually.)

For the Westerners who work at the park, the dogs are reminders of home. For the volunteers, they're great spider and rat catchers. For the park itself, they're great watch dogs. A few years ago, one of the dogs protected the park's cement mixer from being stolen in the middle of the night. He was stabbed by the intruder, but he was successful in protecting the park's property. And no worries, the doggy was fine and remains so this day.

One of the most fascinating thing about the dogs is watching them interact as a pack. There are multiple layers of hierarchies, alliances and territories. With the new building constructed, Nong Chai and Nong Dom can claim the TV room, the back huts, and the bathroom area. But one small step outside their territory, and they'll be put in place by dogs half their size. Bobby, Max, and Silver keep a watchful eye on our friends Karl's and Michelle's hut, but aren't permitted by alpha female Copper and her sister Maddie to come up to the main hut. Number One, Number Two, Horace Silver, and Dahli keep watch at the front gate; while Bosie, Phet, and Nong Gi keep careful watch over our friend Jodi's hut. Silly Booboo loves the gift shop, chubby Poi loves the kitchen, and the bearded lady Mookie just wants to be petted.

A picture of the dogs' territories would probably resemble a colorful world map. A flow chart showing the hierarchy would, with the exception of the lowest and highest members of the pack, be in constant flux. The dog captain each lower ranking dog plays under would, for the most part, remain the same. But the end result is a wonderfully fascinating doggy soap opera. (For anyone interested in seeing pictures of each dog, check out my doggy photo gallery on the Elephant Nature Foundation website.)

---

We had been traveling for about 14 months when we had our first night at the park in late April. The weather in northern Thailand couldn't have been more gorgeous, and the park's location in the Mae Tang Valley meant cool breezes and fantastic sunsets over the surrounding jungle covered mountains. We had retired to our hut early (something we'd be endlessly teased about for the 7 weeks we volunteered) and were already dozing off to sleep around 9pm when we heard the familiar sound of doggie footsteps walking on the bamboo around our hut. It seemed that one of the park's dogs had followed us home. After a few more minutes, we realized there were actually four dogs who had followed us home and who were now snuggling down around our hut for the night.

We had just finished talking about how nice it was to have doggies around, when the howling began. We were being treated to our first Elephant Nature Park howling session with, we would begin to learn, one of the lead singers right outside our door: Copper, the gorgeous alpha female of the entire pack. She was joined by Solam, a big bear of a dog; Duke, a sweet but lazy little dog; and Belly, a cute dog whose story we didn't know just yet. Giggling at their antics, we listened as their song lasted for several minutes. After the song had died down, we finally fell asleep, feeling safe and at home. Little did we know that that night, something was starting to change in our life.

Over the next 7 weeks at the park, we busied ourselves with volunteer activities. Cleaning up ele poo, building fences and huts, prepping the fruit baskets for the elephants, and so on and so forth. Through a few random circumstances, I started leading the daily tours and, when I was on my Jumbo Express, Tim did the same. But of course the main thing that we worked on during our time at the park was creating the park's new website. Everything from designing and coding to writing and photographing, we did it for Lek and her elephants. And the fact that we were able to do that for her - after all the good she's done in this world - is something I will always feel good about.

Weekly volunteers came and went. We grew remarkably close to several of them, especially those who stayed for longer periods of time. We became wonderful friends with Jodi and Karl, two of the Westerners who work full-time at the park. We wouldn't get a chance to meet Michelle (who was in Australia for most of our visit) until our last week and would quickly become wonderful friends with her too. We listened to Lek tell stories, we visited Elephant Haven, we bathed and fed elephants, we felt at peace.

And we also started to fall in love.

---

Culturally, some Thais don't appear to be as pet-oriented as many Westerners. (That's a generalization, of course.) But there's also a prevailing fear of animals and a view that an animal needs to be dominated or put in its place, that the human should show the animal who's boss before the animal gets any wrong ideas. It's one of the things that Lek witnesses with her rescued elephants: Asian elephants are put through a horrific breaking ceremony when they're between the ages of two and four years in order to break their spirit and make them submit to their owners. (This breaking ceremony, called the pajaan, is an important subject for an entirely different post though.)

Predictably, dominating an animal through abuse can backfire. Any animal – dog, elephant, or otherwise – who would normally not act out or show aggression may end up doing so because they have become scared of their tormentor. As a result, you have a vicious cycle: person acts violently first, animal reacts defensively and scares person, person acts violently again, etc, etc.

For dogs, it's often poking in the face, pulling on the tail, throwing rocks and sling-shoting them too. Sometimes it's much, much worse. And like any person, every dog has his own personality. Some tolerate the abuse, some don't. And some put up with it, but will always remember who has been mean to them.

The life of most of the dogs at the park is heaven. There's plenty of food, plenty of land, and plenty of volunteers to give them regular petting. They've learned to avoid the very few mahouts and villagers who don't like them. And, for the most part, the very few mahouts and villagers who don't like dogs have learned to avoid them too. But at times it's difficult. And for one dog in particular, life was becoming quite stressful.

---

Belly and his sister Nit Noy were born around November/December 2002 in Lek's home village of Ban Lao. When they came to the attention of park staff, they were malnourished and covered with a horrible skin condition. When they were fed by volunteers for the first time, they both ate so much that their bellies expanded and their breath became labored. As so it was that Belly received his name. And Nit Noy, meaning "a little bit" in Thai, received hers because although her body was the same size as Belly, her legs were half as tall.

It would take several years before they were both completely healthy. It's unclear what skin condition plagued them both, but plague it did. Sores developed and burst to the point that Jodi put little shirts on them so as to keep the bugs away. Belly would get healthier first; it would take Nit Noy a full year longer to grow the fluffy, healthy coat that she has now. And now, four years later, they have become excellent bug hunters: any bug that comes within striking distance will become lunch. My guess is they were so bothered by bugs when they were younger and sick, they don't tolerate them at all now that they're older and healthy.

Who's to know why some dogs are abused and why others aren't. Perhaps it's size or a look in the eye or just bad luck. For Belly and Nit Noy, I think it might have to do with their appearance in their early years. Without their hair, they might have been awkward-looking to some. And with their numerous sores, they might have been gross-looking to others. Perhaps some locals were afraid of disease. Perhaps they didn't want the dogs with the bugs eating away at their skin near them. Whatever it was, Belly and Nit Noy became target practice when the volunteers weren't looking. Not all the time, and certainly not by everyone. But by a few people.

From what we understand, they handled it differently. Nit Noy didn't want anyone at all coming near her, particularly during the time she was sicker than Belly. (It could be during this period the two of them drifted apart. As they grew older, they rarely ever hung out together, but whenever you did see them next to one another it was immediately clear they were siblings.) Now, of course, Nit Noy's totally different. She loves being petted and cooed over. And she'll give you a silly wiggle and funny grin when you sing her name to her too.

For his part, Belly still wanted to be around people. He followed volunteers everywhere with his happy smile, jaunty trot, and love for being petted. But he started becoming nervous if any of the mean people walked nearby. Usually he'd stay where he was lying on a bamboo bench, not make any movement, and just give a low growl: sort of a "hey, don't bother me, you stay over there, and I'll stay over here." Unfortunately instead of giving Belly his space, the mean person would often come directly over to Belly and start poking at him despite the growling.

Before we arrived at the park, there was a particularly upsetting time when a villager threatened to kill Belly. In order to save Belly's life, Lek had to pay the man money. Unfortunately there were rumors that such a threat would be made again.

Over the 7 weeks we were at the park, we watched Belly interact with everyone. He loved volunteers, he loved the Westerners who worked at the park, he loved the mahouts who bathed him down at the river after bathing their elephants, he loved the cooks (he is, of course, a smart dog), and he loved Lek. But he became sad and stressed on those rare occasions when someone who had been mean to him before would come over and start taunting him. At times it was heartbreaking, more often than not it was maddening. And I have to admit I broke the socially accepted way of acting in Thailand by yelling loudly and gesturing madly more than a few times when it happened.

Lek told us once that, "Belly expects to be respected. He does not like his tail pulled. He does not like rocks thrown. He just wants to be loved."

---

After our first night at the park, there were few times that Belly wasn't near us. We noticed he followed us to the main hut each morning, and sat near us during meal times. During the elephant bath times he would be nearby, usually playing in the field with his doggy friends BooBoo, Duke, and Louie but sometimes getting a bath by Boonchoo, the lovely mahout for elephant Lilly. When we'd be working on the website in our hut, instead of playing outside with the other dogs, he'd be lying at my feet. Other dogs would go in and out of our room throughout the day, but he'd remain. At night he'd faithfully follow us back to our hut, more often than not without being prompted to do so. And if Tim was working on the website and I was up at the main hut, Tim would know when I was coming home because Belly would show up a minute before I did.

We admired him as he hunted bugs in our room at night. We smiled as he ran happily in front of us around the park, always looking back to make sure we were still there. We interfered by dousing him with water whenever he'd become overly concerned about doggy territories and possible violators of said territories. We remained amazed as he slept soundly even when there were commotions going on all around him. We were amused when we'd see him eat bananas right under an elephant's nose...er, trunk.

There are so many moments from our time at the park that stand out to me. There are so many moments that make me smile and laugh and cry. But there's one conversation that happened while we were there that started to change everything for us.

It was around 6am and Tim and I were at breakfast. We love the early mornings at the park and most of the volunteers didn't get to the main hut until 7am or 8am. By going so early we were able to have some nice park time to ourselves, and to enjoy early morning conversations with Karl (who, because he's a mahout, tended to be at breakfast before 7am). This particular morning another volunteer who had been at the park for a few weeks longer than us was at breakfast too.

It was about 2 or so weeks into our visit, and while talking to the other volunteer I commented how sweet it was that Belly followed us everywhere. We mentioned how we noticed other dogs would change which volunteer they followed home at night, but Belly always seemed to follow us. I mentioned how he almost seemed loyal.

Raising an eyebrow and feigning surprise, the other volunteer remarked, "Really? None of the dogs of the park are particularly loyal. And I wouldn't describe Belly as being loyal at all."

Quiet up to this point, Karl (who lives at the park and has raised most of the dogs since they were puppies) quickly interjected.

"Belly? Belly's as loyal as they come. A lot of the dogs do great here with volunteers coming and going, but not Belly. Above all else, Belly just wants to be someone's dog. He just wants a family of his own."

---

Of the 7 weeks we were at the park, Belly slept at our hut every single night. For 6 of the weeks he slept inside of the hut. And for 3 of the weeks he slept in our bed. If the mosquito net was down and he needed to go outside, he'd whine patiently until we lifted it for him. Then he'd trot outside, do his business, trot inside again, and back up on the bed. But most evenings he would sleep all the way through the night, curled up in a ball under my arm.

For all