Ahh, Rome. The Eternal City. Well, I took plenty of photos there. Here are but a few of them.

Coliseum during the day, Rome

One of the many cathedrals of Rome

Coliseum at night, Rome

Inside view of Coliseum, Rome

Another view of interior of Coliseum, Rome

Arch of Titus, Forum, Rome

Columns inside the Forum, Rome

View along the Forum, Rome

Ruins on Palantine Hill, Forum, Rome

Tiber River at dusk, Rome

Inside St. Peter's Basilica, Vatican, Rome

Another view of St. Peter's Basilica, Rome

Sculpture in Vatican Museum, Vatican, Rome

Sculpture in Vatican Museum, Vatican, Rome

Another Sculpture, Vatican Museum, Rome

The Pantheon at dusk, Rome

Inside the Pantheon, Rome

Until next time, be safe.

I have been somewhat slow about getting our time in Taiwan written up, not so much because I am lazy or procrastinating, but also because we kept pretty busy and had a very good time. We arrived into the small city of Hualien midday after leaving Taipei, and quickly found our hostel, a little place called Amigos. Perhaps we are getting old (probably,I guess) but it seems as though our bags have become increasingly heavy as this trip goes on. We keep thinking that somehow we are obtaining more things, but our few acquisitions are not enough to account for the perceived increased weight gain. It could just be that we notice our bags more now, even on short walks, as from the train station to Amigos.

This hostel was of the sort that we used extensively on our last long trip, with only rooms filled with bunks. For our two nights there, we always had several people in our room, which is good for meeting folks. For example, we encountered a pair of American girls who were working abroad (one in Australia, the other as an English teacher in Taipei) during our hike our second day in Hualien, and later were surprised to find that they were bunkmates of ours back at Amigos. After arriving at the hostel, though, we set out to explore the city a bit. It was our first chance to see the real appearance of Taiwanese architecture, as Taipei is much like other big cities, with lots of tall buildings, an elevated fast-transit system above the street, and so on. I don't want to sound critical, and granted, we didn't visit any of the cities on the west coast of the island, which is much more heavily populated, but architecture in Taiwan doesn't seem so distinctive. Mostly it is block buildings, utilitarian versus for appearance, and with the individualistic looks of a city built by companies or folks for their own reasons rather than to fit in with a uniform pattern or trend. For the cities and villages of the east coast that we passed through this seemed to be the standard; larger villages and the cities were just a bit more compressed, the alleyways a bit tighter, the buildings a bit higher. I guess what I am trying to get out is that I didn't note anything particularly aesthetically unique or amazing about Taiwan's urban areas, and our afternoon spent wandering around Hualien seemed to substantiate this.

That isn't true for the nature in Taiwan, though, which to me is the gem of Taiwan. I am not alone, either, as the Europeans who first came across Taiwan named it Ilha Formosa, Portugese for the Beautiful Island. For the second and the only full day in the area around Hualien, we headed to the nearby Taroko Gorge, a spectacle of a canyon centered around the Liwu River carving its way through the stunning marble bases of towering cliffs and high hillsides. We had been told that we could hike down a 20km stretch from a town that served as the drop-off point for the bus back to the Taroko National Park headquarters, but we had assumed that there would be trails that comb through the hills above the highway. Well, you know what they say about assumptions, and this one was no exception. Even before we reached the drop-off town, we began to notice that there was little chance that there would be a trail that would follow the road. The sheer cliffs shot straight up from both the river and the highway, and frequently the highway itself would bore into the hillsides in either tunnels or through precariously carved channels that made the highway seem as though it were part of a beehive. When we saw an Asian tour group troop past, complete with its characteristic leader with a flag, we understood that our way down would be along the highway. In yet another confirmation that this is the absolute best time of year to travel anywhere, we were very fortunate that traffic was light on the highway; apparently in the summertime, tour buses stream up and down the highway in a continuous line. Even so, there were a few moments on the highway when we would come across a longer or an unlit tunnel, or a corner so tight it had been made into a single lane, or during the few times one of the huge tour buses would squeeze past us as we stood next the guardrail overlooking a drop into the river, that made us question our decision to walk down. Indeed, we didn't walk even half the distance to the headquarters, opting instead to walk about six or eight kilometers to a trail that led into the hills, then hopping on and off of the local bus system to reach trails further down the road. Besides, the scenery we had on our walk was definitely worth it; in the riverbed below us were huge boulders of white marble, bleached by the water and strewn along in a testament of the mighty capability of the Liwu during the monsoon season. Coming from Italy, where we saw many examples of what could be made from huge blocks of marble, it was fascinating to see it in its raw form. The trails that we found took us high above the highway into the forest, where we walked along paths that had been carved out by Japanese soldiers who had occupied Taiwan for the first fifty years of the 20th century.

Reaching the headquarters, we took another trail that had us walk about 9km through lush subtropical forest, along a smaller tributary to the Liwu that had this rich blue color, from what I assume to be some mineral. It was so colorful and pretty, and we went until a steady rain finally convinced us that our day of hiking was over. As we waited for the bus back to Hualien at the headquarters, we chatted with the aforementioned pair of American girls. They weren't as accustomed to the life of bunkrooms as we are, and once we discovered that we would all be bunked in the same room, they just wanted to know if either Jess or I snored. That totally jinxed their night, because for the first and so far only time in my life, I snored loudly and constantly the entire night. Even worse, I couldn't be roused for anything, even when Jess was slapping me. I still don't believe it happened, but nevertheless, one of the girls ended up sleeping on couch in the common room. So...my apologies.

Also notable of our time in Hualien was our dining experience. We did find a night market in the city, and ate there the first night. It was sort of an average experience, meaning it wasn't as touristy (and therefore safe) as the Shilin market, but it wasn't as dodgy as the other market we had found in Taipei. Even better, there was an inexpensive shuba-shuba restaurant next to Amigos, and the only thing better than a hot-pot restaurant is one that is buffet style. We ate there twice, and I did my best to see that they took a loss for the day. I tried all of the dumplings they offered, I plowed through plates of sliced meats, piles of vegetables, and bowls of rice in true American style, and I had my fill of as much of the seafood as I could stand, from the baby squid to the lumps of unidentified fish. There was so much that was unidentified that I had to develop my current philosophy on eating in the Asian culture: if it tastes good, eat it and don't ask too many questions. This strategy was later simultaneously confirmed and discredited later, when we ate hot-pot with a couple from Singapore who actually knew what we were consuming; more on that later.

Our plan from Hualien was to move on down the coast to the tip and try to get in a city on the west coast, which would have required some disciplined traveling given our time restraint. We did well on our plan by leaving Hualien after two nights, but we ended up staying in the next destination, the small town of Yuli, population 35,000, for four nights, changing our plans for good. It worked out well in our favor, though, because we had a great experience in Yuli, probably the highlight of our time in Taiwan. 

Upon arriving at the train station in Yuli, we didn't really know where we wanted to stay. Usually we use websites to find a hostel, but there are no hostels in towns the size of Yuli. Instead, we broke out the Lonely Planet guide to figure out hotels in the town. There were a couple of cheaper hotels across the street from the train station, and upon inspection, they were decent enough places. However, the guide listed a homestay guesthouse named the Wisdom Garden Guesthouse, and talked it up as being the best guesthouse in all of Taiwan.  I usually don't believe hype, but for less than twice what we would pay for a basic room in a hotel across from the train station, at which no one spoke a lick of English, we could stay out in the countryside and have a homemade breakfast made for us. That sounded more appealing, so we used a pay phone to call the place, and ten minutes later a green van driven by a jolly older man whose face had probably changed little in his decades of life since infancy pulled up. He carted us off to a beautiful little house four kilometers out of the town, leaving our plans for continued travel behind us at the train station.

We never figured out the man's name, nor had anyone else staying there that we talked to, but he and his wife May ran a very nice and apparently very busy business. We had by sheer luck missed the Chinese New Year and its hordes of travelers by just a week, so we only had a handful of fellow travelers at the place at any given time. The front of the house and the yard offered a great view across a valley to green hills in the distance, and a small stream trickled through the yard, passing through a series of small ponds made for it; frogs croaked all night from along it. The inside seems more like a Scandanavian home, with lots of wooden accents and beams, and had been beautifully decorated with large paintings of Chinese characters done by May herself, as she is an gifted artist. Our room served as a haven, the most homey place we'd been in since, well, being at home. The breakfast that May served featured dumplings and other Chinese style foods, and was delicious. Looking back, it is no wonder to me why we ended up staying for four nights.

The guesthouse wasn't the only reason for that, though. After we settled into our room, we had to figure how to get back along four kilometers to the town. The Old Dude, as I'll call him, offered to let us borrow a few old-maid bikes, which although we were thankful for were not very comfortable or practical for any length of a ride. We rode into the center and around town to try to get an idea of the layout, though we had difficulty because we did not have a map of Yuli. There didn't seem to be any tourist information centers even though the well-known Walami Trail of the Yushan National Park is only a short distance away. Within a couple of hours my bum was getting sore, so we stopped in a small teahouse for some refreshment, and from there the excitement began.

Jess tells me that I have a unique appearance, a distinctive face perhaps, in particular after a month of traveling and hence no trimming of my beard, and probably especially in particular in a country like Taiwan where even at my most trim I would stand out like a sore thumb. I certainly got my fair share of attention in Taiwan, and that teahouse was no exception. Perhaps they din't get a lot if nonlocals there, because as we entered, the two ladies and girl behind the bar took on a look that was both stunned and greatly amused. We were able to order a couple of teas without too much difficulty, but when I tried to ask where we might obtain a map, things got complicated. The girl had obviously had some English but still had difficulty understanding us. Before we knew it, we had their laptop out to use Google to translate. All of this brought great hilarity to the ladies, who would bray with laughter at each breakdown in communication. Jess had gone off with her tea, and she would hear some silence that would suddenly be shattered by another round of loud laughing. Curious, she came back to find them taking photos with their phones of me trying to type out a response (that happens more than you'd think; I make an appearance in a number of Asian family photo albums). 

Eventually we collectively found our efforts to be futile, and one of the ladies had the good idea to call up a local English language school. When she handed me the phone, I found myself speaking to a woman in nearly perfect English, who invited me to bike across the center to the school. That sounded better than serving as the comic relief for the teahouse, so Jess and I headed out behind the lady on her moped. At the school, we met with woman I had spoken to, Michelle, as well as her husband, David, a Canadian who taught at the school. They gave us a lot of information about the the town, as well as several things to do to keep us busy for several days, which made me realize we would not likely be heading south. They gave us their phone numbers and went off to teach their classes. On our way out of the school, the Taiwanese owner Robert stopped us and asked if we could come to a class to give the students a chance to speak to native English speakers. We spent more than fifteen minutes sitting in front of a class of shy ten-year olds, answering questions about our favorite colors and having them guess our ages (the answers ranged from 14 to 45). 

That night, May and her husband took us to town for dinner, since our only transportation were the bikes. We went to a noodle shop, surprising me because I figured they'd just have us grab something to go. Even more surprising, they paid for the dinner and ate with us. That in itself made the increased cost of our accommodation seem worth it, for we were getting much more value for our money than any hotel could have offered. 

The next morning, we decided that the bikes were not adequate for our transportation needs, so we went with the Old Dude back to the center, where we rented a moped. Now, this is pretty much out of Jess's comfort zone, as she has spent very little time on any motorized bike, not that I have had much opportunity myself to drive a moped other than a few isolated times. Still, the traffic in Yuli was very light, and almost nonexistent outside the city limits. We had a lot of exploring to do, so it just made good sense. Frayed nerves aside, it really allowed us to have a great time in Yuli, and we were quite sad to return it four days later.

Bucking the general weather pattern of Taiwan at the moment, we had three days of beautiful sunshine, at least in the mornings. That first day with the moped, we took advantage of the weather and headed out in a countryside lined with rice paddies and palms towards the Walami Trail. Getting to the headquarters of the park had us on some nice flat roads, which other than the distance would have been decent biking terrain. Once we entered the hills, though, for the last six kilometers before we reached the trail, the road was considerably steeper, and it was clear to me that I would have turned back long before we would have reached the trailhead. The part of the Walami Trail that was hikeable without a permit was only about 4.5km long, but it was steadily up, starting in thicker woods and climbing up to thinner vegetation and bamboo groves. We crossed over several suspension bridges and passed a number of waterfalls, enjoying a number of beautiful birds along the way. We had gotten a later start, a bit last noon, and while we passed several large groups on their way down, we mostly had the trail to ourselves on our way back. It was a beautiful hike, and had we  gotten the correct permits and perhaps a large dose of motivation, we could have continued on the trail past the highest peak in Taiwan and all of the way to the west coast, if desired. I was satisfied with the hike we had.

Back on the moped, it was later in the afternoon by the time we returned from the hills. We cruised around the countryside for awhile, watching the farmers planting rice (a very interesting process) and enjoying the tranquility of the area before heading back to Yuli. We picked up some dinner and headed back to our guesthouse. There, we Skyped Michelle and David to set up some plans for the next day, then relaxed for the remainder of the evening.

David and Michelle had invited us to go with a group of their friends and coworkers to a lunch at the top of the nearby Sixty Stone Mountain, which in the summer is packed with tourists coming to see the vibrantly colored fields of tiger lilies. While it was out of season to see the lilies, we still had a fun ride up the curvy mountain road that led to the top and offered great views of valley surrounding the mountain. There were monkeys in the trees along the road, and we passed groves of betel nut trees and dragonfruit plants. At the top, we were treated to a lunch of local foods, sitting around for a couple of hours chatting with the friendly group, enjoying their day off from teaching.  David and Michelle then took us on quite a road trip, heading out down the mountain and north from Yuli before turning into another mountainous area. This road passed through even more wild territory, on a road that had no other drivers that few locals on tractors or in small trucks. It wound along a serpentine canyon, following a river as it headed towards the sea. Along this route, the sunshine we'd enjoyed all morning gave way to clouds and then sprinkles. By the time we reached the ocean road, we could see on the southern route that a real rainstorm was brewing. We stopped briefly to see if the clouds were moving on, but it was apparent that the storm was socked in, and so we had to ride into it. 

We didn't have any rain gear besides my jacket, but there are 7-11s all over the island, some so close as to face each other across the street, so we figured we would see one and stop for some cheap parkas. Though we quickly entered the storm, for the first time in Taiwan we actually could not find a 7-11 to save our lives, or more aptly to keep our clothes dry. We began to get soaked, and I can't say that either of us were really comfortable driving our moped in pouring rain. We just had to keep going. At some point, we found a restaurant that was open, and stopped for some tea. They took a look at our dripping clothes and shooed us out the door. We kept moving and just as I was actually starting to get unhappy, as I could feel rivulets of water running down my thighs, the green, red, and white sign of a 7-11 came into view, and we at least didn't get more wet. By that point it was pretty much dark, but there was nothing to do but move on. We reached the road that led into the hills that separated the coast from Yuli and its valley, and starting climbing up the road. As we went higher, the rain stopped, to be replaced by a dense fog. We finally crossed over and found ourselves happy to be at David and Michelle's home, where we had dinner and sat up late chatting before driving back too our guesthouse.

Our plan the next day was to get back out to the coast and see it without having rain blasting our faces. However, we got a late start, and Jess had pretty much maxed out her moped credits in the rain, so she opted to rent a bike. While she rode around the town and its environs, I headed further out into the countryside, exploring the mazes of paths around the rice paddies. We met up later in the afternoon, rode a bit, and relaxed at our guesthouse. David and Michelle had arranged to take us up to a hot springs outside of Yuli, so in the early evening we met them back at the school and we headed to the springs. There we cooked in the waters, sitting around talking until nearly 11 pm, before returning to their home for more chatting. We were sad to bid farewell, for we'd had quite an adventure exploring the area and chatting them up.

We returned the next day to Taipei. Because we got a very late start and didn't get onto the train until 1 pm, we didn't arrive at our hostel until after 7pm. Tired, we wandered around a nearby night market until we realized we were in a more shady one than we had previously encountered, with a few scattered brothels and stands selling porn DVDs for $1. The food stands weren't appetizing enough to make up for the general creepiness of the market,  so we found a hot pot restaurant to eat at before going back to the hostel to take advantage of their washing machine.

Fortuitous luck was with us the next morning, when we encountered the previously mentioned couple from Singapore, Raymond and Regine, on our way out of the hostel. We struck up a conversation immediately, and ended sitting int the hostel talking to the for a couple of hours. Lunchtime came along, so we all left for some Thai food. We managed to talk long enough that we almost missed the one objective we had for this particularly rainy day in Taipei, which was to visit the National Palace Museum, the greatest repository of Chinese art in the world. We did make it and spent several hours getting a nice tour of the museum from Regine. Later, they took us for our final meal in Taiwan to a more upscale hot pot restaurant. This one was a buffet style joint, and it was excellent. Sure , there were surprises: they informed us that the little black squares that were delicious and I had figured were made from rice or soy were actually congealed pig's blood, and Regine cheerfully told us that the blocks of "tofu" in our pot were unfortunately cooked duck's blood. Once we stopped asking questions and got down to eating, it was very nice. I think in Singapore, which is too small to have any proper sports, the national pastime is shopping and fine dining, and our hot pot hosts were properly enthusiastic about their food. Singapore also happens to be a fascinating place, a real crossroads of the world, and we had a late evening with this couple talking about everything. It was great.

The next day we packed up and headed to the airport, for our overnight flight to Fiji. Taiwan was quite an experience, a lot packed into just nine days. We met some really great people, and had our perceptions of this little known nation completely reworked. Taiwan is very safe and easy to travel throughout, and yet is exotic enough to be very exciting, a sort of China-lite. Besides that, its nature is stunning. I wouldn't say it's a stretch to imagine we'll return one day.  

Until next time, be safe.

Arches along narrow street, Perugia

City wall of Perugia

Jess on stairs at main Cathedral of Perugia

Oldest church in Perugia, from 5th Century, AD

Countryside around Perugia

Sunset view from Perugia

Until next time, be safe.

Looking down at Riamaggiore

Jess and I near Riamaggiore

View of Manarola

Another shot of Manarola

View from our apartment, Riamaggiore

Waves crashing in harbor of Riamaggiore

Another shot of waves, Riamaggiore

Third shot of waves in Riamaggiore

Hiking above Monterosso

Jess hiking near Monterosso

Riamaggiore at sunset

Looking down at Manarola

Terraced hillsides topped by Volastra

Jess on a plank on the terraces, Manarola

Looking down at Volastra towards Manarola

Bad cat guarding Volastra

A view down to Manarola

Old men in evening at Manarola

Harbor of Manarola

Back at Riamaggiore at sunset

Until next time, be safe.

Our journey here was pretty interesting. Arriving in midday at Kathmandu's airport, we expected a fairly easy admission through security and customs. After all, there isn't so much technology; this is a country that, in the winter when the rivers run low, cities have no electricity for up to 14 hours daily. What the airport lacked in electronic check-in kiosks and scatter pattern scanners, they made up for with multiple levels of security. I was patted down no less than five times. At each stage in entering the airport, there would be a metal detector and someone to grope each person passing through; even the lines to customs and out the door to the tarmac were separated for "Gents" and "Lady" so we could get another patdown. We emptied our water bottles early, then refilled them in the terminal at a water stand, thinking wrongly that we were in the clear. Out on the tarmac, at the foot of the stairs to the plane, we had our carry-on bags searched (again), and they made us dump the water we had just put in the bottles. Then they patted us down again. 

Three flights and twenty-some hours later, we arrived into the main train station in Taipei. It is a sleek, bustling place, as it is also the main bus station and a stop for two metro lines. Immediately it was clear that we were not still in Nepal, the technology of the train station alone rivals if not surpasses that of San Francisco or Denver. It took us a bit to figure out where the ticket dispensers were for the metro, called the MRT, because they were similar except in color to those of the high speed rail (HSR); fortunately all of the signs and even the ticket machines were helpfully in English. We soon found ourselves on a very clean, extremely efficient metro that had us to our hostel within fifteen minutes. Since the public transportation in the US that I am most familiar with is that of San Francisco, naturally I found myself making comparisons, and once again SF came up failing, with its nonchalant attitude towards punctuality and its frequent colorful characters (drunks and crackheads). 

Our first hostel was hardly that; it was basically a hotel room in an apartment building, in a hallway with doors that obviously had permanent occupants. There wasn't a reception or any common room as one might expect from a hostel, but on the other hand, it was very clean, bright, and not only had excellent WiFi but hot showers. Ah, the glory of a hot shower, especially after two weeks of going without. As I stepped into the stream of water, I still winced in anticipation of the icy bite of glacially heated shower; old habits die hard, I guess. We cleaned up a bit and set out for some lunch. Just around the corner was what looked like a noodle shop, so we entered and found ourselves introduced to Taiwan's answer to Japan's hot pot, the shuba shuba.

Basically, you sit at a counter or table, where you will have the standard pan of water and some sort of heater. This particular restaurant had holes in the countertop inside which a gas burner sat; the pan fit into the hole and was thus heated. At another restaurant they brought out a small gas burner to our tables, but it was the same concept. You get this big plate of food items to put into the water, either all together (probably the right way) or individually (the way we did it). There was thinly sliced meat, shrimp, mushrooms, vegetables, noodles, various dumplings, tofu, and a variety of lumpy items of mysterious origins. Some of it, like the taro root, had to cook for awhile, while other items, like shrimp, were done quickly. There are several dipping sauces as well, though we didn't figure that out until the next day when we ate it again for lunch. I guess the Western comparison might be fondu, but shuba shuba is delicious enough to stand as its own kind of food.

Taiwan is known as foodie's heaven, for good reason. Our evening that first day was spent at the Shilin night market, which conveniently happened to be a few blocks away from our hostel. There we found a menagerie of all sorts of exotic foods; I started with venison on a stick, and ate my way through a huge pork dumpling, a butter roll, a chicken lettuce wrap, and a hockey puck-shaped custard-filled wheel cake, before the finale of candied strawberries (think of candied apples, but with strawberries on a stick). There was plenty more to eat as well, such as pretty much anything that can be out on a stick and grilled, most impressively including a two-foot long squid. There were shrimp and lettuce cones, chicken ovaries, cherry tomatoes inserted with a chunk of fish and then candied, and tons of sliced fruit. I stuck with what seemed least likely to cause GI upset later on. We wandered around for a couple of hours in the huge crowded market, which the food section was really only a small part of. There were loads of clothing stores, electronic shops, restaurants, and multitudes of other capitalism-confirming businesses.

We ended up moving to another hostel yesterday morning, as our first one was full that night; this hostel was more of a traditional youth hostel, with bunks, a common room, and a kitchen that served fruit and slices of bread for breakfast. We got situated in our room, then headed out to explore the city. Our vague goal was to head south to a park that contained the National Theater and the National Opera House, as well as a massive monument building to the late Dr. Sun, of whom I am sure is very important to Taiwanese history but for reasons that I have been far too lazy to read about. Maybe later. We asked the girl at the hostel if we could just walk to the park, which seemed to quite shock her; it was a good half hour walk, which she assured us was much too far of a distance. I guess some Taiwanese are proud of their metro system to a fault. We opted to walk.

I need to quickly interrupt myself here: our train is cruising along the shoreline now, which is a jumble of black rocks and crashing waves. Fishermen are casting into the surf, and islands are small across the foggy waterway. On the other side of the train are the densely vegetated sides of steep hills, opening into valleys that the train follows to reach towns surrounded by water-filled rice paddies and palm trees. It is an overcast day here, and the hills surrounding are shrouded in misty clouds. We are obviously in a tropical place, because although it is probably 65F outside, our fellow passengers are wrapped in their winter coats.

So, yesterday afternoon we found ourselves ambling along busy roads past tall apartment buildings and high rise business complexes. We found a smaller park just south of the main train station called the Peace Park, in which was a small group of pagodas and some nice pools. There, a Taiwanese man decided we looked perplexed enough about  our surroundings and launched into a description long enough I thought I might have to give him a guiding tip. He even described to us some of the superstitions that the park was known for, such as with the number 9 (it is somewhat associated with death, apparently, and so when some people have a nine in their age, such as 49, they will instead tell people they are 50). His voluntary guiding services were part of a trend that we had noticed very quickly, that the Taiwanese people are a very friendly group.

At some point, we did reach our targeted park, which did indeed have the aforementioned buildings, all three of which were large and ornate pagoda style structures. We wandered around the grounds for a bit, watching groups of high school students rehearsing for some sort of dance competition, including one group of boys enthusiastically practicing a routine set to It's Raining Men. Our walk had tired us out a bit after all, or perhaps jet lag was still lingering, so we looked for a nearby coffee shop. We located a Starbucks but couldn't bring ourselves to go inside, so we found a Taiwanese knock-off and had coffee there instead.

Then, randomly, we took a long metro ride to northern side of the city, to find Jolly's Microbrewery and Restaurant, which might be Taiwan's only microbrewery, or at least one of the few of them. Jess enjoyed their seasonal beer of local flair, a passionfruit wietbier, while I was quite impressed by their pale ale and the tasty Scottish style brew. The staff seemed surprised that we had found the place and asked us where we were from, if we were staying in the neighborhood, how we had come from  the center, and more to the point, how we'd heard about them. They were impressed to find that we would search them out, even though the place had clearly been styled on the American-style microbrewing culture. We had a few pints and then headed back to the center.

By this point it was long past dark. We decided to finish our day by visiting another night market. There are many such markets in Taipei, and one happened to be near our new hostel, so we went looking for it. It took more of an effort to find it than the massive and brightly lit Shilin market, as it was really just a single street of one block. It was mostly dedicated to food stands, but in another difference from the Shilin market, this one was not trying to be bright and shiny and moderate; these foods made those at Shilin seem benign. One thing can be said about Asian cultures: they don't let anything go to waste. There was plenty of pork intestines (some looking disturbingly close to a mysterious item I'd eaten with my shuba shuba lunch), and they didn't just have the chicken ovaries but also the other organs and the feet as well. It was a bit more exotic than we had wanted, so we went the safe route and had a noodle and meat bowl. Still, being at such a market made us feel more adventurous than is usually recommended, so we couldn't just go with the safe foods. We played a bit with fire and ate some dragonfruit, which is quite safe except we bought a bag of it that had been sliced (not a great idea in a street market) and had been dyed a mysterious purple (dragonfruit has a boring white meat, which they apparently felt needed some razzle-dazzle).  Not feeling complete, I decided I needed to try out a duck head. If you've ever been to a Chinatown, you'll know what I'm talking about. There are always the ubiquitous duck stores with the whole roast duck hanging in the window; well, this was just the head. I wasn't sure how they would serve it, so it was with some anxiety that I ordered the head. They ended up tossing it into oil and deep frying it; I had them toss in some square bread/tofu/intestine looking items out of pure abandon. Jess and I retreated to a quiet side street to try out the head, just in case I had a violent reaction to it so that I wouldn't insult anyone. To my great surprise, I actually really liked the head. I mean, the eyeballs weren't great and I had to pass on the brain, but the meat was pretty good, and I felt sad that I hadn't gotten a head with the neck still attached. Even the squares, which turned out to be dough, were decent. 

Who would have thought that I would rather enjoy a deep-fried duck head?

Until next time, be safe.

__________

I have fallen in love with Nepal, and it is going to be very hard to leave tomorrow afternoon. We will be on our way to Taiwan, which I am sure will not disappoint, but Nepal has definitely been a wonderful experience. I must admit that I was less than thrilled to be badgered by multiple taxi drivers trying to haggle prices on our arrival into Kathmandu two weeks ago. I actually lost my patience somewhat and began to wonder if I could handle being here for two weeks. This was worrisome since we hadn't even left the airport parking lot, but fortunately the following day I awoke from proper slumber and felt renewed and prepared to enjoy this fine country.

Aaron has written plenty on his blog, so I will keep this short, but I just wanted to jot down a little bit more about our wonderful trek guide, Manish. We first met Manish in the trek company office here in Kathmandu the day before departing. He stands about five feet tall and probably weighs around a hundred pounds when soaking wet. He also wears a very thin mustache directly above his lip, and he has one single hair in the center of his chin that he doesn't shave. My first impression was that he was very shy since he hardly spoke above a whisper and didn't make eye contact with us during that initial meeting. The following day we rode the bus together to Pokhara, and he seemed to be warming up to us slowly. We exchanged pleasantries discussing the weather and briefly talked about our upcoming six day hike.

Aaron and I were very impressed by his attentiveness from the start of our trek. His constant concern about our well being and enjoyment were very obvious as he encouraged frequent rests during intense climbs, and he was happy to stop for Aaron to take many many many pictures. It didn't take him long to learn of my birding tendencies, and he found all kinds of great species for me to gaze at during the week. He always provided warm cups of tea as we rested along the way, and he helped to cook our meals at the many guesthouses. He never sat down to eat his Dal Baht until he knew we were completely satisfied with our food. Before going to bed he always loaded us up with plenty of heavy blankets to keep us warm during the cold nights.

I really started to notice his personality on the second day when Aaron had a morning of multiple slips and slides on a muddy hill. His frequent reminders as he took up the rear and watched us struggle down the hill were, "Slowly, please Aaron. Slowly, please I cannot carry you." He would laugh, but I think underneath the smile he really was worried about Aaron breaking a bone and having to become a walking ambulance. Throughout the days there were many random moments of him breaking out into song and impressing us with how well he could carry a tune. He loves Hindi music. During the evenings he performed some excellent magic tricks making cards disappear in his sleeve and what not. We also had several serious conversations about life in Nepal, the poverty here, and the overall culture. He is from a small village towards the east. To get home he has to take an eight hour bus ride from Kathmandu and then walk for an entire day. He eventually told us about his home life and that he has a wife and two children back in Kathmandu. He doesn't love living in the overcrowded polluted city, but has chosen this as his home so that his children receive a proper education and have the opportunity to learn English. He is very aware that without English his children will have very limited options in their futures.

As our trek came to an end we were very sad to have to tell Manish goodbye. We so enjoyed his company, and he was one of our favorite things about the trek. I was becoming tearful and ready to give him a big hug when he mentioned that we should come to his house for tea when we returned to Kathmandu. My tears quickly dried while we exchanged contact information and planned to visit with him during the weekend. Such a fabulous idea! So, we called him yesterday after our long and bumpy eight hour bus trip and planned on meeting early this morning at our hotel. I think Aaron has written a detailed account of our day with him. It really was a wonderful experience to be invited into his home and meet his family. His wife really can prepare wonderful Dal Baht, and his two children are absolutely darling.

Yesterday on our return to Kathmandu we met several other backpackers who are getting ready to trek the hillsides. We talked about their various plans and none of them will be hiring a guide. We all agreed that this would most certainly save them lots of money. I am so glad we chose to spend a little extra and hire a guide because we would have missed out on lots if we hadn't met Manish. He has contributed so much to our time here in Nepal. You meet lots of people in life, but really only a handful of them stand out. Manish is truly an awesome person, and we are very hopeful to return to Nepal in the future and trek the Annapurna Circuit with him. And yes, tears flowed today as I had to tell him goodbye.

Jess]]> http://worldtravelercreations.com/seven/2012/01/trek_guide_extraordinaire.html http://worldtravelercreations.com/seven/2012/01/trek_guide_extraordinaire.html The Short Hop Sat, 28 Jan 2012 06:52:23 -0700 So, we are at the end of our time in Nepal, which we are profoundly sad about. This country has joined the short list of countries we hope to someday revisit, as one of our favorites. Tomorrow, we will board a flight that will take us through New Delhi and Hong Kong en route to Taipei. We'll spend a little over a week in Taiwan before flying on, to Fiji. That is a recent development, because upon researching tickets, I saw that we faced an 18-hour layover in Singapore if we flew from Taipei to Auckland, New Zealand. For no additional cost, we are flying through Fiji, where we will spend two full days laying on the beach before continuing on to NZ. We won't be stranded for some terrible layover that way.

We have had a very laid back series of days after ending our trek. We stayed an extra two days in Pokhara, because it is so much calmer and cleaner than Kathmandu. It is a different kind of city. The first day, we rented a rowboat and spent well over four hours struggling around Phewa Lake. We managed to row all along its border; getting to the far end was pretty easy, but then we realized that we had to return, and by the time we cranked our way back to the dock, we were pretty worn out. Maybe that is why we did absolutely nothing the next day. We read books in the sun, on the patio of our hotel, for most of the day, leaving only to find food and tea. Hard life, I know.

Our return to Kathmandu was yesterday. Earlier, I wrote that the road from Kathmandu to Pokhara is pretty well-maintained. For a developing country, it really is, but it still has plenty of bumps and potholes. The difference from our first trip to our return trip was that on our return trip, we had a bus with no shocks. Needless to say, it wasn't the best ride of my life, more like eight hours going down washboard road. It was interesting watching the life go on outside the window, though, so that kept my attention. We arrived into Kathmandu mid-afternoon, and resettled into our hotel. Of course, we went back to the steakhouse for some juicy burgers, mainly because you get a nice Irish coffee free after your meal. That is a big perk in a country with a poor (and expensive) beer selection.

Today has been a very special day for us. I wrote earlier that we'd gotten along well with our guide, Manish, on our trek, and at the end of the trek we took him and our porter Dep out for a pizza lunch in Pokhara. We were all sad to say our goodbyes, and Manish invited us to visit him at his home for a tea. Perhaps he didn't know we are the kind of people to will take up such an offer, because he sounded a bit surprised when we Skyped him last night to tell him that we were back in Kathmandu and hoped to see him and to meet his family. He extended his invitation, though, and early this morning he arrived outside our hotel to take us back to his home.

Being with Manish, we decided it was just the opportunity to experience the local transportation, which is always one of our goals in a new country or city. Here, figuring out which bus or matatu (minivans that ebbs and flows with passengers) go on their particular routes is very confusing, in a large part because most of the routes are written in Nepali (which looks like Hindi), and the boy who hangs out the door calling out future stops rarely speaks English. Besides that, we can't pronounce anything right here, so we can't even ask, even if we knew where we wanted to go. So, of course, it was a perfect time to test the public transport. Our first vehicle, which took us to Manish's neighborhood, was a bus. It wasn't a big bus like the tourist bus that travels to Pokhara and other cities, nor the colorfully painted regional buses that dangerously lurch along country roads. This was even smaller, more like a short bus, painted green and looking the part of the vehicle that plies the dusty, potholed streets of this crazy city, which is to say that it is pretty beaten up. We found three seats in the back, and the experience was on. With the four six lanes of traffic struggling down streets designed for two lanes, traffic didn't move very fast, so I had plenty of time to watch out the window. We very quickly left Thamel, and entered the real Kathmandu. This city, filled with more than an estimated million inhabitants, is incredibly bizarrely designed. Half of the city appears half done, like an orgy of building was started and then left unfinished when the money ran out. Rebar pokes out the top of many buildings like whiskers along with the starting of the next floor, either hoping for someday to be continued or perhaps just because they realized they had reached the end of their design. Piles of rubble and broken brick lay next to partly demolished walls and buildings that obviously once had another outside layer; Manish explained that they've been planning to widen many roads for a long time. Other than frequently being narrow and tall (four or five stories), most residential buildings have no common design and are many dozens of different colors. Manish explained this by saying that most people design their own buildings, leading to such a varied landscape.

At the street level, life goes on in many interesting ways. Small garage-like shops sell any range of goods or hold repair shops for motorbikes, autos, tools, whatever. People eat their lunches in cafes sitting next to butcher shops with huge sides of meat hanging in the open air. Vegetables salesmen bless their wares by poking sticks of incense into an old head of lettuce to create a thick perfumed cloud. Dogs, some tattered and some robust but all dirty, scurry amongst the rushing buses and bikes and tuktuks, in a decidedly poor environment for dogs, given all the wheels of danger. Temples and stupas and small monuments to both Buddha and a multitude of Hindu deities sit in the middle of squares or hide in dark corners. People walk along the tight streets doing their business, or sit talking to their friends, or sip tea and look surprised when they see a blonde, bearded goon looking out the window of a beaten bus. In other words, Kathmandu is, in general, much like the crazy bustling cities of many other developing countries. It is both exhilarating and allergy inducing, fascinating and stinky.

We rode the bus to the end of its route, which was at the Kopan monastery. Situated on the top of a hill looking out over a much less busy and polluted valley of the city, it is like an oasis of quiet and peacefulness. Young little Buddhist monks stream around its grounds, but the top of the hill is a grassy knoll where a picnic would be perfect for reflection and a break from the city. My nose stopped running in the fresher air at its top, where the pollution was much less. We spent about a half hour walking around the grounds before heading down into the surrounding neighborhood to Manish's home. We wandered through a neighborhood that though it had dirt streets and its empty lots were strewn with trash, it was quiet, safe, and instead of buzzing motorbikes and honking horns, all around were the sounds of children playing and of people going about their lives. I was glad to see that there was this kind of neighborhood in Kathmandu. There is a strange trend the most visitors have during their visits to this city: they feel safer in Thamel, with all of its Western influences and North Face knockoffs, so they spend their entire time in that neighborhood, but doing so, they end up spending their time in the most hectic, loud, and the least Nepali part of the city. That is just unfortunate for them.

So, we were pretty lucky to have Manish to take us out of Thamel. As we neared his home, he seemed a bit nervous, starting to apologize for the trash that lay all around us. We stopped him, telling him that instead of being the fault of the people, it was a failure of the government, for what good is putting trash in a can if system exists to come to take it away? I found myself wondering the thoughts going through Manish's head: he was an experienced guide who has seen the lifestyles and manner of dress, as well as heard descriptions of developed countries, from many Western tourists, so he has a much better idea of the world that Jess and I come from than the typical Nepali. Yet, somehow the two of us made him feel comfortable enough to open his home to us, which was a huge honor for us. Really, a massive honor.

We arrived at his building, a standard looking K-du multilevel building, and took us to the second floor. There, he, his wife, and his two children live in a single room the size of a standard bedroom in most home in the US. They have two beds, as well as a cooking setup with a couple of burners, a table, and a cabinet for dishes. There isn't running water inside their home, they share a toilet and sink with the other families living on their floor, which there seemed to be four in total, and dishes and clothing are washed in tubs outside. He explained that this was a typical living arrangement for Nepali people, especially for those living in the city. His home was very neatly kept, clean and bright from two large windows. His children were very energetic and some of the happiest kids I've seen, and his wife seemed pleasant and kind, though she didn't speak much English. They served us tea, and then to our surprise, they filled two plates with dal bhat, the vegetarian rice dish that is the main dish of Nepal, often eaten for all meals. Dep, our porter, had also arrived after us, and he, the kids, and Manish ate with us; Manish's wife kept filling my plate until I left a little there to make it plain that I was finished. After eating, we sat and talked with Manish, laughing while his kids, seven and four, ran around and climbed all over him. They showed us their exams from school (with his wages from guiding, Manish is able to send them to a private school, where they get a much better education than at the government schools). I was floored looking at the exams. Their four year old daughter was already learning both English and Nepali (pages of questions were intermittently in English and Nepali), could write out the entire English alphabet, could not only count to 30 but could fill in omitted gaps between numbers, and had a remarkably steady hand at coloring in spaces and tracing designs. There was more, too. It was amazing. When I was five, I went to kindergarten, where I learned to sit still long enough to have the teacher read to us, and to raise my hand. We also raised some butterflies; other than that, I didn't get much out of it. Here, in Nepal, they are giving children an intense, bilingual education, and as smart as that little girl is, she ranked third in her class, so they all are getting such an education. At 33, I speak less of a second language than little Sanmina and her brother Samjot (I just killed their names, too).

Eventually, the kids were getting tired, and it was time for us to move on. After our farewells to his family, Manish went with us to find transport, which was in the form of what I call the matatu (a term I picked up in Kenya; every developing country has these little minivans, which fill far beyond capacity, and here I was a little surprised no one tried climbing on the top, like they do with the buses). We caught the matatu early in its route, so it was fairly empty, but soon it was packed to the gills, people standing in between seats (it's a short minivan) or sitting on the laps of others, or even hanging out the door, as a few brave young guys did. Being more cramped, it wasn't as comfortable as the bus, but it took its time getting through the neighborhoods, so we had plenty to look at. Students getting on board took advantage us our (likely unlikely) presence and practiced their English, asking questions and throwing in the word "like" as much as possible; they've watched too many movies from the, like, 90s, I guess.

One thing that was apparent on our ride back to Thamel (and present for every moment of our time in Nepal) is the poverty that hangs on the back of this country like the nappy monkeys of the Monkey Temple. It is everywhere, you cannot escape it or avoid it. This is a country where the average yearly income of people is $440. Stop reading for a second, look around your room, and find an item that cost $450; that represents a year's worth of money for the average person here; on the other hand, many people here make less than that. By some estimates, half of the population is unemployed, and a third lives below the poverty line, meaning they make less than $1 a day. On top of this, there is the caste system, which Manish spent a fair amount of time telling us about, which isn't as strong as the caste system of India but is still crippling for many people. The resulting standard of living is something that is frequently a topic of discussion among travelers, but we can't begin to imagine what life is like here. To see Manish's home, and to realize that he makes relatively good money compared to many others, is very educational; even more stunning is the realization that the population here in Kathmandu has doubled in the last decade as people come here to escape the harsher poverty of rural life. People here have a hard life, there is no doubt about it, and for Jess and I, it caused us to look at our own lives, at the materialistic impulses that we have along with much of the Western world. If nothing else, it has caused us to appreciate everything we have, the opportunities that literally make themselves available for us, the standard of living and the quality of life that we enjoy.

For a bit of humor to enhance my point, realize that much of the developing world does not use toilet paper after going to the bathroom. They also do not eat or shake hands with their left hand. These two things are closely related.

Back in Thamel and our at our hotel, we finally had to bid farewell to Manish. Jess cried a bit, Manish and I even hugged, something I have not seen yet in Nepal before. He shook our hands many times, turned down our offers for tea because he needed to get back to his family, and like that, Manish was gone. Since Nepal is now on our short list, though, we have strong hopes of seeing him and his family again.

Until next time, be safe.

Building along river in Pisa

The Leaning Tower of Pisa

Cathedral in Lucca

Buildings in Lucca

Countryside near Lucca

Until next time, be safe.

The "Fake David" outside the Uffizi Museum, Florence

Lion statue, Piazza della Signoria, Florence

Reflections of Ponte Vecchio Bridge, Florence

Hills above Florence

Overlooking Florence from Piazzale Michelangelo

Another view from Piazzale Michelangelo, Florence

Ponte Vecchio Bridge at night, Florence

View from Ponte Vecchio Bridge, Florence

Until next time, be safe.

Let me start back on the 17th, our last full day in Kathmandu. There wasn't much to say about the day, we mostly spent it exploring around Thamel and trying to get outside of that backpacker's district into the real city a bit. It wasn't hard to get out of bed, our room didn't have any heating, so it got down to about 45F during the night. Even better was the morning waking service the hotel offered, in the form of the ice cold shower I took. You might have heard a shrill scream echoing through the high atmosphere, maybe a bit like a schoolgirl. That was just me.

Exploring Kathmandu is interesting, but a bit on the intense side, as in right in your face. Walking through narrow passageways and down stairs didn't mean that we could avoid the crazy motorbikes, nor that they might slow down a bit. Watching your step anywhere in the city is crucial, if clean soles are important to you, and like many other cities in the developing world, the various aromas (or perhaps the combination of many of them) is less than fragrant. Still, once we left Thamel, the city was fascinating. We wandered through long, winding streets, clouds of incense and cooking smoke puffing the air around us. We ducked through a Nepali-height (i.e. short) doorway and found a quieter courtyard of an apartment complex, kids and moms sitting around in the sun, brightly-dyed fabrics hanging to dry, scruffy dogs chasing each other. Small temples and pavilions, both Buddhist and Hindu, popped out from many unexpected corners. We managed to follow the walking tour in our Lonely Planet guide, more or less, and found the main square in the city, a place of many temples and palaces, but the $10 per person admission fee just to walk around the square was a little too steep, and the temples not interesting enough after seeing dozens of free ones, so we instead opted to go to the so-called Monkey Temple. It goes by a real name, of course, but by calling it the Monkey Temple, we quickly had a taxi driver understand where we wanted to go; my Nepali is actually nonexistent. My bargaining for the taxi price didn't go well for me, as the driver was more than happy to stick around after dropping us off to take us back to Thamel. Still, the ride was great, taking us along the crowded, busy streets of Kathmandu, up hills that offered views down into the various valleys leading from the higher hills. Once we arrived at the Monkey Temple, we were faced with a daunting hill climb to the top, where a number of temples and stupas sit, looking out over the city. We made it to the top, considering the brisk walk a warm-up to our upcoming trek, and looked around the temple grounds. There certainly are monkeys there, scabby, nappy yellow ones that leap around and terrify tourists by threatening infectious scratchings. I wasn't too impressed by the monkeys, they are much more interesting from a distance, not when you look up and find yourself face to face with a scowling monkey scratching a festering sore and getting ready to claw your eyes, but the view from the grounds was great. Kathmandu is a sprawling city, and the noise, the bustle, and the general sensory abundance of the city reach the summit of the hill. For our slap of reality on the way down from the temple grounds, a young boy sat on the steps, begging from people passing by, holding what appeared to be a dead infant in what might have been attempts to get more money. Wealthier Nepali or Indian people stopped to give him a hard time about the tactic, which he ignored; I was less worried about their shock and wondered more about the mind of a child finding himself sitting on steps begging with a dead baby.

Back in Thamel, we spent the rest of the day browsing outdoor stores for a few supplies for our trek. On our way to our hotel room, a man had stopped me by pointing out the the sole on my show was separating from the rest of the shoe. He did have a valid point, and of course he happened to be a shoe repairman, pulling a tube of glue and a thick needle and string from his knapsack. My shoes were once Gore-Tex, back two years ago when I bought them, and they still sometimes keep out water, so I was hesitant to let him go at my shoes with the big needle, but despite my request he simply glue the sole, the next thing I knew he was sewing along. I figured he couldn't ruin my shoes anymore than they were, already being deteriorated and all, so when he assured me that water wouldn't leak through the puncture holes, I let him continue. He told me about his family, his number of kids, and eventually told me about his house, which apparently is a canvas or fabric tent somewhere in the city (not very big, he told me, which could have gone without saying). I believed him, as he invited me to tour his neighborhood and to have tea with his family, and I didn't argue with the $10 he wanted for a bit of glue and some sewing; he needed the money more than I did. Plus, he did a fine job sewing my shoes; they didn't leak once during our six days of hiking in the mountains.

We found the supplies that we thought we might use, a liner jacket for myself, a pair of shoes to replace Jess's, both of which had entirely split soles, a walking stick, iodine tabs. We met our tour guide, a young, shy man named Mannish, and discussed our itinerary, then went back to organize our packs, leaving about half of our belongings with the hotel. Since we had been advised to avoid any meat products on the trail due to issues with hygiene, we went to a steakhouse to stock up on protein, then called it a day. The next morning we were outside waiting at 6:30 for our guide, who walked us out of Thamel and to the nearby bus depot, where we boarded a "tourist" bus. It is called this to differentiate it from the smaller, more crowded regional buses, not just because it was packed with tourists. There were a few of us on the bus, but mostly there were Nepalis on board; the good thing about the bus was that it didn't stop to pick up other passengers, instead going directly to Pokhara. The ride itself took about eight hours, partly because more than a hour was required just to get out of the smoggy, crowded roads of Kathmandu itself. It was a beautiful drive, though, along a surprisingly well-maintained road, passing along the contours of hills, past villages and terraces barren for the winter. We both stayed awake almost the entire time, to see as much of the route as we could. We did stop several times, including for lunch, and after seeing the chicken they offered with the buffet dinner, I decided to start my meatless diet a little early. Eventually, we arrived in Pokhara, a much smaller city that, as the primary city to leave for the Annapurna mountain range, is pretty much a cleaner, quieter version of Thamel. We checked into our hotel and spent the rest of the day strolling around the city and along its lakefront, which boasts great views of snowcapped mountains in the distance.

We were up the next morning early, the belongings we would take on the trek weaned even more and packed into a single bag. We had a porter for our trek, which is something of an unfamiliar concept for me, especially as we weren't going to be doing anything more arduous than hike in the hills, with bags that had half of their usual weights. I wasn't sure how the porter would carry the bag, but we made sure everything we needed was in a single bag; Jess carried a small daypack for the things we might need along the trail during each day. We had a little breakfast, and a car was waiting for us by 8:30 to take us into the hills. (To clarify, the definitions of Nepali topography is considerably different than US standards. For example, anything under 3000 meters (9842 ft) is considered small foothills, anything under 4000m (about 13,000 ft) is foothills, anything up to 6000m (19,700 ft) are mountains, and to 8000m (more than 26,000 ft) are considered peaks. To be considered a summit, a mountain must be greater than 8000m, such as Annapurna I and Everest. This means that we only crossed the line into regular foothills at the end of our trek, for about an hour; the rest of the time we were under 3000m.)

So, we drove out of Pokhara, for about 45 minutes through wide expanses of dry rice paddies, to a little spot in the road called Phedi. This area, including Pokhara, is almost subtropical, with lots of vegetation and greenery, and a temperature of probably better than 60F. We set off from Phedi, straight up a long series of stairs that took us a little more than an hour to finish; we'd been warned about this incline, and I wrongly assumed it would be the most serious set of stairs we would have to climb. In reality, this incline was simply the introduction to the rest of the stairs, and was actually dwarfed by later stair climbs. At this time, we got to see our porter Dep in action; he carried our bag, which was probably a good 30 or more pounds, on his back, and carried his own in front. Although his pack was much smaller and lighter, he still had a lot of weight to carry, and we felt very bad for him, especially on this initial stair climb. He sort of huffed and puffed his way up, leading us to think he perhaps was ill. I felt so bad I bought him a Snickers at the top; as it turns out, Dep was more than capable for the job, and compared to many of the other loads we saw, especially those destined to the Annapurna Base Camp, he probably was glad to only have our bag.

So, with that incline, our trek was off and going. Hiking in the Himalayas certainly means that there will be many ups and downs; as the Nepali say, a little up and a little down. For people who have walked along the hillsides their whole lives, it must seem so ordinary; for me, it was like the Stairmaster from hell. Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of times we had a nice even grade; sometimes we had even five minutes at a time of flat surface to walk along, and those times were heaven, walking along like a true hike through the woods. The rest of the time, we found ourselves tromping up and down stairs, which were frequently unevenly placed stones. Our first couple of days we mostly went up, but the third day we started at the top of the hill in a valley, walked down a seemingly never-ending set of stairs to a suspension bridge at the river below, and then climbed to the same elevation on the opposite side; it could not have been less than a 2500 foot elevation change. This is the recipe for very sore legs, which we both had from the first day on.

On the other hand, it was easy to be very distracted by the ups and downs of the scenery that was unfolding in front of us. The landscape changed frequently, from valley to valley, from one elevation to the next. We might start the morning in a broad valley with hills lined with terraces that followed the contours of the hills, some brown with the winter break, others vibrantly green with winter wheat and other vegetables. Later that same day we might cross through a lush forest of rhododendrons covered in moss and orchids, or through narrow valleys along streams crashing from rock to rock. We passed through many small villages, some of which were obviously very active in the tourist trade that had customers streaming by in high season, while others were seemingly as unaffected as possible except for the ubiquitous windows that held the most cherished backpacker necessities: candy bars, soda, Pringles, and bottles of water; Nepalis are nothing if not inventive in their ways to supply passing tourists with opportunities to part with their money. Buildings in the villages ranged from plywood shacks set up as stores for hikers to ancient buildings styled in a simple but effective fashion for the harsh environment of the hills. In the lower elevations, we passed through many areas of habitation, terraces and villages covering the hills, and as we climbed higher these areas lessened and natural forests replaced them. Still, even at the highest points we reached, we still frequently passed many Nepali people, lugging huge loads along the hillside paths, most with the packs hung from straps across their foreheads. Firewood, pipes and rebar, bags of grain and corn: the people themselves are frequently the only means of transporting goods among the high villages. We even saw a village ambulance, which was a man carrying another injured man on his back, staggering up a hill towards a village with a health center. It is a rough life these people live, for sure.

Each day we had a goal set in mind, which were the guesthouses that the Nepalis refer to as teahouses. These teahouses are hotels that offer meals and a basic bed; they range from extremely rustic to just plain spartan. Still, it is more comfortable than sleeping in a tent on the frozen ground. Our first teahouse, in Pothana, was one of the more rustic ones we stayed in; while the windows that faced the front of the hotel on the wall with our room's door had glass windows, the back window was closed with nothing but a couple of wood shutters. During the night, a storm blew in, bringing with it the only rain we had on our trek. The draft came straight in through the gap between the boards, and while I was able to diminish the wind using the raincover for our backpack, our room still was about 36F that night. For the next couple of nights, our rooms were a bit warmer, in the mid-40s, but by the time that we reached the highest town that we would stay in, Ghorepani, which sits at just under 3000m, room temperatures in the mid-30s were expected. We just piled on the blankets and wore our thermals to bed, it was actually not bad. I guess if we'd been staying in hotels with heating, it would have just diminished the whole feeling of the trip. After all, we were hiking in the Nepali Himalayas, and as I told a Aussie couple who were telling us their water bottles had frozen in their room, you don't come here to be warm and comfortable. I read the book Into Thin Air, about the ill-fated Everest season in 1996 during which 12 people died, during the trek, and the descriptions of the conditions that people endure on mountains that we were literally hiking around made our hotel rooms seem downright balmy.

Probably my favorite day was our hike between Tadapani and Ghorepani, the fourth day. It was a bit of a challenging day, because much of the day was spent hiking in snow, though because we were heading uphill, it was easier. People going the other direction had to deal with very slippery trails for their whole day's hike, while we didn't have any downhills until we nearly reached Ghorepani. I loved the day for two reasons: first, much of the day we spent in isolation, with not another traveler in sight, in silent little gorges and canyons that were a frozen wonderland of powder snow and some tough subtropical plants such as ferns and the rhododendrons. The scenery was just fantastic, and though it was cold, being in that forest was so refreshing for our minds and spirits. The other reason was that it was fun: by then, we'd gotten to know our guide Mannish very well, and found that he is a very funny guy. I'm sure with more mature tourists, he has to act more professional, but we made it clear from the beginning that we are very easygoing, and soon he'd let his guard down, showing us that although he is very professional, proficient, and an excellent guide, he was also a fun guy to be walking through the woods with. By the time we reached the downhill towards Ghorepani, he and I were skiing in our boots down the steep, icy sections, and we even got off trail for a bit of sledding, using a trash bag as a sled. We had loads of fun playing in the snow, which was only made better by the brilliant weather we had that day.

Despite the single rainy, muddy morning we experienced, the primitive squat toilets, and the one icy shower that I took before swearing off the concept of cleanliness for the rest of the trek, and most probably because of these things, our trek had tons of experiences and memories. Mannish figured out quickly that Jess likes birdwatching and that I take a lot of pictures, so he spent more time than necessary finding new birds for us to see, and he purposely would choose the villages that we spent nights for the views that we'd have in the evenings or the mornings (hence that icy night in Pothana, which had an awesome view of several peaks). It was a bit strange having someone cater to us so much, but because we had a total of seven days to talk with Mannish, we learned so much about Nepali culture and people that we couldn't possibly have otherwise. He even encouraged us to go up Poon Hill from Ghorepani, a climb of over 450m in the predawn dark, to witness the sunrise over a panorama view of Himalayan peaks and summits (three of the mountains were over 8000m), despite our misgivings over the subfreezing temperatures and the icy path, knowing that we be thrilled by that early morning experience. He was right, we were thrilled.

Our last day was quite somber, each of walking quietly, Jess and I sad that the trek was over for sure, and perhaps Mannish was as well, for it seemed as though he really did like us. Jess and I were dirty, our legs hurt, and we hadn't been warm since leaving Pokhara, but we were so happy on the trek, and it was over far too quickly.

Until next time, be safe.

Gondalas in the Grand Canal, Venice

A shaded canal, Venice

Boats in a canal, Venice

Sunset over the Grand Canal, Venice

Another sunset shot, Grand Canal, Venice

Looking down the Grand Canal, Venice

Piazza San Marco, Venice

Buildings on the Grand Canal, Venice

Near north end of Grand Canal, Venice

Afternoon along a canal, Venice

Jess and I near the south end of Venice

The lagoon outside the center of Venice

Until next time, be safe.

Weimaraners begging in Munich

Christmas stalls in one of markets

Christmas lights in Salzburg

Until next time, be safe.

First of all, let me explain my imaginative impressions of what I thought we could expect from Kathmandu, all of which were not accurate in any way. I had this idea of Nepal where people were in the sort of tranquility one might expect outside the walls of a tranquil Buddhist monastery in the high Tibet mountains. I'm not terribly misguided, I understand that Nepal is essentially the northern part of India, and as such is much more like India than Nepal. There is this idea that I had, though, that regardless there was a more tranquil sense of humanity here, perhaps from the pictures of grinning Sherpas you see with the guys who just reached the summit of Everest. Ok, maybe I am misguided.

So, to start, let me put in a little details that reach back to Rome. There, scattered around the city but concentrated around the Coliseum and other big tourist areas, were these guys who we figured were probably from India or Bangledesh, selling various souvenirs. The souvenirs were an odd choice, in my mind, because they were mostly of two types: first, these jelly blobs like the kind I used to buy back when I was six that can be thrown against the wall, where they will splat and then reform to their blob shapes again; and second, these little clear plastic squares that had tiny models of the Coliseum and other Roman monuments imbedded in them, that would apparently light up with a button. The little squares I could understand, as they actually correlated to the surrounding tourist destinations. However, the blobs, which far outnumbered the squares, made no sense, and neither did the look the sellers gave you as they threw the blobs at a piece of plywood on the ground and then motioned with an open hand of amazement at the splat that resulted, an expression that hoped that you would too be amazed, despite having just passed ten men doing exactly the same thing. There was no business logic in it either, since the men all were clumped together and trying to sell the same unsellable item; why not sell something different, or spread out? I won't bore you with my theories, and besides, I'm getting off track.

So, fast forward to the airport terminal in Doha, where we found ourselves in a long line of men lining up to to board our plane to Kathmandu. Suddenly we realized there was a possibility that those men in Rome were actually Nepali, though they could certainly also have been Indian (remember that Nepal is more than just a physical neighbor of Nepal, but it also shares a lot of its culture and ethnicity from its northern regions with Nepal). We found out later that a lot of Nepali men end up going to places in the Middle East such as the UAE, Dubai, and yes, Doha, to work on the huge construction boom as well as for other employment. We apparently paid a bit more than those men, since they were segregated to the back of the plane, behind the wings, while the tourists and more wealthy Nepali people got the seats in the front. That was a bit awkward to me, but then we were on Qatar Airlines, where they picked up the business class passengers in a limo and made all of us economy class fliers wait until the first class people were gone before making us exit out the back door, so I guess we were segregated as well. Don't get me started on the distinct levels of class that one finds in societies such as Qatar, where everyone except men in turbans are discriminated against. That is why I prefer not to have to fly through places like Qatar and Dubai, as no apologies are even considered for how they look down on much of the world.

Anyhow, we arrived in Kathmandu, and found that the customs process was much easier and smooth than we'd heard. We were through in less than a half hour, and exited to the baggage claim to find that our bags had indeed arrived from Rome. We picked them up and headed out into the main area of the terminal, where all of the public is allowed. Immediately, we were approached by taxi touts. This isn't new for us, nor unexpected, but it was annoying because they were very persistent, following us along as we looked for an ATM. I had to shake them off, because I didn't want to have to withdraw money in the presence of fifteen touts. Once we had money, we exited the building to an even larger group of touts. We looked around, hoping our hotel had sent a taxi, but eventually began to ask the cost of the ride to our hotel. They started out at 500 rupees and refused to budge; Jess, who looks to negotiate, began trying to talk them down to 300 or 400 rupees, but they seemed offended we would even try. They talked about the cost of petrol, the pothole filled streets, painting a vivid picture of the desperate lives of the airport taximen. Finally, as a group started to congregate, including several cops who seemed highly entertained by our bargaining efforts, we decided to just pay the 500 rupees, which is really only about $6.50, and off we headed into Kathmandu.

So, I sat in the front seat of the taxi, which was this little red square minibus, which gave me quite the view of our tour of the city. This perhaps was a mistake, as traffic in Kathmandu is exactly what you expect in the capital city of a developing world: absolutely crazy. Of course I knew this, deep down, even though I was still in the midst of my delusions of the Tibetan paradise. Had I been honest, I probably would have sat in the back, because I've been in traffic in enough crazy cities to not need a front row seat. The difference between Kathmandu and Rome is that while Romans drive like suicidal maniacs, they drive in a city with traffic rules, only that they are almost entirely ignored. In Kathmandu, there are no rules: traffic flows in the direction that seems the fastest, while motorbikes, cars, and even bicycles dart through breaks in the traffic in a perpetual race to be the fastest on the road. Folks cross at whim, some without any apparent knowledge that they are in traffic, and traffic does not slow down for them, only swerves. Two lanes road become four or six lane as needed, and inches really do matter, as they are the measurement between most vehicles and other characters in that mad show. Our driver talked and laughed with me the entire time, following a fashion and custom of driving accepted and followed by all of the surrounding drivers, but unknown to me. But, as it wasn't my first time in such traffic, I accepted that while severe consequences were possible, they were unlikely since the driver went through those conditions every day he worked, and both Jess and I were relaxed and enjoyed the trip. Imagining being in a movie can be quite helpful, if delusional.

Along the way, we received our first glimpse into the lives of the inhabitants of Kathmandu, and it was quite eye-opening. I was very aware that Nepal is a developing country, but the amount of poverty that was apparent from our limited ride into the center from the airport made it obvious that Nepal has poverty on the same levels of countries we've visited like Kenya and Cambodia. The traffic kept our attention, but on the periphery, we could see piles of trash lining the road, buildings in utter disrepair, dark streets and windows, people standing around rubbish fires to keep warm. My ideas about Nepal melted away in the face of this reality; of course we were arriving at dusk, which isn't a good idea since shadows always make things seem worse than they are. Still, we could no longer imagine Kathmandu to be this city in the clouds, all ethereal and filled with clouds of incense (actually, the clouds of incense do exist, chokingly so). 

We soon arrived in the neighborhood of Thamel, the backpackers' neighborhood, a crazy mix of restaurants, guesthouses, shops and definite local characters. We had booked a hotel online, one that sounded great with descriptions of a fireplace, a balcony, deluxe beds, and hot showers. Our taxi driver swung through the center plaza of Thamel and began heading off away from it; then, alarmingly, he turned down a dark street and then onto another. My first impression was that it would unfortunate to have to walk along that road in the dark to go to and from our hotel. As it turned out, the word 'hotel' was far too generous for the hovel we arrived at. Walking into the dim reception room, we learned that the power was out (due to low rivers leading to low hydroelectric power output, we found out later), as it was for up to 14 hours a day in the city. However, a generator allowed us to check in and find our way up to the fourth floor, where our room awaited. We stopped in the doorway and immediately began planning an escape; even our little rural house in Kenya had been cleaner, more hospitable, and safer. The room, which literally had zero of the amenities described on Hotels.com, was a bare-walled affair, with three hard cots in the center, a broken window, a bathroom that just needed darkness for its army of very-likely cockroaches to come streaming out, and a simple chair tiredly sitting next to the door. Concrete floors and ceiling matched the plain walls, and a single bulb illuminated the room and kept away the roaches. We have fairly low standards when it comes to accommodation, and have stayed in some sketchy places, but this would have taken the award, and all we needed was an excuse to flee. Jess quickly developed an itch in her nose that we both knew would lead to a sinus infection, and boom, I was out the door, dodging the crazy motorcycles. It took me less than a half hour to return, jubilantly holding the key to an excellent hotel nearby, appropriately called Excelsior. Indeed. I won't say we ran out the door, but we didn't waste time. I thought of trying to get my $16 back (hey, it's Nepal, that is a standard cost), just out of principle, but the less time we spent there, the better.

Today has been smoother. Daylight makes the world seem much better. We were so worn out by the trip from Italy that we slept til noon (although that means it was 7am in Italy...so actually we got up really early). Our meal the night before had been at a steakhouse nearby our hotel, with an American style steak, much needed after the carb-loaded diet we'd had in Italy, so we were ready for a real Nepali meal. We wandered down some alleyways, fighting through the clouds of incense, avoiding the maniac motorcycles, before finding this little cafe serving up two types of food, both involving stir-fry veggies, one with noodles and the other with uncooked oats. With its three year old Fanta, its rough cut plywood table, and the kids' chairs that served as seating, it was exactly the place that a travel clinic nurse would tell us to avoid, and exactly the kind of place we zero in on. If you want a taste of the local cuisine, there is no better way. The food was actually excellent, a bit spicy, but it went down well. Granted, it had the Nepali standards--lentils, veggies, and noodles, which is pretty much the basic ingredient list of most of vegetarian Nepali dietary menus. We still enjoyed it, our first authentic meal in Nepal.

We wandered briefly through Thamel, though not for too long. The jet lag has been quite persistent with us, I'm not sure if it means we are getting older, or if starting a day at 8 am Italy time and ending it at 7 pm Italy time the next day is just simply exhausting, but we haven't had much energy to get out to do too much exploring. We did summon the strength to seek out a trek while we are here in Nepal. I'd researched some about different treks and had emailed a few recommended guides, but when we hadn't heard from them, we decided to visit a few local travel companies here in Thamel. The first one was a dud, the guy seemed surprised that we were wanting to go for a trek, but our second company was a score, and we booked an 8-day trip starting on the 18th. There will be two days of driving (to and from the city of Pokhara), and then we will be out hiking in the Annapurna region for six days. It promises to be incredible (and very cold), and even better, our travel company seems very professional and helpful. We are both looking forward to it, hoping it to be a highlight of our trip.

Until next time, be safe.

---

Currently we are in route to Kathmandu.  We started out from Rome last night around 10:30 and had a tiring four hour layover in Qatar this morning.  Now we are on the final stretch and should be landing in Nepal in an hour or two.  We were both very sad to say farewell to Italy last evening as it has provided us with amazing travel experiences and memories to last for years to come.

We arrived into Rome Wednesday afternoon and made our way from the train station to our hostel.  The train station is the largest one that I have ever seen as we had to walk at least a mile from the train to the actual station entrance.  There were plenty of shady looking characters along our walk, but as we neared the hostel the area appeared a bit more bright and welcoming.  It turned out to be a fine location in a quiet Italian neighborhood away from the crowded touristy sites.  We quickly got settled into our basic four bed dorm and briefly took a rest on the roof top terrace before hitting the city streets.

My first impression of Rome was not great.  After coming from a slower pace in small town Italy, the city completely overwhelmed me with its many crowds and insane traffic.  Frequently there is no rhyme or reason to the pattern of traffic with motorbikes, cars and buses weaving through the congested streets, ignoring all rules and always competing to be first.  There is one monstrous roundabout in particular that we had to walk through at least twice daily during our visit.  There are four one way lanes with faintly painted crosswalks and not a stop sign in sight.  We usually managed to cross with a group of people to feel more protected.  The hostel receptionist told me that if I was hit while using the cross walk, we would be rewarded 8,000 Euros.  He made this sound like a pretty great way to earn a little extra spending money.  No thank you, but after a day or so I had adjusted pretty well and walked out into all sorts of oncoming traffic without
gripping at Aaron's coat sleeve in desperate fear.

That first afternoon we got plenty of walking in, but didn't actually visit any of the tourist attractions.  We enjoyed eating gelato (coconut and pistachio) as we past the Colosseum and the Forum along our way.  The evening was spent strolling alongside the Tiber River and visiting the quaint neighborhood of Travestere.  Travestere lies just across the Tiber and is a lovely old fashioned neighborhood full of piazzas, narrow cobblestone streets, small gelaterias, pubs, and plenty of older Italians.  We entered a small local hardware store looking for a corkscrew.  The ninety year old man working there was very suspicious of us, and came hobbling from behind the counter with a stick in hand ready to defend himself from the haggard long haired man standing before him.  Once he realized that Aaron was harmless and actually willing to pay for the corkscrew he became pleasant, speaking jovially in Italian with plenty of hand gestures.  He even threw in a free
bar of soap and thanked us profusely on our way out the door.  We weren't sure if he was trying to apologize or if he thought that we smelled.  From there we visited the ornate Basilica di Santa Maria, which according to our guide is the oldest church dedicated to the Virgin Mary in Rome, established in the third century.  We were in awe of high ceilings supported by twenty one ancient Roman columns, the colorful marble walls and floors, and the many paintings of Mary and Jesus.  Very Catholic and very impressive.  The long walk back to the hostel just about did us in for the night.  After a quick stop at the grocery store we made dinner of pesto and pasta, and we called it a night.

We had every intention of being out of bed by 8:30 the following morning, but we didn't actually make it out until a little after 10:00.  Our first stop was the Colosseum.  Because we are traveling in the off season the lines were very short, so we only had to wait for about five minutes to purchase our ticket and enter.  Also, before coming to Rome we downloaded Rick Steves' audio guide, which provided us with lots of interesting information about the main tourist attractions here.  Our tour of the Colosseum was amazing.  The weather was cooperative with moderate temperatures, and the cloudless sunny sky provided perfect views of the ancient stadium.  The enormity of this building is breathtaking in itself, and to think it was inaugurated in AD 80 is absolutely mind boggling.  The arched walls stand so high above, and back in the day they were adorned with various statues and ornate decorations.  On the ground level lies an intricate maze of small rooms and hallways that was considered the 'backstage' area, below what was once the actual staging floor.  For all the wonder and the amazing architecture of this structure, it was also astounding to learn about what occurred here.  The theme of the Colosseum was death.  Spectators in the stands drank wine and cheered as they watched their fellow man kill one another all day.  Prisoners were frequently dressed as various characters and brought on stage.  Here they were humiliated and made to act out the parts of past battles or fallen enemies, dying in the same fashion as the character they played.  Gladiators fought to the death.  Midway through a day of 'games,' the rotten stench of blood and death became so overpowering, they sprayed perfume all throughout in attempt to mask the horrid smells.  So, the Colosseum was most certainly an interesting place to visit, but we were both clearly reminded of the cruelty of humankind.

Our next stop was to The Forum, the city center of ancient Rome.  From afar, this area looks like a pile of rocks, but the combination of getting up close, learning from the audio guide, and using a bit of imagination allowed us visualize what it must have looked like back in the second or third centuries. It was interesting to imagine the main road leading through the heart of the city lined with various shops. The guide walked us through all of the significant routes, like Julius Caesar's place of death and tomb. The Palatine Hills above the Forum were where the upper class of ancient Rome resided. Even after all of the many centuries gone by and all that remains are shells of buildings, it is still obvious that this area was for the upper crust.

Our last tourist visit for the evening was to the Jewish Ghetto. Thanks to Rick Steves for providing a guide to this area because it turned out to be an interesting part of the city that we would have missed out on otherwise. The tour started on the Tiber River at Rome's largest synagogue. Sadly, this small neighborhood was frequently flooded by the river many years ago, which is why the Romans chose this place as the Jewish neighborhood. In the ancient times, the Jews were forced to walk through the Forum where they were laughed at and spit upon. We visited a square where several thousand Jews were selected to go to the concentration camps during World War 2; many didn't return. Today, the neighborhood no longer floods, thanks to renovations, and the locals here appear happy and healthy. There are plenty of kosher restaurants and shops, as well a a Jewish school.

After a very full day of walking and sightseeing, we had pasta at the hostel, and our evening spritz. These days we have felt a little on the older side, coming in early and being in bed by ten (at least me). So, after dinner we were determined to go out to a local pub for a beer. We downed a quick pint each and then made our way back to the hostel for what was still an early night.

Our second full day in Rome was spent at the heart of the Catholic Church, the Vatican. The walk to Vatican City was long and tiring but well worth it because it was a fine day. Our first stop at the Vatican was St. Peter's Basilica. After standing through a security line for about ten minutes, we entered this most impressive structure. After visiting many churches throughout our trip so far, we have seen some large and beautiful ones. This gleaming, massive cathedral beat them all, as even our audio guide described its size in terms of football fields. With its marble floors and columns, its walls and ceilings covered completely with paintings, and icons and statues everywhere, there was nothing dull or drab about this church. My favorite part of this tour was seeing Michelangelo's Pieta, his statue of Jesus and Mary. It was subtle but sublime.

The next big experience was our visit to the Vatican Museum. Their collection of art and various archaeological finds is most impressive, but after three hours of walking through endless hallways of statues leads to intense grumpiness. I really enjoy art museums, but even I was limping, and Aaron was staggering like a zombie by the end. It is almost too much, but fortunately the Sistine Chapel awaits at the end, and it is a spectacular sight. Michelangelo's ceiling of frescoes is considered his masterpiece, and it's easy to see why. The colorful frescoes that he painted while standing on scaffolds and straining his neck take you through God's creation to the story of Jesus. The alter wall is his later work, a depiction of Judgement Day, which is huge and scary. It was amazing how our backs stopped hurting after entering the Sistine Chapel. Aaron actually looked human again.

Following the Vatican, we found some much needed gelato around the corner. My pistachio, ricotta, and dark chocolate ice cream cone was perfect after a morning of museums. We continued on our walk, and wandered towards the Pantheon, and even found the Spanish Stairs. I had never even heard of the movie The Roman Holiday, so Aaron had to educate me on this apparent classic that takes place on the stairs. From there, we made it to the Pantheon, which is an amazing dome shaped, Roman era building. We also had an audio guide for this, which made it an interesting experience; it was especially interesting to see the painter Raphael's tomb after seeing his work throughout the city. Before heading to dinner, we sat in the piazza of the Pantheon and took in the crisp evening air. Throngs of people out and about, enjoying the final few minutes of daylight while musicians played various instruments and artists painted the scene in front of us. We were just trying
to take it all in before leaving.

Our final day in Italy involved wrapping things up, doing a few business chores, and eating one more slice of pizza before making our way to the airport. About an hour before we left for the train station, I just happened to look up and see a tour bus full of nuns in their traditional garb, snapping pictures and taking in the sights. It was a classic moment. We have loved Italy and all that it has had to offer us. From the quiet canals of Venice to the beautiful artwork in Florence, from the rugged cliff sides of Cinque Terre to the busy excitement of Rome, we have enjoyed every moment. We have also eaten our way through the country and will refuse to eat pizza anywhere else on this trip. It has spoiled us rotten, and it will make our entry into Nepal that much more different.

Nepal, here we come!

Traveling by train in Italy isn't as quick and efficient as one might think, at least when traveling on a route that doesn't have the high speed bullet trains. Often, there are multiple changes, which always makes for slower travel. Going from Cinque Terre to Perugia was no exception; we were three different trains, all of which were regional trains that stopped in most little towns. That made our trip to Perugia, for what appears to be a short distance by map, take over four hours. One side note of wisdom for those who might travel to Italy, and might find themselves on a short train ride such as the Florence-Pisa route: you must get your ticket stamped, or face up to a €50 fine. There isn't a noticeable sign anywhere in stations, nor do the tickets or the salespeople tell you so much. In what appears to be a big scam, conductors roam the aisles, looking for the folks who forget to get their tickets stamped, which are invariably tourists. It is a double system, as not only do you buy specific tickets and have them clipped by conductors, but illogically you must get this tiny stamp from a machine that of course is not on the trains, only at stations. We found this out the hard way, on New Years, but the conductor, perhaps in a celebratory mood, only charged us €5. On our way to Perugia, on between Pisa and Florence, the conductor nailed four separate groups of protesting tourists, raking in €200 in our car alone. It made me mad just to watch it, because it is really unfair. My sympathy for this country's financial woes diminished greatly watching her harass one group after another. Boo, Italy, you should know better than targeting your tourists with unfair fines.

Anyhow, we arrived shortly before dark into Perugia. Ou first sight after getting off the train was truly mind-boogling: the elevated MiniMetro going up into this hilltop city. Believe me, they are definitely needed, as hiking the 1.5km from the station to the center (probably with a 2000ft elevation gain) would be cruel and intense. So they have installed this metro type system. Hilariously, they have these tiny little cars, silvery metallic, rounded and shaped a lot like spaceships. They are hilarious to look at, very cute, and yet they area immensely useful. After my initial laugh, I was nothing but impressed.

Thusly, we were delivered to the top, right into the center. The view was incredible, but we had our packs and were tired from a day on the train. We vaguely had had a little hotel in mind near the center, and so we headed in that direction. We have a lot less stuff than we had on our last big trip, but oddly our packs feel much heavier. We trudged through the center and started down a passageway that we hoped would take us to those selected hotel. Before we arrived, though, we came across a sign that read Albergo Anna, which was also in our guide. We decided since it was the first place we had found, it must be right, so we popped in, making our time in Perugia truly unforgettable.

We were greeted at the door by an older lady, presumably Anna, short and squat and distinctly Italian. Through hand motions and half-understood statements, we negotiated a room for €50, making it clear that the size and view didn't matter much to us. Once we settled on a room and put down our bags, we looked around at the place. It seemed to take up much of the fourth floor of a large building, with multiple rooms and large living quarters. It became obvious that the family lived there, probably six to ten of them, and someone had filled the place with knickknacks, in every corner, crevice, and in the many display cases. There was also loads of crystal and dishes, paintings ranging from contemporary to bizarre hung above it all, and old carpets lined the pathways. There seemed to be several living rooms, most with TVs, which all seemed to be on in the evening. It was a bizarre arrangement, and difficult to believe that it was a hotel. It was like being at an eccentric relative's house, or perhaps more apt, at a senior citizen's center where the inhabitants all got to bring their collections. 

It might have all been too weird, except that the family was very nice. There were some real characters. Anna was like everyone's grandma, a universal relative who made sure you had better feel at home or else. An old man that I assumed was her husband shuffled through the house, as kind as he could be. He made sure to show us his brightly lit holiday manger scene, a mix of the the modern, the ancient, and a few random accents, such as a skyscraper and a tunnel with an electric car. We could hear him coming down the hallway in his loafers, and he always seemed a bit surprised when he came around the corner and saw us, as though he'd forgotten briefly that we were staying there. He'd smile, wave, and then turn on an extra light for us, even if it weren't needed. The rest of the family wasn't strange, but just themselves. We had the impression that we weren't staying in a hotel, but their home. It was great.

We stayed in Perugia for two nights, which was enough for us to see the whole of the city. It is a very old city in the ancient region of Umbria that really was the birthplace of the Italian civilization. Turning a corner or looking down a  narrow passageway, it was frequently obvious that most buildings in the center were very old, as well as beautifully preserved; indeed, a tremendous amount of history can be found in the region, beginning long before the Romans came around, and I was a bit disappointed that we didn't have the time to stop and really explore all around, to learn more about the history and the unique culture. Fortunately, I felt that during our day and a half of exploring the city, we managed to walk nearly all of its historic center. This city is built on a large hill, as I mentioned, and the views are breathtaking of the surrounding countryside. Ancient walls, medieval alleyways, and multiple churches gave us a full agenda for exploration for our time in the city, while its frequently sloping streets gave us a great workout. Fortunately, we found a pub that sold excellent as well as cheap food, as well as the cheapest beer we saw in Italy. In fact, the beer was almost exclusively strong, Trappist-style beers, such as the 9% Chimay from Belgium, which was sold for €3.80, about half of what it would sell for in the US. Since beer is very expensive in Italy, we have not really had much here, but we made up for our lacking at that pub. Sadly, it was closed our second night; we had looked forward to a plate of cheap pasta and a bottle of great strong beer all day.

We visited multiple churches, countless plazas, even some Estruscan era gates, but probably the highlight of the city was a circular church built in the 5th city. While relatively young compared to the Roman sites dating back to 500 BC or sites from other civilizations of even greater antiquity, this church had s simplicity and beauty, as well as a distinct feeling of what was a young, fervent faith in the days of its origin. We happened to arrive at the perfect time of day, the lighting spearing the shadows of the church, filling corners with a golden glow. It was beautiful, and best of all, we had the place to ourselves, yet again an example of the benefits of traveling this time of year.

Our time in Perugia passed by far too quickly, as we had to move on Rome. This would definitely be one of the areas of Italy that I would want to come back to and spend more time exploring, in particular if we were able to rent a car and check out the many small towns that are difficult to visit by public transport. Reading about them, it seems as though our three weeks we've had here in Italy could have been spent just in Umbria. Like everywhere else we've gone, I'm sure that is definitely the case.

Until next time, be safe.