NOT ALL WHO WANDER ARE LOST

That is what my favorite tee-shirt says. In small letters right above two big flip-flops. The one I have been wearing all week (because really, who can be bothered with washing when there is swimming, eating, drinking, and sleeping to be attending to.) Yet, it was not until yesterday when I used it to wipe the sea-salt out of my eyes after swimming in the Adriatic that I read it. I mean, I really read it. And I panicked. 'Ohmygod. Am I....am I....lost?' Shouldn't I be back in DC with my perfectly good and stable job, and not spending my savings irresponsibly drifting from one country and one continent to the next. I have bills. I have, gulp, a mortgage. (How the heck that mortgage thing happened, I am still not so sure.)

And then the guilt set in remembering that 4 out of 5 ex-boyfriends polled said the fact I could never stay still, remain in one place, stop pretending to be a gypsy (who's pretending?), STOP WANDERING! drove them mad...and eventually away. The 5th one said with a smile 'Ahhh, Kitty, wanderlust always looks good on you.' (I always did like him best.) And then there is my mom who complains that I never take time to smell the flowers. (Although ever since she first informed me of this egregious character flaw some years back I have always made a point of stopping at every one...as a matter of fact the most beautiful roses were those next to my trailer in Baghdad and even during incoming mortar attacks I
would stop to smell them on my way to the bunker...she probably doesn't need to know that though.) But, I cannot help it and I refuse to apologize for it. Wandering for me is synonomous with traveling. And not to be corny but my one true love is travel.

I suppose the sudden dread I felt on the beach is always there - deep down. My own wonder if I will ever find the perfect place to settle, the perfect spot to always return to. When I first got to Vis, I thought 'Wow, this is definitely it!' But then I guess I always immediately think that about new places. (Although when I got off the plane in Kazakhstan being pummeled by locals trying to beat me to customs and gagging from the smell of burning trash, I remember thinking to myself, 'Nah, not here...I will NOT stay a minute longer than they make me.') But after a wonderful week here on Vis...my belly is full of gelato (and yes, I continue to remain the champion), there is no more room on my tan (eh hum, sunburned) arms for new freckles, my muscles are tired from swimming, my clothes are in desperate need of washing, and I have drank enough local wine (it really is the best in the world) to support the local vineyard for the next year. Alas, it is time. Time to move along. So, I booked my ticket out of here to begin traveling/wandering again. I am secretly happy though that the next flight out is not for 2 more days. And I will spend those days continuing to do nothing....standing still. And to those 4 out of 5, I say, 'HA! I CAN do it. So there.'

And do I still feel lost? Not a chance.

TELLING TIME ON THE DALMATIAN COAST

When I arrived into Split, Croatia sometime at night and probably a few days ago, I only had one objective - to find a bed to lay horizontal. I had spent the previous two nights in row 85B transcon and then transatlantic. The unfortunate byproduct of free airline award travel is that you are inevitably always given a boarding pass for the last row, middle seat, which also inevitably does not recline. So at the pier where the airport bus drops you off in Split, I found a little old lady holding a sign in several languages announcing she had a room in a 'guesthouse.' I paid her 30 dollars and her 23 year old granddaughter walked me (a complete zombie) to the house. After noticing the dog when I walked in, the dirty dishes in the sink, the clothes on the floor, the dust on the sills, and the piles of bills on every surface, I realized the only thing which made this a 'guesthouse' was me - the guest. The young girl brought me up to her room, changed her sheets, presented me with a towel and announced she would stay at a friend's house while I stayed in her room. I felt strange but was not worried about my safety because her parent's room was next to mine and her grandmother's was across the hall. She left her passport and purse sitting on the bedside table and bid me goodnight. I felt like an intruder and was worried I wouldn't sleep. But when I turned out the light and the entire room lit up under glow-in-the-dark stars and planets, I drifted off smiling and fell asleep for a long and deep slumber.

I caught the ferry the next morning on time (no one had been able to tell me the time it left- just 'in the morning') and arrived in Vis sometime a few hours later. The port city on Vis (a very small island) tells time by when the ferries come and go and the other city on Vis (where I am living) tells time by a big clocktower at the end of the pier. Modern time telling here is just not necessary. You eat when you are hungry and drink beer when you are thirsty. You swim in the magnificant sea when you are hot and sleep when you tire. The best thing about this Adriatic gem of a little island is the fact the only tourists here are those actually from Croatia. When my Kiwi friend Peter picked this for this year's summer holiday, I already knew it would be free of Germans, full of bakeries making fresh pastries, and littered with beaches to lay your belongings while you swim. That is just how he travels.

A few nights ago the ATM machine refused to regurgitate my bankcard after it gave me money. I shrugged my shoulders without a care...I was in the middle of a Gelato eating contest with Peter. I was defending my 2006 self-proclaimed championship title of World's Greatest Gelato Eater which I yanked from Peter's clutches last summer on the Italian island of Capri (after eating a large amount of Gelato- the number remains classified). He was a scoop up on me this time and well, worrying about my bankcard seemed foolish at a critical time like that. So, the next day when I asked the bank lady if she could retrieve the card she just said 'Sure, come back later. Like tomorrow or the next day maybe.' 'Okay,' I said. But already something else had caught my eye. The ocean was glistening just right and the sweat on my forehead was telling me something...it was time to go for a swim. And somewhere out there in the sea, Peter was telling me it was time for our swimming contest.

I'm free! A post-bar wrap up.

It's two days after the bar.

And I managed to pull myself out of bed today after 11-hours of blissful sleep. It's been a long, stressful summer, but now it is on to bigger and better things.

But before I get to head out on my own adventures; here's a wrap up on my thoughts on taking the NY Bar:

10. Studying with friends made it at the very least tolerable. Thanks to Karin, Meaghan, Todd and Lizzy for being around! And to all of my non-law school friends, I promise never to talk about essays and multiple choice questions again!

9. Diet Dr. Pepper is not only an excellent study aid, but I believe holds magical powers.

8. You can eat Pizza every day and not turn into one.

7. It is also possible to feel like you are going to vomit from stress induced fear for over 48-hours. (It also caused my eye to blow up like a balloon for the duration of the exam and tear incessantly. I was hot. But apparently, I'm not alone.)

6. No one really notices when you don't shave. Well, almost no one.

5. It is impossible not to feel like you could have failed. With 200 multiple choice questions where there are at least 100 where you are saying to yourself "B looks good; but then again, C has some good qualities as well" makes for some restless nights even after the exam is over.

4. The upside to this is everyone else feels the same way.

3. I hate the rule against perpetiuties.

2. Going out in Albany after the exam is a must. Hundreds of caged lawyers-to-be released on the same night. It's like the entire town lets out a sigh of relief at once.

1. My husband rocks. Not only did he pack me a most-useful snack kit for the drive up to Albany, but he is quite convincing in running the numbers on how I must have passed. In his estimation, if I even only knew 100 of the 200 questions, mathmetically, I had to get at least another 20 right by guessing. And with a passing score of around 120, that puts me in a good place. Unfortunately, he also knows my ability to beat the odds and lose in rock-paper-scissors with amazing regularity.

Oh, and one more. I never, never want to do that again. So dear God, please have let me passed.

Now back to the real world. I'm getting a massage today and then, well, getting ready to move! Salt Lake City, here we come!

JUST ONE DAY

This weekend I made a small detour on my journey around the world to the 'biggest little city in the world'. I suppose you would only know that city motto if you have been there, considering this city is only popular for those who love slot machines and buffets but don't like Vegas. I did not go for the destination. Nor did I care much for the journey (a long drive from Los Angeles.) This travel was for an entirely different reason...and this reason for travel turns out to be my favorite one! To see people. I went to Reno, NV for my mother's surprise birthday party which turned into a family reunion of sorts. And while I have never been one for slots - I learned this weekend they are fun to play if you are with cousins you haven't seen in 15 years. And the buffets? Well, what a perfect place to have huge family meals. Who would have thought? Imagine the parts of the world we would miss if there were not people we love on the other end of our travel.

As I sit in London waiting for a flight to Croatia (I have been en route from Reno for 32 hours now), it occurs to me that this portion of my travel is also about the people there -where I am going- and not about the destination or the journey. And while these upcoming stops along the way (Split, Paris, Brussels, Bratislava, Prague, Krakow) are admittedly more exciting than Reno, I am more happy to be visiting old friends than the destinations themselves. Even if it is for just one day (much like the family reunion) - that's so worth the trip. Then off to Africa- where I learned in Reno that my cousin will also be vacationing at the same time. While I know I have 15 years of lost time to make up for with him, I am thinking a game drive in Kruger National Park may be just what's needed to elevate me back to favorite cousin status! Even if it is for just one day.

Taking a Second Look

I think it is a fact of life that when you travel, everything you see takes on a special life of its own. In Vietnam, you see children playing in a park and it seems so sweet and touching and you think to yourself how lucky you are to see these kids at this time in this place. Or when walking around Paris you see a group of teenagers, hanging out and smoking outside of a cafe and you think, "how French!" Even regular subway rides or buses become exotic and different.

Yet it is rare that we have those same observations about the places in which we live. We leave our houses and drive to work and pass plenty of children playing in parks and the man with smelly armpits jammed up next to you in the subway is exotic, but not in any sort of romantic way.

For the last two weeks I have literally become a hermit living inside my house studying for the bar day in and day out. I have made it a daily habit to get out at least once, ipod in hand, listening to contract or tort lectures. Today, I walked up towards Clarendon to buy my last legal pad to practice a few more essays tonight. It was my normal walk and everything I saw just seemed normal. And then, I happened across a man standing outside his house in a straw hat, wearing painter's clothes. In his driveway sat an old, rusty, beat up Corvette. And in front of him was a massive canvass, probably 10 by 8 feet, and he was painting a scene of a man who was crammed into the Corvette after it had obviously met its fateful demise. It was so out of the ordinary I had to stop and look. And I had that same feeling you do when you are traveling: how extraordinary; how different; how wonderful!

I walked a few more blocks and came across a father, home after work, playing HORSE with his 6 or 7 year old son, while his daughter watched on, literally over the white picket fence. It was a scene right out of the 1950s.

Maybe it is the fact that I haven't been outside and that my world is consumed by all law all the time, but just the daily happenings of life around Arlington--bikers; joggers; houses with immaculate yards and beautiful flowers; moms chatting with each other watching their little ones on the playground--all seemed so exotic and so wonderful. Just taking that second look around my own hometown today was like a mini-vacation for me!

Just think how excited I'll be when I make it out of my neighborhood.

BUDGET TRAVEL GONE AWRY

A word of advice for those on a budget or those like me with "no money coming in, just going out" (as my 94 year old grandfather likes to remind me)...do not give in to those men dressed in funny hats with whistles in their mouths, gesturing you politely with their gloved hands and big smiles to come inside their big, fancy, overly priced, overly touristy resort hotel. You will think it is no big deal to just take a peek, but the next thing you know you'll be sitting at the sushi bar ordering frothy drinks with cute mini-umbrellas flashing your AMEX while too many people wait on you. And you'll convince yourself it's okay because you earned it. 17 days in hostels and guest houses (all perfectly fine)...nothing but eating on the local economy (actually better than fine)...land travel all by buses (again, fine..except for inside Cambodia when the locals were feasting on fried cockroaches and locusts - a little too much culture for me).

But it's a slippery slope and next when you arrive back in Thailand for your final 24 hours, you'll hire a private car (I'm so over public transportation you'll say with your little pink umbrella from your frothy drink behind your ear completely forgetting that not 12 hours ago you vowed to yourself to get your tuk tuk driver from Siem Reap a visa to the US because you'll die without him). And it won't matter that the public bus to Hua Hin at 2 USD was 98 USD cheaper than the car. And while you are waiting 10 minutes for friends who live on the military base next door, you'll check yourself into the Hua Hin Dusit Beach Resort for more than you spent during your entire 6 days in Laos - forgetting the guesthouse next door is perfectly fine. And then when you get on the airplane home and if you are a math geek...you'll do a pie chart of what you spent for your entire trip. And you'll realize that your average hotel cost per night (without the final night) was only 18 USD (add the final night at the resort and it's 24 USD). And your daily food cost was 12 USD (add only 2 meals of resort hotel sushi and it's 19 USD per day). You get the point.

Luckily, however, my friends stationed in Hua Hin were able to take us to a great local restaurant literally on the beach for our last night where based on the number of stares and people pouring our drinks we were obviously the first foreignors ever. After a few local beers, we joined a table of Bangkok ladies and taxi drivers seated around us in more rounds of beer interrupted only by Thai/English language lessons and joint Thai Karaoke. While leaving Cambodia was hard - Phnom Penh and Siem Reap are amazing - it was nice to have one final night on the ground in Thailand. It would have been even more perfect to end our truly cultural and for the most part budget travel stumbling back not to our fancy resort...but rather to a perfectly fine guesthouse. Lesson learned: Sushi hankering or not...when that first resort hotel tries to lure you in...walk on by. Because on a budget or not, there's just no culture there. Or Karaoke.

Where to Publish?

At the National Press Club Travel Writing panel a few weeks back (which I've been meaning to post about but have been overwhelmed with the bar) one of the biggest themes discussed was how to pitch your stories and finding the right markets (and whether to publish without compensation).

The traveler who is thinking about writing and publishing today has so many more options than just ten years ago. Michael Yessis, the founder of WorldHum.com, spoke about how with the advent of the Internet, the barriers of entry are quite low. Not mentioning the ease at which one can create a blog, there have been a proliferation of on-line travel magazines, many which pay for copy. And even print magazines often have online content that is separate and distinct from what it prints.

In addition to the Writers Market (a must have for all freelance writers), Brave New Traveler just posted a list of 50 magazines that accept freelance submissions. It's a great resource for those looking to find a home for their work.

A Different Kind of Travel

There are a million different reasons to hit the road: to explore, to relax, to work ... and for some people like my sister, to compete. Lauren has been to Chile, Argentina, Azerbaijan, Canada, Puerto Rico, and Italy just to name a few. She and the US Field Hockey team are getting on another plane today. This time, they are heading out for the Pan Am Games in Rio. Held every four years, the Pan Am games will be the first test for the team in their Olympic quest - the winner gets an automatic bid.

Apparently the Brazilians have gone all out for the games this year and have built an Olympic village where there are pools, shopping, and even cooks brought in from the outside to dish up meals for the athletes. I am insanely jealous and bummed that I can't go along for the ride (going to the World Cup in 2002 was one of my all time favorite trips and doing that kind of trip with a sister to cheer on would be unimaginable). But I'll just have to hold out for Beijing.

Good luck, Lauren and Team USA!

GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!

At some point a little while ago (I have completely lost track of time), we said goodbye to the Land of One Million Elephants (the literal translation for Laos), boarded a Vietnam Air flight, and one hour later said good morning to the land of One Million Mopeds (my personal translation for Vietnam). Arriving in bustling, noisy, crowded Hanoi from sleepy and quiet Luang Prabang was like being abruptly awoken from a deep and peaceful dream by a cacophony of horns -- in your face. Somewhere between immigration and the airport arrivals curb, I realized we were now in a land of tourists, and people trying to sell things to those tourists, and the people trying to sell things to those tourists all have mopeds. Trying to cross the street (any street) without getting run over by a moped - usually with a family of 4 on it - has been to date on this journey my biggest challenge. Yesterday we escaped to HaLong Bay by a 4 hour bus and spent 1.5 days on a Junk Boat (the Dragon Pearl which did not have rats, Kurt!) We baked in the sun, swam in the Gulf of Tonkin and for the most part lounged completely in silence (except for the occassional woman in a rowboat full of American junk food screaming up to us "You want to buy?"). We came back to Hanoi today and stumbled upon a terrific boutique (yet cheap) hotel called Elegance. Despite the hum of the air con unit, my earplugs, and the fact we are 8 stories up, I still can't seem to escape the horns from the million mopeds below.

Something else I noticed about Vietnam compared to Laos is that not everyone smiles. In Laos, the women working the fields, the children playing in the streets, the sales people in the shops (who never once asked us if we wanted to buy) all smile when they see you...makes me wonder if maybe they smile because they know the secret of how wonderful their country is and now you are in on it? Or maybe those in Hanoi don't smile as much because like any big city just making a living can be tough and the congestion and horns and bustle makes one too stressed to smile? Or maybe although the people in Hanoi have more money (albeit not much) than those in Laos, maybe they are not as happy? Which reminded me...Last year I hired a driver to take me from the Four Seasons in Amman, Jordan to the Dead Sea. When we passed a village of gypsies on the side of the road, with nothing but a few pots and makeshift fabric tents over their heads, the driver told me when he is depressed he goes to sit and talk with them. I naively asked if it was because it made him feel better and lucky knowing he has more than they do. He uproariously laughed at me and said "No! Of course not you silly Four Seasons woman. They make me feel good because they are so happy." Food for thought.

RETIREMENT and GIVING BACK in LAOS

A few days ago we said goodbye to the remote village of Luang Namtha and took a 9 hour minibus south to Luang Prabang - a small yet hopping town alive with tourists, textiles, and Buddhist Monks. Luang Prabang is a UNESCO world heritage site and the spiritual capital of Laos with over 30 temples and 1,000 monks in training. Yesterday morning, we left our 10 USD nite guesthouse to join the locals in giving alms to the monks during their 6am procession through town. We knelt with the Lao women and placed variations of sticky rice in their bowls as they passed by us in a sea of orange robes. We later visited a temple (a Wat) and talked with a few young monks who were eager to practice their english. The average age of monks is around 16 years old because Lao boys must decide by 20 whether they are going to join monkhood, which 60-percent do. And at anytime they can chose to "retire" - once they personally feel they have "given back" to earn atonement for the afterworld.

We also took a trip to an elephant reserve 15 km outside of town where 5 elephants were living out their "retirement" from the logging industry (and one fuzzy baby elephant was just playing with the locals and trying to eat our digital cameras). The owners boast that the elephants earn their keep in the reserve by "giving back" to the community spending the mornings taking tourists around the jungle on their backs - and the afternoons they rest and eat. I admittedly was skeptical...why do they have to give back in their retirement? They are elephants!!!! But strangely after a few hours with them, I realized the elephants seemed to enjoy their work and interacting with humans. I suppose in our ever-shrinking world with decreasing natural resources, animals and humans should look for ways like this to co-habitate. This sounds corny, but I could swear as I was leaving that Sun (a 45 year old female elephant) was sad to see me-- her personal tourist for that day-- go.

We have been eating alot at a western bakery and cafe, called JOMA, owned by a retired woman from PA. We felt a bit guilty at first choosing bagels and coffee over local cuisine but as we spent more time in the Air Con'd cafe, we realized JOMA was really about giving back. The owner hires more people than needed to give jobs, matches their tips 100-percent, gives the same to buy books for the town children, and allows a textile coop to sell goods upstairs. But what really got me was yesterday afternoon I watched her welcome in 3 small boys around 5 years old. They were filthy with ratted clothes, no shoes, and presumably no homes. She seated them at a special table and proceeded to wait on them- giving them all the eggs, ketchup, and juice they could eat. When one of them cut his portion in half and put it in a napkin in his pocket, she gave them each doggy bags and brownies and they left with the big smiles on their dirty faces.

Maybe it's because Luang Prabang is truly a spiritual place - but the owner of JOMA...the elephants...the monks....made me wonder what a beautiful world this would be if we ALL would just give a little back.

You Can't Get There from Here

The thing I love most about travel is by far the journey over the destination - to me there is nothing more exhilarating than boarding a plane, train, or bus, and falling asleep...waking up in some new and unimaginable place. The longer the journey, the more rewarding the destination. So when doing research for this trip (albeit limited) I came across the Luang Namtha (Northern Laos) Eco Reserve and a community based travel lodge called the Boat Landing. It claimed to be one of the hardest places to get to. You can't get there from here, you say? Sign me up. Oh, and the roads aren't paved? Even better.

So at 430am in the morning we left Chiang Mai (note to self: next time fly to Chiang Rai and not Chiang Mai which your guidebook would have told you if you brought it) - one tuk tuk ride, one 7 hour non-air conditioned public bus ride to Chiang Kong (near Chiang Rai and the border, not Chiang Mai), one tuk tuk ride to the border, one Thai passport control, one very small canoe ride across the border river, one Lao passport control, and one 4 hour private minibus (we'd already missed all the public transportation that day including the most common means which is a 2 day slow boat up the river), and one small walk later...we arrived at the Boat Landing Guesthouse. Maybe it was the journey, or maybe it really was the most beautiful sunset north to the mountains leading to Myanmar (Burma) and south over the Namtha River. And that beer just may have been the tastiest ever.
\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>The next day we signed up for a one day trek in the Nam Ha reserve - led by our 25 year old guide (a former Buddhist Monk) and the Acha hill tribe elder. Think Indiana Jones in the jungle - no joke - complete with tribe elder paving our way with a machete and holding on to trees not to slide down the ravines. (I admittedly slid down a majority of the way on my rear and was pulled back up by our guide while the tribe elder informed us that 'this hike is not for women'.) While I wished I had worn hiking boots, vice Tevas, I learned that it is much easier to pull leeches off of your feet in sandals (I stopped screaming after the first few). Truly one of the most arduous, yet memorable treks of my trek-filled life. After, we got to spend time with the Acha tribe. There is nothing more innocent or precious than taking digital photos of children (who have no earthly possessions including shoes) and listening to them giggle at themselves when you replay the photos. Luang Namtha is certainly marketed correctly- so remote that every person stopped to stare at us. Not sure if it because we are foreigners, or maybe because we were literally covered in mud.

The next day we signed up for a one day trek in the Nam Ha reserve - led by our 25 year old guide (a former Buddhist Monk) and the Acha hill tribe elder. Think Indiana Jones in the jungle - no joke - complete with tribe elder paving our way with a machete and holding on to trees not to slide down the ravines. (I admittedly slid down a majority of the way on my rear and was pulled back up by our guide while the tribe elder informed us that 'this hike is not for women'.) While I wished I had worn hiking boots, vice Tevas, I learned that it is much easier to pull leeches off of your feet in sandals (I stopped screaming after the first few). Truly one of the most arduous, yet memorable treks of my trek-filled life. After, we got to spend time with the Acha tribe. There is nothing more innocent or precious than taking digital photos of children (who have no earthly possessions including shoes) and listening to them giggle at themselves when you replay the photos. Luang Namtha is certainly marketed correctly- so remote that every person stopped to stare at us. Not sure if it because we are foreigners, or maybe because we were literally covered in mud.

* Karin is still having trouble posting, so once we get her up and running, these will be coming from her directly. But until then, brought to you by Jess, while she is pretending to listen to her bar review lectures. Trust me, hiking in Thailand is much more interesting than trusts and estates!