Israel

Holy Bells
I landed in Israel a little over a week ago and had originally thought that I would go to Tel-Aviv first but after reading my trusty Lonely Planet I decided that since it was Thursday, and the following evening would be the start of Shabbat the Jewish holy day that I should head straight for the holiest of cities to experience a "real" Shabbat. There are shared taxis from the airport in Tel-Aviv (which is about half way between TLV and JER) so I caught one. My friendly driver dropped me off down the street and about 6 flights of stairs from the walls of the Old City (yes they are real walls, and they are 'real' old), and pointed in a very general direction towards my hostel. It was a little after 10pm and there were people in the streets but they were also eirley quiet. What immediate caught me off guard were the groups of Orthodox Jews in full attire and Palestinian men chatting in their separate circles. They were close in proximity but seemed worlds apart. I made my way through the gate of the city (Jaffa Gate to be precise), these crowds and trouble-maker kids that skipped and laughed loudly. Until I found myself in a tight passage way with ancient cobble stone underneath my feet without a soul in sight. It was a strange feeling and I felt like I was definitely in the wrong place. I even backtracked a few times until I found the "street", St. Marks that I was looking for. It wasn't quite a street but more of a passage way up some worn stone stairs and the it turned left and became an even darker and smaller alley. It was enchanting and daunting at the same time seeing walking underneath the shadows of these old edifices. In a nook off this path I stumbled upon my hostel (Citadel) and when I entered it was lively and cramped. It felt like a cave and the building could have easily have been 500+ years old.

I have been to close to 20 countries many of them as a backpacker but for some reason I still cannot bring myself to plan ahead or even book ahead, and this trip to Israel has been no exception. So, when I got an opportunity to ask the receptionist if they had any availability he informed me that the bungalow was open. "What's the bungalow" I asked. "It's on the roof". 'It's a little crisp out, but why not I thought'. I asked to take a look and when I reached the roof I was surprised to find about 20 other people had set up camp on small mattresses. I checked out the bungalow which was really a plastic shed on the the roof, and chatted with a few folks about life on the roof, most of which was positive. So I took the "bungalow", visited with some people and then hit the hay.

One of the most charming and sometimes startling parts about Turkey was the call to prayer at dawn. Most mornings it was a distant song, except for when I was in Cappadochia. I could have sworn that they had moved the minaret speaker to my window seal, because it was so loud that I jumped out bed when it started. Jerusalem is the center of 3 religions and because it is so they all seem to be constantly in competition. The Orthodox Christians didn't want to be shown up by their Muslim neighbors so at about 20 minutes before the first call to prayer they start ringing bells from the church tower of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (I think). Apparently the walls of my bungalow weren't insulated very well and we were literally a stones through from the church and it felt as if the bells were on the roof. After the seemingly endless morning bells show and right as all of the roof dwellers began to drift back to sleep the call to prayer started, and then another round of bells shortly after, and so on, and so on.

When I woke in the morning I realized that I had paid a premium for the bungalow and that the roof seemed to have a relaxing breeze so I booked a roof mattress for the next night and set out to explore the city.

The Wall
The Old City of Jerusalem is full of history, strive and struggle, most of which I quickly realized I was not knowledgeable on. In the early morning the streets were still quiet and a few vendors were beginning to open up and where all very inquisitive and eager to get people in their shops. "Where are you from? Nice to meet you. Please have a look in my shop" they would say. Despite the early morning quietness (bells, calls, and chants excluded) the streets were full of pilgrams and tourists by 9am. I wondered aimlessly most of the day around the very small city visiting the place where Jesus walked with his cross, was crucified, died and was buried. I also walked through the Arab market and visited numerous other places until the crowds became overwhelming and I walked outside and around the walls. There I visited the Mount of Olives where I met a man named Abram who told me of his great adventures and tried to persuade me to visit his garden (for a price of course) where Jesus had once walked. I also walked through the City of David, the place where the last supper was held, and then back into the old city to see the Wailing or Western Wall and then Armenian Quarter. For those of you who have not been to Jerusalem and the Old City. It is divided into quarters or districts (Arab, Armenian, Christian and Jewish). How the Armenians got a quarter I was never able to find out.

After 6 hours of walk in and around the Old City I was completely overwhelmed by the people, places and history. Honestly I was ready to leave. I made my way back to the hostel to grab a bite before Shabbat started, according to everything I had read and people I had talked with, Jerusalem shuts down when Shabbat begins at sundown on Friday and doesn't get going or open again until Saturday at sundown. This is pretty accurate but not entirely true. For those of you who are not familar with Shabbat here's a quick overview. The word Shabbas means "rest" or "cessation" in Yiddish, and Shabbat is the 7th day of the seventh day of the Jewish week and a day of rest in Judaism. On Friday night Jews in Jerusalem typically take a trip to the "Wall" and then meet friends and family for Shabbat dinner to break bread and enjoy eachothers company. Saturday is a day of rest, prayer and reflection in which they are not suppose to work. On Saturday night the Sabbath is over and things resume to normal hopefully with a rejuvenated and refreshed perspective/

Back at the hostel I met Zach from Georgia who had just finished his Birthright trip (Birthright is an organization that gives American Jews the opportunity to take a week + trip to Israel for free at one point in their lives before the age of 26), and Robin from Vancouver who was working with an NGO that helps Palestinian Women. These would be my running buddies for the next 3 days. We where all interested in going to the Wall at the start of Shabbat to watch the festivities, and hopefully get invited to a dinner (rumor has it that if you dress nice and visit the Wall on Friday night that you'll get an invite to join a family for Shabbat dinner).

We cleaned up a bit and headed down to the wall. Zach had visited the Wall on Shabbat before during his Birthright trip and was very excited about going back. When we arrived we were greated by security as you are just about any where you go in Israel and the walked towards the Wall. Closer to the wall there were fences which separated men from the woman. In the men's section men were dressed in suits wore there traditional attire which differentiated them as Secular or Orthodox and even more specifically for the Orthodox as to what region of the world they were from (e.g. Russian, Eastern European, Western European, etc.).

Zach and I went to the men's side and Robin to the women's. I was asked to put on a Kippah (yamaka) as I entered and they gave me one from a basket. It was without a doubt one of the most joyous events I have ever seen or been apart of. Men set around tables reading scripture and singing songs. Some where set up in more typical synagogue style settings where Rabbis where reading and preaching. Others where dancing in circles and singing traditional songs. Many of the Orthodox where at the wall in a deep religious trance praying as they rocked. It is difficult to describe but it was a very happy occasion, and clapping with others as they sang and dance was awesome.

After a while Zach and I made our way outside of the fences where we found Robin in deep Israel/Palestinian policy debate with an Israeli name Alex who had invited us to Shabbat dinner at a Rabbi's house. These types of debates would dominate almost all conversations I would be involved in for the remainder of my time in Jerusalem.

                                                                        "The Wall"

Shabbat Shalom
We walked with Alex and a large group of born again Christians to the Rabbi's house. The Rabbi lived in a small apartment and we were all surprised to see dozen of tables with people seated squeezed into every square inch of living and dining room space. There were probably at least 50 people in the room of all shapes sizes and nationalities. It was was one of the most multi-cultural events I have ever been a part of. Orthodox Jews, Arabs, Rastafarians, Japanese Jews, Christians, Geramans, Homeless, Freaks, Nerds, and Normal People (whatever they are).

We all find a few scattered seats throughout the room. Men and women sat at gender specific table. Fortunately, I sat next to the Rabbi and was able to pick his brain as we sang, pounded on the table, broke bread, learned about the Sabbath and Shabbat, and ate, and sang, and ate, and sang over the next 3-4 hours. Some of the songs went on for 10+ minutes, and when I could no longer attempt to pronounce the Hebrew words I joined into pounding my hands on the table for rhythms. It was such a rewarding and liberating feeling to bang them on the dining room table (I think that the innerchild in all of us has always had an urge to do this). People of all religions and lack there of got up and told stories, shared advice and their perspectives on their faith. It was great to see the similarities of humanity intermingling and sharing in a place that has so much religious fervor and division.

It's the Religion Stupid
Although dinner at the Rabbi's house was a Utopian experience, outside his walls it was easy to see the division between religion, literally. As we walked back towards the old city we walked down a street were a wall had recently stood to separate the Israelis and Palestinians, and now a light rail system was being built. You could still see bullet holes in the sides of buildings. After the dinner we went to the one street in Jerusalem that is lively on this holy night. Conversation after conversation there were arguments and debates over policies, history, the future for the country, everyone set in their decisions in an unwavering way. The next two days followed suit. The only break in religious conversations came when we stumbled into a Russian Dance Club at about 4am. They were the only group of people that I met who seem to have care less about the religious and political tensions outside. More to come on this later.

After 3 days in Jerusalem I had had my fix of the Old City and head to Tel Aviv and the beach...

Turkey

On the Road Again:
It was nice to be moving again. I took an overnight flight from Bangkok to Istanbul on Turkish Airlines, great food, the service not so much. I sat in the 2nd to last seat on the plan which the last 3 seat row the flight attendant took her obvious frustrations out on the back of my seat. Hey, whatever I can do to help make the flight easier or better for everyone, I'm up for.

I arrived in Istanbul about 5:30am with no plans, guide books or reservations. I surfed the internet for a while, had a coffee, and tried to buy a Lonely Plant Guide of the Middle East but it was about $50 US and my frugal nature wouldn't allow me to buy it. So I skimmed it and then blindly headed to the Sultanahmet area. I eventually found a hotel with a room about the size of its bed. Whatever the room lacked, it's breakfast made up for. The typical Turkish breakfast is delicious. It consists of bread, olives, tomatos, cucumbers, feta cheese, a yellow cheese, green olives, black olives, yougurt, museuli, bread, jam, honey, butter, and nescafe instant coffee (probably the only bad part of the meal). I stayed there for a couple of nights while I explored the city's main tourist sites before moving into a hostel.

Istanbul is an amazing city. Walking the cobble stone streets you can feel the history of the Romans, Byzantines, Early Christians, Muslims, and many other peoples that were making their way from Asia to Europe or vise-versa. The skylines are filled with beautifully aged minerts and domes. The two highlights that everyone who comes to Istanbul pays homage to are the Aya Sophia, which was the first basilica ever built (later it was turned into a mosque and then a museum by Ataturk's government), and the Blue Mosque. They face one another and are separated by beautiful fountains and park. The Aya Sophia is magnificent but my experience there was a little tainted by their confusing audio tour. However, once I stopped the tour and started exploring on my own I was enamored with the beautiful mosaics and fresco, and just the sheer magnitude of the building. However, I believe that the Blue Mosque was even more impressive. All non-Muslims have to go through a side courtyard and enter from the back of the building. Everyone takes there shoes off before they enter and once inside again all non-muslims have to stay in a roped area. Despite these rules the building and dome within are magnificient.

One of the things that immediately catches every westerner first time visitor's attention is the call to prayer which comes from the tall towers known as minarets 5 times a day  (at dawn, midday, mid-afternoon, sunset and nightfall). It is a very enchanting and soothing sound. The city's hustle and bustle seems slow during these times and pick right up where they left of after they're finished. On the surface Istanbul seems like a modern European city, which it is, but the calls to prayer, headscarfs (only some where them), and many mosques are a helpful reminder of it's rich and diverse culture.  Much of my first few days were spent exploring the random streets and alleys, drinking turkish coffee and tea (chai), and trying to fully recover.

Kappa, what?:
After about 3 days of wandering the streets of Istanbul, its bizarre (which is it suggests) and seeing its many historical sites I was feeling well and ready to see more of the country. Additionally the weather there had been rainy and cold, so something sunny or warmer sounded appealing. I explored a few options and unfortunately much of the Turkish Mediterranean coast was a little too cool for beach life, so I ended up booking a "tour" of Cappadochia (pronounced Kappa- Doke-E-Ah) which is smack in the middle of Turkey. It's known for its usually rock formations (see below) that early Christians built cities and churches inside of and underneath.

                                                                        Fairy Chimneys

I have never been on a travel tour where almost everything is included before, so I was a little uncertain what to expect. Would it be a bus full of gray-hairs, Japanese picture takers, or hedonistic backpackers. It turned out that mine was closer to the former but not quite what you'd expect and much more intimate. There were two other travelers who joined me on the flight from Istanbul to Cappadochia (for some reason a 12 hour bus ride didn't sound appealing when cheap airfare was available). They were an quirky-Australian couple from Melbourne probably in their 50s or 60s. Margaret was a quite and kind nurse who worked with drug addicts, Murray was an artist and real estate mogul who was essentially a male version of the the character Maud from Harold and Maud. Over the next several days these 2 became my buds/surrogate parents. Their passion and exuberance for life was contagious and fit well with our mystical geological surroundings.

We stayed in a beautiful hotel half of which was in the Cappadochian cave style, meaning many of the buildings and rooms were actually in caves. When we arrived at the hotel we were greeted by the owner, Herot, who told of us how he had started his first business with three dollars in his pocket and had built it into a little tourist empire. We also talked politics in which I got my first dose of strong Anti-American Middle Eastern policies over Turkish tea, which they drink at least 20 cups of a day, as CCR played in the background.

The next few days I toured caves, valleys and underground cities of ancient civilizations, while endulging in the wonderful turkish cousine.

Round 2:
My third day in Cappadochia was a free day to explore neighboring towns before my evening flight back to Istanbul. But instead of enjoying the beautiful crisp mountain air I spent the day reliving my Bangkok experience. Although not quite as bad as Thailand it was debilitating. I had checked out of my room that morning and wasn't headed to the airport until late evening, but the staff at the hotel let me lay in a few rooms (they had to shuffle me around as people arrived) and even let me crash in their living quarters. This was a real low point in my trip. I hated being sick again, stuck in some faraway land, and wanted badly to go home. But with time, some antibiotics and a little love from the hotel dogs, I was able to make it back to Istanbul without vomitting on the talkitive Amerian couple I sat next to for during my travels back.

                                                                 Tom's Best Friend
                                                       
In Istanbul, I stayed in a hostel met lots of great people, explored some of the islands in the Sea of Marmada and nursed myself back to health. Ready to make a move and escape stomach bugs, I headed to Tel-Aviv.

Bangkok

Wham Bam Bangkok:
What surprised me most about Bangkok was how modern and beautiful the airport was. After a lovely flight on Thai Air, which served delicious food and had all the modern amenities you could want I took one of the most frightening cab rides of my life. My eclectic purple haired overly-aggressive driver zoomed past other cars at about 75 kph faster thatn the spped limit on the beautiful and newly constructed freeways, missing cars by inches with every movement. He was very chatty but difficult to understand and whn I finally forced a break in his dialogue to ask him to slow down, he was completely indignant. "I've been driving for over 35 years and I never had accident" he yelled. "Wll I've been living for almost 30 years and I'd like to live many more" I responded. We quickly made our way to an area called Rambutri near Khao San Road. This place had everything that you'd imagine when you think of a SE Asian backpackers hitching post. Lights, noise, narrow streets filled with vendors of everykind, rickshaws,  bicycles, people, so many people (most were obviously westerners or of European-decent), and joy. The Thais give the Balinese a run for their money when it comes to the smileiest place on Earth, and their positive energy is contagious.

The cabbie dropped me off somewhere near my hotel because the streets were to narrow to drive down. He blindly pointed me towards my hotel so I grabbed my luggaed and squeezed through the crowds and makeshift restaurants, bars and shops that spilled into the middle of the street until I reached my cheap hotel that my Slovenian friends recommended. They also suggested the 2nd hotel in Kuta that I'd stayed in  and a stellar cheap restaurant where I had eaten. So far they were 4 for 4. The service was crummy at the hotel but the room was comfortable and had 'air con'.

That night I wandered the streets for a while, got another massage and then decided to try some pad thai from a lady on the street that the Slovenians had recommended. They had ranted and raved about this place, and they hadn't led me astray so far so I took their advice. Life is funny sometimes. It seems that sometimes our bodies and minds can predict the future. As I stood in line at the street vendor and watched the lady cook and serve heapings of pad thai faster than an assembly line, I began to question my decision and analysis my options. 'Do I want meat?' 'Of course you do'. 'But I'm not too sure about that.' "Wa you want?" she asked. "Chicken please". 'Damn' I thought. "Wit egg?", "Uhh.." 'No you don't'. "Sure". I paid her about $1 and she thew all the ingrediants in a pan and cooked away. A minute later I was eating my mountain of pad thai at a makeshift bar accross the way. I thought to myself, 'this doesn't taste right'. 'Quit being a wuss, you've already paid for it, just eat it.' I was only able to take down about have of the serving which the bar hands teased me about. Afterward I hit the hay.

Next stop, not Nepal:

My stay in Bangkok was suppose to be a little over 24 hours. That was enough time to see some sights, and sure beat an overnight layover in the Delhi airport. After my brief stay in Bangkok I would be off to Nepal to hike to Everest Base Camp (16 day hike). But something else had a different plan for me. The night while I slept I could feel something was not right with my body and by morning, i was SICK! Being sick while traveling alone is a daunting thing because in the back of your head you know that if things get bad they can go drastically wrong.

There was a guy named Jake who I traveled through Central America with after we did some environmental work in Mexico. Jake kept traveling after I went home and according to friends found himself in a terrible mess in El Salvador. He was a surf camp in a remote place on the coast when he started feeling extreme abdominal pains. The local hippie surfers tried to heal him with teas but when the pain was too much to bare him caught a bus to the closest town with a doctor. Somewhere on that ride the pain overcame Jake and he passed out. He woke in what appeared to be an auto shop on a metal table with a stitched incision where his appendix was. These men who didn't speak English felt that they needed to be paid for their duties and saving Jake's life. However, that amount was endless and essentially held him for ransom. Each day they would make a trip to the ATM where he would withdraw the maximum amount he could. They gave him a little water and no food. Finally weak and feeling like he was near his end, on their daily trip to the ATM Jake claimed that his card was not working and that he needed to call his bank. They agreed and he somehow got word to American authorities of what was going on and where he was. A few hours later American troops and local police busted in the auto shop and saved Jake.

This story I believe is factual and his helplessness is travel nightmare of any backpacker. Although undoubtably rare, they are a distant posibility. So when I started to get sick I took every precaution I could I tried to stay hydrated and keep my strength and focus, but my body was loosing control to something inside me. I became very weak and after a long internal debate decided I needed to do something. I packed my things and crawled down to the lobby.

Up to this point the receptionists had been very unhelpful but when I asked them how to get to the hospital they directed me to a clinic across the road. Within about 20 minutes I had seen a doctor who ordered me to go to the hospital immediately. He got transportation for me which was essentially a van with a leather lazyboy in the back. Surprisingly comfortable. I arrived at the hospital ER and they put me on an IV, antibiotics, pain killers and sent me to a room. Within minutes of getting set up in my bed I was out like a light.

Great views...from the Bangkok Hospital?:
Being very ill in a foreign country is difficult. Not only to you feel terrible, but you have the stress of not knowing what to do, where to go, and when you do end up somewhere if you don't speak the language you wonder what they are saying about your condition and how competent they are. When I arrived at the new and very modern Bangkok Hospital their International Ward was full so the put me in a typical Thai ward. My room there was by far the nicest room I have stayed in thus far. This made communicating a little challenging but having a team of people tending to me was very reasurring. Every couple of hours I was woken by a couple of nurses who would check my temperature,blood pressure, give me additional fluids and antibiotics, and bring me food. The food typically consisted of an over cooked filet of fish, potatos, soup (broth with diced beef chunks at the bottom) and some sort of strange beverage. Not great but I wasn't really into eating at that point anyway.

Later my first morning my Indian-Thai Georgetown educated doctor came in to explain that I had consumed some very bad bacteria that my Western belly wasn't equipped to handle and that I would need to stay in the hospital a few days. At first this was frustrating because I had already missed my flight to Kathmandu and had planned my visit there to be exactly the amount of time that I would need to hike to Everest Base Camp, but after a lot of sleep, trips to the bathroom, watching English Premier league games and cheesy 80s movies, and reflection on my balcony overlooking Bangkok I decided to make some changes in my itinerary. Although I was only a week into my trip I already felt like it was becoming a trip in which I was just trying to check boxes and get badges for my adventure quilt. I was so busy worrying about my next move that I felt I was probably missing a lot amazing things and people along the way. After 3 days of debating with myself I decided to nix Nepal and India from this trip, head directly to Turkey, lose my schedule and follow what doors this adventure opens.

When I was released from the Bangkok Hospital surprisingly the goodbye was a little bittersweet. Although I was happy to be leaving, I still wasn't 100% or even 70%, and I would be out on my own again 10,000 billion miles away from anyone I knew, and would no longer have a team of people catering to my needs. Also, because I was an international young guy in the Thai ward, by the end of my time I had reach somewhat of a celebrity status. Many of the nurses where inviting me out to dance parties, wanting to friend me on facebook, and take pictures with me (see below). But all in all I was happy to be moving West.

Bali, Indonesia

Bali-hoe:
The first stop on my whirlwind global tour was the island of Bali.

"You must go to Bali TJ. Bali TJ, Bali".  I have have an aunt (pronounced 'ant' where I'm from) by marriage who is from Jakarta, Indonesia. As long as she's been in our family she's been telling me to go to Bali. When my Nana was still alive I remember on numerous occasions sitting at the table with Nana and Ant Heni, and Heni proclaiming that I need to go to Bali because "it good for surping, and titties TJ, titties". So to Bali I had to go.

Although during my stay I didn't see any of the latter, they actually played a interesting role in Bali's history. A famous Dutch artist captured pictures of barebreasted Balinese women on a trip to Bali and published them upon his return to Europe. Men from all over Holland and western Europe began flocking to Bali hoping to catch a glimpse, but unfortunately for them many they only found women who had clothed themselves in honor of the new tourists. As for the 'surping' or surfing as we know it, the waves were pretty small but fun most of my stay, but my last day on the island they began to live up to their hype. I didn't make it down to the famed Ula Watu, but it was "pumpin" as the Aussies say, my last 2 days around Kuta (the main beach in Bali). I definitely surfed some of the biggest waves of my life (double over ankle at least).

Balinese:
The people of Bali (there are about 3 million) are the smiliest people I've ever encountered. It could be the hindu religion that helps them stay kind (for reincarnation purposes). Interestingly Bali is 80% Hindu and the only Hindu majority island in the most populous islamic country in the world. They are also very helpful, and pushy too. Everyone is hustling for a buck. There is always someone near willing to help you find whatever you need, at a price of course. When you do employ their help you feel obligated to give them a tip, but a secret is that they get a kick back from the owners of the place where you render the service/item you were looking for, so a tip should only be given if you feel they were extremely helpful.

When you're purchasing something they push very hard to get you to purchase the item at their price. At first these pressure sales tactics were a little much for me, especially since I am use to doing the selling and not being pitched. But after a while I learned to embrace it and feel good about my negotiating abilities. Here's an example of a typical sales exchange:
"how much?"
"40 (actually 40,000 about 20 dollars)"
"I'll give you 5"
"no 35 it's Bingtang" (meaning it's a tank top with a ripoff Bingtang beer logo on it). There is so much fake Bingtang gear being sold that Bingtang set up their own stores that sell the same type of clothing. There is no noticable difference)
The drop in price means that vendor broke their stance and now it's time to watch the price fall.
"you know I really like this, but I can only pay 5"
"30"
"I'll give you 5"
"no 30"
I walk away
"okay 10"
Cha-ching there it is
"Done"

If you don't negotiate like this you'll seriously over pay.

Aussies:
As much as Bali is the Baliense's land it's feels equally the Aussies', especially the Kuta. Bali is their Cancun and Costa Rica rolled into one. In many cases it's cheaper for them to fly to Bali than other places in Oz. Kuta Beach is where the Aussie rednecks go to lounge in plastic lawn chairs in the sun, drink Bingtang and smoke cigs from morning to night, and endulge in 5 dollar MA-sauges. Despite the image that the Kuta Roos give Australians, as a whole they are probably the most ethusiastic and fun people to travel with. Culturally they are programmed to not let anyone get too high on their own horse which keeps most of them pretty friendly and humble.

Monkeying Around:
There are many great places to visit in Bali but my 6 day trip limited me on what I could see. Outside of the Legian/Kuta area the only place I visited was the Ubud and volcano near there. Bali is a volcanic island and Ubud is a mountainous oasis away from hustle bustle of south Bali, it's famous for its monkey forest, hindu temples and tranquil yoga retreats. The day I arrived in Ubud I paid hommage the apes that put the town on the map just before dusk. They're quite a spectacle. As you enter the monkey forest locals try to sell you a bunch of bananas to feed the monkeys, which I declined.  Their forest or home is on the grounds of an ancient hindu temple. These monkeys are the most human-like species I've ever seen. The elders look after and cuttle the young. They groom one another and seem to show effection for each other. However, the moment they sense food or something that may be food all hell breaks loose. When I entered to forest, I walked past a local woman who seemingly keeps the monkeys on their grounds with her broom, and then I saw a "hehe-ing" monkey attack an Aussie woman's plastic bag. They struggled over the bag for a few moments as the monkey persistently tugged as it swung from the bag until the woman finally gave in. The monkey then scaled a tree with bag in mouth as the woman pleaded, "give it back, there's no food in there just a statue", but the monkey ignored her and began to rip the bag and it's contents to shreads. As I continued through the temple the monkeys were hanging from people's shoulders and were perched on their heads grasping for the food they held as others snapped pics of their friends. The environment was incredible and also very intimidating. I felt that any minute these tiny monkeys could turn on me and tear me to shreads (I blame this fear on Dustin Hoffman and the movie Outbreak). Fortunately for me I was spared because at this time of day they seemed to be more interested in the people with food, grooming eachother, and making monkey love.

After the monkey business I found my way to what would become my new addiction, cheap hour massages. I went to a place some Slovenians staying in my hotel had recommended. For a little less than $10 I received the best 1 hour massage I'd ever had. Amazing! Afterwards, I made my way back to my simple accommodations ($15) and proceeded to sleep like a baby.

The next day my driver Rai (pronounced Ray) who had taken me to Ubud picked me up around 10 and we hit the road and ventured up to the cooler tempatures up through beautiful rice terraces and Kintamani Volcano. The most interesting part of this trip was Rai. He taught me a lot about the Balinese the simple wages that most made (maybe $200 per month if they were doing really well). He explained that they had no concept of holiday because a day not working meant a day they weren't earning. He also reminisced about the impact the bombings that had taken place about 10 and 4 years prior had on tourism, and how the decline in visitors put his previous business (selling statues and figures) into bankruptcy.  His new job as a driver meant that he lived about 100km away from his family and only visited them once every couple weeks. Apparently many men live in Kuta to work to earn wages to support their families in their home villages on other parts of the island. An interesting note on Indonesia is that everyone has access to education. However, I'm not clear for how many years they can attend, and unfortunately it seems that despite 'equal' access to education that corrupt government and business denies many the equal opportunities to succeed.

 Rice Terrace

Kintamani Volcano and Lake Batur

The volcano was beautiful and similar to the one on Maui except it has a lake next to it. Following the volcano I booked it back to Kuta for some more sun, massages and surf, and then on to Bangkok for a brief 24 hour layover...