by Azure

When we were in Thailand in 2006, I thought I had contracted Rabies. We were sitting at the port, waiting to be picked up and this golden lab came over to us and started looking at us, tail wagging. I had just spent $1200 getting all sorts of crazy vaccines and was super paranoid. The dog circled a few times, looking at me in particular. It finally made its approach from behind and came in for a lick. (read more)

by Mike

Since we intended to ride all over Southeast Asia & Europe on two wheels it was prudent to take Washington’s motorcycle safety course. So, the weekend before I left, I sat with four other guys in a classroom captained by a well-intending man who reminded me of Dr. Phil, though not quite as stern nor insightful.

In his introduction he explained that he loved helping people safely experience something that’s given him so much joy. But he especially loved getting to know his students. This was a safe zone. There would be no wrong answers, he emphasized.

That said, we jumped into it. “First off, can anyone tell me the greatest risk to motorcycles on the road?” The answers he wanted were pretty obvious – other cars, potholes, dangerous surfaces – but we were reluctant to raise our hands. I’ve met a lot of idiots, but maybe the biggest idiot I’ve met was in the class, and he finally spoke up:

“Crashing, it’s THE number one risk,” he said. “That’s factual.”

Everyone looked at this guy cockeyed trying to read if he was for real, meanwhile the instructor paused for an extraordinarily long time, perhaps taken by a chilling vision of the weekend to come. I was busy imagining what the guy thought lesser risks may be: currency devaluation, teen pregnancy or a housefire? All seem like risks, if you think big enough.

My list differed from the standard “SUVs and potholes” as well. Mine were: chickens darting into the road, rabid dogs going for your leg, hot grills crowding the street and child drivers. The instructor paused an extraordinarily long time, perhaps taken by a lovely vision of riding in Asia. The other students looked on in awe.

Yesterday, in Bali, we finally hit the road, and I was well-prepared for motorcycle safety in the third world. We rode through parts of Indonesia that reminded me of India – dirty markets, hectic streets and people dressed in drab clothes. Then we got to parts that were so remote that they didn’t remind me of anything I’ve seen before – we drove through tribal areas high on the hills where people still lived in thatched-roof huts and didn’t speak Indonesian (they spoke Balinese). Throughout the trip we had to avoid chickens, dogs, grills and child drivers.

If you’ve never encountered school children in the third world then you’re missing out. Dressed in government-issued uniforms, these kids went NUTS when they saw two white people coming down the road. They would scream “HELLO! HELLO!” and wave like miniature flight attendants on speed. Drive between two schools and you’re in a parade, waving to both sides and truly touched by the outpouring of love from the community. Azure and I screamed “HELLO! HELLO!” until we passed through, leaving the kids jacked up and incredulous: “Did you see those fucking white people!? That was awesome!” I turn to Azure on the bike, “Did you see how fucking cute those kids were!? That was awesome!” It’s genuinely exciting every time, the social version of bubble tea.

Another thrilling circumstance arose when we took a short cut and ended up lost on absolutely ruined roads, but we pulled smack into the middle of a Hindu town’s scooter-mounted holiday procession to a monkey forest. They were dressed in beautiful formal Hindu sarongs, button up shirts and head scarves. Some of the men had nice sandals and the women looked stunning. We figured out that they were headed the same direction, so we just continued among them, Az snapping photos from the back of the scooter. We chatted with a very nice young couple on the neighboring scooter as we pulled up behind a truck loaded with revelers standing in the bed and waving, “Hello!” And we smiled & waved back. The instructor wouldn’t have liked any of this.

When the group finally turned off toward the monkey forest, Azure and I were left quietly heading toward Ubud, eight-and-a-half hours into the day’s ride. Exhausted and sore-butted, we overshot the turn to Ubud by seven kilometers. At that point I doubted we would make it back to our hotel. But we did, eventually, and collapsed into bed to sleep at 8:30.

Sandal envy

by Mike & Nicole

This morning someone asked me if I was ok. I was fine, I just wasn’t smiling. Stoic, you know, to show I wasn’t taking their culture for granted, not treating it like an amusement park.

I hailed a cab to the train station and we immediately hit gridlock and it looked like I’d miss the train. Instead of stressing about it, I resigned myself to waiting in the station foyer for the next departure – I regretted having taken such a long walk up the side streets in the morning. But surprise! we got to the station in plenty of time. The best approach to the ordeal would have been harboring neither expectation nor regret, but just sitting in the cab watching.

On the train a young man sat across from me and stared out the window – his feet were very dirty, his hair hadn’t been cleaned in a long time, and he was unhealthily thin. He had a damaged blue backpack that was very simple, and through a tear a checkered blanket poked out. He was one of the city’s very poor. He looked at me and we smiled at each other. I realized that if I had chosen to be stoic, you know, to show I wasn’t taking their culture for granted, I would have robbed us both of a nice fleeting moment.

A man selling boiled peanuts walked by and I indicated I wanted a bag. He quoted me 20 Baht (60 cents) and a fellow seller threw him a look. I paid it, but I knew the price should have been 5 Baht. In years past I would have been upset getting cheated like that – “it’s the principle of the thing!” – but not so much anymore. First of all, I kinda consider it equalizing the monetary imbalance between our world and their world, like a tax on those who have won the birth place lottery. Second, I need to separate my money from my pride anyway. Finally, that guy is not intending to cause me any personal harm. He’s only trying to make his situation better in a way that’s relatively painless to me. I should be glad it’s so easy to help. (Of course it might be a different story if it ever happens in Norway.)

I was still thinking about the quality of smiling at the very poor young man across from me, and I decided I should start searching for things to smile about more often, which is very unnatural for me. So the train passed a bird sitting on the nose of a cow, and I pushed out a smile. There was a row of abandoned railway cars that had been turned into consecutive rooms of a person’s home (kitchen in one car, living area in another, bedroom in another), and I smiled.

When I got to Petchburi I looked for people to smile at. There was an old lady who stared at me as I picked my way down the street, and when I got to her I threw a big smile and her face exploded into a smile itself, the wrinkled map of her face being dramatically redrawn. It’s so different than mutual stoicism! So I tried it with everyone I passed, and it was a really nice way to walk through town.

I used to think that smiling at strangers was the last thing a person did before getting sucker-punched outside a bar, but now I’m reconsidering.

When reading the comments on various websites (like The Seattle Times, for example) I wish everyone who was about to post would take a second to ask themselves the following question: “What am I trying to make other people feel?” Many of them try to make other people feel bad intentionally, whether through direct insult, sarcasm or a subtle slight. If they asked themselves that question, hopefully they might pull back the comment and cleanse it of venom.

Point is that the flip side of that whole “What am I trying to make people feel?” thing would be the command, “Find something to smile about.”

God this sounds vacuous.

Top to bottom: The guys sitting on the ledge the day before, Mike at the cafe on the plaza in Sartene, Mike’s favorite dog, Me checking out some good ears, The scene, Beagles like to sleep on each other, The perfect valley

by Azure

Today, Sunday (actually now it is yesterday) we decided to make it a no scooting day. We have been riding from morning until night everyday since we got to Corsica. We’ve seen a ton and done some nice hikes, but it is exhausting after a week straight. Luckily, it is also the only day that it has rained hard since we got here. Perfect. In the morning we decided to go to mass, since we are staying in the church. It was my 4th time attending a church service and honestly I would describe it as “Same-same.”

After church, we went to the center square for coffee. We sat and wrote and hung out for a couple hours until lunch. We have been asking for recommendations from everyone about where to eat and so we went to a place that a couple people had mentioned. We sat down and the woman working was initially semi-kind to us. When we asked what something was and it was clear that we were not french, she was initially cold. We ordered the leg of lamb, brocciu cannelloni and a caraf of wine. We had been talking about how usually when we eat out, it is a little disappointing. We usually order a pasta that we could have made at home for a third of the price or a salad that is sub-par, but the food was delicious. All of it.

We were very content and by the time the dessert came, we were the only people in the restaurant. With much persistence and attempts at conversation, the woman finally came over to talk with us at length. The day before we had been driving back from the other side of the island and saw a bunch of men sitting on a ledge looking at something. We had stopped and asked what was going on and found out that they were hunting for wild boars. Apparently there were dogs in the valley chasing boars and they were waiting for them to return. We had gotten back on the scooter and around the next corner, there were probably 100 more guys and families doing the same thing. We had so many questions about this, but our usual market wasn’t open and so we had to ask elsewhere–thus the woman at the restaurant.

The woman at the restaurant ended up warming up to us. She eventually gave us her recipe for cream of limoncello, which she says she never gives out and answered all of our questions about the hunters. How many boars are out there? If there are 100 hunters and one boar, how do they not shoot each other? Who gets to keep the boar? and so on. It turns out that they aren’t actually hunting, they are just sending the dogs out to see which dogs are the best. It is actually more like a dog show. And, it only happens once a year. We had to go!

So, we got on the scooter even though we said we wouldn’t and rode the 45 minutes to a middle of nowhere town called Serragia through our favorite valley, which, when we rode through it for the first time, Mike remarked that it seemed out of a fantasy. Even with the gray day, the route was just as beautiful as it always is.

When we pulled in to the dog show, the scene was this…a lot of men dressed in camouflage gear hanging around talking to each other. To the left were 8 or so temporary dog pens. Each pen had a different team of dogs in it, each team was purebred, but the breeds of the teams were not the same. There were two teams of tall beagles, one of dachshunds, two hound looking breeds and two of the shaggy toy looking breeds. I really didn’t care about the ones that weren’t beagles or hounds. On the right side of the road there was a huge tent set up. Inside the tent, a guy was preparing mutton for 80, there were a few makeshift bars set up with help yourself liquor and there was also a guy outside selling handmade hunting knives. It was quite the scene and we stuck out immediately.

A woman walked by and asked if we were German. Everyone on Corsica thinks we’re German. Apparently a lot of Germans come here and (this is the good part) every time we tell them that we are actually Americans, they get really interested and are really nice to us. I don’t think many Americans come here and I think they are also happy about our new president. The woman showed immediate enthusiasm and out in the middle of Corsica in a town of about 40 people, we shared a moment of excitement about Obama.

One guy that was tending to the fire, a large burn pile that would later cook the food, came over and talked to us. He showed us around and made us feel comfortable in the tent, even though we were obviously outsiders and he explained things to us. The prize is not money or getting to keep the boar. Again, there is no actual boar caught during this weekend, but the price of your dogs if you win the competition goes up. He said one dog goes for at least E500. I know this is a lot of money, but seeing as though people spend $2,000 on yippy dogs in the States, I thought this was a good deal, I mean these dogs can find you a months worth of boar for your whole family.

After about 20 minutes and a stop at the candy cake he went back to the fire. We debated whether to stay for dinner or not, but decided that we wouldn’t be able to make the ride back in the dark after the meal. Our scooter skills are good, but we don’t like to push it too much. We drove back to town and then to our internet cafe. All the regulars were there and the bartender gave us free drinks again. It was a good day.