Muay Thai, Muay Thai, Muay Thai, Muay Thai......

Thai boxing is advertised in the most eye and ear catching was known to man, which makes it most possibly the most obnoxious fashion as well. Trucks with skinny Thai boxers inside a ring constructed on the roof tool around the streets in Phuket, belching the same short message continuously until you scream it out loud when you're woken abruptly from a horrible nightmare, which may indeed have involved Thai boxing. Not that I am particularly inclined to enjoy violence whether some may dub it a "sport" or not, but when our dive instructor Neil informed us that another instructor Tom was fighting on Tuesdays match, I was game to support the guy and get a little culture. The audience was almost evenly split between Thais and farang (foreigners) groups jovially interspersed, but the overall feeling was friendly bloodlust, if such a thing exists. The boxers enter with flowers draped around their necks and a stiff rope around their heads, bowing at each post of the ring, paying homage to any number of causes, their opponent, ancestors, the king ( side note- I was recently told that the king of Thailand is the most supported King alive today. He has a 99.5% approval rating.) Thai boxing style is, from my untrained eye, similar to the western style, except it involves kicking and "other crazy shit", quote from my friend Jesper. I was wincing and scrunching up my face up until Tom climbed into the ring, then I was an uncool parent trying out their child's video game, bobbing and punching at the air while offering general curses and cheers. In the end, Tom was robbed.

Jacqueline Cousteau

Trying to maneuver in zero gravity is trickier than I imagined, no matter the nudging of the currents of the ocean. After a few painful hours of videos created by the same filmmakers who provided the world with sex-ed and drivers training movies, we were trusted to bob about in the two meter deep pool at our dive resort on the island of Koh Tao, where more people are SSI and PADI certified than anywhere else in the world.. We don out heavy turtle shells and wobble into the deep end. The most unnerving moment for me is the moment your face drops below the surface. Although you've got your Darth Vadar device in place, the simple concept of breathing down there seems silly, wrong eve. So I prepare myself for the thirty minutes with a feeble deep breath and wet the crown of my head. In the water, the breathing kicks up again, but I have to relearn how to do something that I never really had to learn in the first place. First I try to inhale and exhale through my nose, which causes the mask to suck up against my face then pooch out, allowing water to seep in. Once that is down pat, its on to the difficult task of trying to maintain neutral buoyancy. The goal is the be able to sit yogi like, legs crossed, underwater, rising and falling a few inches from the sand in sync with your calm breath. Yeah, well, calm is the key word here, isn't it? My ragged breath during our first dive in the ocean (with all those fish and coral and currents and stuff) causes me to yo-yo around the reef, my wonderful instructor Neil gazing up at me helplessly, urging me to breath smoothly. A rudimentary grasp on buoyancy gives way to glee that I am weightless, and I proceed with the common "its my first time underwater" acrobatics, one armed handstands, aerial spins and the like. With increased movement comes rapid breathing, which, at one slightly terrifying moment, causes my regulator( the mouth piece that is attached to my oxygen mask) to dislodge ever so slightly from my lips. In a mater of seconds, I forget how to clear my mouth of the sea water that has leaked in, and panicking from a lack of air, I open my mouth even further. At this moment, we are 18 meters or 30 feet underwater, so going up is not a particularly inviting option, considering the possibility of decompression sickness, like the bends. I manage to swim downwards to the instructors assistant, whose fin I tug on urgently. We stare at each other until Neil pushes over and reminds me of the basics. The regulator clears my mouth of water, I begin to breathe again (very quickly, but breathing nonetheless) and Neil takes my hand for a short swim around the purple corals, the lull of the fishy movements dropping my heart rate. Still alive and kickin' folks, alive and kickin'.

Ahh, memories.

This is going to be painful folks, but I feel a re-cap of the past six months (I celebrated my anneversay last monday) is necessary, like the painful finale fo season one, soon to be folllowed by seadson two. I'm giving you the best of, like a tacky peoples magazine or a cop-out Simpsons episode. besides, maybe I won't have to answer so many "what was your favorite..." questions when I get back in, gasp, 180 days. Truth be told however, I am gonna bore the shit out of all of you with story after boring story about my tales. Never you mind.

Ode to Six Months.

My favorite destinations- Stone Town, Zanzibar, Tanzania. Nagarkot, Nepal. Hoi An Vietnam.
My worst trips- 1st night on a bus from Udaipur to Jaisalmer, India, before I became accustomed to constant honking and lurching bus turns. Throwing up on the boat ride from Zanzibar to mainland Tanzania.
Favorite locals- Justin Leslie, South Africa. Vikram Singh, India. Bikash Gurung, Nepal.
Best food- Eating spicy mutton with chappati, overlooking the lake just outside of Udaipur, India, from the second story of a half built house. Street food in any country. Christmas dinner with the sister, hot pot in a swanky restaurant on Railay beach.
Being overwhelmed with culture- Angkor Wat, Cambodia. Taj Mahal, India. Apartheid Museum, South Africa.
Being overwhelmed with nature- the Kraal, South Africa. Mt Kilimanjaro, Tanzania. Desert outside of Pakistan, India. Halong Bay, Vietnam.
Best sunsets- 1st night in the Maasai Mara National Park, Kenya. Riding in the bed of a truck from Ko Chang to Trat, Thailand. Setting over the fort in Bundi, India.
Favorite dishes- Malai Kofta, India, Buff Momo, Nepal, Papaya salad, Thailand. Fish Amok, Cambodia. Cao Lau, Vietnam.
Worst meal- Pho outside of Siem Reap, Cambodia. "Pizza" in Varanasi, India. (Never'll do that again- foreign food.)
Best hotel- Jasailmer, India. Dalat, Vietnam.
What am I missing?

Christmas with the bood

Welcomed my sister Megan into my travels for the holiday season, which is said to be a heart-wrenching time for travellers. It was a surreal Christmas, complete with a thai massage, a mai tai, and a short, exceedingly thin thai santa. Railay beach, per recommendation by some friends I've met along the way, is a rock climbers heaven. While our long boat is still quite a ways from shore, you can see the limestone face peppered with climbers. When you're climbing, you're face is practically buried in the side of the cliff, but when you reach the top ring and turn to face your accomplishments, you understand why Railay beach rates among the best rock climbing location in the world. I am far from the first to climb this rock. There is practically a line forming below each climb, and every good foothold and grasping hold is caked with the white powder which keeps ones hands dry in the humid climate. Placing legs impossible distances apart, I twister my way up and bang, I'm in love with rock climbing.