How Do You Get Little Kids to Warm Up to You, the Foreigner?

You give them your camera, that's how. Works every time.

Terror in the Skies

Nothing like realizing you're going home tomorrow to make you go "oh, I should really write about this trip." I've been busy people, living life!

 

Taking terrifying propeller flights from tiny cities in Mozambique to even tinier towns, for example. The beach in Mozambique where my friends Mark and Annie were a few years back is called Tofo. It's pronounced like Tofu for some strange reason but I don't judge because I call Roosevelt Rooooooosevelt, as you'll recall.

 

Anyways Mark and Annie described this place like a paradise and such a lovely break from grueling overland travel through Africa in such a way that made me really want to go there. You can scuba dive with whale sharks and manta rays, you can surf, you can have $5 lobsters on the beach, etc.

 

The only problem with Tofu is that it's a nine hour bus ride from Maputo (pronounced Maputu) and that's like 9 hours in Africa-hot weather, with 100 people in a 15 seater bus. And so I decided it would be better to just take a flight from Maputoto to Tofo.

 

The only Mozambican airline is called LAM (owned 50% by the president of course) and the South Africans have nicknamed it "late and maybe". In fact my flight to Tofo was delayed by four hours, and the only reason I knew that is because the woman checking me in sort of half-mentioned it off the cuff after she had taken my bag. The Maputo airport was quite a confusing place, actually. I tried to get some wifi so I could call some friends to take me for a coffee on my delay but nobody will let you use their wifi, not even LAM after they delay your flight for four hours. The LAM lounge is called Flamingo. It's for business class only and it's completely empty. I weaseled my way in there, even after the rude woman told me that it would be too dangerous to let me sit in the lounge because "what if I have to leave my desk?" She kicked me out after ten minutes but the wifi wasn't working anyway. ANYWAY I basically sat in the airport for four hours without wifi or even a book because they took my bag and then I had to take this plane and OMG it was scary:

 

 

Never a good sign when the cockpit is open to the rest of the plane. No word on whether the pilot wore crocs.

 

 

 

Japolite

I fell in love with Japan almost immediately and I still haven't figured out if it was because I had just come from India which makes Japan seem even cleaner, and more sanitary, and more polite. Do you know why the Japanese wear surgical masks? Not because they're afraid of getting sick. But because they're sick and they're afraid of getting YOU sick. Lovely people.

 

But this? This takes it too far:

 

 

It took me three stores to figure out that these cloth bags go over your head so when you try on clothes you don't get make up on them.

I Put My Finger On It

I was very underwhelmed when I saw the Spring 2013 Chanel Campaign in Vogue. Something about it didn't feel "fresh" or "new", and I couldn't help but feel that I had seen it somewhere before.

 

 

 

Then it hit me. The image is startlingly close to a Campaign that Summer and I did in Winter 2012 when we had to sleep on a table in a train station in Northern India:

 

 

 

Chanel is going to hear from my lawyer. (1-800-Ask-Gary.) What do you think, do I have a case?

Mostar, Bosnia

Take a look at this great video about the Stari Most bridge in Mostar, Bosnia. It connects two sides of the town, historically Muslim on one side and Christian/Jewish on the other. It's such a great little town with such a sad, horrible history.

 

Flight of the Mostari from DGA Productions on Vimeo.

 

Ross and I visited Mostar last year.

View from the bridge. Mosques on one side, churches and synagogues on the other.

 

It's very exciting to see the jumpers. If you hang around long enough, somebody eventually does it. It should be mentioned that silly tourists try it all the time and a lot of people die. It is very dangerous. Our host used to jump but he and his brother quit some years ago when his brother cracked his nuts on the water and couldn't walk for a couple of weeks.

 

Speaking of nuts...

Ha ha!

A jumper!

European Tour

For anybody who was wondering exactly where and how Ross and I made our way around Europe last fall, I made a little map.

We flew in to London, rented a car and drove all over England (where Ross had to flush for me)

From there, it was:

• Bus to Paris (where I accidentally went to Amelie's cafe and finally saw the Eiffel Tower)
• Bus to Berlin, Germany 
• Bus to Krakow, Poland (where I cooked at the hostel)
• Train to Bratislava (missed our stop and had to go to Budapest)
• Train to Budapest, Hungary
• Train to Ljubjana, Slovenia (where the toilets flush right onto the tracks)
• Train to Split, Croatia
• Bus to Dubrovnik, Croatia
• Bus to Kotor Bay, Montenegro (where I kayaked and later got dumped by the kayak man)
• Train to Mostar, Bosnia
• Train to Sarajevo, Bosnia (where I bartended)
• Train to Belgrade, Serbia
• Train to Sofia, Bulgaria
• Bus to Istanbul, Turkey (where I ate two fish sandwiches because I'm a pig)
• Bus to Cappadocia, Turkey (when the mean man wouldn't let me recline my seat)

In two months, we spent every minute of every day together. We went to 15 countries. And we only had one kind-of fight (and it was because I was very tired and crabby). And we're still cousins and more importantly we're still friends. I think that's pretty cool.

ENJOY THE MAP

Map!

Backpackers. But Not on Purpose.

Summer and I both started our trip like fancy ladies in Europe, what with the wheeled suitcases and cute outfits. And then India happened. You can't really wheel a suitcase through India. Sometimes you can, but mostly you can't. So the backpacks happened. (I bought mine in Istanbul and sent my wheeled suitcase home with cousin Ross and she bought hers in Mumbai and threw her nasty wheeled suitcase in the garbage can.) Wearing every last piece of warm clothing layered five and six times on our bodies happened. Freezing train rides happened and the subsequent necessary buying of blankets and then wearing those blankets as clothes happened.

I'm embarrassed to admit that it never occurred to me that it would ever be cold in India. Well. We froze in the hill town of Ooty and the bus rides that took us to and from, we froze in Bangalore, and we froze somewhere between Mumbai and Jodhpur and every day after that. So basically half the time we were in India it was not "India hot", but rather "wet cold". As a result of this ignorance, I sent home most of my cold weather gear inside of the wheeled suitcase I sent home with Ross. I figured I'd be in Nepal for just a week and would only need a couple of things and I could always buy stuff there.

Oh, Nepal. Freezing, freezing Nepal. It's not like you can escape the cold by going in your heated hotel room and taking a warm shower. There is no heat. There is no warm water. And it's not like you have warm pajamas for 30 degree nights (0 Celsius) with no heat in your room. So there is no changing your clothes for bed. I wore all of my clothes at one time all day long and slept in them too -- 24/7. The outfit you see in the photo below did not leave my body for the last four weeks of my trip. I changed my underwear every once in a while and that's about it.

On Returning to Minnesota...

Somewhere in India, I had an incredible epiphany about my return to Minnesota. I woke up with a start and told Summer:

"When I get home, I'm going to dye my hair Platinum. I'm going to get a pair of dark denim Wranglers, like crispy dark denim. Total cowgirl style. Also I'm going to stage a photo with my parents in their bed. I'm going to be in the middle, all excited and my dad is going to be rolling his eyes and my mom is going to be peacefully asleep."

 

1 down, 2 to go.

 

 

 

WATCH THIS:

Seriously, I couldn't be more proud of this seven-minute video than if I had been the one who spent fifty plus hours learning how to use iMovie and then trimming, cutting and editing literally hours and hundreds of video clips, adding music, looping that music and then doing it (!), but then accidentally deleting the whole thing and having to do it all over again like Summer did.

Anyway, here's our three month trip, in seven minutes, set to the perfect song.

Bad Girls from Summer Grimes on Vimeo.

Give the Gift of Silly Pants!

When I wrote about silly pants in India I got a comment from a favorite reader and loyal friend whom I love to death. She said she thought they were really cute, so Summer and I bought her a pair for a little souvenir from our trip. You may recognize them from the post I did about the Creepy Starers on the train, pictured below on the left. Turns out they're not only a dual purpose skirt/pants, they also make great Creepy Starer protection!

 

 

Well, she loved them! And we loved her Thank You email. I got her permission to copy it in its entirety for your reading pleasure:

 

Hi Kady & Summer...

I received my silly pants today!! Thank you so much!! I was so hoping you guys would send me a pair. I went out to get the mail and when I saw the package was from you two, I said, "oh, pleaaasssseee let it be silly pants"..I really did. I was so excited and I tore open the package and then I said, "yeah, silly pants". I was on my way to the Dr. and I didn't have time to try them on. But, tonight..I put them on and here's how it went.

I had on a turquoise sweater, so they didn't match color wise or material-wise. My sweater looked too warm with them. When I first put them on, I went to my full length mirror to look at the fit, and I swear, it looked like I had this huge penis hanging down. With a raised eyebrow and a "huh?" I tucked the fabric back and then I turned around and looked in the mirror at my rear. It looked like an elephant butt with huge testicles hanging at the back of my knees. I said, "oh, these are silly pants. They sure didn't fit Summer & Kady like this in their pictures." I thought, I really probably won't ever wear these.Then something magical happened. I removed my sweater and put on a soft sports bra that I sleep in as pajamas. I turned around and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I caught my own attention and I said, "WHAT?"...I actually looked pretty sexy and really hot. And when you look sexy, what do you do? You start dancing and posing. So, I was doing the, Look Like An Egyptian Dance...I started posing in all different figurations. And then I thought...I should put on some really high heals and pose in these Egyptian poses and take some photos and send to the girls. I want them to know how much fun I'm having in these silly pants and how much I appreciate them and how ridiculously sexy I look. Anyway, then I said, "yeah, but if I do, they probably will do some 'clogging' about it and post these photos on 'that way tube thing'. So, I decided to brush my teeth and while I was doing so, I continued to dance like an Egyptian and like Jeannie in I Dream Of Jeannie, all in front of the mirror. It was then I also remembered that the silly pants were from India and not Egypt. It was also at that time that I decided I WOULD wear these silly pants. Where, you ask? I'm not sure. But be assured, I will rock them!

Love you guys,

"R"*

The moral of the story? COMMENT ON MY BLOG. THERE MAY BE BLING IN IT FOR YOU.

*not her real name.

 

"I'm on Vacation!"

Both Summer and I slept about 15 hours for four days in a row when we first got to Nepal. However I was the first to get up and get going in the afternoon. Which made me better than her, and less lazy of course. So when the breakfast waiter asked me where she was, and I replied that she was "still sleeping", I loved his reply to me, (who had just woken up at 1pm):

 

"Your friend sleep? Very long time."

 

Sadly, this is the only photo I got of Summer sleeping. So lazy!

 

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"Hash?"

Traveling through India as women hardened both Summer and me into almost unrecognizably mean versions of ourselves.

 

Summer even punched a man.

 

After leaving India, our new and more horrible selves traveled through Nepal. On two separate occasions, while innocently window shopping on the streets of Kathmandu, out of the blue I was sidled up to from behind by a gross dirty stinky man hissing in my ear, "You want some hash?" and both times, I jumped right out of my skin, as if they had hissed "BOO!" (It didn't help that he said it in Gollum's voice.)

 

"You want some hash?"

 

 

I decided if it ever happened again and if I had the frame of mind to do it, I was going to punch the next guy. Why in the heck would you scarily approach a woman from behind and hiss into her ear? I was going to take it upon myself to teach the lessons of decency to the gross dirty stinky men of the world. Ladies like Kady Hexum do not appreciate being approached in that way, nor would they be buying any HASH "from the likes of YOU, Thank-You-Very-Much."

 

Well, it happened a third time. And I was prepared for it. I steeled myself, spun around, and wound up to flatten him. What I saw in his hand stopped me instantly. And in that millisecond, my mind replayed what he really had said:

 

"Tiger Balm?"

 

You got lucky this time, Poor Tiger Balm Salesman; you got real lucky.

 

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Miyajima Island

Just outside of Hiroshima, Japan, there's a beautiful little island called Miyajima that's totally worth a visit. It takes about an hour from the A-Bomb site, but it's an easy tram ride. And if you're like me, you can totally snooze open-mouthed and snoring and get woken up by the tram driver and you're there!

 

And then you get to take a ferry! (I love ferries.)

 

 

Upon arrival to Miyajima, the first thing you'll see are the zillions of deer walking around willy nilly. I saw little kids petting them and so I figured it might be OK, but you know, deer are vicious creatures and I couldn't be certain it wouldn't turn and maul me so I played it safe.

 

Vicious!

This torii gate at high tide appears to float on the water.

 

I was traveling with a couple of dudes from Australia, and we decided to meet at the island and hike up Mt. Misen. It's only a couple kilometers up and back down, but the guidebooks said it takes four hours to do it round trip. We decided we didn't have enough time before dark and so we took the cable car most of the way up, hiked to the summit and then RAN back down.

Hilarious!

View from the rope way. (Cable Car.)

As if I hadn't just ridden the cable car 80% of the way up.

 

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Frozen Bike Ride in Kyoto

Do you feel sorry for all these people I force to take my photo?

 

I had romantic visions of riding bicycle on my entire trip through Eastern Europe, Sri Lanka, and India. And why shouldn't I? I became quite the hipster cyclist wannabe last summer in Minneapolis.

Well, it didn't quite work out that way and I only ended up going for one sad little hour-long ride in Nepal. One ride in almost five months. Pathetic! So in Kyoto, Japan when I saw a flyer in the hostel lobby for $2 off the $8 daily rate I agreed to it in my mind before I even considered the weather. Or the walking distance from my hostel to the rental shop. Who cared? I had nothing else to do.

Ooh I froze. Well, I had no socks. Or rather, I refused to wear the sneakers which had become attached to my feet in India and Nepal with their human feces-exteriors. I was determined to try to look a tiny bit cuter in Japan. No sneakers meant either flip flops or ballet flats, which could not EVER be worn with anything but the tiny little socks you wear inside to keep your feet from stinking.

Yah. Sneakers would have totally ruined this look.

 

Aside from the freezing weather, I had a blast and saw lots of Kyoto's sights. I went to my first Starbucks since leaving the US and saw the man with the extreme combover picking his nose. I went to the Imperial Palace but couldn't tour it because I didn't have a reservation. But that was OK because I rode all around their gorgeous gardens and I saw a man having a picnic with his cat and that made my day.

Then I rode up to the Kinkaju-Ji (the Golden Pavilion) and at a stoplight on the way met a handsome American on a bicycle who asked if I was on vacation. When I said yes, he said he lived here and then rode off. Well la-di-da.

Ooh my feet were cold. I stopped in a few gift shops on the way looking for socks. I was cold enough not to care anymore about socks inside ballet flats. Every pair was Hello Kitty and $10. Highway robbery!

The Kinkaju-Ji was fantastic. Absolutely gorgeous. I hung out there forever and imagined myself walking around in there in wooden shoes and a kimono 500 years ago.

 

After that I rode down to another pagoda and the TV tower and another temple and in the end I think I rode for a total of five hours. It was weird, because it took me about an hour to figure out that Kyoto drivers do not want bikes on the road. You're supposed to ride on the sidewalk! Totally illegal in Minnesota. But, when in Rome...

 

 

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Flush and Brush

In Kathmandu, Nepal, Summer and I contacted some friends of friends and were invited for dinner. We hit it off and stayed up laughing and talking way too late and ended up spending the night. In the morning, we had to get back to our hostel and get Summer off to the airport for her flight to London.

But somebody was knocking at my back door. Hard. I didn't want to use their toilet, because their bathroom had a one foot space on top of the door and so even with the door shut, it was technically open. And everybody was just outside the bathroom finishing up breakfast. But, I had no choice. It was urgent.

Actual photo of their bathroom.

 

I did my best and deepest squat and against my preference proceeded to make embarrassing toilet noises. (When that happens to me my defense strategy is to laugh, in case anybody heard and then at least they'll know that I thought it was funny and am not trying to hide it.)

Then I flushed. The slow trickle of water was no match. Nothing.

I flushed again.

At this point I had no choice but to yell out to my hosts: "What do I do? It won't go down!"

Their response, in unison: "FLUSH AND BRUSH!"

I looked in the corner and saw the blue brush next to the toilet. (You can see it in the above photo.) I flushed. And I brushed. And I washed the turd down.

 

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The Red Gates in Kyoto

...or in Japanese: the Fushimi Inari. I was excited to visit this shrine not only to see the thousands of Red Gates, but also because it included a 4k round trip hike to the top of a mountain made up almost entirely of stairs. I was still 47 pounds short of my weight loss goal for the wedding I would be attending as soon as I got back home to Minneapolis, and I figured with this and a bike ride around Kyoto, I should have that covered.

I was told to expect 2.5 hours to make the loop all the way to the top of the mountain and back. But I didn't have that much time so I moved quickly. Much like most responsible Everest Summit groups before me (which I learned by recently reading Into Thin Air by John Krakauer), I established a drop dead turn around point. If I hadn't made it to the top by a certain time, I would have to start my descent, no matter how close I was to my goal. Fortunately, I made it to the top with time to spare. On my way back I came across many tired tourists on their way up as I ran, ran, ran down the mountain.

With a renewed surge of energy, I would taunt them (never even knowing if they spoke English) with such heckles as "What's the matter? No energy?" or "Tired already?" As I Sally-O'Malley-one-two punched the air next to them! and then kicked!

One kid laughed and laughed and then said, "you look hung-a-ree!"

A few photos:

Spectacular views of the city are not done justice with this photo.

Of course I had to do a #hexumhat

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Fashionista She Ain't.

I have never been "good at fashion". I come from the very northern part of Minnesota, from a very poor family and nobody taught me. I had clothes of course. (You know, "BOXES of Esprit clothes under the steps".) And my mom always dressed us pretty cute when we were little. But like, fashion. It's never been my strong point.

I'm also not very "good at packing". So you can imagine how my outfits come together when traveling. In fact, they don't. When I left for my first extended travel trip, what I shoved in my backpack ended up being essentially what didn't sell at my garage sale. So it was a mish mosh of items that made no sense. Tops that didn't go with any bottoms. Three pairs of jeans, but traveling exclusively in tropical climates. That kind of thing.

I ended up wearing things like this in public: (I guess you never know when you'll need to start running.)

Exhibit A.

A few weeks after the above photo was taken I arrived to Singapore, where it was incredibly hot and sweaty. I went shopping at a store in Little India and ended up buying several new shirts and dresses. "Burn this," I told the shopkeep, throwing my yellowed-armpit white t-shirt at him as I strutted out of his store, head held high. I loved everything! I was amazed that just $100 could make me feel so good about myself. I met up with Summer a few days later in Thailand and she made so much fun of everything I bought. When I looked at my new clothes through her eyes, I was humiliated. It was true that I purchased everything because I thought their fabrics looked 'cool' ('cool' as in 'less sweaty'), and didn't really realize that everything was pretty ugly. See exhibits B and C:

 

Exhibit B.

Exhibit C.

 

To prepare for my current trip and determined not to make the same mistakes, I enlisted the help of a friend who manages a J. Crew to help me pick out some stuff so I wouldnt look so dorky. And I think she did a great job. For the most part in Europe, I felt OK. Cute, even.

 

When I left for hot, hot India, I sent all my cute cold-weather clothes home with my cousin Ross, but then it got cold and I regretted the decision almost immediately. I only had one pair of pants and two sweaters and ended up wearing them for three weeks in northern India and Nepal:

 

I resolved to spend my first day in Japan to buy at least one cute outfit. I picked up some really cute checkered pants. I saw an orange down coat that looked very attractive to me at the time because I was so cold. I couldn't tell if I liked it or hated it, but I put it on and it was so warm. I left the store and decided I hated it. It was cute, but wasn't the coat of a 35-year-old woman, and certainly not the coat I wanted to leave Japan with.

I walked around Tokyo feeling embarrassed, but toasty warm. And then this happened:

 

 

 

 

 

I give up.

 

 

 

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