TEACH YOURSELF TO DRIVE STICK SHIFT IN 20 EASY STEPS!

1. First, determine that you want to take a four-day road trip around the north of Argentina, or as they call it, “el Norte.” Apparently the landscape is beautiful, the wine is cheap and plentiful, and it’s the most Andean part of Argentina. Determine that the best way to do this is by renting a car. All the guidebooks will tell you it’s the best way to get around: on your own time, with your own itinerary. We chose to start from the home-base of Salta, head south to Cafayete for some wine tasting, then head north again to Cachi via some beautiful rugged terrain, and ultimately wind up north of Salta in the Jujuy province to see the “Salinas Grandes” salt flats. By the way, “Jujuy” is pronounced like this: “HOY-HOY!!” That’s how we should all answer our phones from now on – “Hoy-Hoy!…May I ask who’s calling?…Just a minute, please…AMY! IT’S YOUR PAROLE OFFICER – THE ANKLE BRACELET’S COMING OFF!!”

2. Having settled on renting a car, rent a vehicle from one of the local agencies. In doing this, find out that you really only have two options: pay an arm and a leg for a 4×4 automatic SUV, or go on the cheap with an older, smaller Renault manual transmission vehicle with nearly 100,000 kilometers on it. We chose the latter, from Avis, because Amy’s a member, and because I’m…thrifty.

3. BIG STEP: Realize you’re nearly 46 years old and have only successfully driven a manual transmission car ONCE, in college, under circumstances you would rather not get into for legal and ethical reasons, but suffice it to say that people needed to get home, and you were the most sober, and it was mostly downhill, on empty streets, in a farming community in Ohio.

4. Pick up the car at the local Salta airport. Drive the car around the parking lot for twenty minutes, trying to get the feel for things. Stall out repeatedly while trying to get into first gear. Do this in front of the taxi stand, the police post, the long term parking booth, and once or twice in front of the Avis office itself. Smell the clutch burning. Smell your forehead burning. Successfully put the car into gear three or four times (non-consecutively) over the course of twenty minutes. Decide that with this 15% success rate of putting the car in gear, it’s time to hit the open road, in a foreign country, in a language you can barely speak.

5. Pull up to the airport gate. Wait for the arm of the gate to go up. Close your eyes and shift into first. Slowly let the clutch out. Stutter and jump forward a bit. As the car shakes, it slowly moves forward, and…you’re in gear. Continue to drive forward and hope you don’t have to stop for the next 180 kilometers.

6. Find out 10 seconds later that you’re at a red light. Cars pull up behind you. Slowly let out the clutch and start hitting the gas. Stall out.

7. Hit another ten or so red lights before getting on any highway of sorts. Stall out once or twice, and one time, let out the clutch so fast while jamming the gas pedal, that you chirp the tires, burn rubber, and nearly fishtail through a busy intersection.

8. After a mostly uneventful journey of 180 or so kilometers on country roads, shifting through the upper gears, pull into your first destination, Cafayete. Navigate the town, and the gears, with passable skill. Pull into a parking spot and thank Jesus. Feel what Jim McKay called “the thrill of victory!” Check into your hotel.

9. Having checked into the hotel, decide to explore town and see a few of the local wineries. Get in the car, turn the ignition…and realize you have no idea how to put the car in reverse to get out of your parking spot. Feel what Jim McKay called “the agony of defeat.”

10. Have your wife get out of the car and stop a local gentleman about 70 years old or so who’s been busy taking photos of the lovely colonial square you’re parked on. Explain to this confused older man, in terribly broken Spanish, that you have no idea what you’re doing and, by the way, how do you put the damn car in reverse? Explain that it’s your first time driving stick (thinking better than to discuss in broken Spanish about that one time in college). Explain that you’re actually doing pretty good going forward, but going in reverse has become a new and quite timely challenge.

11. Have the gentleman lean in the car, through the open window, and show you that you have to pull up on the stick to put it in reverse. Get excited about this newfound information, which most high-school kids know. While he’s still leaning in the open window, take your foot off the clutch. Have the car jolt backwards a few feet, with the older gentleman still waist deep in your driver’s side window, still holding his expensive German-made camera. Apologize profusely. Have a few laughs, and a handshake of gratitude. For the first time ever, at nearly age 46, drive a manual transmission car in reverse.

12. The next day, drive 150 kilometers to Cachi. Drive through the following terrain:

Do this while driving an economy-sized French-made manual transmission vehicle that you haven’t really mastered. Learn that going up steep, rocky grades requires something called “down-shifting.” Stall out numerous times in very awkward locations, and several times, roll the car backward, in neutral, to a point where you can put the car in first gear without flying off a mountain road, killing you and your wife.

13. Drive over 100 kilometers on a one-lane gravel road. Feel every bump, every jolt, and every rock at every turn. Know that at some point, you will come face-to-face with an oncoming truck, and you will have to back up, or slow down, or come to a complete stop on a surface that you would rather not back up, slow down, or come to a complete stop on.

14. Be reminded by your wife, on several occasions, to stay on the right side of the road. Realize that the last four months of your life (which included car rentals in South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand), you’ve driven on the left. Keep hitting the windshield washer instead of the turn indicator.

15. Stop to take a picture of a mountain. Stall out. Stop to take a picture of a cactus. Stall out. Stop to take a picture of a 200 year-old church. Stall out, restart the car, and stall out again. Stop to take pictures of some goats. Stall out again. Realize the toughest part of your learning stick shift is not the actual shifting, it’s the “taking the car out of gear” part when you stop.

16. Pull into an old pueblo town for lunch. Stall out, three times, in front of the police station, with the police laughing at you. This is what’s called “a confidence builder.” Drive on to Cachi and spend the night.

17. The next day, leave Cachi, and head towards Salta, and eventually Jujuy (“Hoy-Hoy!…May I ask who’s calling?…Just a minute, please…AMY! IT’S THE PROCOTOLOGIST – YOUR LAB RESULTS ARE BACK!!”). Climb a 10,000-foot mountain pass covered in snow. Yes, snow. Deal with snow, treacherous road conditions, and narrow mountain roads while finally figuring out how to “down-shift” on the uphills. Cross the mountain pass and start your descent. Only stall out once or twice.

18. While descending down the winding, single-lane mountain road, this is the best opportunity for your accelerator to GET STUCK. I’m serious! Like a scene in a James Bond movie, this is where your accelerator will become stuck on a narrow, winding, unpaved, snowy mountain road and your car will decide (against your wishes) that “cruise control” is now mandatory; that without STANDING on the brakes, your car would prefer to go over 100kph downhill; and that the only way for you to escape death is to turn on your hazards, put in the clutch, turn off the car, and coast to the safest place you can find without getting killed by a passing motorist. Turn the car on and off a few times, with the RPM gauge jumping to 5000rpm every time, and revving like it’s about to explode. Pump the gas pedal when the car’s off, hoping to “unstick” something, and try driving again, even with the engine revving. Do this repeatedly, driving each time until the car is going at an unsafe speed, about 200 meters down the road from when you last turned off the car. After traveling this way for about a kilometer and continually turning the car on and off, get lucky, and have the car only rev to 2000rpm at one point. Drive like this, cautiously, for the next 70 kilometers until you get to Salta. This includes sitting at several stoplights with engine revving like you want to drag race the horse cart next to you; and putting the car into high gear while in dense traffic so the engine doesn’t wind out too loudly, scaring the local stray dogs and empanada vendors.

19. Drive immediately to the Avis car rental at the airport. Tell the Avis agent about your latest brush with death. Switch cars. Breathe a sigh of relief.

20. After three days and roughly sixteen hours of difficult driving, eventually reach Jujuy (“Hoy-Hoy!…May I ask who’s calling?…Just a minute, please…AMY! IT’S YOUR MOM – SHE FOUND YOUR TROLL DOLL COLLECTION!!”). Realize that with some hiccups along the way, you can now drive stick, and that with a few more days of practice, you’ll probably be pretty comfortable and pretty confident. Take a modicum of pride. Stall out at the stoplight in front of your hotel, while the teenagers laugh at you.

POSTSCRIPT:

The following day, we drove from Jujuy (“Hoy-Hoy!…May I ask who’s calling?…Just a minute, please…AMY! IT’S YOUR ACCOUNTANT – YOU CAN’T WRITE OFF DYE JOBS AS A BUSINESS EXPENSE!!”) to the Salinas Grandes salt flats. This took us two hours through a nearly 14,000 foot mountain pass with huge switchbacks and precipitous drops. It was scary as hell. But it was also thrilling. And the best part was that I was able to navigate it without too many problems. Down-shifting came naturally, I’ve had no problems going in reverse, and I may have stalled out only once pulling out of an scenic overlook. I still forget to put the clutch in when stopping, so we’ve had a bunch of very jolting stops when parking, but all-in-all it was a good day. Now that we’re back in Salta, and we’ve dropped off the car, I think I pretty much have it down – just enough to forget entirely when we’ve got an automatic in Europe.

This is a story about, well…poop. And for that I am sorry. Reader discretion is advised.

This poop story all started a little over a month ago, when Amy and I embarked on a sixteen-day safari across southern Africa. We traveled through South Africa, Zimbabwe, and Botswana. We traveled in a big red safari truck. We camped in tents. We saw elephants, zebras, giraffes, hippos, and much more. And it was awesome.

Things kicked off one very early pre-dawn morning in Johannesburg, South Africa, where we met our guides, Big Jeff and Little Jeff, of South Africa and Zimbabwe respectively. Big Jeff, who was more the logistics man, detailed how life would be: sharing tents, sharing cooking and cleaning duties, and sharing a safari vehicle that he dubbed “The Flying Red Elephant.”

We also met our fellow campers – eight friendly Germans (who spoke considerably better English than we spoke German – sorry Frau Champagne), and a young couple, Paula (from Argentina) and Andre (from Italy) who now live in Calgary.

Little Jeff, who held an encyclopedic knowledge of African flora and fauna, gave us the first day’s itinerary – our first “briefing,” as he called it. We’d drive for six to seven hours, and spend that first afternoon looking for Africa’s “Big Five” in Kruger National Park. Along the way, we’d need to stop for fuel, and we could get some snacks. And then Little Jeff introduced the running theme of the trip: if needed, we could stop to go “Bushy Bushy.” This was Little Jeff’s term for the call of nature. For the rest of the trip, no one ever spoke of bathrooms, or restrooms, or toilets. From then on, it was always “Booshy-Boosh!!”

After a long days journey, we arrived in Kruger National Park in northeast South Africa, where over the course of two days, we would do a number of game drives. It was a great introduction. We saw several elephants, up close, including one who trumpeted at us. We saw giraffes, and zebras, and baboons, plus a ton of impala. You see so much impala in southern Africa, you get sick of them sometimes.

At one point, the Flying Red Elephant began to swerve, and with it, we passengers were tossed around. Little Jeff stuck his head through the cab window and explained: “Our driver, Big Jeff, is a model of conservation. We won’t even run over the elephant dung, because it may contain dung beetles or other insects that are vital to the ecology of the area. So if we swerve erratically, it’s in an effort to preserve wildlife.” (In all honesty, Little Jeff, of Zimbabwe, was not as eloquent as that. But in the interest of clarity and brevity, I’ve summarized this for you. It really started like this: “Hello…um…small briefing…our truck…my brother Jeff is a conservationist…”)

That night we had our first experience with the tents. They were sizeable two-man tents, and we quickly learned how to put them up and take them down. These would be our homes for the next few weeks, and they were actually fairly comfortable. There was only one issue with these tents: the zippers were pretty loud, and the outside door flap was held in place by a few feet of thick Velcro. All night, you heard a symphony of zippers being zipped and Velcro being ripped. This, friends, was the sound of Bushy-Bushy.

The next morning, we got a lesson in animal bushy-bushy. After swerving on the road some more, Little Jeff poked his head through – briefing! – and explained to us that the roads that morning would be covered with elephant dung. It turns out elephants like the heat of the asphalt, and will travel by road at night, dumping their load along the way. And what a load, folks. Elephants are grazers, and these massive animals pretty much eat all day. This produces bowling ball sized dung, each weighing about 2.5 kilos – over five pounds. And each time they go, they drop about five of these balls.

If you read our post about the animals in Australia, you know that Amy is a bit of a poop expert (having correctly identified kangaroo and koala turds). Well, this new knowledge about elephant dung fascinated Amy, the Turdmaster General, and as we drove down the road, she would point along the way: “Five balls!…(another hundred yards)…five balls!…hey, there’s only four balls there (disappointment)…five balls!! (victory!)”

This now became another running theme for the trip. What had started simply as “Bushy Bushy” now became more defined, more illustrative:

“I’ve got to go bushy-bushy.”
“Do you have to go bushy-bush, or do you have to go five balls?”
“Well, it’s probably only two to three balls, but it sure ain’t bushy-bush…”

Armed with this puerile technicality, we pressed on into Zimbabwe. I can’t really speak to the politics of the country, which I know is a bit questionable, but Zimbabwe was otherwise a bit of a revelation. We first stopped near the town of Masvingo and the ruins of Great Zimbabwe, a stone city structure that rivals Machu Picchu and the Great Wall of China in its masonry. It was really pretty fascinating, I’m surprised it’s not more famous. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage site, but I’d never heard of it before.

The next day we camped near the town of Matapos, where the highlight was a bush walk that ended with an up-close encounter with a small family of white rhinos. That was simply incredible, being that close, and totally unprotected.

We also did a game drive through Hwange National Park, a beautiful game park where we saw many of the large animals we saw in Kruger, but also wildebeest, warthog, ostrich, and a wealth of beautiful, colorful birds.

But after nearly a week on the road, people were getting restless. Of the “Big Five,” we’d seen elephants, African buffalo, and rhinos. But no big cats: no lions, no leopards, and no cheetahs either (though not part of the Big Five). Finally, frustrated, Andre said what everyone was thinking, in his Italian accent: “Whare are-a de fooking-a leons?!” We’d have to wait.

But we did take something away from Hwange. During our stay there, Amy, the Minister of Fecal Affairs, sighted more five balls, and now moved on to spotting giraffe dung with regularity. Back at camp, she and I were discussing “turds.” Paula overheard this and asked, “what are these, ‘turds?’” Amy explained, in her own delicate way, marking our continuing contribution to international relations. You can thank us later, Nobel Committee.

Eventually we arrived at Victoria Falls, which turns out to be the Niagara Falls of Africa: an incredible force of nature, bordering two countries, and full of crummy souvenir stores. Victoria Falls is impressive as a natural wonder, breathtaking and absolutely worth the visit, but not much of a town. After a quick stay – enough to see the falls and do some laundry – our group crossed the border into Botswana.

And how were we welcomed in Botswana? By a herd of elephants, minutes after the border. Big Jeff explained that with its conservationist efforts, Botswana was rife with African wildlife. That night we went for a game cruise on the Chobe River, saw more elephants, and listened to the bellowing of frolicking hippos at sunset. I think this is the point I turned to Amy, stunned, and said, “we’re in BOTSWANA…”

The next day we went for a game drive in Chobe National Park. This was the site of two breakthroughs. First, we saw lions. Lots of lions. One big male lion, a few lionesses, and a brood of juvenile lions, on the hunt for buffalo.

But that wasn’t the big breakthrough. Amy, by now having officially declared her major as “Dung,” made her usual five-ball sighting. I chimed in: “Five balls!” And then a surprise: Andre, seated just in front of us, turned around and quietly stated, “Two point-a five kilos…” Like Dr. Livingstone, we had won a convert in darkest Africa.

A few days later, we came to the most unique and memorable part of our trip. We were leaving the safety of the land and heading onto the waters of the Okavango Delta for two nights of wild camping, riding in dugout canoes. It was an experience we will not soon forget.

All our gear was loaded on to the canoes, which were poled around the shallow waters by local guides, just like gondoliers in Venice. After about an hour on the water, we arrived at camp, set up our tents, and were told how we’d live out in the wild: cooking on an open fire, with no gas burners like our other campsites. A bucket shower (which only one person used). And our sanitary facilities – this pit toilet, dug into the ground in a clearing well behind our campsite.

Little Jeff continued the briefing: never stray into the wild – there were animals out there that could kill you. If a guide tells you to move, you move. And at night, when going “Bushy Bushy,” take your tent-mate, and shine a flashlight to look for eyes. If you see eyes – stay in your tent! Otherwise, relax, have fun, and enjoy the bush.

(A side note here: one of the greatest things I heard on the entire trip is an African proverb Little Jeff used repeatedly. Goes like this: “There are many ways to kill a baboon.” We skin cats; in southern Africa, apparently, they kill baboons.)

In the afternoon we took a bush walk, and came face-to-face (at a reliable distance) with a few elephants. Our local guide warned us – it was time to move – this elephant was heading in our direction and could be dangerous. We returned to camp, and in the waters next to our site, a hippo, one of the more dangerous animals in Africa, bellowed as the sun set. Baboons howled in the distance. We were surrounded by wildlife, and it was humbling.

We had a big pasta dinner, and then with the fire dying down, and complete darkness creeping in on us, we all went to bed. There was a mist in the air, and as the weather cooled, the hippos would soon come out of the water. The noises of the jungle enveloped us – the hippos bellowing somewhere close by, a baboon howling over on the other side of camp, and an owl in a tree that sounded intimidating. I couldn’t sleep, hearing (or imagining) noises outside the tent. And then at 2:00am, full of pasta and completely carbo-loaded, I was overcome by the call of Bushy-Bushy. This led to what I call “The Scariest Four Minutes of Your Life.”

Turns out Amy was up as well. She and I got dressed, listening to the sounds of lethal animals only footsteps from our campsite. The owl continued his threats. The hippo (or hippos!), who will kill anyone in its path, was somewhere nearby, undoubtedly on its path, awaiting victims. The baboons were out there, plotting. It was pitch black out; who knew what lurked on the fifty-yard dash to the pit toilet. We ventured forward, timidly.

Let me tell you about our flashlight: we bought a cheap dime-store flashlight before the trip; something we picked up last minute while buying, believe it or not, a doorstop and a whistle (long story). We used it a few times when the power went out in India, and during the campervan portion of our New Zealand stay. But it’s poorly made, and after seven months rattling around in my luggage, the beam isn’t that strong anymore, the batteries are weak, and the bulb has a tendency to flicker, or just go out completely. You have to shake it or hit it, like trying to get the last drop of ketchup out of the bottle. This was not the ideal flashlight to be spotting homicidal hippos. Other campers had strong beams capable of sighting enemy aircraft or signaling outer space. We had something you could barely use to read an Archie comic book under your Star Wars blanket.

So after the unnerving sounds of zippers and Velcro (this will only anger the beasts!), we flashed the light out of the tent. We saw nothing but other tents and the dying fire – whew!… Then we crawled out and put on our flip-flops. I shined the flickering light around. Nothing but darkness, and the howling sounds of impending flesh being torn. We ventured towards the pit toilet.

Here’s the thing: it was absolute darkest night out. With the slight rain, there were no stars, and no moon; no source of light except some crappy penlight. There were animals SOMEWHERE out there. And we’d have to drop our pants over a small hole in the ground dug on the periphery of the jungle. I made Amy go first.

Meanwhile, I stood outside the toilet tent, alone in the mist, shining the pathetic light around so I could get a quick glimpse of whatever animal was out there before it ripped out my thorax. And, of course, the flashlight kept going out, and I’d have to keep hitting it with my hand. For those few seconds the light was out, in complete darkness, I was paralyzed with fear. It seemed as if Amy was taking forever, her bladder releasing the equivalent of Victoria Falls, while I waited for a hippo to trample me into the dirt like a human pit toilet. Remember that Lenten promise to stop swearing? It was long f***ing gone, people!

Soon enough, it was my turn. But pasta be damned, at this point there would be no five balls, no three balls – not one solitary ball. I didn’t even try. I took a quick leak and got the hell out of that pit-toilet tent. I held Amy’s hand and we cautiously walked back to our own tent, a single, weak beam of light flickering its way back through the darkness as we tripped over plants and shrubs and the withering bones of campers past. We un-Velcroed, unzipped, and leapt into the tent. Outside, the animals kept up their noisy terror, but inside our tent there was nothing but the sound of heaving lungs, as we caught our breaths after our brush with death, The Scariest Four Minutes of Your Life.

The next morning, with the sun safely in the sky, and our guides awake and making coffee, we prepared for the day’s bush walk, a nearly five-hour walk on one of the islands in the delta. This would be Amy’s crowning moment. We trailed the group most of the way because the Poop Whisperer was consulting with one of our local guides, Walter, about various dung, comparing notes from their respective doctoral research. And here, for your edification, are some photos of Amy and her new, steamy friends, along with some vital information so you, too, can recognize your African turds:

Elephant: as mentioned earlier, a grouping for four to five bowling ball sized turds, each weighing approximately 2.5 kilos (5 pounds). Mostly grasses. Tough to miss.

Giraffe: dozens of acorn-shaped pellets, in a sizeable pile, somewhat scattered.

Zebra: a massive pile of kiwi fruit to baseball sized turds. Interestingly, zebras often poop in the same spot. They kind of mark their turf.

African buffalo: If you’ve ever seen a cow pattie, you’ll easily recognize African buffalo. It’s a mess.

Warthog: Looks like a big pile of oversized black beans, some loose, some in dense clumps.

You may be wondering about hippo. Well, we have no hippo dung photos. They basically spray the grasses they’ve eaten back onto more grass or bushes. You know it when you see it – like when your lawn mower blows the grass into the hedges. But imagine it three times the size.

The next day we left the delta, and after a final, fantastic day spotting rhino and a leopard in lower Botswana (Big Five complete!), our safari was over. We returned to Johannesburg, then flew to Cape Town for a relaxing week – including a lot of laundry and catching up with our emails, etc. – and then flew to South America, where we are now.

I’ll leave you with this, a poem co-written by Amy and me while out in the wilds of the Okavango Delta. It’s suitable for third-grade classrooms everywhere, and rivals some of the all-time greats, like “Diarrhea, Diarrhea” and “Milk, Milk, Lemonade…”:

“Bushy Bushy, brown and squishy,
Pushy pushy, from my tooshy.”

(I already apologized, right?)

Good morning from Buenos Aires! It’s day 223 of our trip and continent number 5 (check out John’s awesome map). We arrived in BA last night after just about 24 hours of travel. It was a long day but we were so happy to arrive to this sweet pad! Check it out!

We’ll be traveling around South America for 2 months (capping it off with the World Cup in Brazil!). Lot’s more to come (including mucho vino and carne asada)! Ciao!

Almost 20 years ago, I was having a conversation with my old Auntie Mame (yes, I have an Auntie Mame). We were talking about traveling. At that point in my young life, I had only been to France, England, Canada and the Caribbean. I asked Mame if she had ever been to Europe, and she said she had not. I was so surprised because I remember her telling me so many travel stories. I told her, ”Well, you MUST go! Paris and London are so fabulous!” Because, like, I knew, being such a seasoned traveler at age 27. She quickly said, “A” – my family calls me “A” – “London and Paris are just like New York. You have to go to the Far East…it’s like another planet!” And the first time I was in Asia, I totally got it. She was right. In Europe, with the Latin-based languages, you can still decipher menus and street signs. And my high-school French could still get me a glass of wine and directions to the bathroom. But in Asia, good luck using that high school French (except for parts of Vietnam)! But after four months traveling around Japan, China, Taiwan, Korea, Vietnam, Thailand, Laos, Malaysia, Indonesia…even Burma, for God’s sake…and a five-week “break” in New Zealand/Australia, we were ready for India. Or so we thought. “Another planet” didn’t even begin to adequately describe India. We were not ready.

Two emails should have warned me what we were in for… The first note is from my cousin who spent her honeymoon in India:

“India is an amazing, magnificent, terrifying, heartbreaking, and unbelievably beautiful place. Please be safe.”

The second is from a college friend, and an extremely seasoned world traveller:

“I loved it there. Absolutely crazy. Crazier than almost anything I’d ever seen. And amazing food.”

All I saw was “amazing, magnificent” …blah, blah, blah… “amazing food”…blah, blah, blah. “Terrifying”, “heartbreaking”, “crazy”, “be safe…”: missed all that. For the time being…

We started our month in India in Mumbai, and then traveled up to Rajasthan (Udaipur, Jodhpur and Jaipur). Then we trained over to Agra and the Taj Mahal. Up to Delhi. Then to Rishikesh/Lakshman Jhula, and finally ended in Varanasi. And everywhere we turned, India was an assault on the senses. To wit:

Smell: It’s true: India smells delicious. This is strange for 2 reasons: One, it’s so dang hot, you would think it would smell like B.O. And two, there are cows everywhere so you’d think it would smell like manure. (And it does, but only close to the cows.) But these two scents are not the predominant odors. The spices, the food, the smell of the flowers and the trees wafting through the hot air. I understand people’s use of the word “intoxicating” after spending time there. Even when they’re burning bodies in religious ceremonies in Varanasi, you can smell the smoke, but it’s not unpleasant or overwhelming. This mix of smells – from sandalwood to dung to body odor to everything else – it may not always smell delicious, but it is indeed fragrant, and ever-present.

Taste: We had some amazing meals in India. Tikka Masala (of course), thalis, raita in many different flavors, the most delicious lassis, and so many other things I don’t remember the name of. After a month there, I did miss beef…and I’m still on a break from Indian food for now…but I’m really excited to get to London this fall and head straight to Brick Lane!

Touch: When I thought of India before actually going there, I thought of fantastic markets, crowded with tents and people, spices and textiles with incense clouding the air. Like that scene from Indiana Jones but without the murdering thieves/chase scene part. (I actually think that was set in Morrocco, but you get my point.) Well the real India lived up to this image in my head, with just one adjustment: Add about 100,000 more people to this market!

India is a VERY crowded place. Home to 1.2 billion people. In comparison, the population of the US is only 314 million people. And India is just 1.3 million square miles in area, where the US is 3.8 million square miles. Sorry, enough math. Just look at this map:

Four times the people in 1/3 of the space. And these numbers don’t take into account all of the cows! And man, there are a lot of cows. And cars and scooters. Long story short, lots of people, lots of cows, lots of beeping. Those of you that know John well know he does not like crowds. John was out of luck. There was no where to escape the crowds. And those of you who know me well know I do not like to be touched by strangers. The good news for me was it’s not kosher in India for men to touch strange women, so there was no unwanted touching (thank God!). Strange men did try to “help” us with our luggage outside every hotel, airport, and train station. And a lot of guys did sidle up next to us and touch John’s arm, tugging him to come into this store or that one (which only made John want to “touch” some of those guys with five folded fingers of discipline). But the only “touching” story that I have is this one, which was kinda sweet…

One day, in Lakshman Jhula (a holy city, and a DRY town, by the way! Travel tip: BYOB!), we were crossing the very crowded pedestrian bridge over the River Ganges from one side of town to the other. On this bridge there are people, scooters, cows, cow pies, and monkeys that steal food and sunglasses. Well, this older Indian woman had some biscuits that she was feeding to a monkey (bad idea!). I passed her and looked over and smiled and she smiled back. Then she started walking next to me (and staring…a lot of staring in India) but she was smiling and she was a woman so it was ok. Then I thought she was going to hand me a biscuit so I could feed the monkeys, I guess. But she didn’t. She just brushed up against my hand with her hand. I was confused but didn’t think much of it. Then this older Indian guru (complete with robe and turban and no shoes) who was walking behind both of us laughed. He came up to me and said, “she wants to touch you…she thinks you are a big white angel.” If only he didn’t say “big” it would have been perfect.

(SIDE NOTE: I did get asked to have my picture taken an exorbitant amount of times. I felt famous! Or, I guess, I felt white. The same thing happened to us in China, but much, much less frequently.)

Sight: There are a lot of things you can’t un-see in India. Most of these things happen along the side of the train tracks as your going through a small town. There’s not much indoor plumbing happening in small-town India, and not many outhouses either. People are just squatting there, on the side of the tracks, doing their “morning business” for the world to see. No shame. Women can’t show their ankles in public, but they can pull up their sari and cop a squat just about anywhere.

Also, I’m not sure there’s anywhere else in the world you can see a public cremation. Lucky you, they don’t allow photography along the banks of the Ganges in Varanasi where these cremations take place. Hundreds of people (locals, tourists and cows, alike) all come out to watch and send their loved ones off in a blaze of glory.

In addition to the call of nature and burning corpses, there are certainly many other beautiful things to see in India, but you’ve already seen them in books, right?

Sound: If you read John’s “Crosstown Traffic” post, you know most of what we heard in India was taxi drivers trying to give us a ride (or rather, take us for a ride) and touts trying to sell us something. We also heard a cacophony of beeping. India isn’t a quiet place. Even at night, stray dogs howl incessantly.

We did hear some cool Bollywood songs, like this one:

Catchy, right?

The Beatles famously spent some time in Rishikesh getting their India on (the hippies are still hanging out there), and after their stay they wrote a number of songs that were influenced by Indian music and culture. I don’t know the full story behind John Lennon’s lyrics to “Across the Universe” but this line captures a bit of India for me:

Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind…

But then he goes on to repeat, perhaps in defiance, “nothing’s gonna change my world, nothing’s gonna change my world…”

Well, India, you definitely changed my world. Namaste, Mom!

Hello Mom! Greetings from Cape Town! After several long, hot showers, I think I finally got the stink of camping for 2 weeks in the African bush off of me. We had a blast, though. South Africa, Zimbabwe, and Botswana…Victoria Falls…the Big Five…more details to come in a future post (and I know we still need to catch you up on India). But in the meantime, here is a quick video of our digs. It’s a little dark (sorry!) and the tent was actually about 6’x 6′, not 4’x 4′ as stated in the video. And we were at the Khama Rhino Sanctuary in Botswana, an amazing place!

A brighter shot of the interior:

Added bonus! Our “facilities” for two nights when we were “wild camping” in the Okavango Delta. Sweet!

Good morning friends! Greetings from Johannesburg, South Africa! It’s approaching 6:30am local time and we’re having a quick breakfast before we depart on our 16-day camping safari. We’re visiting South Africa, Botswana, and Zimbabwe. We hope to see some fantastic animals and experience the amazing culture and natural beauty of this part of the world.

That said, who knows how connected we’ll be over the course of the next few weeks. There might be a few times we find the chance to pop up on social media or the blog, but those opportunities are likely limited.

So bye for now – we’ll hopefully get a chance to check in soon, and we’ll report back in for sure in a few weeks, when we’re back in Johannesburg on April 27th.

Until then, Amy and John, over-and-out.

Hello friends! Thanks to everyone who submitted questions. We love the Q&A! Hope you do, too!

1. Where are you going next?

Amy: Africa! We’re actually cooling our heels at the Mumbai airport right now on a 12 hour layover! We were supposed to go to Nepal and/or Bhutan but we couldn’t get our act together. John found this awesome 2 week camping safari in South Africa, Botswana and Zimbabwe. That’s right, I said camping. And not luxury campervan camping…real tent camping. And me. In the African bush. I’m not worried…

2. Any regrets?

Amy: I regret that we didn’t make it to Nepal and Bhutan. But my 50th birthday isn’t that far away (ugh). Who’s with me?!

John: I was looking forward to seeing Central Africa. I’ve been to North and South Africa, but never the middle. But cost restrictions, limited airline connections, rainy season, and civil unrest prevented us from going to Kenya, Tanzania, and Ghana. But the safari is a really good alternative for us, we’re looking forward to it.

3. Are you tired of John yet? (No offense to John, I think I would be tired of anyone I spent so much time with.)

Amy: Not yet! ☺ We have a great time together. He’s such a great travel partner. He may have even surpassed GA as best vacation partner ever! (Sorry, GA!) And don’t forget, I get 2 hours alone every month when I get my hair did!

John: I don’t mean to get mushy, but I honestly think this trip has strengthened our relationship. The intensity of it all has really given us a chance to talk in-depth about different things and learn more about each other. And on a trip like this, you have to be honest about things, you rely on each other’s strengths, and there’s little modesty at times – it’s all out there, and that’s been a good thing for us.

4. Best meal?

Amy: Tough one but off the top of my head I would say Picchu in Sapporo, Japan. It was an Italian/Japanese fusion place. Awesome!

John: We’ve discussed this many times because it’s a question that people ask a lot, and we both agree that was likely our favorite meal. Not the fanciest or most exotic, but just delicious and unexpected. Certainly memorable.

5. Worst meal?

Amy: The one that made me barf for 2 days in Myanmar. It was chicken biryani with a dash of E-coli. The worst!

John: We’ve had a bunch of crappy meals along the way. Bad sandwiches, bland dishes, poor menu choices, some pathetic airport food…a percentage of what you eat on the road is simply…meh…

6. One place we should all visit…only one.

Amy: This is a REALLY hard question. But if I had to pick one place that I think EVERYONE would enjoy, I would have to pick Japan. Great food (even if you don’t eat sushi). Great sites. Lovely people. Clean, clean, clean! And exotic…very different from Europe, the Caribbean, Mexico/Central America & Hawaii (where I think most Americans vacation).

John: New Zealand. It’s simply beautiful. Incredible scenery, nice folks, easy to navigate, and all the modern conveniences, plus delicious meat pies and craft beer everywhere.

7. The New Zealand camper trip looked awesome. How would you rate that leg of the trip compared to the rest?

Amy: Amazing! And so different from all the hotel stays and apartment rentals. It was really great to be independent and in control of what we did each day. We had a kitchen and fridge which means we didn’t have to go out for every meal. And we had a TV with satellite and a DVD player! It was so much fun in that camper…our little home on wheels. We met lots of lovely people, too.

John: It was different, absolutely a vacation from our vacation. As Amy says, we were totally independent and free to roam, but we still had all our stuff with us all the time. It was pretty liberating, to be honest, being able to move freely every day, yet not worry about schedules and baggage and such.

8. When you joined your friends on that trip was it pure heaven to be able to socialize with familiar peeps?

Amy: YES! We need more visitors, though. When/where are you coming to visit?!

John: It’s been great meeting folks along the way and socializing, but hanging out with good friends for a week was a lot of fun, for sure. It just feels comfortable, like you don’t have to work at it.

9. It’s been 6 months now; are you still getting along great and clicking?

Amy: Yes. We are still happily married. ☺ Don’t get me wrong, we bicker like everyone else, but I’m so grateful to have this time with John. So many of our friends have already been married for 10 or 20 years. For us, it’s just 2.5. It’s really special to have this time together. It’s like a crash course in becoming an old, married couple (which is what we aspire to be!).

John: As I said above, it’s been a great experience for us. You can’t help but have disagreements along the way, but you learn quickly how to navigate through those moments and move on. It’s key to survival. And it’s made us that much closer.

10. How informed are you on the Malaysia Airlines flight? Are you following big stories like that it or are you staying unplugged?

Amy: Too plugged in. It freaked me out a little to be honest. The day after the flight went missing, we flew from Melbourne to Mumbai. Three flights over 24 hours. I’m not afraid to fly but I have to say I was not looking forward to that day. We didn’t tell anyone either because we didn’t want you all to worry needlessly. Just one of my sisters knew…just in case.

John: I think a story like that freaks you out whether you’re traveling or not. It resonates a little more with us perhaps because of the frequency of our air travel, and the part of the world we’re in, but it’s sad and creepy no matter where you sit. We flew on Malaysian Air twice, makes you think sometimes…

11. Did you bring a years worth of tampons?

Amy: Ha! No. The only place the guidebooks say you can’t find them is in India, so I bought a stash in Australia.

12. What about toothpaste?

Amy: Toothpaste and teeth brushing is universal, thank goodness. Unfortunately, hand washing is not.

John: Toothpaste is widely available. The flavors are a bit exotic sometimes, like the pine-flavored toothpaste in Korea, but no problems with dental hygiene…just dental work.

13. I know Christmas found you a little nostalgic for home; any other weak moments?

Amy: I feel like I’m actually getting better as we go as far as homesickness goes. Around two months in I was exhausted. I felt like I needed a vacation (ha!). But I recovered. Since then, we’ve been building in “breaks.” A week in Bali with nothing to do except sit by the pool was heaven. And our friends coming to visit in NZ really helped. Now, as we approach summer and South America and Europe (where friends/family are meeting up with us), I’m getting really excited! Skyping with my family helps a lot, too.

John: Christmas was tough for me, yes, but since then I haven’t really had any homesickness. But I will tell you this – I have come to APPRECIATE home so much more. This last month in India, in particular, makes you value the everyday things that much more – tap water, indoor plumbing, stoplights, even the TSA. You can’t believe how lucky our “inconveniences” are…

14. What has been the most amazing culinary treat this far?

Amy: So much amazing food! I feel like we have already talked ad nauseum about Japan. The fresh fruit in Bali was delicious. And the EGGS! Fresh, fresh, fresh eggs. I had them for breakfast every day for a week.

John: Amy raves about a fried chicken she ate in Taipei. I really liked a crab bowl we ate in Japan, and a fruit-ice dish in Tainan, Taiwan. We’ve eaten lots of great food everywhere, I wish we could remember it all.

15. How are the roots doing, Amy? Love when you do the salon pics!

Amy: Pretty good! The tough part is keeping up with them. I got my roots done every 3 weeks in NYC. I’m averaging every 5 weeks on this trip. I keep telling John he’s going to have to Photoshop out my “skunk strip” in all the iconic photos (Taj Mahal, et al).

16. Dying to know if you have had any clarity during your travels about where you will go when you return and what you will do; still thinking about Maine?

Amy: Yes, still thinking Maine. When John and I aren’t sightseeing, playing cards or blogging, we’re planning our perfect house in Maine. It’s going to have a rockin’ basement bar!

John: Still leaning towards Maine, ideally, but the dialogue continues. Jobs trump location, ultimately. We have to find the right jobs before we can settle somewhere for good… But we do keep taking notes about our dream house, which at this point will be a “small bungalow” with all the luxuries of a large, modern hotel. We’ll call it “Oxymoron Acres.”

17. We will be in Italy 6/27 – 7/5, will you? (from our friend, Andrew)

John: We won’t, unfortunately. We’ll likely have just arrived on the Iberian Peninsula, working our way through Portugal and Spain before arriving in Pamplona on July 6th for the Running of the Bulls. And yes, we intend on running.

Amy: Bargh! I’m so bummed we’ll miss you guys. Please extend your trip and come meet us in Pamplona! We may need a good doctor, Andrew…

18. When are you climbing Kilimanjaro?

John: That was in the plans at the outset of the trip, but as mentioned earlier, it’s no longer happening – Kenya isn’t the safest place right now, and it’s rainy season there and in Tanzania. But some day.

Amy: I don’t have an official “Bucket List” but if I wrote one up, Kilimanjaro would be on it. I’m so bummed. But we wanted to be in India for Holi (March) and we have tickets to the World Cup in Brazil (June). April is rainy season in Kenya/Tanzania and climbing is difficult/tours are limited. We couldn’t cool our heels in this part of the world for another month to wait it out. Maybe for my 50th if I don’t do Nepal/Bhutan?

19. What are you looking forward to at this stage of your journey?

John: I’m looking forward to the World Cup in Brazil, and we’re in the initial stages of planning to meet family in Spain/France in late July. Really excited about that prospect.

Amy: Ditto what he said. But I’m really looking forward to every leg coming up…Africa is going to be awesome! After safari, we’re doing a week in Cape Town. Hello wineries! And then South America and the World Cup. The 2010 World Cup was so amazing…I can’t wait for this one! And Europe…so many friends and family are talking about meeting up with us. It would be so fantastic and fun and special. I really can’t wait for all of it!

20. What have you learned that has been most meaningful so far?

John: For me, without question, it’s been a shift from being upset about what’s lacking, and instead appreciating what I’ve got. I know it sounds corny, but I’ve realized we’re very fortunate to have these lives, and live where we live, and never have to worry about the most basic of things, like clean water, a few decent meals a day, and a roof over our heads. Not to be preachy, it just resonates when you find yourself surrounded by people whose everyday lives are missing those things we take for granted.

Amy: I too have learned that I need to be more grateful. Every day. And I have learned that I need to help others in need. Every day. John put it so well above. We are so very, very fortunate. Not just me and John…all of us…all of you. I follow Pope Francis on Twitter (don’t laugh, he’s awesome…check him out.) He tweeted this the other day: “How good it is for us when the Lord unsettles our lukewarm and superficial lives.” (Just insert the words of your choice for “the Lord”…the Universe, Mother Nature, Allah, Buddha, G-d, you pick.) We were in India when he tweeted this and of all the places we’ve been, India has been the hardest. Very, very unsettling. I won’t get too graphic here, but just let me know if you want me to unsettle your lukewarm life. I’ll tell you some stories of the things we saw in India.

21. How have you changed, if at all?

John: I’ve lost some weight, and I have a new front tooth.

Amy: I will do my best to never buy bottled water again. Seriously. John mentioned it above but we are so FORTUNATE to have clean, potable water flowing from spigots in multiple rooms in our homes. If you’ll allow me to be preachy for a moment…please stop buying bottled water.

22. Has John considered letting his hair or beard grow for the entirety of your trip or what is left of it? And if so, did Amy put the kaibash on it? If not, why not?

John: I was growing my hair out at the start of the trip until I tried to get it “cleaned up” in Hanoi. It got “cleaned up” shorter than I liked, and grew in pretty poorly and unevenly. I finally just got it cut short in New Zealand. And while I’m not growing a beard, it’s well known that I’m not very good at shaving. Amy has been supportive of whatever I want to do – I’m the one who gets frustrated with my hair, and I shave when it gets too itchy.

Amy: I have enough problems with my own hair to worry about John’s. I haven’t had my hair cut in 6 months. It’s pretty scraggly. At this point, I’m thinking of hacking it all off!

23. Aren’t you exhausted!?!?!? I’m worn out just looking at all the pictures.

Amy: Yes, we definitely get tired sometimes. When we do, we call for a “weekend” and spend a day in bed watching movies in the hotel. It definitely helps! (And right this minute, I’m completely exhausted! It’s 12:30am local time; our 1:30am flight to Johannesburg takes of in an hour. Then it’s 8 hours on a plane. Pfft.)

John: You do need breaks, you can’t sight-see every day, it gets tiring. Sometimes you just want to lay around and watch tv, catch up on emails and laundry. And you need days off to plan ahead as well. So we plan a few weeks to a month of touring and sight-seeing, and then we’ll plan of week of just taking it easy. New Zealand and Australia helped a lot, but after nearly a month in India, and the upcoming safari, I think the week in Cape Town will be a good refresher.

And with that, we’re done! Thank you for all the great questions. If you’re game, we’ll do it again in 3 months or so. OK…time to board. Africa, here we come!

JUST IMAGINE IT…

After an early four-hour train ride from Boston, you and your wife pull into New York’s Penn Station, get your luggage, and start heading to the taxi stand. It’s August, and about 90 degrees. You’re layered in sweat, tired, and grumpy. A shady man approaches you: “Where are you going?”

“We’re just going to the taxi stand.”
“I have a taxi. Where are you going?”
“We’re going to the taxi stand, thank you.”
“Where do you need to go?”
“We’re going to the taxi stand.”
“Tourist information is over there.”
“Thank you. But we’re going to the taxi stand.”
“I can take you to tourist information.”
“No, thank you.”
“I have a taxi. Do you need a hotel room? Where are you going?”
“No, thank you.”

Another man approaches you, and looks your wife up and down. “Do you need a taxi?”
“Thank you, but we’re just going to use the taxi stand.”
“The taxi stand is closed today. Where are you going?”
“Thank you, but we’re going to the taxi stand.”
“The taxi stand burnt down. Come with me.”
“No!”
“I have a taxi. Come with me.”
“No!”

Another man approaches you.
“Where are you going? Train tickets are available across the street, I can take you there.”
“No, thank you, we’re going to the taxi stand.”
“The tourist ticket window is across the street, two blocks from this station.”
“No it’s not, there’s a sign for it right there – I can see it – and we don’t need tickets, we’re going to the taxi stand.”
“That window is not for tourists.”
“So why does it say ‘TOURIST TICKET WINDOW?’”
“I have a taxi. Where are you going?”
“Get away from me.”

You finally reach the taxi stand, and the first cabbie comes up to you. “Where are you going?”
“We need to go to the Marriott Marquis, in Times Square. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes, get in.”
“You know where it is?”
“Yes, get in.”
“So you know the Marriott Marquis?”
“Yes, get in.”
“How much to get there?”
“For the two of you? One-hundred dollars.”
“One-hundred?! No way! I’ll give you five dollars.”
“Okay, two people, eighty dollars.”
“No, no, no. It’s the same cab, one or two people. You’re ridiculous.”
“Fifty dollars, that’s a good price.”
“I’ll pay seven dollars at most, it’s not that far.”
“Okay, twenty dollars.”
“Ten.”
“Fifteen dollars is a good price.”
“C’mon. Ten dollars. The hotel is only 20 blocks from here.”
“Fifteen.”
“Ten dollars. There’s other cabbies here…”
A brief silence, and then the driver grudgingly waves you into his cab.

After you help the cabbie tie your luggage to the roof of his broken down Dodge Colt, you turn North on to Seventh Avenue. There is no air-conditioning in the cab, the windows only roll down so far, and the constant honking of horns seeps in as you enter traffic – your cab, the surrounding cabs, cars, trucks, scooters, bicycles…anything with wheels is honking its horn regularly. The cabbie turns to you. “Do you have a card for the hotel, with the address?”
[HONK]
“It’s the Marriott Marquis, in Times Square.”
“Marquis?”
[HONK]
“The Marriott Marquis…Times Square!! [HONK] You said you knew where it was!”
“Times Square?”
“YES. [HONK] It’s one of the city’s [HONK] best known [HONK] tourist hotels [HONK] in the biggest [HONK] tourist area [HONK] of the city. The MARY-OTT [HONK] MAR-KEE [HONK] TIMES SQUARE!!”
“Marquis Times Square?”
[HONK] [HONK]
“YES!!”

The driver gets to 34th Street [HONK] and pulls over to a newsstand. He calls the vendor over. [HONK] All you can overhear them say is “Marquis Times Square.” There’s a lot of pointing, [HONK] and hand gestures. A group of people gathers around, [HONK] looking in the windows at you as if you’re a zoo animal. [HONK] Your wife is of particular interest. [HONK] Someone leans in: “Where are you going?” You ignore him. [HONK] Hands indicate left turns, right turns. Nodding. [HONK] The cabbie gets back in.
“Marriott Times Square?”
[HONK]
“YES! The Marriott Marquis Times Square! Jeez Louise!…”

[ed note: you are also trying very hard not to swear, because you gave up swearing for Lent. Even though in this scenario, it’s August… But we digress…]

At the corner of 39th and Seventh, [HONK] the driver pulls over and yells something [HONK] out the window. Another guy comes up and leans in, looks at you, stares at your wife, and then chats with the driver. [HONK] They have a lengthy conversation. [HONK] You’re stopped next to a bus which is blowing its exhaust in your window, and you may never [HONK] get to the hotel. Just as he’s about to pull out, [HONK] the other guy sticks his head back in the window again, [HONK] and they speak for another 30 seconds, without any concern for your presence, [HONK] or care about the delay at your expense. [HONK] Finally you’re on your way. [HONK]

The driver pulls out, [HONK] and continues up 7th Avenue, approaching 42nd Street. “Hey, would you guys like to do some shopping? [HONK] We can stop along the way, [HONK] there’s this great overpriced [HONK] tourist shop ahead, with I LOVE NY t-shirts [HONK] and Statue of Liberty mugs and crap. [HONK] My [HONK] brother-in-law [HONK] owns it [HONK] and I’ll get [HONK] a cut [HONK] if I take you [HONK] there [HONK] and [HONK] you [HONK] buy [HONK] some [HONK] overpriced [HONK] crap.”
“No, just to the hotel please.”
[HONK]
“Or we can go shopping in Brooklyn, there’s a big mall. [HONK] I’ll take you there now, before you go to the hotel.”
“NO!”
[HONK]
“No shopping?”
“No shopping, please – just go to the hotel.”
[HONK]
“You can just take a look, you don’t have to buy anything… Just look…”
[HONK]
“NO!! To the hotel!”

At 43rd Street, the cabbie pulls over, gets out, and takes a leak, in broad daylight, on a Duane Reade storefront, leaving you stranded in the sweltering Dodge for a minute or so. [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] He gets back in and continues driving. You thank God for the slight breeze.

“So, what are you guys doing tomorrow?”
[HONK]
“We’re not sure, [HONK] we just got in and we’re tired.”
“You gonna go sightseeing, maybe take a tour?”
“We’re not sure, really.”
[HONK]
“I can take you up to Grant’s Tomb, [HONK] down to Wall Street, [HONK] Ground Zero, whatever. Only 500 bucks for the full-day tour.”
“No, thank you, [HONK] just the hotel please.”
“Okay, only 400 bucks, or 200 for a half-day tour. [HONK] That’s a good price. I can take you there. [HONK] So, pick you up tomorrow morning at the Marquis Square?”
“No, just take us to the hotel, please, no tours!”
[HONK]

Turning East on 46th Street, the driver hits the back of an ice cream cart, spilling a half-dozen Strawberry Shortcakes onto the steaming pavement. [HONK] The ice cream vendor comes running over. [HONK] [HONK] The cabbie and the ice cream vendor start yelling at each other, blocking traffic. [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] A crowd gathers. [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] A stray dog licks the ice cream. The spat continues, there’s much gesticulating, and finally they back off, [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] yelling at each other and cursing, [HONK] but neither really making a point, or winning the argument. But the scene is fantastic. [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] And now the traffic is worse. [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] [HONK]

Halfway down the block, the cabbie turns back to you. “Whattya say we call it 30 bucks, huh? [HONK] Why don’t you just pay me thirty bucks for the ride? It’s been like five miles already…”
[HONK]
“No it hasn’t – and we agreed on ten dollars.”
“C’mon, make it thirty bucks. [HONK] C’mon, I’m just a cab driver, and you’re an investment banker.”
[HONK]
“What? We said ten bucks.”
[HONK]
“But you’re a fund manager!”
“No, I’m not. And we agreed on ten bucks.”
“C’mon mister…Thirty bucks?”
[HONK]
“No. We said ten.”
[HONK]

At last you reach the Marriott Marquis, and the cabbie cuts off a lane of traffic to pull up to the curb, nearly knocking over an elderly lady with a cart of groceries. [HONK] [HONK] [HONK] You unload all your bags – all six of them, [HONK] including two large duffel bags – onto the curb, [HONK] while the cabbie sits impatiently in his seat, waiting for you to get all the bags out by yourself. You give him a twenty-dollar bill. He looks at you.

“I don’t have any change.”
“For a twenty?! You’re a cabbie, right?!”
“We’ll just call it twenty bucks.”
“No, give me my change!”
“I don’t have any change. Make it twenty dollars, okay?”

You storm inside the hotel and make change at reception, while your wife starts to check in. You head out to the waiting taxi, and approach the driver, handing him a ten-spot.

“Here you go. Thank you.”
“So, pick you up tomorrow? Ground Zero tour?”
“No, no thank you. No tour.”
“What about shopping?”
“No, no shopping. Thank you again.”
“How about my tip?”
“What?!”
“My tip…”

Now add cows to the equation.
WELCOME TO INDIA!!

Better late than never! It’s our first Guest Blog post here on WFM with guest bloggers, Jodi & Matt Arden. The Ardens are our dear friends from NYC who trekked halfway across the world to meet us in New Zealand. Hilarity ensued (and we are forever grateful)! See below… (And more to come on India later this week!)

BY JODI & MATT ARDEN, WFM GUEST BLOGGERS, SOUTH ISLAND, NEW ZEALAND

When Amy and John informed us of their decision to go gallivanting across the globe, we promised to meet them somewhere that would be both disruptive to our sleep patterns and our bank account. It was their skepticism that made us all the more determined to fly as far West as possible, testing our will and our wallets.

We are still unsure to this day if we were driven by the delirium of our first 27 hours of travel, or the excitement of reuniting with Amy and John, but before hopping our flight to Queenstown we skipped the eggs at the Sydney Airport and sent a digital challenge to Amy and John; wake up and get ready!

They responded thusly.

Game on. Our trip was clearly developing an early theme.

And that’s actually what New Zealand is about … having fun. The culture, the people, and the places seem to all be made to fully trigger your enjoyment sensors. Whether you’re snapping a selfie at a breathtaking vista or guzzling down a bottle of local brew, you’re overcome by the same dizzy joy.

But, our journey had an added wrinkle of bliss. One 22-foot long wrinkle named Chuck.

A Chuck is the only way to truly experience New Zealand. So, while we’d love to fully capture all of the magical details of our time on the South Island, it would simply take too much time and too many pages. Plus, we’re already 3 weeks late delivering this post, and we all know how Amy is about a deadline.

So instead, we present the Top 5 things you learn when travelling New Zealand in a Chuck Wagon.

1. You Get to take Pictures Like This

Every few miles there is something amazing to see in New Zealand. Part of experiencing the country is having the freedom to pull over at any time or place based on any whim (FYI, John’s whims are typically meat pie based). There are literally beautiful things to see every few kilometers and you’re never going to see the most amazing parts if you’re not on the open road, taking cliff-side hairpin turns in an oversized moving van driven by two American knuckleheads who really really really like driving on the right side of the road (in a left-side-of-the-road kinda place).

Let’s face it, the danger is half the fun! It really makes you appreciate the beauty even more! Plus you get to take awesome pictures like this!

We’ve decided to make this the cover of our first album (karaoke themed, of course). Because riding NZ in a Chuck makes you the rock stars of your own World Tour. Well, that is until you pull over to discover a Lynyrd Skynyrd / Starship concert at the base of a mountain in a vineyard. Because there are real rock stars in New Zealand and they built this city on rock & roll … or you’ll tell yourself that after 5 hours drinking in the sun.

But without a Chuck, you can’t stumble upon things like this.

2. Everybody Poops

That’s what you learn. Real fast.

3. Amy loves any opportunity to host houseguests and has clearly missed it.

We’ve all visited Amy and John back when … you know, they had an address. No detail was ever left out when they hosted. Whether you were invited over for dinner or just stopping in to have a drink (which would eventually include custom cocktails, a fully cooked dinner, and a freshly baked cake), nobody opens their home to guests like Amy and John.

This holds true in a Chuck.

Amy woke us up every morning with fresh pressed coffee and even made us pancakes. Lunch was a pleasant affair and by the time we were ready for dinner cheese, crackers, fig jam and wine were put out in equidistant quadrilateral positions. This was, of course, all enjoyed in a dirt free Chuck as Amy hermetically sealed all windows and doors and barred shoes from entering the cabin.

We know they are having fun on this little adventure, but man does she miss entertaining.

4. Chuck Breeds Cultural Assimilation

Proof: While Amy was setting up a group selfie shot, this is how both Matt and John reacted immediately and unprompted to the phrase: “pretend there are girls standing next to you.”

5. You get to see Springfield, NZ.

Granted, on its surface stopping in a one street town with a population of 219 probably doesn’t sound all that exciting. But you’ve never been in a Chuck. With a John.

No word in the English language can quite describe the exuberance with which John screamed when he saw Springfield’s greatest landmark through his window. Though if you reference #2 on our list you can probably guess what I did in my pants as I was driving.

With a face full of gas station ice cream (sadly, they were out of meat pies) John brought our adventure literally to a screeching halt with these pivotal trip-altering words:

OH MY GOD!! THERE’S A GIANT DONUT WITH A HOLE IN IT YOU CAN TAKE A PICTURE IN!

And there was. So we did. Thanks Springfield.

And that, in a nutshell, is our impression of New Zealand. It’s simultaneously the most beautiful, fascinating, weird and fun place we’ve ever been.

But that may also have a lot to do with the company we kept.

Thanks Chuck.

Greetings from Agra, India…home of the Taj Mahal! So excited to visit the Taj and share some photos, but in the meantime, here is the “palace” we stayed at in Jodphur last week. A very cool, very Indian place! (We’re a few cities behind because of bad internet.)