Homeward Bound

Post by Josh

Today we fly back to the US, ending near six months of global wandering and a grand experiment in weird and wild foods. I am sad to be ending this, but there are a few things that I am looking forward to back home:

• Hot showers
• Campfires
• Consistent access to Peanut Butter
• Having a rational amount of facial hair
• Family and friends
• Cooking for ourselves instead of constantly going out to restaurants
• Having a schedule again
• Being charged the same amount as "locals" for things
• Having more than one change of clothing
• Having a real computer
• Creeks, rivers, and forests that we can explore without guides or armed escorts
• Bicycling

Looking forward to seeing all of you soon - we will be back in your airspace in 24 hours.

I live for the Macaws, Macaws, Macaws.

What did the spider monkey say to the macaw? Not sure, but whatever it was, the macaw is pissed off. Watching these two provided endless entertainment. They are both pets sharing a jungle home at the Monte Amazonico lodge, on the banks of the Madre de Dios river in Peru. I use the word "share" lightly. In truth, the Macaw is probably the most territorial pet I have ever seen. Every day, it attacked at least one unsuspecting guest who was dozing in her hammock. What made it even creepier was the way it squacked "Hola! Hello!" before snapping with its beak.

The spider monkey, Marukha, knew that the macaw was a persnickety soul and delighted in teasing it. It would swing by and grab the macaw's tail, and then dangle just out of reach of the macaw's beak. It stole a cracker that the guests had thrown out for the macaw. It stole my glasses once. It stole just about anything it could get its hands on, really, and it stole our attention whenever we were done with our jungle adventuring.

The jungle here was secondary growth forest, meaning that it had been deforested in the past, but there was plenty of flora and fauna to keep us busy. We spotted caiman, capybara, howler monkeys, tarantulas, tree frogs, snakes, hoatzin, river otters, herons, bats, enormous ants, and so many butterflies that we literally had to swat them away.

It was a surprisingly comfortable and relaxing place to be. Before coming I had feared that we would be sweltering hot, sweating through our sheets at night and devoured by the mosquitoes. We slept well, with the forest breeze wafting over us through the screen. At night, the animals didn't make as much noise as the cicadas sometimes do in the U.S. With refreshing juices at lunch, like starfruit and passion fruit and cupuazú (a fun Amazon jungle fruit), I had more energy to tackle the challenges the lodge threw at us.

Like ziplining in the canopy!  Much scarier than I thought it would be.  And kayaking, fishing for piranhas (Josh caught one using the most rudimentary fishing line you've ever seen), hiking through a 3km mud trail to an oxbow lake, and of course surviving the terrifying macaw.

On our last day, we took a break from animals and went to visit humans.  The Mashinega family, who now farm and live on the river bank.  They were marketed to us as a native family, but I asked the grandfather if he was born there, and he said no, so I'm pretty sure that disqualifies them... No matter, though, because it was really interesting to hear and see the things they were doing to make themselves seem more "native" to us.  Like putting achiote (red plant dye) on their faces, singing and dancing with drums, shooting arrows, and the like.  The grandmother was the only one singing, presumably because she was the only one who still knew any songs.  I knew it would be cheesy.  The thing that struck me was how earnestly the grandfather was getting into it.  And the kids loved it.  So, in the spirit of cultural exchange, and sharing, we reciprocated.  Josh and I sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" for them.  Of course both sides were putting on a show, and what stayed with me is how fun it was for all of us.

For all our exploring, we only saw the tiniest sliver of the forest around the river.  We both think the Amazon seems like an incredibly diverse place worth exploring further.  Going up one of the tributaries, farther away from the cities and logging operations, would be really dangerous but probably full of surprises.  We've caught jungle fever, so watch out.  We may be in the market to buy a boat if you're selling...

Markets and Festivals of Perú

We crossed over the Andes last night and are in Puerto Maldonado, a river port city in a corner of the Amazon rainforest.  For the next four days, we will be without internet, heading into a jungle lodge for some wildlife viewing, kayaking and ziplining, and a brief interaction with an Ese'eja family.

For now, some pictures from the cities in Peru where we have enjoyed the life in the streets, markets, and public squares.  This has been some of the best street food and free music from our entire trip!

1.  "Diablito" dancing as part of an unidentified street festival in Arequipa on May 31.  Several paces behind were rows of women in skirts and men playing drum and panpipes with Robin-hood type hats.

2.  Ceviche!  For only 8 soles (about three dollars) at the San Camilio market in Arequipa, we scored a lunch of Perú's national dish, raw fish cured in lime and chile, with all the fixings.

3.  Thousands of children performed Quechua dances at the Fiesta Del Cusco, celebrating the anniversary of the city's founding.  The very next day, adults performed similar, more complicated dances, very evocative of birds in flights and flowers swaying in the breeze.

4.  Guinea pig, roasted and served with rice and potatoes for 13 soles at a Sunday street stall in Cusco during the big fiesta.  They call this bad boy "Cuy al Horno."

5.  Aguajina is the drink made from the aguaje fruit, an Amazonian specialty which is dazzling in its color and texture.  Real yummy too!  For only one sol at the central market in Puerto Maldonado.  Google reveals it is part of a health trend under the name of Buriti.

Deconstructing Durban

"There is nothing more Durban than going to The Cube and eating Bunny chow from Johnny's Rotis!"

Our fabulous host in Durban, Shaun, got really excited when he came up with this idea for a local experience.  We had heard about Bunny chow previously from some Durbanites we'd met in Zanzibar, who told us it was a specialty of the town.  But Shaun helped the identify the best (cheapest?) place to buy it, and the most scenic place to eat it.

You can't get more cubist than this.  The bunny is an end of a bread loaf, hollowed and filled with Indian food.  (Josh got mutton, I got kebab, and Shaun got chicken.). You are supposed to eat it with your hands.  Tear off a corner of the bread and scoop out the gravy and meat.  But it is very tempting to bring it to your face and just chew off chunks.  High marks on flavor, fun, and value!

Behind us, a metal cube overlooked the town.  Local art students paint the cube from time to time, but not when we were there.  Nearby us, a couple sat having an argument, which got Shaun even more excited.  Free local drama!  The Mabhida football stadium, a relic from the 2010 World Cup, dominated our view.  We did not go inside the stadium but you can take a little cable car up and bungee jump from the top.  As we finished our bunnies, a sightseeing bus called the "Ricksha" unloaded a gaggle of tourists into the park so they, too, could ogle the skyline and take photos.

All of these things paint a fun and resort-like picture of Durban.  It is the biggest port in South Africa and apparently a favorite beach getaway for Johannesburgers, who call it "Durbs" and even "Dibs."  But what about all the stuff we learned about South Africa in school and in the news?  What about apartheid and crime?

Well no one we talked to denied that segregation is still a reality.  The townships that were created for Black people to live in are still there - Umlazi, KwaMusha, etc.  (But now the Durban tourism board helps organize Township Tours!)  The Indians have their area and their shops.  Eat at the little beachside "Circus Circus Cafe" on a Thursday afternoon and all the waiters are Black, while almost none of the customers are.  (Being there felt like we were interrupting the Ladies Who Lunch.)  I stopped counting the number of commercial buildings with signs that stated, "Right of Admission Reserved." 

Indeed, for me Durban showed how South Africa is still very much a part of Africa, with the "formal" and "informal" economies creating a striking blend.   The Warwick Triangle is a warren of market stalls just on the edge of the city center's parks and skyscrapers, where hundreds if not thousands of shopkeepers were selling clothes, electronics, and most unusual for me, "traditional" medicines and remedies.

As for crime, a guidebook told us to be careful of our valuables and belongings if we walked through this area.  But nothing happened.  It was only when we walked back to the city center that we were targeted.  Walking on a busy sidewalk, I saw an arm reach over my shoulder.  The kid behind me grabbed this Nexus tablet I was holding and tried to pull it away.  But my grip was stronger than his.  It happened really quickly and left my heart racing.  I turned around and gave the kid a pissed-off look and hoped he was embarrassed.  Of course his attempt seemed brazen to me, but I felt it was pointless to make a scene in that context.

If Bunny Chow and the Cube are Durban, so are inequality and and tension, as well as community.  And unusually expansive Constitutional rights.  If you haven't heard, the South African Constitution is one of the most liberal in the world.  I guess they are proud of it.  I saw it celebrated in street murals and mentioned on TV.  In fact, we were playing a South African board game called 30 Seconds which is similar to Catchphrase, and one of the words was "The Constitution."  Well good - if they've got it, why not flaunt it?  Now it is time to see how the Constitution will make a difference.  Will all those rights turn South Africa into a melting pot, or a tossed salad, or just a Durban Bunny Chow with a white bread surface and a gooey spicy interior?  I think that may be the worst food metaphor I have ever made. 

I will end this unusually long post by saying Thank You Again to our host with the most, Shaun, and the crowd at Jackrabbit's bar in Morningside - we'll sing "Be Our Guest" at your Karaoke night any time you want!

A Shilling Tale

We are in Durban, South Africa, where it is late autumn, and a balmy 24 Celsius.  Mmhmhmhmhhm.  But there is one tiny problem.  We still have Ten Thousand Tanzanian Shillings from our time in Dar Es Salaam, that NO bureau at the airport in Joburg would take.

This is upsetting - what happened to African unity??  I get the fact that the Tanzanian shilling is pretty weak.  The ten thousand note  here is worth six dollars.  But It's not like the South African rand is that much better.  People here seem to love talking about how their currency is is going down the tubes.  The rand has dipped down to 10 per dollar.  Which makes things bizarrely cheap in a country that feels just as urbanized as Australia or the UK. 

And the breakfast look just as western too!  Except for that little tub of SPICY peri-peri.  Sawubona!

Tea thyme

Winter is coming...

In the southern hemisphere, that is.  We are not south of the equator yet, but are already experiencing the seasonal shift.  Here in the Bale mountains of southern Ethiopia, it is getting colder.  The rainy season has just begun and some beautiful plants are blooming.

This thing is the Red-hot Poker and it is now one of my favorite flowers.  You cannot eat it but it is used as medicine.  I like how it stands out so strongly against the vivid green moss and grass.

And another local bloomer here is thyme.  When we asked for tea at the first rest stop on this two-night trek, they gave us water steeped with dried plant stalks, sweetened.  We had no idea what we were drinking but we knew it was amazing.  Then as we climbed higher in altitude to the African alpine forest, we saw the wild thyme growing everywhere, and recognized it as the tea we had been drinking.

We got here from Addis Ababa via a couple of minibuses to the small town of Dodola.  In Dodola, a shopkeeper befriended us and showed us a good place for lunch.  We had berberi, which turned out to be injerra with lots of tangy sauces, veggies, and cheese.  We ate it with our hands, except hose two bites that our host put directly into our mouths with his hand.  How could we refuse?  He said it was a sign of great friendship.  After, he took us on a walk to see some waterfalls, and Josh took the opportunity to have fun with some local kids.  He pulled his shirt tails over his head and acted like a leaping monster.  Needless to say, they loved it.

But like I said, we are not in the southern hemisphere yet.  I have never been there but will cross that frontier on Tuesday when we reach our next stop: Nairobi!

Dos and Donts of Ancient Egypt

Do bring a student ID card - you get discounts at almost every site.  It doesn't matter that neither Josh nor I are students any longer, and in fact I don't even have a student ID.  I used my Washington DC public library card and they gave me the discount.

Don't use large denomination bills.  Taxi drivers and such won't give you correct change, and will keep the remainder as "baksheesh."  You'll also need small coins to tip the guards and stray kids at museums who will otherwise not let you through or may pester you relentlessly.

Do let the little kids that are asking for money have some fun with you.  They have good senses of humor when you ask them their name.  Josh and I ask them for help (where is the closest ATM?  Can you sing a song for us?) before giving them any sort of tip.  They like having a job.

Don't go it alone.  When you are visiting these places with a local, the hasslers will approach them first and far less frequently.  But if you go alone, you will be targeted.  They will tell you the pyramids are closed, or that they can let you in for a fee, or find a way to climb, or that it is too far to walk, until you don't know what to believe and end up buying whatever it is they are selling.

Do visit the temples that you have never heard of.  The pyramids at Giza and temple of Luxor were far less interesting than Medinat Habu, the latter being a funerary temple for Ramses III.  So many of the bigger ones are in bad shape or riddled with tourists and obnoxiousness, and their contents are in Museums anyway (which may be better to visit).  But we went to Medinat Habu on the West Bank of Luxor, which was basically empty, had tons and tons of detailed hieroglyphics and statues, and felt hallowed.  It is not far from the Valley of the Kings which we skipped.

Don't ride the horses at the pyramids.  That is the best way to be captive to your horse owner, and to have a sore butt while not being able to concentrate on the pyramids at all, since you are spending all your effort just to steer and avoid minibus traffic.

Do take time to wander the streets and see stuff that is not really historic, but living and local.  We ran across an alley with a canopy of festive LED garlands and rope tassles and flowers, where children were playing and horses were having lunch.  We also went shopping for pants and found the Facebook store, which sells nothing you'd expect.

Don't eat the Luxor street cheese.  'Nuff said.

Cairo Spring Break

We were slightly sad about missing Easter in Rome, what with the huge audience and blessings and fanfare.  But as soon as we landed in Egypt, we learned that Easter is a huge national holiday here, too,  It's called Sham el Nessim, and though it is not about Jesus' ressurection, it does herald spring, involve mackerel, and give people time off work.

Our host family in Cairo was using this time off to head to the beach on the North Coast of Egypt, and they invited us along.  We were initially reluctant, since it did not fit our idea of an Egypt trip, and we had not seen the museum or pyramids.  Plus, this is what Lonely Planet said about the North Coast:

"This is where well-to-do Cairenes and the top brass of Egypt’s military establishment now come to escape the oppressive city heat of the summer. It’s so busy here that when driving past, the only glimpses you’re likely to get of the ocean are through the skeletal structures of unfinished holiday villages."

Unless you come in April.

We stayed two days on the beach in El-Hamam city, about 50 km west of Alexandria.  There are no fake pyramid decorations or hieroglyphics or King Tut masks anywhere.  Just families and friend groups hanging out near the water.  For us, it was a great opportunity to relax in a gorgeous scenery while seeing how Egyptians take their holiday.

They ate breakfast at noon, lunch at six pm, and dinner at midnight.  We had Bedouin food with lots of tahini and tomato and fenugreek and eggplant.  There was fish and baklava and fûl and olives and cheese and lots of warm, hearty flatbread.  They slept in close quarters and stayed up laughing and joking around.  Josh taught them the card game Egyptian Rat.  They tried to teach is a game they called Estimation, but it was really hard and then we realized it was Bridge.  We all ran into the cold water together during a day with an extreme riptide and felt so alive, pushing against the current and the temperature and running back to our towels with brain freezes at the end.  I tried asking the men patrolling the beach with uniforms and guns to take a picture with me, but they must have been confused why an "Arab" was asking for this.  The sand was not tiny square grains like the beaches I am used to. It was white and fine and each grain was spherical, making it really pleasant to grasp and knead.  And of course, it was awesome to see old women wearing flow robes and head scarves sitting on beach chairs while their sons brought buckets of ocean water for them to put their feet in.

The whole time in Turkey and Italy, we had not visited any of the Mediterranean beaches for which they were famous.  I think that Egypt's beaches may be even better.  The only hard part is driving there, across the desert road (speed bumps sneak up on you!) and checkpoints without falling asleep at the wheel.  (Kudos to Josh for driving all the way back to Cairo and not losing his mind with all the aggressive drivers and pedestrians swirling about.)  We still have not done the pyramids yet, but I doubt they will be this idyllic.

Stockholm Sweet Holm

Hej hej!  It is the beginning of spring in Scandinavia, and the birds have just come back from Spain and Africa.  We have joined them, and are staying in Mälarhöjden, a suburb of Stockholm, five minutes from the world's largest IKEA store.  Our lovely host, the Östlunds, have been incredible ambassadors of Swedish history, food, and humor.  We are discovering how little we knew about Sweden (and the whole Baltic Sea region) before coming here.

This whole city is built on tons of islands.  You should Google map Stockholm and check out the crazy archipelago it sits on (and capture the two Pokemon while you'd at it).  Pretty flat in the center, it gets fun and hilly out where we are staying.  There are giant granite boulders peeking out and the soil is only about 1 meter deep.  But the Swedes are real good at digging tunnels through rock (mines of Moria, anyone?).  Most of the houses in this neighborhood have geothermal heating for example - each house having a tunnel going 250 meters down through the earth.

When you think of Sweden, you probably don't think of cardamom.  But yesterday, while enjoying fika (a coffee break) with our hosts, I discovered the Swedish cardamom bun.  It's like a cinnamon roll, but flavored with cardamom, which to me was definitely a double-take.  What?  Cardamom is distinctly South Asian, right?  Nope.  These cardamom buns are the perfect combination of sweet and spicy, fluffy and crunchy.  They are sold in every bakery here, and are reason enough to come visit.

Josh has been geeking out over the architecture, especially the work of Gunnar Asplund, whom he studied in school.  Asplund was a bit obsessive, but his City Library and Woodland Cemetery (Skogskyrkogården) are very striking, I have to admit.  Look at these "hieroglyphics" on the wall of the library.  Egyptian and Greek motifs were everywhere, but never quite as you would expect.  There is also the Drottningsholm palace, a mini Versailles with an awesome, very well preserved Baroque theater.

I think my favorite part of being here, apart from taking in the excellent, clean air and environment, is learning about the country through the eyes of our hosts.  They reveal how Sweden, like everywhere, is a country of contradictions. We learned that Sweden is a major arms exporter, yet has not fought in any war since 1814, a fact which explains some of its prosperity.  It sold steel to both the Allies and the Axis powers during World War II, for example.  We learned that the Swedish language abolished the formal "you" pronoun in the 1960s, and considers itself the most casual country in Europe, but that some young people are bringing it back when speaking to adults, in a kind of ironic politeness rebellion. 

We learned about how even private schools are free, since the government pays each school per student, but that some people are starting private schools, attracting students with perks like "free gym membership" and McDonalds vouchers, and then providing a substandard education while getting rich from the government payments that they don't actually use for teaching.  By the way, our host brother went to this amazing school in Stockholm, which really challenges any school in America with its emphasis on diversity and multiculturalism.  http://sverigesradio.se/sida/artikel.aspx?programid=2054&artikel=5526738

We learned that Swedish law and tradition gives everyone the right to enter, hike, camp, and even pick berries and flowers on land that is not too developed or built up, even if it is owned privately, but that certain companies are using this tradition (called allemansrätten) to bring workers from Thailand to harvest wild berries freely which they then sell for a profit.

It's hard being a utopia!

Listening to an free organ concert in Stockholm cathedral on Saturday, I couldn't help but feel a sense of homecoming.  I know that sounds strange, but it was peaceful, open to all, casual, and interesting.  Having all of these features present simultaneously is a rare thing, based on the places we've stopped on our trip.  Utopian or not, this feeling is palpable in Sweden so far, and makes me think, "Yeah. I could live here."  But could I afford it?  Um..... Check with me again after I get used to paying $5.50 for a single subway ride!

Aegean Village Face-off

From the Central Aegean coast in Turkey, we bring you another episode of Village Face-Off!  Today's match-up: Şirince vs. Beyazköy.  (Actually, its real name is something else but I think I shall keep the name to myself!)  Two small hill towns within driving short distance of the ruins of Ephesus.

This is Şirince:

Some quick stats:  described in the guidebooks as idyllic, well-preserved old Greek town, and increasingly a weekend get away for wealthy turks.  Reachable via shared vans that leave throughout the day from the closest backpacker town.  Hawkers selling lots of fruit wines at 20 Turkish lira a bottle at both shops where we inquired.  Lots of accommodations and restaurants.  Parking lot cost 5 lira per otomobil.  Locals hanging about but not interested in tourists, while hawkers all speak English.  American pop music audible somewhere. 

Overall score: 6/10.  Mostly for the gorgeous hilly scenery and the convenience factor.

And this is Beyazköy:

Some quick stats: not described or listed in guidebooks. Reachable via private transport or maybe a school bus from somewhere.  No hawkers.  No hotels.  No restaurants.  (Trust us, we asked.)  But as with most Turkish villages, there is a tea house across from the mosque in the central square.  Parking is where you can find it.  Locals are outside tending flocks or soaking up welcome midday warmth and are very interested in tourists, but do not speak English.

Overall score: 9/10.  Why so high, you ask?

First of all, the hilly scenery here is just as gorgeous as Şirince, except that there are fewer houses.  

Second of all, even though there is not a restaurant, we were fed well.  While sipping tea, we darted next door and bought a cheap loaf of bread from the village mart.  Seeing this, the tea house man brought out a Tupperware full of local olives and put it on our table, so we ate some of the olives.  They were not very flavorful, though.  The man came over and made it obvious that, instead of eating them, we were supposed to be dipping our bread into the oil in which the olives were floating.  So we did, and oh my god.  Tastiest, freshest, most fantastic olive oil we have ever had.  And he made it himself, from the olive trees growing all around us.  We easily finished off the entire loaf of bread, and the whole meal (bread, olives, oil, tea) cost 2 lira.  One dollar.

We could have eaten more too, because not five minutes later we were being offered food and drink from a lady sitting on a hillock near some sheep.  She waved at us while we were admiring the hillside and so we approached and sat down by her.  In Turkish, she asked us where we were from, and did we think it was cold here in Beyazköy, and had we eaten, etc.  I got her name:  Nadireçam Gölova Menderes.  She laughed at how short my name was in return.  She also laughed at the sheep dung that was on my pant knee, and offered to clean it.  But we didn't want to abuse Nadireçam's hospitality, and we fondly bade her adieu.

I still marvel at the difference between the guidebook village and the unmarked village.  Beyazköy has not been "found," and the only reason we found it is because we had a rental car, Google maps, and a random Spidey sense.  I wonder how the village would change if more tourists began visiting.  For that reason, I've given it an alternate name, just in case Lonely Planet editors lurk on travel blogs.  Whatever happens, I hope Nadireçam stays there for a long time.

Grabbed

Here is a non-comprehensive list of instances we have been grabbed in Uzbekistan:

1.  Grabbed by a businessman and his girlfriend at 3 am as they were passing by us on the street in Tashkent, and invited to an improbable breakfast of shashlyk and lagman as we waited for our train.  Here, by the way, were our cabin mates on the train:

2.  Grabbed by a drunk fellow named Zakero and pulled into an Uzbek wedding in Samarkand where Josh danced with two babushkas.

3.  Grabbed by a crowd of competing dudes as soon as we got off the share taxi in Bukhara, who gave us no choice but to take their bus back to Tashkent, even though it was not parked at the station and was full of sacks of textiles.

Just a tiny sampling of life in Uzbekistan so far.  More to come soon.

I heart Rangoon

Today was the first day during this entire trip where I felt like having a beard helped me fit in. Facial hair is scarce in Japan, Cambodia, Thailand, and for that matter much of Myanmar.  However, in one beautiful neighborhood of Yangon, I found my people.  Desi reunion!

Do you know how good it feels to speak the local language?  So far, speaking has been the most frustrating part of Myanmar.  I am pretty good at languages but Burmese is totally giving me a run for my money, with the combination of tones and stress and unvoiced final consonants.  So today, walking along Mahabandoola Road west of Sule Pagoda, in an area the guidebooks called Little India, I decided I would say, "Hindi?" to people before trying to speak Burmese.  After three tries, no luck; everyone stuck with Burmese.  Then, at one clothing stand, the shopkeeper I asked shook his head and said "Urdu."  I almost could not believe it.  I had not been asking people if they spoke Urdu because I figured Pakistan is so far away, across India.  But duh!  Myanmar is close to Bangladesh, and Bangladesh was once called East Pakistan, and thus the Urdu trail spreads farther East than I had realized.  I finally noticed the people here were wearing beards and white caps and kurtas mixed with Burmese longyi.  So I asked the man about his merchandise, and he beamed when he heard my Urdu.  He told me his name was Mohammed Yunus.  He was born in Yangon, though he called it Rangoon, and his whole family lives here.  He said the neighborhood is mostly Muslim, though there are Hindus as well.  It was magic.  This is probably the closest to a homecoming I will get on the trip. 

We sat outside the restaurant next to Mohammad Yunus' stall and ate paratha, idli, and chickpeas while sipping masala chair and lassi.  I almost did not care that I hadn't gotten my Indian visa.  Maybe Rangoon does it better anyway. 

On that note, to anyone at all interested in Indian food, you must check out Burmese cuisine.  Their version of curry feels so fresh.  Small plates, sauces, sliced veggies, stewed meats and every shop's special hinjo soup - we have eaten it for days and no two places' taste the same. 

The Wheel

Whew!  We made it to Myanmar.  We made it on by bus and by foot, across a border that literally just opened to foreigners five months ago.  We are in a little town called Myawaddy.  When we arrived at the border, we were escorted to a "foreigners lounge" and the agent told us the news.  The buses only run onward every other day, and we got in too late that day.  So we would have to wait two days to get a bus out of town.  Luckily, Myawaddy is the most interesting middle of nowhere that we have ever been stuck in.  For example, this:

Almost no one speaks English, and there are no maps, but it feels very welcoming.  Almost everyone had yellow face paint on their cheeks when we arrived, and we assume it was because of Chinese New Year.  Hungry, we walked through an outdoor market until we found the only thing that looked like a restaurant: a table and chairs and pots and some women sewing.  One of them bade us sit.  She poured a dark vegetable broth and rice noodles into bowls for us, slid tamarind and chili our way and cut fish and tomatoes into the bowls with scissors.  She told us the Myanmar words for everything, and kept refilling the noodles and broth.  The food was less tangy than Thai food and had more hints of lentil and  black pepper.  Perhaps because we were hungry, it tasted amazing.  And it was all 1000 kyat.  One dollar.

After dinner, we followed the lights and sounds of music until we entered a place where people were taking off their shoes.  We were at a Buddhist temple, except this night it was also a carnival.  Picture it: golden statues and bouncy castles, ancient bells and wood carvings and a ferris wheel.  Ferris wheel?!  They were looking for people to get on, so of course we did.  I got nervous when four young men in flip flops climbed onto the outside of the ferris wheel and found positions in the framework near the top.  What is going to happen to them when this thing starts, I wondered.  Then I realized they were the reason it was going to start.  There was no motor.  They all shifted their weight at once and the wheel started turning.  Fast.  I held on for dear life as the little Burmese kids across from us giggled.  The young men pounced off the spinning wheel right in the nick of time.  I thought their job was done, but no.  They stood right under the wheel, bent backwards like they were doing the limbo.  And flicking their bodies at each car to keep the momentum going.  The human powered ferris wheel, in a Buddhist temple, on Chinese New Year, in a Myanmar border town.  Absolutely worth it.

Chingaaaang!

I have eaten scorpion, snails, and crickets, but none compare to this.  Tarantula!

Roasted, covered in salt and tangy spices, and served with tangy spider sauce.  We really enjoyed the legs; crispy and with a surprising amount of meat in there.  The abdomen packs an eggy surprise.

Ok enough pretending like that was easy.  It took several minutes for us to get over the creepy crawly feeling.  But it really was worth it in this case because the things were so good.  It was mostly the preparation.  I wouldn't trust any old roasted tarantula.  But at Romdeng restaurant, they do it right.  The place is run by a nonprofit.  It is staffed by former street youth who are being given a new chance.  It was really adorable to watch the waiters in training, as they nervously shifted the napkins around on the table trying to find the right place for them.

Cambodia is awesome so far.  Knowing a little Khmer goes a long way.  I can make the little girls laugh when I say hello.  And Josh is slowly letting go of Japanese phrases in favor of nasally ones like som toh (sorry) and chingaang (yummy).  

Okonomiyaki? Ok.

Leaving Kyoto to go to Osaka was like leaving a museum to go to a Chuck E. Cheese.  Kyoto = temple, gardens, and lots of history.  Osaka = food and wacky modern buildings.  We only decided to come to Osaka because it was on the way to the airport.  But we don't regret it one bit.

Our first night at the hostel, we asked the front desk for a place to eat a local specialty.  They led us to a hole in the wall serving Okonomiyaki.  The name means something like, "whatever you want."  But that is not very helpful or creative.  They were described to us as pizza.  I think they should be called Grillcakes.  Flour, cabbage, sauce, and toppings, made to order.

The owner of the place was surprised and happy to have foreigners in his shop.  He pulled out his English menus and we pointed at the toppings we wanted.  He made the Okonomiyaki in front of us, frying the batter on the griddle like a pancake, throwing on the squid, shrimp, mayo, and seaweed, and flipping them skillfully.

They were amazing!  A crusty escape in a land of squishy noodles and rice.  The fun part is you get to eat them off a little griddle on the middle of your table.  We got a little plate and a trowel each, and hacked off steaming mouthfuls. Every bite was fresh as the first.

If you're in Osaka, look up Chitose restaurant near Shin-Imamiya station.  The owner got to talking with us while we ate.  He told us that he heard the United States is very cold.  He saw on TV a story where an American prisoner escaped, and then decided to run back to jail because warmth felt better than freedom.  I think I missed that news story.  But Japan has felt pretty cold too, for this American, and now it's time to soak up some warmth in Cambodia.  See you tomorrow, Phnomh Penh!