Desperation

Yesterday, a Tibetan monk in a predominately Tibetan province of Gansu of China drank gasoline, set himself on fire and chanted “Free Tibet”.

This is the second such suicide of defiance in the past 6 months. The last one resulted in 300 monks being illegally detained and put into re-education programs (ie. indoctrination of propaganda). I'm in Tibet right now and I am concerned about the fallout of the actions of this poor and desperate monk on the rest of the 500,000 Tibetans within the reach of the strong arm of the Chinese government.

No one who knows me will say I lack opinions – but I'm usually not a hardcore activist or political town crier. But in this case, I want to scream from the rooftop of Jokhang temple in central Lhasa – "Free Tibet, Free Tibet, Free Tibet". Of course I also don't want to go to Chinese prison so I will abstain.

It is not just some hippie bullshit to jump on the political bandwagon because the Dalai Lama seems like a cool dude. It is the overt colonization of the Tibetan territory and blatant Chinese propaganda that fills the streets that saddens and angers me. The Chinese say they are modernizing a rural backwater. I say they are polluting a beautiful city with hideous flashing neon lights and pointless consumerism.

And yet, the Tibetans live on. They spin their prayer wheels, prostrate themselves in front of Potala Palace and emit a deep-rooted spirit like nothing I have seen anywhere in the world. They have the confidence and the knowledge that their culture has and will survive, despite everything the Chinese can throw at them. As I join in the kora around Jokhang temple, I am swept up in their peaceful energy and quiet confidence. That is until the pimple faced Chinese soldiers armed with machine guns march counter clockwise and demand everyone moves out of their way.

I want to have hope for the Tibetan people, but the Chinese have nuclear weapons, an army of millions and all the money in the world. All the Tibetans have to fight with is compassion.

What 7 months?

I have finally made it to a country where I don't have to do the "point-and-pray" in restaurants and can even find shoes that fit me. I'm in the Land Down Under to visit Jordan and Dave for 2 weeks and it feels like we've never been apart. It's the mark of true friends to be apart for 7 months and have experienced as much as we have and yet feel like we haven't skipped a beat.

And the wine is fabulous.

Guilt

I have 8 months off to travel the world and I have already been to Ethiopia, Argentina, Chile, Mongolia and Indonesia. The two months in Ethiopia allowed me to see one of the most magical and beautiful countries on the planet. And now they are suffering.

Of course Ethiopia is no stranger to drought and devastation, the famous drought of the 1980's resulted in millions dead and starving but these massive casualties were mostly the result of intentional mismanagement by the government. In 1984 an Amharic president was in power, Mengistu, who was also a dictator and a tyrant with a complete and sheer hatred for the two other major tribes making up Ethiopia - the Tigrinyans and Oromo. A long-standing separatist movement by both the Tigrinya in the North and Oromo in the South fuelled his tribe-centered views. When a massive drought hit the Tigrinya regions the government had already spent 46% of its GDP on military spending and government officers turned a blind eye to the suffering of their 'enemies' and countrymen.

The result? 1 million dead. Bob Geldof hitting the scene with LiveAid. Ethiopians becoming synonymous with bug-eyed, loose limbed children.

(Image courtesy of AFP)

And now it is happening again. In a country where I just ate injera every day with shiro or tibs or beiyanatu and enjoyed every single mouthfull. I didn't enjoy the food because it represented freedom from famine or the first meal I had had in weeks, I just really liked it. I spent thousands of dollars in a country where $300 is a yearly income. And now the worst meterological drought in 60 years threatens these beautiful people again.

Perhaps the political situation in Ethiopia proper will prevent the major disaster seen in the 1980s but the worst hit region is Somalia - a country in anarchy and 'run' by our 'enemy' - Fundamental Islamists.

Humans deserve food, water, shelter and access to medical care. Humans include fundamental islamists, Africans and those that live differently than 'us'....just in case you needed a reminder. But politics run the world and starving humans are chess pieces to governments and NGOs alike. We need money and food and water to get through the corrupt officials and the game-players to those that need it. An almost impossible task.

I wish my travels to the region gave me some insight on how to help or what to do to ease my traveler's guilt. But I have no ideas....short of jumping on a plane and getting back to a country I love so much and buying all the rice I can find and walking it to the camps and feeding children by hand. One small step? Maybe, but I feel as helpless as everyone else, maybe moreso because of my affection for the region. Should we all give a day's wage to the multitude of red-tape filled aid agencies with a religious or political motive?

Helping is one of the simplest things to want to do. And yet it's the most complicated to actually complete. I have no answers. Does anyone?

(Market in Lalibela, Northern Ethiopia, January 2011)

Amed, my Love

I have fallen in love with Bali. Not the Bali of drunk Aussies but the Bali of Amed, on the north-eastern coast. It is a place of scalloped black-sand beaches, lapping waves, tranquil breezes and mountain villages in the distance. It is paradise.

All for $12 a night (including breakfast) in a hotel with a private beachside pool, semi-private beach and wifi. Take that Hilton Waikiki.

I'm working on my tan lines, getting $7 poolside massages and going on walks in the lush mountainside behind the beach that is full of happy locals proudly displaying their fighting roosters and inviting me in for tea.

I'm happy.

Who's Talking

A simple and unfortunate rule of travelling:

Those who talk to you, you don't want to talk to.

These are the touts down Monkey Forest Road in Ubud that call after you for a taxi over and over and over again. Or ask if you need a room, or need to buy souvenirs, or...the list goes on. Then you walk two steps and it starts again and again and again. They are doing their job, I get that, but I can't possibly say or even acknowledge everyone that speaks to me in a day because I wouldn't move 2 feet.

Those you don't talk to you, you want to talk to.

These are the people going about their day and allowing you into their country with a warm smile and welcoming passivity. These are the people that go about their day despite the tourists and don't rely on the tourist dollar for their livelihood which usually means that they have much more interesting and 'real' lives to the multitudes of those that hassle tourists.

It is the people of any country that make it worth seeing and exploring and the Balinese live up their reputation for being kind and with a deep soul that resonates in everything that they do. If only I carried a sign that said "I don't want any. (And if I do...I'll find you)".

Balinese Bliss

Bali is a cheap tropical paradise in the middle of Indonesia with smiling people, luxurious spas and a culture of relaxed efficiency. I came here after the epic trip in Mongolia to relax and to re-enter the world of Facebook, texting and English. I am still searching for my Balinese Bliss (BB).

I started at Villa Serenity - by donation yoga, pool, 100m from the beach and a full on chill vibe. Cool people, cheap food and away from the crowds. It was beautiful. But guilt got the better of me and I figured I couldn't just hang out at the same beautiful location for the entire time in Bali so I headed out, in search of more BB.



We got a group together to visit some temples where we found the Balinese people in the middle of their yearly celebration of Galungan. People were bringing offerings to their gods on their heads, praying for peace and happiness and smiling, always smiling. But I'm not a Balinese Hindu and I can see their religious calm, but my lack of understanding of their religion means that it cannot be my own inner peace.


This bliss is definitely not in the so-called cultural capital, Ubud. Made famous by the book Eat, Pray, Love you half expect wandering fortune tellers and yogis in the streets creating a calm and soothing city life. But Ubud is hectic, FULL of tourists and shops that cater exclusively to Western clientele. Not for me.

Tomorrow I'm heading of to Amed, a tiny village on the north-eastern coast that is supposed to have great snorkelling, cheap food and good yoga. The Balinese Bliss I've been searching for? I hope so.

Cookies

This is our dog:


She is probably Rottweiler, maybe Shepard and a lot of mutt and she is ours. We purchased her for a whopping sum of $22 from a local in Tariat and we have loved her ever since.

Her name was Simba but we decided that a much funnier name that we could never get away with at home is "Cookies". And it fits because she adores food, like passionately in love with anything that has ever smelt or dealt food.

We got her for our protection and to protect the horses but she sleeps like a rock, snores like a lumberjack and occasionally will try to bark at our own horses. But we love her anyways.

And it was inevitable that we had to give her away, we can't bring her to Edmonton and we searched across Mongolia for a loving home for her. Mongolians aren't known for their love of dogs, in fact, they are universally petrified of them, but we asked as many people as we could for somewhere that would love her as much as we did.

A tough goodbye and a few tears later, "Cookies" is now the new guardian and occasional trekking companion at Bonda Lake Guesthouse in Hatgal, Mongolia. If you are ever there, give her a kiss for us.

Tale of the Tape

By the numbers, 6 weeks in the Mongolian countryside:

- one boob grab
- two thefts
- three tumbles off the horse
- four hours a day on horseback
- five kilometers an hour average
- six showers.... in 6 weeks.

And They're Off

There are still some negotiations and prices to settle but if we can bargain hard, we will be off into the wilderness tomorrow.

We have selected 3 horses and they all seem very pleasant and somewhat healthy, it is a long hard winter on the horses and the weather is finally turning to allow grasses to grow so they are still a bit skinny and weak. That didn’t stop our horseman from showing us the biggest nag of the bunch – a white old stallion that has masses growing all over its body and has definitely seen better days. Then, when they said we could try lassoing one on our own, they were a bit impressed to find that we picked out their best and most beautiful horse. (although Kelti didn’t succeed on the whole lasso thing). It wasn’t until about an hour later that they told us that, in fact, that particular horse is not for sale. But the white one is still up for grabs.

In short, we have found 4 horses that will suit, we still have to negotiate which of the three we will pick but some of the choice will take into consideration that our pimped out Canadian saddles are about 10 sizes too big for the ponies they pass off as horses here. But, we hacked the shit out of our saddles with new holes in the cinch and all sorts of cutting and hole punching and they fit…. Sort of.

It will calm all of your fearful loved ones that we will also try to negotiate in a guide for the first 5 days to, literally, show us the ropes. It will be nice to have someone to show us how to tend to the horses while we struggle to make camp. We practiced with our stove today, it only took 5 tries to get it going. We’re hoping when we actually set up camp that it will bring that down to 2 tries. If not, we can always eat ramen noodles uncooked.

We will likely be in contact in a couple of weeks or so when we hit Moron (pronounced Muroon but they didn’t think to write it like that). We will desperately need a shower by then and we might even find internet to check in.

Until then, the horse girls of the Mongolian steppes are going into the wild. Peace out.

The Fear Factor

I was just thinking of going into my account and writing a blog about how things are coming together - we had a plan - White Lake to Khosvgol for 5 weeks.

Then the proverbial shit hit the fan.

We found out we needed a border permit to visit the Northern reaches of our itinerary - which is basically impossible to get because of logistics and time it takes to get this free permit.

I opened up an email from a tour agent that I had contacted and he basically said "Don't do it, it's irresponsible, you will get robbed, you will lose your horses, you will get lost"

And now Kelti and I are kinda freaking out.

Don't worry - we're still going, we just need to rework our route, think about renting horses and maybe even taking a guide. I don't know but we'll be leaving Friday at the latest to start. By then, we'll have gotten our confidence back and will be set to go.

The Last...

Before I embark on a big trip I spend the day before recognizing the last of things that I appreciate. The countries I go to aren't famous for their luxuries, so I learn to love the last time:

- I will actually use soft toilet paper
- I will use a nice, big and fluffy towel
- I can stand naked outside of the shower
- I will drink out of the tap
- I can spread eagle on a bed with clean and soft sheets and actual pillows

And the last time, for three months at least, that I can spend alone with my thoughts and be able to know that home is very much what I have made here in Edmonton.

Homeward Bound

We are headed home on Saturday and after many, many hours on the bus; many, many bottles of wine consumed and hopefully only a few, miniscule pounds gained; it's time to come home.

I never plan anything for the last few days of travel because after having been gone so long you start to look ahead to all the stuff you have to do when I get home. Everything from remembering where my car is parked to scheduling my leg wax, you just start looking ahead.

Luckily, Santiago has little to detain me, it's got a nice vibe with some friendly people but nothing to really see or do. So, we'll wander and drink wine with breakfast, lunch and dinner and wander around some more.

Then home, sweet home. At least for 3 weeks....then it's off to Mongolia I go.

Wine, Chocolate and Mountains

I have found my gustatory dream: Argentina. Everyone warned me of the massive beef consumption and that I would starve while watching others devour steak after glorious steak.

Those that warned me of the beef forgot that I can live for weeks, if not years, on wine and chocolate alone. Argentina is famous for its Malbec - the gentle and fruity red wine that is delicious in sangria. And it's chocolate is world class.

Around Mendoza there are countless wineries that are conveniently located within biking distance of one another. A few wine tastings later your bike isn't quite as stable as it once was, but in 28 degree heat and a perfectly sunny day, being a bit tipsy seems like it's a perfect moment in time.



Next on the destination list is Bariloche in Patagonia - famous for chocolate and mountains. We've been bar hopping from chocolate store to chocolate store while admiring the mountains. Add in some Patagonian Malbec and I have found my calling in life - to be a super fat and drunk hiker.

Boca! Boca!! Boca!!!

If there is one thing, just one thing that unites all Argentines - it is a passionate love for God.

No, not that God.

Diego Maradona.

The greatest footballer to ever live, scoring the most beautiful goal in the most beautiful game was an Argentine and is revered across Argentina. And nowhere more than in the slums of Buenos Aires in a region called Boca.

It is the Boca football club where Maradona wowed the crowds in La Bombonera, the most famous football stadium in the world. Best player in the world, best stadium in the world - of course I went.

Boca Juniors Football Club played Estudiantes on April 3rd, 2010. And Torah Kachur was in attendance. It is a pretty normal league game but you'd never know. Passionate fans singing, dancing, heckling and making as much noise as one human can possibly do for 3 entire hours. A football match only lasts 90 minutes, but the crowds assemble long before and stay long after to show their loyalty and their love for the beautiful game.



It was a regular league game, but it was far from a normal game. Two quick goals early in the match made the score 1-1, where it stayed for the better part of the match with the visiting squad playing a slow and boring style content to sit back and take the tie in the rival stadium.

Then, late in the 2nd half, Boca decided to take charge and start taking risks - a few quick chances didn't materialize but at least the crowd jumped a bit more than their usual 100 times per minute. Then, in spectacular fashion - Boca Juniors scored with 15 seconds remaining in the match.

Understandably, the crowd went beserk.... an old man fell on top of me, beer was sprayed everywhere, a woman started crying. For a regular season match.

Oilers fans are pathetic.

First Words

I have learned that you have to prioritize the words you try in any new language. The first words to learn are:

1) "How much?" This year alone, I have learned to say "How much?" in Spanish, Mongolian, Russian, Chinese, Amharic and Tibetan.

Followed by a close second of:

2) The numbers

Only after you have mastered those will you need to say:

3) "Thank you"

And finally, only if you plan on riding the subway or any really crowded place, you learn to say:

4) "Sorry"

That will cut it just about anywhere.

The word "please" isn't on my list; if it was, it would be about #435....only Canadians say please. We also say sorry, a lot.

Quintessential Argentina

The soul of a country is rarely found in the cities, but instead it's found in the countryside where the primary producers live off the land that shapes their culture. For Argentina, the soul is in the tango of the city and the gauchos of the campo.

I find myself in San Antonia de Areco, a bucolic town sitting on the Areco river with cobbled streets, a single church and a people wandering the banks of the river and commuting on bicycles and horseback. The horse is a quintessential part of Argentine culture - they herd cattle, use them for transport and allow rich people to feel important when they play polo. In the countryside, the horse is revered, respected and a passion.

When I found myself sitting on a bench near the river with a roll of Oreos in hand I wasn't surprised to hear the sounds of a gaucho astride his mount galloping across the puento viejo (or old bridge) of San Antonia de Areco.

It takes a special talent to eat Oreos and snap a picture of the perfection of that moment.


I haven't given Argentian horses a go yet. Maybe tomorrow I'll try my hand at mastering the gaucho ways, complete with their oversized beret.

Leaving (again)

The adage goes - sometimes getting there is half the fun.

I wholeheartedly disagree - I think getting there is ALL the fun.

Except when it comes to air travel.

Despite the massive amount of excitement I have to discover a new country, push myself with adventure and experience a new culture; I still find it a bit of a drag to leave. Thinking about the day ahead of 20 hours of travel, airport delays, pissy flight attendants... it makes me dread it.

Now I know my 'travel-self' well enough to know that the small depression about leaving, yet again, is just my way of covering my anxiety of making sure I have everything or my nervousness about whether I'm going to like the new country. I always get excited as soon as we break the clouds and the plane starts to descend on a new city and I get to see the glorious new country from 37,000 feet. I'm getting excited again just thinking about that first look, the first taste and the first time I breathe the mountain air again.

A new destination awaits and I'm ready, so ready. I just have to get on that dang plane.

Finally... a decision!

It's official - Argentina for April 2011. It took me a very long while to decide and no one had any sympathy for the stress that I was under.

But for the record, trying to decide where you want to go when you want to go everywhere is difficult. Balancing things such as weather, money, time, distance, flight routing, access to internet...all variables that affected this decision. For instance, I'm not going to go to Nepal for only a month because it is so far and getting around wastes a lot of time. Peru sounded like a good idea but over Easter the entire country shuts down and doesn't even party. No chance I was going there.

Argentina made the cut this time. Partly because the Lonely Planet was available in the bookstore, partly because Air Canada flies there. Oh and I guess there are some really cool things too - like gauchos and Andes. I have no idea what I'm going to do there or what is even there to see. I expect lots of cows and maybe a mountain or two. I'll tell you once I'm there.

Home Sweet Next!

Yes, I made it home. I survived the wilds of Africa and didn't get robbed, mugged, raped, pillaged, killed, maimed, or any other nightmare that the folks at home wished upon me. I survived with flying colours and have just finished a day nestled in my couch and all of my laundry.

Clean clothes can only mean one thing: Next!

The next destination will likely be Bolivia and Peru to do the Inca trail and hang out with some gringos. It's a bit of a beaten track for me but with limited time (only 5 weeks) and a need to be a bit more online than Ethiopia was it seems like a good compromise. And no jet lag! There are always benefits.

But I love, like passionately love Africa. Before heading to Ethiopia I thought it was West Africa that I loved because of the people I had met but it's pretty much the entire continent (at least the north) that I am head over heels for.

I will be back there soon and I'll test my love again by trying the south or east or something a bit different. I have a feeling that my love is true.

Heaven

Heaven is a $20 massage at the Sheraton in Addis. Complete with jacuzzi and shower. I am clean, I am relaxed.... this is Africa?

The Culture of Body Modification

For someone that absolutely hates tattooing I have to say I find ritual scarification completely beautiful. Many villagers in the North cut cross scars in their foreheads as a testament to their faith, others tattoo crosses between their eyes. All in the name of religion. Many peoples across Africa make three scars just beside the eyes, like pre-age wrinkling but nicer, there is something about the commitment to cut into yourself in the name of beauty...an ancient breast enhancement I guess.

Part deux of the journey is to head South for a totally different experience than the architectural beauty and natural diversity in the North. It is in the south that ritual scarring and body modifications take on a whole new meaning. It is in the south where the Mursi lip-stretchers are, this tribe inserts clay plates into their bottom lip until it reaches unimaginable diameters as a sign of beauty. Then, once married, they let themselves go a bit and are left with a dangling lip. I just wonder what it looks like when their jaw drops.

The Hamer people are famous for their body modifications including ear stretching like the emo kids do at home. Except this actually is cultural. And the Jinka perform scarification across their faces in different patterns including rubbing ash into wounds to darken the scars.

Coming from a cultural wasteland that is North America I can't help but ask the nagging question: why? Why perform these rituals that have no basis anymore in cleansing practices or even in finding a mate. Now, those that have their lips stretched are equally at home in their mud hut and on their mobile. It is culture and it should be preserved but a lot of the 'culture' is now solely for the tourist dollar.

Is tourism preserving culture by making it profitable or bastardizing it by making those that perform their cultural practices like animals in a zoo to be stared at? I don't have an answer to this question and I don't think it can be answered, but I am determined to get some damn cool photos of it.

The Road

Nothing can prepare you for the joys and sorrows of traveling in Africa. One of the most amazing sights isn't the mountains, wildlife or even the people. It's the road.

With limited access to power from poverty or just lazy governments not wanting to build power lines, everyone lives in the streets - they braid their hair, clean their clothes, walk for miles and tell stories all in birds-eye view from the bus. Sitting on the bus in Africa is absolutely hypnotic.

Or at least you have to be hypnotized to survive the screeching babies, squaking chickens, puking passengers and the purple knees you will have when you finally leave the moving oven because the seats are so close together that a sardine-can analogy is being kind.

If that wasn't enough, every time another vehicle passes the buses get completely filled with a fine dust that gets everywhere... I mean everywhere. And of course there is the inescapable heat that makes your shirt stick to your back and makes you desperately try to time drinking from your water bottle for between bumps. Usually you fail and water sprays everywhere. Which is probably a good thing because there aren't any bathroom breaks - or - when there is, the driver seems to find the only stretch of road that lacks a bush or rock or even a goat to squat behind.

The problem is that if getting around was easy then the sights wouldn't be as good. Maybe it's just bragging rights to say you are 'hardcore' but the absolute zen-like state you have to enter to survive the African roads make what you see when you finally get there that much more rewarding. It is always possible that the Danakil Depression is just some fancy colors but it's the 6 hour drive in the heat and salt and sleeping in a makeshift hut in the middle of nowhere that makes it that incredible.

Today I am suffering from the results of the African roads. Fourteen hours in a minibus where I got the seat with the most legroom, unfortunately that was also next to 3 other people... in a set of seats designed for three. Which means I spent fourteen hours sitting half sideways pressed up against the window, while I got a great seat to enjoy the view, my ass is killing me and my torso is now permanently twisted to the left. Thankfully, I don't have new bruises on my knees but I do have some new bumps on my head from hitting the window between potholes. Some vacation.

But maybe, just maybe, the sights are mind-blowing and getting there is half the fun.

Castles, Caves and Churches

The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind. I met up with two Aussie girls that were ripping through Northern Ethiopia so I decided to join. What have I been doing that will make you incredibly jealous?

First - a four day trek in the Simien Mountains complete with baboons, sheer rock cliffs, camping in the freezing cold and a cook that would make a Michelin star chef jealous at what this guy could whip up at 4000m.

Then a visit to Aksum where some old thingys are. Those old thingys are actually obelisks and stelae from the 4th century BC when Christianity came to Ethiopia.

After that, two days walking and climbing through the Tigray region to visit some churches built into the rock. One was about a 45 minute hike up to a cliff that we rock climbed... only about 5m but I still feel hardcore... where we crossed a short ledge to find our tippy toes hanging over a 200 meter (not an exaggeration) that went straight down. But, just looking over the ledge wouldn't suffice, nope - those crazy religious zealots had to shuffle their way about 20meters on a 1 foot ledge over that precipitous drop to carve a church in a natural cave.

And finally, la piece de resistance, the Danakil Depression - the lowest point in Africa and officially the hottest point on Earth. And people live there. In fact, they mine salt and load it onto a camel caravan that takes 2 weeks to walk to market. Also, if you thought your techicolor shirt in the 80s was totally tubular and that fluorescent shorts are still in style - you have NEVER seen color like the mineral deposits in the active geyser field in Danakil. Glowing and bubbling green water full of copper, red basins of iron and the brightest yellow you could possibly ever imagine of sulfur mounds. Truly one of the most spectacular natural sights I have ever seen on this Earth.

There, you are finally caught up, now please stop sending me emails asking if I'm alive. I'm just having too much darn fun to think about all of you ;)

Child's Play

Aaahhhh.... our youth - filled with shinny games, puzzle making and fort building. That was the life. Every child has that freedom and experience right?

Ethiopia isn't a place to grow up, most children are expected to contribute to the family income in some way, whether it is a 4 year old tending sheep or a 10 year old cooking all day with meager resources. The only time a child is truly free is until they can walk, then it is game over.

Take Melkomu for example. I met him in Lalibela where he, like all the other grade 9 students, are desperately trying to make ends meet in order to attend school. He bothers faranji or foreigners for money. But this one is different, first of all, his face is kind. He is desperate like all of them but his English is impeccable and has a curiousity and awareness that belies his 12 years.


Unlike most street boys that I completely ignore them or tell them to leave me alone, I actually spoke to 'Malcolm' and we chatted most of the day about our lives. He taught me Amharic, I taught him English. He told me about prices in Ethiopia, I told him about costs in Canada. His father makes roughly $0.60 a day working for rich Ethiopian families as a handiman, then on weekends he acts as a porter for $0.05 a load. In Malcolm's family there are 7 people - 3 brothers and 2 sisters.

A kilo of tef or the grain that forms the staple of Ethiopian food, injera, costs $1.30 and will last a family 3 days. A chicken costs $1.20 and a goat costs $20.00. They can barely afford to eat most days and 2 days that I spent with Malcolm he never ate breakfast and had one dinner.

He didn't own shoes.

It's a struggle to grow up here. But children still manage to be children - I saw children in remote villages playing jump rope with a handmade rope. In another village two small girls were practicing handstands and then there are the boys that are constantly wrestling and racing eachother through the fields. Despite the hardships they face, kids manage to still play here - with balls made from torn plastic bags or torn clothing and tree climbing, hiking and inventing games to fulfill their imagination. Something that our children miss in order to play more Xbox.

It sometimes gets to me

I've seen my fair share of hard luck cases. People whose families have sent them away thinking they were possessed, victims of polio, war, starvation and inexplicable diseases and preventable conditions. It's an integral part of traveling to these countries where life is cheap and short.

In the Dogon region of Mali 2.5 years ago - a baby girl, about 1 year old likely with cholera and likely died soon after she was brought to the 'toubab' or white person for healing. There was nothing I could do but say that I'm sorry but there was nothing I could do.

In Mopti, Mali, 9 years ago. Sitting having my breakfast of bread and warmed milk at a roadside cafe while groups of young boys sent away by their families to earn their keep were begging, not for scraps, but for the oil that is left on a finished plate of eggs.

And now in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. The struggles of some here is unimaginable. Many left their homelands during the famine of 1984 or subsequent droughts and moved to the city to make their way. Illiterate, unskilled and unable to cope with the pace of the city they live on the streets under burlap USAID sacs. Sometimes you can't tell their is a mass of bodies around a corner because it just looks like a pile of garbage. Old people with no possible source of income, the pensions of Ethiopia aren't the best, often blind and usually widowed and infirm.

Then comes the polio victims - bodies contorted in unspeakable ways by a childhood illness that is 100% preventable by vaccination. There is no welfare or healthcare or often even families to deal with them.

This is my reality right now. It's a downer of a post but it isn't all just happy tourism in third world countries. I give. I give a lot. Yesterday I gave a massive amount, as in a 1 birr bill which is approximately 6 cents, to as many of the invalids as I passed. I gave about 30 bills in 2 hours. Sure it is only $2 and I lose more than that a day at home. But I can't give more to each person or it will encourage begging to only whites (or faranjis) and will not make those in need look to their own countrymen for help.

There is nothing 'we' can do until the corruption ends on both sides - that of the local government and the overhead-bloated NGOs and aid organization. How much do you think WorldVision spends on their ads every Sunday morning? Enough to help 1000 people here perhaps.

Food food everywhere...

... but not a bite to eat.

One of the most complicated things about arriving in a new country (presuming your luggage arrives with you) is figuring out how and where to eat.

In Addis, there is lots of little restaurants serving all sorts of Ethiopian fare that looks delicious. The problem - I'm a white single girl. If I sit in a restaurant to dine like a queen for$2 I am mistake for a prostitute.

Or at the least, it is an open invitation for every stranger to join me in broken English conversations about how (insert nationality here) men are the best lovers. And how they worship women and believe that I am the most beautiful woman they have ever seen. Can you say awkward?

So I'm left with quick and cheap eats that I eat alone in my filthy hotel room that has no power or water or I eat on the go. It's annoying and you are left with eating lots of bread and cheese and cookies.

Okay, all this talk about food has made me starving. Awkward marriage proposal over a quick roast chicken here I come.

Abyss Ababa

It's go time. 5 hours left until I take off for yet another flight, this time to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Am I excited? Yes.

But everyone keeps sending me messages about being safe and warning me to register with the embassy and take a knife and bring pepper spray. Now I'm getting scared.

Scared is a good thing. Scared will keep me safe, if I am more aware of the risks then I'm more alert and less likely to be taken off guard. I'm not the person to walk with an open knife in my pocket and my passport duct-taped to my waist, but I am the person to be vigilant. You have to be. I'm a single white girl traveling alone, I'm not stupid and I know that I am a target.

Maybe that is part of the fun. It is very possible that the risk of traveling to far flung destinations that no one has heard of (like Djibouti) is part of the motivation to go. I like to think that my motivation to travel is to experience new cultures, view new ways of thinking and seeing incredible parts of the magnificent Earth. But the other part of it is to push my limits - emotional, physical and mental all rolled into a challenge of just surviving my experiences and coming out unscathed.

It's risky. I know it is. And I know my loved ones are just trying to keep me safe. But man, the nightmares I've been having about the horror stories of raping, pillaging and roving bands of marauders hasn't been conducive to resting before travel.

The planet awaits. So seize the day and book your next trip. Go to Gabon or Indonesia or Uruguay...... or Ethiopia.