France

The following story should not be taken as an excuse to walk around a huge city at night and hope something amazing happens.  Although the story may seem cool and adventerous I assure you there were many times during it I realized that this was a bad idea.  Please refrain from jumping so headlong into stupid tasks and use your brain when it comes to traveling.  I have seen Taken one too many times and I know what happens to travelers in Paris.  Plus last time I checked, neither of my parents are Liam Neeson.  So like I said before, read the story but realize mistakes were made.  If it inspires you then so be it but do not try to re-create the event.

Paris.  The City of Lights.  Since I was only spending three nights in Paris before heading to Amsterdam I had to plan a whirlwind schedual to see everything this city has to offer.  On the day I arrived although exhausted I told myself I needed to go out and take night photos of Paris (none of which I liked and my battery died about halfway through and I left my spares in the hostel).  Plus the pictures were all run of the mill, cut and dry, seen it already, pictures.  If you want to see the pictures I took of Paris at night, look up Night Photos of Paris and that is what they look like.  Anyway Paris is known for being very beautiful at night so I headed out to capture what I can.  Here is what I found.  Warning: The following might burst your little bubble of a perfect,romantic Paris.   

As I walk to the Metro station, about three blocks away, I am constantly hounded by prostitutes.  In the day time you would have never of thought this particular street to be so bad.  It looks much like any street in Paris with six or seven story grey or dirty yellow buildings lining the streets.  A cafe sits alone at the corner that I am sure serves delicious french food.  The Eiffle Tower's pressence is always felt as it dominates the skyline.  But back to the hookers.  The sterotypical push-up bra, short skirt, too much make-up, more than a few missing teeth, and towering high-heels complete the look of your everyday street corner worker.  I have the misfortune of having to walk right through to them.  Aside from the seductive arm touches and cattle calls no harm comes to me.  Acctually for obvious reasons they are overly friendly.  I make it to the Metro and board the train headed for the Lourve to get some night shots.  As I step onto the Metro I realize I am the only non-gypsy on the train.  I flash back to Indonesia and reach for my knife.  It is not there.  Of course.  Stay calm.  None of them want to hurt you.  Right? 

Indeed once again no harm comes to me.  Aside from the extra crazy one standing next to me crying and smashing his head against the wall the trip was quite uneventful.  Such things that would be shocking in Jackson I have become quite numb to.  I exit the station and make the quick walk to the Lourve.  Expecting there to be a lot of people in and around the plaza I thought that the interesting part of the trip was behind me.  But as I walk through the passage way to get to the plaza I realize I am the only person here.  Wait, wait, wait, where is everyone?  Is there some event going on that I have forgotten about again?  I glance down at my watch.  Oh, that explains it.

In yet another mistake I never looked to see what time it was when I left.  My watch reads 12:30 at night.  Not wanting to miss the last train at 1:00am I promptly turn around and start to head back to the train station.  As I begin my walk back through the passage way out of the Lourve plaza I see a man.  He is climbing down from off the railing very quickly.  He then leaps and grabs onto a small ledge.  Hanging from his fingers he shimmys around the ledge and finally leaps off and lands in a roll at my feet.  Immedeatly taken back by this mans aggresive parkour advance I stop in my tracks.  He looks at my quickly and pulls up a bandana around his face.  Completly on edge I start to analyze my situation and look for a way to run.  My mind works on overdrive as adrenaline surges through my system.  A thousand thoughts race through my mind in the blink of an eye.  Seconds turn into hours as I begin to panic.  How to fight him off if need be and possible escape routes.  Buildings that have lights on that I could run into for help, anything.  In my frantic look around I see there are some things laying at the man's feet.  Upon closer inspection I see what looks like a load of small squares and a caulk gun?  Surely that is not right.  Why on earth would he have these wierd things.  I glance up on the wall where the man so expertly jumped from and see a small piece of art.

An old-school 8-bit video game character about a foot and a half tall is on the wall.  As if I had been punched in the face a sudden epiphany hits me hard.  In a brilliant Slumdog Millionaire moment I flash back to a documentary I had seen maybe two years ago.  Although the movie Exit Through The Gift Shop is mainly focused around the british street artist and rebel Banksy, it does mention others as well such as Shepard Fairey, the man behind the OBEY posters.  One of the artists mentioned is an artist the goes by the name of Space Invader.  He was named because he left small 8-bit videogame characters as his signature.  The main video game he uses is characters from the game Space Invaders.  I also recalled that he was indeed French.
"Are you Space Invader?" I ask.
A glint flashes in his eye and under the bandana I can see a smile come across his face.  He looks up at the artwork.  "Just a touch up," he says in a thick French accent.  I look up at the piece.  Not a signature Space Invader but it is however a man in what looks to be a form of armor or something of the like on the wall.  No doubt from some retro unknown video game.  When I look back at him I catch a glimpse of him sprinting away into the night.  I gather myself and make the train back.  Aside from more pleads for sex from the hookers, nothing happens and I get back to the hostel all safe.

  I go to the Lourve the next day to see the art in it but I make sure to see the street art.  Who knows how long it will be there.  I'm sure such a prestigious institution as the Lourve does not want "grafitti" on its lovely palace.  But who knows I'm just glad I got to see it at all.

Again mistakes were made and this does not mean anyone can wander around Paris late late at night with no protection and alone and they too will have an adventure.  It was dumb to go alone and I got lucky.  Very lucky.

   

 

Well that is it from Paris.  Yeah I saw the art and the monuments but that was about all I had time for.  Next stop will be Amsterdam.  The post will becoming faster and faster as my trip winds down.  Thanks for all the support guys!!!

Spain

The sound of pounding drums awakes me from my slumber.  My eye's crust open as I wonder what the heck that sound is.  My bed looks right out the window and I roll over to peer out.  I see men with hoods on and masks covering their faces marching down the street.  Dressed in all black they slowly bang their drums to a consistent somber rythum.  A few people line the streets to watch the procession.  What the heck is going on?  I look around the hostel and realize I am the only one in the room.  I glance at my watch to see 10am.  Wow, that is the latest I have slept the entire trip.  I roll out of bed, get dressed and head out to investigate what is going on.

I'm in the town of Malaga.  A town situated right on the Mediterranean, it litterally could not get more gorgeous here.  Tight narrow streets with small local shops fill the town.  Picturescue cafes and tapas bars dot the town.  Pedestrian only streets are everywhere providing a super laid back feel to the town.  Every house is a different bright color providing a beautiful boquet of buildings nestled by the sea.  To the north tall mountains reach up right from the sea.  All around them are thousnads upon thousands of acres of olive farms.  Row upon row of olive trees grow all along the sides of these mountains.  To the south, the Mediterranean.  Crystal clear blue water stretches into the horizon.  Palm trees line the streets along the white sand beach that runs the length of the town.  The sun shines bright everyday at a perfect temperature while a light breeze coming of the sea keeps everything fresh.  The whole scene of the Spanish gold coast is complete and I must say, I was blown away.

I step out to see the procession is still going on.  Now however it seems to have taken a sinister turn.  Men in white robes with red crosses on their chests carrying crosses walk past.  On their heads are white hoods that come to a point about a foot off the head, thus completing the look of a KKK member.  I look around the streets.  All the cute shops are closed and barred up and the smiling people have vanished.  Just one or two old women watch the march down the street.  Oh my, what on earth have I stumbled across.  Is Malaga, Spain some secret headquarters of the KKK?  Where is everyone?  Good god I know!  The Zombie Apocalypse has started!  I am baffled by the events of the morning but with literally no one around to ask I continue with my plans for the day.  I was first going to check out the big cathedral in the center of town.

As I walk the streets I feel like I'm in a ghost town.  Not a soul on any of the streets.  A dog barks in the background as the wind calmly whistles down the narrow streets.  As I get to the cathedral I notice the doors are open and as I walk through I didn't have to pay.  Upon entering the church is PACKED.  Wall to wall people all dressed in their finest clothes stare quietly at the pastor giving is adress.  Wait what day is it?  Holy cow it's Easter!  Everything suddenly becomes clear.  Spain is a hugely Catholic nation.  Of course everything is going to be closed and everyone is at church on the holiest day of the year.  I later learn that the men in hoods was a traditional thing that goes back way way before the KKK was ever made.  In fact I was incredibly lucky to see it because it only happens in Malaga and only on easter.  Too bad I didn't take any pictures because I thought it was either a funeral or I was not allowed to take pictures.  I really need to pay attention to a calender more often.

Feeling out of place and akward I leave the church and go to some ruins of a Moor fortress that happened to be open because the ticket system was automated.  I have the entire ruins to myself and get to search around and explore.  Upon climbing a guard tower that over looks the city I see a bullfighting ring.  I decide that is where I will go next and begin my decent down the ruins.

Sometime between me seeing the bullfighting ring and my exit of the ruins, church let out.  And oh my did the party start.  The streets flooded with happy smiling people.  Street vendors covering every inch a free space while children run around and eat candied nuts.  Multiple stages are going with local bands and dancing troops giving shows to delighted crowds.  Tons of kites litter the sky as happy children run to get the aloft.  Seeing how big a deal this was for everyone I make a beeline to the bullfighting ring.

Sure enough there will be a bullfight today.  Another lucky thing because although it is very traditional in Spain, the public's views towards them are shifting and they are becoming very few and far between.  We all pack into the small arena and wait for the fight.  As the matador enters the ring the crowd erupts with a cheer.  He seems to be some sort of celebrity as I see his face on posters all over the town.  As the bull comes into the ring the crowd goes nuts.  The fight starts right away and goes sort of exactly how you would expect.  With each pass of the bull the crowd screams and hollars with joy.  The matador deftly moves around the ring calculating the perfect moment for each strike.  I had prepared myself before hand for the grisly scene that would unfold before me and the fight didn't fail.  The bull's blood begins to drop into the sand and stain it red.  The crowd only cheers louder.  Ever the showman the matador builds the crowd until he strikes the final blow.  The ending was however very anti-climatic.  The bull having multiple deep deep cuts and blood pouring out of his back seems to lose the will to fight.  He has more pressing matters at hand I guess.  He goes to the side of the ring and lays down.  The matador creeps up to it still being cautious.  Realizing the bull is not going to do a thing he puts a foot on its head and raises his sword.  The crowd roars and in one quick strike he stabs the bull behind the neck and it is over.

That was my easter.  Yeah.  Hope you guys had fun looking for eggs laid by a rabbit.  Mine was slightly different.  But that was only a part of Spain.  I can not gush enough about this country.  From the metropolis and art of Madrid to the drop dead perfect atmosphere of Malaga.  From the rich history and giant fortresses of Granada to the hip, living architecture museum that is Barcelona, I'm in love.  Beautiful cafes are on every street corner serving fantastic tapas and paella.  Everyone always has a smile on their face and are more than happy to help.  They even suffer my toddler's understanding of the Spanish language and are more than willing to help anyone out.  Plus they have Siesta.  Which is a nap in the middle of the day.  Everything sort of slows down or closes and you have a rest.  As a weary traveler, any culture that naps everyday is tops in my books.  I have so many stories from Spain and I wish I had the time and space to tell you guys all of them but I'm sure you would get bored.  Just know that Spain is a must for anybody going to Europe and simply can not be missed.

Pic Time

    

Money is moving fast and so am I.  Next stop is Paris for only three nights.  Expect to see another post up soon.  The trip will be a little bit shorter than I had origonally planned and I will be home late April.  Thanks so much for all the support and love, it means so much.  See you guys soon.

Italy

As I exit the aircraft, I can't help but feeling a little apprehensive about going back to western society.  I question if the adventures will stop and my trip will become run-of-the mill and dry.  I mean what is there in Europe that isn't completely overrun by tourists and people.  Gone are the days of mystery and intrigue.  Now all I have is churches to see and ruins and monuments.  Which are cool don't get me wrong, but there is nothing adventurous right?  Wrong.  The story I'm about to tell is in no way meant to push any beliefs or ideas on anyone.  It is simply a crazy experience told how I saw it.

Upon arriving in Rome and getting to my hostel I am told that there is a law in all of Italy where they close the hotels and hostels from 10:00 till 2:00 for cleaning.  While this is going on you are kicked out of the hostel and told to go do your tourist stuff.  Seeing as I arrive there at 10am, I am allowed to drop of my bags and then forced to leave.  I walk to the train station and grab a ride to a stop called Collesseo.  Well surely that must be the what I think it is.  And indeed it was.  I step out of the station and see the grand architecture spectacle that is a pit of mass murder and bloody mutilation. Now unknown to me was this was in fact the day of the Rome Marathon.  And it also turns out that the finish line was dramatically at the Colosseum   Also this race is a huge deal and there were masses of people lining the streets, TV cameras everywhere and support cars and tents and big portable monitors to watch the race while it was out of view.  Many many streets are closed and maneuvering around everything became a detour nightmare.  Seeing as I had so much time to kill I decided to walk around to famous fountains and landmarks that are around the Colosseum.  They also have ruins and catacombs that you can pay to walk around and all of it was very nice.

While stopping to get some gellato I chance to hear a line that will lead to an amazing experience.  What I can only assume is the daughter, a mid thirties woman that speaks with an American accent, and her father are sitting in front of me.  The father, a very old man with weather worn, tan, wrinkly skin sits facing me.  His face is dominated by his large nose and his paperboy hat and cane complete the look of the old man from Up.  His daughter calmly asks him, "Well what do you want to do now?"
He responds in a broken English and an extremely heavy Italian accent, "Thea only waya to see a Roma is wander my love."  Over-hearing this I take it to heart.  Alright, I'll make an adventure for myself.

My drive soon diminishes as a get scared of getting lost.  I think I am exploring when in fact I'm just following the masses of people from one place to the next.  An archway or church or ruins or statues.  Seeing as I am about to head back to the train station I begin the detour to get around the race.  Thinking I can remember the route I don't use a map and promptly make a wrong turn.  But in my oblivious confidence I think I am still going the right way.  As I take in my surroundings I chance to look down a tight alleyway.  The colorful buildings on either side will make for a lovely picture and I start down the alley.  After lining up my shot and taking the picture I see the alley continues and decided to see where it put me.  With the old man's advice echoing in my head as I wind my way up the alley.  Past homes and children the alley continues to narrow.  At one point I stop and can touch either side while standing in the middle.  At the end is a lonely door.  There is nothing special about the simple wood door set into a dirt colored wall.  The door is old, warped and very worn.  I do see a brass plaque on the door and walk up to it.  Most everything is worn off on it but I can manage to make out the word basilica.  Basilica?  Like a church that has been deemed holy enough for the pope to serve at?  Like a huge over the top building that is celebrated and talked about in guide books.  Buildings with tons of tourists in them that are closer to art museum than a church.  I look up from the door at the bland and boring exterior.  How on earth is this a basilica?  I lightly press on the door and it swings open.  I take a few steps in and close the door behind me.  "Hello?" I say tentatively.  I don't know what I expected but an answer never came.

As my eyes adjust I see I have stepped into a massive room with 30ft or higher ceilings.  Around the ceiling are all ornate carvings and artwork beautifully inlaid with brass and gold leaf.  Insanely intricate details adorn the ceiling as impressive as any artwork I've seen.  Huge columns 15ft in diameter line the sides making a pathway leading to a statue of Jesus on the cross that seemed miles away.  All this and the room was utterly empty.  Not a soul in the entire building.  I walk towards the altar with my footsteps echoing with everyone.  I have never been a man of god and have never claimed to be.  Religion is not something I follow but I still felt compelled to sit in one of the pews.  My feet hurt from walking all day and I just got off a 13 hour flight and I'm exhausted.  I sit in one of the pews, close my eyes, and relax.

BAM!!

I nearly jump out of my skin as an old man hits the pew.  He is carrying a broom and dustpan and smacks the broom on the pew again.  He points to my head and the makes the 'remove your hat motion' at me.  I quickly remove it and he shuffles away on slippered feet.  I see him cleaning every nook and cranny to an obsessive degree.

I look around the grand empty room.  The shadows have changed.  Crap, I fell asleep.  How long have I been out?  The shadows are long and I glance at my watch.  5:30.  Just as I stand to leave the basilica a small priest walks out of a room beside the altar.  "Hello traveler," he says in perfect English, "I saw you had fallen asleep on my pew and I thought you must have needed it so I let you be.  Please excuse him, he just likes the rules to be followed," pointing at the old man.  "It's not very often we get travelers, where are you from?"
"America," I squeak out.  "I'm sorry for sleeping on your pew, I never meant to fall asleep I was just so tired."
"Oh relax Traveler, this is a place of sanctuary and we are more than happy to help you.  Why were you so tired that a very uncomfortable pew looked good to you?"
"I just got off a 13 hour flight."
"Ah where did you come from?"
And just like that we begin a super long and intricate conversation.  I find myself verbally vomiting on the priest all about my trip and why I did it.  What I wanted out of the trip and what had happened.  I tell him stories and show him pictures on my camera.  He sits and listens intently.  Every so often he interjects his thoughts or surprises.  We move towards life and all the little annoyances and ins and outs of it.  We discuss my future and how I arrived where I am now.  Never once are the words "God" or "Jesus" uttered.  It was not about religion, it was about finally having someone to talk to.  I call him Father and he calls me Traveler.  We discuss happiness and sadness.  Even relationships and girls.  He admits that girls aren't his area of expertise but he listens and offers what little advice he can.  Father is a very funny guy and appeals to my teenage sense of humor often.  "Do you know what the epitome of fear is Traveler?" he asks at one point.
Trying to be all philosophical I respond, "I couldn't say but I guess the all irrational fears boil down to the fear of the unknown."
"Wrong, it is actually that moment when you are taking a wee in a port-a-potty and you feel it start to tip."
We talk for a while longer about life and everything in it until he says "Come with me.  I want to show you something few get to see."  I follow him around the altar and up a narrow steep staircase.  We emerge onto the upper balcony of the massive room.  He begins to tell me the history of the basilica.  It was made a basilica a long long time ago in the traditional style.  It was loud and obnoxious as he put it.  But when the roman empire fell the looters for some reason chose this basilica as the one to sack.  Over the next hundred years or so more priceless artifacts were stolen than anyone knew.  As I look around I see the lack of ornate sculptures and things near the floor.  I also see big chunks and chips out of the columns.  Parts of murals on the walls that are scraped off and cracked.  The only reason the ceiling was left was because no one could reach it due to the design of the room.  The city forgot about it built around it closing it off from the mainstream tourists.  On Sundays a few people come in for mass but 90% of the time it sits empty.  We arrive at the opposite corner of the room about 15ft above the ground floor.  He stops and says "This is the echo corner."  He then faces the wall and makes a WHOOP noise.  The sound fills the grand room and echos too many times to count.  Due to the shape of the room, the acoustics line up just right so the noise is amplified and spread everywhere.  Down below I see the old man shuffling around cleaning and mumbling.  Father sees me looking at him and says "He was homeless and needed a place to sleep.  He came here everyday and prayed for food.  I couldn't help but house him.  But I told him he has to clean for me which he seems happy enough to do."  I tell him to wait for me in the small sitting room behind the altar.

I run out and find the nearest pizzeria {they are on every street corner in Italy} and buy a large pizza to go.  I bring it back up to the basilica and all three of us sit down to eat.  I learn the Father was born in Italy and new he wanted to be a priest early on in life.  He worked his way up until he learned he was going to be assigned to a basilica.  Initially when he learned that he was in the worst basilica in Italy he was upset.  But now he just tries to do whatever good he can from there.  As for his perfect English he says he gets very bored and Rosetta Stone is his only entertainment some days so he studies language to a near obsessive degree.

I learn the Hobo's story through translation by the priest.  He has a severe case of OCD.  When he went to the doctor he was condemned to a mental institution.  He said the drugs they gave him made him brain dead and he couldn't take it and left.  But due to him being out of work for two years due to being in the institution and unresolved OCD no one would give him a job.  His money quickly ran out and he was forced to live on the street until the priest took him in.  He now gets to clean which calms his OCD and has a roof over his head.  He still begs for money on the street and usually makes enough for a meal.  He says it's not the best but it could be worse.


And so there we sat, the Traveler, the Father, the Hobo, and the forgotten basilica, talking over pizza and wine from Father's storage.  We talk and laugh well into the night until I decided I should go back.  I get directions to the train station from Father and say my goodbyes.  The trip back is uneventful but it was all a blur as I was dumbfounded by what just happened.

I have no idea what the name of it was because I forgot to ask.  I got lost to find it so I fear I will never find it again and couldn't take you there if my life depended on it.  I just know that there are amazing people that exist in this world and everyone has a story to tell.  

Next stop is Spain.  Thank you all again for the continued support and I know I will see you all soon.  Ciao!      

China

There comes a point in my trip where I do indeed get exhausted.  That point for me happened in Vietnam.  And not so much exhausted physically but more mentally from all the stress.  Everyday not knowing where you're going to eat or hoping you can find the bus stop, and when you do, praying your on the right on, and then praying you get off at the right stop.  All in an extreme effort to not get lost because if you do it might spell big trouble because no one speaks English.  No one.  Then ordering random food and putting your faith in the sketchy toothless cook that this meal won't have you wrapped around the toilet seeing what you ate four years ago.  It wears on me.  Yes it allows me to completely submerse myself in the culture but t gets tedious after a while.  So upon heading into China (a country I literally know nothing about, and can't ever pretend to read the signs because they are all symbols) I decided to splurge and book a tour of Southern China.  It was meant to be a relaxing week where I let some one else take all the heat and I just tag along for the ride.  But I had made a comment to my guide Mulan (Yes here name is Mulan and she lives in Southern China "Well all she is missing is some armor and a magic dragon and she can DEFEAT THE HUN"...She knows and she has heard it) that I was very serious bout my photography...

Part 1

The Karst 

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"Mister it's time to awake.  We have sunrise!  You say you very serious so I very serious!"

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"Yeah I'm coming," I barely mumble

"Ok meet you in lobby.  10 minutes!"

I roll over and look at my watch.  4:30am on the dot.  This is currently my third day in a row waking up at this time.  I told Mulan I was serious about my photography and she knows the best light in the day is sunrise and sunset.  The time where dramatic colors blanket everything, shadows are long and ever reaching and the world is just waking up.

I throw on some filthy and unwashed clothes and stumble down the stairs still half asleep.  Mulan informs me that we have about a hour walk along the Li river before we get to the boat and then about an hour boat ride to the spot we will be shooting this morning.  She puts a flashlight in my hand and takes off.  We begin our walk going through the incredibly rural fishing village we slept in.  The town is only accessible by boat and it is deep with in Southern China's karst landscape.  Huge 1000ft limestone cliffs go straight into a deep blue and green water.  The spires are everywhere and seem to go back into the distance forever.  The town we sleep in still does almost all things traditionally.  There is power and the Internet, but only select houses have a TV and all of their means of survival are still done traditionally.  The stray dogs sing us a symphony as we dodge chickens on our way out of the town.  We continue our walk down the bank until we get to the dock.  The dock is a narrow strip of rocks stretching a small distance into the river.  Since China was one of the first civilizations, the dock is estimated to be about 3500 to 4000 years old.

We board the bamboo raft with an aging gentleman that will be our captain.  As we shove off into the darkness I notice he doesn't use any method of seeing ahead of him.  He has just traveled the river so many times he knows all the ins and out of it.  Later on the silenced is breached by the shouts and banter of the local fisherman.  As we go past one he shouts at our captain to stop.  He paddles over and asks for what I only can assume was a ride up the river.  We have and engine and our captain obliged him.  This is what we came here for.  A sunrise shot of the fisherman on the Li River.  But there is something different about these fisherman.

We arrive at the spot he needs and he lights a lantern to hang on the front of his raft.  As the light slowly surrounds the raft and pushes back the darkness I see the two birds sitting on his raft.  He yells a few sentences at a fisherman across the river and pushes his birds into the water.  The black birds slide into the water and disappear under the surface.  About two minutes later the bird reappears and hops back onto the boat.  The first one waddles up to the fisherman and he opens its mouth.  He curses and tightens the string around its neck and pushes it back in.  When the second one pops up however, I can see a fishtail poking out of its mouth.  The fisherman snatches the fish from its grasps and pushes the bird bake in the water.     

They don't use nets or lines or rods or reels.  They use birds.  More specifically the cormorant bird.  Still in the traditional where they train the birds to swim under the water, catch a fish and return to the correct boat.  To prevent them swallowing the fish they tie a string around their necks preventing them from expanding their throat and eating it.  It might sound cruel but they employ the one in nine rule.  Every ninth fish they let the bird eat it and the birds seem perfectly happy.  All of the fisherman are very proud of their birds and when he saw I had a camera he insisted that I take a picture of him with his birds.  He was enthralled with my camera and kept asking if he needed to move anywhere to get a better shot so long as I continued to show him the pictures I took.  He would then give his critique with either a pat on the back or throwing his hands up in disgust.

The sun rises and we make our way back to the town.  Only the noise of our little engine echoing of the limestone cliffs to accompany us back.

Part 2

The Terraces

After one more day in the karst we head to the Longii rice terraces.  This was the number one thing I wanted to see on this trip around the world so I could not have been more excited.  The majority of our 3 hour drive to the terraces was uneventful.  Our driver is really into American hip-hop and he insisted I put my Ipod on and play songs for him the whole way.  But my joy suddenly stopped when we got to the pass.

Now coming from Jackson I thought I knew scary roads.  But the motorbike ride in Vietnam taught me I didn't know danger at all.  But sketchy mountain passes I do know right?  I've driven Teton Pass in a raging snow storm with visibility at 6 inches and semi trucks strewn all over the place.  I've flown up and down Curtis Canyon with no regard for falling off.  Surely a mountain pass in China can't be that bad.  Wrong.  The pass starts by shrinking down to about one and a half lanes wide.  And we start up.  Incredibly steep and narrow the road winds up the mountain.  But the higher we climb the worse it gets.  Huge drop offs start to appear and hairpin turns come out of nowhere.  Every single turn in the road is a blind one and you just pray no one is one the other side.  There is obviously no guard rail and the more we climb the worse the road condition gets.  Huge pot holes and frost heaves break the road up into small islands of asphalt.  Oh and did I mention that there are of course motorcycles flying everywhere with out a care in the world.  But our driver doesn't seem to care either.  He just continues to bob his head and mumble the words to 1970 Something by Notorious B.I.G.  Teton pass has nothing on this road and when we reach the top I had never been so happy to get out of a car.

From here it was about a three mile hike up to the top and along the ridge line to get to the town.  The town is built on the side of the mountain very near the peak.  As we round the corner all is revealed.  A small quiet town with tile roofs and and bamboo paneling.  All around it in every nook and every available spot there are the rice terraces.  Carved into the land long long ago to change the landscape into a real life topographical map.  Every spot is used by these stair step like formations and terraces where the rice is grown.  We arrive in a guest house with no power.  The power is shut off during the day because everyone is on the terraces.  My bed consists of a bamboo mat with a feather stuffed mattress on the top.  The town is built vertically so first floor is the ban, second is the kitchen and living area, third is the rooms and the streets consist of narrow stair ways leading up and down the terraces.  A man's wealth is measured by weather he has wooden flood gates, stone flood gates or metal ones.  The kids only go to school to the equivalent of fourth grade and then join their parents on the terraces.  Chickens are literally everywhere and everyone knows everyone.  

The beauty of this place is staggering and every morning I awoke I had to pinch myself to make sure I was actually there.  They did find a place flat enough for a basketball court where I got a game together.  Me being the tallest person in a 100 mile radius, I played center.  But make no mistake about it, this basketball court is their only source of entertainment and the guys I played with were more than decent, they were really good.  It was a crazy experience and I'd love to do it again.

  

China lived up to expectation and I can't wait to go back.  The country is huge and there is so much that I missed and didn't see.  From here my stereotypical euro-trip begins.  Back to western society.  I fly from Hong Kong to Rome and will do most of the rest via train.  The posts will come quicker as a jump from country to country in a hurry.  Plus I will actually have access to a computer unlike before.  I had no access to the outside world in China at all.  The firewall over their internet prevents the use of any website where you could potentially say something bad about the Chinese government.  No Facebook, no YouTube, and defiantly no blog written by some punk rebellious 19 year-old American delinquent.

The pictures you see are only about 1% of the amazing photos I have of this beautiful landscape.  A lot of them are similar so I spared you guys the boring droll of picture after picture of landscapes.  But do not fear, I took about 2000 pictures in a weeks time.  snap snap snap snap snap snap 

As always thank you for the wonderful support and kind words.  I love all you guys and will be home soon.