Purgatorio Paradiso

Not a bad place to wait for a visa. Our long tail boat dropped us off in the east bay of Railay Beach. We waded ashore and found our bungalow on a nearby hillside. We soon forgot about deportation, Kuwait, and visas, and just swam in the Andaman Sea. The beautiful beaches were surrounded by towering cliffs and dense forests. With the smell of pad thai in the air, we knew five business days were going to fly by. We climbed into the jungle, found rocks to jump off, and rented kayaks to explore deserted beaches. Temple even tackled rock climbing. In the evenings, we chilled with ice cold Chang Beer. The days passed and soon our purgatorio in paradiso was over. As we departed in our long tail, we thanked Railay for letting us forget our problems.

Dead Sea Float

In the Dead Sea, you float like a cork. Falling backwards into the water your body slides across the surface without effort. We floated in the late afternoon sun, quickly getting used to our salty lounge chairs. We were the last ones in the sea as the sun sunk behind the hills of Israel.

Hakuna Matata

After exploring Stone Town, we head to the northern beaches of Zanzibar. We arrive at Kendwa Rocks after a frantic- to say the least- two hour drive. The beach, complete with palm trees and thatched umbrella huts, is a picturesque paradise so we park cheese immediately and inhale the sea breeze. The next few days have little activity besides lounging in hammocks and swimming in the aquamarine waves next to traditional sailboats called dhows. We stay at Les Tois de Palme, a small group of tucked away bungalows with a restaurant serving what I'm convinced is the best food on the island. Our nights are filled with laughter and octopus, watching sunsets and chatting with Masaai warriors who stroll the beach.

Stone Town, Zanzibar

Quickly after stepping off the train into chaotic Dar es Salaam, we feel an immediate need to flee to the sandy white beaches of Zanzibar. The next day we board a large ferry for the short ride to the Spice Island. Halfway through the journey, we bump into Tank and Daniel again and decide to surrender to fate and unite. Together, we step off the ferry into the crowded port and received the symbolic Zanzibar entry stamp (Zanzibar was an independent nation until 1964 when it joined with mainland Tanganyika to form present day Tanzania and the islanders cling to their sovereign past).

Afterwards, we head into Stone Town in search of cheap accommodation. Hawkers stick to us wazungu (foreigners) like glue, trying to sell trips or get commission from hotels they recommend. They are very friendly despite their pushiness and we quickly get used to the attention. Hundreds of years ago, powerful sultans ruled Zanzibar which was an important trading port for Africa, the Middle East and India. We enjoy the unique culture and the historical buildings as we snake through the labyrinth of skinny avenues that crawl past stone buildings with the famous Zanzibar doors. After settling in at a cheap hotel, we enjoy our first Kilimanjaro beer and plan our next move.

Soon we head for the water. Inspired by the frequent guidebook photo of young locals diving off walls, we go to the stone wall near the Old Fort. I stay with our bags and the guys leap off the wall. I watch and chat with onlookers, mostly the young boys from said photos. They quickly join Clay, Tank and Daniel who are enjoying the refreshing water. Because of a strong Islamic tradition in Tanzania- and in Zanzibar it's even more prolific- women are covered from head to toe and tourists are encouraged not to bear too much skin. I don't want to offend or shock but the water is too tempting. As soon as the guys come out I hand Clay our stuff and quickly jump in. Just what I needed after a simmering day. I cover myself in a sarong when I leave the water and climb the stone steps. Soon the local kids are doing tricks off the wall and showing off for us. Our Zanzibar adventure has begun.

Next we get some beers and "park cheese" -Tank and Daniel speak for chill- on the local beach. There are several boats tied up to the shore, sunset cruises passing by and local kids enjoying what must be their one millionth swim in the turquoise water. The atmosphere is perfect. We relax on the sand and meet friendly locals who will be selling seafood at the fish market later. One man in particular, Ali, joins our little party on the beach and makes us promise to come to his stall at the market. As the sun drops out of sight our stomachs are growling. We head to the fish market which is surprisingly well-organized. Chefs in white hats are assisted by local fisherman who eagerly help customers choose from the many skewers of fish, octopus, shrimp, crab and lobster. After making our selections, they throw it on the charcoal grill with some coconut bread or falafel. It is fresh and delicious. I have a fresh sugar cane and ginger juice to accompany my barracuda and shrimp. After we are stuffed and happy we walk to Ali's favorite reggae bar to have a few more Kilis and reflect on our new love for Stone Town.

Bulungula Lodge

Driving to Bulungula Lodge might be the most unforgettable part of our South African road trip. Our journey began on the N2, the highway that runs from Cape Town to Durban. Even though its the major highway in the Eastern Cape, there are signs that read "No Fences for 20 Km" to warn drivers of the cows crossing the road, sometimes alone, sometimes in herds of 20. After dodging cattle we turned off the N2 onto a small black topped road that quickly turned into a pothole minefield. I felt like Han Solo steering the Millennium Falcon through the asteroid field. We dodged the tire-flattening holes for 37 km before coming to the turn-off where our map for the lodge picked up. We confirmed with locals that the building to our right was Nocollege Store and, therefore, the road next to it the way to Bulungula. For 2 rand he said we were heading in the right direction. Pulling away I had a feeling that we might be asking too much of our Hyundai Accent. Although the region is in the middle of a three year drought it had rained the night before turning this dirt road into a mud track. As I drove down the first hill I quickly realized I was sliding. Temple said, "stay to the left." I had to inform her I wasn't in control. The map said continue on the road for 20 km. After 30 minutes the odometer said we had only traveled 1.9 km. But we pressed on waving at every local we saw thinking that at any moment we would be requesting assistance in the form of a tow or a place to sleep for the night. All returned our greetings with broad smiles and waves.

Our strategy of slow and steady was paying off. The kilometers continued to be conquered. As we continued, the opposite of what we thought would happen occurred and the road began to improve although our perspective was a little skewed. The road just got less muddy and the potholes were smaller. We received the unsolicited help of a group of young boys driving a pick-up in the direction of the lodge. We followed closely behind until they pointed us towards the patch of trees where the Bulungula Store was. We pulled into the parking spot where we'd leave our car. The road ahead was only passable by 4x4. We thanked the Hyundai for getting us this far and only asked that she get us out in a few days. We hiked the final 3 km through the traditional Xhosa (pronounced with a click at the beginning) village of Nqileni where hills are dotted with rondavels and animals graze freely. When we saw the Bulungula Lodge sitting at the meeting point of the Xhora river and the Indian Ocean, we knew the journey was worth it.

Immediately, we met the charming Liesel and Albert as well as villagers that worked at the lodge. The village owns 40% of the lodge and all of the activities are run by members of the community so they receive 100% of the proceeds. Albert showed us to our beds in a turquoise rondavel. On the day we arrived the whole village was celebrating the opening of the new school built with the help of the lodge. That evening we had a delicious traditional Xhosa meal with fellow travelers. Some children and parents had gathered around the main area to play drums and listen to music. An adorable 7 year old boy took the floor and busted some incredible moves. Soon there were more participants and we had a good time with locals and tourists shaking hips in the dance circle.

The next day we rose at 5:45 for sunrise pancakes. We walked along the beach with our new Belgian and Dutch friends. Although it was cloudy and started to rain, we enjoyed the views of crashing waves but even more so the delicious pancakes. A few hours later a nice villager who spoke only a little English walked us over hills to another part of the Xhora river for canoeing. We enjoyed rowing through the quiet landscape, seeing the occasional goat or farmer on the riverside.

That evening we had the pleasure of a visit by the sangomas (traditional healers) of the village. A middle aged man led the dance and chants while two older women and a sangoma apprentice danced with him. A lot of children and people of the community were gathered around to watch, drum, sing and chant. Some of the women had white clay painted on their faces, typical of the Xhosa people. The singing and dancing was energizing and we felt blessed be be a part of such a special ceremony.

The next day a nice 22 year old girl from the village gave us a tour of the area. First we visited one of the older female sangomas who we had seen dance the night before. She wore white beads which are traditional for sangomas and a headdress. Some things were lost in translation but her goodwill was obvious. We saw inside of her home where a relative was spreading mud on the floor of the rondavel, which is done every month or so for purification. It was interesting to see the inside of a real rondavel and how the people cook, sleep on mats and keep warm. We met some other nice villagers, saw the two schools, the old silos and the new community center.

Afterwards, we said goodbye to our new friends. We hiked through the village towards the Bulungula Store where our trusty automobile awaited for a long drive out.

The Girl Swam Ipanema

Our nights in Rio were filled with seedy barrios and samba music. At a hidden bar in Lapa, walls are painted with images of legendary local musicians. We watched from a perch above the patio as musicians sat around a table playing all types of percussion instruments: the pandeiro, cavaco, tan tan, bongos, metal tipped drums, and one we called the wikky wikky for the great noise it made. Sharing each others company, they were oblivious to the hip-shaking crowd gathering around them. The next night we went to see Bossa Nova at Rio Scenarium, a three leveled club with a bohemian feel. We watched the band play before joining the lively crowd on the dance floor.

Our days were spent on the beaches of Copacabana and Ipanema. Copacabana is a massive curved beach that sits under the Pão de Açúcar mountain. On the other side of a rock fortress is Ipanema beach, a stunning setting with Rio's green mountains in the background and cool turquoise water that was hard to leave. The beach was packed with groups of people playing soccer and showing an unbelievable amount of skin. We had to pull ourselves away from the sandy paradise to go to Rio's 200-year-old botanical gardens with plant life from around the globe. From the gardens we spotted Jesus overlooking the city and knew that was where we needed to be for sunset. After taking a bus to Corcovado Mountain, we hopped on a trolley going up a large incline to get to the giant Jesus with his arms spread over the city. The view was an amazing panoramic of Rio sprawling over different hills and peninsulas. As the sun set, Jesus turned orange and we enjoyed the last few moments of daylight before heading down for another night of music.

Com Emoção

When Dad and Mary came to visit us in northeastern Brazil we were all ready for an adventure. On the first day of travel we read about the "must-do" dune buggy ride on the sand dunes of Natal. Mary called to book the trip for the following morning. Our guidebooks explained that the drivers could guide you through the dunes "sem emoção", without emotion (aka in a calm, safe manner) or they could drive ferociously and very fast, "con emoção" or with emotion. I was ready to request "sem emoção" for my parents' sake thinking it would be fun either way. That night we discussed the plans for the next day. "Surely they'll pick us up in a car to transport us to the dunes. They won't pick us up in one of those buggies, right?" Mary asked me. "No, I'm sure there will be a car or van" I answered.

At 7:30 the next morning Clay and I walked out of the hotel where a miniature open-air blue dune buggy sat awaiting us. We looked at each other, then turned around to see the looks on Dad and Mary's faces. Priceless. We had no choice but to squeeze into the buggy, Mary in the front passenger seat with our jovial driver Marcos, who liked to joke that this was his first tour. Dad, Clay and I were in the back apprehensively looking up at rain clouds while holding on to the large metal bar in front of us, the only safety guard we had. I leaned over to Marcos and said, "Por favor, without emotion." Marcos replied, "Without emotion, without life!" and sped off.

Soon we were next to vans and trucks on a two-lane highway in what felt very similar to a golf cart. We drove over a large bridge while the rain pegged our faces. We first climbed up some dunes with some beautiful small lagoons between them. Then we crossed a river on a small wooden raft pushed by a man with a large stick. It was a small river. As the sun came out, Marcos took us to the Genipabu dunes where we sat on planks of wood resembling snowboards and slid down a large dune. Dad and Mary let the adventurous spirit move them and tried sandboarding themselves. Clay and I slide down into a small pool of water at a different locale and the best ride was saved for last: the aerobunda, a swing on a zip cord that whizzes you down and into a big lagoon.

After a Brazilian BBQ feast and a few coconut waters, we thought we'd had a very exciting and full day. "We have one more stop," Marcos said. After driving through backroads we arrived at the Parque Das Dunas, an ecological park of pristine sand dunes that looks like a desert. We were enjoying the view of the city and the solitude of the dunes when Marcos sped up heading straight for a sheer drop and we all screamed as we plummeted down! The buggy seemed ready to capsize but slid sideways down the dune before we sped up again. We went up a huge side of a dune, took a sharp left turn and fell straight down, still on our wheels, though barely. The "emoção" had just begun. Marcos took us on a rollercoaster ride up and down the dunes. When we thought we'd ridden the scariest possible dune he'd shoot us down the side of another one. We were all screaming with laughter and holding on for dear life! It proved to be worth it and the surprise factor made it all the more exciting. Dad and Mary were thrilled with the experience, to my relief, and soon we were all yelling for more. We laughed all the way back to the hotel.

The next two days in Natal weren't a roller coaster ride, but definitely fun. We went to Pipa Beach where we took a boat into the turquoise water to spot dolphins. Then we walked along the beautiful cliffs above the beach. We went to an ecological park where our wonderful guide Eddie taught Clay how to snack on termites. We spotted sea turtles and enjoyed the views. The next day we went for a snorkeling adventure at Praia de Maracajaú where we saw a lot of fish, some eels and an octopus! We had fabulous seafood and fruit during our entire stay and were sad to leave Natal. In Fortaleza, we enjoyed walking along the main stretch to see the markets, boats, volleyball, and capoeira dances along the beach. We loved Morro Branco where stunning fiery rock walls jut out overlooking the beach. We had an amazing time with Dad and Mary and want to thank them again for giving us an incredible adventure con emoção!

Un Pequeño Paraíso

Normally, you take a ferry to Playa Blanca from Cartagena's harbor. It's very straight forward; you get on the ferry, you get off at the beach. But they don't run on Sunday. On Sundays you have to take a bus to Pasacaballos, then a ferry across the Rio Magdelena, then a taxi across Isla Baru.

As we're walking down the street looking for the bus stop, Temple sees a red bus with Pasacaballos on the windshield and waves it down. It's a 1960's era bus and we're the only ones on it. As we weave through the outskirts of town we get a tour of market day here: everything's for sale and everyone's in the street. We stop in the middle of the madness. The bus fills with passengers and vendors, selling lemonade and snacks. I share my seat with two little kids. As we pull away a guitar player jumps on board and serenades the bus with popular tunes. Everyone sings along.

After riding for a while we arrive in a small town where a sign reads Ferry Turistico. We hop off the bus and are greeted by a man with a sign reading Playa Blanca. He leads us to the river and points to a large wooden canoe. "Dos mil pesos" to cross he says. One dollar. A shirtless old man with a long pole pushes us slowly to the other side where a fleet of motorcycles are waiting. Turns out the taxis we need to take are mototaxis. Before I get out of the boat Temple is already sitting on the back of one with her huge backpack on. I jump on another. I think my driver is jealous of his friend's luck. The ride is long, dusty, and bumpy, but we can't help laughing as we speed along side by side across Isla Baru.

When the road ends, our drivers point down the hill. We walk down and see Playa Blanca. It is worth the trip. We walk along the beach to find D&E Hammocks, a simple structure with hanging hammocks covered in mosquito nets. We claim two hammocks and the palm leafed cabana closest to the water. We basically have the place to ourselves. We spend the next few days reading, swimming, snorkeling, eating fresh fish, and enjoying sunsets.

Galloping on the Beach

Riding horses on the beach has always been a dream of mine. I love horses and have been looking for opportunities to ride in South America, the home of the caballero and the gaucho.

We took a bus to a deserted beach town an hour north of Valpo called Concón where we were instructed to wait for our ride to Ritoque Expediciones. At la hora Chilena (everyone in Chile arrives about 30 minutes late) a small chubby man pulled up in a neon blue sports car with music blasting and a virgin mary hanging from the rearview. I thought, this is no gaucho.

Luckily, he was just the transportation and a few minutes later we pulled into a farm with a beautiful view of dunes and creeks, free roaming horses and humble stables. There we met our guides, Cristian and Jose, and I knew we were in good hands. Cristian was a handsome stout man with full leather chaps over blue jeans and a beret typical of gauchos. Jose also wore chaps but he had a wide brimmed straw hat and on his boots were spurs the size of hockey pucks. Cristian spoke great English and Jose, not a lick. They demonstrated how the Chilean saddle works and told us what to expect from the small, portly Chilean horses. The saddle was comfortable and the reins were made of woven rope ending in a leather strap used for whipping. The stirrups were the most alien of the outfit - wooden clogs that fit half your foot and were typical for the northern region of Chile where riders need protection from brush. They handed us small chaps to fit around the bottom of our legs to protect us from the horse's sweat. Then we mounted our horses. My horse was Pompero which means "of the Pampas" and Clay's horse was nicknamed Killer but only for comic effect.

We left the stables and descended into a beautiful landscape of hills and streams. We crossed several creeks with still white herons and cautiously grazing cows. We climbed the white Ritoque dunes which, once deep within, looked like a never-ending desert. After so many ups and downs on the sand, the horses were soon sweaty. The sun was descending in front of us, casting sharp shadows along the spines of the dunes.

Cristian told us about his nomadic life as a horse trainer and guide; an endless summer moving between companies in North and South America. He grew up on his family's large estancia "Dos de Enero" in Torres del Paine National Park in Patagonia. Down there, the philosophy is to break a horse as if you were one of the herd and to treat them like the social roaming creatures they are. Later, he showed us pictures of the estancia on his iPhone complete with hundreds of cattle and horses and the Torres visible from the property. He said he didn't remember the first time he rode a horse; that as soon as he was walking he was riding. He was a true gaucho.

After a short break we were leaving the dunes and descending to the beautiful serene beach. The sun was now setting over the Pacific and only a few fisherman remained. The waves crashed almost in silence as we trotted into the water. Soon we began to gallop and it was exhilarating. Holding onto Pompero, both of us deeply breathing the fresh salty Chilean air, I felt free. Giddy laughter echoed as Clay filmed the gallop- a welcome distraction to the rapidly moving animal beneath him. We galloped parallel to the ocean with the sun warm on our shoulders and the smiles never left our faces. It was perfect and my dream had come true.

Waves and Moonscapes

After a day of little (Temple) to no (Clay) success surfing, we watched the sunset and the moon rise.

Surfing to La Frontera

Clay and I are currently in Chuy, a dusty no-mans-land border town between Uruguay and Brazil. On one side of the main avenue are businesses operating in Spanish and on the other, businesses in Portuguese. The town itself doesn´t belong to either country, however, so there are rows of tax free stores selling mostly bags and lingerie. Horse drawn carts line the streets and remind us of the wild wild west. The stray dogs here actually look like strays as opposed to what we´ve seen previously - cute friendly dogs that become your temporary companion. Clay and I have about 7 hours to kill in Chuy (Chui on the Brazilian side) before we get on a bus to Puerto Alegre, Brazil and then another overnight bus to Iguaçu Falls.

La Paloma has definitely been an exciting portion of the trip so far. We stayed in a great hostel on the beach with laid back staff, a great atmosphere, and delicious breakfasts. We went to different beaches in the area where we body surfed and then rented a surfboard -both of which left marks. The waves were powerful and a lot of surfers, mostly Brazilian, were in town for Semana Santa, the "Holy Week" of vacation preceding Easter Sunday. La Balconada beach, the locale of the hostel, had amazing sunsets followed by the full moon rising behind a beautiful lighthouse.

Last night we grilled ribs and sausage (carne asado) and had a great time with the Uruguayan staff of the hostel, a Floridian couple and some Irish guys that were recent arrivals. It took hours to get the coals hot enough to cook the meat so we ate at a typical South American dinner time: 11:00 pm. Clay became a real grill master and for a second I thought I might be dating a gaucho.

After two major cities, La Paloma was wonderfully relaxing. We got a nice tan but still don´t look like natives- It may have something to do with our height averaging about 6 feet. Now we head to Iguaçu Falls for some hiking and more natural beauty. I think it will be worth the 36 hours on a bus.

Vamos a la playa

Juan, a surfer who works at our hostel, offered to give us a ride to his favorite surf spot so we jumped in the back of his truck. He took us through La Paloma to a gorgeous beach called La Pedrera.