Fired Up and Ready to Go!!!!

No, we haven't fallen off the face of the planet.... yes, we have been terribly negligent in updating our blog even while exciting stuff has been going on. We might even be guilty of having an already written post in limbo on the hard drive somewhere...but we'll get to that later.

We're exhausted, run down, and still juiced and pumped with adrenaline after spending a crazy weekend in Vegas all in the name of HOPE. In a typical Mat and Mo last-minute spontaneous adventure we rented a car, kidnapped three friends, and hit the highway after work on Friday at 6 PM headed for Sin City - we pulled into the parking lot of Coronado High School in Henderson Nevada around 2:30 AM to be third in line for the Obama rally scheduled to occur at 9 AM. Too excited to really sleep, we chatted with other Obamanauts in the chilly desert air and waited for the time to pass... a little before 7 AM we were let into the football field, and soon enough we were front row, riding the rail directly in front of the podium. The sun came up, we saw Obama speak, shook his hand, and got his autograph in a completely surreal course of events that left us dazed, awed, and inspired. Pictures and more commentary to follow once we get some rest!

After some recovery and fun the rest of Saturday we hit the streets early Sunday morning for a full day of canvasing - door knocking and general get out the VOTE. They must of thought we were tough, because we were assigned to the hardest "turf" around, some low-income housing complexes in the Northwestern quadrant of Vegas. Being from such close-proximity to Oaktown didn't hurt, and we proved our mettle as we navigated the projects and talked to the residents, who were (mostly) extremely friendly and eager to support Barack. Besides one lady who was voting for McClain on Monday (which was fine with us) our mission was successful and we saw an interesting cross section of Vegas that we hadn't seen before.

Anyways, it's Monday night, we drove back today and are almost too tired to even type - what else can we say besides get out there and VOTE in this historic election tomorrow! And if you're in Cali, please vote NO on PROP 8!!!! There's no reason we need to take rights away from people in this state.

We love you all and promise more updates and photos(!!!) soon!!!!

See no evil, hear no evil

Mo's due back tomorrow from a 10-day silent Vipassana meditation retreat that she left for about, well, 10 days ago. In true Mo style she had put herself on the waiting list and was called the night before the retreat began with the good news that she had gotten in through a cancellation. She had told herself that if she made it in she would go, and sure enough she packed up her bag and took off the next morning.

In truth, although I was sad to see her leave, I was excited for her to go as she has wanted to do one of these retreats for a very long time now, and the Universe had never been aligned properly enough for her to make it. In my mind I'm comparing it a bit to our trip up El Cap, a meditation-driven retreat in its own right; it's something that will be entirely uncomfortable for the complete duration, and yet a worthwhile life experience that you can never know exactly what it's like until you jump in and do it. While I was fairly sure that I could do El Cap, I really am not sure I could do a 10-day retreat like this. For the whole thing you have to observe "noble silence", which means no talking, writing, singing, gesturing, smiling, or even really looking at anyone else in any form - even the two other people you are sharing a room with. I'm such an extrovert that I don't know if I could shut up long enough to last, not to mention that fact that I couldn't deal with the physical pain of sitting in meditation for 10+ hours per day. One of the things I've always admired most about Mo is her bravery, strength, and lack of hesitation to jump into the unknown. Many people today are so afraid of what they don't know that they never seek the truth. - a fairly easy way to live your life, but is that what we're really here to do?

Anyways, I really don't know how she's going to react when she gets home tomorrow, but I am certainly excited to see her. Will she walk right by me, silently, and sit in the corner for a few hours before getting up and going for a run? Will she be talking at 9 times her normal rate, packed to the gills with things to say, express and communicate? Or will she eat a big meal and go right to sleep?

Stay tuned!

Mat

Regression

Teaching high school can often be a lesson in being a high schooler all-over again, and at the end of my longest, hardest days, I still find myself thinking back to the highlights of the past 6 hours, when i was laughing my hardest or blown away by a student's incredibly higher level thinking that came out of left field.

I survived my first two weeks at Berkeley High and I must say that I'm really enjoying the experience so far. I have two 11th grade classes which I absolutely adore - so far, at least, they are mature, as responsible as one can expect a 16 year old to be, funny, talented, and a pleasure to be around. My 9th grade classes are a bit more of a struggle. In one, I have 34 students, and thank goodness they are 34 relatively mellow students, or I would never make it through 5th period. 34 kids is too much to have in a classroom, especially when some of them are mainstreamed special-needs kids that require more attention, and when you are expected to delivery "differential learning" lessons so that all of them can achieve at the same level of "rigor". With 34 freshmen you're just trying to make it through the 55 minutes and hope that some of the knowledge you throw at them sticks somewhere inside their cranial cavity.

I must admit, my 6th period, freshmen class is a bit on the crazy side. So crazy in fact that the teacher across the hall from me pulls up a chair and sits outside his room during his 6th period prep just to watch my kids come in, for sheer entertainment value. One kid, in particular, comes in every day as if he's just done lines in the boy's bathroom, literally shaking and vibrating with excitement and energy. In the few spare minutes he has before the bell rings he runs laps up and down the hall, as if he's preparing for the 100 m Olympic dash, revving his adrenaline sky-high so he can "sit" for a little less than an hour in my classroom. Today, the teacher across they way observed him running out of my classroom only to embrace a concrete pillar in a full-body bear-hug, only to explain to the teacher that "everybody needs hugs sometimes" before running up and down the hall hugging the rest of the available inanimate objects. Yes, he sits in the front, and yes, I have called his parents, and yes, he still jumps around and jitters like a crack baby without his daily fix. I can't help but love even him, however, as he turned in his "Science as Art" visual art piece today, and it was an incredibly complex photo mosaic collage describing the buoyancy of a fishing boat - it must have taken him hours at home, and really displayed an amazing amount of artistic skill. Perhaps I should sit him in the back and have him cut pictures out of magazines every day.

These shenanigans ended the day which I started with two of my second period students extending the 30 second version of the funk song "Brick House" that was piped over the pathetic PA speakers system with an extended 3-minute remix, consisting of beats hammered out on their desk, a two part vocal harmony, and intricate accompanying dance routine while wearing aviator shades, spotless ball caps, and shaking their dreads. I really couldn't help but laugh, as their energy is so pure, and so uplifting, that one can't help but stop life and watch these kids dance and have a good time for just a minute or two while being cheered on and encouraged by their classmates.

Because really, if you can't laugh and take yourself less seriously in 11th Grade, then when can you do it?

-Mat

Finishing What We Started

First, an apology for the lack of blog updates recently, which can only mean one of two things: either we've been off having too much fun to write about our lives in cyberspace, or we went off and did something crazy, like settled down and re-joined the working class. Believe it or not, it's been so long since we've written that we've gone off and done both.

Knowing that we were headed back to Berkeley and Mat was going to jump into his first year of real, credentialed teaching, we decided to make the most of the end of our summer, which turned out to be a highly successful endeavor. Manipulating our time between new teacher trainings, meetings, and HR appointments, we spent a good chunk of August in one of our favorite spots on the planet - the Yosemite High Country. Some of you may remember that about one year ago we started this crazy trip with a 30+ day through-hike of the Sierra, following Steve Roper's "Sierra High Route", a mainly off-trail route that stays as high as possible while following the Sierra Crest from South to North. Last summer we completed about 80% of the route, from King's Canyon to Tuolumne, and had it in our sights to finish up since last September. August seemed the perfect time to do it, and we set out from Tuolumne Meadows on a six day trip that would take us North along the crest, around Conness and up to the Matterhorn, and then back down to the Meadows to meet the Cane family for a first-ever (almost)-full-family camping trip.

The hike itself was amazing, and a wonderful way to finish the High Route. What the Northern section lacked in good fishing and desolation it made up for in stunning scenery and clean granite. As we never strayed too far away from an easy East Side entry point there were quite a few folks back there, but only two other souls doing a route similar to ours, and always plenty of places to camp far away from the crowds. We gained an appreciation for how the massive Mt. Conness and her satellites dominate the area by circumnavigating the peak, and discovered an absolutely beautiful off-trail gem in Spiller Canyon as part of our route back to TM. We loved Spiller so much that we dropped our packs at 2 pm on a day that we intended to walk much further, and instead made coffee, swam, fished, and read until the sun set - ahhh, the mountain life.

We rushed out of the backcountry to get in line on Monday morning for a campsite in the TM campground for the arriving and ever-growing Cane clan. Using our charm, humor, and bargaining abilities we scored the two absolute best sites in the whole 200+ site campground - a secluded corner of the A loop right along the river, with beautiful views and vistas right from the camp. The family rolled in, and a hectic yet entirely fun 3 days followed before they packed up and went home. Jean-Paul and Elena surprised us all with an announcement of their engagement around the campfire the second night, and we celebrated and felt blessed to hear the good news in such a magnificent locale.

We packed up Edric and Wyn's car and headed back to Sacramento with them, as the Eurovan was stranded in Bishop after towing it down the pass with Jason's well-timed AAA Plus card. The story around the van is another blog posting in itself, but it turns out that absolutely nothing was wrong with the van - it was just an idiotic move Mat made with the key that caused the engine security immobilizer to become active. Unfortunately we had to tow it all the way to a VW specialist in Bishop to figure out the issue, and after he asked Mat "How long has the key been like this" we immediately knew that it was our fault. It turns out those little batteries in the keys actually run a bit more than just the LED light. Who knew? After a few quick days in Carmichael we washed our bodies, washed our clothes, and got ready to head to our old/new home of Berkeley for the start of the school year.

Pictures of our hike are up at http://picasaweb.google.com/mat.glaser

Oui, we Wii

We spent the past week at Mat's parents' house in South Carolina, basking in the heat, sweet tea and boiled peanuts of the South. We always experience a bit of culture shock leaving "the island" (as Mat's mom refers to California) and Mat's translation skills in southern drawl were put to the test multiple times during our stay. We hadn't been there in the heat of summer for quite a while, so we combated the stifling temperature and humidity by spending as much time on the lake as possible. The highlight of the aquasports was a day full of high speed (and impact) tubing off the back of the boat with Mo's brother JP and his girlfriend who drove up from nearby Clemson for the weekend.

We also used the week to catch up on all the new-fangled technology we had been missing on the island as we broke in Mat's parents' newly-purchased Wii and Wii Fit. To be fair, we supplied them with the Wii Fit device, after purchasing it from a 16 year old Vietnamese kid in San Jose whom we found on Craigslist. Not knowing we had one of the hottest consumer items since the Cabbage Patch Kids in our hands we were a bit surprised to field all of the comments that we got as we carried it through the airport - had we had more of them we could have paid for our plane tickets in the time it took us to walk between Terminal A and D. We're very rarely ahead of the curve when it comes to things like this, so we were eager to check it out and find out for ourselves what all the Wii madness was really about.

We were a little skeptical that something so seemingly cheesy could be so much fun - let's just say they've come a long way since the Power Glove. The technology is honestly pretty amazing, and through some magic of gyroscopes and infrared transmittal the Wii senses every single move you make, your motions fueling such family-friendly games as golf, bowling, and even boxing. The Wii Fit was pretty rad as well, and while it's not quite the same workout as hauling all your stuff up El Cap and back down again, one could see how it could develop into a fun and easy fitness routine. While the yoga poses were not always 100% accurate, they were straight forward enough to do, and having some feedback regarding your center of mass was actually quite helpful in certain positions. We definitely got hooked on a few of the balance games and the sight of someone frantically hula-hooping an invisible hoop and gyrating their hips with reckless abandon in your basement is almost worth the price of the system.

When we could drag ourselves away from the Wii we also caught up on our movies. Wanting to check out all the hype around the new Batman venture we bought tickets for the local IMAX online and rented The Dark Knight's predecessor, Batman Begins, to watch on Mat's dad's big screen TV. We were quite impressed by the first one, even without the depth of comic knowledge that many fans might have, and our excitement for the new one on the big, big screen rose with every day. We filed into the IMAX dome theater at the Charlotte Discovery Center and then sat reclined in our chairs, teeth cleenched, fists gripping to the arm rests for the next two and a half hours, trying to keep our lunch stomached and the vertigo at bay. In short, it was a bit much - the wraparound screen so large that much of the action sequences were just a blur accompanied by super-loud gunshots and kabooms. We felt like we missed more than half the movie as we just couldn't focus on anything going on, and Mat was literally covering his ears with his hands whenever he anticipated an explosion. From what we did gather from the movie, Heath Ledger turned in an amazing performance, and if you didn't know that he killed himself shortly after the filming it would have been one of the most amazing feats of acting in a long, long time. Knowing about the O.D. and how twisted his life had become somewhat put a damper on his performance, as the lines between his acting and actually being a bit crazy became blurier and blurier. We haven't given up on it yet, however, and might try to catch it in regular screen format or eventually rent it when it comes out - chances are we'll be able to handle it a bit better on a 15" laptop screen.

All in all it was a great trip back to the East Coast full of excitement that can only be found in the Carolinas. We're set to enjoy the last remaining days of summer, although we're both currently battling nasty colds. Hopefully we'll be able to head to the mountains for a bit between Mat's trainings and meetings, and soon enough we'll be settling into our new home in Berkeley.

Charming, Sunny, and Quiet front half of duplex

One of our biggest obstacles to overcome as part of our move back to Berkeley was finding a place to live in a city that is famous for the tenacity of its rental market and the hoops one must jump through in order to find a decent place to live. We knew all about it from our student days, having survived the skanky carpeted basement apartments of yesteryear and become stronger people because of it. We were determined to find a nice place to hang our hat in Berkeley, and our list of prereqs was long and thorough. We wanted it all, at a good price and a convenient location.

We spent the previous week craigslisting and looking for updates every five minutes, packing our weekend days full of appointments around the East Bay, and assembling our "Rental Packet" to present to prospective landlords upon introduction. In a procedure perhaps only rivaled in such real cities as San Francisco and Manhattan, each individual Berkeley landlord has a time-tested methodology to ensure that they will somehow pick a tenant that will be amiable in their place and not stiff them on the rent. We saw the whole gamut, from the sticklers who demanded full credit reports, resumes, letters of introduction, rental references, and background checks, to the hippie-dippie leasers who just wanted to scan your aura and take a quick look at your palms. In the end, we put on a clinic for the students and the newbies to the game, as we showed up with sparkling clean auras and a rental packet to match, complete with an irresistibly cute color picture of us grinning ear-to-ear in front of Half Dome.

To tour the Berkeley rental circuit is quite an experience, as many of the landlords are lonely, somewhat bizarre, and want to talk quite a bit. When you drop in on someone's place to interview for their abode you get a unique snapshot into their lives - one somewhat eccentric man showed off his 1880 Victorian Mansion and bombarded us with past, present, and future improvement and remodeling plans, all fit into an exceedingly unrealistic timetable while also complaining about the hormonal changes of his 13 year-old son. Another old salty-dog-sailor-traveling-hippie-artist type took us through his gorgeous Berkeley Hill four-plex while telling us about past mushroom trips and karmic cycles of his life. When Mo mentioned she used to work for Greenpeace he quickly directed us to a photo of him painting the mural on the side of the Rainbow Warrior "back in the day". It really is a small world sometimes, especially inside the Bay Area bubble.

In the end, the smiling color photo must have sold them all, because we were offered all the places that we wanted, including an absolutely beautiful front half of a duplex in North Berkeley. It was definitely at the upper range of our price scale, but has a stellar location near BART and on the bike path through the park, beautiful hardwood floors, and a Chef Ramsey-worthy kitchen sure to be the site of many a delicious feast in the next 12 months. Book your reservations now!

Life in the Vertical World

Check out pictures of our El Cap trip at http://picasaweb.google.com/mat.glaser

After 5 days of climbing and 4 nights on the wall, schlepping more than 200 pounds of water and an equal amount of food and gear, countless hours of extreme discomfort and unbearable hard work punctuated by times to relax and contemplate life more than a thousand feet straight off the deck, we sent El Cap.

The dream of climbing one of the largest and steepest walls in the world is one that many climbers of all abilities share. Resisting its draw is futile, as the wall is steeped in tradition and lore, to the point of obtaining an almost mythical status. Tourists and climbers alike spend days basking in the sun of El Cap meadow, staring upwards towards the top, following the progress of scurrying monkeys sending enigmatic lines towards the summit. For the past week we stepped out of our usual role of gawkers and fans and became those monkeys climbing through the days and nights.

Mo's brother JP was the instigator for the trip, having successfully been up the Captain twice already and ready to take on a third attempt. He had the aid climbing experience necessary to keep our progress moving upward, and invited his coworker Sequoia (AKA El Tigre) along for the adventure. Their background in rope-access work, rescue skills, and general belay management was invaluable to the team. We snuck in on the family card, having enough climbing experience to feel comfortable up there, comprehend the systems, and hopefully provide some brute force and positive energy.

It took us two days to lug all of our gear, water, and food up to the base, and on Tuesday the 22nd we blasted off and began climbing the 16 pitches of a "moderate" route called Zodiac. Our progress was slow, especially the first few days as our freight was heavy and we were all still learning our systems and becoming efficient. After spending the majority of the first day fighting a rat's nest of ropes and a belay organizational nightmare at the top of the first pitch, our morale was dropping a bit and we were starting to wonder if we could indeed make upward progress. Piton Pete, an (in)famous local big waller on an insanely hard route next to us looked over and saw our challenges as he was heading down back to the valley and yelled some words of encouragement. "I'll see y'all later - whatever you do, don't f*cking bail!!! It's amazing - if you keep going up, and don't go down, you'll make it to the top!!!"

As we fought our way closer to the summit, sometimes only climbing two pitches in a day, our systems got more streamlined, we all became more efficient, our load got lighter as food and drink was consumed, and things started to get a little bit easier. It was still probably the hardest thing we had ever done in our life, but for different reasons than we initially predicted. Neither of us were scared of the height or exposure, the things that petrified JP on his first ascent and that most people associate as the main difficulty of the climbing. We have climbed enough to trust the ropes and found that as we got higher and higher off the deck we felt strangely comfortable soaring with the birds 1500 feet off the ground. At some point you have to force your mind to turn off the fear and deal with the situation at hand, whether giving a belay, leading the next pitch, or hauling your gear to the next station. The main difficulties for us were found in the extreme discomfort of the situations - hanging from your harness for hours at a time, never having solid ground to stand on, move about, or stretch, and setting up and breaking down camp while swinging from a rope and performing acrobatics to assemble the portaledges.

In general, taking a team of four up the Capitan is something that doesn't happen too often, as the logistics and organization required increase exponentially with every new person. Our team was amazing, and we worked together almost seamlessly, the majority of the time all of us being at their physical and mental limit. Being up on the wall was a beautiful and transformative experience, like clawing your way towards spiritual enlightenment one inch at a time. And while the discomfort was extreme and the physical demands intense, the line was beautiful, a joining of cracks, features, bumps and minuscule ledges that ran uninterrupted from bottom to top, passing through the huge gray circle on the eastern side of the face. We flew up five pitches the final day, being pulled by the inexplicable energy of topping out, fueled by adrenaline and the excitement of being able to throw our sleeping bags in the dirt and sleep in luxury, taking our harnesses and shoes off and not having to pee in a nalgene bottle. We topped out at 10 pm on Saturday night, met by the two guys who had been climbing an adjacent route next to us, ate as much food as we could fit in our stomaches, and crashed.

In big walling, the majority of your experience is incredibly hard, smelly, uncomfortable, testing, and trying - Sequoia related how he had been training for the adventure by climbing, running and working out, and really he should have just "dug a hole and sat in it for 12 hours at a time". All big wallers can tell you about the numerous times they had been at the end of their mental and physical limits, coming apart while thousands of feet of the ground, miserable, hurt, broken, cracked, and crying - and yet, after you get off the wall, there is a mystical, magical, unreasonable tug to go back. A tug to test yourself again, to see if you could make it on an even harder route, to climb up with the birds, to fly to the top. As the days advance from your last trip, this tug becomes bigger, and pain becomes more distant, and pretty soon you find yourself heading up a wall again, wondering if you can make it this time, and questioning what you have gotten yourself into.

This may very well be our first and last big wall, but even after one ascent we were able to catch a glimpse and feel a splinter of that magic that radiates from the Capitan and permeates beautiful Yosemite Valley. Sitting in El Cap Meadow and staring up at that imposing, more than vertical cliff will never be the same.

Blasting Off

We've got tons to write about, but we've been out in the wilderness far from the interweb and have packed our adventures too close together to allow us ample time to elaborate. In short, we had an absolutely fabulous time during the remainder of our stay in Utah, remaining based in Zion long enough to really explore the area and do some amazing canyoneering around the park. We knew we had most of the technical rope skills and navigational experience to jump into the water-filled slot canyons of the West, and while this was mostly true, we still encountered a steep learning curve. The skillset from climbing crossed over very well in most regards, as canyoneering involves lots of repelling and rope work, however we did encounter some novel predicaments that made us think twice.

The simple act of rappelling becomes more complicated when performing what canyoneers call a "floating disconnect" - that is, rapping into an icy (45 degree F) pool of water, floating to keep your head above, and removing yourself from the rope, all while keeping things untangled and remaining calm. In fact, the swimming was the main thing that surprised us with its difficulty as we had multiple opportunities to jump into the freezing water with full packs and clothes on and dog-paddle/swim across to the (not always evident) other side.

In the end, we enjoyed exploring the canyons more than we could imagine, and our technical skills allowed us to access superbly pristine and geologically astonishing spots in the desert. As the days got hotter and hotter we become more and more comfortable in the coolness of the canyons, and ended our trip with a three day backpacking effort down the Right Fork of the Great West Canyon in Zion, which was quite a test of our hiking, technical, and most of all route finding and map-reading abilities. We didn't see a soul for the duration of the trip and the only evidence of other people where the few footprints of a party that had descended a few days before us. The setting was splendid as the full moon lit up the towering sandstone walls and we were serenaded (loudly!) to sleep by the echoes of the mating frogs.

Our life has been a blur since we got home as we have been preparing to go the other direction with an ascent of El Capitan in Yosemite, one of the largest and most beautiful pieces of granite in the entire world. We will be joining Mo's brother Jean-Paul and one of his coworkers heading up the Captain, on a route that we will hopefully complete in five days (and nights) of climbing and work. We'll be spending the night way up in the air, hoping to get some sleep on our portaledges, and hoping that the sun is somewhat merciful in its heat and a cool breeze is blowing off the deck. It is probably one of the most challenging things we have ever attempted, and we are entering it with a mixture of excitement, nervousness, and anxiety for the unknown, not exactly sure how our bodies and minds will adapt and react to a completely vertical world. We can only hope that we will have strong bodies, even stronger minds, and a whole ton of fun.

Needless to say, in a week's time we will have stories to tell and pictures to share - off we go!

Rainbow Sandstone

Our life is often about contrasts, and on the first full weekend in June we traveled to Springdale, Utah, just outside of Zion National Park, for the wedding of one of Mo's best friends from high school. One of the brides herself was billing the wedding as the last illegal same-sex marriage ceremony for California residents to be performed outside of the state before the June 17th kick-off, and the shabang went down in the heart of Mormon country, with the officiating being taken care of by one of the bride's fathers, a retired Episcopalian priest - only in the good ol' US of A. As most of you know, it doesn't take much to get us motivated for a trip to the desert, and the opportunity to be a part of this joyous celebration was more than enough. We finagled some mountain bikes from our well-equipped friends (thanks Witt and Alyse!!!), filled the Eurovan to the brim with desert toys, and took the scenic route which included parts of the "Extraterrestrial Highway" across Nevada and into Utah while stopping at some killer hot springs along the way.

Being part of the larger circus traveling to Utah for a gay wedding in the midst of the landmark California decision got us thinking along those legal lines that become a bit convoluted when you start rolling across state borders. Some of the most interesting state laws in Utah have to do with their policies toward beer and liquor - the whole state is limited to 4.0% ABV beer, and to drink you must either be also eating food in a restaurant or a member of a "private club" that is licensed to serve the demon rum. We emptied out our car of contraband at the Arizona border after hearing about horror stories of out-of-state visitors being harassed for a few bottles of 6% moonshine that they trafficked across state lines. This got us thinking about Federal law, and we seemed to remember from our high school US Government classes that Federal Law superseded State Law in most cases, especially those involving interstate transport.

Being that we do live in the progressive State of Callie-fornia, we couldn't help but compare this conundrum to a legal battle constantly being waged in the Golden State over medical marijuana. Yes, a majority of the state authorized a proposition legalizing the medical use of marijuana, but of course this is only in effect statewide and not on a federal level. Consequently, in liberal bastions like San Francisco and Berkeley, pot clubs are constantly being raided by the DEA and shut down, denied their state-given rights due to the power of the Feds. If the Feds can raid Oaksterdam on a routine basis, shouldn't they be protecting our right to bring California microbrews into the fine state of Utah? Where's the ATF when you really need them?

When it all came down to it, the legal nuances were just that, and we had a grand time in Springdale. The wedding ceremony was easily the most aesthetically stunning and beautiful ceremony we have been to, with the couple being joined and blessed beneath the towering sacred sandstone peaks of Zion. The party was bumping until well past midnight, accompanied by perhaps the hardest rap music ever played on the main street of Springdale since N.W.A. came through in 1994. And the special Utah liquor laws were actually a blessing in disguise, as the strict adherence to alcohol standards has forced creative Utah microbreweries to specially design some incredibly delicious recipes for their local concoctions while spicing them up with names like Polygamy Porter ("Why have just one?") and Provo Girl Pilsner.

So yep, we survived the wedding, Utah survived a gay marriage, and now we're posted up in campsite #9 of Zion's South Campground trying our best to make use of the toys we brought and be thankful for these looooong days to run around outside. It's getting hotter every day, but nothing a dip in the Virgin river can't take care of, and we're cruising around on bikes and running through canyons each day until we can barely walk.

Wooo-hoooo summer!!!!!!

POP! goes the tympanic membrane

While Mo was playing tour guide to my parents, who flew in from the East Coast for a lightning fast trip to Vegas and the Bay, I was left in Berkeley attempting to cram for the Physics CSET test that I was scheduled to take on Saturday. After seeing everyone to the airport on Thursday morning I was ready to settle in for a couple days of quiet, focused studying when my left inner ear canal began inexplicably filling up with fluid Thursday night. The pain kept me up all night on Thursday and drove me to the doctor on Friday, who prescribed antibiotics and said that I had quite a royal ear infection raging in there. Argck.

Unfortunately the doctor didn't send me home with any pain killers, and I was forced to alternate between Tylenol and Advil in an attempt to stave off the ferocious, sharp, awl like pain going straight into my skull. Friday evening I laid in the fetal position on the couch as I didn't think the pain could get any worse, trying to keep my body as still as I could as every single movement jostled the pressure in my ear and caused it to intensify. I began wishing that my ear drum would just burst and I was imagining the immediate theoretical cessation of pain as the fluid found its way out of my skull. And then, while I talked (or really moaned and complained grumpily) on the phone to Mo in Vegas, it happened - my ear drum ruptured, the pain immediately stopped, and fluid began oozing out of my ear canal.

While it was a short-term solution to the indescribable pain I was experiencing at the time, if I had to do it all over again with the hindsight that the last week has provided, I probably wouldn't have wished quite so hard that my eardrum would pop. While the pain and pressure immediately dispersed, so did my hearing, as well as many other senses and neurological nuances that are evidently connected to having an intact tympanic membrane. For over one week now I have not been able to hear anything out of my left ear, and most of the time there is an annoying ringing taking place where audio input should be. My sense of balance is getting better, but for the first few days it was nearly impossible for me to close my eyes and remain standing without falling over. And one of the most annoying repercussions of my condition is the inability to audio-locate where noises are coming from. In order to determine the location of a source of noise, our brain uses an algorithm that compares the gap in reception time between our two ears - put simply, if the right ear hears a noise before the left ear, then the brain can figure out that the source of the noise must be on our right size. When the brain is only receiving data from one of the ears it can't work its magic anymore, and thus I have no idea where noises are coming from. This in itself is extremely disorienting and annoying, and combined with the ringing it is hard for me to stay upbeat, positive, and not grumpy.

Just a week of this experience has given me a whole new perspective and sympathy for a) young children that have ear infections and go through all this painful mess and b) people with life-long hearing disabilities or loss. My grandpa always complained about how stressful it was for him to go out to dinner in a crowded restaurant, or attempt to hold a conversation in a crowded room, and now I have a glimmer of understanding of what he meant. Without both ears working I have lost all ability to filter out the normal din of a populated space, and it requires a lot of brain power to separate what people are saying to you and what is just background conversation around you. I've always put hearing towards the top of my list of most valued senses, and this little medical ordeal has only reinforced that fact.

Mo is back from Vegas, my parents made it safely home to the Carolinas after seeing everything from Sacramento to Santa Cruz, and we are still playing a bit of a waiting game on the job search. The High School in Berkeley has officially offered me a position, and the school in Watsonville is still lagging big time. We hope to come closer to a decision as to where we want to live this weekend, and are excited about working out our summer plans which hopefully include a trip to Zion for a wedding and fun, and there is talk about a possible family ascent up The Capitan(!). Meanwhile, the Interweb says healing time of anywhere from a few weeks to a few months for a popped ear drum, so I am hoping recovery comes sooner rather than latter, although in truth I might miss the convenience of selective hearing loss when this is all over.

What?

-Mat

The Secret Interview

We've been temporarily grounded in the Bay Area for a bit while Mat continues his job search and his parents come into town for a brief spell. He has been wrestling with the red tape and bureaucracy of the education hiring system for quite a few weeks now and is ready for it all to be over. It took him a few weeks to really understand the whole process, as most schools and districts love to tell you that all of their jobs are posted on a centralized website, edjoin.org, and that's the best way to apply for positions. What he came to realize, however, is that once the job is up on Edjoin it's already too late. The district, admin at the school, or department involved with the subject have most likely already selected their candidate by that point, and the posting online is merely a formality. So, he was forced to do what everyone else was evidently doing - try to line up a "secret interview".

Luckily he had been keeping in touch with a bunch of his contacts from his grad program and was tipped to a position at a school outside of Santa Cruz as well as one in the Bay Area. Through various emails and phone calls he was able to confirm the possibility of said position, and he arranged a secret interview with each of the schools in question. They both started as an informal chat between himself and the faculty, and eventually progressed into a full on, hiring committee-style round-robin interview. The secret interview at the school in Berkeley led to a personal introduction to the admin staff involved with hiring and a physical handover of his application packet. They were calling for a first interview within hours that afternoon, apparently eager to get their hands on a qualified, young, and thus cheap science teacher. A second interview followed shortly thereafter, and the hiring committee included one woman whom he taught with at Sarah's Science Camp way back in the day, and another who proclaimed "I've never met anyone else who has been hiking in Ladakh!", in reference to a somewhat non-professional but interesting line on his resume.

And now comes the sticky situation, or what Mat's dad refers to as "leaves in the pool" (because your problems aren't real problems when you're complaining about the leaves in your swimming pool). The principal of said school in Berkeley left a positive sounding message on the voice mail tonight, with instructions to call him back as soon as possible, and the school in Watsonville hasn't progressed past the secret interview step yet, despite assurances from moles inside the department that they really want to hire him. To make matters a bit harder, there are numerous factors that together add up to make this one of those semi-difficult real life decisions. The Berkeley position pays a good deal more, would be teaching Biology, could be bike-commuted every day, and is nearly signed, sealed, and delivered. The Watsonville position would be teaching with friends in a smaller school, although teaching physics, with a (short) car commute, and the hiring process seems a bit sketchy at best - but my gosh it's beautiful down there. So what it really comes down to is where we want to live and spend the next few years of our life!

Leaves in the pool, I guess, but we really just want to go swimming!

Stimulated

Mo and I woke up to the pleasant surprise this morning of more money in our bank account. Yes, we had been stimulated, as part of the $152 billion stimulus plan passed in Congress last February. And, try as we might, despite knowing deep down inside that this is a terrible idea, thinking about how many teacher pinkslips could have been avoided with that $152 bill or how prison overcrowding could have been reduced, or how this money is meant to fuel the consumerism that our country is already hopelessly addicted to, we couldn't help but be pretty happy with the money.

It turns out that about $600 each is enough to buy us off after all. :)

Thanks, W.!

Photos from our SE Asia trip

We decided that if Google really is taking over the world, we better be on their side. We put some of our better pictures from our bicycle-touring trip to Thailand, Laos, and Vietnam online at Picasa. Check them out when you can!

http://picasaweb.google.com/mat.glaser

Adventures in Babysitting

The first two weeks back in the states after returning from SE Asia was complete hecticness. Before we were even over our jetlag we helped throw a bachelor/ette party, drove down and back to LA, participated in and helped with a wedding, and babysat Mo's sister's three children for 7 days while they went to Hawaii.

What? You might be thinking "Did you lose some kind of bet?" Believe it or not, the answer is the same as the one Mat gave the high-school clerk at Rite-Aid when asked the identical question in regards to why his beard was a bit more grown-out than usual. No, we didn't lose a bet, but instead graciously volunteered to watch Andre and Matthew, our 15 month and 6 1/2 year old nephews, along with Jordan, our 4 year old niece and a newly-adopted stray dog Calvin so that Maureen's sister and husband could take a much overdue (10 years!) vacation to Hawaii. Perhaps it was a way to ease some guilt on our part for being able to fly to Asia on a whim, perhaps it was a bit of temporary insanity, or perhaps we just wanted to spend some quality time with the kiddos.

Three kids and a dog! It was quite an experience. With three kids it's pretty much a guarantee that one of them didn't sleep the whole night, which kept us up and kept them cranky the next day. Add on to that a nasty cold that they kept passing around between themselves and we were definitely in for some adventure. Luckily their schedule was packed and we spent the majority of the time shuttling them from school to storybook cottage to swim practice back home and stuffing their faces with snacks in between.

After a few trying days and long nights of boundary testing, we all settled into the routine and Mat started making the morning coffee a wee bit stronger to counteract the sleepless nights. Matthew got major points one morning after we kicked him out of our bed and told him to "go play with your Legos" and he returned with special "Breakfast in Bed"; toast (actually made in the toaster - scary), brie cheese complete with a knife, some tangerines, and "Tea" made out of hot water from the tap. With kids this cute, how can you really get mad at them?

By the end of the week we were regular Supermom and Superdad, chillin' with the Moms and Dads at the school Jogathon event, comparing notes on strollers and Mac & Cheese brands, and sleeping when we could get it, which was usually during their naps or "quiet" playtime. We waged daily battles for the small assignments; Mo got stuck with reading "The New Dog" book every single night to Jordan, while Mat got to delve into a new chapter of Harry Potter instead. In return, he got to get up early and make the kids breakfast while Mo caught a few more minutes of shuteye.

Yes, we managed fine, and actually did a pretty darn good job. We got a little scared about the prospect of having children when we realized that we both had no work to go to and absolutely nothing on our schedule, but were still so exhausted we could barely move at the end of the week. Mat alikened it to Substitute Teaching; when you walk into someone else's routines, patterns, and schedules, it really takes a lot of energy to figure it out and keep the kids under control until you do. When you are teaching in your own classroom, you get to set the rules and habits from the first day, and hopefully can be a little more efficient with day-to-day happenings. Every time we held the little guy in our arms we wanted a kid right away, and every time the two older ones went berserk (which wasn't often, but enough) it made us think twice. In the end, we had a blast with our niece and nephews, and found ourselves having to repeatedly answer their question of "When are you guys going to have kids??? We want cousins!!!!"

Our tour of duty ended just in time to avoid the stomach flu that took over the kindergarten class and the projectile vomiting that ensued in the mini-van. Whew!

A Final Run Through Laos

We were so relieved to be back in Laos that we didn't even let two days of unpaved road bother us. In truth, we were expecting much worse, as an American couple on a tandem had warned us that this stretch was "not even a road, just huge boulders and steep drops down a jungle ravine on the side." It turned out to be a beautiful, semi-graded dirt road with occasional softball-sized rocks that wound its way up and down through dense, thick, and unpopulated Laos jungle. The two day stretch after the border was definitely the most remote area we had encountered so far, and we deliberately took it nice and easy after realizing that it would be a really bad idea to crash out here. We only saw two or three vehicles each day, one of them being the bus that ran three times a week to the border with Vietnam. So we took our time, enjoyed the light rain and river crossings, and found ourselves sleeping in some villages that probably won't see another falang for a few months or longer.

After two days and about 100km on the dirt road we came to the village of Muong Khoua, situated on the scenic Nam Ou river. Our circle was becoming complete as this was the same river that shared its confluence with the Mekong in Luang Prabang, where we were almost a month earlier. We briefly toyed with the idea of pushing on from Muong Khoua that afternoon, but made it to a small cafe just in time for a huge thundershower and instead decided to push on through a few cups of Laos coffee and enjoy the busy river scenery. We met a Basque couple also traveling by bike, and they gave us the good news that the next 100km to Oudamxay was on a beautifully paved road and not too difficult. By this point our butts couldn't have ridden much more off road so this was a welcome relief.

The ride the next day to Oudamxay was near perfect and definitely one of the top three days of our trip. It followed the river the entire day, gradually gaining elevation through sometimes steep, never-ending rollers. There was near zero traffic and the pavement was ideal. For lunch we had one of our first truly authentic Laos meals of sticky rice and various grilled animals; jungle deer, water buffalo, and river fish. Rats and small birds were available as well, but we shied away from those. We were excited to get to Oudamxay as one of the Laos guides that worked with the American tour group we met up with lived there. We went straight to his shop and chatted a bit before making plans for dinner at 7pm. He would come by our guesthouse with his wife, and we would go to one of his favorite local restaurants.

After exploring the town a bit, we rushed home to make it back by 7 in time for Boonyang to meet us. As we sat on the front porch, our stomachs turning and legs exhausted, the time kept ticking by. 7:30....8:00....8:20....8:30... finally Mo insisted that Mat call him up. We dug up his cell phone number and found a phone, and Boonyang answered right away. Mat explained that we were tired and going to bed - Boonyang didn't seem to mind, and wasn't apologetic or didn't even acknowledge the fact that it was an hour and a half past our meeting time. He wasn't being rude - it was just another example of how relaxed and foreign Laos time can seem to our hectic western minds.

Mat was laid out sick for a day after some potentially sketchy street food that we munched on the night before. Mo used this day to make friends with the local teenagers at the restaurant next to our guesthouse and help them practice their English. When one of them was packing up to leave the restaurant, Mo inquired as to his destination, and was invited to go to their "Finance School" and sit in on the English class. Instead of sitting in she took over the whole class of students, some of which had only had three days of English lessons thus far. She was offered a Beerlao immediately on arrival, which she professionally declined, and the students were able to practice their English such as "What is your favorite Lao food?" and "What is your good name?". On her way out, they asked her if she could come back and be their teacher everyday.

Mat made a quick recovery and we headed out of Oudamxay bound for Luang Prabang. We were expecting two days and a bit more than 200km of riding through some big mountains, but were feeling strong and motivated to get back from Bangkok. As we rode out of Oudamxay and down some gradual descents we wondered if we felt especially good, or if the road was not as rigorous as we expected. After consulting a map we realized that we had missed our turn to Luang Prabang and were instead headed down the Nam Beng river to the Mekong much further north. Not willing to turn around and backtrack again, and enjoying the easy, descending rollers, we decided to change our plan and head to the town of Pak Beng, the previous site of our one-night stayover on the slow boat to Luang Prabang.

It turned out that this choice was a good one - there was hardly any traffic on the road, and we rode through some tiny weaving villages full of local colors and flavors. Mo found a few excellent shopping opportunities at markets along the way and stocked up on the beautiful local textiles, and we met two other falang (in the true sense of the word) from France that were doing a similar route on a motorcycle. We took two days to get to Pak Beng and they were incredibly enjoyable, with gorgeous scenery, easy riding, and lots of friendly people. We rolled into Pak Beng in the early afternoon, hours before the tourist boat got in, and were able to appreciate the small village for what it was without the nightly influx of Westerners clammoring for hotel rooms and food.

Our time in Asia was coming to an end and we had to get back to Bangkok. There was only one real way out from Pak Beng, and that was the slow boat on the Mekong. We hopped on and headed upriver for our third full day on the mother river, this time in a boat with only about 10 other people. The extra room was much appreciated and we actually enjoyed the scenery and the lazy trip up to Huay Xai.

We only a few days to get back to Bangkok and catch our flight, so even though we wanted to hang out in Laos some more we had to start moving back. We crossed the river back into Thailand the next day and took a bus to the city of Chiang Mai - Thailand's second largest city and a popular tourist destination that we had never quite made it to. In Chiang Mai we splurged a bit on a nice hotel with a swimming pool and enjoyed a couple of relaxing days of shopping, eating, and drinking coffee before hopping on an overnight train (another Thailand first!) back to Bangkok. A final hectic morning in BKK found us packing up our bikes, doing some last minute shopping, and then taking a cab to the airport for our flight back home.

Return to the Full Taste of Happiness

The Golden Tortoise got us successfully way out of Hanoi, but unfortunately it forgot to pave the 200 kms of road leading into our destination of Dien Bien Phu. We were semi-warned in the universal language of sign language as we checked out of our guesthouse in Son La that the road was "very bad and very bumpy". Like anything that we had experienced in Asia so far, we had to check it out for ourselves.... the road was terrible the second we got out of the city limits and continued that way for the next two days all the way into Dien Bien Phu.

The road was under some kind of "construction", although in reality all they had done was completely ripped up and destroyed any semblance of a paved road. The conditions varied anywhere from inches of wet, sticky mud, to stripped pavement with marble sized pebbles on top (the worst to ride on!) to about .01% of the surface that was actually resealed and was like riding on a cloud to heaven. Needless to say, the riding was difficult, but thankfully Mo impeccably timed the acquisition of some trendy dust masks with the conclusion of the paved road. We rode most of the way with our dust masks on, as the dust from passing trucks and vehicles was too thick to breathe without the masks on. To top it all off, we had two of the hardest climbs of our trip, and upward progress was slowed even more as we fought to keep traction and keep ourselves upright. The combination of steep road and SPDs toppled Mo over once and drew some blood on her chain ring, but she recovered quickly and kept on trucking like a pro. While we were collecting ourselves on the side of the road, a kind Vietnamese motorcyclist stopped to check on us and offered us the international gesture of peace - a cigarette. I respectfully declined but really did appreciate the offer; we would probably be doing a lot better in Vietnam if we were smokers. :)

We met an American couple cycling the other way on a beautiful Comotion mountain bike tandem and stopped to swap information and tips. They had come in from Laos over the border that we were headed to, which was very good news as they were the first real-life people we had met that had come across the border. Supposedly it was open for foreign travelers, but the opening was so recent that none of the guidebooks mentioned it and no one really knew for sure. They assured us that they had no problem crossing, although still didn't know if we would be able to procure visas on arrival. We mentally psyched them out when we told them that the next 150km were just as bad as the 50km they had just crossed, and were glad that we were at least nearing the end of the rough section.

We took a rest day in Dien Bien Phu, one of the larger cities in Western Vietnam and the site of a famous decisive French military routing by the Vietnamese. The local museum had a very interesting display of wartime relics and memorabilia, and we spent part of the day chatting with a group of four US marines that had come back to Vietnam to relive and rehash their experiences in the 60s. Hearing them talk about how they had found their old combat positions in the middle of destroyed battlegrounds made us just begin to contemplate how intense the situation really was some 30+ years ago.

We left DPB and headed towards the border of Laos, really not knowing what to expect... we were way off anything that was in a guidebook at this point, and were a little nervous about what to expect at the border crossing into Laos. The climb up to the border was a 18km monster and, while the road was finally sealed, we were getting into some super remote jungle. As we climbed for a couple of hours we barely saw any cars, and began to worry that the border wasn't actually open. Finally we arrived at the Vietnamese exit post and tried to figure out if we could get a visa-on-arrival in Laos. No one that new anything spoke any English, so we processed our visas, checked out of Vietnam, and headed into no man's land.

The 1km ride between the border posts was a bit nerve racking as we began to contemplate what we would do if we were stuck in international limbo in the middle of no where. The best that Mo came up with was to bushwack our way through the jungle a few hundred meters away from the border post, sneak in, hopefully not get shot, and deal with it when we had to leave the country. Confident that we at least had a plan B we were pleasantly surprised that the Laos border post had recently been awarded the "most laid-back landlocked border crossing in the universe" award - yes, they had visas on arrival, and while it took us about one hour to get through (see: Laostime) they let us in for just a few dollars extra in baksheesh (hey, it was Sunday). A wave of relief immediately swept over us - not only did we firmly have both wheels in a country, we were back in Laos... no traffic, no hurry, no problems.

With the Luck of the Golden Tortoise

We tried, we really did.... we tried to motivate and keep riding through the rain, leaving our palatial estate in Hoa Binh and climbing, climbing, climbing into the mountains of Vietnam... Perhaps the rain would clear, the sun would come out, we would get out of this infernal mud, and the road would finally dry off. Perhaps...

Or maybe not. About 100km outside of Hanoi we turned around and headed back for the city, the first time we had backtracked on our whole entire trip. It was a tough and trying decision, but we were tired of being wet, and a bit tired in general after a flurry of traveling and few too many nights without a good sleep. This time we caught a bus from Hoa Binh, opting not to ride the crazy stretch of road again, and navigated our way through the Hanoi motorbike frenzy once more, to a nice, quiet, and peaceful guesthouse in the old quarter.

It was here that we recharged our batteries for a few nights, getting good sleep, finding some good food, and enjoying the quite charming Northern Vietnamese city. One night we spent a few hours walking around the central lake, which felt eerily similar to Lake Merrit but was the location of one of Hanoi's most famous folktales. Legend has it that magical golden tortoises live deep within the lake, ancestors of the O.G. tortoise that took the sacred sword from the king long ago and returned it to its rightful owner. We had vague ideas of what this legend was about, and were completing our second lap of Qi Dong walking and arm exercises when we saw mass hysteria at the far end of the lake. Motos were driving off the road and into the park area, which is strictly verboten in normal times, cars were parking up on the sidewalk, and people were running en masse to the edge of the lake. At first we thought they were enjoying the sunset, but unless they knew something we didn't, there was much too much excitement for an everyday occurrence. Police began impounding motos left and right and no one cared - they couldn't tear themselves away from the water. Realizing that we were of course in Asia, we did what any good soul would find themselves doing upon seeing such a huge crowd - we ran over and joined in. Peering in the water the excitement was contagious, even though we had no idea what we were looking for. And then, we saw it - the golden tortoise surfacing for air, and then promptly plunging under, startled by the deafening cacophony of gasps and moans from the anxious onlookers. People were almost falling in the water at this point, as they tried desperately to snap a photo with whatever electronic device they had. We asked one of the hundreds of onlookers whether it was good luck, as the mob ran clockwise around the lake, following a feint trail of bubbles beneath the surface. "I hope so!" she said, as she took off to follow the crowd, and perhaps grab more of that lucky turtle power.

We felt incredibly fortunate being able to see this amazing occurrence and not have any of our personal possessions impounded by the police. We only hoped that all the citizens who had a long walk home (and a lot of explaining to do to someone) would remember what a lucky event they witnessed. Feeling rejuvenated, we went to the 6:30 performance of the water Puppet Theater, which while incredibly touristy and packed with Westerners, dong-for-dong one of the best entertainment values in the whole world. It was a puppet and live music event, and the puppeteers did it all in a murky pond of water up to their waists. Jim Henson would have been proud.

With images of the Golden Tortoise in our minds we set out again, still determined to take the back road into Laos and start working our way back to Bangkok. We rode out of central Hanoi for the third time, finally starting to feel a bit comfortable in the traffic, and jumped into the madness of the bus station. Mo dusted off her incredible bargaining skills and got ourselves and our bikes on a bus headed West for a very reasonable price, only a bit more than the actual charges. This was quite a scene as the driver started almost triple what it should have cost, and the falang with bicycles bargaining immediately drew a crowd of Vietnamese, all looking for some good entertainment. After a full day on the bus, complete with locals absolutely fascinated by Mat's arm and leg hair (to the point of stroking it, pulling up his pants leg, and inviting people from all over the bus to check it out) we made it to the picturesque town of Son La, a few hundred kilometers out of Hanoi and well on the way to our final Vietnam destination of Dien Bien Phu.

Stuck in Hanoi with the Luang Prabeng Blues Again

After a few days of rest in Hue and some antibiotics (thanks Jennifer and Scott!!!) Mo was back in full force and we jumped on an overnight "sleeper" bus North to Hanoi. The seats were not normal seats, but rather some space-age pods that fully reclined while allowing your legs to extend to some degree. We managed to get a bit of sleep, more so than a regular bus but definitely less than your average room in a guest house. At 5:30 AM we awoke to being dropped off in the rain, in the middle of nowhere, outside the city center of Hanoi. Conveniently, there was a queue of taxis awaiting the bus, friends with the bus driver, who were waiting to take the passengers to a wonderful guest house nearby, for a hefty fee. Argh. Of course we couldn't load our bikes in the small cabs, and we weren't planning on staying in Hanoi anyway. We pulled a janky photocopied partial map of Hanoi and set to it, navigating the streets of the huge metropolitan city, on our bikes, in the rain.

At this point we realized why The Amazing Race didn't select us for their show - we would have demolished all other teams involved. Somehow we found our way to a hotel for breakfast, found the central part of town, and then got directions to the bus station that would take us to the start of our next cycling leg: a journey west from Hanoi, over the mountains, and back into Laos.

Riding around in the rainy madness we realized what the one piece of gear we wished we had most was: fenders! Somehow we neglected to bring these from the states, and had to improvise some for our bikes out of duct tape and plastic water bottles. They worked decently well, however the Vietnamese have a remarkable ability to stay completely free of dirt and mud while riding their bikes and motos through the street. It seems that in the culture it is very important to keep your clothes clean, even with our plastic fenders after a few minutes of riding we looked like we had just finished Paris-Roubaix. We literally became the laughing stock of every corner we stopped at, with people pointing at us and making disgusted faces at how dirty we had allowed ourselves to become.

We headed out of Hanoi towards our bus station and began to get a hang of riding in all the traffic. Hanoi has a unique per-capita income that allows nearly ever inhabitant to be able to afford a motorcycle, but not a car. So the streets are literally filled with thousands of motorcycles, zipping back and forth like some futuristic arcade game. Our pace was somewhere in between the slow motos and the fast local cyclists, which resulted in quite a lot of passing and getting passed. We finally figured out one of the main traffic rules which helped things go a bit more smoothly - as a driver, you are responsible for all traffic in front of you, but none behind you. So motos, bikes, and vehicles routinely merge from the right hand lane without giving as much as a glance over their shoulder - as long as they are a fraction of an inch in front of you, they have right of way. Riding actually became easier once we discovered this rule, as we knew when to hit the breaks and let people in.

Mat had the great idea of riding right bast the bus stop 12km out of town and riding to our starting point, 70 km away. He was not operating super clearly due to lack of sleep and mud in his brain, but this is what we did. Accordingly, he had a breakdown about 30km into it when the hundredth person pointed and laughed at our mud covered bikes and butts. We got some Pho and managed to salvage enough motivation to but on, and about 40 km out of Hanoi the traffic lightened up a bit and the scenery became gorgeous. If only the rain would stop.

Unfortunately, it didn't. We spent a night at a terrible value guest house in Hoa Binh after after an interesting meal full of all sorts of things we couldn't identify. We even gleefully accepted a bottle of what we thought to be water but turned out to be incredibly strong moonshine to drink. The bottle itself would have killed a man, but we had a few shots at the risk of offending the local spirits and called it a night. At least we were out of Hanoi and on the road back to Laos.

The Insanity of National Highway 1

Last time we left you we had descended highway 9 in Vietnam to the coast, cutting across the DMZ and a beautiful, albeit misty, mountain descent. Our intention was to continue along the coast riding south on National Highway One, the highway running the length of Vietnam. Nevermind the warnings we had heard from other cyclists met along the way, nevermind the warnings from seasoned Vietnam travellers; we were going to try it ourselves. And besides, it's the flagship route of our out-of-print Lonely Planet Cycling Vietnam book - how bad could it be?

CRAZY BAD!!! Think I-5 in California, but a mere 8 meters wide with only a painted line separating the two "lanes" from each other. Now eliminate all the other roads running up the length of the state - force all traffic from 101, 1, etc. onto the highway. Eliminate all semblance of traffic rules, through in 8 million motorbikes, cyclists, pedestrians, add a few thousand trucks and buses that have guaranteed right-of-way because they're bigger than you, and you might start to get a sense of what it was like.

Up until now the riding has been hard at parts, but we never felt endangered by traffic. Hectic and chaotic yes, but endangered, no. When the fifth bus swerved head-on into our lane and we had to jump off the shoulder of the road in a millisecond to avoid it, we both knew that our plans would be changing soon.

We finally arrived at Hue, and Mo came down with a stomach bug that had been pestering her all day. She wins the gold star for pushing through the madness and pedalling on despite discomfort. We got a nice hotel room in Hue, complete with English TV (it's still amazing to us how comforting BBC is in the middle of Asia), and we strategized our next moves and recovered.

Across the Border into Vietnam

We took a bus from the world's sleepiest national capital of Vientienne towards the Vietnam border, sad to think about leaving Laos but eager to make headway into Vietnam. Despite the madness of our first three days in the country, Laos had really begun to sink in, and we knew that it would be hard to shift gears from Laos time to the hecticness of the rest of Asia. We were the only falang on the local bus to the border from Savannakhet, and the driver (nor any passengers) were in any kind of hurry to complete their journey. The driver often stopped the bus multiple times in a span of 200 meters, to pick fruit, deliver a parcel to a villager, or allow a teenage boy to hop off, run to the market, buy a diving mask (presumably for fishing) and hop back on. We were considerably less stressed when we realised it would not be a problem to delay the bus a few minutes while we untied our bikes from the roof, and the driver even took a few laps up and down the street on Mo's bike before telling us goodbye and firing up the engine again. Our time in Laos riding between the villages was an interesting look into a country that still largely consists of people living off of subsistence agriculture. Yes, they need to get home, but to tend to their crops and keep the household running - not to be on time for a meeting, make it to class, or show up for work. This simple living, combined with Beerlaos - the ubiquitous, cheap, and surprisingly good national brew - seems to produce an country full of happy and pleasant inhabitants that manage to keep smiling, despite their lack of material possessions or ravaging of their country by umpteen various world powers throughout the past millennia.

One incredibly interesting lens that we have been examining this travel experience through is the multiple land border crossings we have encountered. Many times when travelling internationally the border becomes less of a physicality and more of something abstract that occurs somewhere between the gates of two airports. When cruising around the countryside on a bicycle, the physical land border is incredibly tangible and present, from the countdown of kilometers on the roadside signs as you approach to the different posts to which you hand over your passport that you ride between. With this crossing comes stress and immediate discomfort, as within the space of a few hundred meters you are plunged into a new land where you often have none of the proper currency, don't know how to say simple things like "Hello" or "Thank You", and are immediately confronted with new customs, lifestyles, and ways of living.

The crossing into Vietnam was the most formal of the crossings we have encountered so far, and they even X-rayed our bags in a semi-official manner. The increase in development, infrastructure, and money was immediately apparent on the Vietnamese side, and we fought to find the right tone with which the locals would understand our botching of "Sin Jow", or "Hello". Fortunately the learning curve is quick, and we found an ATM, used enough body language to get a hotel room, and found some dinner which consisted of rice, vegetables, and some unidentifiable meat. We feel fortunate that we are able to explore Vietnam voluntarily as opposed to the generation before us, and we will work on getting off of Laos time and synchronized with the locals, which will be a bit sped up if the mega-jolt coffee served alongside green tea for breakfast this morning is any indication. Yes, despite our discomfort in the new experience, we've already learned "kaffee sua", or coffee with milk - now all we need is a tour company to schlep our bags and we'd be all set.

On a Slow Boat to Laos

Although we were loving riding through the plains of Thailand, we were getting a bit anxious to get into Laos if we were to complete our hopes of a Southeast Asia circumnavigation. This, coupled with our increasingly sore legs and butts prompted us to hop on a bus northward towards the border city of Koh Chang, where we then hopped on a longtailed boat with a guy from Boston who had ridden his loaded-down mountain bike over from Chiang Mai (only the third other cyclist encountered in Thailand!), and crossed the Mehkong River into Laos.

On the other side there was nothing more than a somewhat depressing border town, as the place was used by almost all travellers as a one night layover until they caught the slow boat down the river. The boat was really the only game in town, as the roads heading out were notoriously decrepit and beat up, and the mountains were looking a bit too ominous for our bikes. We bought our tickets for the two day slow boat ride, thinking that it couldn't be too bad and happy that we saved $1.20 per ticket by riding to the boat dock ourselves instead of paying for it through a travel "agent".

It turns out that a two day boat ride is really about as long as it sounds. The novelty of the hard wooden seats and views of the river scenery wore off in about 20 seconds, and for some 17 hours of our lives we were packed into a boat floating down the Mehkong with scads of other tourists and a good number of locals, who knew to sit up in the front of the boat where the air was freshest and the engine noise quietest. At times we felt like we were in some parallel universe people-safari, as the boat actually began to tip over from all the tourons rushing to take pictures of the local village dwellers performing everyday tasks with their telephoto lenses. Yes, this is how you get good pictures, but one can imagine how it would feel to be followed by boatloads of Paparazi was you went to the grocery, got off at your BART stop, or stepped out of the shower. It became annoyingly obscene at points, and the price that we paid for not putting up with the madness is a not so suprising lack of good people-photos from the trip. Thankfully the social life of our trip was saved by a largely disproportionate amount of Bay Area folk on the boat, including a rad lesbian couple living in the Mission in San Francisco. We hung out with them, swapped stories about life at home and on the road, at drank as much Nescafe Turbo as our stomaches could handle.

To add to the eternity-like feel of the trip, we stopped overnight in the small village of Pak Beng, about halfway before getting to Luang Prabang. Pak Beng, which used to be a small subsistence farming village, is now the major stop on the tourist trail down south. As soon as the boat pulled in, throngs of local children ranging from ages 4 to 24 hopped on and swarmed the luggage compartment in the rear. What followed for the next 30 minutes was a sea of chaos that revolved around these kids pulling up rucksacks from under the planks of the boat, throwing them to a friend, and then their compadre taking off running up the hill to a guest house. The foreigners have no choice but to follow their bag, where they are charged for the porter service and already have a room booked for them at the establishment. To add to the excitement, while Mat was in the back trying to catch our bright yellow panniers before they landed in the arms of an accomplice, a full-on fist-fight broke out between two of the adolescent boys, and a joking play-fight turned into a Muay Thai performance in mere seconds. While this scenario was hectic, stressful, and more reminiscint of India than anywhere we've been so far, it does show the complexity of an economy that so recently has had tourist dollars introduced. Yes, these kids are perhaps rude and inconsiderate, but in the end they're just trying to make a buck to buy food for their family and live another day. You can't blame them, but it does sometimes make the situation difficult.

Thankfully, by reasons unknown to us, the second day of boat travel went much quicker than the first. We both finished our excellent books, chatted with out new found friends, and managed to get our luggage off the boat without hassel or fistfight. Willing to overlook the experience of our first few days in Laos, we headed into Luang Prabang full of optimism for a city that Lonely Planet called "a tonic for the soul".

Cycling Through the Land of Smiles

As predicted earlier, things have become a bit easier after leaving the tourist trap of Bangkok and getting on our bikes. Cycling through Thailand thus far has gone suprisingly well. The roads are well paved with huge shoulders on the side, there are a plethora of food and drink stands every five kilometers (can you say 10 baht thai ice tea?), and the locals we have seen along the route have been incredibly supportive, honking horns, giving thumbs up, and practicing their English phrases of encouragement. One elderly man also riding a bike yelled at us "I love bicycle trip!" with a veracity that seemed to indicate he had been waiting his entire life to yell these four words.

After a hectic day riding through Bangkok we were a bit concerned with the traffic patterns, not to mention remembering to ride on the left side of the road (fairly easy until you get to some crazy traffic circle and have no idea where to go). Once we hit the open road, however, our concerns with traffic subsided quickly. It seems that roads and drivers in Asia are quite used to having all sorts of vehicles and such on their roadways; at any given time there will be pedestrians, cyclists, motos, buses, trucks, rickshaws, elephants, scooters, cars, taxis, and lories all sharing the same space. Slower traffic simply keeps to the left, and if you have to pass someone you make sure the lane is clear enough and then you go for it, usually giving a warning honk, ring, or yell to make sure everyone knows that you're coming through. Everyone on the road has given us more than ample room when passing, with some large lories even slowing to a near-stop rather than barreling by full-speed. This scenario is quite a contrast to the idea of riding on a busy highway in the U.S., where the roads are designed for fast moving cars and that's the only thing that belong on the highways, gosh darnit.

While the going has been relatively easy thus far, it has not been without excitement. We have been trying to stick to the smaller roads, and while our map is decent it doesn't exactly have every turn, bend, or road number that would be nice to have. Combine that with long stretches when the road signs are only in Thai, and it's easy to see how we can get lost every now and then. At one point we were following a small country road that our map had crossing the river on what we assumed to be a bridge. We rolled into a small riverside town and certainly didn't see the bridge we were expecting, much less any apparent way across the river. After some broken Thai and English map studying sessions with a Tuk-Tuk driver we queued up on the street with the other cars and motos and waited for the ferry to come across the river while a fried-coconut-banana saleswoman tempted us with her wares (we bought some and she through some in for free!). We somehow got a special bicycle rate on the ferry across the river and were rewarded with a near-deserted stretch of beautiful road on the other side.

We've been resting our legs (and butts!) for a few days now 400km+ from Bangkok in Sukhothai, an ancient Thai capital, and enjoying the amazing food and ruins. We ran into another couple on bikes crazy enough to be doing something similar to what we're doing, expect that they are loaded down to the max and headed into China. We're still planning on staying light and fast for the time being and will head out North in the morning as we move closer to the Thailand/Laos border and a river trip down the Mekong. Yeee-haw!

Sur le Velo

If you ever want to know how to attract attention abroad, carry around lots of seemingly heavy and awkward gear. We pushed our way through the crowds of people at the backpacker area of Khao San Road in Bangkok, with our bike boxes in tow and SPD cleat sandals clicking with every step. Mat carried the bike boxes on his head, Asian style, much to the amusement of ex-pat beer drinkers and the Indian boy on the corner trying to sell him a suit ("Hello sir, would you like a nice suit when you are done with all of that work?") Adding to the confusion, we tried to convince our guest-house owners to allow us to pay them money to store our empty cardboard boxes, so that we have something to protect our bikes on the airplane for the return flight. Despite what you may think, paying someone to store an empty box in Bangkok is not as easy as it might sound. Unlike India, in Thailand not "everything is possible".

Tomorrow we are leaving by train, heading northward to Ayuthaya, and then will be hopping on our bikes to ride to Chiang Mai, a hilly city in Northern Thailand that neither of us has ever visited. We have been practicing our communication skills and strengthening our stomaches by eating only at local restaurants without English menus. Thanks to Mo's practice on a Thai language game on the flight from Taipei (Air China isn't that bad after all!) we can now say "two, please" which is quite effective when pointing at your preferred noodle and meat type. While this methodology has worked quite well, for dinner tonight we ended up with the spiciest meal we have ever eaten, seemingly sauteed hot chili peppers on top of rice. Barely able to finish, we ran straight to the 7-11 for a yogurt drink in a bottle to quench the fire in our bellies. Being optimistic yet perhaps foolish, we keep repeating our mantra: It will all be easier once we are on our bikes...

P.S. For the francophones reading this, we really tried to properly accent our post title - but alas, the Thai language keyboard we are using wouldn't have any of it. Hopefully you can figure out what we were talking about despite the missing accent aigue.

P.P.S. We stole the inspirational picture of women waiting in line to cross the border into Vietnam from China from our friend Ryan's online photos. We'll think of this whenever we start complaining about how heavy our "loaded down" touring rigs are.

SFO-BKK

We bought plane tickets last Thursday and are leaving at midnight tonight for Southeast Asia. The big change from previous trips is that we are bringing our bicycles, loaded up with touring gear, reflective tape, spare parts, and warm-weather clothing, with the idea being to somehow circumnavigate Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia on our bikes. Before you start asking for details, we don't have too many yet, besides a few detailed trip reports from people who have done this before, including a good friend we went to Berkeley with. But all sources indicate that it is not really as crazy an idea as it seems, as the roads are well sealed, the people friendly, the traffic not too bad (although on the left side of the road in places!) and the roadside noodle stands endless.

We are excited to return to Southeast Asia, especially when it is our primary destination and not a month-long break from the chaos of India. We are also excited to travel the country by bike for many reasons. First, when flying through the countryside on a bus or train, one eventually just starts connecting major tourist hubs and getting a snapshot of cities when they disembark for a few seconds here and there. On our bikes we will truly be off the tourist path and able to explore much less traveled areas at ease. Secondly, while riding a bike around Asia might seem like a crazy idea to us in the USA, it is the primary mode of daily transportation for billions of people around the world. We will definitely stick out like foreigners, but at least we will be getting around on the greatest invention in the world, using power derived from our legs, mystery meat, and local fish sauces. Riding bikes is fun!!

After some crazy dateline shenanigans we'll land in BKK on Valentine's day, just in time to also celebrate Mo's bday. We'll try to be better about updating our blog as we'll probably have all kinds of interesting adventures to write about soon!

Thug Life

Our trip to Joshua Tree ended on a somewhat sour note, as Mat took his first leader fall and it wasn't a very good one. In a strange bit of counter-intuitiveness, the higher you get while rock climbing the safer it is to fall - there are more pieces of protection in, more rope stretch, and less chance that you will hit the ground. Mat unfortunately fell very close to the ground and in fact did hit the deck. Before you worry too much, he is okay, although he managed to cause quite a scene at the Hidden Valley campground on a quiet Tuesday morning. The order of appearance of good Samaritans responding to Mo's yells of "HELP!!!" were other climbers from the campground, Sky the hippie covered in Grateful Dead tattoos (was this the end? I'm coming to your side Jerry!!), the professional, courteous, and light-humored NPS EMT team (dude, is that your Eurovan? Si-ick!!!), and the private ambulance that somebody called in (If you don't ride in my ambulance you will probably die, blah blah blah, natural morphine secreted from the brain, blah blah blah).

Trips to the ER are always quite bizarre, and the Hi-Desert Morongo Basin Hospital Emergency Room was no exception. While waiting multiple hours to be seen by the triage nurse, we made friends with a local tattooed skinhead named Bonehead, who appeared to not really be in any sort of trauma but just there for the social networking, heard a teenage girl wax ecstatically about the $1500 credit she would receive for her newborn child, and witnessed another teenage girl obviously bad-tripping on something, writhing uncontrollably while screaming about a miscarriage and numb hands only to be galloping around greeting doctors with a smile and a handshake one hour later. Upon finally making it out of the waiting room Mat was cared for by a large, also tattooed Mexican nurse named Pete who took his vitals and asked him about his employment history while cracking truly funny jokes all along (Which falls faster - a feather, a bowling ball, or a science teacher? Neither - acceleration is independent of mass, homie!!!) Thank god for personable nurses because the lady who drove 5 staples into his skull and left shin did not deserve a five star bedside manner rating. I guess stapling flesh is serious business after all. (Another one from Pete's standup science routine: Why would an Eskimo never eat a Penguin? Different sides of the globe, homie!!! (There's got to be a better audience for this brilliant material somewhere!!))

All in all, we are counting our blessings and considering ourselves very very lucky. There were a number of things that could have gone wrong to make the situation much worse, and the fact that Mat emerged from another high velocity impact with the ground without a broken bone (see previous bicycle crashes) is a testament to all the milk that his mother fed him as a child or some strange genetic trait of a resilient skeletal system. We have again retreated to the safety of the Sacramento area, and are treating this as an opportunity to slow down and really assess what we want to do for a next step in our lives. Translation: we are watching the 7th series of Survivor (Go Rupert!) while avoiding all of the tough questions floating around in our heads. Is bike touring in a foreign country really safer than rock climbing? How would Mo like a four year Chinese medicine school program? Could we trade our climbing rack for a nice setup of fly fishing gear? Can the Giants really beat the Patriots? How do we catch a stowaway desert mouse potentially living in our van? How does one remove staples from one's head by oneself?

As for the photo - Mat has traded in his wrap-around bandage of gauze for something a bit more fashionable, and has not run into any problems on the Carmichael streets as of yet. We will continue to ponder our next move, and while our plans may have changed, we remain happy that nothing has tarnished the bright joy of being alive.