Part of deciding to do stuff is knowing when it’s time to switch gears and do other stuff. My hop-across-the-pond sojourn took me to six countries over a handful of months and I gradually started to think through what returning to my new home in Austin, Texas would look like.
Change of blog pace with a little photo expose of the most mystic and eerie, yet charming place I’ve encountered on my travels. Lhasa gripped me like no other city has.
But first, a disrespectful child at a monastery.
There are few places in the world that are more difficult to get to than Tibet, but it turns out that the juice really is worth the squeeze. Three surprise days in a central Chinese airport, a few failed landing attempts and an I-take-myself-motherfucking-seriously government didn’t get in the way of the most incredible trip of my life.
Man, the April 25, 2015 earthquake that struck the Lamjung District of Nepal must have been absolutely terrifying. Nine months after the shaking subsided, I showed up in the country expecting life to be back to normal and was completely shocked at the sustained devastation.
I’ve always dreamed of seeing the Himalayas. On any given day my ‘recent Google search’ list includes Alpine Ascents International, Conrad Anker, the Annapurna range, and Everest. Ok, and Urban Dictionary if I’m being honest (now I know what a pootie snooper is). You’re welcome.
It’s always interesting hearing people’s Canadian stereotypes while abroad. Despite spending considerable time internationally, it appears I haven’t shook my textbook Canadian-ness yet.
As the good Canadian I am I would usually say I’m so sorry for this post being tardy, but truth be told I’m really not because I’ve been busy with Canada’s second favorite pastime (following gratuitous apologizing) of putting on the old pack and gettin’ oot and aboot, eh.
Tough being Canadian these days.
I didn’t stumble upon India. I’m here by design. Perhaps it’s cliche and a touch eatpraylove-esque, but being in India and doing some yoga to ring in my fourth decade felt right.
During the biting Calgary winter of second grade, our family left Alberta’s foothills in the rear-view as we drove west to British Columbia. Weaving between the extraordinary Rocky Mountains along the Coquihalla Highway, I pressed my nose against the cold glass window for hours on end in wonder and amazement. I’m so small and inconsequential next to these sleeping giants, I thought.
Now, more than 20 years later, the enchanting pull of the natural world has intensified and become even more irresistible to me.
Perhaps it’s a deep curiosity to learn the stories the mountains tell, or maybe it’s a desire to feel closer to something tangible, part of something bigger than me, but when I’m in the presence of the mountains I connect with the raw pulse of my very existence.
Here’s the deal with Tanzania’s Ngorongoro Crater (other than it’s prohibitively hard to spell.) A dense population of the world’s coolest animals is trapped in a 14-km long sunken volcanic crater by the boundaries of said crater, oh and also by surrounding agriculture and mean people who kill the aforementioned coolest animals (because don’t fuck with my goats!)
After chasing a robust circuit around southern Ethiopia, Dad and I decided to change the pace and spend a week on the mystic isle of Zanzibar.