Zoncolan- Welcome to the Gates of Hell!

'Welcome to the Gates of Hell' is the sign that appropriately greets those attempting to ride a hill described as 'the hardest hill in pro racing.' Zoncolan averages a 12% grade (should be higher, but the first 2 kms are reasonable), with certain points at 22%. Although reasonable, I was immediately out of gears, even at the base of the mountain. Around kilometer 3 the climb begins to bite. Pushing a heart rate over 190, doing switchbacks within the switchbacks, using every ounce of energy I had to barely turn my legs over, I must have been traveling ~2 mph. Unintentionally reducing my speed to 0 mph, I literally toppled over!! (body giving out before the mind- not smart!).

Several Italian men came to my rescue. One with a small vile of clear liquid. "Take it, you'll feel better." he assured me in broken English and Italian. Although at that point, I would have done just about anything to make myself feel better, I had to draw the line somewhere. I kindly declined his gracious offer for the mysterious substance, but accepted his assistance in helping me stand and holding my bike. After a few minutes, I stopped seeing stars and my heart rate dropped a few beats. With the help of the two Italian men giving me a small push so I could clip into my pedals, I continued my trudge of the wall.

The thousands of fans waiting for the pros to pass were unbelievable with their cheering (an estimated 60k were watching from Zoncolan!)- perhaps because they were not used to seeing a female breathing as though she had serious emphysema, barely turning the pedals, with a Lance Armstrong death stare. To my utter disbelief, I started getting pushes from the crowd. I'd feel a hand on my bum and see someone running up the hill behind me, resulting in the much needed second or 2 of the no chain feeling. My death stare immediately turned to a beaming smile as I bellowed "thank you, thank you, thank you" with excessive enthusiasm, as I rolled just slightly quicker up the hill. The cheers and the 'thank yous' encouraged others to offer the same assistance. It's fair to say that the part of the Zoncolan that I did survive wasn't exactly on my own accord, however at that moment I could not have been more grateful for the assistance that I received.

Questioning how long I could sustain the pain, I saw Race Officials blocking the road ahead. "You must get off your bike" one of the officials called to me. I can't say that I was devastated that I wasn't permitted to finish the last half of the Zoncolan. I clipped out of my pedals in a complete daze, to receive a welcoming embrace and kisses on the cheeks from the Race Official, and a loud applause from the crowd. The cutoff point- a blessing in disguise!

An hour later, I had the pleasure of joining the thousands of fans to cheer on the pros as they seemingly floated up the ridiculous mountain. I was pleased to see that they also welcomed pushes from the crowd stating 'grazie' under their breath. That said, these men are animals riding with reasonable heart rates, at respectables speeds, after 140kms and on their 17th stage in the Giro! There truly is no comparison. My admiration and disbelief for what the pros are able to do increases once again.

Where are my skis??? Covara, Italy

May 29, 2007

I woke up around 6 am, as usual, needing the bathroom, but struggling to get out of my warm sleeping bag. Today was no exception, and my utter restistance to leave the warmth was even stronger than usual. After almost an hour of waiting, hoping the need would pass, I finally mustered up enough energy to unzip the sleeping bag. I wondered why the tent appeared to be falling, at which point I unzipped the door to find several inches of snow on the tent and the ground!!!

Why do I love this Sport? Cycling Sella Ronda, Italy

There are a few days when I have to ask myself exactly why I not only love to cycle, but perhaps am even verging on a slight obsession with cycling. The answer to that question becomes even more difficult on days like yesterday, May 28, as I rode around the Dolomites in the heavy fog and downpour.

The Sella Ronda is a popular route that goes over 4 mountain passes, 3 of which are above 2000 meters. It had been raining for the past 2 days in the Dolomites, so I certainly wasn't caught off guard with the weather. That said, it is hard to fully prepare for just how cold a descent feels in the rain. The first slight setback occurred as I reached a fork in the road, assumed I should turn right, and found myself somewhere near the Austrian border. My first indication that I may have potentially taken a wrong turn was the fact that Mark was nowhere to be seen. After riding around the village, stopping for a quick hot chocolate to decide what to do next, I received a call from Mark asking where I was. I asked the kind man sitting next to me if I was still in Italy (not a completely unreasonable question considering that every sign was in German!), and he confirmed that I was. My small mistake just earned me an additional climb up to Passo Sella where Mark was waiting for me, shaking his head wondering how it is possible that I managed to get lost once again.

After throwing back a hot ham & cheese sandwich and a chocolate croissant (nothing better than hot food on a cold cycling day), Mark and I looked at the deep set fog, the thermometer stating 3 degrees, and began the chilly descent into the next village. All I could think about was how much I looked forward to climbing! Odd when something ranks higher on the misery scale than climbing, but frozen fingers and toes certainly does! Surviving the cold descent, I enjoyed every moment of the next climb, especially when I heard a "Go Colorado" and even "Go Fort Collins" from American cyclists standing at the top of the pass. Mark had mentioned where I was from and they happened to be from Summit County, CO. We chatted at the top and they enthusiastically exclaimed that they were only 20 minutes away from their sauna below. Hmmm, I thought to myself, I'm a solid hour and 1/2 away from my tent!! Just the small chat with the fellow Coloradoans and the shared suffering and laughter was enough motivation to push forward to the next descent. Again, boosted by fellow riders climbing that called out "yeah, girl" (had to be Americans), put a smile on my face and made me forget about my fingers and toes for awhile.

Bottom line, there is something amazing about hard earned rewards...such as hot chocolate or a big meal, the feeling of exhaustion combined with accomplishment, and the feeling of belonging to this slightly odd group of people with a shared passion and the strange ability to tolerate some form of suffering for the days of sunshine, good scenery, strong legs, etc.

All in all, a good day on the bike!

Giro d'Italia, May 27, 2007

Cortina, Italy

Watched the pros among a huge crowd of cycling fans in Cortina. Despite the fact that all shops were closed (Sunday and the off season), Cortina was buzzing with excitement.

Dolomiti Stars Gran Fondo

Where: Arabba, Italy

What: 85 miles, 3650 meters climbing, 4 mountain passes

Morning hiccup...

The start to the day was a bit less than smooth as we attempted to leave our campsite around 7:15 am for the 8:00 am start 20 minutes away in Arabba. We slowly approached a seemingly closed gate at our campsite and were surprised to discover that we were literally locked into the campsite until 8:00 am- Uh-0h! I wandered around the campsite looking for antoher potential exit and Mark luckily found an emergency number for reception. After mildly scolding him and reminding him that the gates typically don't open until 8, the woman was kind enought to drive over to the campsite and release us at 7:30.

Back of the Pack...

We made it just in time for the buzzer to go off, pedaling with the pack at 8 am sharp. I started somwhere near the back and wasn't gaining position as the first 20 miles were a descent (not my specialty!). My limited Italian prevented me from knowing which way to go upon reaching the decision point for the Medio Fondo (85 km) or the Gran Fondo (130 km). I asked a woman stopped on the road and she directed me left. I carried on left and asked another man and he said I should have gone right. Aggghhh..I finally turned around, confirmed 1 more time, at which point I had mild confidence that I was on the right road. The next startling fact was that I was entirely alone! I glanced behind me to see literally no cyclists anywhere. Up ahead in the far distance, I could make out a yellow jersey. Hands in the drops, head down, I put in some serious effort to catch the cyclist ahead. The symbolism...me driving hard to catcht the man in the yellow jersey. The irony...it was the beginning of a long ride and I'm striving only to remove myself from being last and place myself in the coveted position of 2nd to last! To my relief and disappointment, I gained on the yellow jersey. What is this guy in 2nd to last place doing wearing a yellow jersey? I perhaps inappropriately judged. As I got closer and saw the Cat 5 tatoos displayed across his calves (i.e. unwanted marks from the chain- typical of rookie cyclists. I shouldn't judge, as I get them about 1/2 the time I ride), I made the assumption (this time accurate) that Mr. Yellow jersey would not be able to carry me to the pack. I passed him with a Ciao and continued on my way. I eventually caught a man who claimed to be Australian, despite his thick Italian accent and Italian looking features (perhaps something was lost in the translation?!). Mr. Australia fortunately was a decent cyclists and we worked fairly well together taking turns in front attempting to make our way to the first climb. Two important facts missing for me...was I on the right route and was I last. My Australian buddy confirmed that, yes, we were in fact in for the long hall, and yes, we happened to be dead last (other than our yellow jerseyed friend a few miles behind).

Throughout the day I was able to slowly chip away and position myself in a slightly more respectable place in the field.

Passo Giau 14% (9.8% average, 11 km) renewed enthusiasm

Giau is the 3rd of 4 climbs of the day. A clear indication of a serious climb, the mountain pass was filled with flags, campervans, paint on the road and cheering fans screeming "Fuerza! Fuerza!" and "Brava!". Okay, so perhaps the reason the fans were lined up along the Giau wasn't on behalf of the Dolomiti Stars Gran Fondo, but rather for the Giro d'Italia which would be riding the exact climb the following day (May 28). Regardless, I relished the cheering and excitement in the atmosphere and decided it wouldn't hurt to pretend that they were there for me attempting to survive the long, steep climb.

I felt good on that particular climb and was attmepting to pass as many people as possible. Approaching 2 guys on decked out De Rosas, I asked them how many switchbacks remaining as we were on number 19 and appeared to have a long way to go. "Where are you from?" they responded, ignoring my question. "The US" I stated with labored breathing. "Fantastic. Are you Lance Armstrong's sister?" they joked. Flattered and ecstatic, I turned to them at said "that's quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me!" With renewed motivation, I continued up the next 10 switchbacks to the top of Paso di Giau at 2232 meters.

The 4th and final climb was relatively painless and the day ended with another pasta party and beer to satiate the starving cyclists after their >6 hour day in the hills (at least my 6+ hours, the winner was well under 5 hours!).

Cycling Slovenia

I continue to be impressed with this country. I'm actually surprised that I haven't heard of Slovenia as one of the world's top cycling destinations.

Mark and I completed a 60 mile loop that featured the clear Soca river, 2 mountain passes, a quick exit out of Slovenia and into Italy, an ideal lunch stop in a ski resort town and endless miles of smooth, shaded roads.

25 May- From Slovenia back to Italy
Sad to leave beautiful Slovenia, but excited to check out the Dolomites, Mark and I traveled back to Italy, this time to the Dolomites. We stopped in a quaint village (temperature 30 degrees!) for a picnic lunch and then carried on to Arabba to confirm our registration for the Dolomiti Stars Cycling Event and to find a new home-campsite for the upcoming few days.

Cessenatico, Italy to Slovenia!!

Cessenatico, Italy...next stop??? (May 21)
Sleeping in until 7:45, the latest I've slept in ages felt great. It's amazing how easy it is to adjust to sleeping in tents- something about the warm and confined space. Starving after yesterday's ride, I was only temporarily held over with the trough of muesli & baguette with peanut butter. Mark and I plotted out our next destination deliberating between Tuscany and Slovenia, and eventually decided on the latter. Neither of us had been and Mark read about a few scenic/active places. I also had sound advice from my well traveled friend, Michael, who suggested that Slovenia might be more adventurous, where Tuscany is a place I'll most likely visit in years to come for a more low-key family-type vacation. He also kindly requested that I confirm for him the rumor that Slovenian women are truly the most beautiful in the world. Hmmm...to be determined...


Slovenia...quite possibly the most underrated country in Europe


Passing the border from Italy to Slovenia was slightly unnerving for no logical reason other than the fact that we were entering the unknown. Unclear if we needed visas, if it was part of the EU, if there was some sort of political unrest that we were unaware of, we pulled up to the border patrol. ˝Lights on!˝ the officer grumbled in an intimidating loud voice with a heavy accent (despite the fact that it was completely light outside). ˝Documents!˝ is the 3rd word that came out of his mouth. I sensed a slight surprise in his expression as he takes the English and American passports, noticing the steering wheel on the right hand side of the car. Perhaps we aren't the typical people to cross the border? He flips through the passports and hands them back with a nod. We're in! The unsettled feeling also came from the lack of...well, pretty much the lack of everything i.e. people, cars, gas stations, or any general activity. Is there a reason that we aren't aware of that there is nobody in Slovenia, we wondered? We continued through a winding valley that can only be described as spectacular- lush forests, extreme mountain cliffs. We finally passed a quaint village and I was relieved that there actually were people in Slovenia. We continued to the town Bovic to find a pleasant campsite and a town filled with adventure opportunities.


Hiking & Kayaking

Mark and I started the day climbing to the top of Boka- the second highest (most amount of water) water fall in Slovenia. It was an intense, steep climb under the blazing sun. We briefly stopped at the top where the clear water rushes through the rocks to refill our water bottles, slam down sandwiches and Slovenian bread, and quickly descend to the river as we had a 3:00 river kayaking trip booked.






River Kayaking- Completely out of my comfort zone!

If one should strive to do somthing that scares her everyday, then I can consider May 22, 2007 a success!!

I don't think I oversold my competence when I claimed that I had been kayaking several times and I at least knew what an Eskimo Roll was (although I had never attempted one). The second we were sitting next to the river tightening our skirts to the kayak and watching the rapids roll past, I knew I was in for a demanding couple of hours. ˝Rocks are your friends, currents are your enemy. Otherwise, just paddle˝ the casual guide told Mark and me in our brief lesson on surviving the river. Holy crap, I thought, I'm pretty sure I'm going to die. Sadly, we were only kayaking level 3 rapids and had not even ventured to the difficult part of the river (where the World Cup Kayaking Championships were recently held). Miraculously, unlike Mark, I managed to stay in my kayak the entire time. In Mark's defense, when posed the option of the chicken way or the hard way down a particular current, I shamelessly opted for the chicken way and Mark took on the challenge. I'm fairly certain that it's not advisable to catch air while kayaking. After one of the bigger set of rapids, I was complimented on my survival after 'flying'- I'll take it as a compliment!



Regardless of my less than natural ability, it was a phenomenal experience- the sheer beauty of the surrounding mountains, an education on the history of Slovenia, the cleanliness of the water (we literally drank right from the river as we kayaked), and the fact that I was scared shi%&less for a couple of hours made it an incredible day.



Canyoning Slovenia May 23

Another first for me...after reviewing all of the activities that the Bovic area had to offer- Mark and I decided canyoning was something we shouldn't miss. I've been tempted to during previous travels, but have never actually gone. We met up with our guides Christian and Pepe and began the steep 25 minute walk up to the canyon. Wearing helmets, wetsuits and booties, we were set for our first slide. Christian thought that sliding sitting upright and facing forwards was for wimps, so every slide he had a new position for us- hands in front on stomach, backwards head first, etc.


The canyon is ideal in that the jumps and slides gradually become steeper, longer, higher, culminating in an ridiculously high slide (not sure on exact measurement, but trust me, it was up there!). Pepe went first and several seconds later we heard the thunderous crash into the water. Again questioning what I had gotten myself into, I patiently waited my turn. ˝Do you have any kids?˝Christian asked. ˝No,˝ I replied, confused by the relevance of his question. ˝Then you don't have anything to worry about˝ he stated as though he were saying something reassuring. ˝I may want them someday˝ I protested, to which he ignored and told me to ˝stop meditating and to get on with it.˝ I mustered up sufficient courage to roll my bum far enough to the edge that gravity could take charge. I felt my stomach drop and before I knew it, I was in the final pool laughing with Pepe and Mark.

I have survived yet another day!

My Sister is Preggers!!!

Side Note- Warning this post is completely unrelated to travel or even cycling!

My big sister is pregnant...very, very, very pregnant. At the end of June LBK (Little Baby Keating) will emerge into the world to the loving San Francisco couple- Carrie and Sam, (and probably 3-4 sets of Grandparents awaiting the arrival of their first grandchild). In an exercise of discipline and patience, a few of us have opted not to know the sex of the baby (not that those who do know aren't disciplined or patient!!). Carrie is happy, healthy and looks absolutely beautiful- I believe they call it glowing!! We all anxiously await the arrival of the newest member of the family.

Phew!! Pressure is off of 'the Traveler' for at least a couple of years :)!

Au Revoir France, Ciao Italy

Similar to my journey across France, I slept my way across Italy (literally, not figuratively :) !!), only waking up for toll booths and a couple of rest stops. We pulled into Marco Pantani's hometown Cessinatico to find a campsite, register for the upcoming Grand Fondo, and prepare a meal entirely too late in the evening considering the day we had ahead of us.

Marco Pantani Grand Fondo

There is no shortage of cycling enthusiasts in Italy. There were 11,000 participants in the ride. In short, it was a beautiful day with endless sunshine, endless hills (3,500 meters of climbing) and lots of miles (130 to be exact).

If nothing else, Italy certainly does food well. The rest stops were unbelievable featuring pizza, paninis, fruit, dessert, etc. etc. There were almost too many food stops to actually hit them all. The ride ended with a huge pasta party for all of the riders. They even handed out flowers to all of the female riders. The Italians certainly know how to treat their ladies!

Bonjour France

800 miles of travel in a day (nope, not by bike) and Mark and I arrived in Le Bourg d'Oisans, France. We left Nottingham at 3 am to catch the 7 am ferry in Dover, and then traveled south East across the entire country. I'd like to add commentary on the beautiful French countryside, but in actuality, I was in a completely unconscious, passed out cold, sound asleep state, only waking seconds at a time due to head flopping. Although I don't believe in jet lag, I will say that I was experiencing some sort of less than healthy state due to the time change from Thailand, combined with nearly 500 miles on the bike in 4 days, and general lack of sleep. I slowly began to rise from the dead in the late afternoon and became a slightly more useful passenger/navigator than had been the previous 12 hours. Reaching the beautiful Alps around 6 pm - just in time for an enormous pre-ride meal, some wine and great conversation with a couple from Colorado who were sat immediately next to us.

Day 1 on the new bike and I'd say it's quite a lucky bike! 1st day (with me as the owner) it traveled up 2 HC climbs (i.e. Alpe D'huez & Col de la Croix de Fer) on a perfect 75 degree, cloudless day. As expected of one of the world's most famous climbs, Alpe D'huez was swarming with cyclists. Even the campsite was filled with lycra wearing, endorphin junkies, anticipating the hour plus climb up the famous mountain.

Mark and I pedalled up the Alpe, enjoyed a leisurely lunch at the top in the bright sunshine and then finished off the day with the Col de Grandon and Col de la Croix de Fer. 11 KM from home I realized that I was absolutely starving beyond any comfortable level. As luck would have it, we passed a small market and ravenously picked up everything we thought our jersey pockets could possibly hold. I filled mine with chocolate bars, cookies and cashews and Mark managed to grab similar food, in addition to a baguette. Only in France is it acceptable to cycle in the Alps with a baguette hanging out of your jersey at 7 pm after 6 hours in the saddle.

Nottingham- bike purchase (finally!)

Nottingham, England

What a pleasant treat to spend a couple of days in one's hometown relaxing. The 2 days in Nottingham post-Ireland, pre-France, I did just that (proper relaxation due to a cold that I acquired riding in Ireland). Mark was kind enough to postpone our trip to France so I could get one more day of rest before attempting Alpe D'huez.

I finally broke down and purchased a bike- a used Principia that will hopefully get me through the next few months. Matt patiently advised me, drove me to Scott's shop and helped me pick out a bike that will serve me well for the next several months of intense cycling.

England Relaxation to Ireland Cycling Madness

Tour of Ireland

In brief
After a whirlwind 48 hours in England, Mark and I left East Midlands Airport for Belfast, Northern Ireland for the 4 stage, 470 mile cycling tour around the beautiful Emerald Island with ~120 other cycling enthusiasts.

Belfast to Lisburn
After arriving in Belfast and heading to Lisburn, Mark and I found ourselves in a Civic Reception to kick off the Tour of Ireland. It had all of the essentials that one would expect from such an event: an ex-Olympic athlete (Mary Peters- gold medalist in the '72 Olympics as a pentathlete), unhealthy appetizers and unlimited wine, long speeches with routine applause, and of course, the Mayor. I was fortunate enough to meet the Mayor (I must admit that I only understood about 30% of what he said due to his heavy accent). I did, however, understand his speech when he discussed the distances that some of the cyclists had traveled for the ride- "there's even a young American lady who claims to be from Nottingham in the crowd!" he announces. 2 years in England, and I still can't pull it off.

Day 1- Leg Test
90 miles- Lisburn to Cavan

Day 1 began at a ridiculously aggressive pace with all cyclists attempting to prove that they were competent and unfazed by the upcoming 400+ miles. Additionally, we had police escorts, road closures and screaming school children which made steady riding more difficult. I joined in the testosterone-driven madness and certainly put the quads to a test on day one. "Look at those rosy cheeks," one of the cyclist exclaimed at the lunch break, "you must have some Irish in you!" (I heard that comment several times over the 4 day period, and like the majority of Americans, of course I claim to have some Irish in me. Everyone loves the Irish, and how else could I engage in proper St. Patrick Day celebrations if I weren't partially Irish?)

As my rosy cheeks slowly went back to a more natural color over lunch, I thought through the upcoming miles and realized that I better settle into a group that traveled at a slightly more conservative pace if I wanted to survive another 3 1/2 days.

Day 2- Day O' Rain

130 miles- Cavan to Galway
Ireland would not be Ireland if there wasn't some rain involved. The day started a bit on the gray side, and it wasn't long before the serious rain arrived. Although 7 1/2 hours gutting out wetness and wind may seem like an unpleasant way to spend the day, there were certainly many upsides. The highlights include my new friend Barney (a classic late 50/early 60 year old cyclist with legs that could take out half of the 20-something racers) telling me dirty jokes and singing the 'Irish Cycling Song'. Although I can't remember the exact lyrics, they related to the lack of rain, wind and hills in Ireland appropriately sung during the torrential downpour and wind storm. The Irish understated commentary continued as I rode along a particularly dreary section with water rolling off of my face, vision 90% impaired due to mud and water on the sunglasses, and clothes so wet I could fill a sink by ringing them out, when a fellow cyclist exclaims, "well Amy, I don't want to admit it, but it's threatening to rain out here today".

Day 3- Feeling It

140 miles - Galway to Kilkenny
Regardless of how you slice it, 140 miles is a looooonnnnnngggg day in the saddle (even riding in an organized pelaton that moves fairly quickly). Not much to report on day 3 other than OUCH- lesson learned on the importance of high quality shorts and chamois cream...will I have to stand the entire 115 miles on day 4, I wondered?

Day 4- Climbs

115 miles - Killkenny to Dublin
My favorite day! Although the previous days' miles were noticeable on just about all parts of the body, the day was ideal. Many miles of pelaton riding with endless chatter as we were all starting to get to know each other after 4 days together. We were boosted by the sunny weather and the fact that it was the last day. A small group of us worked together to survive the headwind of the Wicklow Gap and finished the day with a short climb into Dublin.

Summary

4 days in the saddle averaging well over 100 miles a day takes a toll on the body. Tour de France...21 days on the bike...yikes.

Nottingham, England (May 8- 10)
After another comfortable, food & movie focused flight on Thai Airways, I was greeted at the airport by Matt (who fortunately I did recognize despite his shaved head!) and we made our way to Nottingham. The 2 days were packed, but somehow relaxing. We visited his parents and 3 dogs, and took a look at the family allotment where Matt's dad spends a considerable amount of time growing just about every fruit and vegetable imaginable.

I even made it to Capital One to ensure that I will still have a job in August- I'm happy to report that it looks promising! Timing worked out such that I was able to join a few friends and colleagues for celebratory drinks.

Just prior to flying out of East Midlands, Mark and I made a quick visit to the bike shop to see if I could make a last minute purchase. Although it has served me well for 6 years, the Cannondale is starting to corrode and seems to have a limited future. No dice on a new bike, so my journey to Ireland would have to be on the old clunker.

Surfing (attempted)- Phuket, Kata Beach

Last Day in Thailand

The breakfast buffet at Central Kata hotel will never cease to impress me. In fact, I haven't been able to sleep past 6:15 a.m. the entire time I've been in Phuket- basically I'm eager to jump into the pancakes, french toast (which I miss terribly while living in England), and enjoy the special treat of fresh mango, papaya and pineapple. Following my enormous breakfast, I took off for a run along both Kata and Karon beaches. A bit warm for running, I ended up walking and jumping in the water every few minutes.

Modest Attempt at Surfing

I got it in my head that surfing was something that I absolutely had to do at some point during my travels. I have visited some of the greatest surfing areas over the past few months (e.g. North Shore, Hawaii; Mt Monganui, New Zealand; Port Macquarie, Australia) but the shoulder hasn't quite been ready. On my last day in Thailand, I decided to give it a go. I booked a private lesson with Chalee (turns out he's some sort of surfing legend on Kata beach- won the Phuket long board championships). We had 20 minutes of instruction on the beach and then hit the water.

I was far from a natural and found myself upside down, pummeled, etc. on multiple occasions. After one particular wave beating, Chalee recommended that I rest on the beach for about 20 minutes to relax and watch the other surfers. He then told me to follow him. Before I thought through and absorbed any potential safety concerns, I found myself sitting sideways on Chalee's motorbike with the surfboard in the attached basket/wire crate. Holding on for dear life, I asked him where we were going. 'Surfing,' he replied. 'Oh right,' I said, a bit confused about what we had been doing previously. We traveled a few miles and just about every local waved to Chalee and called out his name as we flew by. We arrived at the other side of the beach where he informed me that the waves were much better. It was his kind way of saying that the waves were much smaller and I actually had a chance of survival!

He patiently held my board, yelled out to me when I need to start paddling, paddle faster, and attempt to jump up on the board. I had one somewhat successful ride (ride probably being a bit of an overstatement). I did stand up. I did have a glimpse of what it must feel like to surf, and it's a pretty sweet feeling. I will certainly give it another try at some point, but my utmost respect for every person who actually knows how to surf. I will say that it is not easy.

Diving Phi Phi Island

Phi Phi Island (pronounced 'pee pee') is one of Thailand's best diving spots and also the location of Leo DiCaprio's movie The Beach. Typical of Thailand, there are few rules, regulations or policies associated with going diving. Friday evening I walked to a diving booking center and told them that I wanted to dive the next day. They asked if I was a certified diver, I told them yes, and they booked my trip. There was never any question of how long it had been since I last dove, or any request of proof that I actually was certified, or was in any way qualified to go diving.

In over my head!

While technically I am certified, and I did just go diving in the Great Barrier Reef, I wouldn't call myself an expert diver. The reef was very much a hand-held diving experience. The boat crew set everything up for me and basically all I had to do was jump in the water, breathe, equalize and clear my mask. On this particular trip in Thailand, I was actually expected to know what I was doing!

My diving certification took place in Tampa, FL approximately 7 years ago. My final dive was in an enormous tank filled with mermaids and music blaring underwater (only in Florida!!). The details of finding equilibrium, recommended water depth over certain periods of time, etc. was all a distant memory.

My dive instructor told me to put my BC on my tank and I stared at him blankly. Not only did I not know how to do it, but I didn't really know what the BC was! (that is similar going on a bike ride, being told to put wheels on the bike and not really knowing what the wheels are!). Luckily he was a patient man and helped me attach my BC to my tank, redo the weights that I had put on my weight belt incorrectly, and subtly remind me that my weight belt had to go on prior to my BC. Once we had worked out those small logistics, I was somewhat ready to go.

In the end, the diving was unbelievable. It actually did all come back to me while I was under water and it was easy to relax and enjoy the thousands of colorful fish surrounding me. We did 2 dives and were lucky enough to have clear a clear day. The colors of the coral and fish were spectacular and like nothing I have ever seen (the day at the reef had been somewhat murky).

Phuket- Action Packed Island Tours

I had read about the famous James bond Island and despite my disdain for tours, I booked one knowing it was the only way I would make it there (short of swimming for several days). The day turned out to be incredible. We kayaked through lagoons, walked through caves, ate delicious Thai food and experienced several unexpected adventures along the way.

The group on the boat was quite diverse: Australian, German, Italian, Pakistani, Israeli, Russian, Canadian, South African and Chinese, and those were just the people I talked to.














The first adventure was kayaking through caves with my new Russian friend, Ludmila (who later invited me to stay at her house in Saratov City- I'll have to add it to my list). We escaped major crashes with the other kayaks despite the dark and narrow caves. Warming up from Kayaking, we were taken to Lawa Island for a swim. I was coerced into jumping off the boat into the water with one of the Thai crew members. Incidentally, the Thai boy (not a day older than 20) asked for my hand in marriage! Not to my face of course, but to my 'mama' and 'papa' as he mistakenly referred to the wonderfully kind Australian couple, Rosalie & Roger, who I befriended during the tour. "Oh, hmmm, what did you tell him?" I asked. "I told him that for the right price I'm sure we could arrange something!" Roger replied. Oh dear.



The day's excitement didn't stop there. While swimming to the beach, I heard my 'Australian parents' yell for me to swim quickly. I knew that couldn't be a good sign. An instant later, I heard Candice, one of the South African girls, shreaking. She had swum right into a jellyfish. Helped into a kayak and paddled to the shore, she immediately had welts covering her arms, stomach and back. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on the proper treatment for her- ice, salt, hot water, lemon, beer and even urine was suggested as the perfect cure! Luckily, Rosarie is a nurse and settled for ice as the best treatment available on the boat.

Although hard to top the marriage proposal and the jellyfish, the excitement continued. While sitting on the front deck with my 'Aussie parents', Jarrod & Renee, the South African girls (Candice & Yvonne), we heard dance music coming from inside the boat. Eager to see what this could possibly be, we rushed inside to find a somewhat shocking dance party evolving. Wasn't I just paddling a kayak through secluded caves? How did we get to this???

Apparently a big fan of Taladega Nights, Jarrod not only looked the part, but had the entire crew saying 'shake and bake' throughout their performance. The entertainment could only be likened to an MC Hammer show with one center stage performer and a huge backup crew whose role was somewhat ambiguous. It was thoroughly entertaining to join the German, Chinese, Canadian, Italian, and South African travelers dancing around the buffet table. Did I mention that one of the crew was dressed like a transvestite? I'm fairly convinced that I won't match that moment any time in the near future.

No Longer in the Crack House

I am truly shocked at the price of the accommodation ~$46/night including tax and breakfast. Upon entering the hotel, I was greeted with not only a bow and a smile, but also a fresh towel to wash my hands and face and a papaya smoothie. Escorted to the comfortable chairs where the woman patiently and enthusiastically walked me through the hotel's amenities, I had the irrational question in my head- is it possible that I am the only guest in this hotel? Otherwise, how could she possibly dedicate this much time to me? Escorted to my room, I was ecstatic to find the antithesis of the Lucky House (where I had stayed in Bangkok). A king size bed with a feather duvet, an endless supply of pillows, a balcony with a view of the palm trees and the pool, a large bathroom with boutique shampoos, conditioners, soaps and lotion. I plopped myself on the bed just to remind myself what a real mattress felt like- I believe the last mattress I slept on was somewhere in OZ during the month of March!

Bangkok to Phuket- flight almost missed, disaster averted

Deep breath, sigh. In some ridiculous mix up with customs, I just sat down on the plane 1 minute before departure in a complete sweat. The past 4 Thai Airways employees have greeted me stating that they've been expecting me!

So where did it all go wrong?

2 hours 55 minutes prior to departure- I arrived at the airport (ridiculously early). Since I'm lucky enough to have the most generous dad in the world, I'm flying business class during my journey around the world (the upgrade was a gift for my 30th birthday). Airport lounges are a backpackers paradise- free Internet, free food, clean bathrooms, free phone connections. I'm now in the habit of arriving at the airport early enough to enjoy all of these luxuries.

25 minutes prior to departure- I walked towards my gate. At customs, the girl had a confused look on her face and went to get her manager. 2 people walked out of the customs department and told me to follow them. Uh-oh!

20 minutes prior to departure- I am walking briskly with a very official/important looking character towards International customs. With very limited English, he attempted to understand why I have a departure stamp to leave Thailand today. Meanwhile, he contacts Thai Airways to tell them to hold the flight for me! "Do not worry much, madame" he states. Easy for him to say!

14 minutes prior to departure- I am in the International Immigration supervisor's office. She looks at me, smiles and types away furiously on her computer. She finally stamps over my existing stamp.

8 minutes prior to departure- The official looking man and I speed walk to domestic departures. The customs officer kindly attempts to explain to me that the next time I am in Thailand traveling domestically, I need to go through domestic immigration. Oooppppss!! My fault! (although I suppose the International guy probably should have recognized that my ticket wasn't leaving the country. Nonetheless, it was essentially my fault). He then comforts me by stating "we take care of you in Thailand. We hope you return."

5 minutes prior to departure- I'm sprinting through an empty corridor towards gate B5.

2 minutes prior to departure- I'm greeted with a bow and a smile and a "hello Miss Smith, we've been expecting you"

1 minute prior to departure- I'm sitting on the plane breathing heavily.

I must say I'm blown away by the kindness of the Thai people through that potentially messy situation. If I took the 5 kindest people in all of US customs (assuming there are 5 kind people!), I don't know that they could have matched the treatment that I received the Bangkok airport.

72 hours in Bangkok

Bangkok is like no city I've ever visited. All observations are based on an extremely limited amount of time. As I toured the various neighborhoods, food stands, markets, temples, I can't say that I've ever observed such stark contrasts as I did in Bangkok (perhaps South America, but this city is pretty extreme).

May 1
Still on New Zealand time, I woke up at 5 am, and ambled aimlessly around Khosan Road. The street was almost completely devoid of people or activity with the exception of stray dogs and cats, homeless people, and the occasional person stumbling home from an evening on the booze. The mass crowds, vendors, and market life that filled the streets when I arrived were all sound asleep- not surprising before 6 a.m. I was surprised, however, that the markets didn't really start to put their stands together until well after 10 a.m.

Taking Care of Basics...

Long overdue for a haircut (funny how these basic self maintenance rituals seems to go by the wayside while traveling), I hopped into a taxi to make my way to the Paragon Mall. Paragon, recommended both by Jeff (currently residing in Thailand), and Jason & Alli, instigated my thoughts on Bangkok's undeniable contrasts. Paragon is hands down the most upscale mall I've ever seen- giant fountains outside, Lamborghini and Ferrari displays within, an IMAX theater and aquarium, every top end fashion store imaginable, a gourmet grocery store that puts Whole Foods and Marks & Spencer to shame- I literally spent 45 minutes wandering through the grocery store in awe!

Finally pulling myself away from the gourmet food market, I continued onward for the haircut. Fortunately, the mall has an entire wing dedicated to spas- hair, pedicures, massage, etc. I randomly selected one of the five spas. It was somewhat of a risky move to have my hair done in Bangkok: #1 my vocabulary has not progressed past 'hello', 'thank you' and 'good morning'. #2 my friend Celia mentioned that her friend went for a haircut in Bangkok and walked out with a mullet (sample size of one, but still not a good data point!). #3 the customer base in all of the spas would imply that they are not accustomed to cutting westerners' hair. So I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best...

In my 30 years of hair cuts, I've never had more attentive stylists than I did in Bangkok. In fact, I've never had multiple stylists simultaneously. Additionally, there was one man whose sole purpose appeared to be ensuring all of my needs were met by providing me with fashion magazines, drinks, etc. After a lengthy scalp massage and extreme attention to detail, the hair turned out just fine.

In a moment of weakness, I broke down and was lured into Starbucks (okay, so it was actually my second Starbucks visit of the day). I purchased a camera as mine had unfortunately died in NZ. I made one more visit to the gourmet grocery store (yes, it really is that incredible that it merits multiple visits). Finally, I headed back to my very humble abode, the Lucky House. Despite protests from the family "Amy, you're in the cheapest place in the world with incredible 5 star accommodation- go stay there!!" (sister Carrie), "Amy, find a high quality hotel even if it's pricey in Bangkok!!!!" (stamp feet, pound fist, shake head) (dad), I couldn't be bothered to switch hotels after all of my stuff was safely and conveniently sitting in my little room and so I remained at the Lucky House during my stay in Bangkok.
May 2
Cultural Day- touring the sites & pampering
Acknowledging that I hadn't exactly visited a large portion of traditional Bangkok sites my first 24 hours in the city, I got an early start on the day to begin exploring Ko Ratanakosin- the ancient royal district. I stumbled across the famous Grand Palace & Wat Phraw Kaew (Temple of the Emerald Buddha) and then hit many of the other destinations that make Bangkok such an interesting city e.g. Wat Arun, National Museum, and the National Gallery. I crossed the river and walked towards the Wat Arun, getting slightly lost and certainly checking out some streets off the tourist path- lord knows where I was at that point!

My theory on Bangkok being the city of contrasts continued: overwhelming smells of sewage in one breath, and in the next breath fresh fruit, flowers, pad Thai and curries. The drab gray sky threatening to rain against the sharp, bright, multi-colored temples. The mangled sidewalks filled with trash a few steps away from green parks and fully wi-fi enabled neighborhoods. Walking through the Thrammasat University campus observing daily life of the 20-somethings on their way to Economics, I almost forgot that I was on the other side of the world from home. Stepping off of the campus grounds to the street markets, I was quickly reminded.

Of all of Bangkok's contrasts, the one undeniable consistency is just how friendly the people are. Every place I went, whether the posh mall, the markets, or the poverty stricken neighborhoods, Thai people consistently greeted me with a smile (and often a bow). The children were extremely kind with their enthusiastic greetings, attempts to practice their limited English with a foreigner (one particular boy came running up to me with a grin counting from 1-5 repeatedly).

After covering what must have been almost 10 miles of the city by foot, I decided my cultural experience would not be complete without Thai-style pampering. I purchased pad Thai and a mango smoothie from a street vendor (all for under $1), and then relaxed with a pedicure, manicure, eyebrow wax (1st time ever!), and a 1 hour Thai massage. Total bill <$5.

Summary
The hectic nature of the city, combined with the fact that I only saw 1 bicycle the entire time (!!) will probably prevent me from making an immediate return; however, Bangkok certainly has much to offer with the colorful temples, irresistible food, and kind people.

I won't forget the excessive pampering, multiple smoothies and delicious curries that kept me satiated for well under $10 over a 3 day period. I certainly won't forget the fact that I spent more money on lattes in Bangkok than I did on accommodation (and I think that Bangkok is full of dichotomy!!).