The Wilson Odyssey

Land of the Thunder Dragon, Part 7: Jangothang to Bhonte La to Dangochang

2011-08-20T11:06:00.014+07:00

We awoke the next morning to another brilliant, clear day. Our day of rest had rejuvenated both body and mind, and we were eager to tackle the biggest challenge of the trek, the pass at Bhonte La. We had been joking for a couple of days about the scene in the first Lord of the Rings film in which the Fellowship nears death on the mountain Caradhras. We knew that climbing up to a 16,000-foot (4,877-meter) pass was not going to be easy, but we were ready to give it our all.

We packed our gear quickly, being sure to have an extra dose of Diamox handy, just in case. Namgay wanted to be underway by 8:00am so that we would have plenty of time to cross the pass and get off the mountain -- we left at 7:50am, with Sonam and the rest of the crew staying behind to finish packing up camp.

We walked up toward the stone houses we'd seen the day before, crossed the Paro River -- now barely more than a stream -- and walked straight up into the bright blue sky.

The slope was steep and utterly exposed to both the wind and the sun. We found ourselves stripping off layers before we began to sweat. Heaving for breath, we understood now how the altitude and the lower air density affect one's physical condition. Namgay, of course, had no trouble and waited patiently for us as we clambered to the top of the slope.

What greeted us there was magnificent. Behind us stood Chomolhari and Jichu Drakye, gleaming in the sun.

Before us stretched a massive cirque carved by glaciers over hundreds of thousands of years. "It's like something from another planet," Jennifer said.

The walk up through the valley was gentle, except for the wind cascading off the mountains into our faces. Endless shades of brown, ochre, olive and umber surrounded us, punctuated by tiny, jewel-like wildflowers. Namgay explained that in the summer, the entire valley would be green and lush. We looked in vain for the Himalayan blue sheep, which is known to live in the area; all we saw were grazing yaks.

Two hours after leaving camp, we came upon two tarns at the end of the cirque. Ruddy shelducks and fat brown trout brought to Bhutan from Kashmir (where the British Raj had introduced them for sport) by King Jigme Wangchuck in the 1930s.

It was a hobbit's ideal fishing location at 14,370 feet (4,380 meters). Namgay explained that it is not only illegal to poach the king's fish, but it's also bad karma. One never knows who has been reincarnated as a fish! We rested for a while by the shore of the first lake, called Tshophu, and Patrick pocketed a small rock to send to his mother for her collection.

Leaving the lake shore, we began to climb up toward the pass.

As we walked up into the snow line, we found ourselves slipping frequently on the loose stone and scree under our feet. Patrick put away the camera and focused on walking in his slick-bottomed boots. After about 20 minutes of walking, the hill dropped off swiftly to our right in a talus slope, terminating about 250 feet (75 meters) below. The wind picked up as we walked into deeper snow. Patrick found himself slipping again and again, so he decided to try a technique he'd seen on TV. He faced the mountain, resting his weight upslope on his hiking pole, then kicked steps into the snow. The technique worked, but it was exhausting in the thin air.

At this point Sonam caught up with us, carrying his giant backpack. Sonam was an inveterate whistler -- we'd listened to him whistle the same tune for the last four days. When we heard Sonam's whistle, we knew all was well.

Sonam wasn't whistling.

The expression on Sonam's face was one we'd never seen before. He passed both of us to speak urgently -- and quietly -- with Namgay. The two of them debated for a few minutes. Namgay said, "I think we will try a little more -- maybe 20 minutes. The horseman does not want to come this way, but we will try."

For another 15 minutes, Namgay led the way and Sonam walked with Jennifer, Patrick bringing up the rear, wearily kicking steps in the snow. Then Patrick slipped. Both of his feet left the ground, and all of his weight fell onto the hiking pole. For a moment he was sure he was falling off the mountain. The pole held him long enough for him to fall on his hands and knees, and he only slid a couple of feet down the slope. No one saw him fall -- Jennifer, who is not fond of heights, was focusing with furious intensity on her own footing, while Namgay and Sonam were studying the sky above the pass. Patrick picked himself up slowly, trembling as the adrenaline hit him. His hiking pole had compressed and bent under the impact, but it held. Patrick looked down the slope and started to realize just how bad his situation could have been if he'd fallen all the way.

"Patrick, stay there!" Namgay called. Patrick looked up to see Namgay and Sonam walking back towards Jennifer. Patrick walked a few steps forward to join them. Namgay pointed up toward the pass, which lay another 90 minutes' hike above us. A dense, grey cloud was climbing over the mountain, directly atop the pass, and already we could feel the air growing colder.

"It is snowing there," Namgay said. "The horses cannot go -- they will have to go around, maybe 13 or 14 hours. I do not know how much snow there is."

We looked at each other, then at Namgay and Sonam. "Well," Patrick said, "then maybe we don't go."

"Is there another way around?" Jennifer asked.

Namgay shook his head.

"Then we have to go back the way we came?"

Namgay nodded.

The decision was easy to make. We weren't equipped for the snow, and while we were fit enough to climb the mountain in favorable conditions, our physical condition didn't give us enough strength to make up for our lack of climbing gear.

"OK," Patrick said. "Let's go back."

Gingerly shuffling our feet, we turned around on the narrow track and began to walk down the mountain. Sonam took Patrick's arm and steadied him on the slick snow. Namgay walked with Jennifer, who had finally let herself realize just how high and precarious our location was. We had almost reached the tarns when the wind hit us from behind. Then it began to snow.

At the lake shore we met the horseman and the cook, together with the mules. Perhaps it was just our imagination, but the mules seemed very happy not to be going any farther. In fact, everyone's mood was buoyant. Sonam found the skull of a blue sheep -- and then he started to whistle.

We ate lunch in the cirque, accompanied by yaks and the constant, ice-laden wind. The wind chased us all the way back out of the valley, and any doubts we might have had about our decision to turn back were quelled by the storm we could see filling the bowl of the cirque behind us. Oddly enough, despite our discomfort and disappointment, we were almost giddy with our escape. "We have to get off the mountain!" we laughed.

Around 1:00pm we reached the base camp at the foot of Chomolhari where we'd spent the last two nights. We couldn't believe we'd only been gone five hours. A flock of choughs circled overhead -- we couldn't decide if they were mocking us or welcoming us back. Namgay decided that we should press on a little farther. As we left the base camp, we passed a phallic shrine we'd somehow missed seeing on our way in.

We continued for another hour until we reached the village of Dangochang, where the school and clinic were. We wanted to press on, but Namgay insisted that we stop for the day. The wind and snow continued, but that didn't deter the schoolkids from playing soccer and shooting arrows around our campsite -- which, to be fair, was in the middle of their playground.

Sitting in the dining tent that evening, we discovered that our faces were badly chapped from windburn. Our lips and nostrils were cracked, swollen and sore. Jennifer's ankle had begun to ache again, and Patrick's back was sore from twisting it in his near-fall. Once the giddy feeling of having made it back off the mountain in one piece wore off, we began to think about the return journey. Jennifer found the thought of having to climb back over seven hours' worth of boulders deeply depressing. Patrick spoke with Namgay. "How can we break up the trip so that we don't have do all of the Day 2 trek in one day? Is there some other place we can camp?"

"Maybe there is a way," Namgay said. "We can try."

When we finally climbed into our tent that night to sleep, we couldn't stop thinking about the disaster we'd avoided walking into that morning. It was disappointing not to be able to complete the trek we'd planned, but when we realized how bad our situation could have become, we were proud of ourselves for having made smart decisions at the right moment.

That evening, Patrick recalled a passage from Michael Palin's Himalaya: "As Jomolhari fills the sky, I feel a bit like one of the characters in Close Encounters of the Third Kind when the spaceship has landed. The Himalayan peaks are seen by the people who live among them as awful places, abodes of jealous gods and places where the dead are gathered, and I have the feeling they've got it right. What do we know, we who romanticize them? We who fly in and use them to prove something to ourselves, to plant our flags, talk of 'conquest' and then go home. I can almost feel the shoulders of Jomolhari heaving with laughter. ... There are few places outside the Himalaya where the relation of man to nature can be experienced on such a gigantic scale, and something like that may not change your life, but it does stretch it a bit."

Our lives had been stretched. Thank you, Chomolhari.

Distance: 8.5? miles (13.7? km)
Altitude gain: 1,614? feet (492? meters)
Highest altitude: 15,000? feet (5,472? meters)
Final altitude: 12,959 feet (3,950 meters)
Estimated time: 6-7 hours
Actual time: 6 hours

Land of the Thunder Dragon, Part 6: Chomolhari Base Camp

2011-05-03T20:03:00.010+07:00

We awoke at 5:30am to sound of ice crackling. Our breath had condensed and frozen on our sleeping bags during the night. Fortunately, neither of us had felt the need to get up and make the trek to the toilet tent during the night.

Patrick ventured out into a crystal clear morning to fetch the tea. It was cold -- 28 degrees Fahrenheit (-2 Celsius) according to his thermometer -- and terribly beautiful. A trail dog, his fur coated with a rime of ice, came over to say hello. Patrick named him "Ice Dog," and he spent most of the day at camp with us.

At the top of the valley stood Chomolhari, which rises to a summit just short of 24,000 feet (7,315 meters). It is a holy mountain, sacred to the protector goddesses (chomo) who were charged by Guru Rinpoche to uphold the Buddhist faith and protect the people who live in the shadow of the mountain. Breathtaking.

Closer at hand was a large hill. Over breakfast, Namgay -- who seemed to be feeling better -- told us that this mountain used to be much larger.

We were camped in the ancient kingdom of Jangothang, Namgay explained. The king of Jangothang, whose now ruined fortress was built to guard the valley, had commanded his subjects to cut down the mountain, because it blocked the sunlight. The people labored to fulfill the king's command, until one day a wise old woman gathered the people together. "Much easier to chop one head than a whole mountain," she told them. The people rose up and killed the king -- and thus fell the kingdom of Jangothang.

We're sure that story will prove useful for a future staff meeting.

Namgay told us we had several options for day hikes. "We can hike to the foot of Chomolhari and see the glacier," he said. "Three hours, one way. Or we can climb this mountain" -- here he pointed to another large hill beside the camp -- "and have very good views of Chomolhari and Jichu Drakye. Or--"

"Or," we said with a smile, "we could stay in camp and be lazy."

That's exactly what we did. While the day hikes sounded fascinating, we knew we could use the rest, especially with the Bhonte La pass to come. We decided to take advantage of the brilliant sunshine to air out our tent and sleeping bags -- and hoped the goddesses of the mountain didn't mind.

We took a short hike up the valley towards a set of stone houses used by yak herders and park rangers.

On our way back we ran into two young Bhutanese soldiers -- an officer and an enlisted man -- accompanied by two porters. The officer sent his subordinate and the porters ahead while he stopped to chat with us in his excellent English. He was on his way to his post at Lingzhi for a year-long assignment. The commanding officer had given him his billet and basically told him to start walking. To get to Lingzhi he and the others would have to cross the Nyile La pass at 15,978 feet (4,870 meters). Unlike us, they didn't have a mule team to carry a bunch of gear -- all they had was what was on their backs. He was quite nonchalant about it. We were most impressed, and our biggest photographic regret is not asking him for a picture before he saluted us and carried on his way.

As we got close to the campsite, Jennifer stepped badly on a stone and twisted her left ankle. It wasn't a bad sprain, but it was enough to remind us both that he had to be careful at all times. It would be a very long walk back on a broken leg, or worse.

"Now have shower," Sonam told us when we arrived back at camp. He provided us with two small bowls of "washing water" every morning. We'd already had our daily wash, so we weren't sure we understood what he meant. Then we saw that he'd moved the toilet tent to a clean part of the campsite. The cook brought out a solar shower bag and hung it in was what now the shower tent. A hot shower at 13,000 feet (4,000 meters) -- what a luxury!

After a shower and a hot lunch we had a nap in our freshly aired tent. Everyone seemed to enjoy the break -- even Ice Dog had a bit of a kip in the warm sun.

In the mid-afternoon we took him with us to explore the ruins of the dzong.

Like Rimpung Dzong, this dzong was probably built in the 1600s, when Bhutan and Tibet were at war. It had the inward sloping walls common to Bhutanese fortresses -- a feature that made it not only structurally stable, but also created a useful optical illusion of fearsome height. The fortress had a strategic position over a tributary of the Paro River and commanded a complete view of the valley. Although the dzong lay in ruins, the central tower (utse) still stood. The precision of the masonry work was remarkable, even after more than four centuries since its construction.

As we climbed over the ruins, Patrick flushed out a blood pheasant, which shrieked and dashed through the underbrush right in front of Jennifer. Ice Dog failed to catch it for our dinner.

We knew we'd be headed deeper -- and higher -- into the mountains in the morning. Patrick did his best to scout the way.

By this time we'd realized that the hours between 4:00pm and 8:00pm were the hardest to fill. The wind and clouds always seemed to move in by mid-afternoon, and once the sun dropped behind the mountains the temperature dropped with it. We retreated again to the dining tent and took turns reading to each other from Eric Weiner's The Geography of Bliss. Much to our pleasant surprise, Sonam came in with a plate of warm cashews! This was the ideal moment for Patrick to break out his 40th birthday present from Jennifer: a steel-and-leather travel bar, eminently suitable for the gentleman adventurer (and his distaff counterpart). He mixed a couple of small gin martinis, and we enjoyed a charming cocktail hour.

Just before dinner we encountered an uninvited guest just outside the dining tent, where we were sorting our gear for our departure the next day.

Soon it was time to climb back into our sleeping bags. The rest day had been good for both body and mind, and we felt ready to tackle the challenges of the next day. If only we had known how difficult those challenges would be....

Distance: 0 (rest day)
Altitude gain: 0 (rest day)
Final altitude: 13,386 feet (4,080 meters)

Land of the Thunder Dragon, Part 5: Thangthangka to Jangothang (Chomolhari Base Camp)

2011-05-02T19:05:00.010+07:00

When we were preparing for our trek, Patrick had decided to buy two expedition-quality sleeping bags, the Marmot Trestles 0. This bag is rated to 0 degrees Fahrenheit (-18 Celsius), which seemed like too much bag for a trek with expected lows around 40-45 F (4-7 C). However, Patrick knew that Jennifer gets cold easily, and he reckoned that it would be easier for him to unzip the bag and cool off than it would be to pile on more clothes in a lighter bag.

Thanks to these big, heavy, warm bags (and the mules who carried them for us!), we slept very well despite the cold, wind and snow. We emerged from our tent at 6:00am into a fantasy realm of ice.

The small green tent next to ours was the toilet tent -- a nylon shell propped over a hole dug into the ground. We had a love/hate relationship with the toilet tent. It wasn't the most pleasant place to spend time, but being out of the wind and snow while vulnerable (if you will) was a real comfort.

We were outrageously stiff and sore from the previous day's hike. Patrick's stomach cramps had quieted down, but he decided to eat only small amounts of very plain food -- mostly rice and bread. Jennifer's left ankle, which she'd sprained badly several times over the years, had begun to ache. Still, we felt much better than we'd expected 12 hours earlier.

We saw that we had been sharing the campsite with the European group we'd seen the day before. Namgay, who was starting to fight a cold, seemed determined to beat them to the next campsite. We packed quickly and proceeded on.

The morning was beautiful, and as soon as the sun came out it began to melt the snow. Our pace was quick, but that didn't stop various trail dogs from accompanying us. Whenever we reached the limit of their territory, they'd stop and pass us on to the next dog.

We also passed two small military encampments a stone's throw apart. The first belonged to the Bhutanese Army; the second, to the Indian Military Training Team (IMTRAT). The Bhutanese Army is trained and equipped entirely by India. An Indian officer came out to greet Namgay and ask him who we were and where we were headed. Patrick surprised him and Namgay by answering the officer's questions in his limited Hindi.

The scenery was spectacular, especially once we started to rise above the treeline. We walked through meadows flanked by massive mountains; later in the spring these meadows would be filled with wildflowers. Yaks grazed on the hills, and we saw a few stone cabins used by roaming yak herders.

About halfway through our morning, we met a group of American trekkers who were headed back the way we came. They had planned to do the same trek we had, but were turned back at the mountain pass at Bhonte La. "Too much snow," one of them said. "We heard there could be as much as six to eight inches up there. But who knows -- maybe it'll all be melted away in a couple of days." They were all outfitted with expensive gear: expedition-grade jackets, deluxe trekking poles, snow gaiters, and sturdy mountaineering boots. We were a little worried that the weather had turned them back -- what would it mean for us?

Namgay's cold got worse through the day, so it was left to the indefatigable Sonam to keep up the pace. We passed through a village -- really just three or four small stone buildings -- that included a clinic and school for the families of the yak herders in the area.

Before we realized how far we'd come, we arrived at the ruined dzong of Jangothang. Alpine choughs flew up to greet us, and behind the fortress lurked the sacred mountain Chomolhari. It was 1:00pm.

We couldn't understand why we'd raced through the morning -- after less than five hours of hiking, we were at our next camp. We did seem to secure the best campsite: isolated, next to the river, and out of the worst of the wind. We set up our tent, treated some sore spots, and decided to have a look around.

An archery contest was going on in the midst of snow flurries and a constant 20-mile-per-hour (32 kph) wind. Later Namgay told us that these were local families who had come to the base of Chomolhari to have a small, week-long festival -- we'd just caught the last couple of days. Two guys from another trekking crew had also come over to watch.

Archery (datse) is the national sport of Bhutan. Traditionally archers used bows and arrows made from bamboo; today they import aluminum gear from the U.S. The field is 460 feet (140 meters) long, and the target is only about 30 inches (76 centimeters) tall and 10 inches (25 centimeters) wide. We were stunned to see these young men hitting the target despite the spiraling winds coming off the mountains. Whenever one scored a hit, the others would shout and yelp -- and often our trekking crew back at the campsite would echo them.

We were even more stunned when we realized they were drunk. Archery contests and alcohol go hand-in-hand in Bhutan. While one competitor takes aim, the others shout insults and jokes at him to spoil his concentration. Anything short of physical contact is fair game. As Michael Palin writes in his brilliant book, Himalaya, "I suppose that's the ultimate macho achievement: to be able to drink yourself silly and deliver a bull's eye while being told by your opponents that they've been shagging your wife for the last three weeks."

The cold eventually crept into all of the layers we had on and we retreated to the dining tent. We hadn't seen Namgay since we'd arrived, but we could hear him coughing and sneezing in the kitchen tent. We began to wonder if his cold had pushed him to get us to camp so quickly; we also wondered if he'd be well enough to keep going. Sonam brought us a thermos of hot water, freshly boiled from the river. We never knew the life-affirming properties of a cup of tea at 13,000 feet (4,000 meters)!

Every resource we'd found recommended that our sleeping elevation should not increase by more than 1,000-1,500 feet (305-450 meters) per night, and that for every 3,000-foot (915-meter) increase, we should spend a second night at the same elevation. In fact, the National Institutes of Health recommend stopping for a day or two of rest for each 2,000 feet (610 meters) above 8,000 feet (2,438 meters). "Climb high, sleep low."

The day before we'd gained almost 2,500 feet (760 meters) -- twice the recommended amount -- and we had ascended another 1,575 feet (480 meters) on this day. We were now at 13,386 feet (4,080 meters), and our combined total from the first three days of the trek was 5,253 feet (1,600 meters). We were well overdue for a rest day to acclimate.

At this point we were taking 500 mg of Diamox per day. We were thankful to have the medication with us, but we were starting to feel the side effects. Tingling in the extremities is common, as is more frequent urination. As we huddled in the dining tent that evening, we contemplated clambering out of our sleeping bags at 2:00am to brace the wind, hop over a ditch and squat in the toilet tent. "OK," Jennifer said, "no more water after 6:00pm."

Snow flurries and clouds thickened around our campsite as the sun set. We knew we were in for our coldest night yet, so we dressed in thermals before climbing into our sleeping bags. We tried to relax -- tomorrow was a rest day. We just hoped we wouldn't be visiting the toilet tent before dawn.

Distance: 11.8 miles (19 km)
Altitude gain: 1,575 feet (480 meters)
Final altitude: 13,386 feet (4,080 meters)
Estimated time: 5-6 hours
Actual time: 4.5 hours

The Land of the Thunder Dragon, Part 4: Shana Zampa to Thangthangka

2011-05-01T09:06:00.008+07:00

"This is a long, hard day with lots of short ups and downs ... made more strenuous because of all the rock-hopping necessary," read the Lonely Planet guide to Bhutan. "Today is a hard day," Bhutan Footprints told us. "Lot of distance to cover; altitude gain is also above the limit and the trail after lunch is tough due to many ups and downs with many stones sticking out."

Day 2 of our trek was, simply, the hardest physical thing we have ever done.

"Today we have to go a little faster," Namgay said as we ate our breakfast of porridge and tea. We hit the trail at 8:15am, ascending through rhododendron forests. We shared the trail with a young European couple and their mother/mother-in-law. We were amazed and humbled to see a woman 15 years our elder tackling the same trail. Their pack animals caught up with us halfway through the morning.

Here the trail split. The path to the right was our track. To the left, the trail continued on to the border with Tibet. ("Bhutan" means "the end of Bhot" -- Bhot was an ancient name for Tibet.) This is an ancient invasion and trade route, and some Bhutanese still sneak over the border at night to buy cheap Chinese manufactured goods and smuggle them back into Bhutan to sell. "Four or five hours to walk to Tibet," Namgay told us.

Sonam carried a hot lunch in a tiffin box for us every day of the trek. Patrick had stomach cramps throughout the entire day, so he didn't end up eating very much.

The trail got tougher after lunch, just as advertised. How could something so beautiful be so terrible, we wondered. Glaciers and floods had thrown huge stones down the mountains over millennia. Birch, fir, maple, pine and larch trees watched us stumble over seemingly endless numbers of moss-covered rocks. At least we weren't the only ones stumbling -- our mules caught up with us mid-afternoon on a treacherous descent.

We didn't speak much during the day -- Sonam and Namgay pushed the pace, and we struggled to keep up. We were gaining a lot of altitude and our lungs started to sense the lower air density. (At this point we were getting about 30% less oxygen with every breath.) Patrick's stomach cramps got worse; Jennifer's counterfeit boots kept her ankles steady, but they felt heavier and heavier with every step. "Just get to the top of the next hill," we'd think. "Just 10 more minutes." "Just 10 more steps."

We reached our campsite at 3:30pm, after seven hours and fifteen minutes of hiking. We were utterly exhausted, but we had done it -- we had completed what we thought would be the most difficult day of the entire eight-day trek.

Fifteen minutes later, the snowstorm hit.

We didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so we decided to crawl into our tent and sleep for a couple of hours. Namgay got us up for dinner, which we ate in a cold, dark dining tent the crew set up for us.

The snow continued to fall as we shivered once again into our sleeping bags, wondering what the morning would bring.

Distance: 14.5 miles (23.3 km)
Altitude gain: 2,494 feet (760 meters)
Final altitude: 11,844 feet (3,610 meters)
Estimated time: 8-9 hours
Actual time: 7.25 hours

The Land of the Thunder Dragon, Part 3: Drukyel Dzong to Shana Zampa

2011-04-30T09:56:00.015+07:00

On our third day in Bhutan we started our trek. We had decided to do one of the more popular Bhutan treks, the Chomolhari (also spelled Jomolhari) Trek. The Chomolhari Trek comes in several versions -- ten days, nine days, and eight days. We didn't have quite enough time for the longer distances, so we opted for the eight-day loop.

We expected the trek to be tough. Bhutan Footprints told us, "This trip is quite beautiful, but requires that trekkers are in very good physical condition, as it includes many walking hours." REI, which also leads a Chomolhari trek, rates it a 5 out of 5 on their Activity Scale: "Strenuous: Designed for very fit travelers. Trekking in Bhutan is for active people in good health who enjoy vigorous hiking. Bhutan has an 'up and down' topography, there is very little level walking. We expect participants to be strong, experienced hikers in good physical condition." National Geographic Expeditions classifies the trek as an "Ultimate Challenge!" (with an exclamation point, no less). A couple of months earlier, when we were planning this trip, we wondered whether we should choose something a little easier. It may have been that our sense of adventure was greater than our sense ... but don't all great adventures start that way?

Namgay and Tilley met us at the hotel for the drive to Drukyel Dzong, on the outskirts of Paro. There we met the trekking crew: Sonam, Namgay's right-hand-man; the cook, who we knew only as "Cook;" the wrangler ("the Horseman"); and seven mules and two horses. While the team loaded our two duffel bags and the rest of the gear onto the animals, we talked with a group of older Dutch tourists who were visiting the dzong. They were as excited about our trek as we were -- if we'd had enough sleeping bags, we're sure they would have joined us!

Our trek route was to follow the Paro River, the same river that ran in front of Rimpung Dzong. The first day's hike was gentle and easy, with dirt roads and small villages giving way to farmland.

We passed a woman preparing a traditional hot stone bath on the bank of the river. The river would fill the stone trough, and she would drop stones heated in a small campfire into the water to bring it to an appropriately therapeutic temperature. Namgay explained that the Bhutanese use hot stone baths with traditional herbs and salts to heal all sorts of ailments.

Our walk took us through a schoolyard at lunchtime. We wondered whether the mothers who prepared these lunches knew who ate them!

Crossing and re-crossing the river, we snaked through terraced rice paddies and millet fields punctuated with apple trees, as forests of firs and blue pines stood watch on the hills rising all around us.

We eventually made our way into the Jigme Dorji National Park, where we planned to spend the next seven days. This is Bhutan's largest national park; it is named after the third king, who is considered the father of modern Bhutan. After the Bhutanese Army checked our visas and trekking passes at a military camp next to a small school, we headed deeper into the hills.

Namgay contemplated a hill that would be a major challenge of the second-to-last day of the trek. "Many rocks," he told us, "going downhill for two, maybe three hours. I always hate that part."

This farmhouse has a set of white manidhar prayer flags, erected to the memory of a deceased loved one. The flags are printed with prayer texts to bless the dead and set within sight of the river where they will catch the wind. The Bhutanese believe that the wind will carry the prayers to the river, where the prayers will float as long as the river runs.

Around 4:00pm we reached our campsite at Shana Zampa, much to the relief of the mules.

The cook made a great dinner of rice, asparagus, beef and chilies. At the end of the meal Namgay broke out a bottle of Bhutanese Special Courier whisky, which is made by the Bhutanese Army Welfare Project. We talked for a while about the wildlife we might see on the trek. "Are there bears?" Jennifer asked. Namgay told us that there were a couple of species of bear in the park, but it was unusual to see them. Taking a sip of whisky, he looked at us solemnly.

"But I think the Himalayan bears like the taste of Americans best."

We were still laughing as we settled into our sleeping bags on a lovely, cool night.

Distance: 10.6 miles (17 km)
Altitude gain: 1,180 feet (360 meters)
Final altitude: 9,350 feet (2,850 meters)
Estimated time: 4-6 hours
Actual time: 5.5 hours

The Land of the Thunder Dragon, Part 2: Taktshang, the Tiger's Nest

2011-04-24T08:41:00.014+07:00

Our first dawn in Bhutan came with a lot of blue sky and bright sunshine. Since we knew we'd be hiking at high altitudes on our trip, we were a little concerned about altitude sickness. We'd done our research and consulted with the Medical Unit at the Embassy in Bangkok, so we brought with us a packet of Diamox. Diamox not only treats the early symptoms of altitude sickness, but it can also act as a preventative. As the Everest Medical Clinic of the Himalayan Rescue Association explains:

"Acetazolamide (Diamox®) is a medication that forces the kidneys to excrete bicarbonate, the base form of carbon dioxide; this re-acidifies the blood, balancing the effects of the hyperventilation that occurs at altitude in an attempt to get oxygen. This re-acidification acts as a respiratory stimulant, particularly at night, reducing or eliminating the periodic breathing pattern common at altitude. Its net effect is to accelerate acclimatization. Acetazolamide isn't a magic bullet, cure of acute mountain sickness (AMS) is not immediate. It makes a process that might normally take about 24-48 hours speed up to about 12-24 hours."

We had taken our first dose at bedtime the night before, to start tapering up to the recommended dose of 500mg per day during the trek. We also figured it couldn't hurt to have a little in our systems for our day hike to Taktshang Goemba, the monastery-temple-architectural marvel known as the Tiger's Nest.

The Bhutanese believe that Guru Rinpoche, the second Buddha and founder of Buddhism in Bhutan, defeated the demon Singey Samdrup on the site of the monastery, which he reached by flying on the back of his consort, Yeshe Tsogyal, who had manifested herself in the form of a tigress sheathed in mystic flame. He meditated in a cave at the site for three months, after which it was viewed as holy ground. The first monastery was built here in the late 1600s, the buildings held to the cliff face by the hairs of angels, who carried the timbers up the cliff. After a fire destroyed the monastery in 1998, it was reconstructed in its exact form -- sadly, without the help of angels.

Namgay and Tilley met us after breakfast, and together we drove out to the base of the mountain where Taktshang is perched. "The only way up to the Tiger's Nest is to walk, ride a horse or fly on the back of a magic tiger (the latter generally reserved for Tantric magicians)," the Lonely Planet guide to Bhutan told us. The monastery was about 1,250 feet (380 meters) above us, so this would be a good warm-up hike for our big trek. Namgay told us we should be able to complete the whole hike in about five hours.

There were shrines and prayer wheels along the path. Some were powered by small streams cascading down the mountain.

Guru Rinpoche is said to have hidden terma, or "treasures" -- sacred writings and objects -- throughout Bhutan. These treasures can only be recovered by tertons, treasure-revealers who are the reincarnations of Guru Rinpoche's special disciples. This rock contains a terma.

About halfway up, there was a small teahouse where we could have a snack and catch our breath. We picked up a hopeful trail dog looking for handouts.

Shortly thereafter, we began to encounter our first serious obstacle: Jennifer's left boot began to delaminate. The sole was separating from the boot. We'd seen this problem in other shoes before -- dry rot of the plastic and rubber in the sole of the shoe. Apparently a lot of people who live in the tropics have this problem. The timing, of course, was extremely bad, as we were planning to start an eight-day hike the next day. For the time being, we followed a mantra popular in the Marine Corps: Improvise, adapt and overcome.

By the time we reached the observation point before crossing over to the cliff where the temple stands, Patrick's boots had also begun to fall apart. The ever-patient and resourceful Namgay did what he could to keep us together.

All of our boot troubles were easily forgotten when we saw the temple at close range. It seemed like something from a fairy tale -- utterly astonishing. The temple was open to visitors when we arrived, so we surrendered our bags, camera and hats to the guardhouse and made our way through the complex. The temple seemed to grow organically from the rock, completely natural and integrated with the mountain.

A number of Bhutanese pilgrims were on the grounds with us -- every Bhutanese tries to make a pilgrimage to Taktschang at least once in their lives. Namgay's first visit was at the age of 13, when his father was in the military in the capital of Thimphu. In one chapel, a senior monk was distributing blessings of holy water. We received the water in our right hand, took a sip, and spread the rest on our heads.

Every surface was painted -- either with floral and geometric designs or elaborate murals of Buddhist deities, demons and parables, all done in mineral paints. Every statue, mural and object seemed ancient, and we had to remind ourselves that the temple had only been reopened in 2005. Namgay opened a trapdoor in one chapel and allowed us to peer down into a cave where a famous monk had meditated for three years, three months and three days.

Soon it was time to leave and we made our way back down the mountain. Just after the observation point, Patrick's boots completely fell apart -- he stuck the soles in his backpack and hiked the rest of the way down without them. We were astonished to find that we'd done the hike in just over five hours, just as Namgay had predicted. "I think we could have done in four," he said.

From Taktshang we headed to a restaurant called the Yak Herder's House for lunch. Again we ate a delicious meal of Indo-Chino-Bhutanese tourist food, but the real treat came when Namgay brought in a large iron bowl and a bamboo straw. "Thongba," he said -- and so it was!

Thongba is fermented millet (when made from rice, it's called chhang). One pours hot water over the millet, allows it to steep, and drinks the liquid through a straw. It's mildly alcoholic, supposedly good for the circulation and digestion, and very tasty. It's a bit sour and yeasty, with a touch of effervescence. Thongba is popular in eastern Nepal, Sikkim, and in western Bhutan. Namgay, being from the far east of Bhutan, preferred ara, but he was very pleased that we were so excited to receive this gift. He told us that he'd asked a local farmer for a batch, and the farmer had given it to him for free -- but made Namgay promise to bring back his good bamboo straw!

After lunch we headed back into downtown Paro to see the local cobbler about our boots. As we'd feared, he pronounced them unrepairable. We loved our boots -- Patrick had worn his REI boots since 2003, Jennifer's Lowas had been around since 2004 -- and were really sorry to have to throw them out.

Jennifer got lucky -- sort of -- and found a pair of counterfeit men's North Face boots that fit her reasonably well. Patrick couldn't find anything that fit him, but he thought he could get along with a pair of light leather boots he'd worn in Mongolia.

Namgay and Tilley took us back to the Uma Paro, where we enjoyed a dip in the heated pool and a brief steam bath, then organized our gear to head out on our trek the next day. We had another fantastic dinner in the hotel restaurant, took another dose of Diamox, and headed for bed. We had a big day ahead of us in the morning....

The Land of the Thunder Dragon, Part 1: Paro

2011-04-23T10:30:00.015+07:00

Bhutan is one of the world's last unspoiled destinations. Almost mythically isolated, Bhutan first started to open itself to modernization in the mid-1970s, during the rule of the fourth king, Jigme Singye Wangchuk. According to National Public Radio reporter Eric Weiner, "this is a country that until 1962 didn't have a single road, school or hospital." In 1973 the king declared that Bhutan would follow its own path into the modern world, refusing to put Gross National Product ahead of Gross National Happiness. Television and the internet finally arrived in Bhutan in 1999, while private newspapers began publishing in 2006. In 2005 the fourth king announced that he would abdicate in favor of his son, Jigme Khesar Namgyal Wangchuk, who is now the fifth king. His coronation was delayed until after the first parliamentary elections ever held in Bhutan, in 2008. While Bhutan is now a democratic constitutional monarchy, almost every Bhutanese is used to living under an absolute monarchy, and the king and his father are still widely revered.

We flew from Bangkok to Paro, Bhutan on Druk Air, the royal Bhutanese airline. It took us about three hours to fly to Bagdogra, India, for a 30-minute stop, then another 20 minutes or so to Paro. Druk Air has three planes (two Airbus 319s and a small turboprop) and eight pilots. Only eight commercial pilots -- and guess who they are! -- are qualified to fly into Paro Airport; they may only land when they can physically see the runway (instrument-only landings not permitted).

The last 20 minutes of the flight were spectacular. Paro International Airport regularly ranks as one of the “world’s scariest runways” because of the approach. As Travel + Leisure magazine put it:

"It’s 10:45 a.m. on a cloudy day, and the crew of Druk Air flight KB205 is preparing to land at their home airport of Paro, Bhutan. Suddenly, ominous warnings start blaring, alerting them that their flight angle is all wrong and their rate of descent is far too fast. They fly a series of unconventional right-and-left banks through a narrow channel of hillsides before centering the swaying jet and putting it on the tarmac. An emergency situation? Not quite. In fact, this is a completely normal -- however nail-biting -- landing at Paro Airport, set 7,300 feet (2,225 meters) above sea level. Because of the airport’s tightly cropped valley, surrounded by 16,000-foot (4,877-meter)-high serrated Himalayan peaks, this drama replays itself on every flight."

Sure enough, our plane wound through a mountain valley, banking hard right and left to follow the contours of the terrain. We felt as though we could reach out and touch individual trees as we flew past. A final big turn, a sudden drop, and we were on the runway, which we're told is the longest stretch of straight road in the country.

At baggage claim we saw that the Prime Minister got a new television!

We were met outside the airport by Namgay, our guide from Bhutan Footprints, and our driver for our trip, Tilley. They drove us to the Uma Paro Hotel, a gorgeous luxury hotel set on a hillside overlooking the Paro valley.

Tourism in Bhutan is tightly regulated. All tourists must work through a registered tour company, and each tourist must pay an all-inclusive fee of $250 per person per day. This fee covers government taxes, tour guide services and all meals, lodging, and transportation. We were paying a premium to stay at the Uma, but we would soon be convinced that it was worth every penny.

After a tour around the hotel and a short rest, Namgay took us to lunch. We'd heard horror stories about the food in Bhutan from friends who'd travelled to Bhutan before us. We were surprised at how good our first meal was -- if we had to compare it to anything, we'd say it was a mixture of Indian (rice, dal, curry) and Chinese (noodles, stir-fried vegetables). Of course, we knew that the restaurant was one that catered to foreign tastes ... and our foreign taste buds were happy to be catered to!

At lunch, Patrick mentioned a beverage he'd had once in Nepal, called thongba. Namgay knew it right away. "I can arrange," he said, promising that we'd have the opportunity to drink thongba later in our trip.

After lunch, we visited the National Museum of Bhutan. The museum is in two buildings -- the former watchtower of the Rinpung Dzong, the fortress-monastery that protected Paro in medieval times, and a large adjunct building, still under construction. We visited the addition first, where we saw a gorgeous collection of animal masks used in religious ceremonies and an extensive photo essay about the royal family. (Unfortunately, no pictures were allowed in the museum.)

Then we moved to the watchtower building, which is constructed like a conch shell, one of the eight auspicious symbols of Tibetan Buddhism. We proceeded clockwise through the labyrinthine corridors of the museum, taking in a bewildering display of artifacts, sacred paintings called thankas, icons, tools and weapons. We saw rhino-hide shields and a helmet of fish scales; a 400-year-old water clock; a stuffed snow leopard; and tea kettles with dragon handles and elephant spouts.

As we walked around, Namgay explained a Bhutanese proverb to us: "Always carry a knife and a cup, for you never know when you will meet an enemy or wine." He told us that it is customary in Bhutan for travellers to share moonshine -- ara -- with each other, "but you have to bring your own cup." Apparently, if you don't have your own cup, you're out of luck.

After the museum we descended the hill to Rinpung Dzong. Every district in Bhutan had its own dzong -- a fortress that served as the stronghold for the governor as well as a home for the Buddhist monks of the area. No woman may be present in a dzong between sunset and sunrise. Dzong construction is fascinating -- no blueprints or architectural drawings are prepared, and no nails are used in the building. The Rinpung Dzong -- "fortress on a heap of jewels" -- was first built in the mid 1600s; today it houses government offices and the court for the Paro district as well as the main monastery for Paro.

To enter a dzong, every Bhutanese must wear proper national clothing. As Foreign Policy magazine explains:

"Since 1990, Bhutanese have been required by law to follow the official national dress code, known as Driglam Namzha, in public. For men, that involves a knee-length robe known as a gho. For women, it's a type of ankle-length kimono called a kira. Those caught wearing anything else can be subject to a $3.30 fine, which amounts to three days' wages. The rules are even more specific for civil servants, who must wear sashes of various colors and designs depending on their office."

Namgay wore his gho every day we were in town; for the visit to the dzong he put on his sash, or kabney, that denoted him as a regular citizen.

The dzong was protected by the Guardians of the Four Directions -- here we see Yulkhorsung, the white lord of the East, who plays a lute and is dedicated to celestial music.

This mural depicts the legend of the Four Harmonious Friends, a favorite Buddhist tale. The four animals here cooperated to plant a seed, grow a fruit tree, and harvest its fruit to share with each other. Compare that to the Musicians of Bremen, or Aesop's tale of the Fox and the Crow!

The structure of the dzong itself was incredible -- huge and impossible to photograph well. Cold wind coming straight off the Himalaya seemed to get trapped inside the walls, setting hair and kabneys awry. Civil servants and elected officials bustled to and fro on official government business on one side of the courtyard, while young monks prepared for a ceremony on the other side.

Namgay explained that many families will send one son to the monastery as a means of making merit. Monkhood is nominally a life-long commitment, and boys who entered the monastery at eight or nine often find themselves getting into trouble at 17 or 18, when their hormones take over. (Later in town, we saw a woman hiss in admonishment at some teenage monks who were making eyes at her.) Monks may leave the monastery, but they have to pay a small fine for the rest of their lives.

After visiting the dzong, we headed into downtown Paro for a short stroll. Paro, one of the largest cities in Bhutan, has about 22,000 people. Patrick recognized many of the souvenirs in the local shops from his visits to Nepal. Paro sits at 7,480 feet (2,280 meters), and we could already start to feel the altitude whenever we climbed stairs.

We bid Namgay and Tilley farewell and settled into our hotel for the evening. In the hotel bar we tried Red Panda beer, an unfiltered Weizen brewed in central Bhutan in a brewery started by a Swiss man named Fritz Maurer. Not bad! After a light dinner we went to bed, awaiting our first light hike in the morning -- to the Tiger's Nest.

Back from the Land of the Thunder Dragon

2011-04-18T19:25:00.003+07:00

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
-- Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

We're back from our big trip to Bhutan! It was an incredible trip, full of extremes -- dizzying highs, terrifying lows, and creamy middles filled with chili peppers in cheese sauce. We took more than 1,000 pictures and have some crazy stories to tell, so watch this space over the coming weeks!

To the Land of the Thunder Dragon!

2011-04-02T11:45:00.006+07:00

The year we turned 30 -- 2001 -- we ran a half-marathon on the Great Wall of China. It was an incredible experience, both physically and mentally challenging in ways we'd never experienced. For our 40th birthday year, we decided we needed an equally daunting challenge to meet.

Enter the Land of the Thunder Dragon -- Bhutan.

On 6 April we'll fly to Bhutan for a twelve-day trip, the centerpiece being a eight-day trek in the Himalayas. Most of the trek will be over the 10,000-foot / 3,000-meter mark, with the highest point of our trek coming at the Bang Tue La pass at 15,600 feet (4,700 meters). We've never trekked at these kinds of altitudes before, nor have we tackled mountains as difficult as the Himalaya. So we're excited -- and a little nervous, too.

Of course, we've had to invest in some more professional camping equipment for this trip, including a set of 0F (-18C) rated sleeping bags. Sarawat has taken the testing process quite seriously:

Her verdict? Snuggly!

From the 30s to the 40s

2011-03-30T21:29:00.007+07:00

In 2011 we both turn 40 years old. We decided this was a swell reason to throw a swanky party with some of our closest friends here in Bangkok.

We gathered at the Eugenia, a twelve-room boutique hotel in a late 19th-century colonial-style house a few streets over from our apartment in downtown Bangkok. We tried to do Nick and Nora proud, and even though the bartender didn't know how to make a Rosy Dawn or a Pompier Highball, we think Charles H. Baker, Jr. would have had a good time.

The pictures tell the rest of the story.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

2011-03-27T07:25:00.003+07:00

Sukhumvit Soi 11, Bangkok, Thailand.

Further On Up the Road

2011-03-18T20:12:00.006+07:00

Eric Clapton came to Bangkok on the third date of his world tour to support his latest album, Clapton. Given that the new album is relaxed and jazzy, and this was only the third night of the tour, and the average age of the entire band was about 62 (E.C. will be 66 at the end of March), we were a little worried that the show would be a little ... laid-back.

We needn’t have worried. Clapton played exceptionally hard that night, especially during the first set, with a number of blistering solos. While he was sure to throw in a number of the Top 40 hits, he also played couple of hard-core blues, which made Patrick happy. As the review in one of the local papers said, "Clapton can make a Stratocaster at full volume sound like a fluting, charging demon, then turn on a pin for a breath-catching arpeggio flourish."

It was a great night, and we were glad to have the chance to catch Slowhand before he finally decides to retire.

(Of course, Luigi thinks that it was Patrick on stage all along....)

Pictures courtesy of the Singha Corporation, taken without permission from Where's Eric!, the world's premier Eric Clapton fan site.

Pogonomania

2011-03-12T09:53:00.007+07:00

"Wow! You grew a beard!"

Ever since we returned from home leave, people think that Patrick has suddenly decided to wear a beard. The beard has been around pretty consistently for the last ten years or so -- it's his hair that has changed. There must be some psychological explanation for this, but we're not sure what it is.

Patrick is also getting a lot of celebrity comparisons these days. By far the most popular option has been Eric Clapton -- to the point that Luigi, owner of our favorite Italian restaurant in Bangkok, now only refers to Patrick as "Mr. Clapton."

(While recent studies detailed in the New York Times demonstrate that “semiotically signified magical thinking causes replicas to radiate aura and thus transforms them into fetishes,” Patrick’s hair doesn’t seem to have given him the power to play the guitar like Eric Clapton. Maybe a John the Conqueror root or a black cat bone would help. Then again, maybe not.)

We've also heard George Harrison and Barry Gibb -- apparently the vibe is "1970s musician."

Here at the Wilson Odyssey, we can think of lots of other possibilities:

Field Day!

2011-03-07T20:11:00.007+07:00

We've been very busy at work over the last few months -- not just the two of us, but everyone who works with us. So our bosses decided we needed to blow off some steam ... with a Field Day.

We were divided into four color-coded teams -- Orange, Green, Purple and Blue -- and set off on a series of games. Who would have thought that all of those 6th grade skills would be useful in the corps diplomatique? Of course, there were prizes to be had, so competition was fierce.

Team Blue won the day at the games after a nail-biting finish. It came down to a tie between Team Blue and Team Purple. In the end the winner was decided by hula-hoop ... and Dr. Apichai's skills were superior those of Patrick's boss, Tom.

Sadly, we failed to win the prize we really wanted: Best Team Spirit. That went to Team Green. Apparently choreographed singalongs were more impressive (or less frightening) than our strategy, which can best be described as All-Out Mayhem.

A grand time was had by all!

Highlights of 2010, Part 4

2011-03-06T08:43:00.017+07:00

The Christmas season in Bangkok is always a little surreal. While the weather in late December is cooler, it is by no means cool. Plastic snowmen and sweaty Santas stand vigil next to Hindu and Buddhist shrines, while bright lights and loud music batter the senses into a state of holiday stupefaction.

In 2008 and 2009 we celebrated Christmas by hosting a big dinner at home for friends. In 2010 most of our friends weren't in Bangkok for Christmas, so we also decided to go somewhere for the holiday. We headed north to the Golden Triangle. This area used to be infamous for its poppy fields, which supplied opium and heroin to much of the world. While the Thai government has eliminated most of the poppy production here, the far north of Thailand remains a somewhat wilder place than most of the rest of the country.

We stayed at the Katiliya Resort, where we had managed to get a great deal on their "Honeymoon Package." (We were also celebrating our 7th wedding anniversary, after all!) We had a very cozy Christmas morning with presents from home.

We spent most of the weekend driving through the mountains, visiting villages along the way. One village, Mae Salong, is populated almost exclusively by Kuomintang families who fled to Thailand after the Communists took over China. Mae Salong is famous for its oolong tea. The road to Mae Salong was lined with some of the biggest poinsettia trees we have ever seen. (Unfortunately we didn't manage to get pictures of the really big ones!)

We also visited Sop Ruak, where Thailand, Burma and Laos meet at a single border. The "Golden Triangle" has become a big selling point here; you can take a boat to a casino in Laos and float near a massive resort built for the Burmese military -- but landing on Burmese soil is, of course, strictly forbidden.

We spent Christmas evening touring the small opium museum -- a Christmas Day activity for the whole family! -- and had dinner at the Anantara Resort in their Elephant Bar, decorated with trophies and paraphernalia from elephant polo.

On our last full day in the province, we drove to Tha Ton for a little outdoor adventure. We rented a two-person kayak and spent three hours paddling down the Kok River, which we seemed to have all to ourselves. Landing the kayak in the swift current was a little tricky, but we had a great time.

When we got home, we had one important duty to fulfill: making sure Sarawat got her visit from Santa. She was very excited to find a stocking under the tree with her name (well, initial) on it, and she loved what she found there. (Thank you, Santa's Little Helpers in Cary, NC!)

(Welcome to the Year of the Rabbit!)

We missed hosting a big dinner during the holiday season, so we decided to have a New Year's Eve dinner for those of our friends who chose not to go out on the town. We were surprised at how many people took us up on our invitation -- we had a full house! Sarawat, as always, was an excellent hostess.

After cocktails and appetizers, we enjoyed roast pork tenderloin, roast potatoes, Tuscan bread salad, and a green salad with almonds and tangerines. Two of Patrick's whiskey cakes came out for dessert -- one of them in the familiar shape of a four-legged friend. We watched fireworks on television and bid farewell to the last of our guests around 2:00am.

What a great way to start the New Year!

(Many party pictures courtesy of Svetlana -- Большое спасибо!)

Highlights of 2010, Part 3

2011-02-13T15:15:00.020+07:00

After a very busy summer, we were happy to take our first trip together back to the U.S. since Summer 2008, when we bought our house in Asheville.

We started our time in California. Jennifer's brother Dwight and his wife Lorena gave us a wonderful reception in San Francisco. From there we headed to Lake Tahoe, where we enjoyed a relaxing week at the Marriott Timber Lodge, courtesy of Patrick's parents, who generously shared another timeshare week with us.

Tahoe was gorgeous -- the weather was beautiful and the tourists were sparse, so we took advantage of the opportunity to enjoy some quiet and get out into nature ... something we can't do easily from Bangkok. We took a number of day hikes on both the California and the Nevada sides of the lake.

Mid-October is the season for the salmon to spawn in the northern California mountains.

We were told of a trail just off of a main road were the U.S. Forest Service has set up a stream profile chamber for Taylor Creek. The stream profile chamber is basically an aquarium window below the surface level of the creek, allowing visitors to get a fish's-eye view of the creek.

A trail leads from the stream profile chamber into the woods. Not more than 100 feet from the chamber, we -- along with about 30 other stunned people -- saw this:

This mother bear and her cub couldn't be bothered by all of the excited tourists taking their pictures. They were too busy packing in the fish, preparing for winter. We've never been this close to wild bear -- at her closest, the mother was about seven feet away.

After a great Oktoberfest party with Dwight and Lorena back in San Francisco, we flew to Asheville, NC, our future hometown. We were so happy to be back in Asheville, and especially to be back in the fall. We hadn't had an American fall in six years, so we were eager to see what the Blue Ridge Mountains had in store for us during our two weeks there. The Romantic Asheville website did a great job of tracking peak color throughout the mountains.

We were also eager to see our house again. When we bought the house two years ago, we had exactly one day after the closing to walk around inside before we had to leave. Since then the house has been rented out ... but as luck would have it, it happened to be vacant for the first time in two years while we were there. So we actually got to live in our own house! It was wonderful -- cozy, quiet and comfortable, even without any furniture. We are already making plans for our life there after all of our globetrotting is done.

During our time there we had multiple chances to get to know our neighbors better. We enjoyed catching up with our B&B neighbors, who always seem to know the latest Asheville news. We had fun chats with Cecil, our elderly neighbor, who told of his good luck at the Cherokee casinos. He even invited Jennifer along to play his favorite slot machines, but there was no time in the schedule (and no padding in the wallet) for a gambling outing.

Our first week in Asheville was full of family visits. It made us very happy that everyone was able to make the time to visit us there, and we were extremely proud to show them around our town ... even if they'd seen it all before. We visited the Grove Park Inn and Biltmore Village, and enjoyed the colors of the season on drives and walks about town. With our current home so far away, we're thankful that our families made the trip to visit our future home.

Two of Patrick's closest friends, Eric and Tom, and Jennifer's grad school roommates, Diana and Katina, came to visit during our second week in the mountains. Eric drove down from Richmond, Virginia, while Tom flew in from Los Angeles. Katina flew from Chicago with her husband Brian, and Diana and her boyfriend Jonathan came in a private plane from Atlanta. Tom and Eric were our first-ever houseguests, and Diana and Katina made themselves comfortable at our neighboring B&Bs, the Lion & the Rose and the Black Walnut. We were honored that they would all make such an effort to see us and were determined to show them a great time.

After hikes in the Blue Ridge and shopping downtown, we could walk 15 minutes from our house down to one of Asheville's great pubs, cafes or restaurants: Barley's, LAB, the Thirsty Monk, Sazerac, the French Broad Chocolate Lounge, Bouchon.... Of course, we made many stops at our favorite pub in Asheville, certainly the best British Isles-style pub in the South, Jack of the Wood. It was so much fun to spend time in our future hometown, and we're feeling a little more like locals now.

One of our best moments came when Patrick was walking downtown by himself to reserve seats at Barley's. He stopped behind a corner behind a group of partying tourists who were already feeling no pain. One of them stumbled off the curb, almost falling into traffic, prompting another to turn to Patrick and say, "Hey, keep these guys in line, would ya?"

"Well, it's tough, you know," Patrick replied.

The stumbler said what he thought was on Patrick's mind, shouting, "Damn tourists -- get out of our town!"

"No, don't do that," Patrick said, "we need the money" -- as another voice chimed in behind him, saying exactly the same thing at the same moment. Patrick turned to see a homeless man standing behind him, grinning through a matted beard. As the drunk tourists staggered across the street, Patrick and the homeless guy shared a huge laugh and a hug.

Diana and Jonathan had a surprise for us when we drove them to the Asheville airport to fly back to Atlanta: they wanted to take us for a spin around in the private plane they'd brought! It was a four-seater Cirrus with all of the bells and whistles, including its own parachute. After a few minutes in the air, Jonathan asked Patrick if he'd like to "get some stick time in." Jonathan was a great instructor, guiding Patrick through turns around the Biltmore Estate and the choppy air coming off of the Blue Ridge. It was thrilling!

Once all of our guests were gone, we had to clean up the house for our new renters, who were moving in on 1 November. It was Hallowe'en night. The denizens of Asheville go all out for the season, and our neighborhood of Montford is ground zero. Lori and Peter, our neighbors at the Black Walnut, had bought 650 full-size candy bars to give out to trick-or-treaters. By 8:00pm, they'd run out. The streets were overrun with ghosts and goblins, princesses and superheroes -- and sadly, we missed it all. We're definitely planning to come back at Hallowe'en again, and next time, we plan to be in the thick of it.

We left Asheville with heavy hearts, but friends along the way brightened our moods quickly. We drove to Atlanta to visit Allan, the priest who performed our wedding ceremony in Frankfurt-am-Main back in 2003. We spent one wonderful night with him and his family. From there we drove to Charleston for a spectacular weekend with our friends the Bealls. We even went to the Coastal Carolina Fair and rode rollercoasters with Jack and Sara!

The rest of the trip seemed to go by very quickly from that point, with brief stops in Columbia, SC, Cary, NC, and Prince George, VA to visit with family and friends. We caught up with Geoff and Heather, and Tina, Mark and Charlotte in Raleigh and we saw various members of the Johnson clan in Williamsburg, Richmond, and Fairfax, VA. We finished our home leave with a week at work in Washington, DC. Patrick made the rounds with his HQ contacts and Jennifer joined a high-profile visit of the ASEAN Intergovernmental Commission on Human Rights to DC, including a stop with senior staffers on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. We did have some social fun in DC as well, catching up with our close Bangkok friends, Chuck and Heather, who have both now joined the State Department as Foreign Service Officers.

All told, it was a great home leave. Our heartfelt thanks to everyone who made it such a fantastic time!

Highlights of 2010, Part 2

2011-02-06T14:30:00.012+07:00

After all of the excitement in the first half of the year, we were ready to get out of Bangkok and enjoy a quiet weekend together, so we took a quick trip to Bali, Indonesia in July. We were lucky enough to time our visit for one of the big festivals, where we got to hear a full gamelan orchestra for the first time.

Our hotel was within walking distance of the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary, where a huge colony of long-tailed macaques live in the forest that surrounds a Balinese Hindu temple.

The temple grounds feature some of the weirdest statuary we have ever seen -- and we've seen a lot of weird statuary! This part of Bali is famous for its stonecarving artisans, and the roads from the airport to the village where we were staying were lined with workshops. Patrick had a flashback to his first summer job in 1987 when he saw a carving that looked just like the creature from Predator.

In August we accepted the invitation of one of our Thai colleagues to visit a dog shelter in Bangkok. Many of the dogs in the shelter were missing limbs (either from accidents or congenital defects) or were severely ill, and almost all of them were feral. There were also a few puppies there whose mothers had died or been killed.

The predominance of Buddhism in Thai culture means that euthanizing dogs is considered immoral, so the workers at the shelter do the best they can to relieve the dogs' suffering. Our colleague and her family brought 50 pounds of boiled chicken livers and other organ meats to feed to the dogs. We each got a metal bowl and a pair of extra-long chopsticks, so that we could walk along the rows and feed the dogs.

The oddest thing we saw at the shelter was a pig. It had been brought to the shelter as a piglet, and now it weighs several hundred pounds.

In September we took a trip to the island of Ko Samui for a weekend at the Scent Hotel. Unfortunately we don't have many pictures from this trip, as we spent much of the time dealing with a missing motorcycle. We'd rented a motorcycle for a day; when we went to return the motorcycle the following morning, it was no longer parked in front of the hotel. We reported the incident to the police and then spent most of the rest of day dealing with the rental company, who insisted we owed them $5000 for a new motorcycle. We couldn't tell if the motorcycle had truly been stolen, or if we were the victims of a scam perpetrated by the rental company, or something in between. So, we politely but firmly stonewalled the rental company all day, waiting for a Thai solution to present itself. Eventually the owner of the company called us at 9:00pm that night, saying that the motorcycle had been "found" in a supermarket parking lot. We'll never know what really happened, but that's all right.

(Note the large space in the middle of this picture, where there should have been a motorcycle.)

At the end of September we attended a birthday party thrown by a group of our colleagues. Guests were encouraged to dress appropriately for the theme, which was the 1980s. We had a lot of fun with our costume (even if Sarawat didn't make a particularly convincing cow).

Highlights of 2010, Part 1

2011-02-05T11:21:00.015+07:00

Before we get too far into 2011, we thought we'd share a few highlights from 2010.

In April our mothers came to visit. Unfortunately their visit coincided with the beginning of the violent phase of the Red Shirt protests, but they weren't here for the worst of it, for which we were thankful. The highlight of their visit was a trip to our favorite city in Thailand, Chiang Mai. We celebrated the Thai New Year, learned about the local hill tribes, and visited an elephant camp.

We also took a day trip to Kanchanaburi, home of the infamous "Death Railway." We paid our respects at the war cemetery, where hundreds of the young British and Australian soldiers who died building the railway were laid to rest.

Then it was off to the bridge over the Kwai River. The bridge itself is no longer there; in one of history's many ironies, the railway bridge that now crosses the river was built by the Japanese.

After the Moms left, the political chaos here in Bangkok grew worse through April and May. We bid a sad farewell to our friends Chuck and Heather, who took new jobs with the State Department. We also bid a sad farewell to our apartment in the Four Wings building and moved to a new building a few streets away.

Another Quiz!

2011-01-19T18:53:00.005+07:00

With Jennifer in Jakarta and Patrick travelling to Kathmandu, things will be quiet here at the Wilson Odyssey for the next couple of weeks. So, to keep you occupied, we have another quiz!

Question: Why did this dog need two (very small) stitches?

Answers:

(a) She wasn't happy with her appearance in the SCAD calendar and decided to have a little work done.

(b) She needed to correct disfigurations caused by Crazy Attack Cat Feline Cootie Syndrome.

(c) After testifying against alleged Russian arms smugglers, the police enrolled her in the Witness Protection Program.

(d) A nose piercing went terribly, terribly wrong.

(e) "I got your nose" is funny, until someone loses a nose.

Do you have a better answer? Send it to us in the Comments!

Happy New Year (Part 1)!

2011-01-02T15:09:00.002+07:00

Here in Thailand we're enjoying the first of three New Year's celebrations -- the Gregorian calendar year. Next month we'll celebrate the Chinese lunar new year -- bringing in the Year of the Rabbit -- and in April we'll celebrate Thai New Year, which will start the year 2554.

We thought the new year deserved a new look here on the Wilson Odyssey. We hope you like it!

Coming soon: Christmas in the Golden Triangle and a brief recap on 2010....

Calendar Girl

2010-12-08T21:35:00.003+07:00

A number of you have asked us how Sarawat is. She's well -- we think she had a good time at the doggie farm while we were gone, and of course she's very happy to be back home with her people.

We adopted Sarawat from the Soi Cat and Dog (SCAD) Foundation. SCAD has decided to publish a 2011 calendar as a fundraising tool ... and guess who is Miss May?

Tul Suwannakit, a popular illustrator of children's books here in Thailand, did 12 portraits of SCAD alumni for the 2011 calendar. Unbeknownst to us, Sarawat was one of his subjects. He must have painted her from a picture they took of her back in early 2008, based on shocking state of her hairdo. Khun Tul gave an interview to the Bangkok Post recently to discuss the project, saying, "The word 'dog', to me, is very universal in the sense that they're all the same, regardless of their appearance or breed. They are all equally lovely, loyal and lovable."

You can see all of Khun Tul's portraits here, and you can buy your own SCAD 2011 calendar, greeting cards, or limited edition print of Sarawat here.

We're Back!

2010-11-28T18:46:00.002+07:00

After much too long a break, we're back! We just got back from six weeks of home leave in the U.S., so we have lots of stories and pictures to share ... and of course, there's always the last six months or so to catch up on. So watch this space in the next few weeks for a lot more from the Wilson Odyssey!

One Month Later

2010-06-20T18:25:00.005+07:00

"How are things in Bangkok these days?"

That's the question we're asked whenever we travel outside of Thailand. It's difficult to know how to answer. On the surface, everything is back to normal ... more or less. On the Sunday after the week of violence, thousands of Bangkok citizens came out to literally scrub the streets clean in the areas where the Red Shirt protesters had their camps. Half of Central World is still in ruins, but the workers have already started to clean up and rebuild. Meanwhile, the city authorities have set up special pedestrian zones for small shopkeepers to set up stalls and sell to the seemingly insatiable shoppers of this city.

But beneath this return to normalcy, the issues that gave rise to the Red Shirt protests remain. On 19 June 2010, one month after the Red Shirts set fires throughout the city, the front page of the Bangkok Post read: "Reforms Meet Red Rage." While most of the Red Shirt leaders are in custody, others have taken up the cause. The mysterious deaths of several protesters who had taken shelter in a temple -- holy ground, normally inviolable -- are under investigation. Two foreigners -- a Brit and an Australian -- are in custody for having taken part in the violence. The farmers of the northeast look for rain that doesn't fall, crops that don't grow, and an income gap that only seems to expand. And the bullet holes around the city remain.

In retrospect, one of the most perceptive opinion pieces we've read about the situation here came from Sawai Boonma, a development economist, who wrote "A Guide to the Perfect Thai Idiot."

What will happen next? No one really knows. Thai society is going through some major changes, and that's going to be difficult. We're hoping for the best.

More on the Mongolian Dzud

2010-05-22T13:34:00.002+07:00

Here's a video from the New York Times on the effects of the dzud on Mongolia's herders, something we mentioned here a few weeks ago. (Caution: The video contains detailed footage of dead livestock.)

Trouble in Bangkok, continued

2010-05-20T12:07:00.008+07:00

Yesterday, 19 May was a difficult day in Bangkok. The government authorities began their crackdown on the Red Shirt protesters at 5:45am, and by the time we went to bed at midnight, it seemed that half of the city was on fire.

All of these pictures were taken from our apartment building, some from our apartment windows, others from the roof.

Later in the day, some of the fires were out, but one huge fire continued to burn. Central World, a massive shopping complex that is said to be the second-largest mall in southeast Asia, was fire-bombed by some of the Red Shirt protesters as the government security forces moved in.

The Red Shirts had camped outside Central World for six weeks without so much as scratching a plate glass window, but just as two of their leaders were surrendering themselves to police and telling their supporters to go home, it seems that some more radical followers decided to leave a token of their frustration and anger.

Major news websites will have their own chronology of the day's events. For us, the day was spent shuttling from the TV to the roof of our building to the computer for e-mail and Internet updates -- all while trying to work from home. Social networking sites in Bangkok, like Twitter, were a good source of up-to-the-minute information, but we could never be sure what was accurate. The Embassy also sent out regular bulletins throughout the day. A nighttime curfew was put into place yesterday; it extends through Saturday.

The three of us are fine here in our apartment. Unlike many others in the city, we did not lose power yesterday, and our TV signal was only out for a couple of hours. Soldiers blocked entrance to our street yesterday, and this morning Jennifer saw a group of soldiers resting right in front of the gate to our building.

So we are still at home, working as best we can through our remote access to office e-mail, and waiting for the situation to improve. It's a sad time for Thailand.

Here are pictures of yesterday's events from the Boston Globe's Big Picture.

Impressions of the day and background and analysis from BBC World News.

Short analysis from Slate.

Long analysis from Foreign Policy, with pictures.

A map showing events here; our apartment is just off of Sukhumvit 3.

Trouble in Bangkok

2010-05-18T10:49:00.003+07:00

All frivolity aside, the security situation in Bangkok has become more serious over the last 48 hours as the military and police continue to crack down on the Red Shirt protesters. The U.S. Embassy (including USAID's offices) has been closed since Thursday afternoon of last week. We've been told to stay at home, which is exactly what we're doing. The situation is very fluid here, so we're checking the TV and Internet for continual updates.

The streets outside our apartment are quieter than usual, but there is still some normal life going on out there. When Patrick came in from the airport at 1:00am on Monday, he saw police and soldiers stationed around main intersections in the neighborhood, including the entrance to our street. Here is a map of the protest zone; our apartment is between the "U" and "K" in "UK Embassy."

This blog is not really the place for us to air our opinions on the politics of Thailand, but we can tell you that the situation is very complicated. A friend of ours who recently left Thailand told us, "After four years of living in Thailand, the only thing I understand is that I don't understand anything here." We -- like many -- are surprised at how violent the situation has become, and how quickly that has happened. We are sad for Thailand and the vast majority of peaceful, fun-loving people who make this country their home, and ours.

For some background reading, you can read the following:

BBC World News: Q&A and a basic timeline and analysis

The Economist: a provocative article and the Thai government's response and background on the region where many of the Red Shirts come from

Time magazine: more analysis

For current events, the Bangkok Post and the Nation are the two English-language newspapers here in Bangkok.

Here are some picture galleries of events over the last few days from the Boston Globe's Big Picture and LIFE magazine.

As always, you can get in touch with us through our personal e-mail addresses -- we'd love to hear from you. Rest assured that we're doing fine.

Let Them Eat Cake!

2010-04-01T20:08:00.003+07:00

In an effort to quell the political turmoil here in Thailand, today Patrick launched his own party -- the Blue Shirts. The Blue Shirt manifesto calls for free belly massages for street dogs, new sidewalks across Bangkok, and cake for all. Rich or poor, male or female, Thai or farang -- all are welcome to join the Blue Shirt movement, and as you can see, Patrick already has one new follower.

Blue Shirts -- chai yo!

A Hard Winter in Mongolia

2010-03-29T19:22:00.000+07:00

More than 4.5 million animals have died after the coldest winter in three decades in Mongolia. Temperatures dropped below -40 degrees Fahrenheit (-40 degrees Celsius) this year, with heavy snows. This, combined with a dry summer last summer, resulted in what Mongols call a dzud -- a natural disaster that makes it impossible for animals to find enough grazing to live.

More than 10% of Mongolia's livestock has been killed this winter. The International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies is calling for a million dollars in food aid and other relief supplies for the nomadic herders who depend upon their livestock for their living.

You can read more about the dzud here, here and here and see pictures here.

Of course, we can't help but think of all of the people and animals we met last summer -- including our horses, Caramel, Rusty and the rest, and their wrangler, Altanhoyeg. We wish them well.

The Contracting Officer Who Loved Me

2010-02-14T17:31:00.003+07:00

(* Alternate title: From Bangkok With Love)

We went to the American Chamber of Commerce in Thailand's 2010 Installation Ball the other night, which also happened to be Chinese New Year and the night before Valentine's Day. The theme was "Casino Royale," after the James Bond book and film of the same name. The Hyatt Erawan Hotel went all out to decorate appropriately -- including bringing in this beautiful Aston Martin. We went with a bunch of our Embassy and USAID friends, and it was fun to see everyone all decked out in their formal finest.

The ball featured a silent auction. We bid on a few things and managed -- with some help from our Embassy pals -- to win a special oyster & wine dinner for ten people. There was also a trivia contest about James Bond movies in which each of the 34 tables was invited to participate. Patrick took over the answers for our table and ended up being the only person to get everything right, including the tie breaker questions. (Our friend Michael helped him with the name of one movie.) He won the grand prize -- a set of four James Bond movie DVDs for each of the eight people at our table. That's 32 007s!

The quiz is below for you to test your own knowledge of Bond lore. We're not so sure that Patrick should be proud of his excessively nerdy James Bond mastery, but at least it wasn't a Star Trek quiz!

CASINO ROYALE QUIZ
No Internet assistance allowed, by order of MI6

001. What American company made a vehicle driven by James Bond in Casino Royale?

a. Audi
b. Ford
c. BMW

002. Who played James Bond in Casino Royale?

a. Sean Connery
b. Pierce Brosnan
c. Daniel Craig

003. What is the last name of the CIA agent who assists Bond in Casino Royale and other Bond movies?

a. Panetta
b. Leiter
c. Benn

004. What is depicted on Vesper Lynd's necklace?

a. Celtic Trinity symbol
b. Algerian love knot
c. Diamond pendant

005. What was Le Chiffre's final hand against Bond?

a. Straight flush
b. Three of a kind
c. Full house

006. What was Bond's final hand against Le Chiffre?

a. Straight flush
b. Three of a kind
c. Full house

007. What is the recipe for Bond's "Vesper" martini, as described in Casino Royale?

"__ measures of Gordon's, __ measures of vodka, __ measures of Kina Lillet. Shake over ice and add a thin slice of _____ ____."

Tie Breakers

What were the cards in Le Chiffre's final hand against Bond?

What were the cards in Bond's final hand against Le Chiffre?

Name all of the actors who played James Bond and the movie(s) in which they starred.

Lucky Man

2010-01-28T15:48:00.003+07:00

There's a common scam here in Bangkok that we call the "Lucky Man Scam." We experienced it a couple of times when we first moved here, but then it seemed to fade away. It has sprung up again over the last couple of months -- Patrick has been approached four times since December. Here's how it works:

A passerby -- in our experience, always a man of Indian or Pakistani appearance -- briefly makes eye contact with you on the street and smiles slightly. If you respond or hesitate at all, he says, very politely, "Excuse me? You are a lucky man." Well, who doesn't like to hear that? If you stop, he'll give you a winning smile and continue: "Yes, you are a lucky man! [Here he might point to your 'third eye' in your forehead.] Do you know why? I will tell you...."

And here the scam varies. The one time we heard the guy out a couple of years ago -- the only time we've been approached by the scammer while walking out together -- he "read" Patrick's fortune by making a few guesses and asking targeted questions to figure out some obvious facts, e.g., Patrick is working in Bangkok, Patrick is happily married, etc. Then he told us that his brother owned a jewelry store, and that on that particular weekend, the Thai government was exempting jewelry sales to foreigners from normal taxes, in celebration of the King's birthday. If we wanted -- and here a tuk-tuk drove up on cue -- he could take us there right now and talk to his brother and get us a very special price. After all, shouldn't Patrick buy something lovely for his beautiful wife? Because when you buy jewels, you are not losing your fortune ... you always have your fortune with you ... and so on.

One hears other stories about the Lucky Man scammers being able to hypnotize their marks with swift patter, then conning them out of cash. We're not really sure how that happens. Other people report being pickpocketed while politely hearing out the scammer and not noticing their missing belongings until the scammer and his pals are long gone.

So the Lucky Man scammers are out again, and we're looking for ways to have some fun and turn their game around on them. If you have any ideas, please send them in the Comments!

All this being said, Patrick is a lucky man. Last week we got official confirmation from Washington that we'll be returning to Bangkok for one more two-year tour after our next home leave (which will probably take place this fall). That means that, barring some unforeseen calamity, we'll be assigned here through 2012 -- and that's no scam. We're very happy to have gotten this news and are really looking forward to three more years here.

2009: Our Best Travel Year Ever?

2009-12-27T10:59:00.011+07:00

This year has been so full of amazing travel experiences, we thought it deserved a retrospective of its own.

We kicked off the New Year with a trip to Phnom Penh, Cambodia to visit our friends Dan, Angela, Mary Lynn and Linda.

Amidst all the fun, we took time to visit the infamous Killing Fields and the site of Tuol Sleng Prison, whose former commandant has been on trial before a United Nations tribunal this year.

Later in January, Jennifer spent a week in Singapore for work.

In February Jennifer's dad and stepmother came to visit. We showed them all around Bangkok and took them to the Six Senses Hideaway resort in Hua Hin.

Then we flew with them to Nepal. We toured Kathmandu, where we stayed at the Dwarika's Hotel and trekked through the foothills of the Himalayas in Pokhara with the good people of Tiger Mountain Lodge.

Patrick stayed behind in Nepal for another ten days of work, and Jennifer went on to Indonesia and Singapore before the month was out.

In March, we both travelled to Vietnam for work, where we stayed at the legendary Sofitel Metropole, and Patrick went to Nepal once again.

We spent the Thai New Year in April in Khao Yai, about two-and-a-half hours' drive north of Bangkok. By doing so, we avoided some very violent political protests here in town.

Jennifer went back to Vietnam at the end of April.

In May, Patrick flew to Nepal twice and Vietnam once, meaning he spent about eight days at home that month.

We also made time for a quick weekend trip to Krabi, one of Thailand's many tropical paradises.

In June Jennifer travelled to the Philippines for a week.

July saw us take an amazing journey to Mongolia, the Land of Blue Sky. You've read about most of that trip here already, and the rest of the journey will be posted here soon (we promise!). When we returned, Jennifer went back to Indonesia for a few days.

August was the only month during which we did not travel!

At the beginning of September we took advantage of an amazing deal and spent a long weekend at the Four Seasons Resort in Chiang Mai, Thailand. We've stayed in some nice places, but this was truly one of the most spectacular. How many resorts have their own albino water buffalo?

In October Patrick took a trip to Danang, Vietnam to visit the site where the U.S. military stored dioxin -- Agent Orange -- during the war. The U.S. Congress has charged USAID with developing a strategy to clean up this site as part of our continued efforts to improve relations.

Jennifer travelled back to Indonesia for a week at the end of October.

In November Patrick went back to Nepal after a six-month pause. It was nice to have the break and see this incredible country with fresh eyes again.

Jennifer went back to Singapore and Indonesia in November, once again for work. There she had the opportunity to meet the 44th President of the United States of America, Barack Obama.

In December we spent a week in Phuket, Thailand after competing in the team relay of the Laguna Phuket Triathlon.

Patrick squeezed in one final trip to Vietnam for the year, and Jennifer managed to get back to the Philippines.

So, looking back, we count at least three Vacations of a Lifetime, four Weekends of a Lifetime, and a whole passel of Experiences of a Lifetime. It's hard to see how 2010 could top this year ... but that's not to say that we won't try!

Happy New Year!

Bureaucrats in Action!

2009-12-26T15:00:00.007+07:00

We came, we saw, we didn't embarrass ourselves.

On 6 December we participated in the 16th Laguna Phuket Triathlon on the beautiful tropical island of Phuket, Thailand. More than 900 individuals from 32 different countries and 51 three-person teams took part. This was the first time we'd done any sort of team event like this, and our first triathlon, too. All told, it went pretty well, if not quite as well as we'd hoped. Our team, USAID Bureaucrats in Action, finished 44th in a field of 51 teams with a total time of 4 hours, 18 minutes. Here's how it broke down:

Rob Friedman: 1.8 km (1.12 mi) swim in 39 minutes, 56 seconds

Rob got us off to a great start, placing 35th in a field of 51. He ran into the Andaman Sea, swam 1.18 km (0.73 mi), then ran up a short section of beach to swim another 620 meters (2,034 feet) in a freshwater lagoon. Unlike the two of us, he also had to deal with the chaos of a mass start, the risk of jellyfish, and the occasional foot in the face.

Rob's only embarrassment was his choice of swimwear. He was the only swimmer in a total field of more than 900 competitors wearing traditional American swim trunks, instead of something tight and revealing. We figure he might have been able to shave four or five minutes off his time if he'd gone with pink Speedos like the guy next to him.

Patrick Wilson: 55 km (33 mi) bike in 2 hours, 20 minutes, 50 seconds

Patrick had been hoping to finish under two hours, so he was pretty disappointed with this. He placed 48th in a field of 51. The bike leg was a lot tougher than he'd anticipated, with three serious hills on the course. (A more experienced triathlete told Patrick after the race that the bike course was "a bastard.")

Patrick rode an older steel touring bike weighing in at 40+ pounds -- this probably set us back the most. Some of the competitors were riding $8000, 14-pound carbon fiber wonders, but even the amateurs had 20-pound bikes with slick racing tires. When they saw Patrick's bike, their looks ranged from confusion to horror. "You're going to race with that?" asked the race mechanic during the pre-race inspection. "Wow ... impressive." After the race, the race director ran into Patrick and his bike and said, "I'll bet it was really tough with that bike -- you could've made it easier on yourself, you know."

As it turns out, Patrick's bike almost didn't make the race -- which would've meant that our whole team was out. The race mechanics overinflated his rear tire and didn't have a spare tube in the right size. Fortunately, Khun Phaitoon, who owns Thalang Bike shop nearby (see page 10), did. He saved the race for us overnight.

On the plus side, Patrick had promised himself that he'd smile throughout the race, greet the spectators and volunteers along the course, and encourage every rider who passed him (and the few he managed to pass, as well). He kept that promise and had a great time on his long ride.

Jennifer Collier Wilson : 12k (7.46 mi) run in 1 hour, 13 minutes, 21 seconds

Jennifer had a good race, despite the long wait and brutal tropical heat. She ran across dirt trails, pavement and grass to place 38th out of a field of 51. The heat took its toll on all of the runners. Jennifer slowed down once to chat with a fellow racer -- an Austrian from Hong Kong -- who was struggling through her first individual triathlon. What kept Jennifer going was knowing that Rob and Patrick had already done their part and that she now had to be the anchor for the team. When Jennifer crossed the finish line, the race announcer called out over the PA: "And now finishing is team USA ... ID!" Well, close enough.

We stuck around for a while after the race to watch some of the other competitors come in. Two of the individual triathletes really impressed us. One gentleman, 74 years old, was completing his 101st triathlon event. Even more amazing was the last racer of the day, a 76-year-old American named Bob. We were very happy to cheer him in to the finish line.

At the big awards banquet that evening, we sat with a Chinese family -- a young woman who had raced in the entire event, her younger brother, her parents and her aunt. They were very friendly and happy to chat with us. Jennifer asked the young woman if she was pleased with her results. The woman smiled slightly and nodded. "Yeah, it was OK." Then the medals ceremony started. We soon discovered that our tablemate was the fastest woman in the 18-24 age group -- for the second year in a row. She completed all three events in 3 hours, 19 minutes. She'll be racing in the 2010 Asian Games, an invitation-only event.

The two big winners of the day were Jan Frodeno, the fastest man, and Radka Vodickova, the fastest woman. Frodeno won the gold medal in triathlon at the Beijing Olympics in 2008 -- he set a new course record in Phuket. Czech athlete Vodickova's speech was the best of the night, though: "After many Singha beers and Italian wine ... they are in my brain. So, I just want to say that after all the triathlons I am doing, Phuket is the most beautiful!"

We spent the week after the race at the J.W. Marriott Resort & Spa in Phuket, thanks to the generosity of Patrick's parents. Lorena, Jennifer's sister-in-law, joined us for the week. Rob stayed with us for a couple of nights; Patrick's work teammate Craig came for four days with his wife Sarah and baby Henry; and Patrick's boss Tom and his wife Carol came down for the balance of the week. A grand time was had by all.

So we agree with Radka -- Phuket is "the most beautiful!" Check this space again around 28 November 2010. We may be racing again....

(And as always, the views expressed in this blog are entirely those of Patrick & Jennifer and do not represent the official opinions or policies of USAID or the U.S. Government. Pictures in this posting are courtesy of Rob Friedman and Craig Riegler. Thanks!)

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-25T07:44:00.002+07:00

With much love from Jennifer, Patrick and Sarawat!

"Triathlon" Means "Three Athletes," Right?

2009-11-28T17:10:00.002+07:00

We've been going non-stop at work since September and haven't been able to make the time to get back to the blog. So to relax the pace a bit, we've decided to enter a triathlon.

We'll be competing in the Laguna Phuket Triathlon on 6 December. It's a little longer than an Olympic triathlon but nowhere near as long as an Ironman: 1.8 kilometers (1.08 miles) of swimming, 55 kilometers (33 miles) of biking, and 12 kilometers (7.2 miles) of running. We've read that it's considered one of the best triathlons in the world -- "a race in Paradise." A number of professional athletes will be competing, including the gold medallist from last year's Olympics in Beijing.

Not being Olympic gold medallists ourselves, we're not crazy enough to try to do all three events individually. So, we're entering the race as a team with Rob, one of our work colleagues. It was all his idea, actually -- he's a big swimmer and was looking for a competition to keep him motivated. Rob will swim the first leg, Patrick will bike the second leg, and Jennifer will run the third leg.

We've been training since we came back from Mongolia. We have no illusions about our competitiveness, but as long as we can avoid embarrassing ourselves on race day, we'll be happy. Race day is the first day of a week-long vacation we'd already planned to take in Phuket, so training for the race has been a great way to keep ourselves focused on our next vacation.

Wish us luck!

The Land of Blue Sky, Part 4: Naadam

2009-08-29T17:23:00.017+07:00

A week after we arrived in Mongolia, we came back to Ulaanbaatar for a weekend to celebrate Mongolia's biggest festival of the year, Naadam. Naadam means "games" and refers to the "three virile sports" of wrestling, archery and horse racing.

Ariuntsetseg met us bright and early at the Bayangol Hotel on a chilly, overcast Saturday morning. The streets were packed with people ready for the three-day holiday as we made our way to Sükhbaatar Square. There the nine standards of the Mongols -- lances with long horsetail tassels -- were paraded around Government Palace and then marched down to the National Stadium for the opening ceremony of Naadam.

Ariuntsetseg got us to the stadium about an hour before the ceremony was to begin, so we were able to get good seats. Our section seemed to be the favorite of all the tour companies, as were surrounded by many, many foreign tourists. Still, the Naadam festival is definitely a Mongolian affair -- the stadium was packed with tens of thousands of people. It seemed to us that half the city had come out to watch the games.

The horsetail standards made their way into the stadium and took their place on the field. Throughout the weekend we would see athletes coming to pay their respects to the standards. An honor guard surrounded the standards at all times -- day and night. When it rained (as it did often that weekend), guards came out with special rain covers to keep the standards dry. It would have been easy to dismiss all of it as something put on for us tourists, but it was obvious that every Mongol took the matter very seriously.

The highlight of the opening ceremonies was the appearance of Chinggis Khaan, with his mother descending from the heavens (via zipline) to present him with a sword.

Famous athletes from previous Naadam competitions paraded around the stadium as the military band played. The President of Mongolia gave a brief speech. And then ... the games began.

We stayed in the stadium to watch the first couple of rounds of wrestling. The object of Mongolian wrestling is to get your opponent to touch the ground with a knee and elbow, or torso. Unlike other forms of wrestling, there is no time limit and no weight classes, which makes for some interesting matches. The wrestlers wear a tight, sleeved jacket called a jodag. The front is open to expose the wrestler’s chest -- supposedly dating back to a wrestling contest in which a wrestler defeated every opponent on the field, only to reveal that she was a woman. Wrestlers also wear tiny briefs called shuudag and traditional Mongolian leather boots, or gutul.

When wrestlers enter the field, they perform a dance that looks like an eagle in flight. The winning wrestler in a match helps his opponent up; the loser unties his jacket and ducks under the winner's arm. Then the winner repeats the eagle dance. Some wrestlers are only perfunctory dancers, but most of them take it very seriously.

Ariuntsetseg was amused at how engaged we were in the wrestling. We both like combat sports, and with so many matches going on simultaneously, it was easy to find interesting and exciting fights to watch.

We later made our way out of the stadium to the archery pavilion. Mongolian archery features the infamous Mongol bow, a recurved composite bow that was used to deadly effect by Mongol warriors for centuries. Today's bows are not as powerful, but a good archer is still highly respected.

The purpose is to hit a target of wicker baskets 75 meters (246 feet) away. Archers usually wear traditional Mongol clothing: the standard Mongol wool or silk robe called a deel, tied with a silk sash, over wool or silk pants and gutul. Archers also wear a traditional hat that may bear a badge showing their rank as competitors.

Women are also allowed to compete as archers. They seem to opt for fancier footwear.

Mongols also play games with shagai -- the anklebones of sheep. Shagai games were set up next to the archery pavilion. The most popular shagai game at Naadam is anklebone shooting, where players flick a rib bone of a sheep at a set of two or three anklebones set up in a target. Rib bones that miss the target are thrown back to the shooter, but those that hit are handled by each of the other shooters, who toss the bone into the air and then pass it down the line.

We spent most of the day on the stadium grounds. As it got colder and rainier, we decided to head back to the hotel and get some rest for the next day's event -- the horse races.

Horse races are the highlight of Naadam and are held on the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar. These are cross-country races of distances from 15 km (9.3 miles) to 30 km (18.6 miles), depending on the age of the horses running. The horses are trained for months beforehand to build their endurance. Like human marathon runners, the racing horses don't have a spare ounce of fat on them. Horse trainers judge the fitness of the horse by the quality of its sweat -- a "mud sweat" indicates a horse that cannot go the full distance, but a well-trained horse will have a sweat so clear that it can be drunk like water.

The jockeys are children. This was the first year that two new rules were implemented for Naadam: all jockeys had to wear a helmet and none could be younger than eight years old.

The race is about the horses, not the jockeys, so even a horse that loses its rider can still complete the race. Of course, the winning horse is celebrated with songs and the ritual sprinkling of mare's milk. People compete to touch the winning horse's sweat, which is lucky.

However, the last horse to complete each race is also celebrated. He is called the "full stomach" horse, and a special song is sung for him to wish him better luck in the races next year.

The races are held in the steppe about two hours' drive outside the city. Hundreds of cars joined us on the trip, and thousands of people covered the hills surrounding the finish line. A carefree, carnival atmosphere pervaded the scene, with children flying kites, mothers setting up picnic lunches, and men comparing the merits of various horse training techniques.

Because the races are so long, people wait along the finish line to see the last couple of kilometers. This race was for the two-year-olds, the youngest horses to race at Naadam. As the horses neared the finish line, thousands of spectators cheered them on. Chase vehicles with camera crews broadcast the race live on television.

However, the race did not end well for all of the competitors. This horse collapsed about a kilometer from the finish line. He never got up again. His jockey (in the pale blue jersey) stayed with him until the race organizers pulled him away. At least one or two horses die every year in the races.

Near the race grounds was an area called the Culture Naadam Nomad Arts Festival. It featured a series of tents and kiosks with displays on all aspects of traditional Mongolian culture, such as clothing, calligraphy, felt making, and the like. It was obviously set up more for tourists than for Mongols, but the Mongols still crowded each of the displays.

In the calligraphy tent we could hear an American woman trying to explain what she wanted written:

"'Culture of Nobility.' Can you write that for me? 'Cause that's what Mongolia is for me -- a culture of nobility. Nobility? You know what that means? 'Culture of Nobility'...."

Horse acrobats put on a show -- they had been at the opening ceremonies the day before, but we were much closer this time.

Horses were everywhere -- here we could see that Mongolia truly is still a horse culture. People used horses the way we would use bicycles or cars or even our own two feet. Teenaged girls gossiping ... on horseback. Teenaged boys cruising for chicks ... on horseback. Drunk guys causing trouble ... on horseback. It was a lot of fun to watch.

These two guys wanted to get into the Culture Naadam area. "What do you mean, no horses allowed?!"

That afternoon we drove back into the city to return to the stadium. As it turned out our tickets weren't good to get into the main stadium that day, so we wandered around the stalls and kiosks outside. It was a little like a state fair, with food and souvenirs. Of course, the people-watching was excellent.

A massive rainstorm blew in, so we ducked into a tent to eat khuushuur and drink salty milk tea, while watching the wrestling on television. It was one of our favorite moments of the trip.

That evening we watched the last two rounds of wrestling in our hotel room. The commentators all agreed that it had been a very successful Naadam festival -- in the 803rd year since the birth of the Great Mongolian State (roughly, the time when Chinggis Khaan became ... well, Chinggis Khaan).

Monday was still a holiday. We walked over to Sükhbaatar Square for the "Deeltei Mongol National Costumes Festival," a show of traditional clothing from all of the various ethnic groups in Mongolia.

Like so many of the other events around Naadam, we would've thought this was something for the tourists, but almost all of the people there were Mongols. Everyone came out for the show wearing their best.

Even this guy.

There was also a display of different gers, complete with price list -- sort of like a "Parade of Houses," except without the pushy real estate agents. We were sorely tempted by the hobbit-sized "Garden Ger."

It was neat to see how easily the gers are put together -- two men can assemble a small ger in less than an hour. After all, nomads need mobile housing.

So easy, even a child can do it!

Soon it was time to head back to the hotel and pack our bags for our evening flight. At 8:00pm we planned to be on a plane to the Gobi Desert.

The Land of Blue Sky, Part 3: In the Heartland of the Mongols

2009-08-09T08:52:00.036+07:00

Emerging from our tent to the sound of cuckoos after a great night's sleep, we took stock of our condition before beginning our third day in the Khan Khentii mountains.

Mongolia is much drier than Thailand, a function of both latitude and altitude. We had been steadily climbing for most of the previous day and were now more than 1,700 meters (5,500 feet) above sea level. We'd also been in the sun and wind for two full days. Our faces were chapped and the backs of our hands were sunburnt, down to the middle knuckles of our fingers, creating an interesting two-tone effect.

Nomads Tours had provided us with Australian stock saddles instead of traditional Mongolian wooden saddles. While they provided a secure seat, they also had all sorts of seemingly extraneous stitching and detailing that was now etched in bruises along our legs. Our backs were sore and our ankles were tired, but what really hurt were our knees.

Tim Severin, in his book In Search of Genghis Khan: An Exhilarating Journey on Horseback across the Steppes of Mongolia, describes the gait of the Mongolian horse as "flat, jarring, and ruthlessly hammering." Tim Cahill, in a fascinating article for Outside magazine, explained it this way:

Our horses settled into a short, hammering trot, which is the gait favored by Mongol riders who want to make time. Mongol herdsmen churn butter by strapping a jug of milk to the saddle and trotting for ten minutes. This is the truth. I had a bottle of aspirin in my saddle kit, and it had long ago been reduced to powder. Every night, as I tried to massage whatever it was that was sore and measured out my dose of powdered aspirin, I thought about this: Mongols have a reputation as the best horsemen on earth, while their horses have what must be the world's most punishing gait. It was, I concluded, the nature of the land itself -- swampy, studded with grassy hummocks and pocked with marmot holes -- that produced this jackhammer trot. The horses knew the land, and they made their way over it in a jouncing, weaving sort of way. The short punishing gait -- I wasn't the only American who called it the Mongolian Death Trot -- fit the terrain perfectly. A horse that extended, that stretched out his trot or gallop, was a horse that was going to break a leg, which is to say it was a dead horse. Mongolia is a harsh land, and only the fittest survive.

While much of our riding was done at a walk, we'd spent a lot of time at the Mongolian Death Trot over the previous two days. Jennifer, in particular, was becoming a master, because Caramel didn't like to canter. While the rest of us picked up an easy lope, he would just trot faster. The Mongolian equivalent of "giddyup" is "tchoo," so while Patrick was far ahead of the rest of the herd, he could often hear Jennifer faintly behind him, sounding like the Little Engine That Could:

"Tchoo! Tchoo! Tchoo, dammit!"

Since we didn't have to move camp, we could take the horses out to explore the area. Batsaihan stayed behind to look after the camp and work on lunch. Ariuntsetseg, Altanhoyeg, and Dolgoon rode with us, past the tourist camp and into a wide valley. Over the next couple of hours the terrain changed constantly -- from fir and birch forest to rolling grassland and rocky hills, from marshland threaded with streams to dry scrubland spotted with bushes.

As we soon found out, Dolgoon was not an experienced rider. Jennifer kept him company for much of the ride. At one point, Dolgoon said, "Jennifer? What does it mean -- 'butterflies in stomach?'"

"Well," said Jennifer, "you know when you are a little bit frightened or nervous and your stomach feels a little bit sick?"

"Yes."

"That's butterflies in your stomach," Jennifer said. "Or sometimes you might say this when you are in love."

"Oh."

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Dolgoon snickered. "Many."

Meanwhile, Altanhoyeg and Patrick raced again. This time, when Patrick heard Altanhoyeg pick up the canter, he was determined to get an early lead and keep it. He stayed ahead of Altanhoyeg for a while ... until Altanhoyeg's horse found that extra gear again and beat Rusty by four lengths.

We ended our ride in a forested glade next to a ruined monastery. The Ginhjin Sum, or Princess Temple, was built by a Mongol ruler in 1740 in honor of his wife. She had been the daughter of a Manchu king, who had hoped his daughter would spy for him on the Mongols. To her credit, she was faithful to her husband and her adopted country. Her father ordered her death, and she was poisoned by Manchu soldiers.

The monastery was active until the Communist purges of the 1930s, when it was partially demolished. Even though it is now abandoned, locals still come to offer prayer scarves and other offerings at the temple.

Ariuntsetseg told us that some people had discovered gold and jewels on the site, but as soon as they touched the treasure, it turned to dust. A lesson more rooted in Buddhism than physics, perhaps, but useful nonetheless.

Our ride back was plagued with flies. Everyone was annoyed by the horseflies, which bit horse and human alike. Towards the end of the ride our group took up a fast canter to the tourist camp, and this time even Caramel joined in the fun.

It was Jennifer's favorite ride of the whole trip -- beautiful and varied scenery, good conversation, and a horse that finally decided to run! We were back at our campsite by noon, just in time for lunch.

While eating, Patrick tried to get an insight into Mongol riding techniques from Altanhoyeg. "Every time we race, you always win," he said. "If I try to catch you, you go faster. If I try to stay ahead, you pass me. No matter what I do, I can't beat you. How do you win?"

Altanhoyeg shrugged. "Crazy horse."

That afternoon we hiked around the area and saw more travelers arrive (by SUV) at the tourist camp. A staff member carried two lambs toward one of the staff gers. "Dinner," Patrick joked.

Ariuntsetseg told us that we could pay $5 per person to use the showers and sauna at the tourist camp. We scoffed at first -- we were living the Mongolian nomadic life, what need had we of such effete comforts? -- but then we realized that the truly Mongol attitude was to take what you could from the soft city-dwellers and leave the rest to the vultures ... or something like that. So we bundled up our cleanest clothes and trekked over for our first shower in three long, dirty days.

(We did refrain, however, from seizing their livestock and burning their camp to the ground.)

That evening Batsaihan had our dinner ready early, because the tourist camp had no cook on site that night. He had agreed to help them out and make dinner for the new arrivals. The menu? Lamb.

We discussed politics and tourism with Ariuntsetseg, Dolgoon and Altanhoyeg. Ariuntsetseg told us that her favorite tourists are Americans (who are "easy to understand," that is, not complicated), Brits and Germans. The Mongols were suspicious of the Chinese -- but of course, they don't have the best history as neighbors.

After dinner, we took a walk around to get away from the maddening flies and enjoy the peace and quiet of the Mongolian heartland.

Rain moved in overnight. Warm rice pudding helped ease us into a cold, wet, miserable morning. The rain varied from a steady downpour to a creeping, insidious mist that seeped into everything.

We packed up camp in the rain, mounted our sopping horses, and prepared to move out. Just as we started to ride, the rain let up. We encountered a group of riders from the nearby tourist camp, timidly walking their horses along the dirt road. We trotted casually past, but as soon as we were clear our horses were ready to move -- all, even Caramel, broke into a canter and left our neighbors far behind.

The fresh air after the rain, coupled with the previous afternoon's rest, had everyone feeling frisky. Altanhoyeg showed his hands, black with mud, and mimed wiping a runny nose to leave behind a mud mustache. Patrick told Altanhoyeg that he could spread the mud all over his face to have the beard he wanted.

"Then water and sunshine, and it will grow." Patrick said. "Then come the flowers."

All the horses were moving well and we made excellent time. Sun and clouds alternated above us and a steady breeze kept us cool. We stopped for a picnic lunch by a small stream, and Batsaihan surprised us all with khuushuur, a fried pie that is the typical food for the Naadam festival. Everyone was in great spirits.

We'd been riding for about two-and-a-half hours at this point and still had about three hours' riding to do. We were surrounded by incredibly beautiful landscapes, with chipmunks scurrying underfoot and cranes flying overhead. Later in the afternoon we encountered a stupa and rode around it clockwise, thanking whoever might be listening for such a wonderful journey. Caramel couldn't see the point of going around it three full times and simply stopped, but Ariuntsetseg assured Jennifer that once was enough.

Altanhoyeg and Patrick had one final race -- with Batsaihan joining them this time -- tearing across the steppe in a wild gallop. This time, Patrick just gave Rusty his head, allowing him to choose his own path through the marmot holes and ditches.

Rusty stretched out into the fastest gait Patrick has ever tried to ride. Altanhoyeg and Batsaihan cut loose with a couple of yelping Mongol shouts, and Patrick added his own "Yeee-haaa!" as they charged along. It was terrifying, exhilarating, and exactly what Patrick had been dreaming of doing since he started riding some 20 years ago.

(By the way, Patrick lost. Again. But by only two lengths this time.)

We made it to our final campsite in the late afternoon. We were in a relatively more crowded part of the valley; we'd passed several herds of horses, sheep, goats and cows, with gers dotting in the landscape.

We pitched our tent by what turned out to be the local watering spot, so we were visited by all sorts of livestock. Yaks invaded our campsite at dusk.

This boy -- who couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old -- was herding his family's goats when he came to water his horse.

Altanhoyeg and Batsaihan took off after dinner, so we taught Dolgoon and Ariuntsetseg how to play hearts. We had a fantastic time -- everyone had the giggles. Jennifer was the big winner of the night, and her prize was fresh tarak, or yak yogurt, that a local herdsman had promised to bring by in the morning.

The next day we had a leisurely breakfast, complete with the yak yogurt, which was a little like thin cottage cheese. Then we mounted up for one last ride. Altanhoyeg agreed to take one of our cameras to get some pictures. We passed an elaborate complex of ovoos and altars used by local shamans.

We then rode up a nearby hill -- straight up. It didn't seem that steep or high from a distance, but by the time we got to the top, we could see almost the entire valley stretched out before us.

Just before the end of what we knew would be our last ride in the heartland of the Mongols, we did yet one more thing we had never done before: we herded goats from horseback. Two local kids were trying to separate their family's herd from another's family's, and move them to a new pasture. The boy called out to Altanhoyeg for some help.

We followed him and quickly realized that we were in the middle of a round-up. Eventually we got them all where they were supposed to be -- it was a lot of fun.

Our time in the mountains was rapidly coming to a close. The UAZ arrived, so we started packing up, while local herdsmen came by to discuss the news and preparations for the Naadam festival.

We said our goodbyes to the horses with some sadness and a determination to go horse trekking again if we ever get the chance. Patrick was able to live out his cowboy fantasies (and he didn't even need a six-shooter!), while Jennifer realized she could relax and enjoy a good ride through the countryside (just as long as there aren't too many steep hills to climb).

We had time for one last group picture of the crew before Altanhoyeg mounted his horse, gathered the other four with one hand, and took off.

Then it was back to Ulaanbaatar. On our way out, we encountered a car that had tried to cross a stream and had flooded its engine. The mighty UAZ had no difficulty in pulling it out and across another river, even when water began to spill into our vehicle and lap around our feet.

A little more than two hours later, we were back in cool, rainy Ulaanbaatar. We bid farewell to Dolgoon and Batsaihan, made arrangements to meet Ariuntsetseg in the morning, and checked back into the Hotel Bayangol to start the next part of our journey: the great festival of Naadam.

The Land of Blue Sky, Part 2: Into the Mountains

2009-07-31T21:43:00.057+07:00

The next part of our Mongolian journey took us to the Gorkhi-Terelj National Park, about two hours' drive northeast of Ulaanbaatar. We were met at our hotel by Ariuntsetseg and two men in a Russian four-wheel-drive minibus called a UAZ. We loaded our backpacks into the bus and took off for the mountains.

As we left the heart of Ulaanbaatar and got into the outskirts of the city, we could see Mongolia's past and future, side by side. New apartment complexes were being built next to "suburbs" consisting of dozens of gers, the felt-walled tents that Mongols have used since before the days of Chinggis Khaan.

Our drive took us into the mountains and across several rivers, including the Tuul, the main river into Ulaanbaatar.

Our first stop, about 90 minutes into our drive, was at Turtle Rock. In the lower right of this picture you can barely see Ariuntsetseg and a young boy with a horse, who moments earlier rode up to Patrick and said, "Murindoo!" [Let's ride!] Closer to the center of the picture is an ovoo, a ritual mound of stones used in shamanistic worship, much like a Buddhist stupa. We added our own stones to the mound and walked around it clockwise three times to ask the spirits' blessing for our journey.

Turtle Rock was also our last opportunity to use a flush toilet for the next five days, so we enjoyed that last bit of luxury and proceeded on.

Soon our UAZ left the paved roads and moved onto dirt roads, which became goat tracks shortly thereafter. We lurched along for a while, then drove across multiple creeks and a significant stretch of river that was swollen with rain from the previous week. The water was easily knee-deep and the banks steep and muddy, but our driver expertly navigated the UAZ across every obstacle. This was the first -- but certainly not the last! -- time in our trip that saw us look at each other and wonder whether we'd stepped into an Indiana Jones movie.

We drove into the small village of Terelj, which was enjoying a small festival, and met the rest of our crew -- our horse guide, our ox cart driver, our ox and our horses.

Here we learned that the second man in the UAZ was to be our cook for the week. This meant that the two of us would have no less than four people looking after us. Nomads Tours accepts up to twelve people on trips like this, but we were the only two to sign up.

Part of the festival in Terelj included horse races in preparation for the big races at the Naadam festival the following weekend. The horses were all young -- between two and five years old -- as were the jockeys, most of whom were under ten years of age. Mongolian horse races are long, sometimes up to 20 or 30 kilometers (12-18 miles), and always cross-country. The girl in the first picture was easily ten minutes behind the winning horse, but she was screaming her lungs out for the last two kilometers of the race, urging her horse to finish with spirit.

We later found out that our horse guide had trained several horses for the race. One of his horses placed fifth, another ninth, in a field of sixty.

By the time the races were over, the ox cart was loaded. The horse guide, a wiry, weathered man with an incredibly strong grip, asked about our experience with horses. Based on what we told him through Ariuntsetseg, who interpreted for us, he gave a calm, gentle horse to Jennifer and a "very strong, very fast" one to Patrick. We were duly introduced, mounted up and headed off:

Mongolian horses are much smaller than the horses we see in the U.S., but they are tough. Extremely tough. For example: Mongols leave their horses outside all winter. In January and February the average temperature is around -20 degrees Celsius (-4 Fahrenheit), with lows often reaching -40C (-40F). They scrape away ice and snow with their hooves to find grass to eat. So we were definitely respectful of our scrawny little mounts.

We asked whether Mongols named their horses -- they don't, really, but they do identify them by color. John Man, in Genghis Khan: Life, Death and Resurrection, claims that Mongols have 169 different color designations for horses, from light bay to grey (for example, "elegant-while-running-from-a-far-place light bay"). So to follow suit, Jennifer named her horse "Caramel" and Patrick called his "Rusty."

Rusty liked to be in the lead, so Patrick often ended up riding at the head of the group with the horse guide. The horse guide wanted to Patrick to know that he'd given him a fast horse. After about half-an-hour's riding, the horse guide spurred his horse into a canter. Patrick followed suit and kept up … until the horse guide went to a full gallop. Again Patrick followed him, until they were both charging along, side by side. Patrick had never ridden a horse that fast before, especially across open ground pocked with stones and marmot holes. The horse guide looked over at Patrick with a keen, appraising eye as they rode. Finally, as they slowed back to a trot, he said:

"Tomorrow … we race. You and me."

After a couple of hours' ride we were already at our first campsite. It was the most beautiful campsite either of us had ever seen -- a lovely flat riverbank, screened from the wind by trees, with a low range of hills rising from the other side of the river. Astonishing.

We had a dip in the cold, fast-moving river and wandered around to take in the landscape. Ducks and kites flew overhead while grasshoppers buzzed around our feet. A nearby ger had a pen full of curious calves.

When we returned to camp, we sat down for tea with our whole crew and got to know each other a bit. One of the first things we discovered was that everyone understood more English than we realized. The ox cart driver, Dolgoon (which means "gentle"), was a 20-year-old on summer break from school, where he is studying to be a computer programmer. He was eager to practice his English in preparation for the Test of English as a Foreign Language (TOEFL), the world standard for English proficiency. His favorite basketball player is LaBron James. He was a bit bashful about being the ox cart driver, but he had a sense of humor about it, too. We agreed to name the ox "BMW."

Our cook, Batsaihan ("strong and kind"), was a very quiet guy. Happy to be with the crew, but also happy to stay in the background. He blushed every time we told him how much we liked the food. We would soon learn that he was indefatigable -- the hardest working person in the entire group.

Ariuntsetseg ("pure flower") has been working with Nomads for many years, but this was also a summer job for her -- she's a secondary school teacher of English, married and a mother of one child. She had worked with our horse guide once before, several years earlier. Her English was excellent and she patiently and cheerfully answered every single question we asked.

Our horse guide was named Altanhoyeg. We soon learned he was a man of great humor and strong opinions. He was constantly cracking wise in Mongolian, which got the other three Mongols in the group laughing, often uproariously. As we talked about our travels in Southeast Asia, he said (in a mixture of English and Mongolian), "Thai, Japanese, Chinese, Cambodian … they are not proud. Always bowing and smiling [here he simpered and cringed mockingly]. I am Mongol -- I do not bow!"

We tried to explain that people from these countries are proud, but that smiling and bowing is a form of politeness in their culture. He scoffed.

"What meat do they eat?"

"Mostly chicken and pork," we said. "And fish and shrimp."

He threw his head back. "Ha! Then I can beat them!"

He was a Mongol straight out of the storybooks -- rugged, proud, solitary, and a brilliant horseman. And get this: Altanhoyeg means "golden armor." As Tim Wu wrote in his excellent series on Mongolia at Slate.com, Mongolia "is like a country of Daniel Craig impersonators … it's probably the most macho place I've ever been."

All of the depictions of Chinggis Khaan and his horde in the media (including every other commercial on Mongolian TV) show big, beefy guys, and there are certainly plenty of those in Mongolia. But Patrick thinks that many of the Great Khaan's warriors were more like Altanhoyeg: lean, rangy types that could truly be described -- to quote a Persian chronicle -- as "ravenous wolves."

There was one thing that truly impressed Altanhoyeg: Patrick's beard. While Jennifer was off bathing in the river, he pointed at Patrick's face. "How do you do this? I try long time! Five days -- nothing!"

It was true -- he had a little stubble on his upper lip, but that was it.

Altanhoyeg stroked his bare chin and smiled. "Oh, yes -- I like this. You show me how."

"Well," Patrick said, "you teach me to ride like a Mongol, and maybe I can teach you to grow a beard."

(One impossible wish deserves another, after all.)

Our first meal was a lovely surprise, as we realized just how well we would eat during our trip. Every meal had three courses -- a soup course, a main course, and a dessert course. The cook had brought along a cured side of beef and a big bag of potatoes, carrots and onions, so pretty much every meal featured those ingredients in one form or another. He also had canned fruit, UHT milk, cookies, juice, tea and instant coffee … definitely a step up from the freeze-dried meals-in-a-bag we usually eat on camping trips!

As we finished our meal, a beautiful full moon rose over the river.

The first night in a tent is always a little difficult, so we didn't sleep so well our first night out. The horses and ox were tethered right outside our tents, so we were treated to a chorus of snorts, nickers, grumbles and whinnys all night long.

The next morning, we packed up in the rain and mounted our horses for one of our longest rides of the tour. Jennifer was already comfortable with Caramel -- Patrick was very impressed with her confidence and patience.

We rode north along the valley for three hours. The day was hot and the air was still, so it was a long, slow morning. We passed a number of gers and herds of sheep, goats and horses. Summer is the time for flocks to fatten up, so they were all busily grazing on the grass of the open valley. The whole morning featured vista after vista, with the valley opening up to gentle, grassy hills on our right and rocky slopes to our left, with the river meandering through trees and bushes on its banks.

As promised, Altanhoyeg and Patrick had their first race -- which started when Altanhoyeg cantered past Patrick and whispered, "Go." Patrick and Rusty caught up to Altanhoyeg, and ran neck and neck with him for a bit, but Altanhoyeg took his horse to a wild, flying gallop that Patrick just couldn't match. Altanhoyeg won by three lengths. At the end, he just looked back at Patrick. No smile, no comment -- just a look. His people have been riding for centuries.

For lunch we stopped at a ger. Altanhoyeg rode ahead and asked permission, which was granted with typical nomadic hospitality. While the cook cooked lunch and Altanhoyeg and Dolgoon worked on tightening a loose hub on the ox cart, we sat in the ger with Ariuntsetseg, where we were served warm, salty milk tea, dried curds and fresh cream. We'd heard terrible things about the food in Mongolia, including the salty milk tea. To our relief, we found that we really liked it. The cream was out of this world -- like egg custard or buttery whipped cream. The salty, chalky curds weren't our favorite, but since they were the delivery system for the fresh cream, we were happy to eat them.

Hanging in the ger was the lead rope, which is sacred. This family also had a khadag, a blue silk prayer scarf, tied to the roof of their ger.

After lunch, we were invited to have a nap in the ger while the crew repacked the ox cart.

We bid farewell to the nomad family, leaving gifts we'd brought from Thailand: a big bag of dried mangoes and some stuffed elephant toys for the girls.

Our course turned to the northwest, and with the change in the direction came a cool headwind, which blew the flies away. The horses quickened their pace and everyone was in a great mood. As we crossed stream after stream, Altanhoyeg sang a tune that sounded like "Wayfaring Stranger" in Mongolian.

We made it to our next campsite a little over two hours later. Dolgoon and BMW arrived about an hour after we did, with Dolgoon leading BMW on foot. "You walk slower than that ox!" yelled Altanhoyeg in Mongolian.

We were on a low ridge above a wooded creek, with hills behind us and a tourist ger camp a little distance away.

After we set up our tent, we went wandering in the hills, where we found purple coneflower (Echinacea), hibiscus, and wild rhubarb.

We also found flies. Altanhoyeg and Ariuntsetseg had warned us that the flies would be bad at this campsite, which was to be our home for the next two nights. The crew lit a few horse and ox patties on fire -- dung smoke does a great job of driving the flies away, and it doesn't smell too bad.

Ariuntsetseg busied herself by telling fortunes with the aid of a ring and a length of string. She claimed 100% accuracy with her method. Meanwhile, Batsaihan was busy with dinner.

Having worked on a horse farm for three years in college, Patrick was impressed by Altanhoyeg's care of the horses. He simply unsaddled them, watered them at the creek, and then just turned them out to graze. No elaborate brushing down or fancy horse feed -- just a roll in the dirt and fresh, green grass.

Ariuntsetseg made sure that they were tethered a good distance away from the tents, in the hopes that we all would sleep a little better. BMW the ox stayed close to our tent, but we didn't mind. His grunts reverberating through our tent reminded us of our adventure as we fell into a hard, welcome sleep.

Drive-By Blessings and Paparazzi Prostitutes

2009-07-29T09:05:00.002+07:00

We spend almost ten hours a week walking the dog on the streets of Bangkok. So we get to see a lot of … interesting stuff.

Recently we were walking in our neighborhood when we were gently splashed from behind. We turned our heads to see a pickup truck drive past. Sitting in the back was an elderly Buddhist monk with a bowl of holy water and a mischievous grin. He giggled and waved as they drove off, leaving us to contemplate the karma of drive-by blessings.

Even more recently we walked out of our apartment building at 6:00am and got no more than 50 feet down the street before we heard:

"Oh! Oooh-ooh!" [excited foreign language, followed by kissy-kissy noises]

We live between the Playboy and Penthouse hotels, so you'd think we'd be used to hearing this sort of thing. As it turns out, though, it was directed at us. And by "us," we mean Sarawat.

Across the street, walking in our direction, came two vaguely Eastern European-looking women, wearing alarmingly heavy makeup and alarmingly tight clothing. We nodded, smiled, and started to move on, but then we heard:

"Excuse me? What is name?"

We stopped again. "Sarawat," Patrick said.

"Oh, Sarawat! Sarawat, Sarawat! Sarawat, Sarawat, Sarawat!"

Eventually they came across the street to pet the dog and pose for a few mobile phone pictures with her. It was fun, but also a little sad. We're sure those women don't really enjoy what they do, and maybe seeing our little white dog after a long night was just what they needed.

The Land of Blue Sky, Part 1: Ulaanbaatar

2009-07-25T11:50:00.023+07:00

We’re finally ready to start trying to describe our amazing two-week trip to Mongolia.

Some of you may be asking, "Why Mongolia?" In fact, some of you did ask. Our Mongolia obsession started with our trip to Beijing in August-September 2001. There was a Mongolian restaurant in our hotel. One night we went there for dinner and were the only customers, so our waiter -- a Mongol who had moved to Beijing -- gave us lots of attention. We got to talking (as best you can when neither of you speaks the other's language) and slowly became fascinated with the idea of visiting Mongolia.

The next summer we watched a BBC series called Edge of Blue Heaven in which explorer Benedict Allen crossed the length and breadth of Mongolia by horse, camel and his own two feet. That sealed the deal. Every once in a while we'd refresh our Mongolia obsession with documentaries about the Mongol horde or movies like The Story of the Weeping Camel. Now all we had to do was figure out how to get there.

Last fall we saw a program that featured Julia Roberts living with a nomadic family in Mongolia for two weeks. It was a great program, and we watched the credits carefully to note down the companies that helped her organize the trip. The most prominent name was Nomads Tours and Expeditions. We contacted Nomads last April to inquire about tours, looked at our household budget, and booked our trip.

So, almost eight years after that dinner in the Sino-Swiss Hotel, we made it.

On 3 July we flew from Bangkok to Ulaanbaatar through Beijing. The Chinese authorities are taking every possible precaution against people bringing H1N1 influenza into China. We were individually scanned with forehead heat sensors while still on the plane, then walked through a quarantine line and full-body scanned before we could finally pass through to our transit terminal. While on the airport shuttle bus to the next terminal for our flight to Mongolia, we were surprised to see the Sino-Swiss Hotel and the little grassy area where we jogged in the last few days before our half-marathon on the Great Wall in 2001! A nice omen to start our trip.

After that five-hour layover, a three-hour flight on Mongolian Airlines got us into Ulaanbaatar around midnight. We grabbed our backpacks -- each carefully loaded to weigh less than 20 kilos (44 pounds), as instructed by Nomads -- and met our tour guide, Ariuntsetseg. She was charming from the start: "Oh, you are young and energetic, so I think we will be able to complete our trip successfully!"

The next morning, we stepped out of the Bayangol Hotel, an old Communist-era hotel with clean sheets and friendly service, and began our explorations of Ulaanbaatar. Our tour with Nomads didn’t start until the next day, so we were on our own. The day was cool (around 15C/60F), windy and overcast -- a definite change from heat and humidity of Bangkok! Ulaanbaatar is also about 1,310 meters (4,300 feet) above sea level, which makes it one of the highest capital cities in the world.

This is Sükhbaatar Square, the heart of Ulaanbaatar. At the center is a statue of Damdin Sükhbaatar, a serf-turned-military hero who helped liberate Mongolia from Chinese domination and Buddhist theocracy, with Soviet help. In 1921, Mongolia became the world’s second Communist country.

Like Tienanmen Square in Beijing or Red Square in Moscow, Sükhbaatar Square is great for families, amateur artists trying to sell their wares, and young couples out to enjoy the day.

The other dominant feature of the square is the Government Palace, where the Mongolian parliament -- the State Great Khural -- sits. Also sitting there, in case you haven't noticed, is the Great Khaan himself, Chinggis.

This statue, as well as the statues of Khubilai Khaan, Ogedei Khaan, and two of Chinggis's generals, was added to Government Palace during a renovation in 2005-2006.

After roaming around this part of the city for a while, we went to the State Department Store. Before Mongolia's democratic revolution in 1990, the State Department Store was Mongolia's equivalent of Beijing's Friendship Store -- a state-owned and -run enterprise. It’s now in private hands and serves as one of the main department stores for the people of Ulaanbaatar. The fifth floor specializes in Mongolian handicrafts and souvenirs, so we spent some time checking those out.

Mongolia is famous for its cashmere, wool, fur and felt products. The capital is full of interesting shops with all manner of sweaters, jackets, hats, slippers ... if you can make it from hair that used to be on a sheep, goat, camel or yak (or fox, or wolf, or sable, or ...), they've done it.

Mongolia also has a great art scene (more on this later), so we browsed through a few art galleries. At the Xanadu Art Café we saw several large-format paintings by an artist we particularly liked. We got his name -- E. Naidandorj -- and telephone number from the gallery and promised ourselves that we’d give him a call when we came back to the capital the next weekend.

That evening we had dinner at Los Bandidos, a Mexican-Indian restaurant. Our friend Molly had eaten there several years earlier and recommended it to us as a unique experience. After all, how many people do you know who have eaten at a Mexican-Indian restaurant in Ulaanbaatar? Our chicken fajitas tasted oddly like chicken tikka, but that’s all right. Happy Fourth of July!

The next day Ariuntsetseg met us at the hotel for a day of sightseeing. Our first stop was the Gandantegchinlen Monastery, a Tibetan-style Buddhist monastery.

The Communist revolution in the early 20th century overthrew a theocratic system in which Buddhist lamas and their dependents held most of the property and political power. Once the Communists tightened their hold on Mongolia, Buddhism was harshly repressed and thousands of monks were killed. Since the 1990 democratic revolution, Buddhism has once again begun to flourish in Mongolia. Some of the lamas at Gandantegchinlen were active in the democratic movement, and Ariuntsetseg told us that the monastery itself is seen as "a symbol of freedom and democracy."

We bought some juniper incense and drank some juniper tea at the temple to serve as a blessing for our time in Mongolia.

Our next stop was the Winter and Summer Palaces of the eighth Bogd Khaan. He was the emperor of Mongolia from the early 20th century until the Communist revolution, when he became a figurehead. Once he died, the Communists had sole power over Mongolia.

We don't have our own pictures from this area because there was a $10 charge to take photos, but Wikipedia has lots of good pictures. We've borrowed a couple of them here (thanks, Brücke-Osteuropa!). The Summer Palace was full of Tibetan Buddhist iconography, and Patrick had a good time spotting similarities and differences with the Tibetan Buddhist temples he knows in Nepal. The Winter Palace was built around the same time that our house in Asheville was.

While we don’t have musical chairs from Czar Nicolas II (when you sit on them, they play music) or a ger covered in leopard skin, we still like our little place in Asheville better.

Our next stop of the morning was the Zanabazar Museum of Fine Arts, featuring Mongolian art from ancient pictograms to modern impressionists. Here we learned about Zanabazar, the ruler, holy man and artist who created the Soyombo, the national symbol that adorns the Mongolian flag.

We also saw one of Mongolia's most famous paintings, "One Day in Mongolia," painted by B. Sharav. Sharav was famous for his sense of humor -- in the painting you can see naked men chasing sheep, curious camels investigating the secrets of amorous couples, and the unfortunate aftereffects of drinking too much fermented mare's milk.

The Museum has a gallery selling modern art; we asked the curator if she'd ever heard of Naidandorj, the artist we liked at the Xanadu Art Café. She knew him, she said, and would try to give him a call on our behalf.

After lunch, Ariuntsetseg turned us loose for a free afternoon while she got things prepared for the next part of our trip. The day was much warmer and sunnier, so we had a couple of milkshakes on the terrace at the Grand Khaan Irish Pub near our hotel and did some great people-watching.

That evening we met Ariuntsetseg for dinner at the tourist-oriented Modern Nomads restaurant (motto, from a Mongol proverb: "Meat is for men, grass is for animals"). We also met Naidandorj, the artist! He was much younger than we'd expected. He brought his portfolio with him, a collection of snapshots of his paintings. His work draws on the subjects, colors and composition of Mongolian traditional art and blends it with the clean modern lines of Japanese anime. There were so many paintings we liked, and we inquired about two of them. He agreed to meet us the next weekend to show us those two in person.

After Naidandorj left, the three of us dove into our khorkhog, mutton stewed with vegetables and cooked by means of hot stones. Ariuntsetseg then told us about the next part of our journey, a five-day horse trek through the Khan Khentii mountains. Jennifer was excited, but also a bit nervous, about the prospect of riding a horse she'd never met through the Mongolian wilderness. Ariuntsetseg tried to reassure her, but didn’t quite succeed:

"The horses ... they know. They know."

* A note on names. Mongolian is written in both the Mongolian and Cyrillic alphabets. Transliterations into the Roman alphabet and into English phonetics vary. We’re using the system that most academics who specialize in Mongolia seem to prefer, and that (from our experience) more accurately reflects local speech. So, for example, "Genghis Khan" becomes "Chinggis Khaan" in this system.

A Note on Pictures

2009-07-24T16:45:00.001+07:00

Since we have a number of picture-heavy posts coming up, here's a brief note on pictures at the Wilson Odyssey.

Last summer we noticed that sometimes our photos don't always show up as large as we'd like them to, so we've increased the size of the base files for new posts this year. Remember that you can always click on pictures to see them at full size -- which may mean that you'll have to adjust the settings on your browser if you want to see the whole picture on screen. We upload at a moderate resolution, which is probably not good enough for nice prints on paper, but hopefully good enough for everyone to see detail.

If you have any feedback you'd like to share, please let us know in the Comments!

A Visit from Hillary

2009-07-22T19:35:00.009+07:00

The Secretary of State passed through this morning on her way to Phuket to attend a foreign ministers' meeting of the Association of South East Asian Nations (ASEAN), so a few of us went over to listen to her speech to the Embassy community. The speech was only about ten minutes long, but she mentioned USAID three times, State Department twice, and Defence once. We thought that was a pretty good sign.

Update: In Phuket, Secretary Clinton announced, "We [the Obama Administration] have asked Congress for a sevenfold increase in our USAID climate change funding for this region and plan to launch a new regional climate change initiative to support research and boost investment in innovative climate change development solutions for Asia and Southeast Asia." That will all be in our offices here in Bangkok, so if Congress funds the Administration's request, it sounds like we'll have some exciting new work to do over the next few years.

Further Update: Just to be clear, we don't mean to denigrate our colleagues at State and Defence. It's just that USAID is so much smaller than those two departments, so it's nice to get a little love from the Secretary of State in a speech delivered to one of the largest U.S. Embassies in the world.

Further Further Update: We have it on very good authority that during her meetings at the ASEAN foreign ministers' summit in Phuket, the Secretary mentioned one of Jennifer's programs by name, and several of the ministers from other attending countries spoke highly of it, as well. It's called the ASEAN Development Vision to Advance National Cooperation and Economic Integration, or ADVANCE. So, between the visit of President Bush and the First Lady last August, when they spent a lot of time with USAID in Bangkok, and the Secretary of State's visit this week, we're feeling a lot of love from Washington here at USAID/RDMA.

Disclaimer: As always, Patrick and Jennifer's views are their own and do not reflect the official opinions or policies of USAID or the U.S. Government.