i was robbed and pooped my pants in koh phi phi

You'll notice that this story is bereft of pictures. That's because my camera was stolen. Along with my passport, cash, credit cards, and my new friend's pants. But now I'm getting ahead of myself.

I landed on the island of Patong, Thailand a few days after Christmas. I suffered 24 miserable hours in that squalid city. I had to search for Thai food amongst the tourist traps, and the best I found was in a food court in the basement of a shopping mall. I ordered pad kee mao, or drunken noodles, and a fruit smoothie. The noodles were bland, and I threw them out. I slurped down my smoothie - it was refreshing, and I was glad I'd ordered it.

I tried to find a spot on the beach to drop my blanket and then my jaw at the turquoise water, but before I had a chance to sit down, I was asked to leave: that area is for customers who want to rent a beach chair. I asked where I could go. The young Thai guy shrugged. The whole beach is for customers. 

I shopped for a while before trudging back to my dirty hostel room; I'd sprung for a single, private room, and it was as much a disappointment as the beach had been. I tried to fall asleep early - I had a 6am ferry the next morning. I fell asleep until midnight, when Patong becomes a city-wide rave and frat party and circus in one, and lay awake listening to drunk tourists dare each other to take a shot of this liquor or that. It's fortuitous I was already awake and that I had my own room because at 3am cramps gripped my insides and propelled me to the toilet with such force I hoped everything was still intact. I spent the next hours plopped on the toilet.

By 6am, I didn't care that I was exhausted and still sick. I was so excited to get off the damn island and on to Koh Phi Phi. I met a guy on the ferry; he was American and reading Cormac McCarthy's The Road. I'd finished it a few months prior and asked how he was enjoying it. We talked for the rest of the ferry ride, and he asked if I'd like to have dinner when we were settled on the island.

We meandered from one bar with Thai boxing to another with karaoke, and we drank too many cocktails and laughed especially hard at our jokes. We ignored a no-trespassing sign and hopped the adjacent fence onto a private beach that arched to the other side of the island. We took in the full moon, and ran our toes through the warm water. We had another drink at a closing bar, and I said, "Let's run into the water. Let's go for a swim." It was 4am, and he said yes, and so we shed our clothes - he stripped down to his boxer briefs, and I stripped to the bathing suit beneath my dress- and we piled our clothes, and my purse, and the contents of his pockets on the sand, and we ran screaming into the water.

We made out for a while - and he was the absolute worst kisser in the history of mankind, and all the booze in my system couldn't change that fact, and so I fibbed that I was cold, and let's head back to our hostels. We emerged from the beach, the moonlight illuminating our way to the pocket of sand where we'd stripped, but nothing was there but the indentation from what had been; we'd been robbed.

We searched for hours. Bar owners came down with flashlights to help us look. Our things were gone. We couldn't do anything until 8am when the police station opened. We trekked back across the island, him with his hands over his goods. Since he'd lost his key, and I had held onto mine, he stayed in my room. I offered him the only shorts that would fit: a pair of yellow boxers covered in smiling faces.

As I was dozing off, he reached a hand down my pajama pants. And then he said, "We can salvage some of this night" in a voice that tried to be sexy but was repelling and disgusting, and I nearly slapped him in the face but settled for his hand, and said, "Hell no."

Less than an hour later, I crawled out of bed, trying not to wake the other three sleeping guys in the room - did I mention I was in a shared, co-ed dorm room? And as I stepped down from the stairs on the bunk bed to the floor, cramps seized my stomach, and I ran to the bathroom, the shared bathroom, with 4 sleeping men in the same room. I closed the door, turned on the faucet to cover the sounds, and I finished off the toilet paper right as another round hit. What was I going to do without toilet paper? 

I turned on the shower. 

You do what you gotta do. 

After I showered, I quietly left the room and made my way to the police station. I filed a report - of course, they didn't know anything, and I dejectedly retreated back to the hostel, mentally making a plan of what to do next: get to a US embassy, see if I can get money back from the hostel or borrow money from someone else, renew my Japanese work visa; there were a million things to consider.

As I began climbing the granite stairs to the hostel, another waive of stomach cramps flooded my body, and my stomach flooded my pants. I stood shocked, my mouth open. I was standing nearly on top of an island, with the beach below me, four men in my room, and poop in my pants.

I feigned forgetting my key and having to go really bad to use the private bathroom in the hostel lobby, and I cleaned up as best I could. As I walked out, The Road Guy was walking down the street in nothing but those yellow boxers, and I thought, well, pooping my pants and being robbed and all, that sight makes my day. 

As I was packing my bags and preparing to beg someone to borrow money, the hostel owner came into my room and said, I have your bag up front. I quizzically looked at him, confused - how in the world did he know, and could it be my things? When he handed me my purse, I fought tears and hugged him with all my might, thanking him profusely.

"You're lucky," he said. "A fisherman found it thrown in the bushes. He's the only one on the island who speaks English, and he took it to the only American who works on the island. She found your picture ID and called around to find you. It's fate."

I hiked up the hill to The Road Guy's hostel, and I knocked on his door. I handed him back his shoes; his pants had been taken for good, along with my camera and cash. I stuck out my hand, and he shook it with his.

"This night will make one hell of a story," he said. "But I hope we never see each other again." I nodded my agreement, a tinge of laughter in both of our eyes.

I took one last look at him as I walked away and yelled back, "You can keep the boxers."

hay is for horses | yoga hikes dc

For a few years in elementary school, I would get off the school bus on the opposite side of the neighborhood from my house with two of my best friends who lived next door to one another. My friend Meghan's mom babysat me every week day until my mom came to pick me up after she got off work. Every so often, Meghan, Tiffany, and I would complement our mud pie appetizers in the woods with dinner at the Smith family's table. Meghan's dad had a ritual of asking every person to talk about the best part of their day. I don't know why, but the thing I most remember about those dinners is how much Meghan's dad hated when we - the kids - used the word "hey." We'd start our stories with it - "Hey Tiffany, remember when..." or "Hey Daniel, how'd you do on your spelling test?" And every single time, Meghan's dad would calmly say, "Hay is for horses." It became such a rote response that we would try to catch each other saying "hey" and beat him to the punch line.

I thought about the Smith family dinner table this weekend when I went on my first Yoga Hike. Yoga Hikes is a small, new DC company led by Danielle, who is awesome. She's an urban hiking enthusiast, runner, and yogi who thought, "Why not combine my loves and share them with the rest of the city?" I love that about our generation - we seem to have this willingness to go after and create our own career paths. It's brave and bold, and often the result is incredibly cool - like Yoga Hikes is. 

The hikes start at a couple of different locations in DC. Sonia and I signed up for a nature hike in Rock Creek Park. We hiked for 45 minutes and did 45 minutes of yoga. 

We started off in a large field at Pierce Mill with about 15 minutes of yoga. Danielle carried small mats, but we started off with just our bodies and the cool earth. It was a perfect morning for a yoga hike - in the 60s and slowly climbing to reach the mid-70s by afternoon, sun shining, and a nice breeze. One thing I noticed right away about this yoga is that even with simple poses and sun salutations, my arms were more engaged. Keeping your stomach, chest, and thighs off the ground means really working those arms. I can feel it today. 

The hike led us on trails through RCP that I'd never experienced. We wound our way uphill to a second field, where we were delighted to see a horse grazing. It was an incredible backdrop for the second set of yoga.

Before we reached the second yoga stop, in the first, ohhhh, 5 minutes of the hike - I stepped wrong on a paved path with a small drop off to a gravel and dirt one, twisted my ankle, and fell. I distinctly remember my view from the ground - nothing but pavement and embarrassment - only me! I tried to quickly jump back up - I've rolled my ankles in the past and been able to walk it off - but this was different (except for the time when I fell the same exact way on stage performing in a beauty pageant in 11th grade, but that's an embarrassing story for another time). I was in pain, but I didn't want to quit so early. I managed to finish the hike, but there wasn't a chance in hell my ankle could support yoga poses. 

Danielle was great about it. She asked me how I was feeling and how badly it was hurt after I stood back up. She tossed me an ice pack while I sat out the next yoga session and engaged me in taking a few photos while she offered other members of my group small adjustments. I loved how laid back she was and how I knew that while she was concerned, she trusted me to know my limitations.

I'm typing this now with my ankle still propped up with ice more than 24 hours later - I probably shouldn't have continued. But I'm stubborn, and I'm glad I did. It was a stunner of a morning, it felt great to see another part of this beautiful city I call home, and I can't believe I made such a novice mistake as not paying attention to my footing. Although, hey - it's easiest to get hurt when the trail seems simplest.

But then again, hay is for horses. 

if you go...

  yoga hikes dc

$25/yoga hike (great deals on packages)

length: 1.5-2.5 miles (need to use gps next time)

hike difficulty: easy

yoga difficulty: moderate/difficult (for me with no upper body strength!)

friday photo: football season is here

I've been reluctant to see summer go. I feel that way every year. It's one of the reasons I was drawn back to LA over and over again for years. But on the east coast, summer refuses to stay longer than a single season, and every year, as temperatures steadily drop a degree here and a few there, I wistfully cling to it - refusing to put away my sundresses and sandals, shivering long into mid-September nights. This year, I basked in summer's offerings - day hikes, a camping trip, time well-spent napping and reading at the beach, slowing down time with old friends and speeding it up with new projects, long days and slow evenings with the taste of the grill in my dinner. But every year, including this one, just as I consider packing up my bags to chase summer, small reminders of what Fall brings sneak into my routine and my line of sight. The return of football, the thought of picking apples and the memory of the smell of apple cake in the oven, and the imagined taste of hot cider, and the vision of Shenandoah National Park in fall - with a brisk breeze and leaves of a thousand colors falling down over my steps, and pulling out skinny jeans that have nearly gathered dust and knee-high boots that have done the same - these are all the things that warm me when the sun's rays stop, and I think this year, Fall is going to be as filled with love as its fading predecessor.

my bylines...

best places to run in tokyo

best day hikes from dc (starring zan & me in the picture!)

guide to the saijo sake festival in hiroshima (one of my best memories of my year in japan)

 

how to visit niagara falls like a local | canada

Niagara Fall is the honeymoon capital of the world and one of the top international tourist destinations. In fact, in 2011, Travel and Leisure ranked Niagara Falls #5 on a list of the world's most visited destinations. There's no escaping the verdict: Niagara Falls is touristy. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. It's one of the world's most visited destinations because it's a magnificent natural feat - three waterfalls with over 150,000 gallons of water cascading over the cliff edge every single second. It's a marvel and worthy of a visit, even though that means battling the crowds to see it. That all said, there are ways to visit Niagara Falls and feel more like a local and less like you're lost in a sea of tourists.

Exchange money... and do it at a local bank 

Almost everywhere in Niagara Falls will accept US dollars, but most places will charge extra for doing so. I call it a "US tax." The exchange rate is nearly 1:1 (the dollar was very slightly stronger when we visited), but exchanging money will save you.

When you exchange your money, do it at a local bank instead of The Money Exchange or booths you might see in tourist-centric areas. Many of the local banks will charge a small fee of $5 with no additional commission. We exchanged money at CIBC and were not charged a fee at all.

Additional tip: try to exchange as much money as you think you'll need. Many banks will charge fees for using a credit card internationally (with the exception of some travel rewards cards designed for international use).

Eat at quality, local restaurants

Niagara Falls is overrun with chain and buffet restaurants with glaring neon signs and banners so big they practically smack you as you walk by. Pass those places by and head to a local restaurant. It might take some research, but finding solid, good, local food in Niagara Falls is possible. A few restaurants that I suggest:

Syndicate Brewery & Restaurant: Syndicate offers customers two choices for food - a bar menu and a three-course prix fixe. The prix-fixe is a downright cheap $22. Options like certain cuts of steak and seafood may tack on a few extra dollars. All of the food is locally sourced, organically grown, and the meat is hormone-free. This meal left Zan's and my stomachs and wallets full and happy.

Napoli Ristorante: This finer-dining Italian restaurant offers up homemade bread with warm olive oil to start, a wine list that boasts some local flavor, and a few memorable dishes. We particularly enjoyed the starter salads - Zander chose a roasted beet, while I had arugula with thin pear slices.

KouTouki Greek Cuisine: Our service started out spotty, but once we had the attention of a server, the meal proceeded flawlessly. This Greek restaurant uses fresh ingredients, fairly authentic recipes (I say fairly because there was lettuce in the Greek salad!), and a nice large selection. Our favorite dish: dolmadakia appetizer (grape leaves).

Sleep local 

Big-name, high-rise hotels line the major tourist strip. Granted, they offer incredible views of the Falls themselves, but you pay in price and your sanity staying in them. Experience the Falls like a local by staying at a boutique hotel, an AirBnB rental, vacation rental by owner, a friend in town, a friend of a friend in town, or a local hotel off the main strip.

Zander and I used AirBnB for the first time, and we loved our experience. For $100/night ($50/person!) on a major holiday weekend, we had an entire guesthouse to ourselves, were able to bring my dog Theodore without a problem, and our host made us a homemade breakfast every morning. Staying in her neighborhood about 1.5 miles from the Falls, we had the opportunity to see what life is like for locals of the town. We watched junior high school students play a baseball game, took nightly walks in the quiet, peaceful area, and enjoyed having a place to call our own for a few days.

Hike to see the sights instead of taking expensive tours

Some of the attractions in Niagara Falls are worth the cost - in particular, the Maid of the Mist is a can't-miss tour. Other attractions and tours quickly add up, and you can see many of the sights for free by waking or hiking to them (if possible). My favorite experience of our entire trip was hiking to the Niagara River Whirlpool from the Niagara Glen Nature Reserve. You can read more about that experience here. At the Falls themselves, while you'll never be able to get out of the crowds entirely, consider walking the length of the sidewalk - it offers unique, different views, and many people congregate in the center, most accessible viewing areas.

Get out 

Taking a day trip from Niagara Falls to Niagara on the Lake (20 minutes) or Toronto (1.5 hours) is a great way to experience local culture outside of the main attraction. Zander and I spent a full day in Niagara on the Lake, a quaint town that has been voted Canada's most attractive. I can see why, with its old-fashioned town center brimming over with boutique shops, old homes, and gorgeous lakeside views. Within and on the periphery of the town are 30+ wineries, the major draw of the area. Zander and I visited six wineries enjoyed our experience getting to know the winemakers, tasting grapes unique to the region, and bringing home enough wine to nearly fill a cellar (okay, not quite, but a lot!). Our favorite wineries are below (another post on this to come).

Trius Winery -- from a bone dry, sparkling rose to an approachable reisling ice wine, Trius's wines were among our favorites. But what really won us over is Trius's incredible brunch with wine pairings. It's one of the best meals I've ever eaten in my life.

Konzelmann - I liked that Konzelmann is smaller than Trius but still has a robust flight of wines. We enjoyed their dry red blends, especially "Canada Red." The staff are incredibly knowledgeable and passionate about the wines.

Marynissen Estates Winery - Our favorite of the six we experienced, Marynissen is a small, boutique winery that has built a name for itself with hard work and wonderful wines. They specialize in Cabernet  Sauvignon (the oldest of those grapes in Canada), Syrah, and Merlot. I loved the small operation, the homey feel of the tasting room, and how inviting and welcoming the staff are. I wish we were closer to make repeat visits.

hike to the niagara river whirlpool | niagara falls, ca

Not all hikes are created equal. Some have been too long or too strenuous when I haven't had enough sleep (looking at you, White Oak Canyon!), and others just aren't that much fun. I've been trying in the past year or so to figure out exactly what separates an okay hike from a good hike from a spectacular one, to me. I've tried picking hikes for beautiful scenery (Overall Run Falls), distance, and difficulty, but none of those characteristics alone made me fall head over heels for a trail. When Zander and I took Theo to hike to the Niagara River Whirlpool in Niagara Glen Nature Reserve in Niagara Falls, Canada last weekend, I figured it out: the more technical a hike is, the more I enjoy it (by the way, could I say Niagara one more time?). This was my dream hike.

By technical, I mean that a hike includes tricky footholds, rock climbing, bouldering, ledges, narrow crevices, etc. On these hikes, my mind and body work in tandem, and as I duck under fallen trees, lift myself up on craggy peaks, and crawl through rock passageways, I think no human could ever make a playground that's nearly as exciting.

The hike starts near the visitor's center of the Niagara Glen Nature Reserve. Don't bother asking inside for guidance - even the trail maps will cost you! That was our only reminder the entire afternoon that we were near a major tourist attraction. Facing the visitor's center, walk to your left down into the grassy picnic area and near the Niagara Gorge overlook. One-hundred yards or so to the left there is a color-coded trail map. The Whirlpool Path, as its dubbed, isn't noted on the map or on the trails, but you'll follow the blue trail to reach the unmarked path. The hike feels more remote and untouched without distinctive trail markers. Take the metal stairs 100 feet or so down until you reach the base of the cliff. Theo is terrified of metal stairs (I think because he can see through them). He was shaking, but the little dude was a brave trooper and made it down without us carrying him. 

Follow the blue trail through moss, fern, rocky terrain, and a heavily wooded trail until you reach the edge of the river. Without trail markings, we though we came across the Whirlpool twice before we actually did. This is one of those times when, "You'll know when you know," is accurate. You can't miss the real deal. At several points, we wandered down the rock and dirt trail to the edge of the water and splashed ourselves and each other. We couldn't help but be excited that we had our feet and hands in water that came straight from the Falls (or was headed to the Falls?? which direction?!).

^^yep, i'm rocking a canada, eh?! hat and a canada fanny pack. gotta embrace the cheesy tourist in yourself sometimes!

The Whirlpool Path is a 5km trail, almost exactly. We knew we'd arrived when the trail that had been steep at points and incredibly rocky flattened out (be prepared to use your hands, as well as your feet!). We stepped out onto a huge expanse of giant, flat rock where names of lovers had been inscribed over the years. Reeds and wild growth sprouted in the shallow annals of water in the deep cracks in the rocks, and it felt more like a scene out of swampland in Florida than Niagara Falls. That is, until we stepped to the rock's edge and looked out over to America, directly across the Niagara River, and the vast, swirling whirlpool. It's one of those times in hiking where the destination is just as good, if not better, than the journey. We shared some water and snacks, and enjoyed the view, the sunshine, the quiet, and the joy of having found a place so spectacular that for a few moments, it was all ours. We had so much fun rock climbing up to higher points on tiny ledges to get better views. There is a whirlpool jet boat tour that costs something like $50/person that sped past us and into the rapids time and again. We talked about riding it, but we got the view for free. It felt good to work for it.

We got sage advice from a couple that hiked past us at the Whirlpool lookout, "Follow the distinctive trail to the wooden stairs. From there, you'll exit onto the main road and can walk the path back to your car, but be careful, the remainder of the trail is slippery." We thought we had reached the pinnacle of the hike at the Whirlpool and expected a short walk through the woods to the stairs. In honesty, I thought it was almost a hiking cop-out to take the stairs and the sidewalk back to the car. 

I. was. wrong. 

The best part of the hike is after the Whirlpool. After a short but gotta-catch-your-breath ascent, we came to a very slippery rock climbing area. We had to use our arms to lift us up through an especially narrow path through two giant boulders. We shimmied under a ledge that felt like a rock cave, and then we emerged to a 90 degree rock wall with a slow waterfall trickling down. We took turns basking in the coolness and freshness of the waterfall. I wanted to dance in it and jump in it and run around in it, but the rocks are so slippery it was all I could do to stay still in it. We saw two, two! snakes - little slippery guys that slithered right away when they heard us, and I still freaked out but stared at them in awe, because I'm fascinated by and terrified of those creatures. 

After the rock waterfall, the trail becomes forested and wooded again. Theo led the way entirely with his nose. He guided us through the moss-covered stone and tree-lined trail to new, steep, angling, wooden stairs, to a sidewalk that runs parallel to the main road in Niagara Glen Nature Reserve. We followed it back around to the car. We rummaged for towels in the trunk and wiped mud off our faces, hands, and Theo's paws. It didn't make a dent - our clothes were mud-stained and soaking wet. It was, hands down, one of my favorite and one of the most technical hikes, I've ever done.

if you go...

niagara glen nature reserve hikes

even on a holiday weekend (labor day), there were no crowds on the trails

cost: free to park, free to hike

distance: 3.2-3.5 miles

time: 1.5-3 hours

difficulty: 3.5/5 - technical, steep in parts, rocky (wear good hiking boots)

scenery: 5 (whirlpool, forest, niagara river, rock waterfall, beach on the river)

friday photo | an elephant hluhluwe-iMfolozi park, sa

I've been thinking lately that the standard advice encouraging people to travel when they're young misses something. I've been thinking that with a little bit of age and life experience, traveling means something deeper to me. I've honed some of my passions and talents - writing, and what I look for and seek out when I travel - that were only just budding when I lived abroad as a student and was still pink with fresh-out-of-college newness. Photography has become a hobby, and I see photos I took then that are out of focus and lacked an eye for composition, and I wistfully think, "If only I could do that again now, a little older, a little less green." But then I read my photo captions on those blurry ones, and they're bursting with uninhibited joy and fervor for life, without a trace of self-doubt, and I feel the happiness on the face of that girl then fall onto the lips 27-year-old me now. And I wouldn't trade having traveled then without what I know now for anything. I should be so lucky to be 21 again, my first time in the world - eyes wide with wonderment and a camera memory card packed to capacity with a shot of every elephant I see.

bylines...

10 best spots for photos in washington, dc 

kyoto's best museums

a lesson in listening on maid of the mist

As you're herded down an elevator and through a tunnel where you pause while a staff member snaps a quick shot of you and yours against a green screen and before you exit into the open air again and race to join the winding, cramped lined for your Maid of the Mist boat ride into Niagara Falls, you're handed a rain poncho and someone yells, "Don't put on the poncho until you're on the boat!" Nobody listens because nobody really hears the instructions because everyone's eyes are feasting on the next boat pulling up and unloading and then boarding so many people you wonder how it doesn't sink from the weight of the people and their anticipation. There's always that one person, though, that tunes into the instruction shouted in the wind, and Zander was that man. I counted three people, total, in the line of masses that had listened and heeded the warning. I hadn't. I unfolded my bright blue poncho the second the worker handed it to me, and I fiddled with it until I found the holes for my head and my arms, and within two minutes in that line, I was sweating and it was so humid under there, so I took it off and held it in my arms, and by the time I put it back on when I was supposed to, it was torn in three places - how did that happen? And so I got soaked, through and through - my clothes, my hair - the mist dripped off my chin and down my dress. And I was giddy the whole time because we were a sea of blue ponchos in a sea of mist and so close to the Falls the rushing water rang through my ears long after our boat docked again. Maid of the Mist was an attraction that exceeded the hype, and I can still feel my fingers weaving through the cloud of mist and the shiver that ran through me when Horsehoe Falls drowned out our collective noise and all was silent and just water and rocks and waterfall, and I loved every bit of those 20 minutes. Just make sure to put on your poncho once you're on the boat.

if you go...

maid of the mist operates on the Canadian & US sides

cost: $19.95 canada; $15.50 us

get tickets and board the boat at the bottom of clifton hill (canada) & prospect point (us)

tip: security will not let you dawdle to get on the next boat for better seats. if the top is full, you'll still have a great view - choose the center of the front for the most mist & best views of both falls