Framily Reunions in Deutschland

Punctuality: it’s in German blood. I would later learn the clock on the train platform I saw through the window is synched with every single other train platform clock in Germany. To the second. And the second hand is vigorous — none of this languid, gentle, metronome style progression like the school clocks of my youth. The German second hand lurches with precision between the previous moment and the next. At 8:34:59 p.m. I just happened to be looking at the clock, in anticipation of our 8:35 p.m. departure. Suddenly I felt like I was in a  Rube-Goldberg machine: the second hand slammed home, a referee’s whistle blew outside the windows, the train doors snapped closed with a bang. Then, smooth-as-butter, the train began to roll forward. Welcome. to. Germany.

How to Hitch Happily in Bohemia

Tommy and Linda have a male Italian greyhound — a type of dog that looks like a living Tim-Burton character from Nightmare Before Christmas. His name is Kesha. My man describes this breed as “miniature giraffes on crack.” We met Kesha after hitching to — Jihlava (yee-hlah-vah) — from Olomouc.

Culture Czech – why my veggies are free, etc.

Traveling to a new country invites an onslaught of new smells, sights, sounds with plenty of puzzled looks and hilarious moments. One can begin to feel the contrasts even before departure – at the airport!

Hitchhiking in Springtime Europe

The four Slovakian men blasted Polka and shared their gallon of red wine when we joined them in their blue work van on the way to Olomouc. They jovially shouted questions we couldn’t answer and comments we couldn’t understand. The mid-40’s driver, prominent nose and permanent grin, demanded we try Slovakian chocolate. Two twenty-somethings and the classic skinny-as-a-rail and moustachioed older man delighted in miming questions.

My new Slovakian friend, mug of wine, and Slovakian chocolate!

How did we end up a part of such a hilarious scene? Hitchhiking!

Why Buildings are White in Bangkok

A four-letter expletive certainly belongs in any sentence describing the heat during our three-week layover in Bangkok. More simply: the hottest bleeping April in 30 years. Over 104 degrees Fahrenheit. Over 40 degrees Celsius. Every. Single. Day.

Working Hard, Playing Harder: International Team Bali

Several “international incidents,” involving my Dutch, Australian, and Balinese friends, filled every spare minute of free time during my last three weeks in Bali.

In between reading descriptions for 500 Italian farms, searching through hours of airfare data for cheap Asia to Europe tickets, learning the science of web traffic, researching future job opportunities, furiously turning out blog entries, keeping in touch with loved ones, trying to solve the complicated Schengen puzzle, editing my little sister’s college essay drafts, and battling a misery-inducing internet connection… I got my tourist and social-butterfly groove on!

The Characters:

Stuff You Don’t Know When You’re an Alien

As I get to know Balinese culture, there are sights, smells, sounds, and customs that dig their heels into my memory. Like:

  • Balinese Broom: not the long-handled variety I am used to, but a collection of stiff bristles bound together with a string or tape. Requires lots of back-intensive labor to use. Unless you're a small child.

    School children can often be seen walking down the roads in the morning dressed in crisply pressed uniforms, a satchel on each back, and a… broom? Yes, a broom in each hand! Says the man I asked, “They take turn. They must clean.” If it’s the child’s chore day, they bring their hand-held broom to school! Imagine that on an American school supplies list!

  • 20,000 rupiah, roughly $2, will make a village child jump for joy. And it should be accepted respectfully by placing both hands together and palm up. (I witnessed my compound mom giving the money to some kids she knew when we went to visit their village’s healer.)

Hook, Line, Sinker: how to fish without a pole in Bali

In Rugby North Dakota, the geographical center of the North American continent, you are 1,400 road miles (2.300k, over 24 hours driving) from the Pacific or Atlantic Ocean. The small town of my Wyoming childhood is near enough to sometimes compete in sports with North Dakota kids.   For my family, going to the ocean to fish was never practical. Especially when there were plenty of streams, rivers, and well-stocked lakes just a fraction of the distance from our front door.

Putra and I ready to load up.

Fast forward twenty years and nine thousand miles to the shores of the Indian Ocean, standing on the sands of Lebih Beach in Bali.

Treasure of an Ubud Commute: Follow the Stairs!

I adore my daily commute (30 minute walk) into town. It’s been enriched by the discovery of a route through the lovely Penestanan where veggies grow along narrow, winding, traffic-free paths and rice paddies and houses live side by side. It feels rather like a medieval footpath — an aura that hints at fairies, talking trees, and buddhist hermits. I love it! Since a picture is worth a thousand words and takes a fraction of the time to view, welcome to a rare halftheclothes photo blog! Here is what I see when I set off down the road each day:

Recipes Aren’t All We Learned: surprise lessons from a Balinese cooking class

The prisoners and the executioner…

Thirty years and about three inches of life have been taken so far from the grinding stone used in Bumbu Bali’s cooking class. The pestle — the bit held in the hand, now bears two distinct finger grooves earned from thousands of local and international fingers. It’s interesting to note that most of said fingers, by American standards, were dirty.