When I decided to move to DC, I knew that finding a great apartment was essential.I work from a home office, so having a decent amount of living space that would allow for separation between office and home was key.I scoured the internet for months from California to nail down a great place; a place that didn’t pop up until a few days before I loaded up a mini van and drove across the country.

What I found was a one bedroom basement unit – where a DC basement is quite different than a CA basement.

I moved in sans furniture, but wasted no time when I arrived to furnish the place.  For the first time in my life I bought NEW furniture, instead of relying on hand-me-downs and Craigslist pieces.

And for the first time, it was MY place, meaning I could decorate it however I wanted without having to consult roommates or a significant other.

My style is, well, hmm, I guess maybe Global Eclectic-Chicmight be near accurate.  I love clean lines and solid base pieces, but also adore pattern and texture.

Whenever I travel I collect, so everything in the apartment has a story.

From pillows made (by my amazing mother) with textiles from Peru and Japan to brass icons from Thailand and photos printed on canvas from Russia, Mongolia and Australia, everything has a meaning.

The place has a giant alcove that serves as the perfect home office.

The kitchen is petite, but works just fine for one.

My bedroom is enormous and gets great light during the day, although the air-con unit right outside my window can be a challenge to sleep through.

I even have a small patioconcrete slab out back.  Dixon loves it and I can’t wait to get grilling!

My landlords – who live upstairs – are a newlywed couple, operating a non-profit, who are, ironically, from California too.

All in all, I couldn’t be happier with the place.  Add to that to the prime location and you have one happy DC transplant!

Shortly after moving to DC, I became aware of a “holiday” of sorts that was completely new to me – National Obscura Day.

As the birthplace of Marco Polo, the island of Korčula, off Croatia’s southern coast, offered an historically charged reprieve from my nearly non-stop travel schedule.

Last fall I attended the first ever Meet, Plan, Go! event in San Francisco.  To my surprise (really, I NEVER win anything) I won a prize from Hostelling International for a weekend stay for two at their NYC location. 

Aptly named The Pearl of Adriatic, Croatia’s southern port city of Dubrovnik is well worth the full day of travel it takes to reach from the country’s northern region.

Only accessible by land via car and bus or by sea, the city has maintained its old world charm despite the throngs of tourists that flood its streets.

I visited Dubrovnik nearly five years ago (when tourism was just starting to pick up) and fell in love with slow pace of the city and the hospitality of its citizens.

Lacking formal hostels, budget-minded travelers, like myself, instead stay in Sobes – residences.  As soon I arrived in the city I was greeted surrounded by local women yelling “Sobe! Sobe! My Sobe!” all vying to have me stay with them in their homes.

The system is lovely; travelers stay with local families and get a closer look at daily life in Croatia and locals can often earn a living by giving up a room or two in their homes each night.

The Old Town area (now a UNESCO World Heritage Site) is the unavoidable highlight of Dubrovnik.

While few people still live in Old Town and most buildings have been turned into cafes and over-bearing souvenir shops, the real value of the area is the view.

Two kilometers of thick stone walls surround a sea of red-roofed buildings.

From turreted corners, you get an unobstructed view of the Adriatic Sea and nearby islands.

While Dubrovnik was picturesque in nearly every way, it paled in comparison to the Croatian Islands…

(Check back next Photo Friday for more on the Islands)


*For more Photo Friday goodness, head over to Delicious Baby!

If you’re planning on traveling through Russia anytime soon, be prepared for some awful roadways; the one constant throughout the country – from Moscow to Vladivostok – is that the roads suck!

Harsh weather and remote locations make road upkeep inherently difficult.  But add to that the government practice of using sub-standard materials for repairs and you have a perpetual cycle of construction.  Its like the Golden Gate Bridge – as soon as they finish painting the whole thing, its time to start a fresh coat again.

The process is intentional; both to keep people employed (and inflate employment numbers) and to keep money flowing through the lucrative construction industry.

Constant construction and disarray mean that it takes a long time to get anywhere and vehicles take a beating.

The “highway” between Perm and Ekaterinburg (cities of nearly a million and half people) was a gravel road until about 12 years ago.

During the Cold War, roads constructed of concrete covered rebar  frames were built in haste to support the weight of tanks and military equipment.  Now, rebar pourtudes through crumbling concrete and presents a major hazard for drivers.

With ever-present law enforcement corruption (though the situation has improved greatly in recent years) drivers work together to keep tabs on highway police presence.  Many drivers have CB radios to share kilometer marker locations of waiting police with others on the road.

Whether intentional or not, the unpredictable state of roads throughout the country reinforces the importance of the railway system as one of the most reliable ways to get around the country.

Back in 2006, at the conclusion of studying abroadin Denmark, I spent two months bouncing around Europe with my Aussie pal Jules.

Our last destination together before parting ways was Interlaken, Switzerland.

Known as a haven for adrenaline junkies (like myself!), Interlaken offers everything from dog sledding to OGO Ballslopes.  And skydiving!

When I was a kid, my dad went skydiving in Tucson, Arizona and after that the idea was firmly planted in my head – I wanted to skydive.

I however, wanted to do it in a location that would have something more interesting to look at than the barren Sonoran Dessert.

After canyoningin Solvenia and being throughly impressed by the Julian Alps, I was sure that the Swiss Alps would be an ideal location to jump out of a plane.

While getting suited up for the jump, I was nervous, but so so excited.  Sure, I had basically signed my life away filling out the liability waiver, but it was a tandem jump, so really, the pressure was on my partner, not me.

Jules decided that making the jump was a bit too pricey (she still had two more months of traveling ahead of her, while I had about two weeks).  But she was able to go up in the helicopter with me and take in the view.

One thing I hadn’t considered was how cold it would be.  It had snowed earlier in the day and while no snow was falling when I jumped, it was far from warm.

The minute or two before the jump felt like a half an hour – literally hanging outside the helicopter, just waiting for the thumbs up to go.

My tandem partner shouted a few last minute words of advice/encouragement and then gave the green light.

We stood up and, to my surprise, did not “jump” but rather, just leaned forward and fell through the clouds.  The force of the air pressing against my body gave more a sensation of floating or hovering rather than falling.

It was as if I were suspended and the earth was moving closer to me.  And the scenery was incredible.  Interlaken (meaning inter-lake) is named as such for being located in between two lakes.  One lake is bright blue and the other a teal green.

Those lakes, in combination with the green valley floor, juxtaposed with the jagged, snow-capped and cloud-shrouded mountains of the Alps, was stunning.

The free-fall was abruptly stopped when the shoot was pulled and then I had over 10 minutes to ogle at the Alps.

I spent nearly nine months living and traveling in Europe and that jump was easily one of the most fun and memorable experiences of the entire trip!

*For more glorious Photo Friday, head to Delicious Baby!

Nikita’s Homestead was unlike any hostel I had ever stayed at.

Located in Khuzir – Olkhon Island’s sole settlement – Nikita’s is basically an all inclusive resort (they even took care of planning all excursions around the island).

As there are no restaurants in Khuzir, all guests are provided three meals a day.

The view didn’t suck either.

Khuzir only got electricity in 2005 and still lacks plumbing (meaning, there are no flush toilets and no showers).

In place of showers however, there was a banya!!!  I’d been dying to try one the whole time I’d been in Russia and it did not disappoint.  [No photos allowed inside though]

A banya is a Russian sauna; think cedar-lined, super-heated steam room.  The full banya experience includes a few hot/cold cycles (i.e: sweating it out in the room, running and jumping into an ice cold fresh water source and then running back to the sauna) and getting whipped with branches of herbs.

However, running 10 minutes down to the lake in a bathing suit while dripping wet in sub zero weather, did not happen and turns out herb beatings weren’t on the menu.  Instead, the five of us just lounged around the banya benches for nearly an hour, letting the heat work its detoxifying magic. So relaxing.

The neighborhood surrounding Nikita’s provided endless novelties to fill our down-time.

Each night Nikita’s also provided entertainment – in the form of the most charming little old man accordion player and his less-than-enthusiastic singing ladies.

The combination of his peppy charisma and their indifference was hilarious.

*Some photos contributed by Conor O’Brien

The majority of our time on Olkhon Island was spent inside an army green, clunky, archaic van roaming the terrain.

After our trip to get out to the island, we were accustomed to the bumpy jostle of driving on comically unkept dirt roads.  It simply became entertainment – seeing everyone thrown around the van.

In light of the lack of paved roads, getting around was a slow, sometimes tedious process.  But having good company helped pass the time.

The landscape was barren, empty and quiet.

Yet, I found the expanses of gold calming and similar to staring at fire; I couldn’t look away.

Between pockets of yellow, soft-pine tree groves and wild horses wandering the flatlands, the island found ways to surprise us.

And then of course, there was the lake.

Baikal was enormous and still.

At nearly 400 miles long and 50 miles wide, it appeared endless.

I was surprised to learn that as the world’s deepest lake, it will one day become the next ocean, splitting the Eurasian continent in two.

Before departing Nikita’s for the day, I had been given a giant red marshmallow jacket (upon observing the coat I intended to wear out on the island, I was told simply, “this is not possible” and handed the red coat).

While I looked ridiculous – using my scarf to tie the thing closed due to a broken zipper – I wasn’t cold at all.  Which was a feat as it was freezing outside.

A truth of Russia seemed to be that sun ≠ warmth (the sand was actually frozen!).

The northern cape of Olkhon was unreal and felt like the end of the world.

That place, the northern-most tip of the island, is one of the five Shamanistic centers of energy in the world and as such is deeply spiritual place.

Its marked by a prayer pole where visitors leave offerings ranging from coins to cigarettes to ribbons.

All I had with me to contribute was a Lipton water flavor packet.

After less than a day on the island, Baikal easily became one of my favorite places in Russia!

For more Photo Friday, Delicious Baby is the spot.

I’ve thought about getting a tattoo for years.  Nothing big, just something small and understated, but meaningful.However not having a clear what or where prevented me from moving forward with the idea.  That, and the process of actually getting it.  You know, the whole pain thing.For the record, I consider myself to be pretty fearless – I like roller coasters, white water rafting, climbing mountains, jumping out of planes… – but needles scare the crap out of me!

They terrify me. As in, I made doctors give me liquid (re: child) vaccinations until I was 23.  As in, when at the hospital in March and told I needed a tetanus shot, I was reduced to tears (seriously) and refused.

So for me getting a tattoo was kind-of a big deal.  A daunting big deal.  But, in some ways it was like killing two giant birds with one stone:

Thanks to Marsha at Baikaler Hostel, we had a minivan pick us up and take us to Nikita’s Homestead in Khuzir – the sole “town” on Olkhon Island.

Up and ready to go at 7am, we ditched our large packs for day-packs and shelled out 600 Rubles per person for our transport.  The minivan was at (over?) capacity with one driver, the five of us, two Brits, five French and one additional Russian for good measure.  To say it was crowded is a laughable understatement.

Our first stop was at a market in town to stock up on snacks for the journey and our time on the island (there are no restaurants and only one small shop in Khuzir).  Climbing back into the minivan, we settled in for a long day on the road.

Though the distance was less than 175 miles, the drive took over seven hours as the paved roads ran out after the first hour.  From then on it was a bumpy, jarring, shaky ride that prevented anyone from even thinking about napping.

I took the opportunity to edit some photos, though it was a painfully slow process of hitting about a half dozen wrong keys before landing on the correct one.  When we reached the first rest stop, I threw in the towel.

On solid ground, I felt a kind of vertigo, as though my body continued to vibrate even though the chaotic movement of the van had stopped.

While there, we stocked up on vodka and beer (we were warned that prices would be accordingly inflated on the island) and used the outdoor facilities.

Although the sun was shining brightly, it was a frigid day.  It was so cold and windy in fact, that I seriously debated if going to the bathroom was worth enduring the glacial air on my bare ass.  The uncertainty of not knowing when the next bathroom would be available forced me to sucked it up.

We piled back into the minivan and continued the drive in bone rattled silence.  Several hours later, we got our first glimpse of Lake Baikal.

I’m pretty sure we were all grinning like five year olds presented with a giant chocolate cake, or our very own live pony, or a Tickle Me Elmo or a Furby or a cell phone whatever five year olds like these days.

However, our excitement was quickly stifled.

In what we deemed a (completely unfunny) Siberian joke, we were made to stand outside the minivan for the ferry crossing to the island, while our driver stayed nice and warm inside.

The wind attacked our faces and there was nothing in the way of shelter aside from huddling together.

That 15 minute boat ride was hands-down the coldest I had been on the trip to-date.

As soon as we docked on the island, it was a frenzied rush back into the minivan to warm up.

The island, with a total population of 1500, was desolate and silent save for the fierce wind and the clunking gargle of our vehicle’s engine.

From the warmth of my back-row seat I took in the expanses of gold and brown that popped brilliantly against the blue of the lake.

Hours later, we pulled into the barren streets of Khuzir where cows aimlessly wandered among houses and packs of stray dogs tormented feral cats.

The town was a grid of near hallways – where small, worn, wooden houses surrounded by high fences lined the streets.

We dropped off our sole Russian passenger at one such house before ambling up the dirt road to Nikita’s Homestead.

Yesterday afternoon, my parents boarded a plane back to California after a 10 day visit to my coast.

We had the good fortune to spend Mother’s Day at Wrightsville Beach in North Carolina.

We stayed at the Holiday Innright on the beach and were greeted in the morning by a stunning sunrise.

Better yet?  We got to catch up with some old friends now living in Wilmington!

Happy Mother’s Day Mama!

For more Photo Friday hop over to Delicious Baby

In light of this morning’s Royal Wedding, I thought I’d share some my favorite things about London.  While the wedding coverage as of late has been mind numbing, over the top, annoying, pervasive I will be watching the event from a pub in Maryland.  Bottomless mimosas at 5:30am?  You bet!So here’s my Top 10 London Loves (in no particular order):1. The London Underground

2. The Faces of Temple Church

3. Peter Pan Statue in Kensington Gardens

4. Parliament at night

5. The British Museum

6. The Traitors’ Gate of the Tower of London

7. Walking to Greenwich Park and the Royal Observatory

8. The Princess Diana Memorial in Hyde Park

9. Walking the Embankment

10. Westminster Abby

(Also, gawking at walking around Harrods is pretty awesome)

Happy Royal Wedding Day!

For more Photo Friday head over to Delicious Baby!

In February, I packed up a minivan, drove across the country and relocated to Washington, DC.

Its two months later and I have a minor love affair with my new neighborhood, Logan Circle.

Pretty much everything about it makes me smile.

Its residential and cozy, but is only blocks from main shopping streets.

There are little quirks,

and lovely tree lined streets with cafes and restaurants tucked into row house basements.

The row houses are stunning; each with its own personality.

Five minutes away is a busy dog park where Dixon has made many a dog-friend.

There’s a sizable Salvadorian population in the neighborhood and I love listening to the old men bicker in front of the bodega down the street and gorging myself on papuasas and tamals at El Rinconcito Cafearound the corner.

Logan Circle’s proximity to other areas of the city is ideal.  Its a short walk to Downtown, the Mall, Chinatown, U Street, Adams Morgan and Dupont Circle and is only five minutes from a metro stop.

Sunday mornings are a bustle of activity as folks dressed in their finest stream in and out of churches that seems to be on nearly every corner.

Each time I walk around Logan Circle I find something new to explore.  Its unlike anywhere I’ve ever lived before and to me, that’s the best part!

Best: Walk
Near the west side of town, we rounded a corner and slammed into a wall of the smell of fresh baked bread.

For the first time I can recall, I actually “followed my nose” as we searched for the origin of the intoxicating aroma.  After roaming around all over town we discovered that the source was a bread factory with no retail sales.  Needless to say, we were disappointed.

Best: Meal
Conor and I had tried Mexican food in Perm and Novosibirsk, but the new members of our travel cohort hadn’t experienced Russia-tries-Mexican yet.  We had a huge meal at a TexMex restaurant on the eve of leaving for Olkhon Island.

Best: Unexpected Find
Wedding cake toppers – at a 7-11 type convenience store.

Best: Activity
The morning we left for Olkhon Island we had 30 minutes to run through a market and grab food for the seven-hour journey and any snacks we wanted on the island.  It was a frantic, mad-dash up and down the aisles.

Best: Exhibit
The Decembrist houses.  Far into Siberia, these unassuming log cabins housed exiled members of the Decembrist movement who were convicted of crimes against the state in the early 1800’s.

Best: Grocery Store Find
Shopping cart of meat anybody?

Best: Awkward Moment
Meeting a college student on the street who asked all of us to write our thoughts about Russia in his journal.  He was learning English and was a complete character.

He accompanied us to a coffee shop where he chattered non-stop, sang, danced, took photos of each of us and wrote down quotes of things we said.

Our time at the cafe was interrupted by an angry intoxicated man who thought we stole his hat.  A verbal assault ensued and was only ended when the hat in question was produced.  From under the table.  Where the drunk guy left it.

Hiking Yosemite’s Half Dome had been on my Perpetual To Do List for years – you know, that list of things that always seems to get put off for no good reason?

I was elated when, last summer my girlfriend Jaclyn told me that she and her boyfriend, Reid got passes! (The National Park Service regulates the number of daily visitors to Half Dome for safety reasons.)

My brother and I jumped at the opportunity!  Now Reid, a very fit and adventurous guy (we’d previously climbed Mt. Whitney together), didn’t just want to hike the mountain, he wanted to start hiking at midnight so that we would be on the summit for sunrise.

To me, this sounded crazy and awesome and totally up my alley!  So, at midnight, one night in June, we started hiking.

Using headlamps, we navigated our way up the mountain; past misting (drenching) waterfalls, through valleys, and up steep inclines.

Not being able to see trail markers very clearly, we got momentarily lost a time or two, but managed to get back on track.

Even though I’d never hiked the trail before, I knew the lore associated with the final summit push – the cables.  Basically, there are cables strung through poles that are bolted into the side of the mountain, and you, the hiker/climber have to use them to hoist yourself to the top.

On one hand, your legs get a break.  On the other, you’re not secured to anything and hanging on/not slipping is all on you.  In the dark, we took each step carefully.

It was steep (re: nearly vertical) and I was glad that there weren’t any other people around as I’d heard that during day-time hours the cables can be packed, making the ascent and decent even more unnerving.

We made it to the top just as the first glimmer of daylight was peaking over the valley.

Not only was the sunrise stunning, but we had it all to ourselves.  There wasn’t anyone else there.

Yosemite is usually filled with tourists and travelers, but that morning it felt like a completely different place – still, silent, vast and empty.

As the sun rose we had breakfast, did a quick yoga session, played with rock squirrels, tried to warm up and explored the Dome.

Descending the cables was slow going.  In the daylight we became aware of just how far we’d fall if we were to slip.

As we made our way down the mountain, we passed numerous other hikers and (I) felt gratified that we’d already completed the climb.

I’m so glad that Reid suggested starting at midnight, because watching sunrise from the top? I think that’s how you’re supposed to experience Yosemite.

*Some photos contributed by Conor O’Brien and Jaclyn Lee

For more Photo Friday go to Delicious Baby!

Arriving in Irkutsk, we met up with Denis and hoofed it about two miles to Baikaler Hostel.  The place was buzzing with new arrivals and guests preparing to leave on various excursions.

We met Lara and Jacqui, who had been on our train (though quite far from our car) all the way from Moscow – five days on the train.  Needless to say, they were ecstatic to be on solid ground and were clamoring to take showers.

Lara – An Aussie returning home after living/working in Israel for three years, had opted to squeeze in a few months of travel before starting school again in Sydney.  Toting three passports (Oz, Israel and EU – her mum is British) she was bubbly and full of stories and insight about the state of Israeli affairs and travel in the Middle East.

Jacqui – A spitfire 23 year old from just outside London, had packed up all of her belongings and simply left the UK to travel for six months or until her money ran out.  Her plans would take her throughout greater and SE Asia, Indonesia, the Philippines, Australia and New Zealand (where she still is right now).

After a round of showers, we turned to Marsha, Baikaler’s hostess-de-jour.  She was, in a word, outstanding.  She helped us book tickets out to Olkhon Island (a big draw for weary Trans-Siberian travelers) and told us about her plans to visit her Aussie boyfriend in Sydney in a few weeks, provided her Visa came through.

I had no real concept of how difficult it was for Russian citizens to attain Visas to Australia and the US particularly.  Marsha had been waiting for months and even though she had already purchased plane tickets, there was guarantee that she would actually be granted a Visa (we learned later, that her Visa came through just days before her flight).

It soon became clear that Lara, Jacqui and Denis has similar travel plans to Conor and I.  Over a delicious, albeit expensive, Italian meal we made plans to use our time in Irkutsk and on Olkhon Island as a litmus test of sorts.

If we all got along, we could discuss traveling through Mongolia (where having a group is essential to finding affordable excursions) and China together.

Sprinting to the train station after a hurried visit to Stolby National Park, we had no problem finding our platform, train, car or cabin – we’d pretty much attained train-pro status by that point.

Unfortunately, there were already two women occupying the bottom bunks of our cabin so Conor and I were banished to the upper bunks.  Not that the upper bunks were bad – for sleeping – but they weren’t exactly the most comfortable to spread out on while awake.

As it was only 4:30pm (a long way from bed-time) we decided to check out the dinning car instead.

Conor and I chatted as I led the way down hallway after hallway, car after car.  Suddenly, a man grabbed Conor by the arm and pulled him into a random cabin.  Startled, I followed and found myself standing in front of a seated young man reading a Guidebook.

The arm-grabber, with a huge grin on his face, pointed to the sitting gentleman. Turns out, he-who-had-been-reading was an Irishman.  Conor and I had been identified as English speakers and had been matched with the only other native speaker on the train.

The three of us relocated to the dinning car and spent the better part of three hours eating, drinking and getting aquatinted.

We discovered that we had stayed at the same hostel in Ekaterinburg (just days apart) and had reservations at the same hostel (Baikaler) in Irkutsk the next night.

Conversation ranged from unpleasant train experiences (mostly at the hands of the semi-sanitary bathrooms) to long-term travel and life plans.

Denis – from Galway, Ireland – had recently quit his job in IT to travel for five months before meeting up with his Aussie girlfriend in New Zealand for a friend’s wedding.  His ultimate plan (after NZ) was to settle in Singapore with said girlfriend and find work there.

Outspoken, hilarious, and shamelessly crude, Denis became a fast friend.

Little did Conor and I know then that we would be spending nearly the next three weeks with the Irishman.

*Some photos contributed by Jacqueline Simone Winston-Silk

Shortly after I returned to the States in late November, I drove a few hours south to San Jose to meet with Mrs. Gach’s 6th Grade Class.

During my trip I had sent the class postcards and updated them on things I had seen and place I’d been.  In turn, the class learned about the countries I visited and formed groups to create reports on each country.  The genious conceptwas the brain-child of my Aunt Bridget, er, Mrs. Gach.

So in November I went to Baldwin Elementary School to meet the students, share photos and stories and answer questions.  I had two hours, but could have used twice the time – the kids had so many great questions!

And, to my surprise, Mrs. Gach had created a Where is Kellyboard complete with a world map to track my progress.

The postcards I sent were placed next to their location of origin and my movements (from my Where in Worldpage) were dated as well.  So cool!

I had such a great time with the class!  I had sent some Mongolian and Russian candy ahead of my visit and the reviews were quite mixed.  Some kids loved the sweets, others thanks me, but said it was disgusting.

Some of the highlights for me:
– Do they have McDonald’s in Russia and if so what did you eat?
– Kids confusing Russia’s Lenin with John Lenin
– Everyone incessantly asked me about Mrs. Gach’s age
– The class’ fascination with Estonian folk stories, esp. those involving the devil.

I feel so fortunate to have had the opportunity to share my experiences (and maybe instill a curiosity for travel) with the class.  A week later I got a round of letters and cards from each student.  They were thoughtful, funny and a lovely surprise.

And to my surprise (yet again) I received another package of letters last week!  The kids had done country reports, participated in a play and were about to have a Walk-a-Thon in which their class chose University of Oregon (my alma mater) as their theme.  Go Ducks!

They knew that I had moved to DC and were brimming with questions about the city and life on the east coast.  I could barely wait to write them back!

On our first day in Krasnoyarsk, we attempted to visit the Stolby National Park and instead ended up at the Bobrovy LogSki Resort.  Frankly, this was an amazingly fortuitous mistake.

The slopes were missing snow, but the resort, opened in 2006, was designed for year-round entertainment.

During the summer months an outdoor wave pool, playground, rock climbing wall, zip lines, zorb tracks and a mini carnival keep a steady stream of visitors flowing through Bobrovy.

Being mid-October, some activities were closed but we hopped on a ski lift up the mountain to check out the view.

As we ascended the slopes, we noticed a strange track running through the woods to the right of us.  Upon closer inspection we realized that it was a roller coaster track.

I reverted to about age five – I’ve always been a sucker for speed and coasters and this one was one the side of a mountain!?!

After taking in the view, we rode back down and ran to the base of the roller coaster.

Correction, the Rodelbaun – Alpine Coaster.

I was giddy with excitement!

We hopped onto our cars and were pulled all the way up the mountain.

At the top, the cars were released and we took over control, determining our speed for the long (over 5 minute) trip down the mountain.

With nothing but a thin seat belt and the car whipping wildly around the tracks, it felt at times that I would flung from the seat.  It was incredibly fun!

For more Photo Friday goodies, head to Delicious Baby.

As the third largest city in Russia, we expected Krasnoyarsk to have a well established tourism infrastructure.

To our surprise, not only was there little set up in the way of tourism, but the city didn’t have a single hostel.

After trekking around town for over an hour – checking hotel prices along the way – we finally sucked up our pride and shelled out nearly $100 USD for a room.  Even though it was the cheapest hotel, we still felt a bit cheated.

Additionally, the room was not exactly posh.  As in, it was a sparse, Soviet compound that probably hadn’t been updated since Stalin was at the helm.

On the plus side, the hotel’s restaurant offered some comic relief.

And, it was located on the Northern bank of the Yenisey River right next to the Krasnoyarsk Bridge, which is featured on the 10 Ruble note.

The bridge is stunning in the evenings and at night.

We had a few unexpectedly delicious meals in Krasnoyarsk too – they were even vegetarian friendly!

Across the street from our hotel was the Regional Museum of Local Lore, which curiously was housed in a building with a distinctly Egyptian motif.

Inside, however, was a well organized and surprising extensive collection of artifacts documenting the entire history of the region from the age of dinosaurs to the 2010 Census. There were even English translations!

For decades, the city played host to countless political exiles; forced into the heart of Siberia, and out of the way of the powers that be.

These days Krasnoyarsk is best known for its Stolby National Park, named for the Stolby (meaning “pillar” in Russian) rock formations.

We ventured to the National Park on our last day in town and found simply getting there to be quite an undertaking – requiring a lengthy bus ride and a 2 mile walk just to get to the Park entrance.

Our mother is a geologist, so our trip to Stolby was largely based on the knowledge that visiting a famed Russian geologic wonder would bring her some amount of happiness.

We were pressed for time, so with a set turn-around time we nearly took off running up the hills to ensure that we would reach the Stolby.

We moved as fast as we could, but with a slight drizzle and muddy trails, we didn’t reach the main concentration of pillars.

There were a few small Stolby along the way that we snapped photos of and we grabbed a few rocks for our mother before heading back to town.

The National Park was a great break from spending so much time in cities and on trains, but it wasn’t the best part of Krasnoyarsk…

As the sun rose and the train rattled on towards Krasnoyarsk, I decided to take a look around the cabin.

The sky was a suffocating shade of black when we arrived in Novosibirsk.  It was early morning and the city had yet to rise for the day – there weren’t even taxis outside the train station yet.

After walking for 20 minutes, we stopped at the only open business, People’s Restaurant (basically a 24-hour TGI Friday type place).  Our waitress was a bubbly University student named Katie, from Krasnoyarsk (our next stop), who was ecstatic to have real Californian customers!

Though she was shy about her broken English she was eager to talk to us and above all else had one question…”What you doing here?” She was concerned for us as “Siberia very cold now.” We had a great chat with her and found her shyness to be endearing.

What were we doing in Novosibirsk?  Other than breaking up the countless hours on the train, Conor actually had a friend, Oleg, who was from Novo.  We contacted him for things to do and see, but all he could think of of note was the City Center and his uncle’s house.

After breakfast we wandered the City Center and LOVED it!

There was diverse architecture, beautiful parks, and monuments, sculptures and churches seemed to be on every block.

One park was littered with amusement rides, although not a single one would have passed US safety standards.

There was a massive network of underground pedestrian walkways that also acted a mall of sorts with tunnels fanning out in every direction.  You could buy pretty much anything down there, including lingerie (because that’s normal).

In the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral we got to sit in on a baptism.

At the State Art Museum we were fortunate enough to catch the Best of Russia Photo Project – designed to show life throughout the country over the course of one year and broken into categories like style, architecture, nature, people, everyday, and events.  I was impressed and loved seeing images from every region of the country.

After trolling the museums, we spotted a basement restaurant called Mexico and couldn’t resist.  Sure, our first encounterwith Russian-interpreted Mexican food wasn’t great, but as West Coasters we were starting to go through withdrawal.

Though we weren’t able to confirm, I believe the owners/operators of Mexico actual hail from the country. Everything was spot on – the decor, the music and most of all, the food.  Seasoned perfectly, authentic ingredients, delicious.  I was on cloud nine and savored every bite of my tortilla soup and enchilada.

Back at the train station, we took our time to look around; its known as the Trans-Siberian Temple because its enormous and beautifully kept.

We’d read (and kept hearing) about a memorial statue on Platform 1 commemorating families sending men off to war in WWII, but were underwhelmed when we finally saw it.

We grabbed our bags from storage and decided to splurge and sit in the VIP lounge so we could have access to outlets (you have to pay to use electricity in most train stations).  The lounge gave us free wifi, recharging stations, leather couches and dubbed Sex and the City as entertainment.

Just before 10pm, we boarded the train and settled in as we snaked deeper into Siberia.

After a wholly uneventful day in Omsk, Conor and I boarded the train and settled in for the evening.  While no one else was presently in our cabin, there was a bag on one of the lower bunks and food and beer on the table.

A few minutes later, our cabin-mate returned from the dinning car with more beer in hand.  His name was Yevgueni.

While he didn’t speak much English (just a few words), we had a conversation through pantomime, pictionary and looking words up in my Russian/English dictionary.

He was 22 years old, enlisted in the army, married and recently became father to a baby girl.  As is customaryon the Trans-Siberian, he shared his food and beer and in turn Conor and I offered him shots of vodka.

We drank, talked and learned that Yuvgueni was passionate about his military service.  He drew pictures of where he was stationed, told us stories of training missions and laughed uncontrollably when he talked about fights that he had gotten into and animals he’d shot in the woods.

His pantomimes and drawings of such events were the most animated of the conversation and made Conor and I bit uneasy, as we weren’t positive about exactly what he was trying to tell us.

He asked about our trip, where we had visited and how long we would spend in Russia.  Instead of trying to discuss where we had been (conversation through dictionary was getting exhausting) we decided to just show him our photos.

I handed over my camera and he giddily clicked through the pics.  He smiled at photos of The Hermitage and Red Square and beamed when he got to pictures of Lenin’s desk.

Suddenly, his jovial demeanor evaporated.  His smile faded, eyes narrowed and body tensed.  Suspiciously and angrily he turned the camera towards us and pointed to the screen.

He was pointing to a photo of the missile silo ruinswe had visited in Perm.

Pulling the camera back, he continued to click through, becoming more and more concerned and outraged with each new photo.  An uncomfortable silence filled the cabin.  I half expected him to smash my camera or yell.

Instead, he began asking questions: Who were the men we were with? How many were there? Why did we go there? What were our intentions? What had we seen? Did we take anything? Where was the place located? How long did we stay there?  Why were we wearing camouflage? Why had we come to Russia?

Conor and I sat there, stunned.  Yevgueni set my camera down on the table, leaned back and just glared at us.  The tension made my skin crawl.

Yevgueni’s intensity was unsettling and Conor and I had no idea what to do next.

Finally, he got up to go have a cigarette and we used the opportunity to clean up and go straight to bed.  I was to sleep on the lower bunk, just an arm’s length from Yevgueni.  Admittedly, I was apprehensive – he was clearly livid with us, took joy in fighting people and was drunk.

When he returned, he was upbeat and talkative again – such a drastic change that we were left even more unnerved and confused.  He ordered a full meal and more beers and wanted us to stay up drinking and talking with him.

By that time it was 1am and our train was to arrive in Novosibirsk at 5am.  We tried to explain that we needed to get some sleep and decided to just lay down.  I fell asleep cautiously, listening to Yevgueni talk to himself and sip beer.

When the train attendant woke us at 4:50am, Yevgueni was already awake, dressed and sitting waiting for us to get up.  He got off the train a stop before us and shook Conor’s hand before leaving.

Conor and I just looked at each other, dumbfounded.

For more Photo Friday, Delicious Baby is the place to go!

After securing our tickets and fighting through the madness that was the Ekaterinburg train station, Conor and I settled into a 12-hour jaunt to Omsk.  We weren’t terribly moved by anything we had read about the city, but decided to spend a day there and judge for ourselves.  Turns out, had we skipped Omsk, we wouldn’t have missed much.

To start, the train station was a 5k walk from the city center, which wasn’t exactly a hoppin’ place.

We found a cheap canteen restaurant called Vilka-Lozhka (basically a step up from a buffet) and had a huge brunch.

We quickly found that the city map provided in our Lonely Planet was horribly inadequate and just plain wrong in many cases.

It claimed there was a Cathedral where the Dramatic Arts Theater was located (which, by the way, looks like a giant potato-sack slide) and failed to mention the location of the actual Cathedral almost a mile away.

It also neglected to mention several large monuments, sculptures and government buildings of note.

Given how inaccurate LP was, we ditched it and headed to The Tourist Hotel, thinking that they must have a more up-to-date map and tourist information.  Wrong.  They had no maps save for the poster sized one framed and mounted behind the front desk.

We were directed to the tourist office on the 9th floor of the hotel next door, where the agent used an online translator to communicate to us that she only handled foreign travel and the city had no tourist office.  Swell.

So we wandered through parks, along the river and around town.  For 50 Rubles we spend about 30 minutes in the city’s sole Art Museum and left pining for our Rubles back – it was that impressive.  The highlight was actually artwork of animals from local school children.

Even though the city had a population of 1.3 million, it felt incredibly small and lacked the infrastructure of other cities its size.

A few other things make Omsk distinct.  For the first time there was a visible Asian minority and we noticed cars with right-side steering wheels.  We were officially in Siberia.

After walking nearly the entire city, we still had seven hours to kill before our train departed.  We spent four hours at Bevitore– where food, vodka and free wi-fi were the draw – before meandering back to the train station.

With nothing to do and no where to go, we turned to an old Siberian tradition…downing vodka.

At 10pm we boarded the train with the intention of going straight to bed as it was only a short seven hour trip to our next stop, Novosibirsk.  However, as had become common practice on this trip, our intentions were foiled by a most unlikely series of events…

The train station in Ekaterinburg was a complete mad-house when we arrived to book tickets to our next set of destinations.  It seemed abnormal for a Monday afternoon as groups of people and piles of luggage crowded the halls.  Unknown to us (since we didn’t understand what anyone was saying) many of the trains had been severely delayed and passengers were starting to get frustrated.

I hopped in line, making sure to be close enough to physically touch the person in front of me so that no one else could cut in.  After only 10 minutes, I was at the ticket window.

The plan was to purchase tickets for the next four legs of the trip – Ekaterinburg to Omsk, Omsk to Novosibirsk, Novo. to Krasnoyarsk and Kras. to Irkutsk.

I handed over four notes with our ticket requests written in Russian.  Leg 1 – no issues.  Leg 2 – there was some problem with the booking, but the teller couldn’t speak English to explain and I couldn’t understand her explanation in Russian.

Another teller came to the window to try and help, but ended up just writing a few things in Russian and showing them to me.  We were getting no where.  Fast.

The man behind me – short, balding, a few gold teeth, mid-40’s – and his three friends started to get really upset that my transaction was taking so long and that I couldn’t understand what was going on.  I did however understand a few of his choice comments, such as, “Глупой девочкой американской” = “stupid American girl.”  I also understood the expletives.  He was charming, really.

The process was tedious – at one point the teller’s stapler wouldn’t work, then her pen ran out of ink, then she ran out of ticket paper, all of which just provoked the man more.

Meanwhile, Conor was parked across the room babysitting our packs and couldn’t do anything but watch as the man grew more and more upset and continued to verbally assault me.

I have no idea what changed in the following five minutes, but miraculously whatever the issue was seemed to be resolved.  Tickets were printed.  It took 45 minutes, 8400 Rubles ($139 USD), and every ounce of my patience not to verbally lash out at Baldy, for me to get all the correct tickets for the next 3,000 miles of the trip.

In the end, the teller forcefully reprimanded Mr. Charming and to his surprise, put him in his place.  I walked away satisfied because I understood some of her expletives too!

For more Photo Friday, hop over to Delicious Baby.

Best: Exhibit
“Industrial Dreams,” at the Ekaterinburg Photography Museum.  Photos from 1930’s factories, Soviet Era sickle presses, and art in factories illustrate how industry is a part of everyday life for Russian families all across the country.  Did you know there is job as a sewing needle polisher?

Best: Activity
We had an afternoon to kill so we headed to ZooPark.  Its the largest zoo in Russia (which isn’t saying much – its not that big) and was somewhat run-down, but it had the basics: bears, lions, monkey house, elephants, birds, reptiles.

Best: Walk
Along the Little Dam and City Reservoir Promenade.

We stumbled upon a sweethearts lock bridge and since it happened to be what would have been our brother-in-law Hayden’s 27th birthday (Oct 11), we hijacked a blank lock for Hayden and Bridget.

Best: Unexpected Find
This shouldn’t have been unexpected, but we’d been trying to hunt down a Post Office since we left Moscow with no luck.  It was a rather exciting moment.

Best: Awkward Moment
Major cities in Russia have police stations on every highway.  These stations scan every license plate going into and out of the city to check for outstanding tickets and violations.  On our way back into town from the Europe/Asia border, our cab driver was stopped and questioned.  There were no problems, but our cabbie was certainly tense during the exchange.

Best: Monument
Church of the Spilled Blood.  The church was built as a memorial on the murder site of the Romanov family.  Its rumored to be the most expensive church ever commissioned by the Russian government.  Its a towering structure surrounded by monuments to and photos of the family.

Best: Meal
At Pizza Mia.  Though it took us nearly 20 minutes to order and the pizza we ended up with was not even close to what we (tried to) ordered, it was delicious.  And of course it was topped with dill – Russians love their dill.

Best: Purchase
A fabulous milky quartz ring from a vendor near the Church of the Spilled Blood.  (I’m still smitten with it and wear it all the time!)

Best: Grocery Store Find
Russians have a thing for boxed juice.

After a huge breakfast at Hotel Ural in Perm, and a walk around the Green Line, we headed for the train station only to be met once again by Vasil (to our surprise and delight)!  He made sure we got safely on the train and bid us farewell.

Off we went.  Six and a half hours of train time later, we arrived in Ekaterinburg.  It was nearly 9pm.  We had booked a hostel online and it seemed close enough to walk to from the station.  Fast foreword a frustrating and exhausting hour and we finally arrived at Meeting Point Hostel.

We were greeted by Katia – a feisty young woman who essentially bought an apartment, threw some bunk beds in it and started the hostel.  There were no other guests that night, so the apartment was ours.

I should mention that Katia was amazing!  She worked part time giving tours of the city and as such offered a wealth of information and ideas on how to spend our time there.

The hostel/apartment was like a time capsule; littered with Soviet Era trinkets and papers.  It was old and lived in, but was charming.

We were told that any- and everything in the kitchen was up for grabs, so once Katia had left for the night we took a look around.

It was slim pickings, but we did find a giant bottle of beer, some cereal and yogurt and a partial bottle of Bailey’s-ish liquor. Such was the makings of my birthday dinner.

Conor and I toasted with Putin mugs and I blew out a match in my yogurt/cereal cake.  Happy 26th to me!

In the morning a cab arrived bright and early (Katia arraigned the pick-up) to take us a bit out of town to visit the Europe/Asia border.

The monument at the border was erected about 10 years ago with the intention of keeping travelers from roaming the woods in search of the GPS coordinates of the border.

It was such an energizing feeling to be in two continents at once.

In the woods beyond the monument were picnic tables and a sea of scarves and ribbons.

Since the meter was running on our cab, we stayed just long enough to make a contribution.

*Meeting Point Hostel interior shots contributed by Conor O’Brien

Given how much time Diana and I knew we’d be spending in the car, we decided to kill some time by keeping track of a few things as we traveled.Here are the stats from the trip:3,366 – Miles driven
12 – Tanks of gas used
9 – States/Districts driven through (CA, AZ, NM, TX, OK, AR, TN, VA, DC)

1 – Snow storm
1 – Bottles of mouthwash exploded all over the van
2 – Tumbleweed crossings (Mojave Desert, CA & Potter City, TX)
3 – Coffee stops
3 – Things lost (Mushi, D’s diamond earrings, pair of flats)
4 – Articles of headwear purchased
5 – Adult Superstores (all in TN)
5 – Nights slept in motels
6 – Skunks passed (OK-4, TN-2)
43 – States seen in the License Plate Game (missing NH, VT, ID, MT, SD, WA, AK, HI)
64 – Law enforcement vehicles seen (CA-1, AZ-12, NM-3, TX-2, OK-2, AR-1, TN-26, VA-16, DC-1)

Jackson, Tennessee to Front Royal, Virginia
725 Miles

(Read up on Day 1, Day 2, Day 3 and Day 4)

Oklahoma City, Oklahoma to Jackson, Tennessee

Lake Havasu City, AZ to Gallop, New Mexico
531 Miles

Sacramento, CA to Lake Havasu City, AZ
600 miles

Thanks to United canceling Diana’s original flight from Portland to Sacramento, the cross-country road trip got off to a later start than expected.

With the help of my father’s packing voodoo, we managed to fit all of my possessions, including the cat and dog, into the back of a Toyota Sienna minivan.

I grabbed D from the airpot and we hit the road.

The drive on I-5 through central California is a route that I’ve driven more times than I can count, so it was a nice easy jaunt with minimal traffic.

Hours of driving later and the sun was setting behind us over the Mojave Desert.  Stunning.

Our original goal was to stay the night in Kingman, AZ, but at the last minute we heard about a place called London Bridge.  So we shot south as soon as we got into Arizona and found said bridge on the shores of Lake Havasu.

The bridge is the original London Bridge from London.  Apparently, Lake Havasu City bought it from the British government and had it dismantled and shipped half way across the world to be the focal point of the city.

The original London Bridge, in a small town in Arizona – go figure!  There’s a whole cheesy British town build up at the base of the bridge that we will definitely be checking out in the morning.

By the time we checked into the uber posh Super 8 motel and found dinner at Denny’s (pretty much the only restaurant open) it was already 10:30pm.  (There was an hour time-change we hadn’t realized).

Tomorrow will be a packed day of sight-seeing and driving and we are expecting to run into the start of bad weather.  Happy Superbowl Sunday Eve!

A few announcements…ahem.Blog:
There’s an exciting new feature on the blog – Where in the World? archive links!  Now when you click a pinpointed location on the Where in the World? page, a list of links to blog posts about that location appears.  So cool.  I’m stoked, hope you are too!

Life:
I’m moving!!!  To Washington DC! This weekend!

Getting out of Sacramento has long been on my To Do List and I’m so so glad that the time has finally come.  Not to say that Sac is bad per say, but it feels much smaller than it used to and its time for a change of scenery.

Never one to miss an opportunity for a eventful trip, I’ve opted to forego the fly-then-ship-my-belongings method of moving in exchange for a six-day cross-country road trip!  One of my great girlfriends, Diana, from University of Oregon (I actually started out as her intern freshman year!) is flying in from Portland, OR tomorrow to make the drive with me.

It’ll be two proud Duck alums, a feisty cat and a macho puppy in a minivan, traveling 2,981 miles overland from Sacramento to DC.  We’ve got some exciting stops planned along the way – including watching the Superbowl some where in New Mexico?

We’re hopeful that the snow currently engulfing the majority of the country gives it a break for a few days so that the roads aren’t too messy.  Fingers crossed!

With a population of 1.3 million people, Perm was not the quaint central-Russain town we had envisioned.

It was a stronghold during the Soviet Era and served as a main point of industry.  As such, access to the city was limited to residents and military personnel.

Perm, has however seemed to realize the importance of tourism – they have a helpful tourist office and are trying to modernize.

But things remain in a state of flux and businesses constantly change locations (like the main post office, which we spent 3 days looking for and never found).

Best: Exhibit
Perm M, modern art museum.

There was an incredible exhibition by Valery Koshlyakov, Unreachable.  He presented symbols of the classical world using contemporary mediums – paint on cardboard, styrofoam, wire.

I loved everything about the exhibit; the colors, the lines, the structure within chaos. I dug it.

Best: Activity
Our new friend Vasil really took us in and showed us his city!  He’s an avid rally car racer and is active in a little known underground event within the city – Encounter.

Even though the infrastructure of Perm has yet to modernize, the current generation of twenty-somethings are actively bringing a new vitality to the city.  There are city-wide activities, challenges and games.  Encounter is a city-wide scavenger hunt in which teams race from clue to clue around the city via car.

We had a chance to follow the first few hours of the event (they can last for days).  Had Conor and I not been clued into the event and had come across the race teams, we might have been startled…camoflauge-clad people jumping out of cars, running around with flashlights in the middle of the night.  Vasil told us that sometimes people are concerned by the scene, in which case participants simply say that are searching for the President’s cat.

Best: Walk
The Green Line.  Only in service three months when we rolled through, The Green Line travels the city sidewalks to highlight major points of interest.

Each stop has a placard with a description and history of the site – with English translations!  Its a huge development for tourism within the city.

Best: Unexpected Find
Far and away, it was Vasil.  He truly made our time in Perm unforgettable and exposed us to things that we wouldn’t have had access to otherwise.

Our excursion to the abandoned missile silo ruins stands out as a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  Thanks Vasil!

Best: Grocery Store Find
Kvass.  Its only 1-2% alcohol and made from bread.  It wasn’t really my taste, but is apparently the refreshing beverage of choice in the summer.

Best: Awkward Moment
Loco Gringo mexican restaurant.  We couldn’t resist seeing how Russians interpret Mexican cuisine.  The restaurant’s tacky and confused saloon-style decor – think an assortment of sombreros, Corona flags, Coca-Cola decor, cow-hide patterned seats and American concert posters – was almost as entertaining as the perplexing, if not informative menu.

When our food arrived, we couldn’t help but laugh.  Our quesadilla and burrito resembled plastic thanks to a smothering of bright orange, liquid nacho cheese.

Authentic? Not a chance. Worth it? Totally.

Best: Monument
Though we only had time to drive by, there is a huge memorial/shrine outside the Lame Horse Nightclub.  In 2009 a firebroke out during a performance and over 100 people were killed.  We met a young woman whose father and sister were killed in the blaze.  The club remains closed, but stands as a constant reminder of the tragedy.

Before I ever set foot in Russia, I had some preconceived notions about the country and the people;  stereotypical attributes that seem to be generally accepted by most Americans (at least most people I know).  Russians are cold, uncaring and even mean.  They’re in the mafia or are generally out to take advantage of any- and everyone.  I can’t pin-point where I got these notions, but I’d imagine mainstream media had something to do with it.But when I got there, I came to find that some stereotypes seemed to be true.  While we encountered countless Russians who were incredibly helpful and kind, most people came across as cold and unfriendly and everyone seemed to be only looking out for themselves with little consideration for anyone else.It was frustrating.  I wanted so badly for the stereotypes to be wrong, but here they were, being confirmed.  It was behavior that I just couldn’t quite understand.  At least not until I visited Perm 36.

Hotel Uralhad a travel agency on the premise and we spoke to the lovely Julia about activities near Perm.  She recommended Perm 36 – the only Gulag labor camp still standing in the entire country (the rest have been systemically dismantled and destroyed).  But, she went one step farther and hooked us up with her friend Vasil who is fluent in English (he studied in Switzerland for years) and had taken people to site in the past.

Upon meeting Vasil, we knew we’d be in good hands.  He was amazing; young, kind, funny, in-tune with America pop-culture and eager to answer our questions and help us understand the area and history.

After two hours of driving, we turned right onto a dirt road and made our way to the entrance of Perm 36.  Drab, dilapidated, barb-wire rimmed.

Perm 36 opened in the 1920’s and housed up to 150 prisoners at a time.  In 1927 it became the primary USSR camp for political prisons and high ranking military dissidents

Growing up, history was one of my favorite subjects in school, but I was shocked and embarrassed by how little I knew about the Gulag system.

During the 70+ years of the Gulag, there were thousands of labor camps across the country and over 40 million people were imprisoned – that’s every 4th man in Russia, in a Gulag.  In some regions there were more Gulag camps than villages.

The system started as a punishment for those who opposed the government, but turned into forced labor at random; the government using everyday citizens essentially as slaves for manufacturing.

Walking into the yard was surreal.  It was a pleasant day and the surrounding forest was peaceful, making it difficult to fathom the atrocities that occurred here.

Vasil informed us that this camp was operational until 1986. 1986!?!?! I couldn’t believe it.  In my lifetime, there were still prisoners in the Gulags?!

The perimeter of the camp was secured by a system of five fences patrolled by guards and dogs.  No one ever escaped from this camp and in fact, no one ever even tried.

Psychological torture was common practice.  A security hut separated the work yard from bunk houses and multiple times a day prisoners would enter the hut, be forced to strip naked and be searched.  During the winter months the temperature would hover around -30C degrees.

The sole outhouse for prisoners was placed over 100 yards away from any other building, so going to the bathroom in the winter became a literal nightmare.

Intelligent, educated prisoners were forced to preform mundane tasks like stamping out metal hinges.  Many lost their minds or killed themselves.

Bunk house floors were intentionally uneven and difficult to walk on and prisoners slept on “bunk beds” – a plank or two of wood.  No blankets. No pillows. No heat.  I couldn’t wrap my head around how people were able to survive such conditions.

Wives of prisoners were automatically given a five year sentence.  Women in the Gulags did everything possible to get pregnant so that they would have one month off work duty before and after the birth.  Children born in the Gulag (most died within eight months) were sent to special child labor camps.

One of the most appalling and unreal aspects of the Gulag system is that prisoners were workers and got “paid” with virtual money.  They then had to “buy” things, like food and clothes and a plank bed to sleep on – they essentially had to work to “pay” to stay in the camp.  Talk about psychological torture.

Some prisoners spent upwards of 30 and 40 years in the camps for things like disagreeing with the government or writing a paper questioning some government practice.

Normal citizens in the area (including Perm) were completely unaware of Perm 36’s existence.  Vasil expressed his distress and disgust when he discovered that many everyday things he had used as a child – zippers, a clothing iron – were made by Gulag workers.  No one knew.

After spending the day in this haunting place, I couldn’t help but be affected.  Decades of forced labor, oppression, psychological torture and abuse at the hands of a government that claimed to have the best interest of the people in mind, is nearly unfathomable.

I came to realize why so many people (particularly the older generations) have the “take what you can, when you can, for yourself” mentality and are cold and unfriendly – they have every reason to be after what they endured.

I can honestly say that there are few places that have resonated so deeply with me.  Places like this force you to step back and realize just how privileged we are as Americans and how insignificant our everyday problems really are.

Sidebar – Our guide book had told us that it was possible to take a bus out to Perm 36 and we had considered that option.  What the book left out is that there is an insane asylum down the road from the Gulag and the patients are allowed to wander the street at will…maybe something that might be important to know before venturing out to middle of nowhere unattended.  It would have been quite concerning had we not been forewarned that people would bang on our car windows and approach us while talking to themselves.  Get on that Lonely Planet.

For more Photo Friday head over to Delicious Baby!

While in Moscow, Conor and I looked into accommodations for our stay in Perm.  We had difficulty finding a hostel that was a better value than a hotel, so we opted to go big and stay at Hotel Ural, the largest hotel in the Ural region.

Though I’m not sure it was meant as a marketing tactic per say, the hotel’s slogan is what sold us on staying there…”Hotel Ural, opening to guest our heart.”  How could we NOT stay there!?!

From the train station we grabbed a cab and got completely ripped off!  Our driver demanded 1000 Rubles (over $30 USD) for a 10 minute ride across town.  Its a hazard of being a foreign traveler and not knowing the language enough to effectively protest.  It left me feeling used, cheated and downright angry.

So we stomped into the hotel frustrated and on edge.  And then, suddenly, our anger melted away as we gazed around the beautifully modern lobby of Hotel Ural.  It was by far the most modern facility we’d seen in Russia so far.  Everything was shiny and new and the staff even spoke English!

We were on cloud 9…until we got to the 4th floor.

Apparently the renovations started and ended with the lobby because ours was a dark, claustrophobic floor and our room a stark throw-back to Soviet-Era minimalism.  But hey, we were in Central Russia so the room actually held a certain amount of charm.

Even though it was musty, the beds rock-hard, the TV and mini-fridge inoperable, the drapes moth eaten and the floors creaky as hell, the room was a novelty.

In the bathroom, a long faucet swiveled to be used both with the sink and the tub/sitting shower.

Each morning there was an impressive buffet breakfast in the basement that had Russian, Western and Eastern options – crepes, made-to-order omelets, miso soup, rice, sausages, cabbage salad.  After eating oatmeal for breakfast every morning for two weeks straight, we were overwhelmed by so many options.

After one night at Hotel Ural, we felt at home.  We forgot about the egregious abuses of our cab driver and looked forward to exploring Perm.

Considering how much trouble I had purchasing train tickets back in Moscow, I expected that something would be wrong with at least one leg of the journey.  Maybe Conor and I would find ourselves in seats instead of sleepers or we’d be in different berths.  What I did not expect was an upgrade.

The first thing that I noticed when we boarded the train from Vladimirto Perm was how clean it was.  I’ve been on trains all over the world (some far superior to others) and I fully expected that 2nd Class sleepers on the Trans Siberian would rank towards the lower end of the superiority scale.  This car however, was immaculate.  Not new by any means, but clean as could be.

Each bed had linens folded and ready to use as well as a small Welcome Kit that included slippers, a toothbrush and toothpaste, soap, an eye mask, a sewing kit and a few other odds and ends.  “How lovely,” I thought.

About two hours into the trip there was a knock at our door and our Provodnitsa (train attendant) handed us two blue bags.

We were slightly confused but decided to go with it.  The bags were full of snacks, condiments, moist towelettes and bottled water.  Strange.

Thirty minutes later, another knock.  This time we were handed styrofoam containers – a full dinner!

Stunned, we accepted the meals and wondered if we might be in the wrong sleeper.  We certainly hadn’t asked for any extra amenities or frills when we purchased tickets and yet here we were with a hot dinner delivered to our door.  Being our first full overnight train, we wondered if meals simply came standard with 2nd Class tickets.

Silly us.  Defiantly not standard, but somehow we had purchased premium tickets for this leg of the journey.  And in the morning we received another meal – pretty much the exact same thing they served for dinner.

It was such an unexpected and wonderful surprise, as it kept us from eating Pringles and Ramen for dinner. Unfortunately, this was a one-time thing and though each overnight train from there on out we silently hoped for a knock on our door, it never happened again.

Back in mid-October I committed a HUGE travel no-no…I left a camera SD memory card behind at a hostel.  When I realized my mistake the next day, I had already left Ulaan Baatar and was 12 hours into a 30-hour train ride to China.There was nothing I could do.  Now, I don’t panic or freak out very easily, but I was crawling out of my skin with anxiety over losing that tiny miracle of electronic ingenuity.

That little card held the documentation of a massive portion of my trip.  Everything from central Russia, Siberia and Mongolia – gone.  I cannot explain the horrible feeling that engulfed me.  I felt ill.

That is until I realized that my travel pal Jacquelinewas still in Ulaan Baatar.  As soon as I had internet access again, I begged Jackie to try and find the card.  And bless her, she did!!!! Ahhhhh!  I was so so relieved.

And so, the forgotten memory card traveled with Jacqueline – through China and Vietnam and Cambodia – before making its way across the Pacific, back to me.

I received a glorious envelope from Phnom Penh last week and was at last reunited with my photos!

It really is amazing how something so small can be so incredibly important to my mental well-being.  Its been such a treat this week to go through the images and revisit all the adventures (and misadventures) from the trip!

And now I can continue to share them with you…

Thanks Silks!

For more Photo Friday jump over to Delicious Baby!

My family is big on Christmas.  As in, every available surface in my parents house is covered with holiday decorations of some kind.

Just before Christmas Eve dinner, each member of the family gets to open one present, an ornament that represents some big event in life from the past year.

With all the traveling my family does, these ornaments inevitably represent foreign destinations.  An elephant from Thailand, a windmill from Holland, a Viking from Denmark, and the list goes on.

In the early 1990’s we lived in the southern Arizona city of Tucson, just a short hour and half drive from the Mexican border.

We developed a love for authentic Mexican food and adopted the tradition of eating tamales for Christmas morning breakfast.

This year we even tried making them from scratch!

Not a frequented stop on the Trans-Siberian (its only 2.5 hours east of Moscow), Vladimir is an ancient city that served as the capital of North Eastern Russia during the 13^thCentury.

Best: Walk
Around the grounds of the Convent of Intercession.

Best: Meal
Veal in country style – topped with shredded carrot, tomato and goat cheese – with potatoes and cabbage salad (in a really light dressing that was excellent). 

Best: Activity
Mead Tasting!  Mead was the drink of choice for princes and royalty before vodka came along in the 16th century.

There is a dedicated Mead Tasting Hall in town that, sacrilegiously or not, is decorated like the interior of a church.

There are 10 different flavors and you can order your samples in various potencies of alcohol. (I liked numbers 2 and 6 the best).

We tried all 10 varieties for just 200 rubles (about $6USD).

Best: Monument
The eternal flame and list of Suzdal natives who served and died in WII.

Best: Exhibit
The prison inside the Savior Monestery of the St. Euthymius.  Prisoners here were typically religious dissidents rather than “real” criminals so the accommodations were a bit more forgiving than your typical Russian prison.  

While we got the general sense of what was on display, nothing was in English (like every museum so far) so I’m sure we missed out on tons of information.

Best: Grocery Store Find
Mini octopi.

Best: Unexpected Find
Chickens!  Okay, so Suzdal is in the country and thus chickens should not have been a surprise, but after big-city Moscow we weren’t exactly mentally prepared for roaming poultry.  Not to mention the big black one was evil and chased us down the dirt road.

Just before 6am, when the sky was still draped in black, my alarm wailed.  Groggily, I rolled out of bed and proceeded to put on nearly every article of clothing I had in my possession.  The object was to wear as many layers as humanly possible before venturing out into the sub-zero Suzdal morning.


No time for tea or breakfast, Conor and I quietly put on our shoes, opened the front door, and were greeted by a hearty blast of frigid air.  My initial reaction?  “Why didn’t I just sleep through my alarm!?!”


But outside we went regardless.  And let me say, it was so so worth enduring the cold!

Suzdal in the early morning was magical.

A wispy low-hanging fog skimmed the surface of the river.

 Everything was covered in a generous layer of frost.

It seemed as though we were the only people out and about in town – everything was still and silent.

When we could no longer feel our appendages, we hurried back to the hostel, made a huge pot of tea and went back to bed.

For more Photo Friday head over to Delicious Baby!

The town of Suzdal, Russia lies north of Vladimir (the first stop on the Trans-Siberian) and is reached by a 40 minute local bus ride.

Local buses clearly were not equipped to handle international travelers because there was absolutley nowhere to put our bags.  Conor ended up with his pack on his lap and mine completely blocked the aisle.

We had booked our hostel ahead of time (Godzilla Hostel) and followed the crazy directions through town – they were very much “over the river and through the woods,” taking us around buildings, down dirt and cobblestone hills, along rivers and through fields.

But we eventually found it and it was far nicer than we expected.  (Think brand new, few guests, in-suite bathrooms and heated floors, ahhh).

The town itself was down-right charming!  Wood-lace designs surrounding every window, old couples meandering the quiet streets and churches seemingly at every corner.  It was onion dome heaven.

The town sits on top of hill and looks out over vast fields, a river, churches and a convent.

No much goes on in town as there are only a handful of restaurants, one bar and mead tasting hall.  But after the speed and congestion of Moscow, it was a welcome change.

I should be in California right now. After two months in transit, I should be playing with my pets, recounting travel stories to my family and eagerly awaiting Thanksgiving. Make no mistake, I’m eager as hell for Thanksgiving, but the sentiment is from afar – still.

Instead of being back home, I’m sitting in the Vancouver airport on what appears to be a gloomy and frigid day outside. I’ve been here nearly three hours, after a flight from Tokyo, after spending a full 25 hours at the airport there. Why spend so much time at the airport? It certainly was not by choice.

Turns out, November 23 is a public holiday in Japan and as such public transportation operates on altered schedules. [It should be noted that Tokyo’s public transit is nuts to begin with; they have three subway and seven train networks that are all operated by different organizations, each having their own fare structure and scheduling policies.]

A trip that should have taken me less than hour, took 2 ½ hours. By the time I got to the airport and found the right desk of the right floor of the right wing of the right terminal – all while lugging 49 kilos of baggage around – my flight had already taxied into the queue for take-off. F.

And so it goes. A wonderful Air Canada employee (who spoke exquisite English)helped sort out my options:

1.  Book it across town to Tokyo’s other airport and catch a midnight flight direct to San Fran for $3,944 Canadian.
2. Snag a seat on an early morning Delta flight from Narita to SFO via Honolulu for only $3,860 Canadian.
3. Re-book my current flight for the following day – same time – for a change reservation fee of $170USD.

Seems like a pretty obvious choice, but I must admit that I nearly plunked down 4k just to get the hell home.

Ultimately I made the responsible choice and settled on option three, leaving me with an entire day kill at the airport. I burned through Carl Hiaasen’s Basket Case (a remarkably quick read for 400+ pages), edited some photos, tried to sleep and waited.

However, such events are not exactly unexpected. It’s become something of a tradition for things to go wrong on the homeward leg of my international trips:

• Flying home from Paris after nine months of travel and study in Europe, I misread my flight info (damned military time), missed my flight, had a sleepover in Du Gaul, then got stranded in DC the next day as it was the same day as the whole “liquid explosives” debacle in London.
• In transit from Thailand to Australia a family tragedy caused all travel plans to change and I spent the better part of a day shuttling around STA offices and the Melbourne airport to get a flight home.
• Returning from La Paz, Bolivia was a complete nightmare.

And now this gem. Good news? Mishaps like this really no longer phase me. And especially this time…I camped with a banana muffin, a grande chai latte and Christmas music blaring in a Starbucks for about six hours, which isn’t too shabby.

But here’s the kicker – when it finally came time to board the plane, the flight was delayed by over an hour. Had this happened the day before, I would have had plenty of time to make the original flight. *sigh*

Sidebar: I’ve slept in my fair share of airports overnight, but Narita’s system is be far the best (mostly because they have a system at all). There’s a designated lounge to sleep in that’s constantly manned by a security guard (even though the whole airport is shut down anyways) and each overnight passenger registers their passport so security knows who you are if you choose to wander around.

*For all my foodie friends and two gals especially, who always ask me first and foremost whne I travel someplace new, “So, what did you eat!?!”

Cannelloni – Stuffed with broccoli and spinach from Sorello’s.

Street Breakfast – A hot savory pastry filled with carrots and onions. Mmmm.

Caviar – During the intermission at the Bolshoi we headed downstairs to the bar and had a light snack of caviar and salami.  It was the first time I’d had caviar and while it wasn’t my favorite, it wasn’t as fishy-tasting as I thought it would be.

 Cheese Bun – Delicious cheesy, gooey goodness.

Braised Duck Medallions – with tomato, eggplant and zucchini with lemon sauce.  Considering I rarely eat duck and pretty much never eat eggplant or zucchini, this was one of my favorite meals thus far!

Cowberry and Black Current Smoothy – It really was as good as it sounds; thick with chunks of fruit throughout and just the right amount of tartness.

Minestrone Soup – Huge. Steaming. Bowl.  Just what I needed to thaw out from the cold.

Black Tea– Thank God Russians love tea too!

French Hot Dog – Street food on the walk home from a bar.  Its a hot dog shoved into a long roll with a hallowed out center.

We were surprised that it was really difficult to find tradition Russian food in Moscow.  Most “authentic” restaurants were really expensive or really far away.  As such, we ate a lot of international cuisine.

For more Photo Friday goodness, jump over to Delicious Baby!