Travel Takes a Toll

Traveling is beginning to take its toll on us. Now that we're both in our fourth decade of life, we should probably blame our age for the aches, pains and the huge pile of hair in the drain day after day, but I'd personally rather blame something else. Like our malaria medication, for example.

Looking at Sarah's legs, I feel like I should sue someone. About six weeks ago, she developed this mystery bruise/rash on her calves. It looks like someone threw a scalding pot of water at her legs, giving her third degree burns. Not good. We have deduced (after a trip to a cash-only medical clinic in Cambodia) that this rash is a result of our malaria medication. One of the side effects is a greater sensitivity to sunlight. This is fine. We knew about this. What we didn't know and what no one ever told us was that a side effect to the sunlight-based effect would be ugly red rashes that won't seem to go away.

BTW, if sarah asks how it looks, tell her you can hardly notice it.

For my part, I have a little red rash on my heel that you really can hardly notice. This does not make her feel any better.

Poor Sarah's problems do not end there. She was under the assumption that this trip would put her at her ideal weight (100 lbs), on account of all the walking and general lack of super nachos. It's true, we do a lot of walking, but it's also easy to find junk food on every corner. She weights only 1-2 pounds more than when we started this trip, but I think she feels betrayed somehow by southeast Asia that she's not rail-thin by now.

Women.

I think it's all the beer drinking that's keeping her metabolism busy. Since we have every night free, and sitting at the bar usually beats sitting in a small hotel room, we tend to pass teh time belly-up at some local watering hole. The beer drinking = weight gain theory is deeply flawed though, because I have lost weight. I'm drinking more beer than ever, probably including sophomore year of college, and I'm down about ten pounds.

Much like the rash, this does not make Sarah feel any better.

Know Their Limits

When you're traveling with your spouse, you become acutely attuned to their limitations. What they can and cannot deal with. How far they are able to stretch their comfort level. Precisely when they will snap if pressed or cornered, either by you or a third party. It's really quite interesting.

Brendan is usually pretty good with hawkers (AKA people who want to sell us things and do not care if they appear desperate in the process of making that sale). Whereas I fell that a firm "no, thank you" right off the bat is the best way to let my intentions be known and not lead anyone on, Brendan prefers to be kind and say things like "oh, I don't know, hmm" and "yes ok, maybe later", even though he is positive that he won't feel differently later. His heart's in the right place, and he's really quite a softy, which I love. But the man does have limitations.

Limitation #1: We are approached while eating.
We're traveling for a year and we aren't carrying a propane tank, so obviously we have to eat out several times a day, every single day. Because so far we've generally chosen warm, topical locations, usually our dining choices consist of roadside food stalls and outdoor cafes, neither of which provide a walled-in buffer zone against street hawkers. However, as soon as my husband makes a conscious decision to eat, he feels entitled to that buffer zone. It's like his personal space needs spontaniously quadruple and he must protect his lunch with the ferocity of a wild dog. The sellers don't want his food (only his dollars) but that doesn't matter. Once there's food present, instead of "oh, isn't that a pretty necklace, well, how bout I think about it?" you are more likely to hear "no, for god's sake I'm eating now get the beep out of here!" followed by a threatening wave of the hand and a low, lingering growl.

Limitation #2: He is physically touched at any point of attempted sale.
Americans are not touchy-feely as a rule. We like privacy and hate to be crowded. In the U.S., you just don't go around making phycial contact with a stranger without first knowing for certain they they won't perform a citizen's arrest on you and try to sue you afterward. Five months of travel has taughts us Americans that the rest of the world is not as uptight about touching as we are. For example, in many Asian countries, two straight men walking hand-in-hand down the street is completely normal (it took us a while to figure out that the entire male population of Laos is not, in fact, gay). Brendan finds it all very amusing...that is, until someone touches him. It's bad enough when a small, rotten-toothed girl tugs on his pants leg repeatedly while he examines her basket full of string bracelets, but when a grown man puts his arm around Brendan as they discuss bus ticket options, watch the beep out.

Limitation #3: He feels unnecessarily insulted.
Obviously nobody wants to feel insulted. But Brendan takes it very personally when sellers try to mask their true intentions of getting us to buy something like a taxi ride by getting to know us first, so they they can tailor their advertisements accordingly. For example, a "hello, where are you from?" is usually followed by "and where are you staying?" which in turn opens the door for "and where did you go today?" which leaves room to ask "and how long do you visit here?" That way, seller knows that we have not yet seen the volcano, but are still in town long enough to see it, and will almost definitely see it because we're American and therefore wealthy and have come really, really far, and if we say we'll think about it, he knows where we're staying and will show up there later. This sort of duplicity is insulting to Brendan, even though he's not actually being duped. He wants to hear "I'm a taxi driver, and I will take you to the volcano for $10" rather than engage in friendly banter designed to lower his defenses while emptying his wallet. His is not an unreasonable preference, but it is rarely honored. Which is insulting.

I can only hope that by testing Brendan's limitations now, we will be better equipped to survive three months in India later. I can only hope.

-Sarah

Thirty

Sarah turned 30 the other day. I just turned 30 myself, so a few days before, I let her know that this one would really sneak up on her. Sure, I told her, you may say, "It's just another day.. blah blah blah", but wait until you actually wake up on the first day of your thirties. Not so blase about the whole thing now, are you?

Of course it helps to be in an island paradise like Bali. She's also glad she's married already and doesn't have to freak out along the lines of a "What am I going to do, there are no men out there!" variety.

So for the big 3-0 we did what Sarah wanted to do. That is, for her, not make a single decision regarding the day. She likes when I give her the itinerary. I think it's because while traveling we have to make hundreds of new little decisions every day. There is no routine in which to relax because it's never the same day twice. We can't take solace in simple things like waking up in your own bed, making your own coffee and driving your own car to work.

So I decided she would first have breakfast in bed followed by a slow morning drinking coffee and reading (just sitting around drinking cup after cup would be her ideal day, but I find my hands start to shake after seven cups).

Coffee was followed by a trip to the art museum where we snickered at paintings of topless Balinese ladies carrying baskets on their heads. Then, lunch at a Mexican place called "Nacho Mama" run by a nice Indonesian family. Sarah, as is her custom, got the plate of super nachos, inhaling them in 3.7 seconds. Following lunch, we walked and shopped and then shopped and then did some walking and then shopped. Afterwards, I went home to drink while Sarah went to the spa. Apparently she got some weird Balinese style massage where the woman masseuse took off Sarah's towel. If you want more details, you'll have to ask her.

Finally, dinner at a moderately priced Indonesian restaurant where she was serenaded by an acoustic quartet. They sang "Happy Birthday" in English and Spanish while the waitress brought a slice of with a burning candle sticking out. She was so embarrassed I think she started to cry. You only turn 30 once.

-Brendan

Getting There

Getting to a new city is always tough on our relationship. We are tired, hungry and our backpacks feel very heavy. But the hardest part of the day comes when it's time to pick out a guesthouse. I can sleep anywhere as long as it's cheap (in Cambodia, we're paying less then $10 a night). If there are no visible roaches, I could care less. Sarah acts as though she's picking out her dream home.

What usually happens is we pull up to our first choice which Sarah has researched extensively in the guidebook and online. We get out of the rickshaw, put our bags back on, walk up a narrow flight of stairs to the place and take of our sandals while we smile at an old woman who speaks no English. This may seem like nothing, bit I assure you it's very tricky. Just getting the backpacks on and off is a real chore. Sarah usually lies down on top of her bag, puts her arms through and then has me pull her up on her feet. Plus, walking up stairs borders on dangerous. We're so off balance wearing those big bags that the slightest breeze could send us crashing down. Then of course the shoes. Southeast Asia has a no-shoes policy, so anytime we walk into a building I have to undo my sandal straps, hop on one leg and try to kick them someplace where I can only hope they won't be stolen.

Once we're in the place, it's always the same. Sarah doesn't like it. The problem is she's built up an image in her mind that the place is the Four Seasons, so anything else is a letdown. Usually we bicker over staying versus not staying. I don't want to have to do the no-shoes dance at another place and she wants a room with a balcony. It's always fun to have an argument with her in front of anyone who can't understand what we're saying. The old women showing us the room usually just smiles and stares at the floor while we fight.

I always cave in and we go to the next place, where we repeat the fun of bags on, bags off, shoes on, shoes off. Most times, the second place works out which I suspect is only because she doesn't want to hear me complain anymore.

-Brendan

Scary Skin

Today I did something very scary. I stopped taking my malaria medication. The following chain of events describes why.

A couple days before Brendan and I left Laos, I noticed that I had a funny bruise on my right forearm. It wasn't round like a typical bruise, but more like a series of small, splotchy bruises. They didn't hurt, so I wasn't terribly worried. Until I found more of them on my right ankle. And then on my left knee. On my left calf. On my right thumb. Upon closer inspection, not bruises at all, but purplish streaks and spots. Not itchy, not rashy, not anything special. Just... appearing. On my body. My body.

Obviously, I was dying.

Brendan didn't think I was dying at first, and waved off the right forearm as a fluke bruise I probably got from lifting my backpack (I bruise easily enough to make that theory not so farfetched). But once I'd developed enough physical evidence to show that I was indeed dying, he relented.

At this point, we'd just flown into Phnom Penh, Cambodia, which is a big enough city to house a few decent healthcare facilities. Our guidebook suggested a travel clinic not far from our hotel, so off we went to find out how long I had left to live.

At the clinic, I couldn't even talk to a doctor until I paid a $40 consultation fee. Fine. I'm dying. I'll pay anything. As we waited for my name to be called, a French guy walked in and told the receptionist he needed an AIDS test. Wow. Brendan elbowed me to stop staring. The receptionist called my name and I went into the office alone.

My doctor's name was Gavin Scott, world's most flamboyantly British physician. Comically so. He asked me a million questions about my medical history, where I'd been recently, what kind of person I was, the usual doctor routine. He wasn't too impressed that I'd been out of the United States for the past four months tromping through muddy jungles and picking off leeches, which was kind of a relief. Maybe I'm not really dying? Maybe this happens all the time, so often that it bores him?

Dr. Scott looked at my streaks under a variety of different lights. He stretched my skin taut to see if the spots reacted to pressure. He measured their lengths. He scribbled notes. He nodded and scribbled more. Then he took a blood sample to rule out a few issues like anemia and thyroid disease, told me I was probably not going to die, and promised to email me with the results in 24 hours.

In 24 hours, Dr. Scott's email said my blood was normal, and diagnosed me with chloasma, AKA melasma, AKA hyper-pigmentation, and offered no course of treatment other than to stay out of the sun. Rats.

Not satisfied with this resolution and still at the internet cafe, I decided to research the side effects of taking doxycycline, an anti-malarial antibiotic both Brendan and I have been on for the last couple months. Dr. Scott hadn't thought it was the culprit, but you know, why not. Doctors aren't always right. And lo and behold, what did I find? A very, very uncommon side effect described as "black and bluish bruising or discoloration of skin".

Bingo!!!!!

I hate you, Dr. Scott!!!!

So here's the thing. I don't want malaria. I really, reallty don't. But I really, really can't deal with skin problems. I'm a woman, for god's sake. Skin problems are never worth it. So, no more doxycycline. I'm just going to have to try not to get bitten from here on out. Like, ever.

Oh, and one of the other uncommon side effects of taking doxycycline is hair loss, so it goes without saying that Brendan has also decided to abandon treatment.

Wish us luck (we'll need it).

-Sarah

Walking Blues

I've never walked so much in my life. Not today, I mean, but on this trip. All we do is walk. We walk to lunch and then we walk to dinner and then we go on a walk. Even so, Sarah and I have still not found a good walking rhythm. You'll rarely see us just sauntering along. I think it's mostly because my legs are longer. If you do happen to see us on the street, there's a good chance you'll notice one of three different walking issues we have:

1. THE WAIT

This is usually performed by me. My legs tend to carry me about half a block ahead of her before I turn around and wait for her to catch up. Most times, I just kind of look around and avoid looking at her. To do so will only make her think I'm being impatient with her. Which of course, I am not. You'll only see Sarah perform THE WAIT when she is angry and has walked ahead just to get away. Eventually, out of pity, she will stop and look directly at me as I amble up to her. She is being impatient at this point.

2. THE CUTOFF

This one is also mine but indirectly. She insists that I sometimes suddenly side-step in front of her, cutting her off.

This is untrue.

If I ever happen to 'cut her off' as she says, it is either to step out of a mud puddle (does she expect me to just step in it?!?!) or I sense some trouble ahead of us and am only trying to protect he from danger. Which leads me to:

3. THE CHARGE

Here in Southeast Asia, you can't walk ten feet without being bombarded on all sides by women selling bananas, men selling drugs and kids selling bracelets (or begging for change). So it's imperative that someone beat them back. Otherwise, you'd never get anywhere. This is my job, since I'm bigger than her. It's also the one way of walking we can both agree on, even though it means still not being able to walk next to her hand-in-hand. Oh well.

-Brendan

Now, Wait Just a Second...

My husband does not understand me or my undying love for the show "Friends".

How do I know this, you ask?

Well, I couldn't help but read dear Brendan's last entry below, the one where he attempts to "get" me by watching the "Friends" (already a bit of a weird exercise, but whatever). Oh I know what you're thinking, that I should stop snooping and just the poor man say whatever he has to say and laugh it off as general male silliness, but hey, HE started it!

Brendan's quote:
"She wants to be Jennifer Aniston."

Um, ok. I want to be America's best-known dumpee? Not really. I feel sorry for poor Jen, sure, but I don't want to be her. She was humiliated in front of the world and stuff. Not cool. Why would I want to be her? Does Brendan think I want to be unhappy? Why would Brendan think that? Is he on drugs?

I also don't know Jennifer Aniston, but I'm pretty familiar with the character of Rachel Green. So if I really like that character, shouldn't he at least be accusing me of wanting to be Rachel Green (which would also be untrue, but make slightly more sense)?

Brendan, adorable genius that he is, also claims that Joey is my favorite character on "Friends", and that I think the show is lost without him. Which is also false, because any fool will tell you that the indispensable award goes to Chandler. And yes, I do refer to Brendan as "Chandler Bing" every now and again when he says something nerdy and unfunny, but it's actually a compliment because I like Chandler. Poor guy doesn't even know when he's being complimented.

Who in the world did I marry?

-Sarah "Misunderstood" Moran

Let's be "Friends"

You can learn a lot about your spouse just by watching TV. We watched 'Friends' for almost six hours last night. My brain still hurts. In a small town in Laos, called Vang Vieng, there are something like four bars in close proximity that play 'Friends' re-runs all day and night. It's very odd. Walking down the main road, the loudest noises you hear are David Schwimmer and a laugh track.

I was too good for 'Friends' back when it was still on. I saw it as a lifestyle choice, and I thought of myself a bit more 'punk rock' then the 'Friends' type. Looking back, I must have been irritating to a lot of people.

I know the basics though. Ross and Rachel.. even the Monica/Chandler thing. It's a funny show. Sarah, however, has strong opinions. Emotional ones. 'Friends' means a lot to her.

She believes, for instance, that Joey is the heart of the show. He gets all the best lines. She identifies most with Jennifer Aniston to the point where her face really lights up when Rachel Green appears. It's a bit creepy. I guess I should be glad she sees herself in Rachel and not the other two women. Monica being too neurotic and Phoebe for obvious reasons. I understand why she has called me 'Chandler Bing' in the past. I also understand that it's not really a compliment. She has a deep hatred for Emily, Ross's second wife. This is not, as you might think, because she'd rather see Ross and Rachel together. No, the Emily-hatred is all about protecting her Jen. You see, it's not about Jennifer Aniston's character. It's about Jennifer Aniston. America's sweetheart. Sarah loves her more than I ever could have known. She wants to be Jennifer Aniston.

All this obviously explains her intense dislike for Brad and the home-wrecker Angelina. As for her thoughts on the episode where Brad appears? I wish I could tell you. The bar closed and they asked us to leave.

-brendan

Life of the Party

Sometimes I think that traveling is aging Brendan and me at hyper-speed. And I'm not just talking about our thinning hair (yes! both of us! they say it's just the heat and humidity but who knows if it will ever grow back!!!). No, I'm actually talking about honest-to-god maturity. Growing up.

Let's use a recent evening we spent in Muang Ngoi, Laos, as an example. Muang Ngoi is a very, very small village in the middle of nowhere. So much so that there is only electricity from 6-9 pm. So by about 10 pm, after reading by candlelight or whatever for an hour in your bamboo hut, it's kind of time to go to sleep.

Except that one evening around 9:30 p.m., a large, drunken group of locals and foreigners decided that they would set up a big guitar Sing-a-Long party at a few tables 30 feet away from our room. Remember, these are flimsy rooms made from bamboo strips. Walls with lots of small holes. Not the kind of room that can shelter you from a group of 20 idiots trying to remember the words to "Hotel California".

I was annoyed. But it was only 9:30, and we figured they'd stumble off to bed soon.

By 10:30, the Sing-a-Long was twice as loud. I gave them until 11.

By 11, I had had enough. Trying not to think about the obvious similarity I was about to have with the neighbor lady who always ruined our high school keg parties by calling the cops (we HATED that lady!), I walked down to the group, prepared to be firm, but kind.

ME: Um, excuse me?

SING-A-LONG (in sloppy unison): "Up ahead in the distance, cool wind in my hair, and she said..."

ME (moving closer to get spotted in the candlelight): Excuse me! Hello!

SING-A-LONG: "Prisoners... and a shimmering light.. and she said..."

ME (screaming and waving arms): Hello! Hi! Hello!

(SING-A-LONG trails off)

ME: Hi, my husband and I are trying to sleep right up there (points into darkness), so can you please keep it down?

SING-A-LONG: (silence)

ME: Please, we're just trying to sleep. Right up there (points). I'd really appreciate it.

SOMEONE IN SING-A-LONG: Yeah, sure, sorry..

SOMEONE ELSE IN SING-A-LONG: (laughs at my expense)

ALL OTHERS IN SING-A-LONG: (refuse to acknowledge me and talk loudly amongst themselves)

ME: Ok, if you could just keep it down, thanks everyone. Thanks. (returns to room)

SING-A-LONG: "AAAAAAAOOOOOOOO HOTEL CALIFORNIA.. WHAT A NICE SURPRISE WHOOOOOOO"

At this point, I am very upset. I have listened to these clowns for too long already, I have asked nicely, and I have been laughed at. By at least four different nationalities. I want blood. But I am too small and non-threatening to do anything about it. This is where Brendan comes in.

BRENDAN (putting shoes on, fumbling with flashlight): Oh for the love of.... (starts walking toward group).

SING-A-LONG: "AAAAAAAOOOOOOOEEEEE"

BRENDAN: Excuse me! Hey! HEY! LISTEN UP!

SING-A-LONG: (trails off abruptly)

BRENDAN: My wife just came down here and asked you all to keep the noise down. And you didn't. My WIFE asked you nicely to KEEP THE NOISE DOWN (menacing tone, not unlike an angry beast).

SOMEONE IN SING-A-LONG (meekly): Ok mate, just chill out, just calm down mate...

BRENDAN: No, you keep the noise down. You keep it down, ok? I don't want to have to come down here again. Thanks. (walks away briskly, shoulders twitching in anger)

A FEW PEOPLE IN SING-A-LONG: Yeah, well, ok, goodnight everyone (stumble off)

UNIDENTIFIED GUY IN SING-A-LONG: (audibly vomits several times and disappears)

EVERYONE ELSE IN SING-A-LONG: (begin wrapping things up...total silence by midnight)

US IN BED: "They should really be more respectful." "Who do they think they are keeping the whole neighborhood up?" "Some of us need some sleep around here." "Well thank goodness. Goodnight honey."

Like I said, traveling is aging us at hyper-speed. We are only collectively 59 years old. It's frightening.

-sarah

Why We Are Better Than the Rest of the World

Sarah and I have the same sense of humor. It's about on par with a sarcastic eleven year old. So one of our favorite things to do is play a little game called, 'make fun of everyone else.' Now before you go calling us ugly Americans (and you'd be right, of course) understand we only make fun of these people in private, or at least when their backs are turned. We can do this because we are perfect.

The other day we were talking with a girl from Florida. I told her my parents had a condo down in Florida. I understand this is not an exciting revelation about myself. I was only trying to keep the conversation going (it was waning and we we're about two seconds away from discussing the weather, and I didn't come all the way the way to Southeast Asia to chat about the silly weather). She shrugged and said, 'Everyone's parents have a condo in Florida, idiot!!' (She didn't actually call me an idiot, but the tone of her voice did). Florida girl then proceeded to tell us we are going to India at the wrong time of year (November). She knows. She's been there. Witch.

Of course the nanosecond she left, Sarah and I opened up on her.

Me: (In high, witchy Florida girl voice) 'OOOOH.. I'm from Flooorida! Look at ME!! I'm so smart!!!

Sarah: (continuing voice) I know the SEEEASONS in India!!! I'm from Flooorida!! EVERYONE'S parents are there.. don't you KNOW THAT!!!'

Sarah: (in her own voice now) Well my parents aren't! Who's the idiot now! God, I hate everyone.

The Truth about Husbands

Brendan and I have been married just over four months. For three and a half of these past four months, we've been backpacking across the world. Technically we are "honeymooning" since we're still on the first trip we took after the wedding, but we are not rich and this is not like one of those super-deluxe honeymoons people talk about in Maui or Dubai or Tuscany. Like I said, we're backpacking. I could not have begun to know what to expect four months ago, back when we were both young (age 29), deeply in love, and still showering regularly, but I'm growing wiser by the day.

As a means of us getting to know each other better, and because it's the right thing to do, I, Sarah Moran (formerly Sarah Lane, at least I stayed Irish), will let you in on a few secrets I have learned about my husband since I began traveling with him for a year. Feel free to apply the following information toward your own husband/boyfriend/schoolgirl crush/friend with benefits/stranger at the coffee shop you'd like to know biblically if that helps make it more relevant to you and your life. Think of me as your personal travel/relationship guinea pig. I'm happy to help.

1. My husband is willing to spend more money than he has to on a daily basis.

Haggling is a part of life in many countries, particularly those in Southeast Asia. However, the fact that the initial asking price of a good or service is known to be intentionally inflated so that a friendly bartering process can begin to take place with both parties eventually agreeing to a final number at least a quarter lower than the initial asking price does not matter to Brendan.

Example of actual conversation, word-for-word:

ME: Ok, so the guidebook says we should not pay any more than 10,000 kip for a tuk-tuk ride from the bus station to the hotel. Ok?

HIM: Ok.

ME (to tuk-tuk driver): How much for a ride to this (points at map) hotel?

TUK-TUK DRIVER: (looks at map, creates crazy inflated price in head) 50,000 kip.

HIM (to tuk-tuk driver with a smile): Ok! (throws backpack in back of tuk-tuk and starts climbing into tuk-tuk)

ME: Honey, no way! Total rip-off! What are you doing?

HIM: (horrified) What's wrong with you? You're embarrassing me.

2. My husband is jealous of the internet.

There are times when I feel the need to hang out with someone other than my husband. It's not because I don't love him. It's because normal women do not travel the world for a year and force themselves to spend 24/7 in high-to-moderate situations of stress with their significant others, and once in a while I want to feel like a normal woman. But since I'm so far away from home, I can't hang out with any of my friends or family unless it's via email or IM. Brendan does not like it when I express the need to log onto IM or Gmail. He has been known to mumble that I should "stop using the internet as a crutch", and that I "love that computer more than him". When asked to repeat either of these phrases more clearly, he will often sigh and go sulk in the corner.

3. My husband's problem with directions spans entire continents.

Brendan is still, inexplicably, reluctant ask for directions after getting lost on a DEAD-END STREET of a FOREIGN COUNTRY during a heavy MONSOON RAIN because he feels dumb not knowing where he is and doesn't want to admit it to anyone, even though I'm very wet and also very angry.

4. My husband and I are not going to be intimate today, and probably not tomorrow either.

And trust me, I am a normal, healthy, red-blooded wife. But because of actual travel-related incidents that for obvious reasons I do not need to go into, I can no longer, under any circumstances, concede to sex if any of the following statements is true:
a) there is at least one mosquito visible in the room - 60% of the time true
b) one or more cockroaches have been spotted in the bathroom - 20%
c) there is dirt under any of either of our nailbeds - 75%
d) we have eaten something new and questionable within the last two hours - 50%

5. My husband misses his mommy.

I understand this last point is totally normal. I miss my mom too.. a lot. But with Brendan, it's much more obvious. When he gets a bellyache, he does not want me to matter-of-factly suggest which medicinal combo would probably provide the quickest relief. He wants coddling. Lots of coddling. And maybe even a little baby talk. It's so cute.

There. I hope that was educational for you (beyond therapeutic for me, whew)! Come visit us again soon for more Relationship Truths of Traveling. I'm a bottomless pit.

-sarah