D Travels 'Round

Daily Wanderlust: Morning glow at Elephant Nature Park

One of the best things about my expat life in Thailand is working for Save Elephant Foundation, which supports my most favorite place in the world, Elephant Nature Park.

A perk of my gig is that I get to head the 60 km north once a week or so to take photos, meet reporters and spend time with the elephants, Mr. Lucky, the pups and group of some of the best volunteers I have ever met. And, even better, every now and then I actually stay at the park for more than one day.

This past Friday, I headed up for an overnight visit. That night, I was treated to a spectacular sky that looked like someone threw glitter into the air and it stuck. Above me, I could see the Milkyway shimmer. And, in the morning, I got this.

Where have you seen your most beautiful sunrise?

Daily Wanderlust: the coolest tuk tuk in Chiang Mai

I’d seen it before — this tricked out, pimped out tuk tuk — cruising along the moat road in Chiang Mai.

“I have to get a ride in that!” I said to my friend as it motored by.

Three weeks later, as I walk with people out of my favorite restaurant at Thae Pae Gate, I see it again.

Fate.

We pile into the three-wheeled vehicle and head out, wind whipping the hair into our faces, music blaring.

Its got lights inside, lights outside and a driver behind the wheel who just knows his tuk tuk is the coolest tuk tuk in Chiang Mai, possibly Thailand.

My dirty little expat confession

For two weeks, I am in Thailand Expat Bliss.

I wake up when it gets light (because for the first two weeks in Chiang Mai the sun refuses to glow) with a huge smile on my face. The smile never leaves. I walk to work like a child seeing the world for the first time.

Huge trees tied with colorful ribbons!

Tuk tuks honking to give me a ride!

Incense wafting through the thick, humid air!

Street cats and street dogs eyeing the new stranger in their land curiously!

Fruit shakes for breakfast! Lunch! Dinner!

An inherited family at my apartment building!

Yes, I am living life with exclamation points. Never-ending exclamation points.

On the way home from work, the night is a story of endless possibilities, mostly which circled around Ciccia’s House, the haunt of those who live in my building. Most nights I sidle up to one of the wooden benches and have an icy cold beer with my new friends.

I meet AG the second night I arrive to Chiang Mai, when I am being verbally jumped by one of the older men, Papa. (Who I have come to fully adore, despite his tendency to proposition me after a day of drinking.) The third night of my new life, the power goes out at the apartment, so I find myself sitting downstairs at the little mart having a beer and chatting with him. Which evolves into dinner. And more drinks.

Just like when traveling, suddenly I have a fast and furious friendship. Whenever I am not at the office or writing, chances are I’m hanging with him. Which is awesome. He’s been living here on and off for years and imparts wisdom in regards to how to blend in, where to go for a drink, how to get around. Quickly, AG becomes someone I can confide in. My friend.

Over nit noi drinks, we sit and talk and laugh and joke and I can’t believe how lucky I am. How fortunate I am to have a friend I can talk to so quickly.To feel so comfortable with in a matter of days. I look forward to heading down the road to my place and seeing him sitting at Ciccia’s and knowing I have someone to talk to for the night over a large Leo (or five).

But, right before Week Three of Life as an Expat, his girlfriend comes to town and he all but disappears; I get sick. And suddenly, when faced with long nights sitting in my apartment — which is really just a glorified hotel room — it hits me.

I am alone.

Sick. Lonely.

For five days, my company is my music and I turn into a reflection of whatever song it is I am listening too (mostly sad music about being loved, not being loved and missing people).

Three weeks ago none of these people even existed in my life. I had friends. I had a life. And now … I don’t have anything.

(No one ever said I wasn’t a tad dramatic.)

That’s the thing about being an expat. When you leave America, when you leave your comfort zone, you don’t have anyone to rely on but yourself. Granted, this is nothing new to me, but still … to have it suddenly slam into your face with such a fury, witch such a quickness, it stings beyond belief.

Being an expat, in those early stages is lonely. Lonely, lonely, lonely. Going from family and friends to alone is a rude awakening.

I get mad at myself for thinking I am immune to the lonely. That the glow is permanent. For thinking that I have it all worked out and, thanks to AG, have someone to fight off that alone. Of course, I know better. The entire time, I know better and yet I am so caught up in the moments, so happy to be on Cloud Nine (even for a short time), that I ignore the ever louder voice in the back of my head — “this will have repercussions soon.This is not how your life is going to be here.”

And, when the soon hits, I hate it. Despise it. Get into a war in my mind over it.

Why did you get comfortable?

What were you thinking?

And I relate those thoughts to every facet of my life.

I sit, staring at the window in my room (even though the curtains are drawn) and silently wish for human contact. A phone call from a friend at home. A knock on my door from a neighbor wanting to see how I am. Anything. I just don’t want to be alone because, for the first time in a long time, when I am alone, I start to feel like I am sinking.

For one week, I walk around in a self-induced pity party of annoying, paired with a nasty little bug. I turn on Coldplay and Damien Rice and let their sad words drown me. I stare in the mirror and wonder where the old D went, the one who saw everything with wonder and bliss.

Then, one night, on the way home from work, it hits me.

I am in Thailand. I am an expat. I did this. I followed my heart. I followed my dreams. And, everything lead me here. Maybe a rough patch isn’t such a bad thing. It’s part of life. If you don’t have the not so good, how can you have the amazing, knock-your-socks-off wonderful?

And, as quickly as my life grew empty, my happy came back.

In memory of Rajah Gajah

The day I arrive to Chiang Mai, I am greeted with beautiful news:

Elephant Nature Park has a newborn baby boy.

Instantly, I feel my heart flutter at the idea of meeting a baby elephant and spending time with him, getting to know him.

The first time I head back to the elephants, I stand outside his large pen as he lays there, in desperate need of his mother’s milk. A few volunteers stand and sit around him, his tiny body laying nearly still on the dirt. They fan him, keeping the bugs away so they do not penetrate his very weak immune system.

His mother has rejected the little boy, trying to kill him once he was born. Immediately, he was removed from her side and taken to the park so he could have a chance at life.

But, his life is in jeopardy. Mom is nearly half-a-day away, and even though she is en route with the goal of getting milk from her, his chances are slim.

I stand at a distance, looking at the tiny boy, with his little pink mouth open, sleeping.

A few days later, I return to the park. This time, I am allowed in to pen to see him.

Lek is with him, legs intertwined with his, singing Que Sera Sera to him. When a truck whirs by, he stirs and Lek leans over his body, covering his gray ears. I stand, fingers gripping the chain link fence, in silence.

He deserves his best shot at life. And, his best shot at life is most definitely here.

Eventually, he teeters to his feet, tottering around in search of his milk bottle as he waves his short trunk awkwardly through the air.

Of course, I fight back tears as I watch this nearly helpless creature as he fumbles towards food.

He’s just so little. So at our mercy.

When I return a week later to the park, concern stretches deep over Lek’s face.

“He won’t eat and he has diarrhea,” she says softly from the wooden bench overlooking the vast land where the rest of her elephants roam freely. Lek just looks exhausted. She breathes heavy and sighs. “I am so worried he won’t make it.”

I try not to let that thought cross my mind.

There’s no way the team here will let the little guy slip away from us.

But, he does.

Only two weeks after he arrives at the park, five months premature, the baby, who takes on the name Rajah Gajah, slips into a coma and passes away. It is no one’s fault. He had round-the-clock care from vets, volunteers, staff, and Lek. He just wasn’t meant to be in this world. And, while the loss is heart-breaking, it reassures me to know that while he was on this earth, he was loved more than most animals could dream.

Daily Wanderlust: Hauling goods in Chiang Mai

In many ways, life in Chiang Mai is far simpler than in America. For example, I don’t have a car here. I walk nearly everywhere. And, so do others.

On the way home from a day spend at Save Elephant Foundation, I came across this man who was hauling a cart full of wooden chairs somewhere. It struck me as beautiful.

Why?

Because it is like nothing I would ever see in America, or likely many other western countries. Simple. Getting the job done.

Daily Wanderlust: Vendors in Istanbul, Turkey

Istanbul provides no shortage of ways to spend your money. There is the Grand Bazaar, where the whirl of colors, maze of ancient halls and vendors hawking their goods makes it easy to part with cash to the Spice Bazaar and the impending assault you know want to inflict on your tastebuds, playing tourist in Turkey is often times synonomous with dumping your wallet into the hands of vendors.

It’s no different on the streets of Istanbul.

Grilled corn. Bread. Kebabs. It’s all there, ready for you to enjoy a cheap snack en route to spending more money.

What’s your favorite street food in Istanbul?

Back to the elephants

I can hardly sleep, even in my new apartment in Chiang Mai.

My heart races and when I close my eyes, images of elephants dance under my lids.

I am going back to Save Elephant Foundation’s Elephant Nature Park.

Back to where it all started a year ago.

Funny how much can change in a year. From Las Vegas and adjusting to stationary life, to being at a cross-road in my career, to being healed by a shaman and having my entire universe change with just one e-mail.

My life is entirely different from one year ago, and I could not be more excited.

I’m not even in Thailand and an expat for 24 hours before I board the familiar white van and we head the 60km north or town to the lush green rolling hills of the jungle. And my beloved elephants.

As we make the final left turn and head up the mountain on a bumpy and pothole pocked road, a flood of emotions trail in my blood.

Elephants. Love. Life. Reinvention.

The first elephant I see isn’t one of ours. Sadly, it is a trekking elephant with pink scars around her legs from chains that pull too tight when she isn’t being used for tourists. I cringe when I press my face against the window and catch a glimpse as we pass, spying people atop the wobbly bench, delighted in their experience. And, when my eyes catch sight of her mahout, perched on her neck, bull hook in hand, I remember the tears I shed last year when I learned about the torture these creatures endure.

But, as we pull around the last bend on the windy road, and I see Elephant Nature Park’s land and elephants freely enjoying a mid-morning snack of grass, my mood lightens.

It all is so familiar.

The elephant kitchen, with the recognizable smell of fruit … the thatched roofs … the volunteers doing their morning chores just like I did a year ago …

I smile larger than I have smiled in a long time.

And when I walk out onto the rain-soaked grounds and find Medo, my favorite elephant, and reach my hand out to touch her leathery trunk, everything seems right in the world.

Things aren’t all the same though. My palace has been torn down to make way for volunteer barracks. And, there are about 250 more dogs than there were last year — rescues from the horrific flooding in Bangkok in 2011. There’s even a baby elephant who is only a few days old. My first encounter with an elephant at the beginning of his life.

In that instant, I am happier than I have been in a long time. I’m ready to get to work and start helping these amazing animals.

The ease of the Chiang Mai apartment search

When I arrive to Chiang Mai, I am handed a bronze keyring of the Eiffel Tower. I roll it around in my hands as we head from the airport to my new home.

I have an apartment and I haven’t even had to look.

I don’t know what I am expecting. I have many friends who have lived in Chiang Mai, and their apartments were always beautiful.

When the Elephant Nature Park van pulls into a large white building, my mind goes wild with what to expect once I walk into the door of my new home.

I grab my carry-on and my computer bag and nearly float to the entrance, despite having had the horrible and sucky travel experience for more than 30 hours, and it being just past 8 a.m.

“You are on the third floor,” says Yam, a staff member from the park. For a brief moment, I am actually thrilled Air China has lost my bag. Imaging hauling the massive, 70 pound case up three flights of stairs makes me even sweatier than I already am on the hot and humid Thai morning.

Heart racing with happy, I climb the flights of stairs and head down the long hallway. Around me, tiny shoes are placed outside padlocked doors. When I go to stick my key in the door, I can feel the sweat pooling around my brow, dripping down my neck and my back.

It is ungodly hot for this American girl.

I open the door, hold my breath and close my eyes, expecting greatness when they open.

Instead, I am surprised at what is in front of me. The apartment is a small room, a far cry from the gorgeous place I had in Vegas. In it is one bed with a flowered blanket, a fan hanging from the wall, and a wooden bathroom door.

That’s it.

This won’t work.

Immediately, I feel guilty. How spoiled am I that an apartment without air-con, anything to sit on, or a television and wifi won’t work for me?

But, I know it doesn’t. There’s no way I can go through the month sticky with sweat, racing to coffee shops to do work, and falling asleep with only voices traveling through thin walls. So, I do the only thing I can think of: I head out to find another apartment.

Later in the afternoon, I meet up with Daniel, a talented photographer, and he tells me about Smith Residence, where he lives. He sells it to me within seconds.

Air-con.

Weekly maid service.

A restaurant downstairs.

A minimart.

Laundry service on-site.

Wifi.

A gym.

A rooftop pool.

Done, done and done.

So, we head towards Chiang Mai Gate and across the moat to Smith.

As soon as I walk in, I know it is where I want to live. The wall-less lobby is sparkling clean and adorned with red couches. The reception is staffed by people who smile.

“Do you have any rooms I can move into in the next week?” I ask.

They nod their heads and then whisk me up the elevator to the sixth floor to check out what is available.

It is a modest room. There’s a bathroom with a tub, a queen size bed, fridge, microwave, two chairs, a TV (with cable!) and a balcony providing breathtaking views of Wat Doi Suthep.

I go back downstairs.

“I’ll take it,” I announce.

Then, they tell me how much money I owe (to the tune of roughly $300 a month), tell me I can move in whenever I’d like, and then I sign a paper saying I won’t damage the room.

That’s it. Wham. Bam. Thank you, ma’am.

The next night, I stand outside on my balcony and watch as the sun sets, casting glorious golden hues on the mountain and Wat Doi Suthep in the distance, towering over the city.

I crawl into bed at night and feel perfect. Content. So happy to be in my new home.

Planning a longer-term stay in Chiang Mai? Here are some other blog posts to help you find that perfect apartment during your visit:

Getting a Deluxe Apartment in Chiang Mai, Travel This Earth

The Search for an Apartment in Chiang Mai, Neverending Voyage

Daily Wanderlust: Exploring ghosts of war in Bosnia and Hercegovina

The stunning country of Bosnia and Hercegovina is one of my favorite places in the world. Here, a tragic past collides with a beautiful present. In Sarajevo, the scars of war are fresh. Any walking tour will clearly point to the roses which stand to remind people of the tragic deaths that took place during our lifetime.

It is the same in Mostar, if not worse. The city, which is the focal point of the Hercegovina region of the country, is intersected by the Neretva River. Beyond the beauty of the bluegreen water lies constant reminders of the battles fought in this charming town during an 18-month siege. Buildings stand like skeletons, pockmarked and shattered.

Then, just outside of the old city is a bank. Or what used to be a bank. Today, all that is left of the massive structure are the ghosts of war. A walk inside the shell of the walls gives visitors a heartbreaking look at a Serbian sniper’s point-of-view. Shattered glass, bullet casings and remnants of office life lay intermingled on the dirty, cement floor. Walls are gone. Windows are gone. Elevator doors are gone. Now home to squatters at night and tourists by day, visiting the old bank serves as a reminder of the country’s recent history and its path to independence and life.

Daily Wanderlust: A Hut in Rwanda

En route to finding gorillas during our trek in Volcanoes National Park in Rwanda, we had to hike uphill, through mountainous farmland.

With clouds hanging low in the sky, and the air thick with humidity and burning, we plowed through fields, climbing ever higher to the bamboo forest and then the jungle.

Along the way, we passed a few grass huts where children poked their heads out to take a look at us.

It wasn’t the easiest hike, that’s for sure. But, the end result and the sights (like this) along the way? Totally worth it.