Traipsing across Scandinavia for the sake of decent snow

At home we have a metal painted sign depicting a person riding a bicycle that says in Bangla: "bones heal, bikes don't." During a ski trip to Sweden, Margo confirmed this declaration but with a ski pole, skiing so hard, it broke. And, on the last day of our trip, while skiing the back bowls she fell and broke her wrist. I point out the location because she had to take two T-bar lifts, a regular lift, and ski 45 minutes back to the front with a broken wrist and she did it like a badass.  

We took her to an urgent care for a 2-minute, $550 visit to confirm what we already knew. Assuring us that it was not bad parenting nor bad medicine, we could save ourselves the extra $1,000 x-ray and casting by getting them done back home in Tashkent. So we got her some Tylenol and flew home with a souvenir wrist brace. 

That was the end of our trip and the beginning was just as eventful when a winter storm hit Oslo so bad, they closed the airport forcing all planes to divert to either Copenhagen or Stockholm. Denmark drew the short straw, receiving plane full of people and no plan with what to do with us. The crew turned off the on-board entertainment and air conditioning, and took away water service. Still on the tarmac three hours later and fully marinated in displeasure, they gave us two choices: fly five hours back to Istanbul for rebooking, or deplane and Turkish Airlines would forfeit any assistance or reimbursement. Flying can be so lame sometimes.

Thank goodness for Google Fi, because by the time we emerged from the hot pot of body odor and angry customers, we had booked a hotel room and new flights. All we needed to do now was to walk through an abandoned terminal not unlike "Nightmare on Elm Street", fake smile at the grumpy, confused customs officials, and wait a couple more hours for airport employees to sort the bags that would need to stay on the plane versus not, and recieve them somewhere at baggage claim without notification of where that would be. 

Determined to make the most of visiting a new country, we did what what Schlinks do: death march walking. We toured Nyhavn, a 17th century waterfront that is as cute as it seems in photos. In the meatpacking district, we sampled beers and ate the best bbq outside of Kansas City, covering about 16km on the day before catching a flight to Trondheim, Norway. Landed, we then rented a car to get us to Are, Sweden, arriving just before midnight. Arrived, we would finally enjoy a few days of skiing with reindeer sightings, cozying up on reindeer fur covered chairs, and eating reindeer pizza.

Copenhagen

Merman espresso

AEDs everywhere.

Windblown warming hut.

Back bowls of Are.

View from our ski-in, ski-out airbnb. 10/10 recommend.

Inside view of our airbnb. 
Saving this photo for my future dream
mud room - complete w/boot warmers
and ALL THE HOOKS.

Are Summit.

Sweating in Siam Reap

You know what they say when building a religious complex, go big or go home. Angkor Wat said hold my beer. Bigger than Detroit, and with over 1,000 temples built from sandstone and laterite rocks from all over the country, hundreds of thousands of slaves and elephants succeeded over a few centuries. First, they hauled stones down rivers and mountains. Then they shaped, stacked, and then carved the blocks, etching nearly every square inch of the walls, halls, and ceilings with Hindu, and later Buddhist entities. Some artists carved 13 foot tall faces, whereas others told stories using tiny, almost filigree type designs with characters dancing or fighting. Gargoyles were placed for  flair on the high walls. So yeah, the 900 year old religious complex is big. It's pretty and impressive. Overwhelmingly so.

All week in Phu Quoc, I suspiciously eyed the weather in Siam Reap realizing we'd be going from hot to hotter. And wetter, if that's even possible. I'm one of those travelers who takes (and uses) 15 pairs underwear on a 7 day trip, but still panics when I get down to half of my clean supply. I coped by doing a last minute load, in mental preparation to see ancient ruins ala Mark style. This portion of our vacation was Mark's dream, which would mean long, hot family death marches in the city and around the temples. He'd probably take 4,000 photos over the course of 4 days (he took 2,000), and I needed to be prepared. And fresh.

Exiting Siam Reap's new swanky airport, we were somnolent from a long day of delayed flights, saying goodbye to my best friend, and from the moist, heavy heat that hit us like a blanket. We arrived too late in the evening for dinner but the hotel bar was still open, so we dined on g&ts and coconut water instead. One of the best things about Siam Reap, we found, is that plans are easily made and don't require reservations far in advance. That meant we could have at least one slow morning to plan. Mark wanted temples, I wanted to visit a mine and bomb detonation program involving rats, and the kids wanted to go zip-lining. 

Every single Angkor Wat review says one must see the main temple at sunrise, whether by air balloon, or on the ground, so we hired a tuk-tuk driver to pick us up at 4:30am. Still, we were hardly the only ones there as hundreds of people had already claimed their spots, mostly on the pond side to catch Angkor Wat's reflection. It felt crowded at first, but when the complex fully opened, we had several long moments where we were alone. The complex really is huge, extending far beyond the classic photos we see in the travel guides. I worried about breakfast, but shouldn't have. Once we could see beyond cell phone screens and flashlights, restaurant touts were in full force. In fact, every temple stop had rows of restaurants and we ate incredibly well, especially the Cambodian curry dishes. The kids drank as many mango and banana smoothies as they wanted and I developed a pineapple problem.

As promised, we walked and explored the individual sites all day, pretending heat was no big deal. I'm glad we hired a tuk-tuk instead of renting bicycles because we really did need rest in between stops. Some of the ruins were exactly that: ruined with toppled stones and overgrowth. Other sites had undergone reconstruction, some nicer than others depending on who funded the project (some focused on using wood frames to hold the structures together, others were rebuilt using concrete between the rock that oozed out of the cracks). 

The best part of the tour was the sense of freedom and space we felt, even if thousands of people were visiting at the same time. Deets really got into taking long exposure ghost photos and Margo perfected her cartwheel. She and I played around with taking panoramic shots. Mark was off in his happy place. Sometimes we'd find him in the dirt, flat on his back with a fisheye lens, or inspecting a unique shadow with his 200mm. That man routinely carries 40 pounds of camera equipment like it's no big deal. He's a yak (but a sexy one -ed.).

Zip-lining was pretty cool, glad we did it, though I never need to do it again. I equate it to the excitement of parasailing: fun for the first few minutes, but then it's more about the view. Deets was treated to an extra surprise when a school friend joined us, whose family trip happened to cross ours in Siam Reap. The only thing that made this day even more perfect was Mark discovering a South African Shiraz from the Stellenbosch region while the families dined together at restaurant named Somaha. I recommend ordering the steak and ceviche, raid their upstairs wine cellar, and skip the dessert menu.

Siam Reap is one of several countries that uses TNT detecting rats to sniff out buried mines. Specifically, they are African giant pouch rats that are bred and trained at headquarters Tanzania. The company, Apopo, chose this breed because of their intelligence, trainability, and ability to smell TNT buried as deep as 8 feet. The program graduates are then flown to countries such as Vietnam, Cambodia, Ukraine, and Angola, to a new home where they systematically walk cleared fields on a roped-off grid with their trainers. (Jungles grow crazy fast, so in order to provide farmland to the people, they need to make sure its safe for planting, and most of all for the kids). The rats start work at 4am, and put in about 3 hours of sniffing to avoid the heat of the day. One rat can clear a tennis court sized field in 30 minutes, whereas metal detectors require several days. Even better, these rats do not blow up (I thought they did!) because they are too light to set off a mine. Once a mine is detected, humans secure the space for digging and detonation. 

We took a tour at Apopo to get to know the HeroRats and trainers who live in Siam Reap and were impressed by how well the non profit organization runs. The kids and I held a sleepy rat who wore a teeny red harness and had long twitchy whiskers. He was a chill, clean rat, and very cute. Landmines, RPGs, tripwires, and anti-tank missiles are not. 

Angkor Wat at sunrise

Angor Wat

Extreme overgrowth of strangler fig trees.

two crouching lions

Angkor Wat and very hungry.

Our sweet ride.

Elephant gargoyles, pants, etchings...

credit: margo

Gods on one side.

Demons on the other.

Sleepy Apopo Hero Rat
credit: mark

In order to survive the heat one must have
3 beverages at all times.

Baby Elephant Boutique Hotel

Phee Phi Phu Quoc

Things that made me sad on Phu Quoc island: cloudy water seasoned with sea lice, dead coral, and garbage everywhere. While scuba diving, Mark and Deets were able to descend to depths that had not been totally inundated with plastic bottles, wrappers, lost fishing nets, or water logged styrofoam. They emerged happy from the ocean, whereas Margo and I (my friends too) were disheartened by the swill on and below the surface. Only on our last of four snorkeling ventures, we did get to see healthy coral, anenome, and tropical fish. I sunburned my butt cheeks where I missed the sunscreen, which was pretty lame, and there was one restaurant (I'm looking at you: Intercontinental Hotel Sea Shack) that took over 4 hours to complete our lunch. A few more than me waddled home with chafed heinies. Also lame.

All that complaining aside, there was plenty of joy too. Things that made me very happy on Phu Quoc island: sunsets over the warm ocean; Buddhist pagodas; waterslides; crab hotpot; playing charades; and floating on the Quakken (as Deets named it) in our Airbnb pool with our friends. We ate fabulous croissants at a legitimate French bakery, cooked homemade dinners, and enjoyed slow afternoons with naps. Taxi drivers were kind, plus we had seatbelts on every ride. We could drink beer on tap at the grocery store and at the water park, which is only accessible by a 25-minute cable car ride to Thom Island. This island also has a wooden roller coaster, a viewing tower, private beaches, and a European style town that developers hope to fill with vacationers. On the day we went, the crowd was minimal so we rode the Zeus Thunderbolt Waterslide many, many times and screamed until we were hoarse.

Valuable lessons were learned. Mark and Deets learned how to scuba dive and got certified. Margo tried scuba and completed two dives, but didn't love it (like me). And I learned that I should always test unlabeled containers first. I thought I put sugar into my morning oatmeal, but instead I seasoned it with fish scales. Worst part of it all was how I thought it tasted oddly salty, fishy, and bitter - but continued to eat it anyway. I was laughed at so much.  More so later too, when I broke the pepper grinder not once, but twice, dumping the entirety of the container's peppercorns onto my plate. Some lessons are harder learned for a 42 year old. Ha ha.

I know this is on his schlinkshots blog, but I just love it.

private poolside. (and suprisingly affordable!)

I tried to order the one-person crab hotpot.
It probably could have served 6, but I ate it all.

The (hopefully) up and coming European town
from the cable car. Big Ben in the distance.

Fishing boats at rest.

The cable car is 7.8km long, plays
music and tells stories along the way.

Taking it in at the pearl farm.

Break time while we trod through his workspace.

Conch galore.

Carving that involves a lot of high pressure water spray, drills, and chisels.

china.

Tall Buddha. This pagoda had lady Buddhas,
happy, mad, poor, rich Buddhas, etc.

Wearing borrowed skirts to pay our respect for Buddha
and his/her/their followers.

My people. My safe space. 
credit: my love.

Millions of teeny fishes baking in the sun.

Deets in his natural surroundings.

Ho Chi Minh + Bestie!

Goodbye long underwear weather, hello booty shorts weather! Ok, it was more like "hello sensible shorts, I don't need to be sweating AND have a wedgie" weather in Ho Chi Minh. So far, we had gone from -20F wind chill in Seoul, to 40F in Cat Ba, to 50Fs in Hanoi, and now to 90F + 90% humidity. Prior to leaving Hanoi, Mark had the foresight to leave our winter gear at the hotel to pick up while transiting home to Tashkent, thank goodness. Still, the weather not unlike hot mop water, hit us on the tarmac and didn't leave for the rest of the trip. I would no longer worry about cold weather hives and chilblains, but sunburns, chafing, and heat rash instead. Moisture be damned because my bestie, my ride or die, my sister from another mister, and her amazing hubby would be joining us.

The younger, crazier sister to Hanoi and twice the size, Ho Chi Minh City catches people's attention by its Londonesque skyscrapers, Frenchy buildings and churches, and LA rooftop bar vibes. It's loud, vibrant, stuffed with museums (of which we saw zero), and where market vendors lean in hard with their sales pitches. Like Hanoi, there's counterfeit and authentic everything to buy. Obviously I had to get a Messi jersey for 4 bucks. We walked everywhere, to Notre Dame, the famous post office, countless parks, breweries and coffee joints. Collectively, we drank 29 coconuts over the course of three days and 22 of them were probably mine. We celebrated Christmas Eve with the hotel staff who organized a  rooftop boozy AF happy hour, playing of course - George Michael's "Last Christmas" on repeat. The Holiday cheer was real big and Georgie was star of the show in every single bathroom, bar, elevator, market, restaurant. I wouldn't be surprised if they blasted yee ol' carols in the libraries and during vespers. The whole dang country played holiday music and you couldn't escape it. Except on the Saigon River where you couldn't do anything. See photo below. NO music; no stepping on grass or picking flowers; no talking to ghosts and/or electrical outlets; no Kung Fu on the toilet or trash can; no playing baseball with a giant Gameboy.

The most fun for me (the kids were rather embarrassed, for me? Of me?) was coming across the Hozo Music Festival downtown, where they had a flash mob dance off. Judges rated groups of complete strangers running into the middle to dance matching choreography. Obviously, I had to join. The energy and mix of people and talent was life affirming and I found I could mimic the choreography fairly well, or at least I thought so. 

Having been extricated from the crowd after several rounds, we walked past gobs of instant ramen, cold coffee, selfie stations, and music stages. It was raucously loud though, so we retreated to Pasteur Brewing for dinner for a more quiet scene. Of course, our beer and coconut waters vibrated on that rooftop when some band dropped the beat. Ah well. When in Ho Chi Minh...

Mariamman Hindu Temple

Christmas Eve Love with my two best girls.

Acting silly

More silliness. Credit: Mark

Dance off, Hozo Music Festival.

Meat prep down below.

Just NO.

Ben Thanh Market crowds.
credit: Mark

Ho Chi Minh Post Office.

 

Waiting for the right shot.

Dodo Pizza! Who knew?!
(This Russia based pizza chain is everywhere in Tashkent)

Loud music.

One more dance off shot.