Phu Quoc, Vietnam

February 20, 2017
by KandE

Well, here’s what I’ve learned about writing in the last 7 weeks: when you’re not relaxed, you’re not ready for it. I had (have?) lovely intentions for the blog, but I haven’t been in the proper mindset to bring them to fruition. I have managed to fill a few more pages in my journal recently—hooray!—as I’ve been managing to finally unwind, but before I hit you with my musings from Indonesia, let’s rewind blog train to my birthday.

Recap!

There are a few select traditions I’ve insisted on over the past several years that I work hard to preserve.

Step 1: Get a new passport stamp. Check! Good morning, Vietnaaaaam.

Step 2: Receive a happy birthday serenade from Momma and Poppa H. Check! They even had two chocolate cupcakes aflame on their end atop the Special Day Plate. They wished for my happy and safe travels before successfully blowing out the plastic 2 and 9. Bonus: Dad called me an “old hoe” before signing off, claiming it’s something he says now, citing a work story involving “ho, ho, ho.”

Step 3: Chocolate cake. Partial check. Is it my fault for not mastering the words for chocolate sponge in Vietnamese before scootering to the bakery? I was wary at the salesgirl’s hesitant nod, my pointer finger pressed against the glass next to a particularly festive slab of sugar. My worries were quickly dismissed, however, watching my name curlicue its way onto the frosting. Even more of a thrill: getting to select my own plastic candles and complimentary cake knife, to the tune of “LOOK AT MY CAKE, LOOK AT MY CAKE!” We motored home, one arm clamped possessively over the pastel pink baker’s box, the other clutching Eric excitedly around the middle. Hours later we would discover the 9 to be fire resistant; the innards of our dessert to be 5 parts angel food, 1 part a mysterious, gelatinous substance looking eerie caramelized onions. The garbage ate the majority of my cake. The chocolate hard shell, while tragically misleading, was at least salvageable thanks to one E. J. Thovson.

On top of the basic requisites, we managed a beautiful day to celebrate my 29th year. After a a plateful of a banana pancakes, we headed north on the scooter in search of alcohol with a paper umbrella garnish. Through Duong Dong town center, over an abandoned airport runway, and up the coast, we dropped our first anchor at a beachside resort. No umbrella, but a glossy maraschino cherry decorated my first attempt at intoxication. Pressing ahead, over dusty red roads, pitted with a minefield of shallow ponds and jagged rocks, we made camp again along the shore. No booze to be found, but also no tourists. Seemed like a good opportunity for no clothes, and a lazy float in the shallows appropriately clad in my birthday suit. The water was so warm, I told Eric he better stop peeing in the ocean, which generated no laughter but my own. (I think I’m a lot more hilarious than he does.) Following a proper swim and documentation with the underwater camera set-up, we dried off, and bump bump bumped back into town. Another drink—WHERE are the umbrellas to be found?!—an Indian feast, and an adventure to the harbor market rounded out a day of brilliant festivities.

Good to meet you, 29. You’re off to a great start.

Abandoned airport terminal. My favorite place on the island.

Refraction 101. Dammit…

Thinking: Eric better not be getting my shoes in this shot.

Duong Dong night market.

Ubud

February 5, 2017February 8, 2017
by KandE

I assumed something was lost in translation when she said, “We collect the poop here.” I smiled and nodded vaguely, simultaneously trying to backpedal my through through contextual clues. It wasn’t until Eric leaned over with a conspiratorial grin, whispering “most hipster coffee over” that I realized I had indeed heard correctly, and that our tour guide was not shitting me. The caged animal before us, whose million dollar feces we were about to reap the benefits from, was the secret ingredient in “lewak coffee”—the most expensive cup of joe in the world.

The process: a special catlike critter consumes coffee berry. (YES, berry! In raw form, they’re also called cherries.) Coffee berry/cherry is fermented inside magical cat body and shat out intact as an indigestible turd. Nice ladies collect and clean (polish?) said turds, crack the shell, and extract the bean. The traditional roast and grind process then follows until tadaaa! Ordinarily a few meager and measured ounces of the stuff retails anywhere from $35-100 a cup. Going straight to the source only set us back $3.75 apiece. The incredible accompanying view of the terraced rice farms below was free bonus.

We had set out this morning planning for a “regular” low-key Sunday—a leisurely drive through the countryside and hot cuppa. What we ended up finding our way into was the most abnormal + awesomely bizarre breakfast experience I have encountered yet. Makes one wonder how an “exciting” weekend might unfold.

One last note on coffee: it seems the proper way to drink “coffee Bali” is to stir, let the grounds settle, and sip—it’s all floating around in the same muddy cup. My first experience had my involuntarily spitting out a wad of grounds in a very classy maneuver. Yeesh. Yuck. Pass.

Surprise! (Saigon, Vietnam)

January 30, 2017January 30, 2017
by KandE

HI, BLOG WORLD.
Surprise!
K and E aren’t in NZ anymore, but K and E Abroad works for a couple of can’t-be-fucked, sorry-too-lazy travelers in the meantime.

Here’s what you’ve missed in the last several months—
KH launched right into wedding season upon arrival home. ET stayed behind in New Zealand for one month to sell the van. We worked hard, happily, successfully, slowly, distractedly, and begrudgingly in varying degrees for the next 8 months, and drank a lot of coffee. We left home on New Year’s Eve, watching the fireworks show from the plane, with plans to spend the month of January in Vietnam.
Within days we were looking for an escape route.
A vacation is not the same as traveling.
We slashed our must-see list, removed every to-do, and focused our attention on smaller achievements: crossing the street, eating soup with chopsticks, and working out the best use for the ubiquitous hotel bidet. We’ve spent the last week on an island closer to the coast of Cambodia, biding our time and conserving the few passport pages I have left, before we fly further south.
I’m ready for the next month in a new country. To GTFO of Nam. And to start writing again,—hi, Mom!—sharing experiences in our pretty little corner of Le Blog World.
Ready?
(…Annnnd, team!)

Sydney Airport

April 28, 2016May 20, 2016
by KandE

You know that scene in The Breakfast Club? The one where the frumpy girl shakes her dandruff over her artwork, making it breathe with life? That’s the way I’m feeling. I want to sprinkle the remaining pages of my journal with everything I’ve got in my head.

And, right. The sorry state of my unwashed tresses is a more literal comparison, sure. Granted.

-K

Waiuku

April 26, 2016May 20, 2016
by KandE

I’m trying that whole “don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened” thing. But it’s not working. I’m still crying. Still mopey. Despite my legitimate excitement for all that’s ahead, waiting for me in MN, I’m having separation anxiety. This van living experiment has since become my “real life.” To leave it is to be in a state of waiting until I can settle back in to our preferred rhythms and ways. Our life is simpler. Happier. More complete.

BUT.

As another wise person once said (hi, big brother): there’s a time to consume, and a time to produce.

Guess it’s time to get back in the game. Produce some good fucking photos and respect that part of the cycle.

-K

^ The Tasman Sea CRASHING into the Pacific Ocean. Cape Reinga.

^One of the holiest places for the Moari people.

^The Giant sand dunes of Te Paki.

^We had fun playing. 🙂

^ Making patterns on the beach. Zero stress present.

Snells Beach

April 25, 2016May 20, 2016
by KandE

Our emotional van dramas unfold like an episode of Full House. I’m Stephanie, DJ, and Michelle all rolled in to one; Eric is Uncles Jesse + Joey and sometimes Danny.

Me: “I’m going to throw this pan out the window. I’ll watch the eggs splatter across the ground and I’ll go hungry. I’m so MAD!”
Him: “Dear, let me help you. Trade places with me.”
Me: *Cries into pillow*
Him: “What’s bothering you? Let’s talk about it.”

And by the end, we’ve both had a cry, bared our souls, hugged and had breakfast. All that’s missing are the dramatic crescendos and commercial breaks.

I’m sad to leave. This adventure surpassed all expectations and evolved into something much more meaningful along the way. We’re not dirty hippies in a van, playing hooky from work, indulging in pure idleness. We’re 2 individuals, ultimately working to discover and define our parts in the unified whole. And not only in our romantic relationship, but in our lives. The world. Our families and careers. In essentially every aspect you can think of while standing beneath a waterfall, under a starry sky, before a boundless ocean–anywhere that makes you feel like a tiny human with big dreams. THAT is the heart of what I’ll miss. Being reminded of the sheer grandeur of the world, it’s enduring strength and beauty, in contrast with our vulnerable beings. Knowing we are all ashes, all dust, made of the same stuff, spinning in the same direction. Understanding that we are but a speck of that dust, being blown about in the breeze.

But oh, how wonderful it is to be that speck! And oh, how delightful it is to unfurl your sail and direct which way that wind shall push you! What a beautiful thing it is to be a part of this mighty whole!

-K

Piahia

April 21, 2016May 20, 2016
by KandE

My mouth was so dry, I was attempting to wet the interior by licking it. Slumped off to the side of the trail, on the verge of tears, this was how they found me. My trail angels. A couple of Kiwis that bunked with us at Cape Brett the night before that I would happily name my first and second born after. If I knew their names. After a brief comment about our “water emergency” they immediately donated one of their bottles to our Stay Alive cause. Me, being the Minnesotan I am, asked twice whether they were sure, and if they needed their bottle back. (I skipped the traditional 3rd and 4th protestations as I couldn’t risk them rescinding their generous offer.)

And so, we were saved! The show was allowed to go on! And on, and on, and on. My right knee, playing the implacable diva, demanded a large portion of my attention after the water crisis ended. Still tender, still tight, every step was a challenge. I was forced to hobble the entire way, peg legging the 16 kilometers of never-ending ups and downs. But DAMNIT we did it. Together.

This trip has taught me what it means to be a true partner. To help, to listen, to rally, to compromise, to boost, to offer, to explain and to share. And that whole “double the joy, divide the sorrow” shtick? Brilliantly beautiful, completely on point. That walk through the woods was quite shitty on multiple levels. But to quote thee Jay-Z: “I got 99 problems but a bitch ain’t one.” (Sort of.)

-K

^ Sunset the night before

^ &Sunrise!

^ “That doesn’t look natural. Can you lower your leg at all?”

^ “Eric, take a picture of me cradling this water, this gift of life.” REAL LIFE trail shot.

^ And we’ll end with some pretty views along the way. 🙂

Cape Brett

April 20, 2016May 20, 2016
by KandE

Eric’s hiking wisdom:
It doesn’t matter how small your steps are as long as you’re headed in the right direction.

Put THAT in a fortune cookie, eh?

My addition:
Tourists go to see, travelers go to seek.

-K

^ We picked up a dog at the trailhead. I named her Princess Diana. She followed us for at least a mile. I encouraged while Eric dissuaded the dog. Eventually I had to let him “do the right thing.”

^ Our hike was at the tip of the appropriately named Bay of Islands–one of the prettiest spots in all of NZ.

^ More trail views. Our destination is at the farrrrr far end there.

^ Eric drying out his tank top for the duration of our 10 minute MY-LEGS-HURT break.

^Our accommodation for the night. First ones to arrive meant first bunk pick. Woohoo!

^Hunger is the best sauce. Sambos at the hut. (Which is the old keeper’s quarters.)

^ We hiked back up to the lighthouse to catch the sunset.

^ Bunk matez. Lit by the full moon out the window + a rigged up flashlight for reading.

Whangarei

April 19, 2016May 20, 2016
by KandE

I offered him the best bite of my grilled cheese.
He took the worst corner.

After finishing the dishes this morning, he pulled me in at the waist for a slow dance. Our heads bend in funny directions, toes overlapping, we swayed. It may have been brief, but those 4 seconds are more valuable to me than any other quartet of time today.

Last night he told me he wants to marry me.
Curled up against his chest, smiling shyly into his T-shirt, I whispered the same sentiment back.
“I want to marry you too, Eric.”

-K