Beth and Pierce

“No Zena!” our driver, Joseph, commands as we gingerly shut the car door. The Australian girl, Anna, is the current subject of the reprimand. She gently closes the door, but Joseph merely grunts, opens his door, and makes a big show of walking around to Anna’s side to re-shut her door. “No Zena,” he dryly states. With the door debacle behind us, I look around. Where are we, exactly? As if reading my mind, the other Australian girl thumbs her phone and says, “Hey, we are in Syria!” What? I thought we were in southeastern Turkey. “Well, at least Google thinks we are in Syria,” she adds as she shows me the blinking blue dot on the map. Yep, we are practically in Syria. This is the closest I have ever been to the middle east. ... read more

There was never a more pitiful creature than the mule. Forced to be the “work horses” of society--without any of the gratitude or title. Whipped. Prodded. Mistreated. If ever there was an animal that ought to stage an uprising against humans, surely it is the mule. With these thoughts--and perhaps as an atonement for all of humankind--I lean forward and pat my mule on the neck, saying a comforting “muy bueno, mula.” The tenderness of the moment is shattered seconds later as the man behind me whips my mule with a rope and commands, “Vas, Mamacita! Vas, mula!” (“Go, little mama! Go, mule!). Mamacita, the mule, turns her ears backward, gives a slight snort of disapproval, and reluctantly snaps back into action. Lesson learned, I think. This is what you get for not taking better care ... read more

Looking at my plate, I knew that this was the beginning of the end for Chile. The outline of each piece of half moon-shaped pasta was rendered a distorted lumpy mound below a cloak of rapidly-congealing cream sauce, a few withered green pieces of oregano draped the side of the plate, and a stack of plain toast rested unappetizingly on an oily paper napkin just beyond the mountain of so-called pasta. And just when I thought we had reached the rock-bottom of food presentation, the waitress dropped off a sloppy shot of espresso--which splashed dark dots on to the white table cloth. Glancing up from our meal, I made eye contact with Pierce and he said, “It’s going to be a long two months in Chile.” Well put, I thought. I choked down the espresso shot ... read more

“I wrote a warning in the sand,” says one of the Australians in a nearly-heroic tone. He explains, “It says ‘watch out for the monkeys--they bite!’” and we all nod in agreement. “Good on ya,” his Australian girlfriend acknowledges. “That ought to give ’em a heads up,” I add. I kick the sand a little before turning back to the jungle to keep watch. It’s been only 45 minutes and it feels as if we have been on this forsaken island for two days. Under any other circumstances, this would be an idyllic setting. It’s about 3pm, the sun hangs low in the wide blue sky, a warm breeze sweetly carries the smell of the ocean, the horizon is punctured with several majestic limestone islands rising out of the emerald green waters, and large junk-style boats ... read more

“Yo-od,” I hear myself stammer out as my elephant steadily lumbers towards the river--one step throws me back and threatens to upset my balance. I repeat the command to stop--but it is more of a request or a plea even. “Yood,” I say again in my most confident voice. ‘Please, please stop’ I think to myself and I hold tighter to the top of her head--pressing myself into her coarse black bristly hair and wrapping my legs tighter around her neck. She rapidly fans her pink-speckled ears--a cooling method for the elephant--and, in turn, lightly slaps my ankles. As she takes another gigantic step closer to the river, I turn to see if my mahout (the elephant trainer) is watching. He is not. He is sitting on a sun-soaked rock, slowly dragging on a cigarette, snapping ... read more