I did not leave my comfortable surroundings in Toronto to Eat, Pray, Love like Elizabeth Gilbert. Yet, ironically, I did all of those things to varying degree during my first two months abroad.

I can relate to the protagonist from the bestselling book (admittedly I have never read it, nor have I seen the film). Much like Liz, I was motivated to rebound from failure in my personal life by embarking on a journey through which I would learn from others and, in the process, contemplate the road ahead. Centuries ago Plato said, “An unexamined life is not worth living.” The old Greek philosopher was being a bit hyperbolic, but the essence of his reflection holds true. We are not prisoners of the lives we lead, nor are we condemned to the circumstance of the here and now and this. That’s why I left.

India was on my travel radar because I wanted to learn more about the country’s deep history and coexisting cultures. First and foremost, I came to visit my friend Iain, a talented journalist who last year relocated to New Delhi with his wife, Nicole, and their social and gentlemanly cat, Alvy. The country was also a huge draw because I adore Indian cuisine. While we are on the topic of food, below are photos of only a few of the traditional Indian and Kashmiri dishes that changed my life forever (move over Plato, it is my turn to be hyperbolic). With all that is on offer in India’s kitchens, it is impossible to be bored in this country.

Even the train food was delicious:

Two and a half weeks in India have filled me with refreshed energy. India is a wonderful place to recharge and take your mind off things, mainly because there are so many distractions. Indeed, the country is a veritable tsunami of stimuli. Your senses are invigorated from the moment the balmy air hits your face as you exit the airport and head deeper into one of the country’s sprawling metropolises. In Delhi, I was surrounded by hawkers, wallahs, stray dogs, double-riding cyclists, cars honking incessantly, motorized rickshaws and roadside tea stalls (known as tapris) brewing garam-garam chai. The distinct smells of India also revealed themselves to me one by one, from sandalwood at religious shrines and freshly fried pokaras at a nearby street stand, to garbage and human waste in the narrow, chaotic streets Old Delhi. The  sights, sounds and smells of India wake you like a cold shower during a hangover.

With a good handle on his new city, Iain was an excellent host and suggested sights and attractions to visit in new and old Delhi. During the days, whilst he was busy at Bloomberg reporting on India’s top political news, I would roam the city visiting ancient Mughal mausoleums and Muslim mosques, strolling lush city parks, eating greedily at all-you-can-eat Indian buffets, winding the alleys of Old Delhi, and shopping at Dilli Haat, an open-air craft bazaar, as well as other markets. A few standout attractions in Delhi include Humayun’s Tomb (a 450-year-old mausoleum from the Mughal era), Lodi Gardens (a 90-acre city park containing 15th-century architectural treasures from the Lodi Dysnasty), Jama Masjid (one of the largest mosques in India built by the famous Mughal emperor, Shah Jahan, who also built the Taj Mahal), Qtub Minar (a 73-metre brick minaret completed in 1220), and the attractions the list goes on!

Humayun’s Tomb

Lodi Gardens

Jama Masjid

Qtub Minar Complex

Delhi is not exactly a walkable city, so Iain’s driver, Narayan, drove me around from place to place. You could walk – in fact, I prefer to discover a new city on foot – but Delhi sprawls over such a vast area and the intense pre-monsoon heat, which hovered around 40-45 degrees Celcius, would quickly transform you into a sweaty mess in under 30 minutes. To boot, Delhi also has the poorest air quality of any major city in the world, which only confirmed my decision to opt for Narayan’s services. During our commutes, Narayan and I often chatted about regional politics, including India’s relations with its regional foe, Pakistan. It was clear that he did not view Pakistan favourably, calling his neighbour a “dead state”. Other times we bantered about lighter topics such as what makes a good tikka, his family, and anything related to cricket. Like every other local that I met during my travels, he was surprised that I was unmarried at 34. But, then again, he pointed out that his beloved Prime Minister, Narendra Modi, is also a bachelor. So, that made it okay.

During the evening, after sightseeing the pulsating metropolis, Iain and I would once again join forces to banter about everything and anything over food and libations. Much like my time in Kyrgyzstan, where I visited a dear friend last month, there is an almost romantic feeling that comes with visiting an old friend in a far off, exotic place. It is as if time never stopped and spatial distance means nothing. Like a cassette tape that has not been played for years, the music starts right where it left off. I am proud of what Iain has achieved and it was great to get a glimpse of his life in India.

On Day 5 I booked an overnight stay in Agra, an ancient city on the banks of the Yamuna River that was once the capital of the Mughal empire. Agra is not that great of a city, but it is home to several UNESCO World Heritage Sites, including the world famous Taj Mahal, which is just as majestic as you would image it to be. The Taj is a jewel of Muslim art in India and a masterpiece of world heritage. Indeed, it has earned its place amongst the New 7 Wonders of the World. I was told that the Taj is best observed at morning light; that said, I walked to the entrance gate at 6 a.m. to take in the spectacular sight. With its great dome, towering minarets, reflective tiles adorned with precious stones, exquisite marble jali lattice and Persian calligraphy on its wall, the Taj Mahal is by far the most beautiful building that I have ever seen and a true testament to mankind’s mastery of architecture, masonry and art. The famous Bengali poet Rabindranath Tagore, the pride of India, aptly described it as “a teardrop on the cheek of eternity.” You nailed it, Rabi.

In Agra I also visited the lesser known ‘Baby Taj’, officially the Tomb of I’timad-ud-Daulah. While not as grand as the Taj Mahal, it is just as impressive and, dare I say, displayed more intricate tile work. Also called the “jewel box”, the elegant Baby Taj was a draft for the Taj Mahal as Shah Jahan, the Mughal emperor, perfected his technique before building his architectural opus.

Later that afternoon I visited the Agra Fort, the main residence of the Mughal Dynasty until the mid-1600’s. The walled city is another UNESCO World Heritage Site and is significant in terms of architectural history. While strolling the fort grounds I must have been asked to take over a dozen selfies with local teens, both girls and boys. I suspect most westerners are subjected to same pestering. Strangely those photos are out there, in cyberspace, featured on the Facebook walls and Instagram accounts of Indian teens and pre-teens pretending to know me. Weird. (Note: this happened all over India.)

Later that week Iain and I jetted off to Goa to enjoy sun, sand, surf and seafood in one of South Asia’s most beautiful coastal areas. We opted to stay in South Goa for a more laid-back beach shack vibe as opposed to the more developed northern coastline. We began our long weekend with a one-night stay in Panaji, the Goan capital, at the WelcomHeritage Panjim Inn, a historic hotel in Asia’s only Latin Quarter. The hotel is a time machine to a bygone era of stately residences during the Portuguese conquest of Goa. After a morning stroll and a delightful fish and seafood thali at the jam-packed Ritz Classic, we charted a path to South Goa where we stayed in a comfortable beachfront villa at Galgibaga Beach, a beautiful stretch of golden sand on the shores of the Arabian Sea that is best known as a natural, protected breeding ground for sea turtles. Seeing as it was low season, Iain and I literally had the beach to ourselves apart from a handful of locals sleeping in shaded areas and several stray beach dogs. Every day we started with a swim in the sea’s strong pre-monsoon currents, tackling big waves and body surfing the swell. We also hired on two scooters to explore other beaches during our three-day stay, including Palolem, Patnem and Talpona, where we would play Frisbee, imbibe cheap Kingfisher beer at beach cafes, and eat fresh seafood prepared in delicious coconut curries and tomato-chilli sauces. Those were the dog days of my time in India and I will remember them fondly – especially that night we shared an entire bottle of Blue Crystal (cheap Indian dry gin), strapped on a headlamp and went for a shallow dip in the sea at 3 a.m. where we happened upon two massive white ghost crabs and saw bioluminescent phytoplankton lighting up the waves under a crescent moon.

After Goa I spent a few more days laying low in Delhi before departing for Jodhpur, a city set in the Thar Desert in Rajasthan, India’s largest state. A long yet comfortable 9-hour train ride brought me to the ‘Blue City’, an alternate name for Jodhpur owing to its byzantine jumble of blue painted houses. Jodhpur is also known as the ‘Sun City’ and it lived up to its name with the hot 45-degree desert heat. During my short two-day stay in Jodhpur I visited the Mehrangarh Fort, a massive castle built on a rocky hill which is still run by the Jodhpur Royal Family but is now transformed into a museum. Following that I sampled masala chai at Bhati Tea Stall, a local favourite, before visiting Umaid Bhawan Palace. Formerly the sixth largest private residence in the world, the 347-room palace built by the former Maharaja of Jodhpur is now half museum half grand hotel where the cost of a one-night stay starts at USD$1,600. The palace is filled with beautiful art deco furnishings and also on display is the old Maharaja’s amazing collection of Rolls-Royces and Cadillacs from the 1920’s, 30’s and 40’s. Overall, my stay in Jodhpur was enjoyable other than getting food poisoning after eating a questionable chaat meal that obliterated my stomach. It was my first illness after a strong two-month stretch of great luck health-wise. I guess it had to happen at some point.

My last stop in India was Mumbai (formerly Bombay), India’s financial epicentre and Bollywood hub on the shores of the Arabian Sea where more than 20 million people call home. I will, however, refer to it as Bombay because locals refuse to adopt the city’s new name. I guess they missed the memo over two decades ago. Over two days I explored Bombay’s surroundings, including the famous Colaba neighbourhood (where I stayed at Abode, a beautiful boutique hotel) and Bandra, the so-called “Brooklyn of Bombay”, a hip locale that oozes coolness. However I also took it really easy because I was still reeling from my stomach issues. Actually, Bombay was a great place to lay low seeing as I staying in a nice hotel just up the street from the Gateway of India and the Taj Mahal Palace hotel, two of the city’s main draws.

Of course, India is far too big to absorb in one trip, let alone 10. You have to make of it what you choose. My time in this country introduced me to both the good and bad that comes with visiting India. It is a colourful, dynamic place where you can never get bored and the sights are rich with both colonial history and an even more compelling past before the British occupation. There are, however, a few downsides, including rampant pollution, throngs of people that have no concept of personal space, the constant staring (which turns into leering when Indian men see foreign women – super creepy), and the constant “winging it” nature of Indian society. Despite it all, India is a gem of a country and you have to experience it at least once in your lifetime. It is one of the cradles of human civilization – enough said. My word of advice: save your stomach and don’t eat too much chaat!

Up next: flying to Bali, Indonesia where I will spend time in both Ubud and Amed Beach before ferrying across to the Gili Islands, where I plan to be a beach bum for awhile, after which I will head to Lombok to hike the ridge of Mount Rinjani, an active volcano whose caldera is filled by a sea-blue crater lake. From there I plan to venture to a lesser visited Indonesian island for more adventure, but I have not decided on my destination (possibly Sulawesi, Flores or Sumatra).

Much love to friends and family.

Georgia is an absolute gem – a must-see.

I may as well save myself the effort of writing and leave it at that. The above sentiment aptly summarizes my early and lasting impression of Georgia, an enchanting country located in the Transcaucasian region of Eurasia.

Officially called Sakartvelo, Georgia lies at the crossroads of Western Asia and Eastern Europe on a fertile, largely mountainous land bridge bordering the Black Sea, between Turkey and Russia, with Armenia and Azerbaijan located to the country’s south and southeast. In 1921 the country was attacked and occupied by the Russian Soviet Red Army, the Bolshevik land force, and a puppet regime loyal to Moscow was promptly installed. Georgia regained its independence in 1991 after the fall of the Soviet Union and, in 2003, the so-called “Rose Revolution” sparked widespread protests over disputed parliamentary elections, which ultimately led to a pro-Western peaceful transfer of power. Based on my many conversations with locals, Georgians very much view themselves as part of Europe both from a geopolitical standpoint and, to some degree, culturally as well. Indeed, the country’s impressively deep history and early affinity for ancient Greek philosophy pulls it closer to the West than the East.

During my halcyon days in Kyrgyzstan, my mate John connected me with with his Georgian friend, Gigisha, who lives in Tbilisi, the country’s capital city. Gigisha is an up-and-coming film director who recently finished shooting a film titled “Neighbours”, which profiles the diverse lives of residents in traditional Georgian apartment buildings with Italian-style courtyards where inhabitants maintain intimate bonds and secrets are hard to keep (click here to read more about the mysterious courtyards of Tbilisi). I promised him I would reciprocate and show him around Toronto if (hopefully when) the film is screened at the Toronto International Film Festival.

A typical residential courtyard in Tbilisi, Georgia.

Within two hours of landing in Tbilisi I met with Gigisha and his friend Luka at Fabrika Hostel, where I booked myself a bed in a dorm room. Fabrika is a hip, designer hostel that is head and shoulders above any other hostel I have stayed in. Set in an old sewing factory where Soviet fashion was created, Fabrika is also the epicentre of the city’s art-driven, liberal community where local artists, musicians and (dare I say) hipsters mill around the many artsy shops, bars and restaurants located in Fabrika’s large, inner courtyard. The place would fit in effortlessly into Toronto’s famed Queen Street West neighbourhood or New York’s East Village. I spent many a blurry nights in those haunts, sipping the country’s amazing wines whilst people watching. Background aside, after meeting over a beer or two Gigisha, Luka and I joined up with their girlfriends and we charted a path to the Old Town to eat, drink, laugh and share stories.

My second day in Tbilisi started brilliantly after filling myself with Fabrika’s scrumptious breakfast before I set out on a long walk of the charming streets of Tbilisi, which are embellished with stunning architecture reminiscent of the most celebrated European cities. On the walk up to 4th-century Narikala fortress I struck a conversation with a fellow tourist whilst we were both taking photos of the skyline. Louise, based in London, UK, was in Tbilisi for work and, after a brief introductory chat, we walked the trail up to the hilltop fortress where the city’s sprawl revealed itself to us. Later that afternoon, Louise and I sat down for cappuccino at one of Tbilisi’s many eccentric cafes, where we got to know each other better. As it turns out, we had quite a bit in common and I very much enjoyed meeting such a well-travelled, cosmopolitan person. We spent the next few evenings together experiencing all that Tbilisi has to offer, including the opening of the Sou Festival, a two-month long celebration of art, music and culture. The opening night was at Circus, a Soviet-era neoclassical rotunda building, and featured a string quartet with electro mixes and trippy light projections.

Let us rewind back to Day Two for a moment. Seeing as we got along famously, after sipping our cappuccinos I asked Louise to join me at the New Wine Festival, an annual springtime event featuring Georgian family-owned, medium and large wineries showcasing their wines of the 2016 harvest. Set at Mtatsminda Park, a landscaped area located at the top of iconic Mount Mtatsminda, Louise and I decided to walk up the mount rather than opt for the funicular. The “walk” turned into a 45-minute uphill hike that led us to a closed-off area under construction where Louise had to crawl under a temporary plywood wall to get in to the park grounds. Rather than crawling under, I opted to amble atop a chest-high ledge beside a precipitous drop with electrical wires blocking the way. At the time my route seemed simpler than crawling, but clearly she made the smarter decision. Following our break-in, we joined up with Gigisha and his friends, sampled a few of the country’s tremendous wines – including the qvevri style wine (more on that in the next paragraph) – and we were interviewed by a local TV station about our tourist experience at the wine fest. Not a bad day!

Later that week, whilst sampling more Georgian wine at a wine gallery near Fabrika, I asked the shopkeep to recommend a driver that could take me around Kakheti, the country’s premier wine-producing region. Georgia has an impressive 8,000-year history as one of the oldest wine regions in the world. In fact, the deep traditions of its viticulture are intertwined with the country’s national identity and self-expression. Interestingly, the millennia-old practice of vinifying in large clay qvevri vessels still persists today. This artisanal wine-making method was once suppressed under Soviet rule because it was considered primitive, but it has been revived since 1991 and is widely considered as the country’s crowning achievement. I can attest to its quality; qvevri wine is world-class despite its rather elementary vinification process. Click here to learn more about the traditional qvevri method – it is fascinating.

During my time in the Kakheti wine region, my driver, Paata, and I stopped in at a few wineries to sample the goods (do not worry, only one of us was drinking). Of the handful of wineries we visited, Chateau Mere, featured below, stood out despite being a relatively large-scale operation opened in 2011. Notwithstanding their short history, they make a phenomenal Kisi wine using the qvevri method that reminded me of a greasy Sonoma Valley Chardonnay, but with slightly more minerality due to the qvevri magic.

Another tradition in Georgia is driving with reckless abandon on both highways and city streets. That day Paata stayed true to that custom as we toured around Kakheti visiting old monasteries and castles dotting the landscape in and around Telavi and Sighnaghi, a picturesque hilltop village offering memorable, sweeping panoramic views. Also, in Telavi we visited a 46-metre high 900-year old tree with a massive diameter. I thought it was pretty cool to see such an old tree that stood witness to so many historic events in the region. Below are a few photos to bring this all to life.

Two sights come to mind as worth remembering during that day’s road trip: Ujarma Fortress and Gremi Church. First, Ujarma Fortress is one of the important fortress-towns in Georgia. Established in the 3rd-century AD, it became a multi ethnic centre due to its strategic location on the eastern flank and was the residence of many kings and princes over the centuries. In the early Middle Ages, Ujarma Fortress served as a bastion against Persian and Arab invasions, where many bloody battles were fought for God and King.

Second was the Church of the Archangels sitting on the citadel in Gremi, the capital of the old Kingdom of Kakheti. A 16th-century architectural monument, the Church is very well-preserved and still serves as a place of worship. Adjacent to the church remains a three-story castle, a bell tower and a centuries-old wine cellar. The historical site offers a glimpse into a fascinating past as a trading post along the Silk Road, and as the site of epic resistance against marauding Persian armies. The invading armies unfortunately defaced the frescoes in the church, chipping away at the faces of Christian saints (see below).

Later in the week I decided to treat myself to a two-day sojourn in Stepantsminda, which is located in the Kazbegi region in Georgia’s northern reaches at the border with Russia. Nestled at the foot of the Greater Caucasus mountains, the small municipality is best known as the home of 14th-century Gergety Trinity Church, a stunning hilltop monastery sitting at an elevation of 2,170 metres under Mount Kazbegi. Usually the site offers awe-inspiring views of the surrounding mountain ranges, however that day offered a solemn, cloudy spectacle. Yet the gloomy weather made the experience more introspective and brooding. The hike to church was more demanding than I anticipated, but once I reached the top the views that were revealed to me will forever be tattooed in my memory. The sheer beauty of it struck me deeply and made me feel quite emotional. I am not devout, so the site did not hold any particular religious significance. But, having said that, I was very moved by this inward-looking, spiritual experience.

My overnight stay in Kazbegi was all the more special because I decided to splurge on a lavish accommodation at the Rooms Hotel, a stunning boutique hotel located at the base of the Kazbek Mountain located in the valley opposite the Gergeti Trinity Church. It was pure, unadulterated luxury, but sometimes you just have to treated yourself – right? Surprisingly I did not take many photos of the hotel, but below are a few snaps (minus the amazing ground floor lobby and bar).

I will cap off this blog post by stating the obvious: Georgian food is delightful. I see no need to describe it in detail; instead, I highly recommend you to come here to experience it for yourself. Below are only a few of the delectable dishes that I sampled.

Georgia is one of the most beautiful countries on Earth. From its green valleys strewn with vineyards to its ancient castles and monasteries set in dazzling mountain scenery. Do yourself a favour and come visit. I only saw a small part of the country (I did not have enough time to visit the Black Sea coast), but the overall travel experience was truly unforgettable.

Up next: flying to Delhi, India to link up with a good friend from Canada, Iain Marlow, who has been living and working in Delhi for nearly two years. Previously a journalist for the Globe and Mail’s Report on Business, Iain finally scored himself a foreign correspondent gig with Bloomberg. Click here to read his stories; they are pretty great!

Whilst travelling in Nepal, the first stop on my months-long journey in Central and South Asia, the most frequently asked question amongst backpackers was, “Where to next?” Given Nepal’s geographic location, the most common answer was India or China. I, on the other hand, responded with Kyrgyzstan; an answer that elicited blank stares, confused looks or furrowed brows. Only two of the several dozen people that I met during my time in Nepal could point out Kyrgyzstan on a map, let alone be aware of the country’s existence. The “Stan” countries are often overlooked during the typical Asian backpacking route because you have to fly west to Central Asia, an expensive proposition for shoe-string backpackers, and also considering that the ex-Soviet countries are underappreciated relative to other countries in the Indian subcontinent or Southeast Asia. In my case, however, that is precisely why I wanted to travel to Central Asia. I wanted to get a first-hand look at the misunderstood former Soviet space, which is still very much within Russia’s sphere of influence.

I ventured to Kyrgyzstan (officially the Kyrgyz Republic) to see the country’s incredible natural beauty and learn about its proud nomadic traditions. Above all, I came here to visit a dear friend who has been living and working here for more than six years. In 2008-09, I attended a British postgraduate school of international relations based in Brussels, Belgium. During that time I forged a close, lifelong friendship with my flatmate John, an American student from Chicago. We both highly value that friendship and we have cultivated it over the years by staying in frequent contact and travelling with our international group of friends to various, far-flung destinations. Naturally, when the prospect of visiting John in Kyrgyzstan presented itself I jumped at the opportunity and booked a flight to Bishkek, the country’s capital, not knowing what to expect.

I landed in Bishkek on April 28th at 04:30 during a grey, rainy morning and queued up at customs surrounded by people who clearly were not backpacking tourists. In fact, I may have been the only backpacker on my flight from Dubai. To my surprise, the customs agent spoke no word of English and he could only offer a barely comprehensible “hello” as I handed him my Canadian passport. This was a harbinger for the coming weeks as only a very small minority of Kyrgyz people speak English. In Kyrgyzstan, Russian prevails as the lingua franca. Luckily, John dispatched his driver to pick me up at the arrivals gate and drive me to his apartment.

Bishkek is a larger, more developed city than I had imagined, especially compared to the still-developing, earthquake-affected country of Nepal. Uninspiring Soviet-era architecture is pervasive (though it does have some charm), but the city offers many green spaces, impressive statues and monuments, and postcard-worthy views of the snow-capped Ala-Too mountain range on the city’s outskirts. Like most Westerners, I erroneously thought of Central Asian states as derelict Soviet leftovers stuck in an uneven adjustment to post Cold War life. Indeed, Kyrgyzstan and its people are still adjusting to life as an independent state – though still pulled in to Russia’s strong gravitational pull – but there is important work being done to establish itself as a modern democracy amongst its orphaned peers in the region after the fall of the Soviet Union.

Russia brought economic development and modern infrastructure to Kyrgyzstan, a country that was once inhabited by nomadic, hunter-gatherer tribes. That, in part, explains why the Kyrgyz still hold Russia in high esteem and view it as a benevolent parent intent on seeing its child grow and evolve. Again, this defies the preconceived notions that we uphold in the West. Taking a political stance on Russia’s influence in the region is outside the scope of this blog post, but I will say that it was refreshing to get an unvarnished look at life in an ex-Soviet state.

Moving on to what I have actually done during my two weeks in Kyrgyzstan. As an American expat living in Bishkek, John quickly immersed me into the expat world and introduced me to intelligent, interesting people from around the world who call Bishkek their temporary home. Those connections wielded memorable conversations about international politics, culture and life in Central Asia and beyond. John also opened my eyes and stomach to new types of cooking that I had not been exposed to previously, although it was meat-heavy. Traditional Kyrgyz cuisine revolves around mutton, beef and horse meat, as well as dairy products, but the preparation is unique and very pleasant to the taste. I admit, however, that some of ingredients weren’t all that appealing, especially the frequent use of blubber from the rump of fat-tailed sheep. Indeed, the Kardashians of the sheep world. I was also introduced to Kurut, a popular snack. These pungent, dried yogurt balls were so intense that I had to permanently block the taste from my memory. Otherwise, the food was tremendous! Unfortunately I didn’t get a chance to try Kumis, a fermented dairy drink made from Mare’s milk. It was out of season because Mare’s have only begun giving birth to their foals in recent weeks.

During my first week I walked the streets of Bishkek during the day and went out for dinners with John during the evening. The most memorable Week 1 activity was participating in my first “hash”, a beer-fueled city race organized by the Hash House Harriers, an international club mainly comprised of expats. Members often describe their group as “a drinking club with a running problem,” indicating that the social element of an event is as important, if not more so, than any athleticism involved (click here to learn more about hashing). It was a great way to see the city, get some exercise (we ran about 10-12 km that day) and meet new people, all while building up a pretty serious buzz. Most runners/drinkers are not baptised and given their hashing name on their first hash, but I was fortunate enough to receive mine that day. I was dubbed “Pervistan” and anointed with flour and beer to make it official, as is the custom. The “perv” moniker was given because I broke a cardinal rule of hashing: no cameras during the hash. Luckily I snapped a few photos to share on this blog, and now I have a hash name for all forthcoming hashes.

At the end of the first week a group of us flew to Osh, Kyrgyzstan’s second-largest city, to make our way down to Arslanbob for a weekend of hiking and sight-seeing. To get there we drove through the Fergana Valley, a densely populated inter-mountain depression spread across eastern Uzbekistan, southern Kyrgyzstan and northern Tajikistan. Usually dusty, dry and arid, rare spring showers transformed the valley into a fertile land of rolling green hills stretching in all directions towards distant, snowy mountains encircling the area. After a scenic drive across the valley, we arrived in Gumkana where we stayed in a guesthouse involved in Community Based Tourism (CBT), a national tourism initiative where tourists are hosted by local people in various rural regions across Kyrgyzstan to boost economic development and raise the profile of the country’s beautiful landscapes. My first CBT experience was fantastic and our host’s hospitality knew no bounds. During those three days we were exposed to a rich, local culture in a predominantly Uzbek and Tatar village, as well as amazing home cooked meals prepared by our host, Linara.

Arslanbob is home to the world’s oldest and largest walnut forest, and is also the site of the world’s first breed of apple trees. Jeremy, John’s friend, connected with us Bolot, a local man working for Fauna & Flora International, who guided us across the walnut forest and provided useful information and insight into the region’s rich ecosystem. Thankfully John is fluent in both Kyrgyz and Russian, making him an ideal translator. Bolot informed us that there are only 117 of the world’s first apple trees left and, as luck would have it, he has one growing in his backyard. We visited his homestead and got a close up look at the endangered tree species. Aside from trekking through the ancient Arslanbob walnut forest, we also hiked to 2,500+ metres to see an 80-metre tall waterfall. From that vantage point we were treated to awe-inspiring views of the Fergana Valley.

On our way back to Osh we visited Uzgen, an ancient trading post along the Silk Road connecting the Chinese Kashgar with the Fergana Valley. Home to a primarily Uzbek population, the city is perhaps most famous for its three 14th century mausoleums and a 44-metre high brick minaret. After the stop in Uzgen we arrived in Osh where we walked up to Suleiman-Too, a five-peaked rocky mountain situated in the middle of the city. The site has been a Muslim place of pilgrimage for centuries, supposedly because the Prophet Mohammed once prayed here. It was not an especially memorable sight, but it offered good views of the city and featured old caves and crevices reputed to have different curative or spiritual properties.

My time in Kyrgyzstan exceeded my expectation because, well, they were pretty low to begin with. I would highly encourage backpackers to venture out to this overlooked Central Asian country to get a glimpse of a somewhat closed-in culture that is not very well understood by most people. Kyrgyzstan has a lot to offer in terms of sheer natural beauty and the country’s people are just as welcoming as other tourist hot spots. However, that said, I should mention that the welcoming attitude is not as prevalent in Bishkek where English-speaking foreigners are often regarded with suspicion.

John treated me to an unforgettable time in his adopted home and I am extremely appreciative of his boundless hospitality and generosity. My time here once again proved that staying in touch with international friends is absolutely worth the effort, and I have no doubt at all that this friendship will continue to blossom as we grow old and continue busting our knees and livers through more hashing (see paragraph 7 above regarding the hash).

Up next: one week in Georgia, a gorgeous country in the Caucasus region of Eurasia where I will visit Tbilisi (the capital city), Batumi on the Black Sea coast, and Kazgebi in the north where a 14th century monastery is perched atop a mountain at an elevation of 2,170 metres. In addition, I’ll try to throw in a wine tour seeing as Georgia is one of the oldest wine regions in the world.

Pervistan, out.

On the heels of the Annapurna Base Camp (ABC) trek I spend four relaxing days in Pokhara, which has become a base camp of my own during my month-long travel in Nepal. Whilst at the hot spring in Jinhu, I met a Swede named Jesper Bjornman, whose surname literally translate to “Bear Man”, but his friends amicably call him “Beer Man”. Given his moniker, I knew we would get along famously – and we did. We journeyed to Pokhara together and enjoyed some well-deserved downtime after both finishing the ABC trek. Not much to tell about our days in Pokhara other than drinking beer, talking about anything and everything, sipping cappuccinos and masala chai, and enjoying back-to-back films at the Movie Garden, a quaint outdoor theatre that shows classic and contemporary English language films and has an incredible view of Phewa Lake from its prime location in east lakeside. Jesper and I were also joined by Lizzie and Sam, an English couple living in Geneva that I first met in Chomrong during the ABC trek. All four of us got on swimmingly and I very much enjoyed our time together in the Nepali oasis that is Pokhara. I hope to see Sam and Lizzie again in the future.

After our four-day sojourn in Pokhara, Jesper and I headed to Chitwan National Park along an indescribably bumpy road. Famous for being the first national park in Nepal, Chitwan is a well-preserved area in south-central Nepal near the border with India known for its rich biodiversity, dense forests, and grassy plains. The park is home to rare wildlife like one-horned rhinos, Bengal tigers, and elephants, as well as a wide range of bird species and crocodiles. We stayed at Rhino Land based on the recommendation of a French girl that I met during my first night in-country, and the accommodation did not disappoint. Not only was Rhino Land a comfortable distance from the bustle of the tourist street in Sauraha, the hotel courtyard was beautifully landscaped with mango trees, palm trees, flower bushes, and other tropical flora. To boot, our rooms only cost $6 per night.

On Day One at Chitwan National Park, Jesper and I signed up for a half-day walking tour of the plains hoping to spot wild rhinos and tigers in their natural habitat. Stepping into the wild after crossing a crocodile-filled river, within 30 minutes we spotted three rhinos bathing in the low-lying water. To be sure, seeing a wild rhino up close for the time was a special sight for a guy from the sub-arctic lands Canada. Guided by two locals, one of whom used to live in the national park until his family was driven out by floods and increasing pressure from the tourism department, Jesper and I were richly rewarded that day as we saw seven rhinos in total, including a baby. It was surreal to be able to walk freely through the park as we sought out and crept up on wild animals. Sadly, we did not see any tigers, which is probably for the best because I would be devoid of proper reaction if I were to encounter one in the wild. Later that day we also embarked on a half-day jeep tour to go deeper into the park. Frankly, the walking tour was a much more intimate experience, but the jeep tour brought us to the farther reaches of the park – an enormous landscape – and we even spotted a wild elephant that day, Renaldo, who is famous in the area for his track record of killing humans. In fact, the jeep tour guide told us Renaldo has killed about 20 people so far. Thankfully we saw him from high above in a watch tower, but he could not have been more than 500 metres away. We also saw countless other elephants in Chitwan, many of whom walk the streets in Sauraha as transport elephants. These so-called “government-owned” elephants are bred and trained specifically for touring. While special to walk past them on the street, it was sad to look into their deadpan eyes and sense their anguish.

I should mention that we met another crop of interesting people at Rhino Land. First was Ben, a 23-year-old Englishman from Oxford who recently finished his undergraduate studies and was about to join the army full-time. Flavia and Amy, Swiss-German and Canadian girls who met and formed a friendship whilst undertaking the challenging Annapurna Circuit trek. A father-son combo from Norway; a nerdy pot-smoking 60’s hippy and his hacker son who boasted openly about being a former member of Anonymous, an international hacking network. Being very interested in the dark web and cyber crime, I prompted him to open up a bit and learned that his claim to fame was a Denial of Service (DoS) attack on the Norwegian Labour Party, amongst other cyber breaches. Having said that, yet again my time on the road put me in direct contact with a very diverse array of people from different walks of life – precisely what I was hoping for.

Back to our time in Chitwan, after the jungle tour Jesper and I rented motorcycles and toured the area for three glorious days of riding the open roads and passing through small villages in southern Nepal. Jesper taught me how to ride a motorbike and I am in his debt because I really took a liking to it. This may in fact spark a new hobby when I return to Canada. Never mind that the bikes had more than 200,000 km each and none of the dash dials worked; those steel horses were our salvation for three whole days and put us on cloud nine, day in and day out. Indeed, there is no better way to get out and see the sights than on a motorcycle, feeling the road intimately as we traversed the countryside unencumbered.

The most memorable moment touring the areas around Chitwan came when we happened upon what we thought was a restaurant in a very small rural village, but, in fact, was a local gathering to celebrate the life of a recently deceased man. Despite our mistake, the family fed us a giant-sized plate of homemade food, which we ate gleefully in front of about 15 people who smiled broadly and spoke no word of English. We felt like two fish out of water, but it was a beautiful mistake that put us in touch with generous, happy people. Visibly poor and destitute, we offered to pay for the meal, but they humbly refused. Such generosity, so much compassion.

After spending about a week together, Jesper and I wished each other well and bid adieu as we went on to discover a new corner of the world. I was delighted to have met him and truly hope our paths cross in the future. Flavia and I went on to Kathmandu together as we were both departing for new countries from the national airport. We spent two wonderful days walking around Kathmandu, complete with a serene sunset slowly dipping below Swayambhunath temple from our hotel rooftop terrace (as featured below).

Now I sit in an overpriced airport hotel in Kathmandu, writing this missive as I prepare to journey to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan to join my mate, John “Dizzy Kicks” DiPirro, a dear friend and my roommate from my grad school year in Brussels (2008-2009). En route to Bishkek I have a 10-hour layover at Dubai International Airport and I’ll probably treat myself to some all-you-can-eat/drink time at the airport lounge. I cannot overstate how excited I am to see John in Kyrgyzstan, his adopted home since 2011. I’ll be sure to chime in over the next few weeks to describe what will surely be another incredible chapter in this timeless adventure.

Much love to everyone back home!

I started the Annapurna Base Camp (ABC) trek when I met my guide, K.B. (short for Khadga Bahadur), over black tea at 7 a.m. in Pokhara. From the very beginning he assured me that his one and only concern was to make me feel happy and provided for – and he stayed true to his word as he became my “Trek Dad” over the next nine days. Joining us was Mahindra, my porter, who cannot be more than 5’4″ and weighs approximately 110 lbs; but looks are deceiving as he proved time and again during the trek that he is quite strong for his compact size. After finishing our teas, we hopped in a taxi and charted a path towards Nayapul, the gateway to the Annapurna Conservation Area.

En route to Nayapul we stopped briefly at a Tibetan refugee camp just outside Pokhara. The camp, which was funded by the Dalai Lama, is home to about 200 monks of varying ages, from young boys to enlightened elders. I briefly toured their temple, talked to one of the head monks about Buddhism and the religion’s history, and then shared a few stories about life in Canada with the young monks. On the way out I bought a handmade bracelet, which I have been wearing ever since to remind me of the first time I met Tibetan monks.

After about 30-40 kilometres we finally arrived in Nayapul to begin the nine-day trek to ABC, which towers at 4,130 metres in altitude. Admittedly, as I started the trek I felt like a rich white kid for having both a guide and a porter – especially since Mahindra, the porter, is half my size and carried my heavy 20kg rucksack. A porter is unnecessary and I would probably not hire one on in the future; but, that said, my first-world guilt was absolved when I learned that Mahindra relies heavily on porting to provide for his growing, poor family. I was happy to help him in some small way.

Day One brought us from Nayapul (1,050m) to Ulleri (1,960m), going from a lush, fertile valley up to higher elevation where Ulleri sits atop a giant rock formation. Along the way we crossed water buffaloes, porter donkeys, suspensions bridges, quaint mountain villages and, of course, we stopped every so often to take in sights of the bucolic Nepali mountainscape. The path to Ulleri was a difficult march upward, especially in the hot sun, as we gradually increased in altitude along more than 3,200 stone steps. While not extremely difficult for a fit 30-something, the trek is not for the weak-kneed or the faint of heart. I witnessed many older trekkers having difficulties regulating their breathing, which was probably worrisome to them since the road to ABC is a long one. Once we arrived in Ulleri, I settled in to a guest house, acquainted myself with fellow trekkers from different parts of the world, and savoured the first of many Dal Bhat, a traditional meal consisting of steamed rice and a thick lentil soup flavoured with onions, garlic, chillies, tomatoes, and tamarind. It was delicious and offers enough vegetable protein to keep me going, day in day out. 

The following day started gloriously when I pulled the curtain from my window to revel in an amazing sight: the peak of Annapurna South drenched in the early morning light. To be sure, this is a sight that I will not forget. As I walked down, my Trek Dad, K.B., handed me a black coffee to help me emerge from the 6 a.m. haze. (What a guy. He’s always there catering to my every need. Also, he is so small and nimble that sometimes I don’t hear him sidle up to me. It was kind of creepy, in an endearing way).

Every day we followed the sun as we woke at dawn and settled into bed shortly after dusk after long days of hiking and climbing thousands of stone stairs. Usually the trekking takes place between 07:00 and 13:00, give or take a few hours. That said, Day Two brought me to Ghorepani (2,840m), a mountain village lying at the intersection of major trails linking the ABC area. The trek up to Ghorepani was really pleasant as I talked to several different people along the way, including Germans, Swedes, Americans, Brits, Danes, Chinese, Koreans, Thais, Malays, and more. My goal was simple: talk to everyone. That strategy really paid off during the afternoons and evenings as I frequently ran in to someone that I met along the road. For those who know me well, I am not at all shy about striking a conversation or bringing people together. I did that throughout my time on the road.

Only one word could describe Day Three: Epic. I woke at 4 a.m. to take on a 45-minute hike up to Poon Hill (3,200m) for sunrise (more stairs!) and I was richly rewarded with an incredible sunrise over three mountain peaks: Dhauligiri, Tukuche, and the mighty Annapurna. It was a really special feeling to see the sun gradually rise above a distant ridge to eventually cover the mountain ranges with fresh morning light. It was not exactly an intimate experience seeing as I was surrounded by more than 200 tourists, but it was personally meaningful for me as I stood there in awe of this surreal sight. It was the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen and filled me with a sense of peace and purpose.

After the magic show at Poon Hill we trekked up to Tadapani through densely forested areas and gorgeous valleys filled with grottoes, waterfalls, flocks of butterflies, monkeys, and majestic, tall trees. I won’t go into great detail about everything I have seen along the hike because this blog post grow to 3,000 words – not exactly a pleasant read. That said, I’ll fast-forward along the route to Machhapuchhere Base Camp (MBC), a high-altitude settlement sitting at 3,700m that serves as the gateway to ABC, our ultimate destination. The trek to MBC was gruelling, but I loved every minute of it. We slowly and gradually ascended to heavenly heights and we crossed a two-week old avalanche to get there. I was surrounded by sheer rock-face cliffs adorned with bands of wispy waterfalls. Again, always in awe of what I was seeing. We trudged up to MBC over five hours and the first thing I did was order a beer (obviously). Food and services get more expensive as you reach higher altitude, so that quenching beer cost me 860 Nepalese Rupees (about CAD$11). To put that in perspective, that same tall can would cost about 300-350 Rupees in a city. I split the beer with an Australian girl I met the night before and we sat there looking out to the mountain fortress surrounding us. That night, the trekkers all gathered in the dining hall because it was about -15 Celsius in the dorms (by the way, the accommodations are never heated at any point along the trek. Asking for a heavy blanket is key and K.B. was always there to hook me up). I ate yet another Dal Bhat,  played cards with local Nepali guides, and chatted with a French couple living in Bangkok for work.

The morning of Day Seven started early at 4 a.m. to begin the two-hour trek up to ABC in the freezing cold. I felt determined to make it there well before dawn to get a good spot on ABC ridge in time for sunrise. So, I marched with purpose through the snow and led the way with K.B. far behind me. Again, it was a surreal experience to trek in the dark at 4,000+ metres in altitude, surrounded by some of the world’s tallest mountain peaks. Truly, it felt like I was in Earth’s Cathedral. I had a head lamp to see the “trail” (it’s all snow and ice), but I turned it off because the moon was bright enough to show me the way. I made it to ABC in 1h15m (apparently that’s impressive) and sat down on the ridge staring at the world’s tenth-highest mountain waiting for sunrise to hit the range.

I sat there, silent, thinking about what brought me here. If there is one thing I learned about Buddhism whilst touring the Tibetan refugee camp near Pokhara, it is that nothing in life is permanent. The wheel of life keeps turning and nothing is ever the same as we journey through time and space. Impermanence is a central tenet of Buddhism and it hit me hard because the series of unfortunate experiences that shook up my life recently have been brought on by change. Sitting there I realized that change is change – it is neither positive nor negative. It’s all just change. It is entirely normal to react negatively to change and resist it initially. In fact, it’s important to feel those emotions and appreciate the lessons that resistance to change teach us. However, it’s equally crucial to move past them once we have felt them and absorbed those lessons. I don’t know if it was the high altitude, but something within me changed that morning. I learned a valuable lesson that will hopefully stick with me throughout the rest of my days: impermanence and change are undeniable truths of our existence. The only real thing is the existing moment and, while it has been shaped by the past, it does not mean that it will be the same in the future. A person is what he/she is only in the context of the time in which he/she exists. I could learn a few things from being more transient and cherish the moment more for what it is instead of trying to make sense of the past. It seems an obvious lesson, but it’s hard to put into practice.

Okay, I got deep there for a second. Now, let me conclude this voluminous blog post. After ABC I experienced a HUGE day of trekking. We descended 1,700m over a 10-hour hike down to Lower Sinuwa and down/up yet more stone stairs. Suddenly, as we approached our destination, ominous black clouds filled the sky and it started to rain and hail like I have never seen before. But luck was on my side yet again — not only was it the sole rain day along my hike, I reached the guest house just as the torrential downpour began. The rest of the night I sat on a bench chatting with a Canadian and a Finn whilst we looked out to the endless valleys in front of us. It rained all night.

On our last day of the trek I headed to Jinhu, home to the hot springs. There was no better way to cap off a challenging high altitude mountain trek than sitting in natural, hot pools of mountain water with a cold beer. It was pure bliss and my aching muscles thanked me for it. At the pools I met a Swedish music producer and we have been hanging out ever since. Cool guy with a good outlook on life.

Now I’m back in beautiful Pokhara, sitting in one of the many coffee shops. I rented a room at a beautiful hilltop guest house overlooking Phewa Lake for only $10 a night! And it has a hammock on the front porch – score. I’ll probably sit in the hammock for a few days, reading, drinking beer, and going out for dinner with people that I met on the trek. The vacation continues and, yet again, I am SO glad I decided to travel the world for a bit as I reset my life. In a few days I’ll head to Chitwan National Park to experience the jungle safari. I’ll do the jungle walking tour, however, because I am opposed to elephant treks. In fact, that practice is reprehensible and should be stopped entirely. Anyways, I’m told I’ll see monkeys, rhinos, and other wildlife, maybe even Himalayan tigers. Don’t worry, I won’t get too close. I love life too much to lose it.

Oh yeah, I also went paragliding in Pokhara before leaving for the trek. Here are a few photos from Pokhara:

DCIM794GOPRO