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Bucketbath films presents...

Laos, Cambodia, India and Nepal

sunny 88 °F

We haven't had the most reliable internet for the last month and a half. These videos are long overdue: starting with our most recent trek in Nepal and working through India, Cambodia and Laos.

Micah and I arrive back in NYC at the end of this week. We're currently in Delhi again and fly back to NYC, via Milan, Italy in 2 days. We're both experiencing bittersweet feelings about returning home. While we can't wait to see friends and family, returning to "normal" life is going to take quite a bit of adjusting after 7.5 months of a nomadic, backpacker lifestyle. I'm having anxiety about having to wear something other than my Chacos and hiking boots on my feet and having a full wardrobe again!

I'm sure a wrap up post is on it's way from each of us. Until then, enjoy the movie previews!

See you all soon!

Joanie

Our most recent trek through the Himalayas in Nepal

"Incredible" India is their national slogan. They sure don't disappoint.

Our Angkor Wat experience

This one goes waaaay back to Laos!

Posted by bucketbath 18:04 Archived in India Tagged landscapes sunsets_and_sunrises mountains beaches trees animals snow boats hiking temple travel india vacation mountain trekking elephant cambodia friends holiday angkor life safari himalayas funny relaxation trip asia eating photography tourism relax pictures movies rupees hindu stupa spiritual videos relief vang vieng sandcastle incredible vientiene micah amristar slapstick dharmsala pilgramage rubin bucketbath Comments (3)

Burmese Sweat

Staying out of trouble while jogging in Yangon, Myanmar

Crumbling buildings, stained with ages of soot and mold, sag under the weight of their colonial past and the present’s dictatorial rule.

The Burmese walk the streets with deathly-pallid faces, painted with a powdered sun block to fend off the scorching sun. Their teeth and lips often stained blood red from chewing betel nut, a mild stimulant.

I arrived in Myanmar’s capital Yangon on Saturday to explore this misunderstood and demonized country, expecting to feel like I’m in the North Korea of SE Asia. But I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find the people warm, inquisitive and friendly. I cannot walk down a street without receiving a “hi” or smile.

At times it feels like life here is freer than in China since the Burmese government has less resources to truly constrict its people. With that said though, the government continues to subjugate the minority populations and enslave people in forced labor camps.

Everything I read said photography taking photos is risky – you can’t photograph government or military buildings (I wish I could have photographed the baby-faced soldier guarding a hotel armed with a bazooka), any infrastructure (train stations, bridges, etc.) and who knows what else.

Huge swaths of the country remain off limits to foreigners and even parts Yangon (Rangoon of old), the reason I was afraid I’d run into trouble during yesterday’s morning jog.

I stepped onto the betel-spit stained street, busses and taxis belching fumes into the morning’s chilly air. No motorbikes ply Yangon’s bumpy roads since a government ban went into effect a few years ago.

I headed south, then onto Strand Road, full of forlorn buildings, which parallels the murky Yangon River and hidden from view by the port’s towering, chalky white perimeter wall.

Past the bustling ferry jetty with vendors hawking fruit, razors, and vegetables. Crowds of loiterers crouched, drinking tea or eating breakfasts of noodles or rice.

Further down, men and women stood in lines, awaiting admission to the port and begin their workday.

I ran until the port ended and low-slung government buildings crouched behind barbed wire fences.

Nearby a line of parked gasoline tankers, some vehicles from the 60s or 70s with chunky front grills, waited outside a fuel depot.

People crooked their necks, scowled, smiled, laughed, pointed as I ran by. But fear curdled my gut: would I end up where I shouldn’t be?

I always carry a passport photocopy when running just in case of injury – but here in Myanmar it was my insurance card Uncle Sam’s got my back should something bad happen.

I kept running along the river, patches of shadows cooled the blazing sun until a man waved his hand in warning to turn around – up ahead was a barbed wire gate with soldiers patrolling.

I backtracked, ran down a dusty street, past a few police posts, ignoring them (and they ignored me) and found the bridge I’d earlier missed.

You’ve seen Boston or Tampa’s iconic suspension bridges, the ones that look like tipped modernist harps. Yangon has it’s own, the Pazundaung Mahabandoola Bridge, except it’s squatter and painted camouflage green. I bolted across, past 2 military garrisons surrounded by sand bags and barbed wire, over the Pazundaung Canal’s churning current into Dawbon, a suburb of Yangon.

Saffron robed monks walked down the street collecting alms and offering blessings.

I continued on the busy road with pickup trucks full of passengers crammed onto their beds and hanging off the back, to the Thaketa Bridge and back into Yangon. As I ran, I hopped around on the sidewalk, as if playing four square, to avoid the cracks and gaping holes.

The streets were dusty, red earth blew through the air. At times I pulled my shirt over my nose to avoid the grit and scrum of Yangon life. Past the police station, a red-bricked colonial-era building with dark windows and surrounded by two barbed and electrified fences.

Past Sule Paya, a 2000 year golden temple in the middle of a clogged traffic circle whose name means “the stupa where a Sacred Hair Relic is enshrined” and that might house one of Buddha’s hairs.

Past streets buzzing with vendors selling watches, tools. sweets. Past men wearing plaid lungees (a male dress), women in colorful hijabs.

Overhead the colonnaded buildings stood stoically, a silent witness to the travails that have befallen this country: war, oppression, dictatorship, poverty.

Maybe after Hillary Clinton’s visit here last month, things will change and life will improve. Maybe the fear I felt exploring the city’s streets, that the Burmese must feel and at times roils in protest (that the government violently suppresses) will ebb, leaving behind a people, a country, a nation ready for a better future.

Check out the map of the run below (and don’t forget to click satellite view).

Click here!

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And don't forget to pre-book your authentic Thai massage for April!

$30/ 30min, $50/1hr, $75/1.5hrs

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Posted by bucketbath 07:03 Archived in Myanmar Tagged street travel square burma dirt smile asia myanmar running four betel jogging lungeel Comments (6)

A Very Merry (Ladyboy) Christmas

It was a cave of lust. Past touts hustling massages and ping pong shows. Past crowds of men - Western, Middle Eastern, Asian – with arms snaked around Thai dancer’s bodies. Down a dark corridor on the third floor of a nondescript building in Bangkok’s Patapong Red Light District it waited.

Thailand sweats sex. From beautiful Thai women to condom vending machines in public bathrooms, sexuality churns through Bangkok’s musky air.

Women in skimpy bikinis with subtlety arousing or garish makeup beckon. Pouty red lips, hourglass curves, swollen breasts and long legs that reach heavenward like Babel’s tower.

A place where night’s shadow blurs the boundaries of sexuality into a sticky haze.

Cascade. The lady-boy bar.

Venturing inside, the Madam, a woman with a powdered pale face, severe bangs and prominent Adam’s apple escorted us to our seats. Joanie, myself, Shannon (our friend from New York), Scott (an old friend of mine from Ohio who now lives and works in Bangkok), and a few of his friends watched the 15 or so bikini-clad dancers undulating on stage.

Travel is a place to push boundaries (not necessarily physically, but psychologically and philosophically) as this night would prove.

A gamut of beauty presented itself: some tall with long flowing hair, others short and chestless, some buxom. Despite the diversity, all had one shared characteristic: at some point in their lives, all were men.

I watched the club’s other patrons and wondered if they also knew this.

Gender lines seem blurred in Asia. Men are often effeminate and much more affectionate and comfortable with the [platonic] physical touch of other men than Westerners.

A middle aged Asian man sat a few feet away and glowed as 2 dancers talked and entertained him. He was smitten by Aphrodite’s elixir, but did he know Aphrodite was a man?

Origin seemed unimportant and antiquated at Cascade. The now mattered, the rare immersion into the moment. A luxury our frenetic lives rarely permit or allow us to afford – who knows at what cost?

Travel forces us into moments of introspection and (often) to grope to understand ourselves as individuals and as a reflection of our environment.

There is no comfort zone for retreat, only the slight refuge of a hotel room where the sounds and smells of the exotic world outside still penetrate.

A loud bell rang and the club’s lights went on. The dancers left the stage for the dressing room (that was on the way to the bathroom and had no door).

A few remained on stage and I thought of Chery Tiegs, and her iconic poster the 70s, a tantalizing icon of beauty and perfection.

It wasn’t Cheryl standing 10 feet from us but a tall, Asian woman with dark, blown-out hair and welcoming smile. It was something different: something in the grey area between assumption and expectation.

It was Christmas and she was like a beautifully wrapped present. It might be the perfect gift or the surprise you’ll never forget.

Happy holidays from Bangkok.

Posted by bucketbath 11:31 Archived in Thailand Tagged night thailand club bangkok life light red dancing boy lady asia district alcohol sex nightclub pattapong Comments (4)

Hurry Up and Wait

A quixotic trip through Vietnam’s Halong Bay (and pictures from our travels in Vietnam at the end of the post).

Swarms of motorbikes dart through the streets of Hanoi like nihilistic dragonflies careening toward a bug zapper.

Crazy traffic isn’t a new encounter for Joanie and I (crossing Jakarta’s smoggy, wide thoroughfares required guts of steel) but in Hanoi, motorbike minions clog the Old Quarter’s narrow, shop-lined streets like plaque choking a smoker’s heart.

We walked up and down the streets, talking with travel agencies, haggling for the best price to arrange a trip to Vietnam’s UNESCO-listed Halong Bay, where more than 3,000 islands and limestone mountains jut from the Gulf of Tonkin like heaven’s teardrops.

Joanie and I had vowed to avoid organized tours, but after talking to other travelers, calculating the price and our time constraints, we decided on a 3-day tour, including one night on a houseboat (actually called a junk, but we’ll get to that later) and a night on Cat Ba Island, the only inhabited island in the bay.

We booked the “deluxe tour” - $20 more than the economy but the boat looked better appointed as did the accommodation (boy were we wrong) and also an 22 hour overnight bus trip to Vientiane, the capital of Laos, we’d catch immediately after returning from our bay tour.

Satisfied, we wandered Hanoi’s frenetic streets, grabbed a quick dinner and called it a night.

I woke up early the next morning. Raindrops lashed the window and the world brooded. Not ideal weather for a nature cruise, but hopefully at the coast, sunny skies waited.

The guide rushed us out of the guest house, saying we were holding things up, into the overstuffed mini bus. Naturally my legs were squashed for 3.5 hours – the only relief a bathroom break at an overpriced craft center. I don’t say shop because in Vietnam, these centers are like Wal Mart for souvenirs – everything from towering marble sculptures and inlaid jewelry boxes to silk robes and embroidery - with a twist.

Pardon my cynicism and I am glad they are providing one of the few employment opportunities available in the country, but the fact that many of the working artisans are handicapped is advertised like victory pendant screaming “Gilt us your money!”

Unfortunately there wasn’t room in the bus for a 6-foot marble bust of soaring dolphins (let alone my legs) so I left the super center empty handed.

An hour or so later, we arrived to the port in Halong City to catch the junk boat. The guides rushed the group: a few Canadians, Germans, Portuguese, Spaniards, Brits and Americans, off the bus into the now humid, chilly - but not rainy - afternoon.

The boat was late.

Boats plied the harbor, mahogany colored, three story, around 75 feet long with large roof terraces and glass enclosed dining/bars. Our boat, the Haolong Party Cruiser arrived and we willingly walked the plank aboard.

After a quick orientation describing the tour, we realized things had changed: we’d spend the first night on the island rather than on the boat. No problem - we can roll.

The boat motored into the bay, passed towering karsts - steel grey and denuded, others bearded with greenery - to a small harbor with caves to explore.

Everyone jumped off the front of the boat onto the rudimentary cement dock and hiked up the stairs. Joanie forgot something in her bag and was grabbing it so we were the last two on the boat.

The deck hands shouted at me (us) “Hurry Up! Hurry up!” and scowled. Finally, we climbed ashore, up the stairs and explored the first cave. Stalagmites illuminated in a jellybean assortment of colors poured upward.

A second cave on the island, the one described by the guide as “dirty” and not worth visiting turned out to be less polished with towering ceilings and bats swirling and screeching through the air. Definitely worth the detour.

We rushed back to the boat, assuming we were the stragglers, but it was missing. Then a small ferry took us to our boat anchored in the harbor.

We wait. And waited some more until the guide told us our junk had broken down and a replacement was en route.

Hours went by, the sun faded into a starry night.

The positive: we met our shipmates (or fellow captives), commiserate about the weather, about the broken boat, getting yelled at for drinking beers we purchased on the island (that cost 1/3 of the price) rather than the boat, and waited.

Finally, the new boat arrived to ferry us to away but first we had to tow the broken one to a nearby harbor for repairs.

A coke bottle-think rope was connected to the stranded boat and we putter into the bay. But something goes wrong. The strained rope slackens and spits its tail, hitting a crew member in the head knocking him down (and possibly out) then the AWOL boat slams into a construction barge, shattering a blue plastic water reservoir as it helplessly bobs in the bay. Meanwhile, water gushes from the cracked cistern as the crew members struggle to control the boat.

Eventually after a few more near fatal bouts of bumper boat, we arrive at Cat Ba Island’s harbor for a 30-minute drive to our guest house.

Our deluxe tour, already tarnished, gets a near-fatal shellacking when we see our room: dirty, unpainted walls, TV from 1992 – but it has hot water and an overpriced mini bar.

We head down to dinner where the new “guide” loses his temper at the group and shouts at us for not being quiet as he tells us the “program” (again, different from the one we signed up for).

We eat dinner – mediocre food of rice and veggies (there were meat options though) – and head to a convenience store for snacks as a cold rain pelts the town.

For breakfast the following morning we’re served a small baguette (very common in Vietnam and Laos as they were French colonies) and butter and jam. Naturally, I was still hungry and walked into the kitchen to ask for a second. The guide, standing behind a table full of baguettes, ignores my question and asks how much I paid for the tour. What this has to do with getting a second baguette I don’t know but after a back and forth, I tell him off and stalk away, fuming and hungry.

Next on the agenda: hiking in Cat Ba National Park.

We check out of the room and were rushed onto a bus. The Canadian couple was missing and we tell the guide we need to wait so we can check on them. His reply: If they’re not here they must not want to go, and we leave for another hotel 5 minutes away that’s much nicer than ours, but shares the same name.

More travelers board the bus (American’s from the Silicon Valley) but something’s wrong. The hotel lost one of their passports. So we wait.

Why we couldn’t wait to check on the missing Canadians, probably has something to do with how much we paid for the tour, but I will never be certain. None the less, someone from our group runs back to our hotel and grabs the Canadians who didn’t have an alarm. An hour and a half goes by and the passport problem is finally sorted.

Onto the national park for some hiking.

Situated in the center of the island, surrounded by lush, jungle-coated mountains, we climb to a slick peak crowned with a rusty fire tower. The guide said it would take an hour to climb up (in reality: 30 minutes and 10 minutes down) and we wait for the bus back to town.

It eventually shows up. A death trap on wheels: rusted out floors, shattered windows, mangled seats.

After a quick lunch at the hotel we have a few hours to explore the island: it’s harbor full of wooden fishing boats, sandy beaches surrounded by mountains and karsts erupting from the bay.

3:30 rolls around. Time to catch the bus to the boat where we’d be sleeping that night. Everyone’s at the meeting spot but the bus is MIA. We end up waiting an hour and a half for it to arrive. The plan was to watch the sunset from the boat, but by the time we get going the sun is setting through the bus’s muddy windows.

Once on board the boat, our new guide seems polite and friendly. I’m sipping on beers smuggled aboard from the island and they don’t give me any trouble. After a decent dinner we play game after game of Liar (what we’d call Asshole), watch the stars dance in the sky as the boat floats in the harbor.

Our cabin was small but comfortable – the hot shower it was supposed to have: barely a drip. The blanket – a thin sheet that kept us shivering during the 40-degree night. Good thing Joanie's a human furnace. In the morning I woke up early to watch the sunrise on the bay. It slowly crested the mountains casting its buttery glow on the peaks, craggy like spines on a lizard’s back.

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Breakfast, then back to Halong City. But first we explore a floating fishing village and it’s surrounding grottoes by kayak, something we were supposed to do on day one. A scene from the James Bond film "Tomorrow Never Dies" was filmed there and as we paddled through the turquoise water surrounded by the towering karsts, I finally felt a sense of calm.

...That was quickly shattered by the deafening roar of the drive belt snapping in the small ferry returning us to to our junk (house boat). Did I mention it was also belching smoke and taking on water?

Wow – could it get any worse? Luckily a fisherman passing by offered us safe passage back to our junk boat and to Halong City we went. A quick lunch at a mediocre restaurant where the help was bitter, then back to Hanoi were we’d catch a bus to Vientiane, the capital of Laos.

Hanoi’s snarled traffic slowed us down even more and by the time we reached the center, it was after 6pm, the time our bus was supposed to pick us up. Rather than drop us off at our tour agency as we’d paid for, we were let off (I should say blown off) by the new “guide” and told to walk there ourselves.

At this point, I wanted my money back for the tour – to complain about the poor service, waiting, missing the highlights – but we were in such a hurry, the agent who sold us our tickets freaked out and grabbed two xe om’s (motorbike taxis) to take us to the bus. We jump on the bikes, my backpack pulling me backward, waiting for a big bump to toss me off the back, and after a harrowing trip, was dropped off on a dark street and are told to pay the motorbike drivers.

No way – we’d already been ripped off and paid for all transportation to Laos. So we started to argue. The guy, who ends up taking us to the bus depot, keeps grabbing my arm and Joanie’s shouting at him, “Don’t touch my boyfriend! “ “Don’t touch him!” as he demands money to pay the drivers who he claims are his friends.

The motorbike drivers speed off angry and empty handed and the remaining guy continues to demand money.

Already feeling victimized and desperate to get to the bus, I throw him the money (around $1 USD which he pocketed) and off we go on the back of another motorbike - through the cold night to the outskirts of Hanoi.

He lets us off outside a dusty motorbike dealership where a pack of backpackers with no idea what’s happening await. Clouds of dust pour through the smoggy air, and cars whiz by. We’re directed onto a mini bus, which we all stuff into.

The minibus takes us to another dark street, under an overpass where we alight and wait.

As we’re standing there, the world is illuminated by vehicles passing headlights. I stare directly into the eyes of the guy who’d brought us and tell him (in English) that it made me sad he was such a disgusting human being. Did he understand me? Probably not, but from the glare I continued give him, he got my drift.

A little more waiting and the bus arrives. We’re rushed on, shouted at by the attendant that the police will cause trouble if we don’t speed up.

And as the bus driver barrels ahead, slamming on his horn, swerving around motorbikes and slower traffic, I’m glad he’s rushing.

I finally understand why everyone here is always in a hurry. They must be desperate to get out of this place too and just can’t wait.

Check out pictures from Vietnam here.

PS: I apologize for not posting pix on our Travellerspoint blog (and making you click through to my blog), but please understand that the site more or less appropriates ownership and usage rights of the images, something I'm not willing to share

Posted by bucketbath 02:50 Archived in Vietnam Tagged beer boat mountain cruise vietnam laos bay trip asia hanoi halong ferry karst vientiene Comments (1)

The Greatest Workout Ever (Hiking the Great Wall) (Micah)

Climbing, hiking, sprinting along an ancient wall shrouded in mist.

Clouds of mist blew across the winding stone corridor hanging precariously atop the jagged mountain peaks.

Hidden from view were miles of walls first built in the 5th century B.C.E., extended by subsequent rulers until reaching more than 5,000 miles long- when construction ceased in the 16th century.

China's Great Wall cuts across the country's ancient northern frontier - extending from the Yellow Sea to Inner Mongolia's deserted expanse - a feat of engineering genius that protected Chinese empires from its rival's warriors and marauding Mongols.

Today's hordes ride a cable car (or climb hundreds of steps stretching from the valley floor) to reach the Wall's lofty mountaintop perch. Joanie and I arrived to The Wall's Mutianyu section at around 8:30 am after fighting a posse of hucksters eager to bleed us of cash. It started in the Beijing subway, where where a woman approached us and directed us to the nearby bus terminal to catch the public bus to the Wall.

We found the station but she wouldn't let us go. Joanie and I went to the bathroom (there are public, free bathrooms of negligent cleanliness everywhere in Beijing) to try and shake her, but when we emerged she was standing in the shadows of a nearby pillar waiting for us. She told us the bus number we needed to take but then tried to shuffle us to a minibus (where she would likely take a cut from the driver). Luckily, we found the bus we thought we needed and jumped into the rush of people boarding. The fare was 2 Yuan (around $0.35) but i didn't have any small bills and in a moment of frustration and panic (people were pushing and jostling past me) I dropped a 20 Yuan note for the driver and took my seat (which Joanie had luckily secured a few rows back).

Off we went, haze and fog darkened Beijing's morning streets. The bus stopped along the way to pick up and let off riders. As we neared a stop a rider standing by the door told us we needed to get off - that it was our stop. Call us gullible or too trusting, we descended from the bus and a pack of drivers circled us offering a minibus ride to the Wall (which we could have reached by public transportation had we not been lured off).

After negotiating with the swindler who lured us off the bus for a round trip ride to the wall for around $20 we climbed into his minibus (think Volkswagen Vanagon except more cramped and much less safe). Half hour later we arrived at the wall. The driver came to the ticket window with us and pressured us to buy a cable car and slalom ticket (the slalom descends from the wall back to the village below for an additional $15) which we flatly refused (he was pissed because he wasn't going to get his cut).

I paid the driver for the one way of our trip and agreed on a pickup time: 11:30 am.

So we hiked up - up hundreds of stairs, under a canopy of trees, dripping with the morning mist.

When we reached the wall, our calves were already burning and Joanie's feet sore (a normal occurrence these days as I'm a slave driver and never seem to need to rest - sleep included).

The Mutianyu section were were hiking was built in 1368 and later renovated in 1983. It's not as busy as other sections of the wall and since we arrived so early, we were able to experience the Wall's magnitude in relative solitude - joined only by clouds and an occasional shower.

I'd hoped to run along the Wall's ancient stones, but they were too wet and after realizing it's essentially a giant calf and knee busting staircase I resigned myself to a few stair sprints and short runs.

But I did have my trusty GPS watch though and recorded our hike. Click the link below and be sure to check the Aerial or Hybrid views:

The satellite view of our hike along the wall.

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At the ends of both sides of the Mutianyu section was a sign that said do not pass:

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But for us, that's only an invitation for adventure so we walked past the barrier and climbed the stairs. The Wall continued for another 1/4 mile or so until falling into disrepair: collapsed guard towers, pathways overgrown with trees and bushes, loose stones and crumbling ramparts. I felt transported to another time, humbled and amazed at the skill and perseverance of the Wall's builders - and waited for an ancient soldier to materialize from the chalky mountain mist.

Click this link for pictures from the Wall (if the pictures haven't posted yet, they will be ASAP - as soon as China's Great Firewall lets them pass.

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Posted by bucketbath 17:49 Archived in China Tagged great stairs mist wall asia rampart Comments (6)

Downsizing for a Bucket Bath (Joanie)

From a duplex loft to a 30 L backpack

sunny 81 °F

Packed and ready to go

Packed and ready to go

====News Alert!====
Micah and I have both quit our jobs (in my case MANY jobs), the lease on the loft is up, and we are backpacking across southeast Asia for 7 1/2 months. In 1 week, we are going to be boarding a plane to Beijing and in April 2012, we are planning to fly home from New Delhi, India!

We've been planning this trip for months and it's hard to believe that soon we'll be jet setting across the ocean to explore a new continent. It doesn't feel like reality yet. What are we thinking? We are busy New Yorkers! I have a business and 4 other part time gigs. We have friends and a social life and an amazing loft to come home to at night. The entire world is a subway ride away. But as most NY'ers know,(NY artists anyway) living here is a love/hate relationship. I, personally, have been experiencing a little bit of "struggling artist" burn out and am ready to experience life at a different pace for awhile. I'm even more excited that Micah and I can do this together!

The thought of picking up and moving has been a little stressful, but downsizing has been less complicated than I thought. Luckily, I went through the experience of ridding myself of about 70% of my personal belongings during my last move less than a year ago. Most of my life is still in boxes and I haven't missed a majority of it. I'm ready to shed completely and start with a fresh slate. The biggest challenge has been figuring out exactly what I'll need to pack into my 30 L backpack and not carry more than absolutely necessary.

The whole concept of living out of a bag on my back reminds me of a turtle shell. Yes, it's nearly 8 months, but do I really need a full wardrobe, accessories and an armory of sudoku books? I'm beginning to realize that this turtle is probably only going to be concerned about being able to maintain an acceptable level of personal hygiene every day. Thus the name of our blog: Bucket Bath. That's code for exciting, unpredictable adventure...much like trying to bathe in a bucket!

I have agonized and revised shopping lists for months on what to pack in my "shell", without having to compromise too much fashion sense. I know, I'm showing my true girl colors right now, but I refuse to be the American traveler in the T-shirt, cargo pants, Chacos sandals and a bucket hat. Wait! I now own cargo pants and Chacos...but I'm NOT wearing a bucket hat! (The day I made the Chacos purchase in EMS was a very humbling experience.)

I'm happy to say, my packing is finished, and my trusty, new "home" is sitting in the corner ready to go. :) It's actually been ready to go for 3 weeks now. Girl Alert!-I even started putting outfit options together and cataloging photos so I have options to choose from while on the road. I'm amazed at how many combinations you can make out of 2 pairs of pants, a pair of leggings, a t-shirt, 2 tanks, a tunic, 2 dresses, and a long sleeved shirt! I have 25 combinations so far. Lucky magazine, eat your heart out! (Micah is slapping his forehead right now) Micah hasn't even started packing. It's ok. I'll graciously help him strategically choose outfits when the time comes. (Again with the forehead slap)

We're excited to go, but sad to leave all of our friends and family for the next few months. We're hoping to keep you connected to our lives as we document our "Bucket Baths" across southeast Asia - fully clothed, of course. Please keep us updated on your home adventures. We've started this blog to keep in touch. Please leave us comments. Send us emails. Send us an address and you may even get a postcard! Stay tuned for what I'm sure will be humorous video posts as well.

-Joanie

Posted by bucketbath 20:50 Archived in USA Tagged travel packing nyc beijing bath asia southeast bucket moving clothing Comments (5)

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