Living In The Physical World

DSC_1354

DSC_1340
Alas, it’s been 11 days since I’ve arrived and though I’m still adjusting, I’m beginning to get into the routine of things: Wake up, sign in the clients, hike up a volcano, run down, repeat, eat lunch, clean, coffee shop reading, an occasional Spanish class, siesta, prep for the next day, lounge in the hammock, drink a beer.

The other day I went to the beach with some of the kids at one of the projects we support — Las Chavaladas. All boys — some addicted to drugs, some just in difficult living situations.

DSC_1327

DSC_1342

But other than minor excursions out (to the beach, to a bar, an occasional salsa night), I’ve been opting to stay home and rest on my days off. My body is sore, scabbed, tanned, worked out. A nap is the best thing in the world.

This is a good thing. It’s a really good thing.

I’m beginning to realize how much I enjoy living in the physical world. For once, my job requires me to be out and away from the computer. Also, internet is slow here and I don’t have a phone. My hours are spent doing things with my body. We cook and clean, get into rickety trucks or hitchhike, and hike. Yeah it’s grueling and painful and I still feel like I can’t keep up… but everyday I’m in awe at the fact that I’m here doing such a surreal thing with my life.

I can feel my body getting stronger. Few things phase me now.

Tell me to climb through a barbed wire fence and ward the running farm dogs off with a stick? Okay.
Hitchhike on that random pickup truck? Sure thing.
Lead a hike with a machete and whack away stubborn branches? Just doing my job.

Time slows down here. I don’t plan past the next day. I find myself in the company of travelers from around the world on a daily basis.

It’s a bit odd, I’ll admit, being on the other side of the tourism industry. With the exception of the Los Angeles Chinese food scene… usually I’m the tourist — the curious visitor, the person forking over the money. At Quetzaltrekkers, I’m the guide, the leader, the person giving the tourist the experience.

Ironic, isn’t it?

I also find it amazing that I’m even here. A little over a year ago, I had a full-time job, I was living in Studio City and was devouring travelogues like Wild by Cheryl Strayed and Eat, Pray, Love a la Elizabeth Gilbert.

Back then, I had never hiked more than five miles a week and I would never have imagined myself to be in Nicaragua. But I remember admiring their courageousness and envying their travels.

And since then, since I’ve embarked on all these trips…I’ve most definitely eaten, prayed, loved, hiked, dived, gotten hurt physically and emotionally, and undergone a lot of edits as a person. This will continue. I know it will. I no longer envy Strayed or Gilbert; my reality is far more interesting.

Do I know what the fuck I’m doing?

[Read more…]

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestEmail to someone

Covered In Volcanic Ash

11900045_859039860845153_707260012431773533_n

IMG_3924I feel like I’m living another life, and my old one back in Los Angeles is but a distant memory. There are remnants of it when I talk to my friends online and hear a friendly voice over the phone. The familiarity is comfort enough to make me cry. I’ve been seeking out anything and everything American or Chinese to deal with the culture shock. Today, I craved Burger King. I gulp down liters of Coca Cola. I saw a Chinese restaurant and I ran in to talk to the owner in Mandarin because I knew it would make me feel better.

It’s funny how some weeks can go by without notice and others can turn into completely different lifetimes. This past week has seen me stretched to my emotional, physical, and mental limits. My first hike was a brutal one: a 12 mile hike in 90 degree weather. I barely absorbed the scenery. I was more focused on not puking.

Perhaps I over-romanticized things before. Because things stop being so poetic when you are in physical pain.

As a trekking guide, my job is to lead the clients and I’m ashamed to say that at more times than I’d like to admit, I could barely keep up.

Low blood sugar, dehydration, shock.

There were a couple of moments that the mere act of putting one foot in front of the other seemed impossible. My calves are sore, my arms are covered with bug bites and sunburn, and on one hike — my core almost collapsed with 30 pounds of weight on my back.

Mentally, I’m mute and deaf and blind. I have to book shuttles, deal with entrance and bus fees in a language I don’t understand. I have to lead folks through winding streets with no names, and stuff them in ancient rickety school buses already packed to the seams with locals, ride an hour to some stop in the middle of nowhere and navigate through unmarked trails for four hours, through farms, past horse shit, and up a very active volcano that exploded just two months ago. Cook for clients, carry a machete and a giant pot. Start a fire, comfort sick people.

Emotionally. Well, the root of it has been loneliness. I had always imagined that I would travel the world with a partner: someone who would understand my erratic decisions, who would make just as many of his own, together. Misery and joy, I truly believe, is always better with company. But unfortunately, the reality is that I am here alone and will continue to travel alone. And that has been very difficult to deal with. Of course, I knew this already.

But there are, of course, the positives, the signs.

A couple months ago, when I was in Kauai — halfway through a hike with strangers, one woman suddenly gave me the poignant life advice of: “Get involved in the things that you are interested in and the people will follow.”

I knew somehow, that I needed to hear those words, that those words would assist me beautifully in the future. (As life goes on, I’m beginning to be more and more convinced of the validity and presence of signs.)

I see those Hawaiian words of wisdom coming to play right now, here in Nicaragua. In terms of life philosophy, I’m no longer a minority. Everyday I meet writers and wanderers and vagabonds and journalists and nomads. My clients are mostly backpackers; people who understand that life shouldn’t be organized into boxes from nine to five.

Here in Quetzaltrekkers and in Nicaragua, no one asks what you do, why you’re here. The reasons are personal and multifold and constantly changing, for everyone. And most importantly. I’ve learned that the reasons that spark people to go somewhere are often not always the same reasons that compel them to stay.

This is true of my journey here.

I got another wonderful tidbit of wisdom today.

I met a woman who has been on a motorcycle with her boyfriend for the last three years, traveling the world. They’ve been sustaining themselves on photography and writing gigs, sleeping at locals’ houses, making it work through everyday hustle.

IMG_3970
“Difficulty is good,” she told me in the midst of a conversation I can’t remember. “It makes you think. It’s the only way you can change for the better.”

I almost reached over and hugged her. Instead, I asked to take her photo.

In so many ways, that is exactly the cliche that I needed to hear because everyday since I’ve arrived, I’ve been questioning my motivations for coming.

Why in the world did I volunteer my time to run down volcanoes (literally run down a very steep one with a flag while our clients board down), carry the equipment of clients who are too weak to do it themselves, sleep in dust, be covered in volcanic ash on a daily basis, cook for strangers, carry a shit ton of weight in humid heat, and hike up brutal inclines three to five times a week? Why am I subjecting my body to the most intense physical labor for no pay? Why am I learning Spanish when my field of interest is in Asia?

I think the answer is that it’s difficult. It’s the most difficult thing I’ve done in my life.

It’s a challenge. And though everything hurts right now, I know that this is my opportunity to grow emotionally, physically, and mentally.

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestEmail to someone

First Day In Nicaragua

DSC_1151


I’m in Nicaragua right now, in a communal house in the middle of a maze of a city called Leon, where there are white cathedrals and streets colored in bold pastels and accented by graffiti. There are no street signs or traffic lights. Cars honk to assert their right of way; pedestrians scamper between the spaces.

I don’t know Spanish and I don’t know anyone here.

Nicaragua was a spur of the moment decision, the most random one I’ve made yet and made simply because I heard there were hikes and lava in volcanoes. That was enough to convince me to go, because at this point of my life — unattached, young and healthy is good enough reason to go anywhere cheap.

The weather is a very normal 90 — humid and sticky, relentlessly so. And it is because of these conditions, I have sworn off makeup and as a result, any care in the world about my appearance. This was the point. I’ve come here to live in the physical world and not be bogged down by the daily frustration of altering my appearance to conform to a standard. I’ve come here to learn more about my soul, without the distortion of fancy affairs, constant Internet connection, or Tinder dates.

DSC_1164

Yes, I feel unprecedentedly naked without makeup. Yes, I suffer from chronic adult acne. Yes, I miss my friends and family and support group back home. Yes, I’ve accumulated already a handful of bites and sores. But I welcome the heat and discomfort. So far, at least. It melts away the petty problems. It makes me focus in on what’s important.

I’m spending the next three months here leading backpacking tours up to volcanoes for Quetzaltrekkers, a completely volunteer-run organization. All profits go to local schools and community organizations. The house is made up of volunteers, usually from Western countries, all really sweet.We cook and clean and spend a healthy chunk of the week lugging around 60 liter backpacks in the wilderness, being kissed by mosquitos, sleeping in a brilliant sludge of our own dirt and sweat.

It’s far from glamorous and in the first 24 hours, I’ve oscillated from major regret to pure joy.

I’ve sat in the park, in a fit of emotions, wondering what in the hell compelled me to move to Leon. This morning, I followed a woman to a pharmacy to buy her toddler medicine because I was feeling lonely and conversing with her in her broken English and my poco de espanol made me feel better. She asked for much more than I anticipated and so I said lo siento and went on my way. I’ve hung out in a coffee shop and listened to a man the owner knew sing with unyielding gusto.

[Read more…]

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestEmail to someone

Kiss Me, It’s Foggy

DSC_1109


DSC_0797
DSC_0829

DSC_0817

I gave common sense up when I left Wine Country and watched, helplessly, as my car pushed west on Valley Ford Road, until the manicured rows of grape vines became a lingering note. The hills turned from fluorescent green to overgrown beige and I felt as if I had finally driven back to reality. Because in Wine Country, the view seemed forced.

There were moments where my car would come to a screeching halt and I’d jump out just to snap a photo, no doubt startling nearby traffic. An Asian girl with distraught hair and a ugly pink raincoat, jumping out of a perfectly good Mercedes to take photos of dead plants.

I watched as the gravel hit an ocean cliff and was forced to spilt, and my car veered right to the north hugging the outline of Highway One and fueled by a couple of stories I was, once upon a time, told.

“Sea Ranch is my favorite place on earth. I want to take you there one day. I promise you that. An hour north, there’s a glass beach called Fort Bragg, where the sand is made of glass.”

DSC_1031

DSC_0943

I had carried those words with me for so long, told to me by a boy I had once upon a time loved. His unfulfilled promise had bothered me.

Yet I had forgotten about all the stories and how much they bothered me until June.

[Read more…]

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestEmail to someone

Nicole’s Napa

11822785_10205145131561189_1646216141460688279_n
Nicole: “Whatcha doing?”

Me: “Writing about you.”

Nicole: “What are you writing about me?”

Me: “I don’t know. I don’t know what I write until I write it.”

Nicole: “Two college friends frolicking in the vineyards talking about past loves and potential futures…eating too much food….”

DSC_0778
DSC_0779
I’m in wine country right now and the contrast between these last couple of days and my life in the last three months couldn’t be greater. Since May, I’ve been camping and scuba diving and writing, barely taking showers, hardly looking in the mirror, wearing the world’s most comfortable clothes.

These two days has seen me in makeup, dresses, frequenting wineries, eating charcuterie and cheese and at Thomas Keller’s Ad Hoc. I’ve also been slightly drunk this whole time.

But of course, I’m cherishing these days and I wouldn’t spend Napa with anyone else but Nicole.

Nicole and I go back to college. We met in NYU Shanghai during our study abroad semester there and despite our differences (she’s fancy luxury, I’m hole-in-the-wall nature gal) we bonded quickly. There’s an unspoken respect between us, despite our vast contrast. Though she’s an East Coast gal (born, bred and buttered)  and I’m a West Coaster, we make an effort to vacation together at least once a year.

Our common thread has always been food. Nicole works as a food and beverage manager (at the age of 25!) at a luxury hotel in Chicago but back in the day, before we were both anything, she was the one who really opened my eyes to the world of fine dining and dancing and all things New York City.

So I know when I’m with Nicole, the following elements are essentials: 1) Quality, clean accommodations. 2) Good wine. LOTS of it. 3) Spectacular food.

What We’ve Done:

11828543_853341371415002_301270908760953687_nWedding at Mann Farm in Bolinas: Spent our first night in wine country with free flowing wine and lots of food, celebrating the marriage of one of my high school friends. So many happy tears. This was also Nicole’s first time using a porta potty. Her struggle was real.

Benziger Biodynamic Wine Tour: Nicole hooked it up and we got a private industry tour of this biodynamic winery in Sonoma. Their approach to farming is holistic, complete with ponds and animals. Fun fact: they dry farm their grapes!

11094334_10205145130961174_3962825116411209673_n
Brunch at The Girl And The Fig: Busy restaurant, well-known in the community, in the heart of Sonoma. I recommend the charcuterie and cheese board. Supplement with a mimosa.

Scribe Winery: Another industry tour. Definitely a different vibe, much more hip and young crowd. The tasting area is on a hill, overlooking the valley. A gorgeous time.

11208657_10205145133841246_5380793745880647600_n (1)Ad Hoc: And of course a trip to Napa would not be complete without a pilgrimage to at least one of Thomas Keller’s institutions. I chose to opt out of French Laundry (ain’t got the money for that), but said yes to Ad Hoc. No regrets here. It’s a four course prix fixe for $52. Our main course was hickory smoked ribs, with baked beans, corn pone and whipped honey butter.

While wine is not my comfort zone, I can appreciate it. After all, I did live in New York City for four years and wrote heavily about “the industry” there. But wine country makes for great photography time and it’s a quaint place to catch up on new lives, ambitions and loves.

One more day left and I’m off to living in my tent again.

Appreciating the scenery…but for reals….where are they hiding the bodies? (And the farm workers and the dirt and the trash cans and the reality?) It’s almost too manicured here.

11816967_853498731399266_6075195720518915329_n
Processed with VSCOcam with f2 preset

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestEmail to someone

Camping Big Sur

DSC_0706
Big Sur was on my list of places I wanted to camp at because it has everything I enjoy in one place: the ocean, mountains, tall redwoods and wonderful lush hikes. And so, threeish months ago, I booked a spot at Ventana Campground, determined to do Big Sur with or without people.

(Because at this point in my life, I’ve realized that the best course of action is to stop overthinking things, wondering if folks will tag along and just fucking go.)

Thank goodness my good friend Albert decided to tag along last minute though, because his company made this trip very meaningful.

We approached the two night adventure with very little communication and planning. I loaded all my camping gear and equipment in my car and started my trek from Los Angeles. Albert, who’s based in San Jose, threw his sleeping bag in his car, a couple of clothes, two water bottles (LOL) and we met up right around sunset.

What We Did:

McWay Falls - a nice waterfall on the beach at Julia Pfeiffer State Park.

Ewoldsen Hike – a 4.5 mile loop hike. We started at 8:30 a.m. and were the first souls in the park. Highly recommend waking up hella (hey – I’m in NorCal) early for this because hiking with a crap ton of humans around is just miserable.

Pfeiffer State Beach - Because I wanted to photograph the iconic keyhole.

Pfeiffer Falls – 2 mile hike. Ehhh disappointing view, but we did it because we had too much time to kill.

11145561_852950774787395_9096311248214309590_n

The most precious parts of the trip, aside from the killer views of course, were the conversations.

Some choice moments:

I give Albert a kiwi mid-hike. He starts biting the skin and spitting it out, with passion. Me: “….uh dude I have a pocket knife.” He takes the pocket knife, and proceeds to skin the kiwi in a very haphazard and awkward way.

We walk to McWay Waterfall. Just a trickle, really. Albert starts laughing. “It’s like a pee pee fall.”

Albert and I have a hard time getting a fire started. After a good 30 minutes, we finally figure it out. (Bought a fire starter at the local store ehehe) “I like burning things. Because everyone is an arsonist at heart,” Albert says. He forages for sticks and throws them madly into the fire. We entertain ourselves with this for three hours.

Albert, in a very boisterous tone of voice: “THIS IS AN EXACT SCIENCE!” He walks up to the fire and “strategically” tries to throw in a piece of wood he found. It knocks over our wood teepee, and the fire begins to die. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

Albert: “A GOD RAY! I don’t know the scientific term for that. You know, when light streams through trees.” Me: “Uhm…..sunray……”

Albert makes smores for the first time. I’ve never seen anyone that excited. Burns his marshmallow, starts madly blowing on it. Starts talking to me, oblivious that his stick is still burning. I’m laughing so hard I can barely talk.

People next to us starts playing guitar. We’re in our respective tents, sleeping. “Clarissa?” he asks.
“Hm?”
“I hope a bear comes and eats those people.”

And lastly:

Randomly, completely out of the blue.
Albert: “I have a nice butt.”
Me: “…okay”
Albert: “It’s cuz I work out my legs. I can’t help it that my butt is attached.”
At this point, I’ve become so accustomed to his weirdness that I don’t even question his train of thought.

Keep doing you Albert. A trip for the books. So memorable.

DSC_0764

DSC_0725

DSC_0719

DSC_0731

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestEmail to someone

Until November, Los Angeles

Screen Shot 2015-08-05 at 5.39.33 PM
Tonight is my last night in Los Angeles. Until November!

Goodbye fancy bars and restaurants and makeup and cars and Los Angeles traffic. Hello tents, bugs, backpacks, lots of alone time, maybe an ocean or two, starry nights and tall trees.

Let the adventures beginnnnnn.

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestEmail to someone

Things I Want To Learn

How to spearfish
How to better navigate in the ocean and in the wilderness
How to catch a lobster
How to freedive … because I want abalone damn it
How to fish, how to deep-sea fish
How to skin and gut a fish (because I really like fish!)
How to cook more Chinese recipes
The Chinese way to cook duck (tea-smoking, drying, glazing with maltose, Peking-style, etc)
More Chinese
Bachata
Swing dancing
Line dancing
Knots
How to forage from local Angeleno mountains
How to properly use a pocketknife..and cut a pineapple with it. (ehehehe)


Better photography skills
How to start a fire
More Chinese idioms, history
Basic Spanish
Drought-resistant gardening

If anyone knows any of the above, let’s be friends.

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestEmail to someone