Take Me Back to Manhattan

10 Days - The Final Chapter.
Saturday, October 18, 2008

But when I met LDB for a drink that night, I couldn’t stop staring at his face. I loved his face. I liked his eyes, the way they smiled. I liked the way he told a story. I liked the way he laughed. And mostly, I liked the way I felt being with him. Easy. Comfortable. At home. We talked honestly that night. He liked me too. I told him about Wine Boy. And I told him that I couldn’t do long distance. He was seeing someone also, but he still wanted to stay in touch – to email and talk and see each other when he was in town. No reason we couldn't do that, he said. Sounded good to me. When he kissed me goodnight outside, it sounded even better…

The first message that I got from LDB after he returned to LA was saved on my cell phone and played over and over every day for the entire 21 days that I was able to save a message. The nicest part about it was the surprise. I hadn’t heard my cell phone ring, and when I checked the message several hours later, I didn’t know who it was from. When I heard his voice saying over and over again that he just kept thinking about me, I knew I was in trouble. Good trouble, but trouble…And for the next 21 days, every time I listened to that message, my stomach flipped.

As time went on, and emails were exchanged between LDB and me, my feelings for Wine Boy depleted. He started pushing to get more serious, but for the first time in my life, I was enjoying having options. The more he pushed, the more I pulled away. And the emails that LDB sent to me were soooo…well, just sooo.

I ended things with Wine Boy and simultaneously made a decision about LDB. I had no idea what he was thinking, what he was feeling…but I knew that I wanted to go for it. I knew that I never wanted to walk in a room and look at him and think “what if?”

LDB came back to New York in mid-August. It just so happened that he was scheduled to arrive the same day as the blackout occurred in New York. I think the fact that the blackout prevented things with LDB from going exactly as I had planned in my head was for the best. My anticipation of his arrival was probably equal to the excitement I’d had the morning before I left for Burma. But as soon as the lights went out, I knew things weren’t going to go as planned. As I walked home from work, fears of another terrorist attack buzzed on the street. I couldn’t get in touch with LDB on his cell and I couldn’t get in touch with his mom either.

By the time I got home, it was clear that this was simply a blackout and only a blackout. There were no terrorists attacking, no planes flying into buildings - which allowed me a minor sigh of relief. I sat on the steps of my apartment building, hoping that my two roommates would appear sooner than later. I had 2 dollars in my wallet, no access to the electronic ATMS’s, and we’d all lost our ability to use plastic. We lived in a basement apartment so it was pitch black. I had attempted to go down by myself, but swiftly turned around when I realized that once I got one quarter of the way down the hall, I literally could not see a SINGLE thing. I couldn't see my finger in front of my face. I turned around and headed out again. My only option was to sit and wait. Within fifteen minutes, RT and PM were on the steps with me. We discussed what to do, which took all of about 2 minutes when we realized we didn’t really have any options. So we did what everyone else did during that blackout – we got drunk. We sat at the bar next door with friends and drank beer until the sun went all the way down. I tried not to think about where LDB was or if he’d landed. It was totally out of my control. There was nothing I could do.

At about 9 PM, drunk and tired, we stumbled home and I got ready for bed. I put on my pajamas and went into RT’s room. Since it was in the front of the building and looked out on the street, there was a little light coming in from the moon. I settled on the corner of his bed for a little drunken banter. All of a sudden I heard my name being called outside.

“Michelle!”

I sat up. “Yeah?” I said out the window.

“It’s Long Distance Boy. I’ve come to save you from the blackout!”

My heart started to pound. I looked at RT and ran outside. And there he was, standing at the top of my stairs. It really was Long Distance Boy. And his mom, his dad, and his dog, who’d accompanied him to make sure he was safe while he came to save me. I looked at him with a huge smile and when he wrapped his arms around me, I thought to myself, “Now this is a fairytale.”

When LDB’s two weeks in New York ended, I finally told him how I felt. I was scared out of my mind, but I knew that if I didn’t tell him what I wanted, I’d have lost without even trying.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:59 PM 4 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

10 Days - Part 22
Thursday, October 16, 2008

I felt even BETTER the next morning. I put on a pair of jeans and no sooner had I buttoned them around my waist and they were on the ground at my ankles. I ran to the bathroom and stepped on the scale. I knew that I’d lost a little weight on my trip. I mean, how could I not? I’d barely eaten and I’d been trying to keep up with superman. But as I looked down, I was shocked to see that I had lost ten pounds. TEN POUNDS??? I’d been trying for years to lose ten pounds. Who knew that all it would take was a week in Burma?

The 3rd day of our trip The 6th day - after the infamous bike ride

I'd been to my very own Ashram and I hadn't even known it!!! After 4 years of therapy and finally learning to feel comfortable in my body, it felt like overnight I had been given a new one. I wasn't complaining one single bit.

As the weeks progressed, the feelings of sadness and shame I'd felt surrounding what I had interpreted as the “failure” of my trip slowly began to fade. As I told the story over and over, I managed to focus on the adventure I’d been on, the humor of the whole thing (ie: me, princess at heart, biking through pigs and goats) and the fact that I’d actually done it. The general consensus was that people were inspired and thought I was brave. And I started to realize that I was.

Burma Boy and I corresponded a bit. We talked about what an amazing adventure we’d both had. I sent him a version of the letter I’d written on the plane ride home and he sent me an email telling me how he’d felt on the trip as well. Turns out with some distance, we both felt that we’d had a wonderful experience and had learned a tremendous amount. The emails kept up for a little while, but there didn’t seem to be as much of a point anymore. My stomach didn’t flip when I received one, and he didn’t rush to write back. The fairytale was over. Now I could move forward.

And move forward I did. Being in Burma helped me to realize that life was too short. Being in Burma helped me get a better body! And being in Burma helped me appreciate me for me a little more. I hopped back on Jdate with a newfound body and more importantly, a newfound confidence.

I was dating a wine purveyor (we’ll call him Wine Boy) and sort of beginning to like him, when I got a message at my office on a Tuesday in July from Long Distance Boy. The one from March and Passover…remember him? He was back in town and wanted to grab a drink so we made plans to meet after work that night. Long Distance Boy and I sat and sipped dirty martinis and laughed. A lot. He felt like an old friend, someone I’d known for years. The whole thing felt bizarrely familiar. I walked him to see “Hairspray” and he held my hand. Was he flirting with me?? He kissed me lightly on the cheek goodbye and told me that he wanted to get together again later in the week.

Later in the week turned out to be a barbecue at his brother and sister-in-law's for the 4^th of July. The four of us went to the beach and LDB and I swam out to a dock in the middle of the water. We sat and talked and laughed some more. My mind was racing while we talked on the dock? Was he flirting? Because it sort of felt like he was flirting. And I sort of felt a little nervous, but the good kind of nervous. And before my mind could come up with an answer, LDB was kissing me. And I guess I had the answer to my question.

“Why do you have to live in LA?” I asked with genuine despair.

“I’m not thinking of it that way,” he said.

Well, what was he thinking? I wanted to know EVERYTHING he was thinking. But I didn’t ask. I felt completely confused. What about Wine Boy? He lived in New York. I liked him. But LDB…well, LDB made my stomach flip. But LDB lived in LA. Uch.

When I woke up the next morning, I’d made my decision. I was NOT going to do this to myself again. I was not going to be with someone who lived far away, who I couldn’t have a real relationship with. I was not going to kiss LDB again.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:47 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

10 Days - Part 21 and nearing the end...
Tuesday, October 14, 2008

When I woke up, the plane was hitting the runway at JFK, and I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve been happier to land in New York. I had 15 welcome home messages on my voicemail and I needed it. I went through customs, feeling like I’d been gone for 10 months rather than 10 days. I settled into the back of a cab, like it was a stretch limo knowing that although I hadn’t figured out how yet, I was a little wiser.

I took a deep breath and called my parents first.

“Hi Mom. I’m home.” I said, exhausted and not really wanting to have this conversation.

“Hiiiiiiii Honey!!! How WAS it??” asked my mother, who had chosen not to share my adventure with anyone else in our close knit family to protect me from having to explain should this not turn out the way I had hoped. And it hadn’t. It most certainly had not turned out the way I had hoped. But in that moment, I realized part of the reason I was scared to take the risk to begin with. I’d grown up thinking that if things didn’t turn out with a success or a happy ending, then the risk hadn’t been worth it. Which naturally makes a girl stop taking risks for fear of having unwanted news at the end of the adventure. I found myself thinking about all of this as my Mom called to my Father. Was the risk only worthwhile if the outcome was as expected? Didn’t you have to take the risk in order to find out what the outcome would be? And wasn’t there a reason for the expression, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”?

“Billy, pick up the phone! It’s Michelle!!!!”

“Well, it was an adventure. I wouldn’t say we are a match made in heaven.”

“I knew it. I knew it. Bill, didn’t I say I didn’t like the sound of her email?? I knew it. Are you ok? What did you do? Was it miserable?”

I waited for my mother to finish her questions, although I was really too exhausted to give much of an answer. Too exhausted to explain to her that it was miserable at times and wonderful at times. Too exhausted to even be able to begin to process what I had just done.

“I’m exhausted, but I’m good. I’m glad to be home. But I can’t expand on this right now…I’m just too tired. Can we talk again tomorrow?”

“Of course. Of course. We’re just glad you’re home safely. We love you.” Which was a nice thing to hear. Especially since, at the end of the day, I knew that while my mother would have hoped for me to have my fairy tale ending, she and my father both loved me no matter what.

Next, I called one of my oldest friends, Kelly. Kelly and I had been friends since we were 3. She knew pretty much everything about me. If there was anyone I could be with who would understand me, it was Kelly. I left her a voice mail telling her I was back, asking if she wanted to go to 4 PM yoga and eat some REAL spaghetti with me. I left a few more messages for my closest friends telling them I was home and alive and too exhausted to talk. And oh yeah, I was NOT madly in love.

As I walked through the streets of New York on my way to yoga, I was struck by the joy I felt about things that would have normally bothered me. It was a grey-ish, cold, sort of drab day. A nice change of pace from the pounding sun. There were impatient people everywhere, taxis honking too long and too loud. Several people ran into me on the sidewalk. But I’ve never been happier to be in the concrete jungle in my life. I was ecstatic to be home, to feel the pulse of the city. I was not so ecstatic about having to face the world and tell them that my fairytale hadn’t come true. Still, when I saw Kelly at yoga, I felt a surge of relief. She was just happy to see me, happy to practice yoga next to me. But most importantly, she told me she was proud of me for making the trip.

As I inhaled and exhaled through my sun salutations, I inhaled and exhaled those words. I was proud of me too. I had taken the biggest risk I had ever taken in my life. And no, it hadn’t turned out the way had I wanted, the way I had planned - but I was OK. I was still standing. No one was laughing at me or telling me I was foolish to have tried. (Then again, I hadn’t really talked to a whole lot of people yet.) The risk had been worth it. I had been on an amazing adventure half way around the world.

I poured over every last detail of my trip over a huge bowl of spaghetti and meatballs and a glass of red wine. As I described my adventures to Kelly and my interactions with Burma Boy, she helped me to work through all the feelings I was having. She reminded me that I have a tendency to beat myself up for certain things, and she made me feel phenomenally better by telling me that she thought I handled myself better than most would have under the circumstances. I don’t know if it was the yoga, the spaghetti, the glass of wine, or having one of my oldest friends to talk to, but I already felt slightly rejuvenated.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:46 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

10 Days - Part 20
Sunday, October 12, 2008

Saturday morning I woke up early. I got ready for my day and just as I was about to leave, Burma Boy woke up. He was sweet - the sweetest he'd been since I'd arrived. We both were actually. It was hitting us that this was our last day, and it was as though both of us wanted the chance to start over. Or to recognize that we didn’t know each other as well as our emails made us think that we did and operate based on that - rather than thinking we knew each other as well as we knew our closest friends.

I had decided to spend the morning touring Bangkok alone. Burma Boy had spent a lot of time in Thailand and had already seen the Grand Palace, but I felt like it was something I wanted to experience while I was there. Besides, I was enjoying my independence and was making up for some of the time that perhaps I should have taken for myself when I first arrived.

I took the river ferry up to the stunning Grand Palace. This was no FairyTale Land. This was truly beautiful. From there, I took a Tuk Tuk ride where I learned a few Thai words from the adorable driver and hit the market to buy some gifts. I didn’t have the energy for any more sightseeing. I was so exhausted from our first 9 days that I just wanted some good rest and relaxation. The trip was over. And now I needed a vacation from my trip.

After lunch, I met up with Burma Boy, Caroline, and Tom. We went for Thai massages, we went to dinner. It was actually really nice. It was lovely to be around other people, to relate outside of just the two of us. But I felt totally confused as well. I was just starting to get to know this person. All of a sudden I was questioning if perhaps I wanted to get to know him more? Would things have been different if we were under different circumstances? Was I just scared to go home to have to report that I didn’t fall madly in love? I definitely was ready to go home to be around the people that loved me, the people that I could be myself with. But all of a sudden, leaving felt bizarre.

We got into bed that night and while we were both quiet, it was clear there was more than we wanted to say. I tried. I told him that all things considered, I’d really had a good time. I’m not quite sure that was exactly what I meant…but it was the simplest way for me to express myself. I told him that I’d learned so much. I told him that I was glad that I’d come. And those last two things, I meant.

I boarded the plane at 6 AM and my head felt like it was about to explode. Not only did I need a vacation from my vacation, I needed a vacation from life. I thought that going away was going to help me to clear my head, but it seemed that I was more confused than ever. I sat on the plane and attempted to write in my journal. But mostly I cried. I cried because the movie in my head had been all wrong. I cried because I had been a pain in the ass at times. I cried because he’d been a total jackass at times. I cried because I had communicated poorly (and I was starting to realize that at times, I hadn’t communicated at all). I cried because I’d taken the risk and it hadn’t paid off. I thought I was finally going to find love and I hadn’t. I cried because I wondered if I ever would. I cried until I fell fast asleep.

I sort of half woke up when we got to Tokyo. I moved through the airport in a trance. My eyes were puffy, my backpack was too heavy, and all I wanted to do was go back to sleep and wake up in NYC. I don’t know how long I was there, I didn’t eat anything strange. In a zombie-like state, I boarded the plane and quickly fell asleep again.

When I woke up several hours later, I felt a little better. I opened my journal and began to write to Burma Boy. I wrote and I wrote until everything that I was feeling and thinking was on the page. I told him that if I had the whole thing to do over again, I would have made the trip again. I admitted that all I’d really wanted was for him to like me, that I’d been scared and nervous when I got off the plane and met him in The Great Hall. I admitted that as much as I had tried not to have expectations, I hadn’t left any room for the fact that we didn't actually know each other. So we both took certain parts of each other’s tones and habits personally, when actually, we were just being ourselves. I admitted to him the many times that he’d hurt my feelings and I admitted to him that I felt like he was disappointed in me because I couldn’t stomach the food and because I couldn’t always keep up with him. I admitted that I knew I could have done certain things differently, but I vented about all the things that I wished he’d done differently too. I told him it felt like he often didn’t listen to me. And I admitted that I was mortified that I’d accused him of talking about me with Caroline. And by the time I started to process all of the feelings I was having, it was time for me to leave and then I just felt even more confused. I wrote it all down. And then I fell back to sleep.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 9:37 AM 0 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

10 Days - Part 19
Friday, October 10, 2008

We arrived at the Shangri-la hotel on Friday in the early afternoon. Burma Boy made me wander around while he checked in. Apparently, he had made the reservation under the guise that he was a travel agent so he would get a nice discount. (There were travel agents in his family, so he had the necessary paraphernalia to ensure success.) He was supposed to be traveling alone to get an even further discount, explaining why I couldn’t be anywhere near him while he checked in. Ahhhh, the life of a super haggler. My instructions were to eventually wander into the lounge where he would pick me up to take me to our room.

Now THIS was a room. A grand, luxurious king bed. A huge bathroom with a tub and a shower. Drawers and a view and little take home shampoos and conditioners. Big white towels and bathrobes and slippers. I was home!!!

Friday was warm and beautiful and we relaxed by the pool. Burma Boy’s best friends were also staying at the Shangri-La for a wedding, so not only did I have the opportunity to be uncomfortable with him, but with his comrades as well. I met his friend Caroline early in the afternoon by the pool. She seemed lovely as she (understandably) checked out the whacko that had flown across the country to go on a second date. I left them alone to catch up while I went to get a two hour thai massage. HEAVENLY. They cost about $5 and I see no reason why a person should not get one every day, twice a day if you’re feeling indulgent. I had enjoyed the time that I’d had to myself the day before in Yangon. I was happy to go have more in Bangkok.

And the food! Finally, the food was edible. Better than edible. It was GOOD. I took Burma Boy out for dinner that evening and the experience couldn’t have been further from the date we’d gone on 4 months earlier. There was little laughter, conversation was not easy. I’m not really sure why I hadn’t called Thai air myself to see if I could depart a day early, but I didn’t. I was grateful to go meet Caroline and her boyfriend, Tom, after dinner. It was good to have some distraction from just the two of us. I was starting to feel less and less connected to this person, not more. I tried to be normal, to be myself, but I was already feeling uncomfortable with Burma Boy and when he was surrounded with his two best friends, I was the odd girl out. I chatted with Caroline’s sisters who were obsessed with fashion and loved my dress. But the whole time, I was sure that Burma Boy and Caroline, who had been whispering incessantly, were talking about what a pain in the ass I’d been and how much he couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Completely and totally convinced. SO convinced that I had decided that I knew the ENTIRE conversation they’d been having. I felt my face get warm and my heart start to beat…anxiety and anger flooded my body. By the time we got back to the hotel, my jaw was so clenched that it would have taken a small army to pry it open. Burma Boy, who had finally gotten observant, asked if I was ok.

“No, No, I’m not OK. I’m not ok since you just sat there and talked to Caroline about me for the ENTIRE evening!” I spurted at him through clenched teeth.

“What are you talking about?”

The look on Burma Boy’s face told me I’d been wrong. Very, very wrong. I had made the entire thing up in my head. They hadn’t been talking about anything even remotely involving me.

The anger flooded out as quickly as it had come and was rapidly replaced with shame. How could I have been so self-centered and paranoid? Where was the confident young woman who had flown there from New York? This wasn’t me…I wasn’t myself with him. I had become completely insecure. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t my fault. There was no one to blame. It was just the way things had turned out…and now I just wanted to go home. We got into our big plush bed and I stared at the wall, wishing things had worked out differently, thinking of all the things I wish I could have changed. It wasn't long before I fell asleep. I had succeeded in effectively exhausting myself.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:15 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

10 Days - Part 18
Wednesday, October 8, 2008

The next morning we departed on our little plane to head back to Yangon for just one night. Yangon is extremely depressing -- the streets are so smelly and packed and packed with people. Everyone chews on beetlenuts. I was never able to actually identify exactly what beetlenuts are, but I know this much: they're horrible for your teeth, they stain them orange, and they also stain the ground orange where everyone spits. So everywhere we turned we saw either orange ground or orange smiles. The level of poverty is unreal.

After we arrived, Burma Boy sent me to the market while he…what else? Haggled. We had decided to leave Yangon first thing the next morning. We saw no reason to spend any extra time in such a depressing city. The problem was that my ticket was refundable and incurred no penalty for a flight change. Burma Boy’s was not and would require a $50 payment, which, as we all know by now, he was not going to pay. When he found me in the market an hour later, he had a victorious smile on his face. The haggler had won. I found myself wondering if the $50 was worth an hour of his time.

We decided to go our separate ways for the afternoon. I chose to go see the Shwedigon paya- the largest and most beautiful stupa in all of Burma. He decided to adventure to see Ang San Suu Kyi, the Nobel peace prize winner who was under house arrest. Originally we were going to see her together. However, I made my decision not to join him after we asked the people at the front desk for directions to get to her home. Everyone went silent and looked around to see who was listening. Then, one of the women at the front desk brought her face uncomfortably close to ours, and as her eyes darted back and forth to make sure she was not being heard, in hushed whispers, she explained that no taxi would or could take us there and once we did arrive at University Avenue, we would have to sneak by the guards. She let us know that no one was allowed to even speak her name in this country. That was all I needed to hear. As far as I was concerned, I’d been adventurous enough for the year. Burma Boy could get arrested by himself. Besides, he would need someone to go to the US Embassy if something did happen.

I made my way to the Shwedigon Paya which is huge and bizarrely sort of looks like Fairytale Land that I used to go to up in Lake Winnipesauke, NH when I was a little kid. It certainly was elaborate, but not that different from most of the other temples we’d seen. And while the Burmese seemed to feel that if you made something gold it was beautiful, I was starting to feel like if you’ve seen one temple, you’ve seen them all…

We had decided to meet back at the Strand hotel that night for a cocktail. I went home and took a shower and put on a skirt and even a little lipstick. The Strand is this gorgeous, posh hotel that's completely out of place in the middle of this run-down city. The hotel is just grand, like a palace. I arrived and felt like Eloise must have felt when she arrived at the Plaza. I also felt a huge wave of relief. They had food I would eat, they had air conditioning, they had big, plush chairs I could sink into and enjoy a delicious glass of red wine. Now THIS was vacation.

As we sat in the bar and ordered cocktails, I finally felt like my flirty self again. I melted into the lavish, red velvet chair, slipped off my sandals and brought my legs together in what I guess one could call sort of mermaid style (legs together, knees bent and to one side with feet to the other). I'm describing this to you because, in my opinion, this is a very lady-like way to sit. I wasn't sitting cross-legged or with my feet up on the table. I just got a little more comfortable. I was ENJOYING myself. And you'll never guess what happened next...

Burma Boy had a problem with the fact that I had my feet on the chair. This time I spoke up. I asked him if he seriously thought I was offending someone by being comfortable. I wasn't flashing anyone, I wasn't spread eagle. I had quietly and cozily tucked my feet into the back corner of this lavish seat.

"Would you put your feet on a chair like that at a nice bar in New York?"

And I told him yes. "Yes I would. I would do it in New York at most bars. I would have sat this way at the freaking Plaza if we'd gone there...I don’t go places where I can’t be comfortable and make myself at home…"

I was just fine…and if he didn’t like it, well then TOUGH. After several days of barely a sip of alcohol and almost as little food, I could feel the red wine coating my stomach. My head felt a little lighter and my voice, which I had been pushing down this entire time, found itself.

"You're not in charge of me, you know. This is our trip, and you've been treating me like a child."

And with that, we started talking. But we also kept drinking. I think we both said a lot - but I can’t remember much of it. I do know that some of his points were valid and I listened. I also know that my points were valid. It felt good to get it out - to argue. Eventually, we stumbled home to our little hotel with a little less baggage to take back with us to Thailand the next morning.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:29 PM 0 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

Ten Days - Part 17
Sunday, October 5, 2008

I opened my eyes and looked up.

"Did you ride straight here?" he asked with a bit of shock.

“Yes, actually. I did,” I said with a sense of accomplishment.

He had been stopping at every single little temple along the way asking the monks if they'd seen a “small curly brown girl.” And that's what had taken him so long. We laughed for a moment and I couldn't help but feel good that he'd been bothering to look for me, that he'd had concern. (Of course given that I'd practically gone into cardiac arrest the day before, his concern was understandable.) We rested on the side of the road in the shade for a while. It was the most comfortable I’d felt with Burma Boy since I arrived in Thailand 5 nights earlier. Maybe it was because I hadn’t waited around for him, because I’d taken some initiative and done something on my own without worrying about what he wanted or what he thought. But for whatever reason, we sat there in comfortable quiet for a while before we headed back on our way.

Burma boy guessed that we had another 20 minutes to go. I felt great relief in the knowledge that the end was near, and we got back on our bikes and rode. 20 minutes turned into 30 and about an hour later, after a stop at a gas station to fill my depleting tire, we arrived at the bike store where we’d started 2 days ago. Burma Boy asked me if I wanted to ride to see more cave temples with him. I didn't tell him that I thought he was nuts - that we'd been out since 9:30 that morning. I simply said that I appreciated the invitation, but that I was going to pass. I had learned my lesson once. I was going to do things EXACTLY the way I wanted to. Which was to NOT ride a bike anymore or look at any more temples. While superhuman haggler went to exert MORE energy in the blazing hot sun, I opted to go back and sit in the pool and pretend, just for a MOMENT, that I was on vacation. My body refused to move anymore.

I took a taxi back to the hotel. First things first, I showered. Then I dragged my limp legs to the pool and sat motionless in awe of the events of the past 5 days. It was Wednesday. Was it actually possible that I still had half my trip left? All signs led to another five days of hiking, biking and starving. I sat and pondered the choices I had made, equating parts of this adventure to my life in general. I started to think about the way I was communicating. Had I really been clear about what I wanted or had I just spent time wanting to make Burma Boy happy, even if it was at my own expense? But my brain was too tired to think about it any further. I was exhausted.

After I sat by the pool for a little while, reading and pretending there was some sort of fabulous cocktail in my hand, I discovered that I could email through our hotel. I was shocked given that the country had just gotten access to the internet a week earlier. I emailed a brief note to my mom to let her know that I was alive and OK and another to three of my closest friends. I was elusive with my mother. No need to make her worry about the fact that I was in Burma with a guy that I was finding was not my match made in heaven. I was more candid with my friends. It felt amazing to finally put my feelings on paper to the people who knew me so well. As I wrote, I felt a bit of a release. I was grateful to be able to admit to them that Burma Boy wasn’t my soul mate. At least when I got home, there would be a few people that I wouldn’t have to explain that to. I felt so grateful for the support that I knew I would have. I had spent a lot of time recently being concerned that I was too dependent on my friends… that I liked to be with people too much, that I should be more independent and spend more time alone and deal with my thoughts on my own rather than hashing through them with other people. And as I hit send, I realized I was all wrong. That being a bit dependent on the people in my life that loved me was actually a wonderful thing. That I was so incredibly lucky to have people with whom to hash things through. That I had friends who would love me despite the fact that my fairytale hadn’t come true; I had friends who would love me and be proud of me for taking the risk. I realized that despite the fact that it hadn’t turned into the movie I had scripted in my head, I was glad that I had come because I would never have to wonder. I would never have to ask myself “What if?”

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:22 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

Scent of a Memory
Thursday, October 2, 2008

It's amazing the way our senses can transport us somewhere instantly. Smell in particular. I smell something and I'm carried back - to a person or a place, a room or an event.

Last week, I was walking the dogs in the early morning. Once I can actually get my ass out of bed, it's one of my favorite times of day. It's still calm and quiet and the newness of the day is fresh upon me. The air is still cool - even here in LA where it's been hotter than hell as of late. And my puppies pull me along, thrilled to be out exploring for the day. On this particular morning, we turned the corner and instantly, it smelled of camp. The scent of a bon-fire hanging in the air from the night before. A smell of comfort, of warmth, of marshmallows, of friendship. It was a smell of safety - one of those smells that you love. That you wish they made a candle of.

But in an instant, the smell changed - grew stronger, more intense, BAD. It smelled BURNT. And my memories went instantly from fond to heartache. The air smelled burnt. And the only time I remembered anything smelling like that was the days following 9/11.

I wrote this post on 9/11 this year. I posted something else, unsure as to whether or not I wanted to post at all, unsure as to whether I wanted to write about the day's significance for me. I try not to think about it too much and at the same time, I try hard not to forget.

It was easier when I was in NYC...easier when I could spend the night with people I was with that day, or just people who were there too. I do not mean to suggest that it wasn't an insanely emotional day for the entire country. I just don't think that anyone who was not in New York, or DC or near that field in Pennsylvania can possibly ever imagine what that day was for those of us that were. Just as I can not imagine what that day was for those who lost mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and uncles and aunts and sons and daughters and best friends and co-workers. Just as I can not understand what it was like to be in New Orleans during Katrina.

On 9/11 this year, my brain whirled as I thought about all the things that have come after and all the things that are coming. I've written about the moments before. But I've never written about the moments during and the moments after. And that smell...that smell of BURNT - it brought me right back there.

I have never posted about the sound of K's voice on the other end of the phone when I finally got through after the second plane hit. "Get down here now," she said through sobs. "Walk out to the river and just keep walking. Don't stop until you get to my house." I listened. I walked and walked as my feet bled in my brand new flats, eternally grateful that I had chosen that day to wear flats instead of my normal 3 1/2" heels. The only time I stopped was when I heard the sound of planes overhead. At that moment, in New York City, you could hear a pin drop. There were hundreds of others around me - we all froze and just looked up, holding our breath, until we realized that they were US Air Force.

I have never posted about the sound of my mother's voice when I finally got through to her, or the sound of my sister who, at 21 years old, had just moved to NYC 2 months earlier after graduating from college. I told her to come down to K's. When she got there, she shared the story of the cab driver she had begged to take her. "If you'll let me call my wife to let her know I'm OK, then I'll take you to the West Village."

I have never posted about the line we waited in at St. Vincent's to donate blood. We stood among hundreds, possibly thousands, for over two hours but the line didn't move. The line didn't move because only living people need blood transfusions. They finally came out and told us all to go home.

I have never posted about the way we fell asleep, all piled on top of one another on K's bed, listening to the same information spouted on the news over and over again, waiting to understand what was going on.

I have never posted about walking through barricades on my way to work the next morning at 14th Street. There was a batallion around lower Manhattan. It was in that moment that I realized that we were truly under attack.

I have never posted about the way that I just up and left my office in the middle of the day because I was so overwhelmed and the emotions came so quickly and so hard that I couldn't possibly think about putting together investor packets for a Broadway show.

I have never posted about that one night that I stayed in my apartment alone. It was the only night I stayed there for weeks because I had nightmares all night. I needed to be with people at all times. I didn't care if I had to sleep on floors. As long as I was with someone else.

I have never posted about the burnt smell of the air that came in the days that followed. All of a sudden, the air just smelled...burnt.

Or the rain that came on Friday morning - and my own tears matching those of the sky as I watched them dig as hard as they possibly could through the rain.

I have never posted about the missing signs that wallpapered the city. The flowers on every corner. The desperation that oozed from the walls. The way you actually stopped and looked and hoped and prayed like you never had before that perhaps you would bump into that stranger on the street.

I have never posted about the way people looked at each other for a long time after that. The city was different. It was quieter. Everyone was connected in a way they'd never been before...without words, without introductions. Just with compassion.

I have never posted about the vigils in Union Square. Thousands gathered looking for a place to understand what they were feeling. We all felt lost - but at least we felt lost together.

I have never posted about the horrific fear I had of getting on the subway again. How I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other - not on where I was going. Because if I thought about that too hard, then I turned around and went home. Just one step at a time, until I found myself on the train practically holding my breath until I was above ground again.

I have never posted these things because I am not a good enough writer to be able to possibly depict what that day was. Or perhaps I just don't want to. It might just be that it's hard enough to bring back these memories, never mind the emotions that go with them. I don't want to forget, but I'm not so sure that I can let myself fully and completely remember enough to write about it. Except that, in that moment, we were all equal. Everyone in all of New York City. We were all just people - no color, no class, no religion. We were people who needed each other.

And that smell - the smell of burnt - had me back there, reliving these moments like a film where the images flash before your eyes...it's all there. A single smell and I was transported there instantly.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 12:31 PM 1 comments    

Labels: introspection, NYC, past

Ten Days - Part 16
Monday, September 29, 2008

The next morning we awoke for our final day of exploring Bagan. We set off to buy some gifts for family and friends and rode to one of the few temples that you can actually climb.
We decided to go for it and scale the steep and scalding stairs, and were rewarded with one of the most stunning views I've ever seen. The air was hot and dry, but standing up there we had a bird's eye view of all the golden temples glistening across the plains. The sun hit them in such a way that it looked like the ground was radiating gold and the land was peppered with beautiful bright orange and hot pink flowers. I stared out and I felt like I was on another planet, so far removed from our world. No “new construction”, no high rises -only trees and flowers and land as far as the eye could see. It was a beautiful way to finish seeing this old city. And trust me, I would have been very happy had that been my last view...

We continued on to see a few more temples and then looked at a map to determine whether or not we should backtrack toward the hotel and bike into Nyung Yu (the city where we would have to return our bikes) or if we should bike through New Bagan on the way to Nyuang Yu. On the map, the latter looked like the shorter route. Word to the wise...when you’re trying to gage distance, never trust a Lonely Planet map.

At 12 PM, we set off on a main but barren road to make our way to Nyuang Yu. Burma Boy stopped early in the ride to take some pictures, but told me to keep going – that he would catch up with me. I think he was afraid that if I stopped, I’d never start again - and he wouldn't have been so wrong. Riding in that heat on the pavement with the sun pounding on my back, I began to space a bit. It wasn't until about 20 minutes later when I stopped for a moment to look behind that I realized 1.he was nowhere in sight and 2. I had a flat tire. Truthfully, I was more concerned with getting my tire fixed than with finding Burma Boy. He’d catch up with me eventually and he had demonstrated that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. I was actually enjoying the time to myself. I hopped back on my bike and pedaled harder and harder as the ride began to get progressively difficult. I don't know how long it was before I finally found a small hut on the side of the road where I paid them 50 kyat to put air in my tire. Burma Boy probably would have blown hot air into the tire himself before actually paying someone to HELP him but I had become very clear that certain things were worth paying for. From the smiles on the faces of the people who had helped me, I’m certain I had overpaid for their services. But when I was riding like normal again, I knew it was well worth it. Occasionally I would look behind me, but Burma Boy was nowhere to be seen. All I saw was dry land, the occasional temple, and the never-ending road ahead. Once again, I found myself chanting my mantra, "just keep going, just keep going, don't stop, don't stop" Over and over and over and over.

Around 2 PM (need I remind you that this is TWO WHOLE HOURS after we had set out on this journey?) I came to an intersection where I recognized the road leading us to our destination. There was a tree with a good amount of shade and, given that I hadn't seen my travel partner in quite a long while, I decided to stop for a moment and wait for Burma Boy. I leaned up against the tree trunk, wallowing in the shade, and drank the remainder of my now hot water. I started to wonder if I was ever going to make it to Nyunag U which then turned in to am I ever going to make it back to the hotel which then turned into how long should I sit here and wait for Burma Boy? But I was enjoying the rest and the break from the pounding sun and I took a moment to myself - the first one I'd actually taken to slow down and ponder since I'd arrived. I reflected on the fact that I’d made it to this point in both the bike trip and the Burma trip. I took in my surroundings - like really took in where I was in the world. The fact that I was in Burma. Burma, also known as Myanmar. ON a second date. Took in the fact that I was thousands of miles away from everyone I loved, that I’d had no connection with them for days. I took in the fact that this was the first moment I'd given myself to think about the trip without wondering why things weren't going the way I'd thought they might. But in the entire time that I sat there - 20, maybe 30 minutes - I never once said to myself, "Why haven't you told this boy that you think he's been a jerk at times? Why haven't you asked him if things feel as different for him right now as they do for you? Why haven't you asked him where the boy from the emails is?" I know it's hard to believe - especially as I sit here as a 32 year old woman re-reading and reworking this story and going over it again 5 1/2 years later. But I never asked these questions.

I closed my my eyes for a moment and took in the fact that I was going down the pensive road you go down at the end of a trip – and I wasn’t even at the end of this BIKE RIDE, never mind the end of the trip. We weren’t at our destination yet. A few moments passed before I opened my eyes to see Burma Boy standing over me, staring at me in awe.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 4:56 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

Ten Days in Burma - Part 15
Saturday, September 27, 2008

The next morning it was pineapple again and we were off! We had hired a taxi to take us to Mount Popa, a monastery at the top of an old volcano. According to Lonely Planet, it was supposed to be a gorgeous hike with lush greenery and beautiful views.

Insteeeeeeeead it was a climb up approximately 500 stairs with tchochke souvenirs and lots of wild monkeys roaming. My favorite part was the "toilet for foreigners" where they asked us to pay to pee in a hole in the ground.

We took the taxi back into town to rent some more bikes. At this point my hunger was at levels I didn’t know existed. I told Burma Boy I was famished and needed to eat immediately. I guess immediately to him meant riding our bikes for 15 minutes to find someplace when there were restaurants RIGHT IN FRONT OF US. Why, you might ask, didn’t I say “I MEAN NOW!”? I don’t know. I just don’t know. I’ve actually asked myself that question on more than one occasion over the years as I’ve replayed this trip in my head. What was I afraid of? Why didn’t I throw down and say, “I’m NOT getting on a bike. I’m not going to look at something else. What part of ‘I AM FAMISHED’ do you not understand?” But…I didn’t.

After I had exerted every last ounce of energy left in my body, we finally found a restaurant and I made the HUGE mistake of deciding to order spaghetti pomodoro. I thought to myself, “How is it possible to screw up spaghetti and tomato sauce?” Well the answer is, we were in Burma. VERY EASY. When they brought out my noodles covered in red oil, I took one bite and literally almost threw up. Truly. Not like an expression “Oh my God, I’m going to throw up.” I actually gagged. It felt and tasted like I had worms crawling around my mouth. In truth, worms might have tasted better. Of course, Burma Boy tasted my lunch and insisted it wasn’t “that bad.” So when he offered me his veggie fried rice, I didn’t think twice. If it wasn’t that bad, HE could eat worms in red oil! Of course he made a point of ordering himself another veggie fried rice and he did indeed finish both his and mine - but I think he was just trying to prove how “not bad” the spaghetti was. The only point he proved to me was that he was stubborn. I ate a bit of veggie fried rice, but found it was becoming harder and harder for me to eat, no matter what the food tasted like.

With a small amount of energy in my system, we headed off on our adventure to find the cave temples. We rode our bikes at 1 PM in 110 degree weather. As we entered a small village off the main road, Burma Boy stopped to ask a local how to get to the caves. Standing in his boat, Mr. Local informed us the cave temples weren’t possible to get to by bike, but that he would be happy to give us a lift in his boat. Perfect! Sounded relaxing and lovely! And I wouldn’t have to exert any of the energy that I clearly needed to conserve. But guess what??? Shockingly, Burma Boy was convinced we were being duped by people who just wanted our money. So off on our bikes we went, even though we had JUST been told that the place we were going wasn’t accessible by bike. As I rode through goats and pigs and what felt like quicksand, I thought to myself, “No one, and I mean NO ONE, is going to believe me when I tell them I am doing this.” I mean, I’m an active girl, but goats? On vacation? Not so much. Oh yeah, I forgot, I wasn’t on vacation. I was in HELL!!!

We rode as far as possible, and then started to hike up the side of a hill. At the top of the hill, I looked down at my sweat-drenched, dirt covered body, and felt my heart pounding so hard, I was sure that it could be seen through my skin and my shirt. Now I know I can be dramatic, but I was seriously in danger of heatstroke. PLUS, we still had to ride our bikes back to the hotel since we had rented them for the next two days. I looked at the temple in the distance and told Burma Boy to go on without me because I'd rather see his pictures than attempt to go with him and have him have to carry me back. I made my way down the hill (which was feeling more like a mountain) and sat under a tree waiting for him.

I know it doesn't look far. It was. While I attempted to catch my breath I found myself wondering what I had truly expected from this trip. Do all girls create a movie in their minds? In my movie, Burma Boy would have doled out cash for a boat. In fact, he would have paid a local to grab a few beers to take with us on them. We would have enjoyed the river breeze and laughed and maybe even kissed a few times (which I was pretty sure we hadn’t done since I arrived). We would have pulled up on the bank and the boat would have waited for us as we frolicked in the cave temples and perhaps we would have even found a secluded place to – SCREEECH. I was jolted back to reality as Burma Boy descended down the hill from his adventure to the temple (which he admitted was underwhelming,) and we biked back to the hotel which took at least an hour. My legs were jello and the bicycle seat felt like it was situated UP my ass. But I started repeating to myself over and over, "Just keep going, just keep going, don't stop, don’t stop. Just keep going, just keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop…” I repeated my new mantra over and over and over and over, not yet realizing that it would carry me through this trip and many moments after. I didn’t think about anything else…and an hour later, I found myself back at the hotel. As I sat on the floor of the shower with the water running over my head, I thought to myself, “This is definitely NOT vacation.” Not only was I traveling, but I was traveling with a super athlete haggling man. Oy vey.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:37 PM 2 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

Ten Days in Burma - Part 14
Thursday, September 25, 2008

The sun crept in the windows the next morning and I sat up in bed feeling refreshed and ready for Bagan. Yesterday had just been a bad day. We were both exhausted from a long day of traveling. The magic of that first night was going to resurface at any moment. I was sure of it.

We stepped out on the patio to enjoy breakfast overlooking the river. Unfortunately, breakfast didn't prove to be any more enticing to my taste buds. Nothing looked like real food…not the strawberry tang or the hard-as-rocks “rolls” or the “butter” that most certainly was not. I tried. I truly, truly tried. I mean I literally think I tried everything that wasn’t meat-based that was out on the buffet. But in the end, pineapple was going to have to suffice for breakfast.

We set off in the pounding sun to explore the temples of Old Bagan. Despite the fact that all the books said that the best way to see the temples was by renting bikes or a horse drawn carriage (and I knew this because of the Lonely Planet guide that he had sent to me), Burma Boy insisted we walk. He claimed that his good friends had just been to Burma a few months earlier and they had walked everywhere their first day. (I later found out this was not true at all. We met up with said friends in Thailand for dinner and when I told them that we’d unsuccessfully attempted to walk to the temples, their jaws dropped to the ground claiming they would NEVER in a million years have told us to walk – the pounding sun, the distance…NEVER. Hmmm. Interesting.)

In addition to my questioning whether or not we should walk, the Israeli couple I met while drinking honeydew juice (yay! More nourishment!!) told me we were crazy to try to walk. When I shared this newfound information with Burma Boy, he told me (once again) that we were ALL wrong. Burma Boy had his heart set on walking. Soooo…we walked.

About 20 minutes after we embarked on our adventure, we arrived at our first temple, sweat-soaked, parched, and exhausted. From 20 minutes of walking. This was because it was about 110 degrees out. Dry heat. And we walked on pavement. With dust swirling around us from the cars that drove by and LAUGHED at us.

Upon arrival, a miracle occurred. Burma Boy finally agreed that perhaps I had been right and walking wasn’t the way to go. We stopped for a few liters of water and an orange fantasy soda which I literally had to force down my throat to replenish our sugar levels. Then we ventured in.

You hear the word temple and you tend to think sacred, peaceful, holy. So I was shocked to find random people sleeping strewn all over the floors at every turn. The temples are cool and dark inside, a good 30 degrees cooler without the pounding sun, so that’s where they go to relax. As I began to explore I saw animals everywhere, also escaping from the heat. This temple was basically acting as an icebox and a tourist trap. Little Burmese children began following us trying to get money or lipstick or pins. The little pitter patter of bare feet on slate followed my every step with, “You so pretty. You have lipstick for me?? You have Canada pin?” Oh yes – Burma Boy insisted we tell everyone we were Canadian because apparently, Americans aren’t looked upon so fondly. (Apparently, because of disrespectful people like me.) At first, it seemed adorable, and I smiled and laughed, but by the 500^th time they asked me, I wanted to look at them and say, “No kid. No, I don’t have lipstick to give you. It’s 112 degrees and I’m wearing shorts and a tank top with sweat dripping down my face. I’m not wearing any lipstick, let alone carrying it. So can I please look at your temples in PEACE?!?!”

When we were finished, it was apparent that Burma Boy had truly come to his senses and we hired little rickshaws to take us back to our hotel for bikes. Along the way we stopped for food and FINALLY I found something that I could stomach - fried noodles and vegetables. As I slid the noodles through my smiling lips, I felt like a queen eating the most amazing gourmet meal I've ever eaten. I had nourishment. I was happy.

After lunch, we got our bikes and ventured out to see some more temples for the afternoon. Things were starting to feel a little better. And while I wasn’t feeling completely like myself, I knew that we had made some progress. We’d taken some fun pictures, managed to enjoy each other’s company. We rode up dirt roads to temples after temple. Some were beautiful, some were decrepit and smelly.

We ended our day watching the sunset at the top of one. We climbed the stairs and looked out over the stupa (stupa=temple) filled land. The temples glittered like pieces of gold in the distance from the sun reflecting off of them. There were young, adorable monks running around. And there were tourists there to see what was supposed to be one of the most beautiful sunsets in all of Burma. None of them were American – that was easy to tell.

As I looked out over the land, watching the sun go down, I was overwhelmed with confusion. This was the kind of sunset that I was supposed to share with someone that I knew, with someone that I loved. And not even necessarily in love with – but someone that I cared for deeply, be it my family or closest friends or one day, someone that I was in love with. It was Monday and I was thousands and thousands of miles away from all of those people with no means of communication. And I wasn’t even close to falling in love. Had I truly expected to? While I knew that love was a romantic fairytale, I certainly thought I’d be a hell of a lot closer than I was. My movie hadn’t included vacationing with the biggest haggler on the face of the universe. And then it hit me - I wasn’t vacationing at all. I was traveling. And they are two completely different things.

The sun set on Bagan, and we rode our bikes back to the hotel, agreeing (finally) that bikes were definitely the key to getting around. We stopped at a little hut for noodles again for dinner, however this time, even Burma Boy couldn’t stomach the food. We didn’t want to insult the owners (as we all know by now, that would be disrespectful), so we asked for our dinner “to go”. In Burma, “to go” means sliding the food off of the plate directly into a plastic bag. Five minutes later, we slid those bags into the garbage, and I slid into bed. I passed out almost immediately.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:25 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

10 Days - Part 13!!!!!
Friday, September 19, 2008

After the bargaining concluded, we were taken to pick up our plane tickets in the center of Yangon, the capital of Burma. On that ride, I got my first true taste of a third world country: buses packed with bodies like sardines, people sitting on TOP of the bus and hanging off the back, cars that looked liked they were from the 1930’s that traveled no faster than 30 miles an hour, women carrying baskets on their heads. Everywhere I looked the sights and sounds were new to me.

Before we picked up our plane tickets, we were taken to see the reclining Budhha, a beautiful, gargantuan statue that is so large that it I have yet to find an image of it that can capture the entire statue.

Then we went and had a traditional Burmese lunch. I looked at the spread of food on our table. It sat in pools and pools of oil. I didn't recognize any of the vegetables and I didn’t trust the fish. As I cautiously tried a small (and I mean MINISCULE) amount of most things on the table, I realized that if this was traditional Burmese food, I was going to have a very hungry trip. I drank a lot of water and moved the food around on my plate. I had been told I was rude for being loud in the airport. I didn’t want to risk that again.

We were told we had to pay for our plane tickets in FEC (the government’s money.) Since we’d practiced our bargaining skills and hadn’t exchanged enough FEC, we went back to the airport to exchange more money and get our flight. Burma Boy proceeded to spend 45 minutes debating with the government about the fact that they wouldn't let him exchange his Hong Kong dollars for FEC. The government only wanted US dollars even though the Burmese embassy in Hong Kong told him he could use Hong Kong dollars. Burma Boy was not just a bargainer. He was what he would call a fighter. I would call it relentless and stubborn. I would call it a pain in the ass. After about 5 minutes, it became clear to me that he was going to spend quite a long time defying the government officials in this country known for its oppression, and I had to walk away. I had to walk away because I wanted to yell at him that we were going to miss our flight. I had to walk away because I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t the smartest idea to argue with government officials in a third world country where people were known to disappear. I had to walk away because if he did get thrown in jail, I sure as hell wasn’t going to be around to get dragged in with him! An hour later, Burma Boy lost his battle to use Hong Kong dollars but was allowed to use his credit card. We exchanged the money and went to wait for our flight.

I'd had about 2 hours of sleep in the past 40 hours and very little food. I was starting to get a little delirious. While we waited for the plane, I put my head in Burma Boy’s lap and my feet up on the airport bench. According to Burma Boy, having my feet on the airport bench was disrespectful. That was the last thing I wanted to be so I quickly removed them, although I found it interesting that putting my feet up on an airport bench was disrespectful while arguing with government officials for 45 minutes was completely fine.

We finally landed in Bagan around 7 PM on Sunday night. We walked out of the airport to several taxi drivers waiting to take us wherever we wanted to go. The taxi drivers quoted us a price of what was equivalent to $3. According to our Lonely Planet, it should have cost usabout $2. Well, clearly this was completely unacceptable. Burma Boy was not going to be jacked because he was a tourist. You'll never guess what he did next...he tried to bargain! But to no avail. Now, I can understand trying to haggle for a few minutes. No one wants to be taken advantage of because they are a foreigner (myself included - unless I’m going on 2 hours sleep and a chocolate croissant and apple juice from breakfast). But after every. single. cab driver said no about 10 times, it was clear that these people weren’t budging. At this moment I realized that Burma Boy and I were EXTREMELY different people. Being that I was going on pretty much ZERO sleep at that point, and that I just wanted to get to a bed, and being that we were in a third world country where $1 meant a HELL of a lot more to those people than it did to me, I would have gotten in the cab and gone without anymore questions. Hell, I would have paid $5 for a ride to a clean room where I could put my head on a pillow. Burma Boy, on the other hand, loved the fight. He refused to pay, told them we would walk. He was not backing down. At this point, I turned to him and told him that he could do whatever the hell he wanted to do but I was getting in a cab and going to the hotel.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he gave in.

When we arrived at our hotel, I felt immediately relieved. We had done well. It was cute and charming, it overlooked the Ayeyarwaddy River, and we had our own little bungalow. It was light and it was clean. I was happy.

We decided to walk to a local place up the street for dinner. At least it’s what they called dinner. I called it HELL. You have to understand, I was famished. I was past the point of low blood sugar, past the point of shaking. I just knew that I needed to get some sort of nourishment into my system. My body clock was all off and the airport shu mai from Japan had long since been utilized for energy by my system. So when the first thing they placed on the table was a bowl of 3 inch long whole fried fish with the eyes staring directly into mine, I lost it.

“Please, can you take those away???” I pleaded with our waiter.

Burma Boy looked at me as though I’d just insulted his mother.

“You’re in a foreign country!” He hissed at me. “You’re being completely disrespectful. This is why people don’t like Americans.”

I stared at him in disbelief for a moment before I started to feel my eyes well up. I immediately averted my gaze down to my empty plate and refused to look up again until I had sufficiently blinked back the tears. I was exhausted and I was hungry and I hadn’t asked anyone to bring me whole fried fish, eyes and all. Perhaps I could have been a bit more polite, but I didn’t think I was disrespectful. And I certainly didn’t need to be scolded. Not by the boy that I had just traveled 18 hours across the country to see. I felt like a 12 year old who’d gotten in trouble with her dad. I found myself trying to calculate the date to know how many more days I had left...It felt as though we'd already been together far too long.

We finished the meal in near silence. I mustered up the strength to eat a few bites of the unidentifiable vegetables and drank a beer, which helped to send me into much needed slumber. Liquid bread had never tasted so good.

We walked back to our “home” and I crawled into bed. I was too tired to ponder, too tired to think. I’m not sure my head even hit the pillow before I fell asleep. I was just grateful to be somewhere where it was acceptable to put my feet up and relax.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:59 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

Ten Days in Burma - Part 12
Thursday, September 18, 2008

I slept for 2 hours that night before I had to get up the next morning to go back to the airport. I wasn’t a bit sorry to leave that room and I hoped and prayed that I would never, EVER see it again. Thankfully, the ride back to the airport was much calmer than the previous evening’s had been.

We boarded Thai Air to Burma and I was giddy with excitement again. With the new morning came a feeling of adventure excitement. It felt like we were going on vacation! Our plan of attack was to arrive in Yangon and find a plane to take us to Bagan where we would spend the next 3 days. We didn’t have tickets or a hotel yet, but according to Burma Boy, this was how you traveled in Asia. He was the pro so I listened despite my proclivity towards having things planned out. I figured it would be good for me to learn as I went. I had read my Lonely Planet thoroughly, and I was clear about some of the things I wanted to do and see, the places that sounded good to stay (none of them had dank or dark in the description,) and the restaurants where I might want to eat.

When we deplaned in Yangon, we were checked thoroughly for SARS with a thermometer that looked like one of those mood strips that changes colors depending on the heat of your body. Thankfully, according to the mood strips, both of us were SARS-free. However, I can’t say that I had tremendous faith that everyone else having their temperatures read by a mood-thermometer were also.

I suppose I have ignored the fact that most people don’t have any idea what or where Burma is.

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Burma, now known as Myanmar, is a small country in Asia between Thailand and India. Lonely Planet succinctly describes Burma in the following way: “Since 1988 Myanmar (formerly known as Burma) has been under the military rule of the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC) - an abominable military junta. Prospective travelers should monitor events in Myanmar and weigh up the arguments in support of and opposition to travel.” As you can see, this was not your average vacation spot.

Burma has 2 types of money. One is the official government money, FEC, and in addition to the fact that it’s not a good value, it also helps to support the aforementioned junta. I have learned that FEC’s were since done away with in September of 2003. But in May of 2003, you were required to exchange $200/person FEC the second you stepped into the country. The other type of money, the kyat (pronounced “jet”) is much more cost effective, is used far more widely around the country and supports the local Burmese people rather than the tyrannical government. We – ok, who am I kidding - HE bargained with the man exchanging money so that we only had to exchange the amount of cash required for one person’s entry rather than two. It was impressive. I sort of had no idea what was going on, but that was fine. I was happy to have Burma Boy take care of things and even happier to not have to give our money to the government.

And thus began our trip of bargaining. We went from bargaining about cash to bargaining about plane tickets. We needed to fly up to Bagan, a gorgeous old city filled with hundreds of temples.

Let me preface this next incident by saying that I can be a bit loud. At times, I’m very loud. It’s more of a boisterous, excited, “I love life” sort of loud. My friend, Sharon, came up with a way to let me know when I’m getting loud since it happens so often. She just turns her hand a little bit – like she’s turning down the volume on a radio and simply says, “volume…” It’s perfect. I see that, and I realize it’s possible that I’ve gotten a bit TOO excited about things. And when I get really excited about something, I can get a bit hyper. Burma Boy had some issues with my “excitement.” I wasn’t used to bargaining for plane tickets. I wasn’t calm – I was excited to be in a new place, excited to start our trip, excited to get to our first destination. Needless to say, there were moments when I was loud. But he didn’t come up with a cute little way to tell me. Maybe because he didn’t seem find it cute or endearing at all. Somehow he missed the fact that I was excited and just focused on the part where I was loud. And I was reprimanded. I use that word, because it’s exactly what happened. No warning, no heads-up and most certainly no smile. I felt like I had embarrassed him. It occurred to me at that moment that we were complete strangers, that we had no idea who the person we were traveling with really was…

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:33 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

Ten Days in Burma - Part 11
Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Finally, after what felt like hours of wandering through the Bangkok airport, my eyes landed on a familiar face. I stopped for a second. I stared. I smiled. I had found him. We tentatively walked toward each other and he hugged me. I could feel my body shaking against his.

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

“No,” I replied. “Just tired.”

Liar. Liar, liar, LIAR. OF COURSE I WAS NERVOUS. I was so nervous I felt like I was going to PUKE. But noooooooo, I had to look good. Calm, cool and collected. God FORBID he should think that perhaps I was HUMAN!!! This was not the movie greeting I had imagined. He did not kiss me passionately and hold me tight like he didn’t want to let me go. All of the feelings that I’d had for the past 45 days - of knowing someone so well, of needing to be with them again – all of those feelings were gone. Vanished into thin air. I felt like I was with a stranger.

We got into a cab with an insane Thai driver who enjoyed turning around to look at us more than the road. I don’t know what he was saying either but he was talking the entire time in a very high pitched voice. I kept smiling, nodding my head and pointing toward the front window where he should be looking. If we’d been in an amusement park on a ride that had safety precautions, it might have been fun. Given that we didn’t even have seat belts, it was not. If I’d had any common sense, I would have closed my eyes so that I didn’t have to see the 50 cars, guard rails, and buildings we almost crashed into. (If I’d had any common sense I wouldn’t have flown to Asia.) But I was overwhelmed with the city around me – the lights whizzing by, the sounds of the Bangkok night. I was here and I wanted to soak in every second of it. Even if it meant seeing how many times our driver missed the guardrail by centimeters.

By the time we got to the motel, I thought I wouldn’t care less what it looked like. I just wanted a place to drop my bags before we got some food and a beer. But when we entered our room, I took immense comfort in the fact that we would only be staying there for the night. It was dark, a little dank, and fairly shady. I’m not a princess but I like nice things. I don’t mind staying in a Marriot Courtyard if I MUST, but I prefer a boutique hotel and a Four Seasons is even better. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t have to be expensive just clean. And nice enough for me to feel comfortable walking on the floor without shoes on. Ok, so maybe I am a little bit of a princess. Is that so wrong?

I found myself wondering where Claire Danes had been taken in that movie that Billy talked about. Whatever, I told myself. Suck it up and stop being such a princess. It was only for a few hours. It was already midnight. Our plane to Yangon left early that morning.

We were staying close to the Red Light district, otherwise known at Pat Pong. This is the place where men line the streets asking if “You want see sexy lady? You want see sexy lady shoot golf balls out of pussy?” No, actually. No, I do not want to see sexy ladies shoot anything out of anywhere, I thought to myself as we were accosted several times on our way to grab some food and a beer. On second thought, how often do you get to see anyone shoot golf balls out of their pussy?

We opted out of the “sexy sexy” bars and went for some pad thai instead. I eased into the booth, ordered my familiar food, and we started to talk. Or rather, we attempted to talk. It was bizarre. If I’m being truly honest, it was painfully uncomfortable. Emailing had been so easy. Our first date had gone so smoothly. But this person whom I’d felt so comfortable with seemed like a complete stranger…perhaps because he was. Conversation was strained. I couldn’t find anything to talk about. And the harder I tried, the more strained it seemed. This was NOT how the movie was supposed to go. How had we had enough to email about at LENGTH for the past 45 days, but we couldn’t manage to get out more than a few words now? I took a deep breath and decided to chalk it up to hunger and exhaustion.

We walked back to the room, took a shower and got into bed. I was in a bed with someone I barely knew. And it felt that way…for both of us.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 2:12 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy