Visiting the Turkish Baths
There’s a Turkish man by the tub. And he is ready to thoroughly scrub down any and everyone who comes his way.
Hamams, also known as the Turkish baths, are not your average bath time. I don’t know what I was expecting but definitely nowhere near the full body, full contact exfoliation I received.
With visions of relaxing Thai massages still dancing in our heads, Kathryn and I eagerly make our way to one of the oldest bath houses in Kusadasi. At the doorway, an elderly and shirtless all-male staff greets us. Not exactly the gentle female masseuses I was thinking.
They throw us a towel, we strip down to our swim suits, and enter into what feels like the world’s largest steam room. As we adjust to the overpoweringly thick air, we join other bathers sprawled out on a massive marble heat rock waiting their turn for the baths.
Finally, last in line to go, Ahmet nods at me and loudly spanks the slab with his exfoliating mitt and grunts, “Up!”
Here we go…
So I obediently hop up onto the counter and tense with anticipation. My bath boy sloughs off about 9 layers of skin with that soapy sandpaper mitten of his. And let’s just say, the Turks aren’t afraid to get friendly with the scrubbing strokes. Hello Ahmet. I’m glad we are such intimate friends now.
After a solid 15 minutes of the skin peel, I head to round 2 of bath time: the “massage.”
Another giant, towel-only-clad Turk beckons me to the marble. He douses me with a thick layer of bubbles and digs his thumbs into every muscular tissue I have. He then proceeds to bend and twist my limbs into quite the pretzel… a shape you should really only see at circuses.
At the end of the massage, he let’s out a loud chuckle and gets on the tiny slab with me. Yes. Me in my bikini pressed against my round, shirtless human pretzel maker. He smiles for the camera, gives me a squeeze, and dumps a cold bucket of water over us to clean off the soap.
Now, while this may not sound like a restful day at the spa, I will say that afterward I felt surprisingly relaxed and refreshed!
So if you ever stop by Turkey and you’re into extreme adventure sport bathing, I highly suggest you give the hamams a whirl. Be sure to tell Ahmet I said hello.
Under the Sea
Down where it’s wetter, that’s where it’s better… Take it from Sebastian, the charming crab in the The Little Mermaid. That guy really knew what he was talking about.
Clearly Sebastian must have snorkeled through the infamous Koh Tao waters like we did because this island’s remarkable sea scapes were better than any I have seen!
While Kathryn lives for “Shark Week” and will forever be jealous of the 2009 WTI dive with the Great Whites, I was more than okay to frolic with the clown fish in non-shark infested waters. If that lowers my hardcore-ness level in your eyes, I completely understand. But watching Jaws 1, 2, and 3 as a 4th grader can scar a person. Unless your name is Kathryn Berk.
So we climbed into our 8 a.m. long boat shuttle and rode our way to the snorkeling yacht. We circled the island stopping numerous times to throw on our masks and flippers and perused the aquatic life below.
It was breathtaking to witness the vibrant world of color that exists beneath the waves. Kathryn and I would often squeal at each other through our masks underwater and point to schools of needle nose fish that looked strikingly similar to lethal barracudas. We also stumbled across this stunning lighthouse coral that looked like it had been doused in yellow highlighter ink.
Throughout the day, I was determined to pet a Nemo or Flounder look-alike (mission accomplished. No big deal.) And then Kathryn continued on her shark hunt.
We ended our snorkel fest of fun with a refreshing glass of chilled coconut water, which may have helped take the sting out of the brutal sun burns on our backs that proceeded to peel off like snake skin in the days to come. Yikes. We will leave those photos off the Flickr account. You can thank us for that later.
Note to our WTI selves: Apply 75 SPF every 10 minutes while snorkeling in the beautiful Koh Tao sea to avoid turning the color of Sebastian.
Many Moons of Koh
What do these Thai islands have in common besides the first name Koh? Turquoise water, beachside masseuses, and islanders who love celebrating the many stages of the moon.
As Kathryn and I hopped through the islands of Koh Samui, Koh Phangan, and Koh Tao, we realized why so many people flock to these places. They are little pockets of inexpensive paradise with food that will make your mouth water and massages that will make your muscles melt.
While the two of us soaked up some sun outside our honeymoon villa and gazed over our toes toward the sea foam lapping up the sand, I truly felt like I had just jumped into a postcard I had seen at Bangkok airport.
The sun slid past the horizon and we watched the islanders light torches lining the quaint restaurants and set the mood for the night life ahead of us. We satisfied our taste buds with meals of pad thai, downed some Red Bull, and headed to the infamous moon party.
Now let me just say, these people are probably the moon’s biggest fans. They celebrate the full moon, the half moon, the fourth moon, the black moon… possibly even the eighth and sixteenth moon. It’s crazy. And we happened to be there for the black moon party. AKA no moon party, and the beaches were buzzing with people.
So, in Team Nat Kat fashion, we donned our faces with matching war paint and danced our way into the heart of the crowds. While busting moves to the classically epic sounds of Gaga, we began noticing bubbles surrounding us. Yes. Of course the dance floor had turned into a foam party. So we swam out of the growing bubble ameba to protect our dear cameras, only to behold Thai men swinging a 30 ft jump rope… on fire… that people who had temporarily misplaced their brains were jumping into.
Fire juggling, fire eating, and fire limbo commenced throughout the evening as well. Team Nat Kat took part in the latter and may have left with some barely singed eyebrows.
All in all the island dance party and fire rave united the Thai people and backpackers from all over the world with one common philosophy: Every night’s a good night to celebrate the moon.
Eating through Thailand
Thai food isn’t lacking in flavor. There’s enough delicious curries, fresh made noodles, spring rolls, zesty papaya salads and spices to make your head spin. It’s the type of food that you bite into and the flavors are so deliciously out of control that you have no idea how such a concoction could possibly be created. Was that cinnamon in my rice? Is that a fig in my curry? Fortunetly there are Thai cooking classes to help answer such great mysteries.
Take a traditional meal, the mouth-watering Pad See Ew. Hit up the market for some fresh veggies– usually made with broccoli, bamboo, and bok choi– and gather your spices. Mix soy sauce, sugar, garlic, and some oil in wok, stir in an egg, rice noodles and enjoy. Knock it back with some deliciously chilled coconut water straight from the shell and get ready for your food coma.
And if cooking isn’t your thing, hit one of the thousands of food carts across the country. Thick massaman curry, spicy pad thai and a papaya salad can’t be missed. Take samples at the local markets and go nuts with street food.
But here’s a little advice: go a little lighter on the hot spices than usual. Oh, you think you can handle spicy food? That’s funny. So did I. Good luck with that in Thailand.
Letting it Hurt So Good
Most people’s daily routine doesn’t involve getting an hour massage. And when most people get a massage, they aren’t paying $6 an hour for it. And that’s because most people aren’t in Thailand.
A source of pride and spiritual well-being, traditional massages are an important part of Thai culture. Throughout the cities and all along the beaches you’ll find trained masseuses ready to bend and twist you like you never knew possible.
These aren’t the run of the mill “Swedish delights” you probably think of getting at a spa— these masseuses contort your body and tangle your muscles to get the perfect stretch. Standing on your back, moving your ankle to your ear, or maybe even a neck crack for good measure, are all part of the treatment.
Begin with a foot wash and lay back in amazement as your body shifts into positions you never thought possible. You’ll be shocked at the shapes your body can squeeze into, but most impressively, how good it feels. Who knew rubbing a kneecap could be so refreshing? One hour on the mat and you’ll feel ready to take on the world. After a long day on the road it’s hard to imagine anything better.
You probably won’t have another opportunity to get multiple massages for less than the cost of seeing a movie, so go wild with them while you’re here. It’ll certainly be an experience you’ll remember… at least until the bruises go away.
Japan, How Do I Love Thee?
Japan, how do I love thee?
Let me count the ways.
1) I love how a strong nod or bow will get you far in this country.
2) I love that the Japanese are all about some lucky numbers. Especially the number 5. And lucky animals: owls and turtles.
3) I love how some characters in the Japanese alphabet look like smiley faces.
4) I love your melt-in-your-mouth sashimi and fried udon noodle dishes.
5) I love you have skyscrapers dedicated solely to karaoke rooms.
6) I love your architecture, your rock gardens, your ponds, your bridges, your lily pads, and most importantly your coy fish.
7) I love how hand sanitizer is the primary center piece for all tables, hotel desks, and cashier counters.
8 ) I love that your toilets play sounds of rushing water to encourage the relieving process. I really just love everything about your toilets (see bathroom humor blog for details).
9) I love that you have brought back the parasol and made this simple umbrella such a must-have accessory in the bright sun.
10) I love that the Japanese live 10 years longer than Americans due to their diet and constant consumption of green tea.
11) I love that surgical masks are the new headband. Fashionable and health-conscious. Double threat. Well done.
12) I love that the Japanese never fail to say the phrase, “Thank you for waiting,” even when it’s only been 2 seconds.
13) I love Tokyo Disneyland. And that I can still feel the magic of what Mickey is saying even though it’s in Japanese.
14) I love your bullet trains.
15) I love how your people impress me countless times with such an exceptional level of kindness and hospitality. The Japanese take great pride in doing everything with care; from walking you to your train car to make sure you don’t get on the wrong bullet train, to cleaning hotel rooms until they sparkle, to making the perfect cafe latte. You amaze me.
*A special thanks to Richie Ura, Shiho Akai and Tiffany Kurokawa from the STA Tokyo branch for being the best host and hostesses through Tokyo I could have ever asked for!*
The Golden Temple
Step aside Willy Wonka. I found the Golden Temple, and I hate to break it to you, but it’s way cooler than your golden tickets.
I forcefully blink my eyes open and glance at my watch- 7:29 am. A minute early and right on time for Japan. To my delight, the fabulous Tokyo Prince Hotel was hosting a Kimono Convention. No joke. Spectacular Japanese traditional attire everywhere I turned.
Right then, a lovely 4′9” tour guide approached me and snapped me out of my Kimono trance.
“Sunrise tour?”
“Hi!” I respond.
Side note: Hi in Japanese means “yes,” not the friendly greeting that my American self is used to. This got rather confusing when I stepped off the plane in Tokyo and kept waving and saying hello back to everyone. Whoops. Lost in Translation moment #1.
So I hopped onto the yellow sunrise bus and the sight-seeing commenced.
1st stop: Ryōan-ji Temple. The only way to describe this place is serenity in it’s simplest element. It is famous for its rock garden, and it rocked my socks off. I walked barefoot throughout the entire space and experienced the aura of its zen and relaxation.
Afterward, Kyoko, my tour guide, led us to the treasured gem of Kyoto sightseeing. We strolled along behind her through rock laden walkways garnished with lime green moss and watched swans swim through ponds full of lily pads. As we turned the corner, there it stood. Radiating from between the trees, in all its splendor: the Golden Temple. This stunning architectural feat left me awestruck.
This was one of those travel moments that you just stand there and breathe in the beauty. Also known as the Golden Pavilion, or Kinkaku-ji , it’s one of 17 World Cultural Heritage sites in Kyoto, and in my book, the best.
While it would be a lovely treat to cash in a golden ticket and tour the chocolate factory, I can say with confidence that I’d rather behold this magnificent Golden Temple any day.
Bathroom Humor
Bathrooms. Toilets. Water closets. The Loo. Porcelain thrones.
No matter what you call it, this space is universal. Everybody’s gotta use it, and the Japanese are forerunners for creating state-of-the-art restroom settings that have exceeded my highest expectations of the perfect toilet.
After landing in Tokyo at 6:30 am and breaking the code of the train tables to transport me to the Tokyo Prince Hotel, I head straight to the lobby’s toilet facility. The comforting sight of the stick figure in the dress amidst the mass of Japanese characters beckons my bladder, and I walk inside. You would have thought that I had entered into a sanctuary. Such a peace and a warmth welcomed me in.
As I close the stall door behind me and twist the modern lock, a speaker next to the toilet paper automatically starts playing sounds of rushing water.
“How nice of my Japanese friends to ease any stage fright and encourage the relieving process,” I thought.
I sit down on the sparkling white, clearly sanitized throne and am surprised to experience a delightfully warm sensation- a heated seat. Genius. Another point for Japan.
So as I sit there almost too in shock to carry out the process I came in there to do, I spot an array of multi-colored buttons to my right that I could have sworn whispered “press me” as I near them.
One red button adjusted the seat temperature, a blue button offered bidet services, a green button sanitized the seat, a yellow button was another spray feature, and the rest of the buttons I failed to decipher from the foreign wing dings.
After meeting up with some of the STA Tokyo staff later that day and inquiring about the high-tech nature of the commodes, I have come to find out that Japanese toilets are also equipped to measure your heart rate, blood pressure, and cholesterol level based on a urine sample it takes. Then a robotic from within will let you know if you are in need of a doctor’s check-up. The seats also raise, lower, and tilt depending on desired back support.
So congratulations, Japan. You have officially raised the bar and the seats for toilets around the world, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
To Tasmanian Devils and Beyond
I learned a lot from Looney Tunes as a kid. For instance, if you accidentally fall off a cliff, you will just turn into a cloud at the bottom and then magically reappear in a few minutes. Or if you are a Tasmanian devil, you are about 6 ft. 3 and will violently spin around and destroy things.
Ever since I laid eyes on such a crazy cartoon character, I have always wondered what other mysteries that a place like Tasmania, with all its devils, could hold.
Although my time on this Australian island proved both of my Looney Tunes life lessons quite wrong, Casey and I discovered the adventure that awaits you around every corner of this exotic territory.
As we walked the colorful alley ways of the Saturday morning Salamanca Street market and inhaled the crisp 13 degree air, we sensed there was indeed a different spirit about this place. Something undiscovered and untamed lingered around us. Perhaps we were already psyching ourselves up for the ghost tour we had later, but whatever it was, the feel of adventure was unmistakable, and we were ready to explore.
After mountain biking down Mt. Wellington and feeling confident that my fingers, nose, and toes were absolutely going to fall off from the biting cold, we celebrated our survival by heading to a nightly safari at Bonarong Wildlife Sanctuary. It is here where Casey and I were properly introduced to the infamous Tassie Devil.
Was it 6 ft. 3 and twirled around like a tornado? I don’t think so. Casey resembled the cartoon character more than these guys did.
No, these animals were more of a muscular black cat with some rat-like facial features. However, their meow was something straight out of a Hitchcock film. Think screaming banshee plus growling demon.
Before we know it, our guide throws us each a huge leg of raw wallabee meat, and we are to hold it over the pit of these ferocious animals. Rupert, my favorite devil, latched on to the end of the leg, and we had ourselves a good ole fashion game of tug-o-war. I lifted the leg up in the air, and rupert held onto the other end solely with his strong bite. Shockingly enough, the devil won fair and square.
The next day, we embarked on a rather treacherous 4 hour hike up Mt. Amos. As I climbed up the 89.5 degree angle rock face, I thought to myself, “I wonder if I fell all the way down this thing, if I really would turn into a cloud at the bottom?” Gravity did not feel so gentle as I slid down over 4 times due to lack of proper treading and got a nice blue and purple bruise on my thigh to prove it. However, the view at the top was breathtakingly beautiful, and we even spotted a baby whale in Wine Glass Bay.
At the end of the day, we could not deny that Tasmania is a force to be reckoned with. From the Tassie devils and beyond, this island exudes adventure!
March of the Penguins
In fifth grade, I wanted to be a marine biologist more than anything in the whole world. In sixth grade, I wanted to be a singer like Britney Spears, so it’s funny how goals evolve.
However, our time in the Tasmanian wilderness took me back to those fifth grade days of old, and I became enamored with sea life yet again.
After a long day of sight-seeing, our tour group returned to our cabin (think along the lines of a rustic Tasmanian real world house) and cooked a family dinner of spaghetti bolognese and chocolate cake. Our Crocodile Dundee Jr. tour guide, Greg, told us to “eat like your life depends on it because we have a parade to see.”
A Penguin Parade that is.
This is the moment I had been waiting for all day. I put on every ounce of warm clothing I could find to ward off the winter chill and was ready to go.
On our walk to the beach, Greg points out that we know that we are getting close to the right area because of the white stuff on the ground.
“What’s the white stuff?” we ask.
“Penguin poo,” he says with a hearty Aussie chuckle.
Great. So we settle down into our ocean view seats on the rocks and wait. And stare at the waves crashing. And wait. And it’s getting darker. And colder. And we wait.
And finally, I see a tiny black and white speck emerge from the white sea spray. It floats in and out with the surf, but eventually it appears on the sand. It’s a penguin! I am amazed at what these waves just birthed. Nature’s magic trick you could say. Then, I look to my left and 6 more little birds are huddled together, trying to decide if they should stay in the water or waddle to their nests.
“Please waddle, please waddle,” I whisper to myself.
They waddle and frolic over to the other solo penguin and get together to have their penguin pow-wow. To the nests they must go they decide, and we watch these precious birds in their tuxedo attire parade past us and into their holes.
Later that night I contemplated a second degree in marine science.
