Penang, Malaysia

We fled Phuket in a blur of absurdly long bus and van rides to the boarder to Malaysia. Our destination was to one of the country’s 13 states, Penang, an island just off the northwest coast.

I’ll never forget the man who stamped our passports. My whole life I’ve been confronted by stern unbending men and women who demand quick short answers to monotonous questions about why the hell I’m enter their country.

We pulled up to the customs officer and handed over our passports. He immediately asked “where’s Jerry Benton with beard?” After we sorted out the beardless mum situation, and recommended he starts growing one, the jokes started flying.

“So American? You like Barack Obama? Yeah Obama. He used to smoke weed. We all call him Barack oGanja!” Somewhere amidst our confusing state of laughter – as I’ve never even comfortably cracked a smile crossing any boarder – the conversation moved towards Ben’s home state of Colorado as he scanned “Beardless Jerry’s” passport.

“Ah, Colorado. Ganja is legal in Colorado right?” More laughter ensued. Ben replied how “it is legal now in Colorado” and the officer should visit some time if he’s interested in that type of activity. “You’re welcome to stay with me. After all, you have all my contact and passport information”.

Once the out-of-line hysterics settled down, we got back in the car for the final leg of our trip.

The driver dropped us off in, what was to us, a totally random and unidentifiable part of Penang. We stuck out, but there were enough fellow tourists and backpackers to feel some sense of safety.

We got out of the van, looked around, picked a direction and started walking until we stumbled upon a hostel. The accommodations were simple, and just what we needed; a few beds and air conditioning, with some filthy communal showers to go with it.

Turns out we were dropped off in Georgetown, the historic area of the city which has become Malaysia’s newest UNESCO World Heritage Site. The bustling area fused impressive architecture with vibrant nightlife into an eclectic allure that offers something for everyone.

I found a fascinating photography micro-museum just two blocks from the hostel. Their collection displays the evolution of the camera in a very unique way. The original forms and ideas, all the way through modern digital models are arranged in chronological order spanning over 200 archives and artifacts.

A WWII era camera on display was once used to train pilots. Shaped like the machine gun it imitated, this camera was capable of shooting 10 frames per second while mounted on the wing. The photographs could then be viewed to review accuracy of the pilot’s “shots”.

Scooters are a must (in any place we go). We took them all through the city, exploring Little India, sushi restaurants, bowling alleys, Kek Lok Si Temple and the Penang Bridge, which spans 8.4 miles and connects mainland Malaysia with Penang.

http://youtu.be/gao7j2WPmKQ

Kek Lok Si is said to be the largest Buddhist temple in Southeast Asia. The pinnacles tower over the surrounding mountains of George Town. Perched at the peak sits a 99 foot bronze statue of a Buddhist deity. Views from the temple span the entire island.

As long as you and your friends can keep your hands off the animals and not defile immaculate religious sites, you will enjoy all Penang has to offer.

Phuket, Thailand

After we dived ourselves silly in Koh Tao, the voyage headed south to Phuket. For the majority of my experience, I felt like it was Koh San Road on steroids. I didn’t think a place could out-crazy KSR, but the trophy goes to Phuket.

I was expecting the stereotypical jutting rock structures emerging like skyscrapers from the ocean you see in almost any advertisement for Phuket; the ones shown in magazines and billboards, which lure so many tourists to this destination. And maybe I chose a different part of the island to spend my time, but I was greeted with, once again, pure chaos.

Turned out to be an awesome place to spend two days, but certainly was not what I was expecting.

We rented scooters during our stay there and took on the traffic filled hills throughout the island. Our bikes led us all the way down south to Promthep Cape for a peaceful sunset off the rocky peninsula. We had the entire area to our selves as the sun quietly dipped behind the horizon.

Phuket on a deeper level isn’t necessarily the happiest place in the world. There are warehouses of strippers dancing on bars that line Bangla Street. Local girls too young to be drinking stumble the streets in scandalous attire hitting on 50-year-old men trying to make a buck, cocktail in hand. The economy of alcohol and prostitution flood the streets. It’s a vicious circle. The heartbreaking outcome of heavy tourism is what now keeps this city alive. It’s their income and life, and for some, it’s all they know. For some, it’s all they ever will know.

On the other hand, from a bird’s eye view, the beaches and views are spectacular. It’s an incredible island with a lot to offer: world-class scuba diving, water sports, waterfalls and adventurous hikes. The food is mediocre and overpriced, but we always manage to find a pad thai stand that offers overstuffed portions of peanut noodles for the wonderful price of about $1.20.

Try to avoid fueling the negative aspects while in Phuket, but live it up while you’re there!

Diving, Diving and More Diving – Koh Tao

We got off the boat and threw our bags into one of the converted pick up trucks. Seats lined the truck bed with a welded roof overtop. They dropped us off outside of Phoenix Diver shop. We heard they offer solid service at a cheap price.

For around $250, new divers were able to enter an Open Water Certification course. The package included four free nights accommodation with breakfast. That was by far the cheapest course I’ve seen offered anywhere in the world.

Open Water Certification Course

Ben and I joined the Advanced Certification Course, which was around the same price. Ours included two nights accommodation and no breakfast; still quite the deal.

What made Phoenix truly special, aside from the awesome staff and cheap beer, were the free fire shows every night. Just before sunset they began prepping the beach for fire twirling, poi balls, flaming jump ropes, and the infamous fire engulfed hula-hoop, which had already done enough damage to us both.

No homo.

The days were filled with two, sometimes three dives, at locations surrounding Koh Tao.

 The HTMS Sattakut 742, an old World War II vessel used during the occupation of Iwo Jima and Okinawa in 2945, was sunk just a few years ago. Though a bit recent to have substantial marine life and corals, it was my first wreck dive. There’s something about the juxtaposition of a 158 food steel structure completely in tact sitting still in 30 meters of water. It’s so wrong, but so right. The shape remains the same, but is carpeted with marine life. Fish silently swim through the same passageways humans once inhabited.

 I digress.

To fulfill our advanced requirements, we needed five specific dives; navigation, a deep dive over 18 meters, and three elective dives. Though some involved trivial and repetitive tasks, going under is always a thrill. Staring at the surface through beaming rays of light, tottering simultaneously with the rolling swells 15 meters above you never gets old.

I apologize in advance for this one Ben, but you should not of trusted me when I pretended we were taking a selfie. You had it coming.

Revenge filled death stare.

Laughing my ass off – sorry I’m not sorry.

Then there was this jabroni, who ran out of air and needed a buddy share. Safety first.

Just when you think you know scuba diving, and you’ve felt the comforts and fears that tag along with it, a night dive reignites the energy you felt on that very first dive.

Night dives are a combination of my two biggest fears – open water and black water at night – and have proved to be one of the most tranquil and calm adventures I’ve experienced. Of all people, I thought I’d find myself in a state of panic. I assumed relentless waves of uncontrollable anxious apprehension would swamp my mind.

Yes, it was pitch black anywhere outside the narrow cone of light emitted from my torch. Yes, it showed the smallest possible fraction of vast ocean that surrounded me. But those two thoughts never crossed my mind. Not even once. Well, at least not after I descended beneath the surface. That part of the experience still freaks me out.

The worst part.

 

In fact, it’s common for divers, including myself, to significantly reduce air consumption during a night dive. The mind is less distracted.

Every ounce of thought and energy was devoted to that triangle of light in front of me. Colors show true and vibrant since the torch accurately emits the full spectrum of white light, regardless of dive depth. Low lying creatures intimidated by threats of daytime predators now enjoy being the center of attention and own the spotlight… literally.

Dinner.

 

There was no time for pesky inane fears of sharks.

I was in outer space. A vast vacuum of darkness, surrounded by oceanic aliens coming out to observe me, just as I was doing to them. What we did next though, took our aquatic interstellar experience to the next level.

All at once we took our torches, turned them towards our chest, and smothered the light into our wetsuits. It was one of the darkest moment of my life, in the happiest way imaginable. Staring into nothing, we waved our hands vigorously.

LUMOS!

Bioluminescence exploded from our fingertips. The dark abyss glittered with specs of light that glowed blue and green for only a second before fading back to nothing.

It was a multicolored array of sparks shooting towards the stars above a recently stoked campfire log. It was an underwater meadow buzzing with fireflies in numbers far too many to catch. It was a galaxy.

It. Was. Awesome!

At once, we stopped waving our hands and the sight became nothingness once more. We drew our torches and continued the dive.

The remainder of our dive did not disappoint. Beneath a massive ledge we spotted a sea turtle about the size of a queen mattress, which later swam over our dive buddies like a living UFO.

Each fish latched on to it’s shell was around 2-3 feet long.

 

Finally, we made it back to the surface. After an attempted attack by a small box jellyfish, we boarded the boat for our celebratory night dive beer and headed back to the less exciting terrestrial island for some more Siam Sato and fire shows.

Random highlight of the trip was when Dan bet Ben and I we couldn’t swim to the nearest island in under and hour. We accomplished the feat in 19 minutes!

View to the island we swam to.

Full Moon Party, Koh Pha Ngan

Imagine a beach about half a mile long. Put that beach in tropical paradise with gorgeous lush green hills and cliffs on either side. The water is comfortably warm, crystal clear to the bottom. Vibrant fish swim about your feet as you wade the shallows. In the distance, tourists are paddleboarding, kayaking and doing other water sport activities.

It’s perfect.

 

Keep that image above in your mind.

Now, fill that beach with 30,000 people. 30,000! People, who have traveled hundreds, even thousands of miles in an alcohol thirsty, party-destined trance to experience the one and only Full Moon Party of Koh Penang.

Getting to the island from Bangkok is easy, but in no way luxurious. It required about 20.5 hours of overnight bussing and ferry rides. The bus did stop several times for food, though I really wish it didn’t.

Even at 0200, after six hours on a bus, my appetite remained as adventurous as ever. The small bus stop offered the normal pad thai and various common dishes. But, there was this pink egg off to the side that glowed like Easter morning. I figured it was better not to ask, and just go for it. Big mistake!

On my plate came an egg that must have been laid circa 1907, buried in pile of cow dung, and left to decay somewhere amongst the relentless heat in Death Valley. What was once the “white part” of the egg has become impossibly translucent and amber. The “yolk” had become a tri-layered, custard-textured cream ball of decaying goo that transitioned from purple to brown to atomic orange.

Not one aspect of this egg resembled an egg.

I regretfully took a bite from this egg, which only resulted in a rapid sprint to the outside curb of this restaurant in a frenzy of dry heaves and instantaneous nausea.

Who the hell invented this dish, let alone made a conscious decision to serve it to any human being on the planet? Or a better question, who in their right mind buys this toxic egg?!

Allegedly, this mutant concoction is considered a delicacy in some Asian cultures, sometimes served as an aperitif… No!

I digress.

For one complete night every lunar cycle, and part of the next day, that picturesque beach I described above turns into one of the wildest beach parties in the world.

Small wooden stands line the beach selling mixed drinks in beach buckets, or simply a“bucket”. Waterslides pour out of buildings and onto the beach. Fire shows light up the sand in all directions.

Fire show. 30,000 drunkards. Plus fire? What could possibly go wrong? I’m not saying Ben and I didn’t take our risks jumping through flaming hulahoops and kerosene soaked jump ropes, or got burns on our legs. Ben may have even clipped his leg on the scorching hulahoop as we jumped through the thing together, resulting in a 3^rd degree burn. But, the beard and Jesus flow survived the evening, which is all that really mattered.

A four tiered stage was set up over the water which somehow didn’t collapse as hundreds simultaneously jumped to the music.

The music and camaraderie continued well into the following morning. Most people were asleep by then, including myself, but it didn’t stop the determined few that survived the entire evening.

HBH’s in SE Asia at Last

Three months in Greece. Three weeks with Lex. It culminated with a sobering moment of reflection as I entered the plane destined from Dubrovnik to Bangkok. The whole experienced blended into one blink of the eye. A firework. Nothing more than a bang of blinding light, shattering its surroundings with thunderous excitement. “Ooh’s” and “aah’s” filled my mind as the reminiscent trail of smoke stimulated olfactory senses, carrying on that moment for just a few seconds longer. Every step on that plane encompassed a grand finale on the Fourth of July.

Step. Bang, crack, boom. Step. Bang, crack, boom.

My mind raced in flashbacks, simultaneously predicting flash-forwards. Asia was finally happening. It was part of our original plan. After 10 incredible months, and by far the strangest and most unpredictable route I could have taken, we were finally transitioning into the pad Thai overdosed, Siam Sato saturated, chicken-heart skewered journey of Southeast Asia!

Bangkok proved to be crazier than I remembered. I went out with a few guys and girls I met staying at our hostel, waiting out the 2 days for Ben to arrive from his meditation course. I’m sure he made some progression up there as he focused 10 hours a day in raw silence to transition his mind into the life of meditation. But, what I was even more sure of, regarding our long awaited reunion through the debauchery filled country of Thailand, was that any progress made during those 10 days of peace would be obliterated and reversed past the point of no return.

I met Ben at the airport, arrival sign in hand. Well, it was more just a picture of his face, or half his face… Ok, it was just his beard. But what else do we really need to spot a 6’ 3” Onyx?

We had a celebratory beer with his meditation friend Mike in the airport, and boarded the 30 minute sky train toward Koh San Road.

Koh San Road (KSR), for those who aren’t familiar, is the backpacker’s hotspot of Bangkok. It is a densely populated street of tourists from around the world, with enough tchotchke stands to provide the population of Asia with shenanigans you genuinely don’t want and will never need.

I don’t recommend more than two or three nights near KSR. Unless of course you enjoy being immersed in a scene of overwhelming bombardment to buy worthless things; small wooden frogs that make a mediocre ribbit noise; ping pong show reps shoving their small advertisement papers in your face accompanied by the vulgar lip popping sounds; lady boys standing on every corner; bracelet stands lining the streets with phrases written on them I wouldn’t say in front of my mother.

But, I do recommend asking me another time what they say, as they are quite hilarious and beyond wrong on so many levels.

Also, ping pong shows are a once in a lifetime, must see – nothing further on that subject.

The smell of desperation seeps from every cluttered storefront. But I guess, after all, that is why we make the trip to KSR. To feel those immense swamping assaults, and be surrounded by total chaos. And the chicken hearts. They truly are a treat. On a shallow level, it’s all part of the fun. I will say it is one of the more fun destinations, but only in small doses.

Hvar, Croatia

The waters between Split and Hvar have to be the most densely populated abundance of sailboats on the planet. It was beautiful. I was stuck on a massive gas guzzling ferry. Torture.

Karl, Lex and I disembarked and headed toward the city of Hvar, Hvar.

Per usual, we unpacked our things and bee-lined to a restaurant known for its incredible sunset views.

It was near the end of the season on the island, so many of the restaurants were closing in about a week. We were at the right place at the right time, and happily fell victim to their imminent need to clean out their fridges. Aside from the best beef carpaccio we’ve ever had and perfectly cooked gnocchi, they brought out free appetizers and desert, including two types of pâté . Good start on this island.

 

The next morning we joined a group of travelers and followed a coastal path towards a stone beach about twenty minutes away. We spent the afternoon snorkeling amongst sea cucumbers, sea urchins and schools of small fish. It felt good to get a pair fins back and to do some free diving. I was even joined by a badass mermaid who did some free diving practice with me and made it to the bottom.

 

After cooking everyday for the last three months in Greece, I had the itch to get back in the kitchen. I offered to cook a meal for the crew back at the hostel. We stopped at a grocery store on the way home, and split the cost of the strange and random assortment of ingredients I was able to find. I decided to whip up a variation of two dishes I had experimented with in Greece, and prayed they’d come out OK. The biggest expense as usual was beer, but that is neither here nor there.

We all sat down and enjoyed (I think) balsamic veggies, lemon dill rice and an unidentified chicken dish… followed by some beer. Once the food coma resided, we made our way to the bar. For some reason I ended up leaving dressed like Jesus… again? The night mostly consisted of Zaid dancing like a boss, and the rest of pretending like we knew how.

On our last day in Hvar, after dragging Lauren out of bed, we rented a small motorboat built for three people and filled it with nine. Having the freedom of a personal boat is a must for anyone visiting Hvar. Even if it’s undersized and overflowing with bodies, strapped with just a nine horsepower engine, it’s a blast. We got to explore new beaches, cliff jump and accidentally stumble upon the single greatest restaurant we attended during the #GerbEuroTrip.

 It was hidden in a small cove off one of the islands. As we came around the corner, a man floating in the shallows on a small boat lunged a spear beneath the surface and brought up a fresh octopus. It was absurd timing. We knew this place was going to be good!

After starting a wood fire in the massive brick oven, they began to bring out dish after dish of freshly caught and cooked food. Octopus salad, gnocchi, tuna steak, grilled vegetables, garlic bread, and pork chops. It was endless!

 

Our time in Hvar sadly came to an end as we headed back to shore, stuffed Karl with our bags plus a Lauren and Emma, and boarded the ferry back to Split for one last crazy night.

Turns out I wasn’t the only Jesus on board this time!

Karl, Karlovacek and Mixed Meat Platters – Split, Croatia

First order of business for any long drive with the Gerber’s: food. We found an amazing café overlooking the mountains and valleys of central Croatia, just south of Plitvic Lakes. My eyes were immediately drawn to an item on the menu called “mixed meat platter”, which, turned out to be offered at nearly every restaurant (and yes I ordered it almost every time). A steaming pile of grilled lamb, pork chops, pork belly, burger meat and some other indistinguishable cuts were slewed out over a heaping pile of rice. The smorgasbord covered my entire oversized tray. It was shoveled into my mouth faster than it was served.

Lex and I sampled our first Croatian beer, Karlovacek, inspiring the name of our sexy rental car, Karl.

Karl, Lex and I finished off the drive to Split in dismal fashion. Our hostel was located in the center of Old Town, which was essentially a castle of narrow streets now accessible for pedestrians. A mixture of laziness and ignorance led us to a failed attempt at taking the car as close to the hostel as possible. The hostel we soon found out was located deep in the center of Old Town. Steering Karl through the tight walking streets of Split, winding up wedged between suits of armor and swords in some medieval flea market while getting yelled at in Croatian, was not received well by the locals. Eventually we found a place to make a U-turn and got the hell out of there.

We parked Karl and walked to our hostel, the Booze and Snooze, which held true to its name. Its location couldn’t have been better. Within walking distance to the beaches, it was situated in the main square, just outside the old clock tower and palace section of the castle. Apparently Game of Thrones was on set in the castle just ten days before. The things Lex would of done to see that in action…

I digress.

It was a true party hostel, and one of the best I’ve ever stayed in. The veranda was packed with travelers drinking beers, before heading to the hostel’s backpacker bar, Charlies.

Charlies is the ultimate dive bar for travelers. During the day, it doubles as receptions for the Booze and Snooze’s sister hostel, the Fiesta Siesta. Most genius hostel names ever? When heading to Charlies, don’t forget to bring something you don’t mind leaving behind; if you hang something on the ceiling, and I mean literally anything, you get a free shot. Shoes, sleeping bags, condoms, toy guns, bras and panties, clown masks and cigarette packs dangle above your head. The hovering random assortment of worthless alcohol traded items boasts the perfect decoration for the reckless atmosphere of Charlies. The place is good.

Morning. After transferring our bags to the Fiesta Siesta where we’d spend night two, it was time to cure the hangover. Eggs benedict drizzled with balsamic vinegar might be Croatia’s greatest invention, and it sure did the trick.

We made our way up the bell tower in the center of the palace. Rusty stairs spiraled upwards inside all the way to the top. The views were amazing, but there were way to many people piled on this decaying platform to find any comfort in my fear-of-heights ridden mind.

 

Just before we reached ground level, we passed through a small food market selling local and foreign dishes. Varieties of cheese and meat platters lined the tables. We may or may not have bought a large tube of horse salami sausage.

The remainder of the day was spent on the beach. As Lex cooled off in the water, I watched from shore sitting in the sand, wearing the only pair of shorts I own. Getting them wet, salty and sandy would only lead to excessive chaffing at the bar that night. Who forgets to wear a bathing suit to the beach?

Round two at Charlies proved just as wild as round one. Morning two was just as hungover as morning one. Eggs benedict plate two was just as revolutionarily delicious as plate one.

We stuffed our bellies, sat in the port jamming a little bit, and eventually drove Karl onto the ferry to make our way to Hvar for some more pristine waters and beaches… bathing suit included this time.

The Land Before… Plitvic Lakes

It was love at first sight (not that I was reading Catch-22 at the time or anything). Plitvic Lakes National Park was perfect.

It was also a long day full of many forms of travel; a hot air balloon in Cappadocia, Turkey, a bus ride to the airport, a flight to Zagreb, Croatia, and a two-hour drive in a rented car to a bungalow hostel outside the park. The day started at 0430, and we finally reached our hostel beds around midnight. I refused to let that abstain my goal of being the very first people in the park. I’ve heard from multiple people how crowded it gets as the day progresses.

We were up at 0630, enjoying coffee and cherry pie pastries in the café near the entrance gates by 0655, and in the park at 0700 as the gates opened. It was a ghost town inside, and I was in heaven. Number one on my bucket list, here we go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We started at the southern point of the park, and worked north; though unplanned, it had an effect on our walk that seemed to make every turn more exciting, saving the best of the park for last.

With in ten seconds of entering the park, we approached a cliff overlooking a river valley scattered with waterfalls in all directions. Smokey clouds hovered ominously in the valley, silently waiting for the sun to rise and evaporate back into the atmosphere.

We continued on the path, unable to keep track of the ever-increasing number of waterfalls. After passing a rich red bush, I couldn’t help but imagine what the park would look like in two or three weeks when the foliage filling the entire valley changes colors for the fall season. I made it a point to return sometime in my life for the fall season, as well as winter, when the waterfalls whisk their way through puffs of snow like liquid avalanches.

I digress.

As we approached a lake as our path came to an end. A flat-bottomed boat and it’s inverted reflection slowly made the wakeless approach towards the dock. There was not a ripple disturbing the surface. We boarded and headed towards the grand finale at the southern region of the park.

It was The Land Before Time. This had to be what inspired the films. The water appeared to have no set path, as it overflowed in all directions. Nature-inspired bridges of simply cut logs led in all directions, meandering between trees and over the disarray of erratic streams seeming to spread out in no logical order. The fauna was lush and green. The air was moist and sweet, crisp and clean. Everything was perfect.

The further we walked, the larger the waterfalls became. Mist exploded from the base of each waterfall, accompanied by rainbows radiating over our heads.

 

Towards the farthest parts of the park, valleys opened up into pristine lakes. Again the water worked like mirrors. Twice the beauty. We reached our final water fall at the edge of the park, overlooking one of the larger lakes, before finally calling it a day.

 

Our walk back to the car was the only negative part of our day. As we retraced our steps, decrepit tourists packed into tour groups of 50 or more stuffed the narrow pathways. It didn’t help we were heading against the flow of people. In a way though, it added to our appreciation of being the first people in the park.

Finally we made it back to the car and split towards Split, splitting the cost of a banana split on our way.

 

 

 

 

 

The latter didn’t happen.

Floating With Fire – Cappadocia, Turkey

At 0430, Lex and I woke to torrential downpour pattering the roof, and enough wind to make me feverishly question if it was safe enough to load ten people into a basket and hover 3,000 feet above earth via hot air. Fortunately, we didn’t have to make that decision. After dragging us out of bed and driving to the departure point, the company then decided to cancel our trip. Initially we couldn’t have been more bummed; however, in the end it seemed to have worked out for the better.

Though we were told, “entire city booked”, we somehow snuck onto a sunrise sunrise hot air balloon trip at the very first place we asked.

Round 2, 0530, and more ready than ever. We got picked up on a beautiful morning and headed off to the departure point. The van took us over a ridge where hundreds of balloons were either preparing for takeoff or already hovering in the orange glow of sunrise. Their silhouettes peppered the sky in all direction.

Our basket lay on its side, as the large parachute material balloon was initially filled using a high-powered fan. Once enough space around the mouth of the balloon was inflated, fire aimed into the balloon blasts hot air via four massive burners located at the top of the basket. The balloon rapidly filled and rose vertical, slowly pulling the basket upright, sitting softly on the ground. One by one we climb into the basket and prepare for takeoff.

The two men holding us down with ropes released the lines as the pilot simultaneously iginited all four burners and the balloon began to float.

Being airborne with out the use of jet or propeller engines was something new to me. Only once before in my life had I experienced flight without propulsion. I went hang gliding in Interlaken, Switzerland; even then, though, air rushed passed at what felt like 30 miles per hour filling my ears with a bellowing tumult questionably louder than the sound of a jet engine from inside a plane.

I digress.

 

Occasionally, thunderous fire erupted with beauty and force from the burners above our heads, scorching the exposed skin on our necks just before the point of discomfort when the burners shut off allowing the cool, moist Turkish air to settle back in around us. Otherwise, it was silent. Peaceful, tranquil, relaxing, quiet. The calm air filled our lungs, undisturbed by our presence even several thousand feet off the ground.

 

 

Before take-off, I was under the impression hot air balloons course and direction remained dependent on the wind. I was pleasantly wrong. The pilot maintained incredible control, squeezing our balloon between rock formations, descending into valleys paralleling the rocky slope just inches above the surface and ultimately steering this behemoth balloon to a landing site several miles away.

 

 

A pick up van awaited our arrival, where he gracefully maneuvered the balloon perfectly onto a trailer with effortless ease. To end the trip, we enjoyed a glass of champagne to celebrate.

Our flight, which took place on September 25^th, wasn’t the only reason the 24 hour period starting that morning holds champion as the greatest 24 hour period on our trip. Immediately after our flight, we took a plane to Zagreb, Croatia where we drove 2 hours south to a hostel ground just outside of Plitvic Lakes with mini cabins surrounded by billions of stars. We slept for maybe six hours as I demanded we be the first people to enter Plitvic Lakes National Park the following morning… and we were. At the time, the lakes were number one on my bucket list, and they succeeded in satisfying the zealous hype built up in my mind over the last two years. I almost made my way to Croatia with Andrew and Ashton during the Ausgang Ausfart Voondabash Eurotrip in 2012, but ran into car rental issues with Slovenia.

 

I digress.

 

Big round of applause to Jenn and Chelsea for the recommendation to make the journey for hot air balloons. I hope this post inspires at least one more person to make the trip to Cappadocia, Turkey.

Nature’s Dirty Mind – Love Valley

The flight from Istanbul to Kayseri was no more than an hour. Lex and I were making our pilgrimage to Cappadocia based off a strong recommendation from Jenn Abbey and Chelsea Chrouser who’s pictures I drooled over during their stay in Turkey two months ago. Their hot air balloon pictures were absolutely insane, but we’ll get to that later.

After finally making it to Rock Valley Pension around 10pm, the Gerber’s maintained true to our insatiable hunger-fed instincts and headed out to the small town in search of food. What we found was a tiny bar called Fat Boys boasting a few travellers, hookah and a decent menu. Though the chef already took off for the evening, the waiter was able to whip up a beef stew-type dish to accompany our hookah and Efes beers while we befriended the American boys next to us.

There was a small attempt to teach them all euchre, since Lex and I were riding out our high from the triumphant victory the night before. I’ll blame the beers for the turbulent tries that ended in failure to pick up the game.

At 0200 after the bar, Lex and I sat by the pool beneath the cliffs of Cappadocia. We gazed the billions of stars peppering the sky, hypnotized by the dreamy trance-like melodies echoing from the Star Walk app on our iPad.

Serenity.

The following morning we all met outside of Fat Boys and headed for the Open Air museum, a collection of homes and churches carved directly into the rocky cliffs throughout one of the valleys. Even after 1000 years, the paint from several churches remained perfectly in tact.

 

 

 

During our walk back to town for a quick lunch, we pit-stopped at a local pottery yard. A graveyard of failed vases littered the grounds. Trees were littered with Nazar, or charms believed to ward off the “evil eye” curse.

 

 

 

We dined at a local rooftop spot for lunch. The music selection still to this day blows my mind. They had a YouTube list called “Slow 1”, and it contained gems such as the Titanic masterpiece My Heart Will Go On, I Will Always Love You by Whitney, and countless other out of place throwbacks.Maybe the playlist wasn’t all that weird, but being the only ones on this rooftop in the middle of Cappadocia at two in the afternoon all singing “near, far, wherever you are” together was something else.

I digress.

Ah yes, time for the long awaited Love Valley.

Where to begin?

This valley is unsuitable for children. Or perhaps, it’s my own ribald and salacious mind that makes me think it’s unsuitable for children when in reality these dirty-minded qualities are what should deny my own presence. But, I promise, I was not alone. These rocks titillate every tourist who treks the paths between the countless shafts and cylindrical columns.

 

All jokes aside, Love Valley is hysterical. Enter it with an open, lewd, respectfully indecent and awkwardly libidinous mind, and it’ll be hard not to come home happy. After all, they don’t slightly resemble a phallus; they painfully imitate them to the point you begin to question if they’re natural or not.

Oh yeah baby, all natural indeed.

 

 

The “they” I keep referring to are actually sedimentary volcanic layers deposited ten million years ago now cautiously carved by water’s dirty-minded intentions. The tips consist of a harder material, which erodes slower than the softer, crumbly shafts. This is what ultimately creates that perfect phallic shape.

Aint nature just beautiful!

Now get your mind out of the gutter… they’re just rocks!