The big move

Heartbroken as I was to have to finally leave, I don't think this move could have been more perfect in all its unplanned, delayed, and imprecise style. Packing my apartment was a whirlwind in and of itself.

At last, my apartment was packed and (nearly) ready for the movers.

Over the past few weeks, I've had at least a half-dozen goodbye gatherings, including two for some other friends' departures which I high-jacked to say my own goodbyes, a few random one-on-one coffees/ drinks/ dinners with various friends, a party or two (including a last-hurrah pool party on my rooftop), and a picnic on the Seine.

Our last illicit rooftop pool party

We really got down to business yesterday: movers day. And at just the same moment when it seemed that the last of my happy moments in Paris had been boxed up and shipped off, that the last of my living ties to the city were being trimmed away, I found myself surrounded by unexpected kindness, support, joy, and even fun. When a near-disaster with my movers resulted in a call for back-up muscle-power, my last night in France morphed into a final evening enjoying the panoramic views from the off-limits parts of my rooftop and a celebratory five-course dinner in a fantastic restaurant, La Cantine du Troquet in the 14th.

Spending the evening with good friends really helped soften the blow of it being my last night in Paris.

Our fantastic impromptu five-course dinner at La Cantine du Troquet made memories with a much longer aftertaste than the food.

And today, my race through my last day in Paris required me to store a few suitcases in a friend's lab at the Institut Pasteur, which of course required me to do one last coffee with my Pasteur friends just before heading to the airport. Like a scene straight out of a movie, two of my best friends even waved me off as my Uber taxi drove me to my airport shuttle. I nearly cried. And then came the weirdest part:

When it was all finally done-- bags packed, apartment keys handed in, final letters in the French postal system, extra bags stocked in Nicolas's dad's spare Parisian apartment, group hugs hugged-- when I was sitting there in the Orly airport shuttle watching the ticker-tape count down the minutes until my many bags and I would arrive in the airport, I found myself overwhelmed by a strange sense of euphoria. Though there were many moments when I imagined it impossible, Paris really had become home over my nearly six years there. And now this much anticipated move was really happening. It was unscripted yet better than I'd have hoped for, and I felt so much love. Even strangers kept offering to help me with luggage. I don't know if it was the lack of sleep, or the fact that at this point I'd realized that I had forgotten to eat all day (and we were rapidly approaching 8pm), but I was suddenly on the brink of *happy* tears. And I've ridden the high until now-- though no longer on an empty stomach-- as I find myself starting to fight the heaviness of my eyelids from the comfy seat of my Aarhus-bound train.

Denmark, I have arrived.

Land of the vikings, prepare yourself: Emilienne is here.

Paris-Aarhus, trip 1 of 3

I pause from my typing to crane my neck around my neighbors and peer out my plane window over the French landscape, trying not to think too hard about a firey end as the turbulence vibrates through my feet and we continue our descent. No matter how many flights I take, it seems I'm always convinced that each one will be my last. France is now literally underfoot-- if with more of a separation between land and foot than to my liking-- and so I can now successfully check off trip 1 of 3 on my list off Paris-Aarhus journeys over the next month. I'm moving there next week, but the awkward timing of a departmental retreat resulted in an extra round trip just a week prior, and awkward timing on the French side of things will bring me back a mere two weeks later to attend my doctoral graduation ceremony.

Sandbjerg Manor, home of the DANDRITE Retreat 2015

Well, for lack of time to continue documenting my excessively international lifestyle, suffice it to say that the kids are my new school were nice to me, but that I'm still scared.

The founding members of the fledgling Yonehara team at the DANDRITE Retreat

I've never moved to a country whose language I didn't speak at all. Yes, the Danes speak fantastic English, but no matter how American I can try to make myself appear, that won't stop them from still predominantly speaking in my presence in a language which is really (vocab: really=rigtig in Danish!) an unknown to me. While I'm loving the ipad language learning apps, they can only go so far compared to semesters or years of language studies. This new chapter is definitely going to come with unique challenges. So it's about time to tape down those last few boxes chez moi and take a deep breath.

In and around Aarhus, soon to be my new home base

Here goes nothing.

Porto, with a side of Lisbon

My friend Samuel was in the midst of his own grand tour, of the European rather than the Southeast Asian, continent for the past month or so. We coordinated so that I could catch him in Paris just after my own return and offer him, his friend Reid, and his brother Mitchell a place to stay. In return, he'd take me and Nicolas along with them on the next leg of their journey: Coimbra, Portugal, just in time for their annual festival, the Queima das Fitas. Much to our surprise, after months of planning, Samuel's Portuguese friend reneged on the offer, and the house we'd planned to crash slipped through our fingers just a few days before our departure. We found ourselves in an awkward situation.

Making the most of the situation, Nicolas and I reserved an inexpensive room by the beach via Airbnb. Making the most of the situation was a theme that would sandwich this journey, but we'll return to that at the end. For now, the city of Porto was spread before us, and we were thrilled to climb its hills, enjoy its riverside views, and sample its rich selection of port wine. And as luck would have it, I've just this week met a new colleague in Denmark who hails from Porto and is himself a collector of port wine. Sounds like I've got a new friend. :) [NB: I'm cheating a little: I'm writing this post about a week and a half after the time stamp.]

Bem-vindo ao Porto : Welcome to Porto

Sé do Porto : the Porto Cathedral, whose origins can be traced back to the 12th century, though it has since undergone many renovations and alterations in architectural style. Site of the baptism of Prince Henry the Navigator and the marriage of King John I to Princess Phillipa of Lancaster, England. (Have no idea who these people are, but apparently they were notable historic figures who have passed through these walls.

But back on topic, Porto, it turns out, is a charming city. Though travel sites seem to consistently rave about Lisbon and give this more northern Portuguese city little afterthought, we were surprisingly impressed. We found bountiful, delicious, and inexpensive food almost everywhere we went. We had afternoon snacks at the Armazém do Caffè, twice. We discovered a trendy counter culture, complete with people abandoning the euro in favor of using their own local currency (though this is far from the norm). It turns out that they too make delicious (most vegetarian) food. And even these blasé Parisians were impressed by our desserts along the riverfront at Taberninha do Manel, where we celebrated Samuel's (and Nicolas's belated) birthday(s).

Desserts along the riverfront at Taberninha do Manel

While I am confident that this city boasts a rich history which is totally worth exploring (to which Samuel and friends can attest), Nicolas and I did little more than wander and relax, enjoying our mini vacation before our impending separation once I am off in Denmark and he is stuck behind wrapping up the school year with classrooms of kids who are thoroughly done learning. 

Nicolas and me during our little pod ride over the city with Samuel, Reid, and Mitchell

Although we'd gone separate ways, Nicolas and I managed to cross paths with Samuel, Mitchell, and Reid on a couple of occasions. On one such occasion, we tested out the little glass pods that took us up over the city to a fantastic viewing point.

We made it to the top! Reid, Nicolas, me, Mitchell, and Samuel at the end of our pod ride up over the city.

And we of course couldn't do Porto without some proper port wine tasting. We were caught off guard when offered white and rose port wines-- who knew they came in variants other than red? And even red isn't so simple: We learned that a "ruby" port is a red only stored in metal barrels whereas a "tawny" is a red ages in wooden casks, producing what I personally find to be the best results after about ten years of aging. We had quite the educational little session on our last evening at a little place called The Wine Box.

When in Porto, port wine's the way to go. And after this weekend, I'll take a 10-year tawny reserve any day.

Our final day had been allotted for beach time, but that all soon changed. During our port wine tasting the night prior, Nicolas had received a funny little alert from Google calendars informing us of our flight cancelation, even though we'd already done our online check-in. Without any email notification from the airline, we figured we'd let the notification slide until the following morning. It was then that we understood that we were at the end of a massive ten-day airline strike. After hours of dropped phone calls, we grabbed a quick lunch and made our way to the airport to see what could be done. The answer, it seemed, was fairly little. There was no making it to Paris that night.

The time it took to take this shot was about all that we managed to spend at the beach, even though it was just around the corner from our Airbnb home for the weekend.

Creative thinkers that we are, we refused to accept that the best possible route home was a flight the following day from Porto to Madrid, a three-hour layover (just enough time to not be able to get out and see the city), and then a 6pm arrival in Paris. And arguing got us somewhere: we were placed on a late evening flight to Lisbon to bring us back to Paris via direct flight the following day, shaving three hours off the return time. Not much, but something, right? And suddenly our trip to Portugal had become a multi-city adventure! Now that's what I call making the most of an unfortunate situation.

We found ourselves the cutest, highly-rated, affordable bed and breakfast for a comfy night's stay, complete with complimentary slippers, bathrobes, tea, and a warm reception even at 11pm. It's called the Typical Lisbon Guest House, and I feel very lucky to have had the chance to stay here!

The Typical Lisbon Guest House, a high point in our re-routing fiasco on the way home from Porto

And we braved a 6am alarm clock in order to do a mini power-tour of downtown before breakfast time. Nicolas, loaded down with his schoolwork, was a real trooper throughout the situation.

As much of Lisbon as can be squeezed into an hour, more or less.

I think Portugal may be worth a return trip, just maybe next time on an airline other than TAP. ;)

Beaune, take six

I have a confession to make: Paris isn't the only place for me in France. In fact, there is another town with which I've been in love for the past 4+ years: Beaune. Nestled in the heart of the Burgundy wine country, this picturesque medieval town is the perfect weekend escape from Paris, and the epitome of a travel show special on touring the French countryside. You have your Saturday morning farmer's market, your cobblestone streets, the centuries-old architecture, and of course, the bike paths through the vineyards connecting village to village in the neighboring countryside. The only thing more you need is an eccentric wine expert who knows you by name and will gladly teach you all about this year's produce (tasting included) while intermittently insulting you and your false immpressions that your home country may also produce "drinkable" wine. Oh, right, Beaune has that, too.

This time, I sold Nicolas, my MIT-Paris friend Samuel, his brother Mitchell, and his friend Reid on the town. Not that it was a hard sell.

My sixth visit to Beaune since 2011

This place, short of a trip back to Thailand, may just be my ticket to heaven on earth. Even with the overcast weather and the downpour that hit in the final fifteen minutes before our wine tasting began, it was still glorious. How could it be otherwise?

♥

Ko Samet: my island getaway

Back in early April, after surviving the Cambodian heat and landing in Ho Chi Minh City, I realized that the traffic and temperatures of SE Asia weren't about to let up. This month of travels was going to be more exhausting than I'd realized, and some beach time was in order. So I inquired about Ho Tram Beach, which I soon learned was much farther from Ho Chi Minh City than I'd initially thought.

A change had to be made to my carefully constructed itinerary. There was no way that this girl could do a month backpacking alongside the world's most beautiful beaches without sinking her toes into at least one of them. That is how I wound up spending my first afternoon in Ho Chi Minh City planted in front of my hostel computer, researching which city on my itinerary was closest to a beach.

Answer: Bangkok, where I'd planned to return for the last two nights of my month-long travels. From Bangkok, the island of Ko Samet and its glorious white sand beaches were only four hours away by bus.

The island of Ko Samet, a mere 4-hour bus ride from Bangkok, welcomes weary travelers.

A few hours and about $100 later, I'd modified my Chiang Mai-Bangkok flight, I'd altered my hostel reservations in Chiang Mai and in Bangkok, and I'd secured an Airbnb room on the island of Ko Samet, my new final destination on my month-long exploration.

My home on Ko Samet, thanks to Airbnb host Lizzie

To get to the point (not always my greatest skill), the island was totally worth it, 100%. I only wish I'd had another day.

Before I made it to the island, however, I was once again confronted by a culture phenomenon which I'd love to better understand: ladyboys. At first I'd simply assumed they were cross-dressing prostitutes. Having a label, I thought it made sense, though I'll admit I was thrown off when I saw one having ice cream with a Thai man in a fancy Bangkok ice cream parlor. And this couple were the only two willing to come to my rescue when I was struggling to order my ice cream across a language barrier. I'd been struck by how normal they'd seemed that day, how the ladyboy in this ice cream parlor hadn't turned a single head. At the port in Ban Phe, while waiting for my ferry to Ko Samet, the realization struck again: here they were, the ladyboys, serving me my Thai iced tea alongside cis-gendered coworkers. At another booth, a ladyboy was selling hotel rooms... to families. No one was shielding their children from the sight. So what was it about this country and their ladyboys? Who were they? Cross-dressing prostitutes? Homosexuals seeking out a culturally validated means of exercizing their sexuality? Transgender people? This was a question with which I'd leave the country.

Back on point, Ko Samet was stunningly beautiful. And the bikini selection on the island was surprisingly stylish, important as the elephants in Chiang Mai had muddied my previous bathing suit beyond repair. My Scottish host Lizzie was gracious and had a life of adventures to share. She welcomed me into her home and family for the evening, taking me out with her Thai and Swedish friends for dinner, a concert, a fire show, and an evening dancing by the beach. She showed me what Airbnb can be at its best: a means not only to find a bed for the night but also a welcome into the local community and a perspective on a place that a tourist simply can't attain after just a day or two in town.

Ko Samet, a fantastic island getaway readily accessible, yet worlds away, from Bangkok

I hope this won't be my last stay on the island.

Chiang Mai, my land of the elephants

The country of Laos is known as the land of a thousand elephants. However, Chiang Mai was my destination when it came to elephants. I had been fighting against my better self over the past half week to resist the temptation to visit an elephant park near Luang Prabang, where all visits included an elephant ride and mahout training. (Mahout is the title of an elephant trainer.) Elephants aren't always terribly fond of mahouts nor of giant wooden structures strapped to their backs in which tourists plop down for a ride. But things are different in Chiang Mai. Yes, there are still plenty of places there which will let you perch your butt atop an elephant, but if a different experience is more to your liking, this is the place to go. Online, I'd read up on the Mae Sa Elephant Conservatory, but upon arrival, my hostel owner suggested a similar site where a baby elephant had just been born: the Elephant Retirement Park. This was, hands down, the coolest thing I did on my trip.

Here, I got to know 26-year-old second-time mother Buathong, 10-year-old Phet, 15-year-old Ben, 3-year-old Ngam, et 13-day-old (eee!) baby Lanna.

Ben
Ben is a picky eater, and will only eat fully ripe bananas. (The elephants in this park also eat corn and sugar cane.) At 15 years old, Ben is not yet fully grown. While taking some tourists for a ride one day, she made a misstep and fell, injuring her leg. In response, her owners locked her in a cage and prevented the injury from properly healing. She is now on lease and is healing at the Elephant Retirement Park. (Elephants are very expensive to buy, so all the adults at the park are currently on lease.)

Phet
Phet loves to hug the visitors, but he wasn't always so trusting. He was rescued from an elephant camp after he simply refused to continue working because he had been so badly abused that he stopped responding to humans. A mahout at the Elephant Retirement Park had to kneel before Phet offering him bananas for many hours before he was even willing to interact enough to accept food from a human.

Ngam
Ngam is a little over 2.5 years old and he too was already seriously abused in his short life. He is a friendly one these days, and his trunk wanders a bit much when he goes in for his slobbier kisses.

Buathong
Buathong just gave birth to her second baby, Lanna. The pregnancy came as a bit of a surprise to the Elephant Retirement Park. They hadn't realized just how friendly she'd been with another male elephant who has since been transferred to another elephant sanctuary. That wasn't a problem for Buathong since, in elephant social structure, only the females live together and they collectively care for the young. An elephant's gestation period is 22-24 months, so Lanna had plenty of time to beef up before her birth. Buathong was in labor with Lanna for a full day, and the entire surrounding village heard her screams and grunts. Her baby has only gained about 5 pounds since her birth, and at around 200 lbs, that's no easy birth. One surprising thing I learned when meeting Buathong is that elephant udders/breasts are unexpectedly high up on the chest, and there is only a pair of them. They looked weirdly human (just gray and wrinkly) compared to cows, cats, dogs, and goats (the only other animals whose mammary glands I've seen in person).

Lanna
Baby Lanna is only 13 days old, and is a little wobbly on her feet. She is also quite furry-- who knew baby elephants had so much extra hair? She is already very curious and wants to explore everything, so mama Buathong has to constantly use her trunk to keep Lanna in line.

The Elephant Retirement Park is an organization which rescues abused and overworked elephants. Instead of the guests riding elephants and watching them do tricks, we learn the commands to get the elephants to open their mouths (so we can feed them bananas), to hug us, and to kiss us. (Elephant kisses are kind of slobbery and involve a lot of suction.) They also taught us how to tell the elephants when they'd done well (the equivalent of telling a dog "Good boy/girl"). We spent the day feeding the elephants, bathing with them, and rolling in the mud together.

The elephants love to roll around and splash in the water with the visitors. It's a little scary when suddenly an elephant foot or trunk pops up right next to you in the water (mostly for the sake of your toes!) but it is so insanely cool. We scratched and scrubbed and splashed and pet the elephants. They were happy to interact. You could even put out your hand and they would clasp it in their trunk or even wrap their trunk around your wrist in a sort of playful elephant handshake. (From the strength in their grip, I was really happy that these elephants were not temperamental!)

We learned that elephants flap their ears and wag their tails when they are happy, but we didn't need that lesson to see that these elephants were clearly in a good place emotionally. And 13-day-old baby Lanna was the best thing ever. This place is a must-see for anyone visiting Chiangmai or anywhere in Thailand.

The Elephant Retirement Park: I can't recommend this place strongly enough.

It was a pity I wasn't able to squeeze in more time in Chiang Mai itself. I think Chiang Mai would be a great place to kick back for a half week or so. The food is up to the delicious Thai standard with which Bangkok had spoiled me, and yet the city itself is calm and laid back, a real hippie destination. Some fellow hostelers and I actually spent an evening at a reggae bar listening to a local band called the Reggae Croissant.

But late April temperatures outside were eating me alive, and I will confess that on my only full day in Chiang Mai, I checked off a few temples and monuments mostly to say I'd been-there-done-that. I proceeded to spend most of the day getting massaged and enjoying a Starbucks iced coffee that bought me a few hours of mid-day air conditioning. (Monsoon season in Southeast Asia begins around June, and the time building up to it can become rather unbearable.)

Chiang Mai: been there, done that, could use to do it again when it's a little less hot and humid.

Recommendations: Don't wait until late April to go to Chiang Mai. And be sure to visit the Elephant Retirement Park.

Happy New Year from Luang Prabang!

When I think back on Luang Prabang, I remember the New Year's water fights. The Lao New Year begins on April 14, but from April 12 or 13 through the 17th, the city breaks into an all out water war. The locals form teams, they print t-shirts, even the children prepare for battle with cartoon-themed water tanks trapped to their backs. What a fantastic and fun-loving way to ring in the new year! Or so it seemed. But by the end of day 2, it started getting old. After all, in this conservative culture, you can't just enjoy the water fights in a bikini, so you're stuck spending your days wandering around in soppy, clingy clothing. At some point, the dyed waters started entering into the mix. And keeping one's camera and valuables safe and dry is easier said than done. By the end of day 3 or 4, I started getting to the tipping point. There were just so many water fights. Far, far too many water fights...

Lao people celebrating New Years in typical Laos fashion.

At least after sundown, the water guns were tucked away and the evening festivities felt more accessible.

Happy Lao New Year! All the locals kept pulling us into their celebrations and insisting we share a drink with them.

But first let's take a step back. After all, this trip to Luang Prabang began in perfect serenity, at a time when the occasional water gun through the van window was welcomed: my trip to the Kuang Si waterfalls.

Kuang Si waterfalls

Attached to the Tat Kuang Si (water falls) park is the Bear Rescue Center, where world's first bear neurosurgery was performed in 2013. Pretty cool!

The Lao people demonstrated a greater apparent respect for and consciousness of the environment than I'd observed in Vietnam and Cambodia, whether or not this is a marketing ploy. It was neat to see how many environmental initiatives and educational plaques were posted around the park. I was, however, a bit disappointed that all the nearby elephant reserves, while making a point to advertise their roles in environmental protection and support of the locals, still offered elephant riding. It was tough, but I resisted a visit. I'm not so sure elephant riding makes the elephants happy, and while I want to support locals and the environment, it shouldn't be at the cost of the elephants.

Not only did the locals demonstrate a concern for the environment, but they also offered a genuine kindness toward the tourists, despite knowing that we are far more financially comfortable than them. Their haggling was much less aggressive. They weren't nearly as fond of their car horns as were the Vietnamese. They weren't parading their sick or disabled. There were very few beggars. And most notably, we couldn't stop them from inviting us into their homes to feed us! (This may have been happening because it is considered auspicious in Laos to welcome guests into your home over the new year.)

I was completely charmed by the local pride and enthusiasm for the burgeoning tourism industry. They hoisted banners in their parade touting Luang Prabang as the winner of Wanderlust's Best City 2015 award, noting that it marked the 7th time it's earned this distinction. The locals regularly stopped us in the street to practice their English with us, which was really impressive next to what I'd seen in Vietnam and Cambodia. Many of them were actually able to chat about really random topics. The Lao children apparently begin studying English in elementary school, and it showed! And, of course, who can forget just how often the Lao people asked us if we were traveling alone only to say, "Why you don't come with friends? You should go home and tell friends about Laos, and then come back again with friends." From the time I landed in the airport until the time I took off, it seemed the whole country was in cahoots to send us home with messages to send our friends to Laos.

Generally, Luang Prabang offered a much more laidback atmosphere than what I'd seen up to this point in my travels across SE Asia. In terms of the ambiance and locals, this was definitely my top country. And on one other factor, Laos also came out ahead: traditional massages. The traditional Lao massage is in the same vein as the Thai, but slightly softer, the perfect balance between deep muscle massaging and avoidance of (transient) pains. And I visited the massage parlor with a European professional massage therapist, who agreed with my assessment (though she was more pro-Thai massage). Me, I could have spent all day getting Lao massages. 

Traditional Lao massage parlor. (In my eyes, the parlor could also easily pass for traditional Thai.)

The poverty much more carefully hidden than it was in Siem Reap, where the Cambodians seemed to be interested in putting it on display in the hopes of garnering more tourist dollars. This just made the entire experience here so much more soothing. It was easier to relax without my conscience constantly nagging at me over my advantages as a rich Westerner.

Random images from across Luang Prabang

Another really cool aspect of Luang Prabang was all the Hmong art on display in the stores. The Hmong are an ethnic group found in Laos and northern Thailand, and they do some incredible work. Their art consists of intricate, colorful embroidered clothing and finely carved silver jewelry. I'll confessed to having even caved to taking home a piece as a souvenir.

My fancy Hmong necklace

There were so many temples scattered across this city (and they served as great hiding places from the water fights), but the coolest by far was Vat Souvannakhiri, pictured below. Here, we met a friendly monk who taught us about the practice and how monks can come and go from the orders without negative repercussions or pressure from the monastery. The monasteries here actually serve, among other roles, as a place for young kids and adolescents to go for an education. The monk who chatted with us explained that he planned to leave the monastery the following year to pursue a university education (and that, once he left the order, he would finally be allowed to defend himself during the New Year's water wars!).

Survived another day of water fighting! Hiding out at Vat Souvannakhiri until sundown, when the fighting subsides.

Vat Souvannakhiri, the most impressive temple I saw in Luang Prabang and overall one of the coolest little temples around SE Asia. Fantastic blend of golden sculptures, golden intricate and ornate paintings, and vibrantly-colored mirror-mosaics made the entire place sparkle.

On my last day in Laos, I decided to escape the water fighting with a biking and kayaking touring with one of my new solo traveler friends, the aforementioned massage therapist. We biked along streets carved out of the jungle and kayaked past bathing elephants, cobra holes on the water's edge, and almost fully submersed water buffalo hiding from the heat. Finally, some villagers at the town where we wrapped up our kayaking invited us in for some food cooked freshly for us on the fire pit just outside their one-room hut. It was a pretty exotic and humbling day.

Our biking and kayaking trip through the nearby wilderness and down a tributary to the Mekong.

And can't forget this cutie from the end of our kayaking trip.

Speaking of cuties: I can't write about my time in Luang Prabang without mentioning my new friends, the kittens! These very dirty and tiny, motherless kittens found a fellow traveler and me on the street. After cuddling them for a half hour, we could hardly walk away and leave them to a certain death, so we convinced my hostel to host them, found some street food to their liking, bathed them, got them into a cozy warm bed, and spent the evening cuddling. We'd had our doubts, but they survived that first night in bed with me in a basket lined with a scarf, waking me up early in the morning to demand some more cuddles. Strengthened by our TLC (and the fish nuggets), these guys quickly became the new mascots at my very fun and social hostel, where we ended our nights to live guitar music on the rooftop and started the days with delicious breakfasts cooked to order each morning.

My Lao besties, our rescued kittens!

Soon enough, the New Year's celebrations and my time in Laos came to an end. I rode out my last day of defenseless water fighting napping on a bench in a monument park, safe from the action and enjoying the sun.

My last sundown in Laos

I'm hopeful that this won't be my last trip to Laos.