118 - Chandu the Magnificent (Chitwan National Park, Nepal)

So, Chandu (seasoned guide), Denis (personable assistant), and I (inept Caucasian) boarded a dugout canoe and shoved off. Patches of human activity soon faded behind us. Birdlife abounded. Denizens included Siberian ducks (a.k.a common eider… I think?). Chandu claimed these ducks inhabit the plains of the Terai to escape bitter Siberian winters. They mate for life and are often found in pairs… allegedly. He also said when a mate dies, the other commits suicide. Romeo and Juliet ain't got shit on these birds. I can confirm none of this and believe Chandu was pulling stories from his ass. By 9 a.m., he was drunk, so this wasn’t unthinkable. The question “how do ducks commit suicide” is right up there with…

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119 - Wild by Nature (Chitwan National Park, Nepal)

Dumbo was a no-show. We did, however, meet some wild bison (gaur). Weighing in at around 2,500 lbs, they’re not to be trifled with. The two we saw were angry, but not with us. Mating issue? Territorial dispute? Both? There was a moment of tension when, as we passed the area where they'd entered the tall grass, we heard a sudden crash and scream (a cross between a pissed-off wookie and a cow in heat) of a fast-moving beast. Not knowing their destination, we hauled ass toward a nearby hill. I nearly soiled myself but had to laugh when I spotted Denis halfway up a tree. They proceeded in the opposite direction and were content with kicking each other’s asses…

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120 - Happy Friggin' Holi! (Kathmandu, Nepal)

People celebrate by dousing one another with water and plastering friends and strangers alike with a shitload of colored powders, especially red—a massive water fight in Technicolor. It lasts for a night and a day, beginning on the last full moon during the Hindu calendar’s lunar month at winter’s end. Thamel’s streets were jovial chaos on the 1st of March.

I had no clue and hadn’t bothered to check for upcoming festivals. I only learned of the impending celebrations after a bag of water narrowly missed my noggin on a casual stroll the evening before everything kicked off. The assassins attacked from a nearby balcony. I was not amused…

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121 - Lukla to Tengboche (Three Passes Trek, Nepal)

A funny thing happened en route to Tengboche, something difficult to describe. I think it only happens when you’re alone and somewhat unguarded. Per usual, I took a less-traveled route, which led back to the Hotel Everest View and then along a ridge that was more of a yak trail than a trekking path. I was struck by an odd awareness, a presence that gripped hold and wouldn’t let go.

It’s safe to say there’s an underlying energy or force pervading the universe and everything in it. The source. The terminus. The beginning. The end. It has a thousand different names ascribed by a thousand different peoples…

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122 - Tengboche to Dingboche (Three Passes Trek, Nepal)

Back at my lodge, I experienced what was to become a familiar sentiment from guides along the trail. There’s an undercurrent of resentment toward lone wolves hitting the trail without a guide who choose to carry their belongings. They view it as depriving a Nepali guide or porter of much-needed income while leeching off the well-tread paths established by years of Sherpa diligence. There’s merit to this, which is why I made every effort to hire a guide before leaving Kathmandu, visiting a dizzying number of trekking agencies.

No one would consider my needs, damn it. (Therapy, anyone?) They were all hell-bent on standard itineraries with zero room…

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123 - Chukkung Valley (Three Passes Trek, Nepal)

Back at the guesthouse, the sunroom was overrun by mature Irish tourists who looked as if someone had just mowed them down with a submachine gun. They were shattered. All appeared to be passed out. First time in the Himalayas? The day before, it was a Japanese entourage enjoying the valley views from the sun room’s relative comfort. When they departed, I noticed a man being carried on the back of the Japanese liaison/guide they'd brought from Japan. Yes, stereotypes are offensive, but for the love of everything holy! That’s so “Japanese tourist” trope, it’s almost beyond belief. Almost.

What dreams may come? Mine were bonkerballs bananas…

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124 - Kongma La (Three Passes Trek, Nepal)

I can’t deny it. Going it alone made me nervous. It also adrenalized the shit out of me. Would I get lost? Be eaten by a yeti? Hit by a meteorite? Those were the obvious risks, but my trepidation centered on the mundane—altitude sickness, broken ankle, cuts, scrapes, tooth decay, painful gas, etc. In tandem with a fellow adventurer, the risk was mitigated, but alone, a minor obstacle could turn deadly, especially if I were the only person to cross that day. It’s wise to bring a buddy. Really. I had no buddy. Me, myself, and I. Would I prefer a compadre and/or guide? You bet your ass. But we work with what we have…

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125 - Everest Base Camp (Three Passes Trek, Nepal )

My expectations concerning EBC weren’t grandiose. I'd heard mixed reviews. The Lonely Planet recommended doing Kala Pattar or EBC, warning both might be too much for most. I considered skipping base camp in favor of a longer stay on Kala Pattar and the immediate area. I sensed a tourist trap in EBC, a trip undertaken only to obtain the signature rubber stamp of “been there, done that” feel good emotion about standing at the gateway to the highest mountain on earth. Many people do it for the sake of doing it, but, as I learned over and over, don’t believe everything you read and “many people” are often idiots…

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126 - Kala Pattar to Dzongla (Three Passes Trek, Nepal)

You can’t actually see Mt. Everest from Everest Base Camp. Kala Pattar is the designated viewpoint, though it’s not ideal either. Anybody who’s somebody goes there for their panoramic fix. I’m somebody, right? Yes, yes, I am.

See the sunrise. See that fucking sunrise, ya heard? Everywhere you go, the sunrise is king. See it or else. It's cloudy? You're sick? Nuclear winter? Doesn't matter. Don’t be an asshole. Behold the sunrise. Notwithstanding brilliant matutinal reflections…

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127 - Cho La - Dzongla to Gokyo (Three Passes Trek, Nepal)

The beginning wasn’t so auspicious for Double Rich. The snow led to deviations, but the valley narrows as you progress, forcing even the most moronic of morons in the right direction. It was swell to have a partner in ineptitude for a change. Other Rich did enough worrying for both of us. The weather was beautiful, the scenery epic. I relaxed somewhat, knowing if the shit hit the fan, at least we had each other.

Other Rich was super friendly and personable. He was also about as exciting as a dry donut. I believe exhaustion and dehydration…

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128 - Gokyo to Lukla (Three Passes Trek, Nepal)

After breakfast, Gokyo Ri was the order of the day. The challenge was more than I’d anticipated for two reasons: 1) the aforementioned snow; and 2) the intensity of solar radiation. The snow and ice were no picnic, but nothing compared to the heat. The days’ haze and thin cloud cover intensified the ultraviolet energy. Slow, steady movements mitigated overheating potential. Pants were a mistake. I wouldn’t have been uncomfortable in a speedo (only ashamed). Such a maneuver would’ve required gobs and gobs of sun cream. The temp on the mountain might well have topped 60℉ (15℃)…

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129 - The Last Resort and Flashbacks (Nepal, Uganda, DR Congo)

And we (as in two rangers carrying AKs and a guide) were off. No one spoke English, only a tribal dialect and French. I was told the weapons were in case we encountered elephants. Uh-huh. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the other species of guerrilla. After two hours of hiking through the jungle, we found our target, a gorilla gang presided over by a single silverback.

Two words: F***ing. Amazing. Just me, the guide, and gentle giants. This group was habituated, so they paid us little mind…

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130 - “I Am The Burj Khalifa" (Dubai, United Arab Emirates)

Although Dubai is one of the more “liberal” emirates, discretion is key. Decency laws are strict. Just ask the couple from the UK that received a one-month prison sentence for kissing in a restaurant. Whoopsie.

Shopping and I go together like peanut butter and asparagus. Malls are not my thing. And yet, I spent an inordinate amount of time inside two. Why? Well, I adjusted my perspective, choosing to view this urban “exploration” through the lens of cultural anthropology…

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131 - Azerbaijan Timeline

1828 - Turkmanchay treaty between Russia, Persia divides Azerbaijan. Territory of present-day Azerbaijan becomes part of Russian empire while southern Azerbaijan is part of Persia.

1848-49 - World's first oil well is drilled south of Baku.

1879 - Nobel brothers set up oil-production company.

1918 - Independent Azerbaijani Republic declared.

1920 - Red Army invades; Azerbaijan is declared a Soviet Socialist Republic

Soviet rule

1922 - Azerbaijan, part of Transcaucasian Soviet Federative Republic…

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132 - Strolling Baku & The Hash House Harriers (Baku, Azerbaijan)

I spent days wandering the streets with no particular aim or destination. It all fascinated me, nothing more so than the fact almost every male citizen looked like a mafia don or hitman. I snapped dozens of photos, added absurd biographic details. It entertained me to no end. Turns out, it’s illegal to take photos without permission. Whoopsie. In the recent past, journalists took compromising shots of government officials sleeping on the job. Their response was to pass an absurd regulation forbidding such scandalous behavior…

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133 - Beguiled by Baku (Baku, Azerbaijan)

Starting a business (especially for foreigners) is like becoming a prostitute. To make money, you have to get screwed. Doing well? Business a success? Don't let it show. Before you know it, you’ll have regulators performing the proverbial colorectal exam. I met a gentleman working for the World Bank who said his office tried to acquire a list of safety code regulations to ensure compliance. The relevant regulatory ministry told them they don’t give out that information. More compliance. Fewer bribes. I heard stories of business owners in the outlying regions coming to their shops in the morning only to find doors padlocked. One unfortunate soul was forced to pony up $3000 to facilitate removal…

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134 - Terra-Not-So-Firma (Gobustan, Azerbaijan)

The farther south you go, the more it feels like the land the Soviets forgot. (And everyone else, for that matter). As we drove, I wondered if these folks even noticed the Soviet Union’s collapse and Azerbaijan’s independence. Our next intended destination was the petroglyphs of Gobustan, but a wrong turn led to the boulder-strewn lower slopes of Mt. Kichik Dash. Although we didn’t realize it, we’d found Qara-Atli Baba Pir or “Cave of the Black Horse Grandpa” (according to the all-knowing guidebook). It’s reputed to be a place of miracles, a pilgrimage site for…

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135 - Martial Artistry & Ye Old Church (Near Zaqatala, Azerbaijan)

The turnout was modest, a consequence of relentless rain (the likely explanation for Mr. Judo Master's absence). Folks, as in a few males of varying ages, showed up in the belief a martial arts expert would share his story followed by a demonstration. One volunteer wanted me to impersonate said Judo master, performing my own creative martial arts exhibition. Although intrigued by the thought of such comical subterfuge, I wasn’t comfortable with it. Besides the threat of destroying the credibility of the volunteers…

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136 - Chicken Head Kissing Corner (Qakh, Azerbaijan)

Adherents circle the building three times before entering, kissing each corner as they pass. Chicken heads adorned a ledge near one corner, a mystery that remains unsolved, at least for me. I inquired, but no one seemed to have the answer. My ignorance made the experience all the more exhilarating.

The church’s sorry condition surprised me. If not for the line of folks stuffing themselves in like the proverbial clown car, I’d have assumed it abandoned.…

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137- Mystery In The Mountains (Zaqatala, Azerbaijan)

Though given directions by my Peace Corps sherpas, I managed to miss the mark and bypass the trailhead. I could see my target from afar, so this was of little import. For my insolence, I was forced to cross a river, cut through someone’s backyard, and surmount the steepest hill I could find. Thankfully, the journey was the destination. The forests of northwest Azerbaijan resemble my conception of Robin Hood’s stomping ground. Elfin villages wouldn’t be misplaced, and a “Smurf Crossing” sign would certainly blend…

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