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I rarely hold anyone to any standards. How can you know the rules of the road if you don’t drive on it? Like cab-cutting in NYC, spitting in the TLV, bringing pastries in the DAC or looking down in PVG, every place should come with a list of manners, or in some cases, maneuvers.
In Tokyo, tradition is a tall order… so here’s how to not get fired as a foreigner

Slurp yo’ noodles.
Do exactly what your mom to you not to do. The whole point of slippery spaghetti is to eat them super fast, and very hot. So get on with your loud self and embrace the slurping sound. If you’re silent, the Ramen master might take it as a sign of dissatisfaction - so beware and be loud. 

Saved by the Subway.
Don’t even think about taking a cab; Japans rail system is nothing short of sheer brilliance. The uber effecient subway and train system in Tokyo is quite possibly the best invention on earth. For those traveling to more than one city, opt for a Japan Rail pass (7 days, 14 day etc.). It’s worth it. And unlike the swipe and go systems in the US, the JR machines check-point you twice. So save the stub for the way in, and out. Most likely at some point you’ll pay the wrong fare - the Japanese machines can confuse almost anyone. Just go to the Fare Adjusment counter, you cant miss it. And believe me, the guards won’t miss you.

Go Nude.
Nothing does it for me quite like a warm body of water, and Japan is full of them. Onsens, or hot springs, are a huge part of the tradition and culture. But don’t even think about that tankini; Onsens are for nudist only! So strip and sit down (sorry, no nude photo of me here).

Kill your cell. 
Despite being super tech savy citizens, Tokyo can be eerily quiet. You will rarely hear a cell phone conversation, and certainly not one on the train. When riding the rails in Japan, you should turn your phone off when near Priority Seats, keep it in silent mode when in other areas, and refrain from talking on the phone at all times. After all, thats what sexting is for.

Shoe Styles.
Some eating and drinking establishments in Japan offer “zashiki”-style seating where you must remove your shoes when entering. So snuggle in sans sneakers, it’s semi-liberating.

Noteworthy Notes:
Cab doors close automatically, so refrain from slamming them shut. 
Eat all of your food, which isn’t exactly difficult when it’s super delicious
Don’t tip, it can often be seen as rude, or that you’re a silly tourist.
If you’re not an adventurous eater, learn the word for vegetarian. But honestly, just don’t be a vegetarian. 

I’m not bothering with a book or researching for researchs sake. “Let’s just go with it” is big for a control freak, but I’m going with it. The team: Taryn (imagine the reaction to our rhyming names) of Wanderista, an Aussie named Ruby, Tim and Daniel of Ride2Rescue, and of course, Oneal… The Kathmandu Chronicles, Part III. 

Thamel.
It’s a black market… for hiking gear. North Face holds a strong monopoly here… my country-signed hiking sneakers and worn-in fleece are actually in fashion. Thamel is a third-world stereotype. The dry, dirt filled air permeates the snake like streets filled with Moo Moo shops, Pashmina outposts and WiFi-fueled (good luck with that) cafes - and tourists, lots and lots of tourists. But that’s what makes Thamel authentic, and inauthentic at the exact same time. A pilgrimage for artists and spiritualists in the 70’s, its soul seeking culture remains much unchanged, despite the influx of Nokia cell phones and misunderstood American influences like the Facebook Café. But to understand Kathmandu, is to simply except it as is – pirated DVDs, souvenirs for days, a seedy Red Light district and historic hostels, concentrated in one veracious valley. I roam the market, chill out at New Orleans Café, down a beer at Tom & Jerry’s and rent a motorbike in this hippie hub. It draws me in, it begs me to stay and fall deeper through its cracks. I change my flight, twice. It’s contagious and infectious and it gets me.

Monkey Temple.
I wake before dawn and make the morning move to Swayambhunath (translation: sublime trees) before dawn (aka before the herds). I watch the Buddhist and Hindu pilgrims ascend the 365 steps from eastern side (sans entrance fee), pass the gilded Stupa or Vajra and begin a series of clockwise circumambulations. Sitting on a hill, west of Kathmandu proper, the shrine, temple and well, holy monkey filled spot is one of the most sacred Buddhist sites, second only to Bodnath in the south. If the history (or primates) doesn’t do it for you, maybe the 20 karat gold structure will grab your attention…

Pashupatinath Temple and Cremation Ghat.
I watch a body burn at Pashupatinath Temple’s Cremation Ghat. I watch a family as they watch their daughter burn. I watch the family watch the crowd, watching, staring at her anonymous face, uncovered and unmasked. The crowd snaps photos of the family, watching the body burn. I watch, and I too take photos. It’s hauntingly beautiful; the lifeless figure under the full of life fabric and flowers, the glow of darkness and the smoke and fire. And as I judge and shake my head at the loud travelers with their Canon Rebels and rupees for the Baba G’s, I snap away. I tell myself – this, is what, I do, but is it any different? Or is it just a way to justify taking a photo of a family watching me, watching them, watching a body burn in the most sacred temple of Hindu Lord Shiva…the most sacred Hindu temple in the entire world. ‘The Temple of Living Beings’ dates back to 400 A.D, the sister site to the more infamous Ghats of Varanasi. I explore in silence: Brahma Temple, Gauri and Arya Ghats, the Gorakhnath and Vishwarup Temples and then the people, dead and alive, along the holy Bagmati River. 

Bhaktapur.
There are three cities within Kathmandu Valley and we skip the most touristy of them. I’m sure Patan has its charms, but we opt for Bhaktapur, an ancient Newar town in east corner of the city. It’s a close to a Forbidden City as you could expect a 15th century town to be. It is the home of traditional art and architecture, monuments and temples and it feels completely uncomplicated. It’s the same as it always was, as a stop on the trade route between Tibet, China and India. Durbar Square is full of life - teeming with toddlers and artists sketching the day away. Sit on the top of Changu Narayan and watch life as it was and is lazily meant to be. Cheer to the curd, known as the best in all of Asia. 

Drive.
I plug in my music and I grab on. I’m not a fan of bikes, it’s an easy danger to steer clear of, but in Kathmandu, you just do. I hop on, and close my mouth shut. The debris and dust is harsh and cutting… so is the traffic. We play Frogger with the crowd, fruit, cars and cows. We drive towards a Monastery at the top of the hill. We drive to the world’s largest statue of Shiva. We drive through Thamel and beyond. I watch and listen and smile… just smile. 

I’ve never seen so many beards before. And not just your run of the mill, average facial hair - but proudly grown, who knows what’s hiding in there, I’m-a-man burly beards. It’s like a right of passage, a sign if you will, that you’ve arrived in Nepal. No, it’s not the locals, but the travelers who are of a distinct set (think faux-North Face and dreds, carefree yet thoughtful) and it’s the first time I’ve been to a place, where beard or no beard, I feel as though I’ve joined a secret club. A really dirty, but awesome, secret club.

Nepal is not a stop over, nor is it a vacation destination. It’s intense, it’s uncomfortable, it’s frustrating and chaotic and surprising. It’s the kind of place only a certain kind of traveler visits, and most turn a visit, into a life, for a period of time or so. I’m the only person in this town crazy enough to come here for 10 days, but every traveler in this town, is crazy in some way. And I mean that in the best of ways. There are two types of tourist here: those finding themselves in the grit of Kathmandu, exploring the Hindu sites and small hill-top villages, working at an Orphanage or a hostel or school. And then there’s the Everesters. Those who come to Nepal for a dare. But being in Nepal in itself, is a challenge, with and without the climb. 

Before I even knew where it was, I knew I would go to Kathmandu and I knew I would love it. It’s one of those places that my curious, childish mind wandered with. I always said “I’ll go to Kathmandu,” and now, while in a big transition, starting a new chapter, with two weeks before my reincarnation, I’m fulfilling a promise I made to myself long ago, in another life.

Let’s start from the beginning. I land in a small airport with a hazy fog and orange hued lights glowing on the wet runway. And… the power goes out. I’m alone, in Nepal, in an airport with no power. I’m on 24 hours of no-sleep and my backpack feels like it has gained 20 pounds. My phone has been dead since Dubai (so much for that Flashlight app) so in darkness, I find my luggage and pass through the Nepalese passport line. I’m greeted by men - men everywhere - wooing me into their cabs (nothing new for a New Yorker) so I find my man, and give him the name of the obscure off the path hostel that I’m heading to. He shakes his head, yes, yes, gives me all the good universal gestures that will assure me I am safe, and he knows where he is going. We turn down dark, unpaved roads, bicycles and mopeds speed past with no regard for lanes (nothing new for Asia). We go for miles. He picks up a friend. I think he forgot there’s an American girl in the back… Welcome to Kathmandu.

I love nothing more than dressing the part…. especially when that part comes face to face with Mr. Everest. But it’s only our first date - I’m not climbing all over him just yet. Come Friday, I’ll be sitting pretty in Pokhara, roaming around Kathmandu and boppin’ around Everest Basecamp. Here’s What To Pack: Nepal…

There are things, so sacred, that putting the pen to paper poses a serious problem. No matter how many phrases I form, or big words I use, there are moments, that simply can’t be captured. But as a writer, photographer, and traveler, you must try, and try and try again to get it right. 

The first time I experienced this, was after my first trip to Myanmar - a place so profound that it wasn’t until three years later that I could begin to describe it. 

It’s not my heart-strings (attached to India like a wooden doll) or my need for speed (fueled by Land Rovers in Africa) or my hunger for hamachi (fed at Tokyo’s fish market at 5 am)… it’s my spirituality that was deeply effected. And for a rarely religious person, this was an entirely new place to be visiting. 

Be it Burma, or Myanmar, my awe-struck eyes were in no place to pass political judgement (that’s my poetic way of avoiding the topic right now altogether) but you could sense the tension in air. Before I even arrived, there was fear of being turned away. But after half a day in port, longer than any other port prior, we were cleared by customs. Even still, we were not allowed to disembark the boat until the next morning, so for 12 hours, we sat, and watched the shore, before stepping foot on to the soil. 

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I love nothing more than dressing the part, especially when my outfit comes with a harness and a hawk….Birds of prey say hello to Paragliders…. Parahawking (possibly the best sport ever after dating) was pioneered in Pokhara, Nepal by Scott Mason and two friends, Adam Hill and Graham Sunders-Griffithsin in 2001. Two months into a world tour Scott Mason met Adam, the owner of Frontiers Paragliding, and the idea took off… literally. 

Bridging the extensive training of bad ass birds and the experience of flying, crazy kids like me can Parahawk by day and set up shop at Maya Devi Village by night - a traditional lakeside guesthouse in Pokhara. It’s home to some of the worlds largest raptors like Himalayan Griffon Vultures, White Backed Vultures, Red Headed Vultures, Cinerious Vultures, Egyptian Vultures plus Steppe Eagles, Bonellis Eagles, Black Eagles and even Peregrine falcons… similar to a bar full of broads in NYC. 

So snag your very own Egyptian vulture and soar over Lake Fewa, Nepal. Just don’t fall in love… these aren’t the type of vultures you bring home to the parentals. 

The Ritz-Carlton, Hong Kong opened today and dominates the skyline as the world’s “highest” hotel. Located at the very top of the International Commerce Centre in Hong Kong, occupying floors 102 to 118. The hotel is also home to Ozone Bar. At more than 490 metres above ground, it is the highest bar the world. 

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Escape to Shape’s getaways serve up equal parts culture, fitness and pure, unadulterated downtime. During the Escape to Bali, you’ll stay in a meticulously appointed antique bungalow colony, where — between your asanas and spa sessions — you’ll feast on the likes of coconut crepes, grilled bananas and snapper with mango chutney. But however arresting the views are (they consist primarily of impossibly green terraced rice paddies), you’ll need to break free of their hold at least occasionally: the beach is just 10 minutes away, and temples, villages and Hindu holy mountains only slightly farther afield. Just in case you’re dreaming of somewhere other than your desk today… so dream big with Jetsetter.. 

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Kuala Lumpur to Hong Kong 
via fuckyeahglobetrotters (via marikorabbetts)

#airport #planes #asia #beautiful

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Istanbul Modern.

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