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Wedged between gently rolling hills, a calm meandering river and a stunning slice of rugged Eastern Cape coastline, Bulungula is easily one of the three most heart-wrenchingly beautiful places I’ve been to on this trip. Yet its the extraordinary degree of consideration given to its development that places this charming backpacker’s lodge head and shoulders beyond anything else in South Africa.

Environmental
The kitchen and common rooms of Bulungula are lit in the evening by an array of candles and a few solar-powered lights. The drinking water provided is simply cached rain water and other facilities consist of composting toilets and innovative kerosene heated showers. The staff has committed to planting enough trees each year to ensure that the entire operation is carbon neutral.

I must admit I rather enjoyed toasting my lunch in the solar cooker out front.

Cultural
It’s clear that Bulungula was built with the intention of being an integral part of the local village, rather than separate or adjacent. The rondavels are all constructed using traditional techniques with thatched straw roofs, mud brick walls and beaten mud floors. The village remains only accessible by an hour’s hike from the nearest dirt road, effectively filtering out the typical tourist dross and ensuring that the number of travelers passing through is low enough to have a minimal impact on day-to-day local life.

Ethical
Best of all, any profit generated from the lodge goes directly into the hands of contributing villagers. The backpackers is 40% owned by the Bulungula village, and the proceeds for the excellent tours are kept by the guides themselves. Locals with an entrepreneurial spirit are welcome to participate, offering travelers a variety of goods such as solar-baked Xhosa bread and cookies.

The result of all this is unique opportunity to experience South Africa at its finest. Every traveler who passes through this region inevitably develops an emotional barrier to fend off the constant barrage of touts, beggars and destitute children screaming for sweets.

Bulungula is a refreshing change of pace where travelers interact with the Xhosas on even terms and can move freely through the village knowing that they’re truly welcome.  Its impossible to spend a few days in this small slice of paradise, and not have those barriers rapidly melt away.

Inshallah bukra mumkin. If God is willing, [it will happen] tomorrow, maybe.

This is a fairly common phrase within the Arabic business community. Its American counterpart sounds something like “Well, my plate’s pretty full…” or “I’m pretty sure <insert co-worker name> has some spare cycles.” Hearing it pretty much guarantees the expected deliverable will be harangued by endless procrastination. After all, if it was Allah’s will, then it would’ve gotten done, right?

I can’t think of a more appropriate phrase to describe the cynical hope for a lasting peace that pervades the Middle East.

To be Palestinian
You are gripped by an intense longing for the ancestral homelands you’ve never known. Though the West seems to have forgotten, your people had been living in modern day Israel for generations upon generations - and had put down deep roots. You’ve grown up as a refugee in the West Bank, and spent countless hours covering the walls adjacent to your home depicting the Arabic villages of your father.

You carry the burden of despair and hopelessness, arising from the sure knowledge that you are unable to change your situation. Like many others, you have resigned yourself to praying that the world’s superpowers will awaken one day to your plight, and that your children will lead better lives.

To be Israeli
Whether you’re conscious of it or not, within you simmers nervous fear that itches at your fight/flight instincts. Its a feeling not dissimilar to that experienced by a white guy walking alone in a predominantly black and violent neighborhood. Or conversely, the broiling emotional cauldron experienced by Richard Wright’s Bigger Thomas. Regardless of whether there is ill intent, it feels like everyone is out to get you.

Now, it seems like the sun is setting. You’re certain that an Iranian moon is rapidly rising in the East, ushering in a nuclear night. This particular hood is about to get a whole lot more dangerous and you’re expecting Tel Aviv to be the next Hiroshima. Worse, these fears have been confirmed by friends actively involved in the military, all of whom expect to be engaged in Iran within two years. While Gaza is a constant thorn, its merely a piece of the survival puzzle.

This must be tempered with the fact that the people I’ve encountered, both Israelis (particularly in Tel Aviv) and Palestinians, were incredibly friendly. Yet bring up the opposing nation, and the conversation quickly sours. Israelis become withdrawn and aloof, while the Palestinians (both in the West Bank and Jordan) get worked up and angry. It’s tragic how such wonderful people could develop this deep hatred for each other. With bad blood between these groups now spanning generations, its clear there will be no easy resolution. A two state solution would only give Israel a hostile neighbor in an already volatile region, and your opponents another potential weapon. Yet to refrain from such a solution would be to continue oppressing a people that absolutely have the right to self rule.

I hope that Palestine will gain its freedom, and Israel will gain an ally in its Arab neighbor. If God is willing, peace will come tomorrow or in the near future. But from what I’ve seen thus far, that’s a big maybe.

Due to a combination of laziness, constant activity and surprisingly, writer’s block, there has been a distinct dearth of posts in the past few weeks. Here’s a brief summary of what I’ve been doing to bring you up to speed, with extra photos to compensate for the lack of creative prose:

Andaman Sea
After weathering the bone-numbing cold of China’s winters and the ind-melting heat of Myanmar’s summer, I was ready to set aside some time for more relaxed travel. Enter the turquoise waters and refreshing sea breezes of Thailand. We spent two full weeks enjoying the turquoise waters and refreshing sea breezes of Ko Lipe and Ko Phi Phi. Our daily activities was usually some mixture of sun bathing, snorkeling, trekking, rock climbing and generally having a good time.

White Desert
This was our first time this trip that we had ventured beyond Asia, and discovered a less conventional locale for surf and sand in Egypt. The White Desert proved to be spectacular and the harsh, wind-swept beauty literally moved Sarah to tears. She ended up developing a special bond with Mona (the name she gave her camel), and our Bedouin hosts ensured crackling bonfire evenings. Sleeping out in the open desert under the stars is a magical experience - I witness three shooting stars in the span of 15 minutes!

Sinai
The Red Sea is legendary amongst divers for its crystal clear waters with visibility up to 40 meters. After having earning my Advanced Open Water certification there, I can attest that it does not disappoint. Some of the more memorable moments include brilliantly colored cuttlefish, night diving with lion fish and free falling to depths of 30+ meters through canyons in the ocean floor.

I was pleasantly surprised to have found several urgent emails from a number of friends who were concerned that Sarah and I might have been caught in the devastating wake of Cyclone Nagris. To alleviate any outstanding concerns, I thought I should announce that we are completely safe.

We actually left Yangon nearly two weeks ago, and have been lazing away the days on some of Thailand’s most beautiful islands. Being on the Andaman Sea meant we were on the fringes of the storm but the worst that we experienced was an extended down pour and heavier than usual winds - nothing compared to the monumental suffering the Burmese must cope with.

This shares some similarities with our Tibet trip. We spent nearly a month there, and shared a magical time with many locals while we were there. Yet only a couple of weeks after our departure, we started reading the early reports about the escalating violence that would consume Lhasa. Some of the travelers that we had traded stories with over beers were trapped in the city, literally barricaded for days within the tenuous safety of our hostel.

As we start the next leg of our journey in the Middle East, I’m really starting to appreciate the luck we’ve had thus far avoiding serious tragedy. Knock on wood.

Edit: We weren’t exactly at the epicenter of the earthquake that has rocked the Sichuan province in China, but we did pass through the nearby city of Chengdu.  Since this happened months ago, its not quite a close call, but still worth noting given Rajiv’s theory #2.

It is hot in Myanmar. Due to some rather unfortunate planning, I find myself here at the peak of the dry season, when the entire country has been blanketed by an oppressive heat that beats down in relentless waves. Wandering down the street near Shwedagon Paya, it feels as though I’m breathing in the moist, stale air that someone else recently exhaled. Average highs are around 40 degrees Celsius and naturally there’s precious little reprieve to be found as the incredibly rare air conditioner and ubiquitous but weak fans are both subject to regular power outages. No wonder Lonely Planet deems April in Myanmar hell month.

In these stifling conditions, I’ve gained a new appreciation for that glorious natural resource that most Westerners take for granted: water. I’m constantly bathed in sweat and must consume 2-3 liters of water each day to remain hydrated. I take multiple showers throughout the day to cool off. Yet the Burmese have a much deeper appreciation that brings their relationship with water to an almost spiritual level. As one monk told me, the rivers and streams are the life blood of Myanmar. And they joyously welcome the coming of the new year with Thingyan, the Water Festival.

A Buddhist holiday, Thingyan was traditionally a time when scented water would be sprinkled over the head of a worshiper to wash away their sins. These days, its morphed into a no-holds-barred splash fest, with throngs of children, armed with buckets and water guns, waiting next to the side of the road to douse drunken revelers as they pass by on foot, bicycle, motorbike or open-air jeeps.

In downtown areas, the Burmese stand on massive wooden stages and wield hoses which project water with stunning, riot-control force. Everyone is dancing with reckless abandon to bone-shaking Burmese rock emanating from every car and stage. Regardless of where you go in whatever city, over the course of these 5 days you will be absolutely sopping wet within 5 minutes of stepping outside. As you might imagine, its a welcome change give the current weather conditions.

Whether its due to the cool water, the fact that its a holiday or the free flowing beer and whiskey, the Burmese manage to reach new heights of warm friendliness during the festival. Everyone you pass has a genuine, warm smile and wave to offer and most of the time, a splash or three of water to accompany the greeting. I’ve been offered the opportunity to both give and take, hopping on the backs of random trucks and jeeps to party underneath stage-induced waterfalls and laughing along with an army of children as we create a torrential downpour on every vehicle that passes us on the road.

Sadly, Thingyan has come and gone. Once again, the country must cope with the blistering sun and its hot, humid breath. But at least for a little while, we had managed to find a piece of water-soaked heaven in the hell that is Myanmar in April.