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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.

Shortly before leaving Seattle, I stumbled across a new retailer at Bellevue Square Mall while doing some holiday shopping. At this point, I had already begun planning my travels in earnest, and being the gadget geek that I am, was constantly looking for versatile, effective gear.

Having lived in the Pacific Northwest for the past 5 years, I’ve become a bit spoiled when it comes to outdoor performance apparel. Yet even the highest quality trekking clothing doesn’t quite work for travel, as they tend to come in bright (dare I say garish?) colors and patterns. I needed something that would transition more easily between the jungles of Burma to the urban equivalent in Tel Aviv.

Enter Nau, a brilliant new startup based out of Portland. Started by one of the co-founders of Marmot and former execs from Patagonia and Nike, their clothing is developed with three fundamental design principles in mind: beauty, performance and sustainability. The net result is a buttery soft micro fleece made completely from recycled polyester and styled like a motorcycle racing jacket or a pair of trendy 100% organic cotton trousers that have been treated with DWR. None of their clothing feature logos of any sort, and its also worth mentioning that they donate 5% of every purchase to a non-profit of your choice!

Enthused about my new find, I quickly picked up a few select articles, knowing that these would be the only clothes I would carry with me for a year on the road. Thus far, I’ve been incredibly pleased with how the clothes have held up under the rigors of travel. I’ve lost count of how many travelers I’ve met who have marveled at how small my backpack is, and I’m convinced this due in part to the small, but efficient Nau wardrobe I’ve invested in.

Here are some thoughts on what I’ve been wearing for the past 4 months:

Profile Fleece
As mentioned above, its styled like a motorcycle jacket, with micro fleece on the interior and a smooth exterior that enables it to easily layer under a hard shell. Relatively thin for the warmth it provides, it rolls up tight and takes up much less space in a pack than a “traditional” fleece. It’s been an essential insulating layer for me both in the frigid winters of northern China and Tibet, as well as the occasional Thai bus that has set its air conditioning for arctic freeze. I also appreciate the hidden chest pocket which I constantly used to safely stash my passport.

Asylum Jacket
The hood of this storm shell blends seamlessly into a high wrap-around collar, which provides that little bit of extra protection from the elements. The hood was designed to be helmet compatible, so it layers well over a wool cap, but its light enough to be worn without insulation underneath in tropical downpours. Hmm… The matte finish on the jacket doesn’t resist the grime of travel all that well. Over the past few months, daily wear has caused it to develop a permanent dark mystery layer in a few places.

Base 2 Wool Shirt
Made from finely spun merino, this shirt has made me a true believer in the wonders of wool. It somehow regulates body temperatures, so that it provides a surprising amount of warmth for its weight in colder climes, yet is breezier than cotton in heat. It naturally wicks sweat and tends to resist odor. This shirt comes with a small side pocket that blends into the seams - useful for room keys, for instance. Since it dries much more quickly than my other shirts, its been my daily wear ever since Thingyan has started. Hmm… The seam in one particular area is starting to come loose, though it hasn’t gotten any worse in the past 2 months.

Cargo Pants
I wanted a basic pair of cotton khaki trousers, but even here Nau has exceeded my expectations with little extras. They mixed just a touch of spandex into the fabric, so that the pants stretch nicely for more athletic endeavors. I’ve hiked up steep trails in the Tiger Leaping Gorge and played pick-up soccer in Laos in these these trousers and never once did they impede my movement. The cargo pockets have been sewn into the seams so they blend into the profile of the pants, which is appreciated since nothing screams BACKPACKER! like jarring, slapped-on cargo pockets. Hmm… I doubt there’s anything that Nau could do to solve this problem, but these pants are now sporting multiple stains from eating greasy street food that just will not come out.

Nau also interacts with their constituents by holding regular contests where people can send in pictures of themselves sporting Nau clothing.

Guess which satisfied customer won a merino polo this month?

We’ve been in Laos for a week now, and spent most of that time up in the northern end of the country, where diversity is high but incomes are low.  When you walk into ethnic minority villages where no one speaks Laos, let alone English, communication can be an issue.  Curious adults want to know where we’ve come from, how long we’ll be here - essentially conversations that require a degree of vocabulary that we sorely lacked.  With children, its much easier.  They just want to play!

With all the time we spent playing in the villages, I began to appreciate just how innovative their games were.  I wouldn’t necessarily categorize the people we met as impoverished; everyone we met were subsistence farmers and hunters, and always had plenty to eat.  But they certainly lived a life free of many of the worldly possessions that Westerners wouldn’t dream of living without.  Absolutely none of the children had anything that could be considered a toy.

You might not realize this, but thong sandals are incredibly aerodynamic.  From what I could make out, the game is played by tossing your sandal some 10 meters away.  Your friends then take turns trying to make theirs land as close to yours as possible.  The more skilled kids got some serious frisbee-esque lift out of their footwear.

Apparently dirt can be just as fun.  In a different village, kids eagerly helped us dig up small rocks to use as crude marbles.  Once you’ve got enough, you cup one hand against the ground and take turns trying to flick the rocks into the “pocket.”  I grew bored of this pretty quickly, but I’m not exagerating when I say the kids played this for hours on end.

The best game that I found also happened to (not surprisingly) be the dirtiest.  The place that we spent the night in had a village center, with a ring of benches set up for special ceremonies.  The children there had developed a unique form of tug-of-war that I haven’t seen before.  One kid would sit down on the ground, and wrap his arms and legs around the legs of one of the benches (which was firmly embedded in the ground).  The next would then sit behind the first with his arms and legs wrapped around his torso.  The third would then link up behind the second so that eventually there formed a chain of miniature humans.  The child that was “it” had to then pull his buddies off the bench, one by one, with the end result being a giant cloud of dust within which writhed a giggling mass of little limbs.

Let the record state that it took all dozen kids working in concert (and then some) to pull me off that bench.

Special Note: Its a shame that we haven’t been able to capture some of the remarkable scenes we’ve come across - in a cruel twist of fate, we dropped our camera in 6 inches of muddied water just as we started trekking into the remote hills for a closer look at the “real” Laos village life.  If you’re wondering why there haven’t been new pictures posted, we finally acquired a replacement just yesterday.

I have some fond childhood memories of good times spent in Disney World. The whole family would pile into the minivan, and we would cruise down I-95 along the Eastern seaboard. Along the side of the road were multitudes of billboards, all building up an attraction called South of the Border. You’re inundated with commercials for this place as you drive south, but when you actually pass it, there’s surprisingly little to see.

Yunnan is one of the more remote province in China, and accounts for fully half of China’s 56 minority ethnic groups. Coupled with this diversity are some of the most incredible landscapes I’ve ever seen - its no surprise that this region has become something of a backpacker’s mecca. Its name translates literally into South of the Clouds, and unlike Carolina’s highway amusement park, this place definitely lives up to the hype.

The vast majority of our time was spent in a Naxi town named Lijiang. Here, its easy to rent bicycles and cruise from village to village, getting a taste for the local life. Even though Lijiang is relatively close to the equator, its nestled in an alpine valley so the air has a cool crispness to it year round.

Here, I encountered vistas that were so achingly beautiful, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. It’s not unlike those times when I brushed up against a high school crush - there’s a rush where I would clench up inside, and find it difficult to breathe.

Every available surface has been lovingly cultivated so that no matter where you look, there’s lush agriculture and vibrant green to greet your eyes. In the distance, the imposing Jade Dragon Snow Mountain looms overhead, breaking up the deep blue sky with the soft white of fresh snow. At dusk, rays of sunlight splinter through the clouds to reflect golden fire off of scattered rice paddies.

In the Tiger Leaping Gorge, massive granite cliffs hold a silent vigil above the churning turqouise waters of the Jinsha river. Across the chasm, an aging, gap-toothed Naxi man rests on his haunches on the side of the trail, gathering sour grass for his evening meal. Herds of goats graze peacefully while perched precariously on steep precipices. Village life here seems to have remained simple, isolated and untouched for an untold number of centuries.

I must confess that we’ve become a bit addicted to this bucolic lifestyle and have spent far more time here than we originally intended. Still, the road beckons, and its time to move on.