Travel | Kelsey Timmerman

The Most Interesting Man in the World is Interesting

By Kelsey

Jonathan Goldsmith, the actor who plays the Most Interesting Man in the World in the Dos Equis commercials, loves Mexico.

On a recent flight on Frontier Airlines I read his “10 reasons I love Mexico” in the on-flight magazine Wild Blue Yonder. At the end of the list the editors added a short bio:

Turns out the veteran actor, who had roles on TV shows like Dallas and Dynasty–plus dozens more–may actually be just a bit more interesting than his commercial creation. Mr. Goldsmith’s next adventure is aboard his 47–foot sloop, which he plans to sail down to the Sea of Cortez to retrace John Steinbeck’s research journey in 1940.

It seems that Goldsmith just might suffer from The Most Interesting Man in the World Syndrome named after the character he brought to life. Sad irony.

The thing is, Goldsmith’s 10 favorite things about Mexico aren’t all that interesting. He loves the beach, people, mountains, etc. Boring! I thought I would rewrite them for him still using his “likes” but spicing things up a bit.

10 Reasons the Most Interesting Man in the World loves Mexico

1. I love the people.

The women want me and the men want to be me.

2. And SCUBA diving as well

I once taught a school of hammerhead how to hunt.

3. I adore the food

If you are what you eat, I’m a hot tamale and I’ll kick your ass and make your eyes water.

4. The Water

Sometimes I walk on it.

5. The Fishing is Wonderful

I pluck my chest hairs, weave them together to make the strongest fishing line known to man. I once caught a great white shark using my chest hair line. It only took 15 minutes to get the shark to the boat. By then my chest hair had grown back.

6. The Sun is Superb

I have no tan lines. In fact, I don’t tan at all. My natural color is dark and mysterious.

Also, my head of hair is so lush that it converts sunlight into oxygen via photosynthesis.

7. The Women are Voluptuous

The Most Interesting Man in the World doesn’t kiss and tell…oh wait…I do. The women break like so many waves upon my sandy shore before fading back to sea out of energy and satisfied that they reached the destination they longed for their entire lives.

8. I also like Copper Canyon

The copper tastes good and the canyon is fun to jump across.

9. And the Mountains

I once shed a tear in the mountains when I saw my amazingly handsome reflection in a stream. The tear landed on the dry ground and a palm tree sprouted. The tree was cut down and sold on eBay for $100,000. A jewelry box was carved from the tree and sold by Lloyd’s of London for $10,000,000. If you think about it, I could raise enough money to end world hunger with a few good tears. Too bad I have nothing to cry about.

10. And the baroness and exquisite loneliness of Baja California

If I don’t spend some alone time with my thoughts, they get jealous. So does the Baroness.

Travel

Africa calls

By Kelsey

“You can leave Africa, but Africa won’t leave you.”

That’s what the high-powered executive told me after I mentioned my upcoming trip to Kenya. He spent three years in Africa teaching English when he was in his early twenties. He never said what it was about Africa that makes it not leave you, but I expect he might not know.

That was on Wednesday night.

Today I saw a friend’s Facebook post that Africa was calling him to return, Liberia specifically.

I’ve visited sunny beaches and shantytowns around the world and, I must admit, it’s the beaches that tend to call for my return. (Oh Na Pali coast of Kauai, how I long for you!) Sure, I’ll never forget the dump I visited in Cambodia, but I have no desire to return.

While in Bangladesh, Bibi Russell — fashion model/designer/UN Envoy/living saint — told me that “Beauty lies in Poverty,” forever changing the way I saw the world and leading to this paragraph in Where Am I Wearing:

The world we come from seems to be less real in comparison to Bangladesh . A child’s laugh when surrounded by our modern luxuries isn’t as beautiful as Arifa’s daughter’s on a sultry day where hunger wakes her before the heat. A mother’s smile while chopping veggies on the floor seems more genuine than an American mother’s while dishing out mac ’n cheese onto an Elmo plate. Nothing—a smile, a laugh, not even a single pair of underwear—is taken for granted.

Beaches can be beautiful, but so can people. Is this what calls for the executive and my friend to return?

I’ll be spending much of my time in the slums of Kibera. Here’s a video to give you an idea what it’s like.

There are flying toilets! This video hits you hard enough without the smell, and from the looks of things the smell must really be something. Does this look like a place that you would want to visit once, let alone return to again and again?

When I leave Africa, will Africa NOT leave me?

I’ll find out in 50 days.

—

If you’re interested in joining the cause and getting your name in the credits in a documentary about Kibera visit www.heldhostagebyapathy.com.

Travel, Uncategorized

The safest place in Hawaii during a tsunami

By Kelsey

I spent the better part of my Saturday hoping that Hawaii (and everywhere else in/on the Pacific) didn’t get blasted by a tsunami. Eric Harr — CARE representative, IronMan, journalist, and Twitter-fiend — posted a video of his view from the relative safety of the Four Seasons in Kona.

This got me thinking about the time I hiked on Mauna Loa. There’s no chance of a tsunami getting you up there, but the lava, the boredom and the lack of water might.

I dusted off an old column about the hike…

Life, Death, and Lava
(I wrote this in 2002. It was one of the first pieces I ever tried to publish. I think I got paid $15 from some long-forgotten website for it.)

I scream. Silence.

That’s how it is on Mauna Loa, one of earth’s most active volcanoes – no one can hear you scream.

A fly lands on my arm. I am lonely so I talk to her. No response. I imagine that she is relieved to have found another living thing. She flies away. Surrounded by death, again I am alone.

Mauna Loa is the most massive feature on the face of the earth. From nearly 40,000-feet beneath the Pacific, Mauna Loa, Hawaiian for Long Mountain, rises 13,000-feet above water. The weight of the mountain depresses the sea floor three miles.

It takes two days to hike the 18-miles to the Summit cabin.

The beginning of the trail is a worn, dirt path that winds its way through scrawny trees surrounded by small pathetic ground cover. Volcanic rock, rounded from weathering, hints at the power beneath. With each step there is a little more black and a little less green, a little more death and a little less life.

The sun has dropped into the ocean and a cool mist begins to fall. Hypothermia is not something I thought I’d have to worry about in Hawaii, but I’m becoming a little concerned.

I enter the Red Hill cabin shivering and climb into my sleeping bag, trying not to think about the emptiness outside and of that within.

My knees protest as I come to my feet. This second day of hiking is becoming monotonous. The summits of mountains, and the climbs to them, often provide us with sweeping views and broad vistas, but this is not the case here on “Long Mountain.” It is so big that when on it, all that can be seen is “It.”

Mindlessly, I follow the rock cairns marking the trail, a walking machine trudging along up the enormous shield volcano. I curse the crumbling-under-foot, sharp-edged lava known as ‘a`a. It causes my ankles to roll and threatens to cut me if I fall. I much prefer the smooth rolling pahoehoe.

My existence on Mauna Loa is reduced to gibberish: when I find a stretch of Pahoehoe – “Yoohoo!” and when I am forced to cross a patch of ‘a`a, “Uh-oh.”

SPAM is a staple food in Hawaii and, for some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to subsist solely off various flavors of the canned meat during my hike. There was chicken SPAM for breakfast and Ham SPAM for lunch. I couldn’t tell the difference.

When I reach the Summit cabin, my legs heavy from the altitude, I can’t help but dread another meal of SPAM.

It’s a Mauna Loa mountain miracle when I find a MRE left behind for emergencies. Is this an emergency? Heck, yeah! I eat the MRE and leave behind the SPAM, a food that I believe has no purpose other than emergency sustenance.

With my stomach full and my morale high, I walk to the edge of the caldera where I sit dangling my feet over the edge. I kick loose a lava rock that falls 150-feet to the caldera floor where it shatters like glass.

I count the number of places on the floor from which steam rises. I reach nine when a wall of white mist rolls through the caldera. Mauna Loa has erupted 33 times since 1843, most recently in 1984, and to watch the white mist block out my view is somewhat unnerving; even if it’s only a cloud.

Lava, tectonic plates, and hot spots, are forces that have been at work for billions of years. I sit pondering my twenty-two and what logic led me to walk up this god-forsaken hill.

Hawaii is one of the world’s most magical places with its steep-sided, lushly vegetated cliffs, and valleys carved by streams ending in magnificent waterfalls. Hawaii is paradise – at least most of it is – and here I sit, staring at lava, sick of lava.

Mauna Loa, along with Mauna Kea, and currently erupting Kilauea, formed/are forming the Big Island. First erupting at the sea floor one-million years ago, it took Mauna Loa 500,000 years to break the ocean’s surface. Eventually through erosion, atmospheric seed dispersal, and displaced birds carried by the wind to the middle of the Pacific Ocean, the island, like its’ sisters, was turned into a tropical paradise. Without the lava nothing would exist. It is a testament to the persistence of nature that a force that initially yields death, and from where I sit appears to have nothing to do with the living, ultimately births life.

In the middle of the Pacific Ocean, I sit alone watching the sun creep towards the black barren horizon, a fly on the arm of Mauna Loa, pondering life, death, and lava.

Travel

Should I have my appendix removed before I travel?

By Kelsey

Pending my release from being held hostage, I’m only a few months from Africa. Now is the time to start thinking about vaccinations and pre-trip doctor visits. That said, I thought I would dust off a piece from my travel column days and a photo of my brother with Malaria in France after our trip to Honduras. Good times.

An Appendectomy to Go, Please

I’m not hardcore I have an appendix.

Legitimate children of Adventure prepare for their travels and expeditions for months if not years. They look into every possible problem and how to prevent it. The worthless appendix is like a time bomb to these neurotic adventurers, lying in wait to go off at the most inopportune times. In the body, the appendix represents an X factor that can destroy years of planning, but in a glass jar soaking in formaldehyde at their bedside, it is a testament to the lengths they’re willing to go to avoid failure. Illness is not an option, but an appendectomy is.

My appendix sits useless at the bend of my large intestine filled with bubble gum and jaw breakers swallowed from a sugar-coated childhood. To insure healthy travels I am not willing to undergo surgery, but an upcoming trip requires that I visit a doctor.

“Hello, I’m here for a physical”

“Do you have insurance?” I hand her my card. “I’ve never heard of that company before, sorry.”

“I’ll just pay it myself. It’s a physical how much can it cost?”

“Hmm…A self pay physical?” Apparently I am entering uncharted waters. She leaves the room and comes back with a large white binder. She thumbs through the pages with long sighs of annoyance. “That’ll be $275.92. You must pay now.” Her voice is filled with sharp-edged victory.

I hesitate, and then pull out my checkbook. I turn my gaze towards the examination rooms and my thoughts linger. What a wonderful world must exist behind that door. I almost here the soft chamber music, I long for the pre-exam massage, my palate anticipates sweet wines and bubbling champagnes, my back foresees the heavenly support of the Tempur-Pedic examination table, and my skin rises to goose bumps with the thought of silk examination gloves.

“Uh-hmm…excuse me sir. You can make the check out to Ben Dover M.D.”

What am I doing? I’m about to place the decimal on the check when the three digits to the left, once written down, return me to my senses. “Isn’t that price a bit expensive? What is it without the holistic healing benefits of the day spa?”

She looks at me with a fair amount of disdain. I close my checkbook and run for the door, “No thanks.”

Hours later I am sitting in a waiting room watching Montel on a TV older than me. The plastic chair creeks with each movement and occasionally grabs flesh in one of its larger cracks. The room smells like a drunken bum who has doused his body in rubbing alcohol in an attempt to cool his bright red burning skin.

It’s a short wait, and after a few pokes, prods, deep breaths, and coughs, I am written a clean bill of health without so much as a cherry sucker.

“Ok, the price of the exam is $40.00 minus the $15.00 coupon…your total is $25.00.”

I smile, pay, and begin converting my savings of $250.92 into massages, bottles of wine, and cherry suckers.

Although it may be the last way you want to spend the money stashed away for your travels, a visit to a physician for a physical is not a bad idea. It gives you a little one-on-one time with a medical professional who can address any health concerns or problems that you may have.

Before you go research required and recommended vaccinations for the destination(s) you will be visiting, at The Center for Disease Control and Prevention’s website. Discuss these with your physician and lay out a plan for immunization. Some vaccination series may take up to two months to complete so make sure that you plan accordingly.

The possibility of illness and disease when traveling must be kept in perspective. If the CDC had its way the perfect traveler would be covered head to toe to protect against malaria, dengue, filarsis, leishmaniasis, onchocerciasis, and trypanosomiasis. He would never taste the authentic delicacies of street side vendors in order to avoid cholera and typhoid fever, he would never dip a toe in freshwater no matter how perfect the swimming hole for fear of schistosomiasis, he would walk around with a wide-brimmed hat and large dark sunglasses to prevent skin cancer, and he would never play with monkeys in order to avoid rabies and the plague. Add a mask to prevent the inhalation of airborne illnesses, and the perfect traveler is…Michael Jackson (minus the whole not petting monkeys thing).

Get the necessary vaccinations to protect against scary multi-syllabic diseases, but whatever you do, don’t walk away from the doctor’s office with the completely untreatable disease of paranoia. It is bound to take away from the genuine experience of travel.

And if you’re hardcore, or looking to become hardcore, broach the subject of your appendix tactfully with your physician. “Yeah, Doc I want to have my appendix removed.”

He’ll push and prod with latex or silk gloves, depending on your wealth, “Does that hurt? How about this? It looks fine to me. Why do you want it removed?”

“The truth is, Doc, I wanna be hardcore.”

Travel

Joshua “You Better Belize It!” Berman

By Kelsey

Buy Moon Belieze by Joshua Berman

Ever feel like your guidebook was a travel companion who made suggestions and wry comments that were spot on?

A few years ago when I was in Nicaragua that’s how I felt while using Moon’s guide by Randall Wood and Joshua Berman. I was traveling alone, but I wasn’t.

Me and my guidebook had full conversations from subjects such as Sandinistas to drug running. And it was always there with a joke for me to laugh at. But for some reason, it never laughed at my jokes.

And did you ever throw down your guidebook on the middle of a dusty street and yell, “You’re not the only one that’s interesting, buddy. You’re all smug with your photos, maps, and histories of banana production. I could burn you, you know. One flick of a match and whoosh, all that wisdom and wit turned to heat and light. Screw you!”?

And then after that did you ever you walk directly into the part of town that you shouldn’t walk in at any time, proceed to get pummeled by a group of teenagers who end the pummeling by giving you an atomic wedgie? And then did you – post-wedgie – crawl back to your guidebook to apologize.

I didn’t think so. (cough) Me neither.

Anyhow, although I’ve never met Josh, I feel like I’ve traveled with him. Plus we’re in an elite group of travel writers that have recently reproduced, including Matt Gross, Jen Leo, and Michael Yessis. Someday all of our kids will be in therapy together.

Josh has kindly agreed to introduce us to Belize the subject of his new Moon guidebook. Word has it that Josh has a Monday thru Friday collection of “You Better Belize It” T-shirts. I was lucky enough to receive a copy of the Belize guide and now I’m just itching to dive into the nearest blue hole.

Take it away Josh…

–

Hola, Kelsey! Thanks for having me. It smells so fresh and neutral over here in your corner of the blogosphere, as if you were filtering your flatulence (which would be crazy) or throwing away your underwear when they got dirty (which would be plain weird), instead of leaving them laying around among the old coffee cups like a respectable writer. But I digress.

I wanted to let you and all your travel-underwear-engaged-consumer friends know about my new edition of Moon Belize. I know you’ve never found a “Made-in-Belize” label in your gear (there is no garment industry there, unlike the rest of Central America), but please hear me out anyway:

Belize is the smallest, least populated, most diverse, only English-speaking corner of the continent. It has the hemisphere’s longest barrier reef, hundreds of islands, caves, ruins, protected forests, and … chocolate. Mmm … ancient, sacred, organic chocolate

A thousand years ago, Maya kings and priests drank cacao as a spiced beverage. The seeds were used as currency and jewelry, carried in long canoes to Copan and Tulum, and other trading posts along the coast. Today, cacao is still an export and the entire Belizean organic- and Fair Trade–certified crop is purchased by international chocolatier Green & Black’s, which you can find in many supermarkets around the world.

I recommend you go to southern Belize to examine the effects of Fair Trade chocolate industry and tourism on the lives of modern Maya. It would be a great chapter for Where Am I Eating? The best time to go would be the annual Cacao Fest in May. The tranquilo cottage industry will be out in full force with lots of cultural events and parties. If you miss it, you can still go any time of year (though I would avoid hurricane season in September and October). Stay with a cacao-growing family in their village, or since you’re a high-rolling, big-shot travel writer now, go for luxury; get a babysitter for Harper and take the missus on this Valentine’s Day chocolate tour (for a cool $3700 per person)?

Actually, there is a fantastic assortment of accommodation for all budgets in this area, which I detail in Moon Belize. When I took my family to southern Belize last year, we stayed at Hickatee Cottages and visited Cyrila Cho’s home and chocolate workshop in San Felipe. Her son, Juan runs the farm and her daughter, Abelina, helps host visitors and teach them how to make chocolate by hand (my 9-month-old daughter, Shanti, loved it).

Travel

Running the NYC marathon vs. being held hostage by monks

By Kelsey

( 11/13: I had a typo on my time. I ran the marathon in 4:40:03 not in 4:04:03. My brother, Kyle was aghast at the typo. You see, he ran the Louisville marathon in 4:20:00 and it would be devastating to his ego if his little bro topped his time. Of course I was nursing a bum knee, the marathon was so crowded that our first two miles took us 32 minutes, and I was running with two other guys which meant that we stopped for more water breaks more than if I had been running solo. But I’m sure Kyle won’t take any of that into consideration. But hey, I’m smarter and better looking than him, so why not throw him a bone now and again. Congrats Kyle!)

The first time I visited New York City doesn’t really count. I was help hostage by Nepalese monks somewhere in Brooklyn.

As hostage-takers go, they were okay. I got four square meals a day and my own room. But I wasn’t able to go anywhere on my own. If I wanted to go for a walk someone went with me. If I wanted to see the city, a monk took me to Madame Tousseau’s as if that was all there was to be seen.

Monks are supposed to be peaceful, but their torture was particularly sinister. Hour after hour, I was forced to watch home movies from some Nepalese wedding reception. Nepalese danced. Nepalese laughed. Nepalese smiled and made faces for the camera. It was painful.

Almost as painful as my second trip to New York City to run the NYC marathon.

Did you know that a marathon is 26.2 miles?

That’s a long way.

I started training in June. I worked my way up to runs of 16, 18, and then 20 miles. I burned through packs of Gu, bottles of Gatorade, and running shoes. Everything went great up to a month before the race. And then I couldn’t run a mile without a sharp pain in my right knee.

I’d felt the pain before. It was illiotibial band syndrome. I stopped running for three weeks and began stretching. I swear half my calories came from Advil. At T-minus 10 days I got a cortisone shot. I did two runs of less than 7 miles pain-free and hoped that I would make it through the race.

Marathoners are gross.

We converged on Staten Island at 7 AM – all 44,000 of us. The damp ground turned to mud. It was cold. Someone heard about a guy passing out hand warmers. We found the poor guy. I think I saw a runner wearing his pants later.

The port-o-johns violated all codes of decency and probably some by the EPA. It was survival of the fittest. The fittest had toilet paper. The others, well, we pitied them.

Cattle have a better since of direction than runners trying to find the starting line. When we crossed it we were surprised, “Oh, I guess we start running now.”

I ran with Larry. Larry who works at my publisher. Larry who asked me to run with him and when I said maybe, he heard, “yes.” Larry who I emailed every Saturday after a long run and we’d compare how much our bodies ached.

At mile three my knee started to hurt. So much for cortisone. At mile 11 my knee went numb.

Brooklyn was awesome. It was a 15-mile street party with choirs, bands, DJs, and people reading the name on my shirt and rooting me on in a variety of accents, “Go Kelsey…Looking great Kelsey…All the way Kelsey.”

In Brooklyn I forgot about my legs.

Crossing from Brooklyn to Manhattan on the longest steepest bridge in the history of architecture, morale started to fade. Amid the shuffling soles and the huffing and puffing, one runner shouted, “Feeling strong! Who’s with me?” or something like that. I didn’t hear her. My blood and nerves were maintaining only the most necessary functions, and “rah rah” wasn’t among them. We never heard her again. I think the runner who stole the handwarmer guy’s pants might’ve nudged her off the side of the bridge.

Miles 15-22 were fine. With a nod or a point I acknowledged the folks who rooted me on by name.

But miles 22-26. I can only think of one thing to compare it to…

…(and I say this with some authority)…

The last 4 miles were more painful than being held hostage by Nepalese monks.

But that finish line, oh how sweet the sight.

Those who’ve had near death experiences say that life flashes before their eyes. When I looked at the finish line, I saw every training run. I saw Harper’s limp little fingers hanging onto the side of her stroller on a hot six-miler in June. I saw the deer that I scared up on a 20-miler. I saw all the folks who donated to my cause – Team Continuum – and shared their cancer stories and words of encouragement.

My time was 4:40:03. I finished 29,989^th.

At the finish line I wasn’t near death. I was anything but. My heart pounded just fine.

I smiled like I’d won the lottery. I raised my hands above my head and clapped as if I’d won Wimbledon. (If you want a good laugh take a look at some action shots of me clapping and my inability to hold my left hand in any sort of manly fashion while running.)

It was a near life experience.

Travel

Where in the World is Kelsey?

By Kelsey

You never know where in the world Kelsey will turn up or why he is there. He went to Bangladesh because his underwear was made there. He went to Romania to spend the night alone in Dracula’s Castle. And no one is sure why he went to Kosovo. He claims it was to PlayStation, but that doesn’t make any sense at all, does it?

Lucky for you, to win a HD Video Flip camera plus a few Frommer’s travel guides all you have to do is guess Kelsey’s secret location, not his motives. Each week you’ll be presented with photo of the location and video clues, and if you correctly identify what country Kelsey is in, you’ll be entered to win.

Winners will be randomly selected in order to prevent Kelsey from rigging the competition so his cat, Oreo, wins. The grand prize winner will receive a HD Video Flip camera plus a selection of Frommer’s travel guides. Two runners-up will also receive a selection of Frommer’s Travel Guides.

Entries will be accepted from Nov. 1 to Dec. 31 and you can enter daily. That means you can enter 61 times. If you can’t get 1 of 61 guesses right, you probably should work on your geography.

Click here to see the full contest details. And when we say full details, we mean 1,573 words of lawyer-speak.

You never know where in the world Kelsey will turn up or why he is there. He went to Bangladesh because his underwear was made there. He went to Romania to spend the night alone in Dracula’s Castle. And no one is sure why he went to Kosovo. He claims it was to play PlayStation, but that doesn’t make any sense at all, does it?

Lucky for you, to win a HD Video Flip camera plus a few Frommer’s travel guides all you have to do is guess Kelsey’s secret location, not his motives. Each week you’ll be presented with photo of the location and video clues, and if you correctly identify what country Kelsey is in, you’ll be entered to win.

Winners will be randomly selected in order to prevent Kelsey from rigging the competition so his cat, Oreo, wins. The grand prize winner will receive a HD Video Flip camera plus a selection of Frommer’s travel guides. Two runners-up will also receive a selection of Frommer’s Travel Guides.

Entries will be accepted from Nov. 9 to Dec. 31 and you can enter daily. That means you can enter 53 times. If you can’t get 1 of 53 guesses right, you probably should work on your geography.

Click here to see the full contest details. And when we say full details, we mean 1,573 words of lawyer-speak.

Travel, Where is Kelsey Contest

A question to ponder while I’m on the road

By Kelsey

Today I’m speaking to a sold out crowd at the Friends of the Amherst Library’s Annual Author Luncheon. I’ll be gone all day. It’s a 4.5 hour drive. I have to be there by 11, which means I have to get up WAY too early. By the numbers: I’ll be driving 9 hours to speak for 1.

That said, I’m really looking forward to it.

Here’s your question:

If you could go anywhere that was a 4.5-hour trip (plane, train, or automobile) away, where would you go? (Bet it’s not Amherst!) Post in the comments below and/or tweet me @kelseytimmerman (I need something to keep me busy while I drive clear across Indiana and Ohio!)

Travel

Record NPR-quality audio from your travels

By Kelsey

I’m back on the World Vision Report this week with my piece about rescuing a bird in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

I’m especially excited about this piece because it’s set to sounds I recorded with my mini-disc player I purchased before my 2007 trip. I’m pretty much a beginner when it comes to recording audio, but the folks at the World Vision Report have been awesome and offered great advice.

The only other piece that features audio captured while traveling was my interview with Bibi Russell in Bangladesh.

Sometimes I record the essays at home using my mini-disc player, and other times they have me record at Indiana Public Radio’s studio on the Ball State campus. Either way, I’m coached by a producer. I have a way of dropping T’s and doing other lazy thing with this fat southern-ish tongue I have in my mouth.

If you’re interested in recording audio on your travels, I have this mini-disc recorder and this mic.

Transom.org is a great place to get started learning about the process. They have a really great interview in which This American Life Host Ira Glass gives his radio Manifesto. I use Audacity (it’s free!) to edit my audio. Mainly I just cut it and let the pros do all the fancy layering and other stuff. The version of Audacity I use has a tendency to lock up, so I save often. I probably should download the latest one.

My biggest problem with recording is how the presence of a mic held in ones face changes their behavior. Heck, sometimes I think my moleskine notebook gets in the way. The best quotes and conversation always seem to take place when my hands are free and I’m focused on the person who I’m talking with 100%. This is definitely something I’m going to have to get over.

If you want to hear more of my essays on the World Vision Report, here they are!

My flickr photo set from my escapades trying to Rescue the bird in Cambodia…

Travel

The World’s Craziest Traveler

By Kelsey

As someone who has had to answer the question, “So what brings you to Bangladesh?” by holding up a pair of Jingle These Christmas boxers and saying, “My underwear were made here,” some might think I could vie for the title of The World’s Craziest Traveler.

But there’s a whole level of crazy that can’t be matched by underwear quests funded by second mortgages.

I was working at an adventure outfitter in North Carolina, when I encountered the craziest traveler I’ve ever met.

“I need a sleeping bag,” the man said, “a warm one.”

He looked normal enough: well dressed, bathed, no slobber.

“Where you heading?” I asked, expecting to hear something about the nearby Blue Ridge Mountains or maybe even a trip to the Rockies.

“Turkey.”

“Turkey?” The question was out there before I saw the twinkle in his eye. The twinkle that said, “I’m nuts and could pee in the corner or eat long underwear or book a trip to Turkey for bold and exciting and spiritually life-changing reasons that I’m about to tell you about for the next two hours.”

And he did.

The only thing crazier than the look in his eyes was his mission. He had been reading the Bible and noticed a pattern of prime numbers.

“Remind me, what’s a prime number again?”

Anyhow, this pattern of prime numbers had tipped him off to the location of Noah’s Ark on a mountain in Turkey and he was going to need a really warm sleeping bag because it was a really tall mountain and their was tribal infighting in the region that would make staying at a guesthouse difficult.

My co-worker knew his daughter and that he was recently divorced. His jittery hands hinted that his long nights pouring over the Bible were accompanied with a steady supply of stiff drinks.

Whether he had found religion or was looking for it, was anyone’s guess.

We didn’t have a sleeping bag prepared for the elements he would be facing and would have to order one in. But before we did, my co-worker and I discussed if ordering him a new bag with full knowledge of what he intended to use it for made us complicit in his imminent death.

We ordered it and then didn’t see him until months later. He was alive and looked mostly sane.

I was dying to know what happened in Turkey or if Turkey happened at all, but I didn’t ask. I knew he hadn’t found the Ark. That’s the kind of thing that you would hear about. But I was concerned that he would tell me what he did find, whether it was religion or himself or a Turkish bride.

Besides, I didn’t have the time to listen. I was planning my own trip to Honduras because that’s where my favorite T-shirt was made.

–

Got a candidate worthy of the title The World’s Craziest Traveler?

Travel