Kimberlyland

I emerged from my apartment this morning groggy and preoccupied (thanks to multiple 70+ hour work weeks in a row) and was welcomed by the most beautiful spring day I've ever seen. Suddenly the whole day was better before it had even begun. Thank you, sunshine! 

Show us a photo of somewhere you want to go.

Hydropolis and iPad. The World manmade islands. Souks and sultans. I will be there in 23 days... but who's counting?

Hydropolis: world's first luxury underwater hotel

You can see it all too clearly from the plane, welcoming me home. Sigh.

In the air

It will be a relief. To be honest, I hated this program. Fasting is hard, and the point is to be someplace you're totally relaxed and where you can focus on yourself and on your experience. Instead, I was annoyed by everything (and not just out of fasting bitchiness -- that went away at day 4): the program grounds, which are inconveniently spread out (not to mention there's construction! Didn't I leave the dusty Olympic construction site that is Beijing to get some peace and quiet here?!), and the bungalow, which can be described as uninspiring at best. The mediocre beach and generally un-picturesque surroundings. This especially is a big drawback for me, given my new penchant for taking photos.

In all fairness, I've never found a fasting program I've really been happy with, which is why I try a different one each time. Turns out this schedule is jam-packed with lectures, which for a first-time faster is probably a great thing, but I've learned all I want to know about nutrition, food combining, and how awful alcohol and meat are for me. Yes, I agree that they will probably kill me -- and to a certain extent, I'm ok with that. I will never live on a tropical island on a raw diet of fruit and nuts, give Reiki and talk to my inner child. I came here to get away from schedules and do My Own Thing. Classes, aside from yoga, were not part of my plan.  

What usually pushes me over the edge is the people who run these programs, because their perspective is generally so far removed from mine that relating on any level is nearly impossible. Still, I gave the first class a try, just to see. I'd heard great things about this woman and was curious why she has such a following... but she disappointed me by lecturing on information right in the materials she'd asked us to read. Fine, no epiphany here -- but I couldn't help thinking, why assign reading if you're just going to talk through it all in class?

The next day, feeling ridiculously crappy, I let her know I wouldn't be coming to class. She surprised me by _insisting_ I come, saying very forcefully how important the classes are. Hang on, I wanted to say, I'm not asking permission, just letting you know out of politeness! What is this, high school? Well, I didn't have any trouble cutting class then and I certainly don't now. *grins*  

Anyways, you get the jist. It was still worth coming – I feel happier, healthier and altogether better for having fasted 7 days. If nothing else, the program made me happy to go back to my real life... and considering I was feeling a wee bit fed up with it before, that's no small thing.

Life in any major city is sensory overload. Bright lights, honking cars, rumbling buses, banging construction, and the all-too-frequent whiff of something rotting or sewage-like. If you're a city person, this is part of what you love.

The tropics have their own kind of sensory overload. This morning I woke up to the most amazing cacophony of birds: aside from the standard cheep-cheep tweet-tweet variety, which were deafening on their own, there is a shocking variety of tone, song, and melody. My favorite are the woop-woops, whose deep and resonating, er, woop, is totally distinctive from all the other higher pitched tralalas of the songbirds. I was surprised to find the sex bird here too. I have no idea what the bird actually looks like, but when one lived outside Mom's apartment in Hong Kong she was desperate to get rid of it because it kept waking her up early in the morning. The call rises in pitch, intensity and frequency, and is remarkably similar to what you would hear if your neighbors got it on at 6a.m. every morning. If you ever hear it, you'll know what I mean.

Then there are the colors, which after the grayness of Beijing winter make me almost wince, they're so bright. The different blues of the sea and sky, the lush greenness of plant life that bursts from every possible surface. And the smells! Sweet honeysuckle whose perfume, I'm convinced, could actually make you drunk. The air is so heavy with warmth and wetness and sea and smells it is a joy to just breathe.

Every once in a while I imagine what it would be like to live in a place like this, and then remember that you can only love it this much if you don't come very often. Or so I tell myself. 

That's what this is all about. I tried not to pack anything unnecessary, and the majority of my (small) suitcase was books and bikinis. Other essentials included shampoo, conditioner, soap, toothpaste, toothbrush and floss. Noticeably absent were anything containing chemicals or that I use to try and look good: make-up, perfume, jewelry, hair dryer and other various accoutrements.

It's not easy to go au naturel for 9 days. I feel bad for women who *must* wear make-up to leave the house, especially if they put it on just to go sweat it off at the gym, or to get coffee in the morning. I don't think they're really trying to impress their barista (well, some might be) but guess they're so used to wearing it that they think they look bad without it. I'm not different from them -- I do look better with with makeup, so yes it is hard to feel like you look ok without it -- but fight the urge to try and look good all the time. It's important to be at least comfortable with yourself as you are, which for me is slightly pale and under-age looking. ;>

Fasting helps you reconnect with your body... in ways you don't even want to hear about. For me it's less about self-image and body than an exercise in reconnecting with your mind. My life revolves around food, as does most everyone else's (to varying degrees). Eating is one of our most basic, fundamental and enjoyable habits. When and what I eat dictates my schedule, my social life and how I feel. Remove eating and the complete structure and framework for the day is gone -- and for me, the elimination of that structure liberates my mind. Without getting too metahysical on this, it basically means I am free to do, think and feel without the barriers of regular life. Not eating does the same for the body -- without all that food to digest three times a day (or in my case, every two to three hours) it is free to focus on all sorts of neglected things that it just doesn't usually have time to deal with. It's hard to believe, but coming out of this you feel like a whole new person.

So, let the fast begin.

I left the office Friday after scrambling to finish my work and wrap up every possible loose end, and pretty much fell into the taxi to the airport. This was the point I'd looked forward to for the past three months: vacation. My first real no-work-at-all vacation in a full year. I heaved a sigh of relief and let my brain sink into lala land, reveling in the sudden feeling of weightlessness. I'd planned everything perfectly and was right on time, as usual. On time for me is early for everyone else -- I'm a firm believer in getting to the airport early, having experienced much airport stress traveling in developing countries where processes aren't so smooth.

The first hint that things weren't going to go as planned should have been when my luggage almost got sent to India. (Me to check-in person: "Why is there a transfer tag on my bag?" Check-in person: "So your bag will continue on to India." Me: "But I'm not going to India, I’m going to Bangkok." Check-in person dashes after my bag, which is halfway down the belt...)

I walk away congratulating myself for paying attention. Until I get to the customs counter.

I'm chatting on the phone (yes I know you're not supposed to do that, but I've just managed to connect with my sister in the US and am not going to hang up unless they insist). The customs person asks when I last entered China and I half-heartedly try to remember... maybe September or October? Then I notice she's not letting me through, but is flipping through my passport, examining each page. I hang up in a hurry.

I'm escorted to one of those little rooms in the back. Turns out I've overstayed my visa by 41 days -- apparently "multiple entry visa" means each stay 30 can be up to days, and then you have to leave the country and return. Oops, missed the fine print on that one. I don't bother to mention that if that's the case I've overstayed several times before...

My flight is in one hour. There are several options: play the dumb foreigner card (pretend not to speak Chinese and feign total clulessness), fight, or cooperate. I've learned that playing dumb doesn't work in complicated or time-sensitive situations, and anyways, foreigners are getting less special treatment these days (this is a good thing). Fighting isn't an option since I don't have much of a leg to stand on. So, apologize it is.

Luckily, speaking Chinese wins me big points. There's a whopping fine for overstaying -- nearly $700 in Chinese yuan -- but I blink only a minute because it's going to get me on that plane in 55 minutes. I chat briefly with the customs officials, apologize for the oversight, and then haul ass outside security to the airport entrance and push my way through the throngs of people to the nearest ATM machine (of course they don't take credit cards, it has to be cash). And then realize I left my Chinese bank ATM card at home because it wouldn't do me any good in Thailand.

Now I'm starting to sweat, because I know there's a limit to how much I can withdraw using my US ATM card.  Sure enough, only $300. Shit.

Then I dig into the US dollars I'd changed for the trip and run to the nearest money exchange counter. I'm about to feel relieved when they remind me I've reached the limit for changing USD into Chinese yuan. I'm fucked.

30 minutes left until boarding time. I run back to those little offices and start to panic, imagining missing this vacation because of not being able to withdraw money I *have*. I was once detained overnight at the Beijing airport because of a journalist visa snafu (that's another story) and know if I can't come up with the cash that they won't let me go. I am officially out of ideas. I get back to the little office, take one look at nice Mr. Customs Officer, and burst into tears.

Now, let me say here that I'm not the tears type. I'll admit to batting my eyelashes on occasion (c'mon, you do it too), but draw the line there. I've never turned on the waterworks in a relationship, speeding ticket, or any other situation. I'm incapable of crying on demand, and anyways think it's stupid. No tears.

Except now I'm crying. I'm trying to compose myself, but the thought of missing my vacation makes it hard for me to get a grip. Nice Mr. Customs Official now has a distraught foreign woman on his hands, and is clearly flustered (apparently tears really DO have that stereotypical effect on men). But we're friends, and he's decided he's going to help. He winds me through the airport to another faraway money exchange counter, announces that I have a flight to catch, that I need to pay a fine, and could they please help change my US dollars. I don't have high hopes as I slide the bills across the counter, because as soon as they swipe my passport they'll see I'm at the exchange limit.

But miraculously, the uniform seems to have the desired effect. They hand me the money in a matter of seconds. Mr. Customs Official and I run upstairs to sign the paperwork and then to customs. I am so grateful to Mr. Customs Official, but manage only a very heartfelt thank you before being whisked through the customs line, just in time to catch my flight.

In a few hours I'll be en route to what will certainly be the most unusual way I've ever celebrated Christmas: alone, on a beach, far far away from friends and family. Wait, it gets wierder -- I'm not going to eat. My season of indulgence will be spent fasting, hiking, doing yoga and reading in a little hut on the beach. To most people it sounds like the worst way to spend the holidays, but to me it is the best possible way to end an intense, exciting and challenging year -- resting and relaxing in preparation for the next one.