Osh Bazaar was a hive of activity. Endless arrays of fruit and vegetables, clothes and mops, electrical components and everything else the people of Bishkek could possibly want were on offer. It also had a contingent of policemen, two of whom were watching me, though I didn’t know it at the time. Suddenly I spotted what I was looking for – a stand peddling kumis, fermented mare’s milk. 

Even though I’d tried the hideous stuff in Almaty, I was eager to give it a second chance. Perhaps the Kazakh kumis I’d drank had been from a bad batch. Peering into the large urn, I mimed to the lady in charge that I’d like a cup of Kyrgyzstan’s national drink. After the usual confusion, she produced a bowl and ladled the white liquid in for me. I handed over thirty som (40p) and took my brew to the side where I could sample it unhindered.

“Paul, what are the chances that we will see a polar bear today?” asked Maureen, an American  traveler on her very first trip to northern Canada.

Paul, our guide, had just immobilized our minibus on the shores of Hudson Bay, the starting point of our hike. 

Binoculars in hand and with the hint of a smile, he replied, “Look! There's one right in front of us.” 

In a split second, my seven companions and I were looking out the windows. Indeed, a polar bear was resting on top of the rocks less than 50 meters away. 

Wrightwood, CA. A ski town just 1 – 10 hours away from LA, depending on traffic. Mark and I were excited for our fully stocked, rented weekend cabin. It belonged to a friend’s soon-to-be ex-wife. We were on our way from LA and I was hoping she hadn’t slipped dog pee in the orange juice. 

Mark: I’m really excited to go skiing again! How are you not excited about going skiing again? And the whole thing’s so cheap!

Me: They’ve got one hill, right?

Mark (laughing): Two. They’re supposed to be good ones. Are you sure you don’t want to go?

     Truth be told, I had no idea where or what the Vosges were. To be even more honest, I didn’t even care much. As I was staring at the board in the gym that featured the upcoming trekking destinations, all I could think about was, “Where do I sign?” And all it took for me to decide was that one picture of an inn and the following caption: “Le Hohneck à 1366m”. 
     The French are all about nature. They love all kinds of woodsy/outdoorsy activity, like trekking, climbing, backpacking and mushroom gathering. Naturally, the university trekking group was very organized and, as I found out, not for the faint of hearts. I was always a fan of extremes and quite fit thanks to my martial arts training, but even, so this proved to be a challenge to me as well. 
     I put my name on the list, fished my trekking shoes from the depths of my closet, packed my light green backpack, and got myself to the meeting point. It was a cold Saturday morning and at the train, station my colleagues were chatting vividly, the early wakeup not causing them the least discomfort. I didn’t mind not knowing anyone; I just enjoyed listening to the musical sound of this foreign language.