OTY: I trusted my intrepid Two Stroke Saab to carry me from Boston to Alaska. And though I left a blue cloud in my wake (owners needed to pour oil in with the gas at every fill-up), the tin can managed to survive the Alaska Highway. The three cylinders would get me enough power to skim the washboard road bed. The only relief came where the Canadian road crew had saturated the road with water, creating a slurry that hardened into a smooth surface. After rattling the car and my bones for miles upon miles, driving on these rare sections was pure bliss. More relief came on reaching Laird Hot Springs that offered an exquisite soak in the moonlight. Shafts of light pierced the birch tree forest. Half submerged, naked figures passed through these shafts in a silent reverie, like nymphs in a magic wood. It was a rustic fountain of youth. I rose from the soothing bath, renewed for the rest of the journey to Ferry.

OTA: Though I have taken advantage of various odd forms of transportation during my world travels, I tend to be skeptical of some local airlines in foreign countries. Often they use older planes and their maintenance standards may a little lax. But sometimes you just have one option. And you cross you fingers. On our descent into Yangon, towering cumulonimbus clouds hung over the City. Now I have landed in a small commuter plane just ahead of a colossal front of cumulonimbus, and I never want to have that thrill again. I was not looking forward to the flight path. Michele admired the view and kindly pointed out all the landmarks. “Look there is the Ayeyarwady!” Not Now. I will see it later…if we survive. Much to my relief, the pilot managed to weave between the dark ominous towers. Houston, the tin can had landed.