Up Where I Belong

By Alli Sinclair

I took this photo in 1994 at Base Camp on Mera Peak in Nepal. It was my first-ever climbing expedition and this trip awakened a passion for mountain climbing and travel that has never left me (and I doubt it ever will).

At a height of 6,476 metres (21,247 feet), Mera Peak isn’t for those wanting a Sunday stroll. I took this photo the day before we arrived at the summit and my life changed forever. Standing on the top of Mera Peak, overlooking the 8,000 metre peaks of Mount Everest, Lhotse, Cho Oyu, Makalu, and Kanchenjunga, I discovered my ability to push myself beyond the physical pain and mental torment of climbing at high altitude. This awareness changed my whole philosophy on life, and at the age of 24, I realised the only limits are the ones we place on ourselves and once we smash those down, we can achieve almost anything we set our heart and mind to. Eighteen years later, and I still believe this is so.

How about you? Have you ever had a life-changing moment while traveling?

What if? The Story Of Joe Simpson And Simon Yates

West Face of Siula Grande -- Photo by J. Bryndell

A lot of great ideas for memorable stories start with “what if?” What if a young farm boy is destined to save the galaxy and his job is to kill his enemy, who happens to be his father? What if a robot is sent from the future to kill the mother of a future resistance leader? What if a couple of climbing buddies have an accident and one of them has to make the decision – cut the rope and save himself or stay with his friend and they both perish? They’re all interesting premises for stories, right? But what if I tell you the latter happened in real life? What would you do if you had to make this choice? 
 
Touching the Void is Joe Simpson’s account of the ordeal he and Simon Yates endured in 1985. Determined to be the first team ever to summit the west face of Siula Grande, a mountain in Peru, Simpson and Yates set out on an adventure that ultimately changed their lives. After summiting successfully, they descended via the north ridge, and that’s when the trouble began. Simpson slipped down an ice cliff and broke his tibia and knee joint. As their expedition had taken longer than expected due to bad weather in the days prior, they were dangerously close to running out of fuel for their stove, which meant they couldn’t melt ice to water, a necessity for keeping hydrated at high altitude.

 

Dark skies announced another bout of stormy weather and daylight started to fade, along with their hopes of surviving another night on the mountain. They needed to descend 3,000 feet to a glacier below, but Simpson’s injuries made it a very difficult, and dangerous, task. The quickest way was for Yates to belay Simpson down, so they decided to tie two 150 feet ropes together. When the knot on the rope refused to feed through the belay plate, their problems increased ten-fold. Darkness surrounded the men, and the increasing winds whipped up ice particles, obscuring their vision. Yates found a way to continue lowering Simpson, but it took a while before they realised Simpson was dangling over a massive cliff face. Simpson tried to work his way back up the rope but because of badly frost-bitten hands, he couldn’t tie the knots needed to successfully ascend. During his attempts, Simpson accidentally dropped one of the cords needed to get back up the rope.

With stormy conditions, his climbing partner hanging over a cliff, and equipment not working properly, Yates had a myriad of obstacles to overcome. The pair remained in the same position for some time, but snow gathered around Yates’s belay, and it became obvious his strength and equipment were about to give out. Yates had to make a decision – cut the rope and save himself, or stay tied to Simpson and both of them be pulled to their deaths.

Yates cut the rope.

Simpson plummeted in the dark and landed in a deep crevasse. Yates dug a snow cave, survived the stormy night, and descended the mountain the following morning. He found the crevasse Simpson had fallen into, called out numerous times for his friend, but didn’t receive a reply. Assuming Simpson had died, Yates continued on to base camp.

Unbeknownst to Yates, Simpson had very much survived. He’d landed on a small ledge 150 feet down in the crevasse but had lost consciousness, which is why he hadn’t heard Yates. After he’d come to, he realised Yates would have presumed him dead and moved on. The only way for him to make it out alive was to abseil to a thin ice roof further down the crevasse and traverse along the glacier. The five mile journey took three days and without food and virtually no water, Simpson crawled and hopped to base camp. He reached camp a few hours before Yates had intended to leave for civilisation.

In Touching The Void, Simpson takes the reader a traumatic journey that blows the mind of most people, including climbers. His captivating writing helps us understand his emotional and physical challenges and why he doesn’t blame Simon Yates for cutting the rope. Simpson has said in many interviews that had he been in Yates’s position, he would have done exactly the same.

During many of my own climbing expeditions, someone has inevitably brought up the, “What if you had to cut the rope?” question. The debate would rage on for hours with some fellow climbers saying they had no qualms about slicing the rope if they had to. Hearing this the night before I was due to rope up and climb a mountain with them left me a little nervous, to say the least.


When I first stepped into the world of mountaineering, I learnt very quickly that this sport is undertaken by nature lovers, risk-takers, and people with wills of steel. Spending weeks, and sometimes months, in the wilderness with a small band of people creates a camaraderie I’ve not experienced in any other situation. The friendships that are made are deep, in the moment, and will continue on long after the climbing gear is packed away. With the elements working against us a lot of the time, there’s nothing to do but rely on a fellow climber and at times, put your life in their hands. Even now, after numerous expeditions, I find it extremely difficult to imagine what Joe Simpson and Simon Yates went through.

Since Touching The Void, Joe Simpson has written the sequel, This Game of Ghost. In Ghosts, Simpson bares his soul and tries to analyse what pushes himself, and others, to the limits, and why he takes the risks he does. Simpson has a tendency to get into all sorts of strife while climbing, and he’s had many more close calls since his fateful trip in Peru, but none of this has slowed him down and lucky for us, he documents his adventures beautifully in fascinating books. His other titles include The Beckoning of Silence, Dark Shadows Falling, and Storms of Silence. They all follow Simpson’s amazing life and delve into his deepest thoughts and emotions. Reading about Simpson’s adventures makes one wonder at how resilient the human spirit is.

You don’t need to be a mountaineer or to have camped in a tent to be enchanted by Joe Simpson and his stories. I can guarantee once you’ve read Touching The Void, you’ll be hunting down more of his books. Who knows, you may be inspired to undertake your own adventure. His books are addictive, and the ease with which he weaves a story will leave you emotionally exhausted and playing your own game of what if? 

I have to ask. If you had to make a choice between saving your friend and living, or both of you perishing, what would you do?

Leaving Footprints, Taking Memories

High Camp. Mera Peak, Nepal

During the 90’s and the 00’s, I worked in the tourism industry, specializing in trekking and mountaineering around the world. The two companies I worked for were forerunners in eco-tourism—they turned their office practices from paper files to electronic ones before it was commonplace, and they made sure every staff member in the office and out in the field, adhered to a strict code of ethics regarding low-impact tourism. 

This method of conducting business now seems standard with adventure tour companies around the world. Sure, there are a few that disgrace the industry, but I can happily say, most of the companies I’ve dealt with have embraced the philosophy of looking after the pristine environments people pay big bucks to visit. A quick search of the web will reveal a wealth of companies all stating they are eco-friendly, offer low-impact tourism, and so on, but how does one distinguish the truth from the sales pitch? 

Here’s a list of points to consider when deciding which company to book with next time you want to undertake adventure travel in the wilderness:

Does the travel company have a responsible tourism policy? Every company will have a different policy, but the types of things a company should do is make sure the natural and cultural values of the host region are not compromised. A lot of responsible companies work closely with conservation and rehabilitation groups to ensure the area travelled to is not under any threat from outsiders. If you ask for details, the company should be able to provide them for you.

What is the company’s level of engagement with the locals? Companies should employ local staff, services, and suppliers where possible. This approach assists in sustaining local business, bringing income to the local communities, and growing the region overall. It also reduces the carbon footprint by ensuring people and goods are not brought into the region when they’re not necessarily needed. 

Is a cultural exchange encouraged? The travel company should encourage and provide opportunities for the locals and visitors to interact and get to know each other.

What contributions does the company make to the host community? Some companies have special projects in which their employees and/or travelers, spend time in disadvantaged communities to help upgrade facilities such as education, water access, and health. You should also check if the company funnels money into the community for projects such as educating the locals about conservation or health. This information is usually easy to find as most travel companies are happy to promote their involvement, and it’s not uncommon for well-respected companies to have endorsements from organizations such as the World Wide Fund for Nature, or to have been nominated for awards because of their eco-tourism practices.

Uros Islands, Peru

Does the company offer cultural guidelines? Because some parts of the world have strict religious or cultural rules, a responsible company should provide all travelers with a list of what is and isn’t acceptable, in travelling to those regions. The tour guide should ensure that every traveler adheres to these guidelines.

How frequent are the tours and how big are the groups? Check to see if the company runs trips that have small numbers of participants, and how often the tours are. If the company runs trips on a weekly basis and the groups are large, chances are, they’re not considering the impact of tourism on the environment. For example, the growth of the trekking industry in Nepal has resulted in some regions being trashed because of too many trekkers. Eco-friendly companies have gone in to help clean up the mess, and a lot have banded together to petition the government to limit the amount of trekkers a region can have per year. 

Online forums: These are the perfect place to garner information from people who have been there and done that. People on these forums are usually happy to share their experiences, and by asking detailed questions, you’ll quickly learn if the company you’re considering is eco-friendly. Beware of review sites, though, as people who frequent those are usually disgruntled customers who may have a slightly skewed view. It’s usually easy to tell who is complaining because they can, or if someone has a genuine reason. The secret is to ask lots of questions to lots of people so you can get a good idea as to how a particular company fares when it comes to eco-friendliness.

Alli and guide near Aswan, Egypt

When I lived in Peru years ago, the Inca Trail was choc-a-bloc year round. There were no restrictions, and people could go it alone or travel with a local tour company. Some of these companies were dodgy and you could tell they’d been through the area by the amount of rubbish left behind. But the government finally wised up a few years back and put restrictions as to how many people can walk the trail at one time. Now it’s limited to 500 trekkers for the multi-day hike and permits need to be booked months in advance, whereas before 2002, anyone could rock up the day before and get a permit. The only way to trek the Inca Trail these days is by booking with a licensed tour company or employing a registered guide. The hard-core travelers have complained for years about it, but after witnessing the destruction of non-monitored trekking, I agree with the government. As always with life, it only takes a few inconsiderate people to destroy it for everyone else.

So next time you’re considering a trip into the wilds, do some research, ask lots of questions, and enjoy your adventure, happy in the knowledge you’re doing your bit to preserve the culture and nature of your chosen destination.

Food Foibles

It’s quite tough following in the footsteps of Heidi and Alli week after week (and gosh, I’m so glad I get to go before Lina), but this week is especially tough, as both gals cracked me up with their hilarious cultural misadventures. After mining my own faulty memory to share a story that could measure up to theirs, I realized the only good ones I can tell (in this public forum) mostly have to do with one of my favorite topics – food.

To start off, let me introduce you to my old friend, Kelley. She’s tall, blond, blue eyed, and from the American Midwest. She’s also one of the most well-traveled persons I know and picks up languages at the drop of a hat. One fine day, we’re sitting in a Chinese restaurant in downtown D.C. looking over the menu. Two waiters are waiting patiently behind us, smiles on their faces, as they exchange a couple muted words. 

“Do you know what you want?” Kelly asks me, her eyes slowly scanning the long list of items in front of her.

“Yes,” I respond, only to wait a few more minutes for Kelley to decide.

When she finally does, she looks over at the waiters to place our order. In Chinese. The two young men are stunned, quickly take the information down, then scurry away.

“I was ready ages ago but they were complaining about how long we were taking almost as soon as we got the menus. I wanted to see them cringe once they realized I could understand them.”

Moral of the story: always be nice!

Another time, in college in Texas, a group of us friends drove down to Matamoros, Mexico, and gave the servers free rein at whatever eatery we found ourselves in: “Just bring us whatever’s good.” After one particularly delicious appetizer that we’d ordered seconds of and couldn’t stop nibbling on, we begged our waitress to tell us, “exactly what is this?” Who knows, maybe we thought we could try cooking it in our college flats, right?

“It is, um, how you say, mmmmm….,” she answered, searching for the right words to adequately describe this unusual delicacy. “I think you call it … pig fat?” 

Eww.

Later, at a fast food dive in Pune, India (and I’ll never forget this, the place was called Burger King), I tried some kind of hoagie sandwich that had a tender slab of beef tongue. It was quite good till I peeled back the bread and saw that long, pink tongue (it really looked like a tongue) gaping back at me. (Who knows, it probably wanted to lick me back.) Still, I finished it. The sandwich was tasty (ha ha) but not necessarily because of the flavor of the meat so much as the yummy seasonings and fresh bread.

In Houston, eons ago, I had an opportunity to try crocodile meat. I’d heard they tend to be chewy, but these were deep fried nuggets so, of course, they were good and quite tender. And yes, they tasted like chicken. (I’ve never tried them again to test out that rumor).

My idea of adventurous used to be trying out every unusual, weird food given the opportunity. No more, as it turns out. I know an old forest ranger from Ohio who said his family regularly cooked and ate squirrels. Why? Speaking of which, here's another unusual menu item from Iceland I'm unlikely to try...

About a decade ago, I used to go on regular business trips to Denver, where one of the local specialties was Rocky Mountain oysters. These are not a seafood item as you might expect but rather (brace yourselves) buffalo testicles. Yes, really. Check out this minute-long link to an entire festival dedicated to these delicacies in Montana:

I never had the, er, guts to try them out.

Any of you have some foodie misadventures you can share?

Circle of Friends

Photo by Jorge Alfonso

When the topic of misadventures came up, I slapped my forehead, rolled my eyes, and muttered to the muse sitting on my desk, “I’m supposed to write a blog post, not a whole book!” Oh, the stories I could tell (most probably aren’t fit for public consumption). However, one of my favorite escapades is my first experience with yerba mate, a popular drink in the southern half of South America.

At the base camp of Aconcagua, South America’s highest mountain, a band of Argentine park rangers invited me to a yerba mate session. Being the girly swot that I am, I’d read up about this herbal drink and had some reservations. In those days, many travel books, written by people who may or may not have set foot in a particular country, warned travelers about the dangers of this concoction of leaves. “It’s a drug! You’ll get high! You’ll get addicted!” my battered guide book told me.

Not one to take someone else’s word as gospel, I took a deep breath and accepted the invitation with a hesitant smile. I joined the circle of Argentines casually draped across fold-up chairs and waited patiently for the ritual to begin. The person in charge of preparing the drink for the group is a cebador. And depending on where the person comes from, the drink will be bitter or sugar laden. Luckily, my companions on this day were of the sweet mate school.

The cebador arranged the dried, ground leaves in a gourd, sometimes known as a guampa. A bombilla (silver straw) is inserted into the gourd, which is filled once with cool water, then needs time to absorb completely. This protects the herbs from being scalded and won’t breakdown the mate’s nutrients. If desired, the cebador adds sugar then pours hot water, not boiling, into the gourd until it almost reaches the top. Now, it’s ready to drink but the thirsty hordes need to patiently wait their turn.

When the cebador helped himself to the first mate, I nearly fell off my rickety chair. Isn’t that rude? The young guy sitting beside me dug his elbow into my ribs and said (as if reading my mind), “The cebador takes the first drink to make sure the yerba mate isn’t too hot or cold. We call the first drink mate del zonzo—mate of the fool.” Ahhh. That made sense.

Our trusty cebador slurped his way to the bottom of the gourd, leaving a soggy concoction of leaves at the bottom. Without removing the yerba mate, he added sugar and hot water, and passed it to the guy on his right. There were no pleases or thank you’s. When he took too long, everyone shouted, “No es un microfono!” (It isn’t a microphone). With a devious smile he finished and passed it back to the cebador. The mate continued like this around the circle until it was my turn.

The hot metal straw burned my lips, but the liquid slid down my throat in a lovely symphony of sweet herbs. From the first sip, I was hooked (but not addicted!). I drank it all the way to the bottom, happily slurping. In my best Spanish, I said “gracias” and handed the empty gourd back. I awaited my next turn eagerly, and when it came time, the drink was passed in front of me and given to the person on my right.

Yerba Mate tree by Illosuna

Dumbfounded, I ran over what I’d said before. Gracias. Thank you. Not, “Man, that stuff looks disgusting and I can’t believe the communal germs that are all over that thing.” A tad confused, I asked my offsider what I’d done. He grinned from ear to ear, “When you hand the drink back and say thank you,” he explained, “it means you are finished and do not want any more for this session.”

Oh.

I pleaded ignorance and was luckily let back into the precious mate circle. Phew!

Yerba mate is popular in social settings, especially with family and friends. This was one of my first experiences in South America and, for me, it cemented in my mind exactly how friendly these people are. I’d been invited by complete strangers into an intimate gathering, and they didn’t care I’d messed up. Because I’d tried to understand their tradition and made an effort, it was enough to earn my place back into their social circle. This was the first time I’d fully participated in the traditions of another culture and was accepted. I’ll never forget it. And from that day on, my Argentine friends always invited me back.

And for the record, I didn’t get addicted. The yerba mate has a similar stimulant to coffee or tea. And the only high I got was from being at 6,970 meters (nearly 23,000 feet).

Where The Wild Things Are

In the opening scene of my novel, Vestige, Tess Garibaldi stumbles through the Amazon with an enigmatic and oh-so-sexy guide at her side. Nature forces her to confront a myriad of challenges, but she pushes on, shedding her city-girl persona and transforming into an Indiana Jones in heels. 

The old adage “write what you know” comes in handy when creating the types of stories I write. I can pull from my travel experiences, face my own phobias (from a safe distance), and relive thrilling adventures. Not only does doing this make my settings more authentic, it brings back memories of favorite places I’ve travelled to. And one that is on my top five list is Manu National Park, in Peru.

Manu National Park is situated north of the tourist capital of Cuzco (the stepping-off point for trips to Machu Picchu). A recognized UNESCO World Heritage Site, Manu covers an area of 18,811 square kilometres (11,688 square miles). According to scientists, the park has over 15,000 species of plants, and up to 250 varieties of trees can be found in every hectare. Birdwatchers from all over the world travel to Manu to study the 1,000 plus species of birds. The only humans allowed to permanently live in the park are those in the “cultural zone”—several small tribal communities of the Matsigenga Amazonian group. The centre of the park is restricted to scientific and educational professionals who are invited by the indigenous communities. 

When I lived in Cuzco, I had the chance to join a tour at the last minute. Individuals aren’t allowed into the restricted areas unless they are with a certified tour group, so I filled the final spot, packed my bags, and jumped on a bus. We bounced in and out of potholes along narrow roads that hugged the mountainside. I did my best not to gaze into the bottomless canyons only a few feet from where I sat, gripping my seat of the speeding bus. Along the way we visited a cluster of Chullpas—burial chambers that date back to pre-Inca times. Plunging into the swirling mist of the cloud forest, we eventually arrived at a river and transferred by dug-out canoe to arrive at Manu National Park proper.

For ten days, we paddled, walked, climbed, and swam. Nights were full of strange bird calls and howler monkeys screeching overhead. More than once I heard rustling and sniffing outside my tent. And unlike my heroine, Tess, I did not leave the tent to investigate. One of the most memorable mornings started off with our usual early rise (when monkeys chatter above your tent at five in the morning there’s not much choice, really) and a visit to the Macaw Salt Lick. Travelling by boat, we sat underneath a camouflage and stared in awe at the wall of red, blue, yellow, orange and green feathered friends perched happily on the high banks of the river, licking salt from the clay walls. The only place in the world this happens is in the western Amazon where the birds can fill their dietary need for salt.

Our travels took us to Oxbow Lake and our search for the Giant Otter. Once close to extinction, the otters are the world’s largest fresh-water carnivores and are now only found in Manu. Paddling quietly along the lake, my eyes strained to find the tiniest ripple or air bubble on the surface to indicate an otter was nearby. Just as I had given up hope, I spotted one sitting on a fallen log, eating a huge fish. Oblivious to our presence, the otter devoured its meal, slid into the water and dived under, disappearing from view but forever etched in my memory. 

I braved tarantulas (I can’t even begin to tell you how arachnophobic I am), avoided fire ants, got bitten from head to toe by invisible insects and endured heat so intense it makes me sweat thinking about it now. But I survived. And I loved every second of it. Would I do it again? Absolutely! I’ve been to many jungles in the world now, but I’ll never forget my first love, Manu National Park.

So when my heroine Tess is swinging from vines and crossing treacherous rivers, I imagine being in her shoes. The rotting undergrowth makes my nose twitch, the sun burns my skin and I experience the thrill of the unfamiliar, knowing I’ll be a changed person as a result.

Has visiting a particular destination changed you and, if so, how?

A Cultural Paradise

The first time I traveled out of the country I exchanged the sandy beaches in Australia for the tropical shores of Bali, Indonesia. With sweaty hands and a sense of adventure I landed at Denpasar Airport, and made my way to a resort in Kuta, Bali’s tourist hotspot.

Gravel roads swarmed with motorcycles weaving between drunken tourists, mostly Aussies and Kiwis. Mangy dogs hung their heads, foraging in the garbage piles for scraps. Hawkers out the front of restaurants touted their menus and shops charmed punters in to buying a sarong or t-shirt with misspelled slogans in English. And the air hung thick with the aromas of peanut and chili, mixed with the kerosene burners the street vendors used to cook snacks and meals. It was utter chaos and I loved it.

In contrast, the resort was clean, almost sterile, relaxing and… well… boring. Outside the high walls lay an island that begged to be explored. A culture rich in history and religion was waiting to be discovered. It didn’t take long before I cancelled my reservation, packed my bags and headed out to explore the real Bali.

In those two short weeks I climbed up Mount Batur and into the crater, taking care to dodge the pockets of steam pouring out of cracks in the rocks. I snorkeled on a deserted beach on the north of the island and cycled for miles along empty roads with nothing more than rice paddies to keep me company. I ate food I couldn’t recognize and had the displeasure of discovering what Bali Belly really is. But it didn’t matter how sick I got, because I was out there, learning about a new world and in the process of changing my own.

On Lovina Beach I met Ketut, a lovely woman in her early twenties with a smile that radiated from deep within. We befriended each other and she took me to her small village about an hour inland. I met her family and we spent the afternoon laughing and enjoying each other’s company with the help of Ketut’s translating skills. I learned a lot about life in Bali, the culture, beliefs and people and I left the tiny village with a stronger sense of what life could be like outside my own country. This experience catapulted me into a life full of wanderlust and I haven’t regretted it for one moment.

That was more than twenty years ago and Bali has changed a lot since then. The one thing I am positive that hasn’t altered is the essence of the people. Friendly faces greeted me everywhere I went, polite questions were asked with genuine interest and an undercurrent of hope ran through the veins of these people. By the time I landed in Australia, I was already planning my next adventure.

My first overseas trip made me realize I wasn’t cut out for the cushy resort-style holidays. Sure, a bit of pampering every now and again doesn’t go astray, but if I wanted to sit in a resort all day, I might as well head to Port Douglas in Australia. Adventure is an essential part of my being as is my desire to learn about other cultures. I need to get off the beaten track and put myself out there, even if it means getting into dicey situations every now and again. I choose to live the experience, rather than sip a cocktail and watch a BBC documentary (although there have been many days on the road when this has been very appealing!).

So how about you? What did you learn about yourself or the world on your first time out of the country?

Lina’s Story: Every Book Holds an Adventure

I read since I was able to recognize letters. I wrote since I was able to join Russian syllables into words. And I traveled since I was old enough to imagine.

I was one of those kids who read a book a day and even more, if my parents forgot to turn the lights off for the night. I read at dinner, covering the book with the tablecloth. I read with a flashlight under the blanket, and I read underneath my school desk while the rest of the class listened to the teacher. I was already ahead of the game, so while my classmates recited the Russian alphabet, I devoured The Adventures of Thomas Sawyer in translation, hiding it beneath my fat ABC hardcover – without the slightest idea that one day I would be able to read the original in English. 
When my grade moved onto three-word sentences, I moved onto The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

To me, the books and adventures were one and the same. Every book held an adventure, a travel to foreign lands, a journey to the alternate universe, a voyage to a magical land that could only exist between the covers worn out from use – and inside my imagination. The best books were always those that kidnapped me entirely and left me nostalgic after ending too soon. The characters with whom I had just flown through time and space, escaped narrow deaths, and discovered life in parallel galaxies, were gone once the story was over. Then I would pick up a pen and think up new adventures for them – all by myself. 

Growing up in an oppressive society caused many fears, but there was one thing that never intimidated me: a blank piece of paper. Winters were long and time was plenty in the cold snowy city of Kazan, four hundred miles northeast of Moscow. Founded by Tatars – the descendants of Mongolians who shared Turkish roots and language, and later conquered by Ivan the Terrible, my city nested in a cultural niche of its own.

A trip from Russia to New York amounted to twenty hours. A journey into the American culture took twenty years. Somehow, somewhere, I realized that besides writing literature and poetry, I also liked writing crime stories. Maybe it was my childhood desire to see evil being punished or maybe it was because my first English books were mysteries. And since many of them finished too soon, I picked up my computer and started typing my own stories in the language I couldn’t quite speak at the time.

My first novel, Inescapable Presence, set partly in Russia and partly in United States, is an international suspense, set in the early nineties during the failed KGB putsch. The second one, Painstalker, a medical and forensic murder mystery, features Dave Higgins, a half-Irish, half-Jewish, Brooklyn NYPD detective, on the search for a deranged lunatic, killing young women for their ovaries. Dave retires and becomes a private investigator in E-Predators, a sequel and a Clockwork Orange-like thriller for the Internet age. In it, Dave must trace a web-based gang of four sociopathic young men who break into one community’s homes. Lastly, Death by Scheherazade’s Veil, is a bellydance mystery set in Astoria, New York, in which Sasha, a young aspiring dancer, and her two friends embark on solving a murder of their beloved bellydance teacher, a crime deeply rooted in the Turkish cultures and traditions.

Where do I get my ideas? I haven’t quite figured that out. I hear voices in my head. They tell me stories. I write them down. Do you? Tell me!