Yes, it is still summer. However, I am no longer traveling...so, I have a new blog.
It is mostly about my return to the western world and how I cope (or don't) with it. Thoughts, fears, hopes and dreams.
Feel free to read.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Last stop: Montreal... home... ?
One short flight (under 2 hours) and I am flying over the lights of Montreal. I look out the window and see the Olympic Stadium with the dark mass of the Botanical Gardens beside it...downtown looks so small and twee! What will it be like to walk these streets (the order of which I have nearly forgotten)?
Josh meets me at the airport - so nice to have a smiling face there to greet you (not to mention a huge hug!)
Being back in Montreal = weird
Sleeping in my own bed = weird
Knowing friends are in the same city = great, but weird
Seeing Morpheus = weird, he looks different
Walking to the shops to buy stuff to clean the house = feels like I am on holiday, or have experienced a strange time shift; it's like when I first moved to the city except I know more where things are
Trying to fix my ear problem without going to the Dr = warm water trickling down my face
Josh meets me at the airport - so nice to have a smiling face there to greet you (not to mention a huge hug!)
Being back in Montreal = weird
Sleeping in my own bed = weird
Knowing friends are in the same city = great, but weird
Seeing Morpheus = weird, he looks different
Walking to the shops to buy stuff to clean the house = feels like I am on holiday, or have experienced a strange time shift; it's like when I first moved to the city except I know more where things are
Trying to fix my ear problem without going to the Dr = warm water trickling down my face
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Stop 15: Chicago
With leaves raining down like confetti onto the roadway, the bus sped its way to the airport. I am leaving Hawaii, heading to the mainland and that shaky sense of home. There is something ineffable about Honolulu that makes it rather attractive. I mean, it IS beautiful (I've just been spoiled). The thing is, however nice it is, I couldn't imagine living here, though those that do seem to love congratulating themselves on it, almost giving themselves one huge pat on the back (much the same as I do about Montreal I guess). It all seems a little too tinsel town to me, like the city that never grew up, basking in its balmy breezes and palm trees without looking at the natural beauty it eviscerated. This is one of the greatest tragedies of many modern cities, I fear, that they so lack the history (especially architectural) that makes older ones so much more appealing.
Just as some people profess to feeling a sense of place or...humanity in a house, for example, I believe the same can be said for larger human constructs, and Honolulu, in my eyes, feels rather empty - a shell still looking for the thing that used to fill it. That it was sold long ago for negligible profit serves general amnesia well: furthermore, what could be done about it now, anyway? This dull thud at the door of despondency/inability to make a difference once history has swept through is...universal? I wish I could think of more answers instead of questions.
Chicago, by contrast, is such a beautiful city, not in a stuffy, traditional way but a far more fun one; like an adventure playground spilled its boundaries into the adult world. Wandering around, your eyes are truly open to all a modern city can be - and is. Granted, the winters here might suck more than in Montreal (the winds, or that the 'southerners' have less kaputz than their Canuck counterparts?) but wow, this place has a lot to offer! When you're sick of architecture there are parks, museums, and the water: Lake Michigan stretching out like a sea in disguise. From the minute I landed at the airport (just like entering Melbourne), I knew I would like it here. And I plan on coming back - this before this visit is even over!
Just as some people profess to feeling a sense of place or...humanity in a house, for example, I believe the same can be said for larger human constructs, and Honolulu, in my eyes, feels rather empty - a shell still looking for the thing that used to fill it. That it was sold long ago for negligible profit serves general amnesia well: furthermore, what could be done about it now, anyway? This dull thud at the door of despondency/inability to make a difference once history has swept through is...universal? I wish I could think of more answers instead of questions.
Chicago, by contrast, is such a beautiful city, not in a stuffy, traditional way but a far more fun one; like an adventure playground spilled its boundaries into the adult world. Wandering around, your eyes are truly open to all a modern city can be - and is. Granted, the winters here might suck more than in Montreal (the winds, or that the 'southerners' have less kaputz than their Canuck counterparts?) but wow, this place has a lot to offer! When you're sick of architecture there are parks, museums, and the water: Lake Michigan stretching out like a sea in disguise. From the minute I landed at the airport (just like entering Melbourne), I knew I would like it here. And I plan on coming back - this before this visit is even over!
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Befriended in Honolulu's Chinatown
However much I may be underwhelmed by the mass-consumption aspect of American culture, I must admit that its people are perhaps some of the friendliest I have encountered. Take this evening as an example. I had sat nearly all afternoon on the beach (the perils of a good book and a lovely setting) before deciding to do some of the things I'd decided on earlier in the day. I took The Bus towards Chinatown and wandered around the Palace grounds before crossing various highways to get to Chinatown. I'd heard it had lots of small art galleries, restaurants and bars but all I seemed to find were Irish pubs (funny how they seem to be in all parts of the world, even Hawaii's Chinatown) and a handful of dodgy characters, some of whom seemed adamant to get my attention with 'hey baby"s.
I found refuge in a busy Chinese restaurant. Sitting alone for the first time in a week I felt oddly at sea. How did I do this for close to 8 months? The servers asked me 4 times if I was ready to order before I'd even put the menu down...I felt like I was in the way but was determined to enjoy by solitary supper despite the Antarctic conditions - why can't anywhere seem to get air conditioning right? - yet to appease my nerves I got out the bus map to try to figure out how to get to my hoped destination tomorrow. I noticed an older man looking at me but presumed this was due to my idiotic non-application of sunscreen (I had not intended to spend all afternoon on the beach) and subsequent trendy panda look: very white around the eyes but red as a tomato elsewhere.
Next time I look up, there he is at my table, and offers to help me out with the map while inviting me to join him and his friend at their table. Yay! I was all too happy to have some company. It turned out that the two very friendly gentlemen were both architects, had lived in Hawaii for about 40 years and were great dinner companions, funny and interesting and constantly filling my plate with various dishes they'd ordered (although they kept declining my rice...maybe they knew something about the restaurant that I didn't?!) In the end Chris even drove me home, telling me about his family, advising on places to go and overall being such a friendly person.
Perhaps I remind people of a certain age of their children, or look oddly vulnerable with my short height and ruddy (today at least) complection*. I say this as in Kyoto I had a similar experience. Entering a sushi bar I was pointed to a seat next to other westerners (even though others were free). The girl I was sat next to exchanged some small nicety before she continued her loud (maybe drunk?) conversation with whom I deduced were a colleague and her father. There was something about her that I found abrasive and...threatening in a way. Not that she was violent - more that I felt cowed by her presence. So loud, so self-assured and confident. I wanted to have some of that same sense of purpose and the wherewithal to wear short short skirts yet still look business-womanly. However her anecdotes were mildly amusing as overheard dinner talk (was hard not to hear, I think the whole place must have reverberated with her tales of geisha spotting and other slices of Kyoto life). Just as I was wondering when my tempura plate would arrive her Dad swaps places with her and starts to apologize if their talk had disrupted my dinner... I felt bad, because it had and I had been thinking semi-uncharitable, semi-jealous things about his daughter. We proceeded to talk while we finished up our respective meals then they asked if I would like to join them for a drink. It turns out she had been teaching in Kyoto for 4 years and was heading back to the States for a month or so before going to another teaching job in Shanghai.
Going to pay for my meal, I was told that it had already been taken care of. Furthermore, her father would not allow me to repay the kindness by getting the beers at the bar we went to.
Though these acts may seem simple to those with the means and inclination to carry them out, it is such things that can really make a big impression. I don't mean so much getting the bill (which is a tremendous gesture in and of itself) but befriending a complete stranger and making them feel less of one; less alone in an unknown place, less of loose string and part of something. Sharing... I wrote a long e-mail last night which touched on this keystone to life. More on that at another time I think. For now, it is time for me to catch up on lost sleep (noisy road near the hostel, lack of companion to sleep beside, beginnings of a uti - lurvely) amid the warm feelings for strangers who become, even for the briefest of times, friends.
*I deliberated for a long time over the spelling of complection. Complexion came out first, but looked wrong. However, the British way of writing it looks wrong too. The decision on which to use was fraught with overtones of being worried about appearing prissy, stupid, and forgetting my country's way of spelling and saying things.... Still cannot decide which looks 'right', in fact I think it would be best to spell it complekshiun to really throw a spanner in the works!*
I found refuge in a busy Chinese restaurant. Sitting alone for the first time in a week I felt oddly at sea. How did I do this for close to 8 months? The servers asked me 4 times if I was ready to order before I'd even put the menu down...I felt like I was in the way but was determined to enjoy by solitary supper despite the Antarctic conditions - why can't anywhere seem to get air conditioning right? - yet to appease my nerves I got out the bus map to try to figure out how to get to my hoped destination tomorrow. I noticed an older man looking at me but presumed this was due to my idiotic non-application of sunscreen (I had not intended to spend all afternoon on the beach) and subsequent trendy panda look: very white around the eyes but red as a tomato elsewhere.
Next time I look up, there he is at my table, and offers to help me out with the map while inviting me to join him and his friend at their table. Yay! I was all too happy to have some company. It turned out that the two very friendly gentlemen were both architects, had lived in Hawaii for about 40 years and were great dinner companions, funny and interesting and constantly filling my plate with various dishes they'd ordered (although they kept declining my rice...maybe they knew something about the restaurant that I didn't?!) In the end Chris even drove me home, telling me about his family, advising on places to go and overall being such a friendly person.
Perhaps I remind people of a certain age of their children, or look oddly vulnerable with my short height and ruddy (today at least) complection*. I say this as in Kyoto I had a similar experience. Entering a sushi bar I was pointed to a seat next to other westerners (even though others were free). The girl I was sat next to exchanged some small nicety before she continued her loud (maybe drunk?) conversation with whom I deduced were a colleague and her father. There was something about her that I found abrasive and...threatening in a way. Not that she was violent - more that I felt cowed by her presence. So loud, so self-assured and confident. I wanted to have some of that same sense of purpose and the wherewithal to wear short short skirts yet still look business-womanly. However her anecdotes were mildly amusing as overheard dinner talk (was hard not to hear, I think the whole place must have reverberated with her tales of geisha spotting and other slices of Kyoto life). Just as I was wondering when my tempura plate would arrive her Dad swaps places with her and starts to apologize if their talk had disrupted my dinner... I felt bad, because it had and I had been thinking semi-uncharitable, semi-jealous things about his daughter. We proceeded to talk while we finished up our respective meals then they asked if I would like to join them for a drink. It turns out she had been teaching in Kyoto for 4 years and was heading back to the States for a month or so before going to another teaching job in Shanghai.
Going to pay for my meal, I was told that it had already been taken care of. Furthermore, her father would not allow me to repay the kindness by getting the beers at the bar we went to.
Though these acts may seem simple to those with the means and inclination to carry them out, it is such things that can really make a big impression. I don't mean so much getting the bill (which is a tremendous gesture in and of itself) but befriending a complete stranger and making them feel less of one; less alone in an unknown place, less of loose string and part of something. Sharing... I wrote a long e-mail last night which touched on this keystone to life. More on that at another time I think. For now, it is time for me to catch up on lost sleep (noisy road near the hostel, lack of companion to sleep beside, beginnings of a uti - lurvely) amid the warm feelings for strangers who become, even for the briefest of times, friends.
*I deliberated for a long time over the spelling of complection. Complexion came out first, but looked wrong. However, the British way of writing it looks wrong too. The decision on which to use was fraught with overtones of being worried about appearing prissy, stupid, and forgetting my country's way of spelling and saying things.... Still cannot decide which looks 'right', in fact I think it would be best to spell it complekshiun to really throw a spanner in the works!*
Monday, June 29, 2009
First steps back in the West
Although my travels are not strictly over yet, upon arrival in Hawaii I am no longer in the East - I have been catapulted in a metal cylinder towards the west and all it holds. After Japan's concrete jungle, the young verdant islands of Hawaii are like heaven on earth. However, the strange feeling of displacement starts at Narita airport. The Star Alliance airlines seem to occupy one set of gates and during the interminable wait for the plane to board I am surrounded by American accents, brattish children, all emitting a level of sound rather unheard of before, even in Tokyo. Landing in Honolulu is similarly strange, but this time because no-one seems to smile... perhaps because I am nothing new - there are white people everywhere - but it strikes me hard. Everyone seems so surly and, regardless of the State's infamous friendliness, I am left feeling like a piece of dirt more than a welcome visitor.
The drive from Hilo airport to Kona is beautiful; there are waterfalls, spectacular vistas and we pass through rain forests, tundra and strange other-worldly landscapes on the two and a half hour journey. Stopping for shaved ice at a small shop I walk to the back to buy a drink and am confronted by 3 refrigerators full of various options on the same theme. It is overwhelming...I have no idea where there is so much choice and grapple with it all while my eyes boggle. Today I had a similar yet far more extreme feeling at the supermarket in Kona. The aisles full of jars and packets and styrofoam containers containing the same things in different forms. How could we need all this stuff? Why can I buy 4 or 5 themes on the same cereal, multiplied by 3 and sold under 6 different brand names? It seems such a waste of time and energy, not only the production of all this...excess, but the energy it takes to decide which of these products to buy. No wonder advertising is such big business - with so much to choose from at basically very similar quality levels, we need a differentiating factor that talks to us on a deeper level. Does it make me happy? Will it keep me healthy? Will it show me as cool? I find it so hard to believe that I was once capable of going into such huge cathedrals to produce and consumption and finding what I wanted among the shelves. I cannot imagine being capable of doing it again for a long time. A new thought: how can such a place be made to be as uninviting as most supermarkets are? The harsh electric lighting, the clinical feel with the items all wrapped in plastic and stored like bodies in a morgue. As cold as a morgue too, so you feel like you need to wrap up or bustle about just to keep your body temperature normal.
On a similar note, I am currently watching The Food Network; some show is on about cakes... the concept seems to be that you give people a theme and they have to make a cake based on it. Today's show is about Ice Age (the film) I think. What strikes me most is that the emphasis is on cake design - making a cake that is huge and looks just like a cartoon character but with no focus at all on how tasty, let alone edible, the cake may be. Maybe this is what life is all about these days - appearances. Who cares if the inside makes you lick your lips for more, who cares if it is good for you or something you treat yourself to every now and then? We've got the technology to take the fat out of things and inject flavour into protein powder. Go on, all the cool kids are eating it!
The drive from Hilo airport to Kona is beautiful; there are waterfalls, spectacular vistas and we pass through rain forests, tundra and strange other-worldly landscapes on the two and a half hour journey. Stopping for shaved ice at a small shop I walk to the back to buy a drink and am confronted by 3 refrigerators full of various options on the same theme. It is overwhelming...I have no idea where there is so much choice and grapple with it all while my eyes boggle. Today I had a similar yet far more extreme feeling at the supermarket in Kona. The aisles full of jars and packets and styrofoam containers containing the same things in different forms. How could we need all this stuff? Why can I buy 4 or 5 themes on the same cereal, multiplied by 3 and sold under 6 different brand names? It seems such a waste of time and energy, not only the production of all this...excess, but the energy it takes to decide which of these products to buy. No wonder advertising is such big business - with so much to choose from at basically very similar quality levels, we need a differentiating factor that talks to us on a deeper level. Does it make me happy? Will it keep me healthy? Will it show me as cool? I find it so hard to believe that I was once capable of going into such huge cathedrals to produce and consumption and finding what I wanted among the shelves. I cannot imagine being capable of doing it again for a long time. A new thought: how can such a place be made to be as uninviting as most supermarkets are? The harsh electric lighting, the clinical feel with the items all wrapped in plastic and stored like bodies in a morgue. As cold as a morgue too, so you feel like you need to wrap up or bustle about just to keep your body temperature normal.
On a similar note, I am currently watching The Food Network; some show is on about cakes... the concept seems to be that you give people a theme and they have to make a cake based on it. Today's show is about Ice Age (the film) I think. What strikes me most is that the emphasis is on cake design - making a cake that is huge and looks just like a cartoon character but with no focus at all on how tasty, let alone edible, the cake may be. Maybe this is what life is all about these days - appearances. Who cares if the inside makes you lick your lips for more, who cares if it is good for you or something you treat yourself to every now and then? We've got the technology to take the fat out of things and inject flavour into protein powder. Go on, all the cool kids are eating it!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Narita, on the way to Hawaii
Grinning madly, unable to stop this slow yet wild smile spreading across my face, I arrive at Narita Airport, ready to catapult myself into Western society - Hawaii here I come! I woke up this morning and my lips were already forming this smile. And here I sit, trying not to laugh, having skipped through parts of the airport in joy at the prospect of seeing you and sure that people around me fear for my sanity. But not caring. I've waited for this day for months. At times I thought it would never come. But those are words and sentiments you know, and will soon be no more :) Sitting here with hours of sitting ahead of me, my mind is dancing.
So... Japan. I think that really I may have been too harsh a judge on this ancient, intriguing country. It seemed so sterile and robotic after S.E. Asia, so utterly alien and strangely devoid of life. This feeling was probably accentuated by the Japanese mentality - that very contained yet oddly non-egocentric way of doing things. Go on the subway as a gaijin (foreigner) and experience other passengers moving away from you (when possible) even sometimes opting to stand rather than sit in the seat next to you. Experience the sometimes infuriating prompt disappearance of signs in English (Kyoto was best for this) and the wonderful Engrish: great misuse of the English language, best seen on t-shirts, random signs and restaurant menus.
See, I think I did love Japan with all its oddities yet was also rather nonplussed by it. After the overabundance of vitality in S.E. Asia, I think most countries would be somewhat of a...not let-down but certainly rather lacking in vibrancy. It does make me wonder what Montreal will seem like... Further along these lines, I've been slightly disturbed by the thought that Montreal may not feel like home anymore when I get back. The city and its inhabitant will not have changed much, but I have. Perhaps really it is my priorities and I really, truly no longer want to do jobs I do not enjoy, or that drain me of the will to be creative. I do concede that that could have been due to my outlook on life in general after years of feeling like I could not get where I wanted, years of feeling like trapped. It is interesting, yet not surprising to fully comprehend that a lot of that was probably in my own mind. Many of us are trapped by ourselves more than we realise. So, the key thing here for me is to keep from not falling back into those negative, destructive mindsets.
While I'm typing, one of the most annoying, persistent children I've yet encountered (on this trip) has been continuously asking what time it is, shouting at his Mum to do things for him, demanding his sister turn the volume up on the mp3 player whose earphone they're sharing. He must be bored out of his skull!
Whereas...I am excited. So happy at the thought of seeing you, of being on these gorgeous islands, of being surrounded by nature again instead of the seemingly never-ending concrete jungle of central Japan. I would be happy not to eat rice for another few months. I would be happy to be able to strike up a conversation with locals. I would be happy, am happy to know that my return to Montreal is imminent, or at least far closer.
Bizarrely, I am happy to think of the challenges that lie ahead: getting a job, making a career for myself, deciding what to do with my life (would think I'd at least have some idea by now). I'm happy at the thought of seeing my dear friends - it's been so long. Of stroking Morpheus and seeing his purry face in the morning. But the thing that's fuelling this smile the most, the one that even as I write keeps coming and going, fading out and whamming back in again, that I cannot help but feel is helping to radiate this happiness from me, is the knowledge that, very soon (in under 12 hours!) I will be seeing you. Will be able to hear your voice, see you, feel you there. Laughing, talking, smiling. Just being. This makes me jump and skip and grin like a rather addled monkey.
So... Japan. I think that really I may have been too harsh a judge on this ancient, intriguing country. It seemed so sterile and robotic after S.E. Asia, so utterly alien and strangely devoid of life. This feeling was probably accentuated by the Japanese mentality - that very contained yet oddly non-egocentric way of doing things. Go on the subway as a gaijin (foreigner) and experience other passengers moving away from you (when possible) even sometimes opting to stand rather than sit in the seat next to you. Experience the sometimes infuriating prompt disappearance of signs in English (Kyoto was best for this) and the wonderful Engrish: great misuse of the English language, best seen on t-shirts, random signs and restaurant menus.
See, I think I did love Japan with all its oddities yet was also rather nonplussed by it. After the overabundance of vitality in S.E. Asia, I think most countries would be somewhat of a...not let-down but certainly rather lacking in vibrancy. It does make me wonder what Montreal will seem like... Further along these lines, I've been slightly disturbed by the thought that Montreal may not feel like home anymore when I get back. The city and its inhabitant will not have changed much, but I have. Perhaps really it is my priorities and I really, truly no longer want to do jobs I do not enjoy, or that drain me of the will to be creative. I do concede that that could have been due to my outlook on life in general after years of feeling like I could not get where I wanted, years of feeling like trapped. It is interesting, yet not surprising to fully comprehend that a lot of that was probably in my own mind. Many of us are trapped by ourselves more than we realise. So, the key thing here for me is to keep from not falling back into those negative, destructive mindsets.
While I'm typing, one of the most annoying, persistent children I've yet encountered (on this trip) has been continuously asking what time it is, shouting at his Mum to do things for him, demanding his sister turn the volume up on the mp3 player whose earphone they're sharing. He must be bored out of his skull!
Whereas...I am excited. So happy at the thought of seeing you, of being on these gorgeous islands, of being surrounded by nature again instead of the seemingly never-ending concrete jungle of central Japan. I would be happy not to eat rice for another few months. I would be happy to be able to strike up a conversation with locals. I would be happy, am happy to know that my return to Montreal is imminent, or at least far closer.
Bizarrely, I am happy to think of the challenges that lie ahead: getting a job, making a career for myself, deciding what to do with my life (would think I'd at least have some idea by now). I'm happy at the thought of seeing my dear friends - it's been so long. Of stroking Morpheus and seeing his purry face in the morning. But the thing that's fuelling this smile the most, the one that even as I write keeps coming and going, fading out and whamming back in again, that I cannot help but feel is helping to radiate this happiness from me, is the knowledge that, very soon (in under 12 hours!) I will be seeing you. Will be able to hear your voice, see you, feel you there. Laughing, talking, smiling. Just being. This makes me jump and skip and grin like a rather addled monkey.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Another side of Asia: Stop 13, Tokyo
I was thinking that Tokyo would be overwhelming, this vast city (the metropolitan area has over 35 million inhabitants) seemed rather intimidating after what was now the relative known of South East Asia. How many people would speak English, how much of the signage would I understand - or not? In the end, Tokyo seems oddly like the western world - and so very quiet! So clean and calm. Where are the people setting up cooking stoves in the middle of the pavement, where are the children running around, the motorbikes beeping and hooting all over the place, the colours, the noise, the litter, the life? It is so clinical in comparison with Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos etc. that it seems a bit like a ghost town. What I thought would be overwhelming is instead very calm and rather odd...it feels a little bit dead.
This however I am putting down to being exceedingly tired - my flight left Hanoi at 11:30pm and flew in to Narita around 6:30am. Just over 5 hours flying time was filled with the very talkative Vietnamese man next to me asking numerous questions and making conversation, which was nice but when I apologised and said I was tired and needed to sleep the questions continued regardless... oh well, it was nice to have a connection with another person on their way to an as yet unknown city. I am relishing the calm collectedness of this island country and intend to explore it's capital more tomorrow....
This however I am putting down to being exceedingly tired - my flight left Hanoi at 11:30pm and flew in to Narita around 6:30am. Just over 5 hours flying time was filled with the very talkative Vietnamese man next to me asking numerous questions and making conversation, which was nice but when I apologised and said I was tired and needed to sleep the questions continued regardless... oh well, it was nice to have a connection with another person on their way to an as yet unknown city. I am relishing the calm collectedness of this island country and intend to explore it's capital more tomorrow....
Monday, June 15, 2009
Hanoi Airport
Sitting at what seems like the saddest airport in the world for even just 2 hours while I wait for my plane to board is a rather dismal experience. I am not sure if it is due to the communist leanings of the nation's capital, but Hanoi's airport (once past security) leaves a lot to be desired. Maybe this is only because I want something. Since my deodorant stick fell to pieces on the floor this morning (hastily put back together) I have been on the hunt for a new one, and am not looking for a whitening one, which makes the search rather hard. However, I was certain that at least the airport would have a better selection. Oh how wrong I was!
Having got through the vast, slowest-moving airport check-in queue I have ever seen, aided by the continual, non-stop repetitive announcements in a recorded voice conglomerated into words and numbers telling you which flights at which counters are checking in, over and over and over and over again, I finally get through the laxest security ever and into the glories of the duty-free area. Although my eyes have already seen the state of things, my mind refuses to believe it and I obstinately – then dejectedly – walk around looking for something resembling a chemist or at least some signs of toiletry sales. To no avail. However, should I wish to buy chocolates, something from a bad selection of perfume, cigarettes and alcohol or tacky souvenirs of Vietnam, I am in the right place. I guess I'll just have to put up with crazy Japanese prices (or smelly armpits for just over a week)... In the meantime I sit in my hard, cold metal seat while a rather chubby Japanese/Asian child sitting in the seat behind me moves around like someone with ADHD on crack.
I am nervous about Japan – am I going to get by okay? I am also very excited and trying to prepare myself for what I think will be the biggest culture shock of my trip; not only because of the contrast with where I've been for the past 4 months or so, but because Japan is so very different a place from anywhere I've ever been. Well, in about 7 hours' time I will be there and jump right in!
Having got through the vast, slowest-moving airport check-in queue I have ever seen, aided by the continual, non-stop repetitive announcements in a recorded voice conglomerated into words and numbers telling you which flights at which counters are checking in, over and over and over and over again, I finally get through the laxest security ever and into the glories of the duty-free area. Although my eyes have already seen the state of things, my mind refuses to believe it and I obstinately – then dejectedly – walk around looking for something resembling a chemist or at least some signs of toiletry sales. To no avail. However, should I wish to buy chocolates, something from a bad selection of perfume, cigarettes and alcohol or tacky souvenirs of Vietnam, I am in the right place. I guess I'll just have to put up with crazy Japanese prices (or smelly armpits for just over a week)... In the meantime I sit in my hard, cold metal seat while a rather chubby Japanese/Asian child sitting in the seat behind me moves around like someone with ADHD on crack.
I am nervous about Japan – am I going to get by okay? I am also very excited and trying to prepare myself for what I think will be the biggest culture shock of my trip; not only because of the contrast with where I've been for the past 4 months or so, but because Japan is so very different a place from anywhere I've ever been. Well, in about 7 hours' time I will be there and jump right in!
Friday, June 12, 2009
Heading north on the Reunification Express (SE6)
About 2 hours in to the 12 hour train journey from Hue to Ha Noi, the air conditioning in carriage 1 breaks down. Unfortunately, I would only know this if I was traveling in said carriage. As the metal box filled with over 50 people lumbered slowly through the countryside, the heat sneakily increased and the trip, which was previously quite comfortable, became rather unbearable. Unlike the bus, on the train there are no windows in the coach that can be opened to let air through. The only reminder of a breeze comes from young children running past (eventually even they lose the energy to do so) or officials and others walking past. Questioned by the lack of cool air they reply that it will be fixed. This is not a lie - I am sure it will be, just whether in the immediate future remains to be seen.
In the meantime, we fan ourselves with whatever we can find and let our sweat soak steadily into the seats. At least they're not plastic. I hope more people mobilize as the slight movement of air their passing makes feels unbelievably refreshing. The TV plays some Vietnamese comedy show while young children screech and wail in the background noise that my iPod is unable to overcome without deafening me. When not wilting at such a steady pace, such things barely scratch the surface - now (on top of a severe lack of sleep partly due to my obstinate desire to communicate with people back home) it all works to frustrate. I know there is no point in this so close my eyes...maybe sleep will come. The formidable oppressive humidity and heat is like a sauna, the shrill yelps of the woman ostensibly talking on this show jab their way through my skull. How a language can be so beautiful yet so bloody piercing is beyond me. Were this England or North America people would be complaining and demanding some sort of compensation for their discomfort. The people in carriage 1, however, all seem to take it in their stride. Oh well, only another 5 hours to go!
In the meantime, we fan ourselves with whatever we can find and let our sweat soak steadily into the seats. At least they're not plastic. I hope more people mobilize as the slight movement of air their passing makes feels unbelievably refreshing. The TV plays some Vietnamese comedy show while young children screech and wail in the background noise that my iPod is unable to overcome without deafening me. When not wilting at such a steady pace, such things barely scratch the surface - now (on top of a severe lack of sleep partly due to my obstinate desire to communicate with people back home) it all works to frustrate. I know there is no point in this so close my eyes...maybe sleep will come. The formidable oppressive humidity and heat is like a sauna, the shrill yelps of the woman ostensibly talking on this show jab their way through my skull. How a language can be so beautiful yet so bloody piercing is beyond me. Were this England or North America people would be complaining and demanding some sort of compensation for their discomfort. The people in carriage 1, however, all seem to take it in their stride. Oh well, only another 5 hours to go!
Reflections from Hue
Traveling has taught me that I have a lot, yet need very little. That a smile not only makes you happier, but breaks the ice that words cannot: it is universal. That we humans are, on many levels, the same – dreams, hopes, fears, needs and desires
I've learned that no matter how much you sweat, there always seems to be enough fluid inside you to produce yet more, that water and paper napkins/toilet paper are real commodities and that no matter how far you go, how much you see, there is a place called home. This home is more within you than without out, and is ever-evolving (if you let it) and only you really hold the keys that determine what you'll find when you open the door.
Traveling has left other impressions: no matter how hot and bothered you may be, how frustrated and annoyed, anger generally fuels that and staying calm gets you a hell of a lot further. that you should trust your instincts, and that however many new friends you make, you still wish the old ones were there to share moments. That family is a wonderful, amazing thing wherever in the world you (and they) are.
Last but not least this trip has rekindled some of the belief I'd lost in myself and the world around; that i should work towards fulfilling my dreams and that I am a very blessed person. I have so many things I am grateful for and although I don't often understand how I deserve them, I hope that when I return to my 'real' world with all its daily niggles and stresses, I remember to focus on them instead of the negatives. There is so much wonder and beauty in this world, so much to smile and laugh about...hardships (I have seen many) can crush you if you let them. I hope to let them highlight all the good that exists instead.
I've learned that no matter how much you sweat, there always seems to be enough fluid inside you to produce yet more, that water and paper napkins/toilet paper are real commodities and that no matter how far you go, how much you see, there is a place called home. This home is more within you than without out, and is ever-evolving (if you let it) and only you really hold the keys that determine what you'll find when you open the door.
Traveling has left other impressions: no matter how hot and bothered you may be, how frustrated and annoyed, anger generally fuels that and staying calm gets you a hell of a lot further. that you should trust your instincts, and that however many new friends you make, you still wish the old ones were there to share moments. That family is a wonderful, amazing thing wherever in the world you (and they) are.
Last but not least this trip has rekindled some of the belief I'd lost in myself and the world around; that i should work towards fulfilling my dreams and that I am a very blessed person. I have so many things I am grateful for and although I don't often understand how I deserve them, I hope that when I return to my 'real' world with all its daily niggles and stresses, I remember to focus on them instead of the negatives. There is so much wonder and beauty in this world, so much to smile and laugh about...hardships (I have seen many) can crush you if you let them. I hope to let them highlight all the good that exists instead.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Hue
Rambutans are red coloured and hairy on the outside, like a very odd testicle or strange hairy egg. The inside is creamy white and though I used to compare it to a lychee it is surprisingly – given how many I have eaten since I arrived in Asia – only today that I realise how different it is. The flesh is far firmer like a squid, and so much sweeter...in fact I keep tasting hints of homemade strawberry jam (in turn making me think of my Dad, who makes excellent strawberry jam, pots of which I cherish as though they represent pieces of time I missed) mingled with the unmistakable taste of something exotic. This phrase makes me laugh – what is exotic after all? What a cop-out too...but I cannot find words to describe it when other ones are already taking the space needed in my brain.
For some reason I really like Hue. Arriving in the early evening from a long (I lie, only 4 hour) bus journey where the air conditioning was little more than a thin drizzle of cold dog breath (buses here are rarely as advertised: never leaving on time – well, not the time you're told – never stopping at the scenic places they're supposed to, the air/light consoles above the seats nothing other than a courtesy to design,) and finding a reasonable hotel, I walk along the river to the railway station. I love and am intrigued by the feelings you can get from a place. Like people, whose personalities surely play a part and are therefore far more understandable as a source of getting a vibe from them, though I don't think it is the only factor in it, places also seem to send out signals and you can like (or dislike) them on first arrival. Some places grow on you over time...others you may never like, however hard you try. There is something about Hue. It just feels good to me, not like home necessarily, but it resonates somewhere within me.
I am tempted to stay an extra day without having even really seen anything of the city but book my train ticket to Hanoi for the 10th as planned. I'm excited about the prospect of taking a train in Asia, especially as I am taking the day train... over 12 hours of travel: lots of things to look at! Things that, no matter how many photos I may take or words I might use, I don't think I will ever be able to properly portray. This is one of the bittersweet facts about traveling – everything that you'd love to share with friends and family that you can't, because those things are in the air, in the every day experiences you have, in the way lots of Vietnamese people have of breaking out the most endearing, heartfelt smiles; in the diminutive plastic chairs and tables set out in eateries and cafes as though for a herd of dolls; in the people who set up cooking pots or ice buckets in the middle of the pavement to sell grilled meat, rice, drinks; in the incessant stream of bicycles and motorbikes streaming around you as you cross the road; the dust in the air; the bitter, tangy taste of greenery at the bottom of a bowl of noodles and meat or inside hand-rolled rice paper pancakes; the lush green hills in the distance contrasting with the parched sandy earth beneath your feet; the continual calls asking where you are from, how old you are, Manchester United, Vancouver...alright mate, eh?
Maybe some of these good feelings come from the temperature when I arrive. Having come from Hoi An (a town near the coast to the east of Hue) that I thought I would love and continually tried to get the energy to explore more than the intense heat and humidity would allow – and I thought Thailand and Laos were hot! - it seems somewhat cooler here, though that may simply be the time of day. Hoi An is a beautiful town with small streets strewn with tailors, souvenir shops, old buildings and eateries all lit up at night by atmospheric paper lanterns where many tourists go to buy custom-made clothes. I must admit that it was not my intention to make any such purchases while there, however I saw too many things that caught my eye (and were available for crazily low prices, compared to how much they'd cost at home anyway) that there is yet another parcel winging its way to me. My bag however, has somehow gained even more weight and mass than before...I blame it on gifts, which I don't want to send in case they don't reach their destination.
Either way, I spent most of my time in Hoi An relaxing and feeling an underlying tremor of guilt that I should be doing and seeing a lot more than I did. My experience was enriched, however, by following one of the hawker cries that I usually ignored. I was in the market, having just come back from having my second coat fitting and the prospect of a $1 pedicure lured me deeper amidst the wooden stalls selling knock-off, made-to-measure shoes, traditional hats, jewelery that all looked the same, and all manner of knick-knacks and souvenirs to a small stall sweltering beneath a corrugated iron roof, a lazy fan trying to stir the fetid air. Pedicure under way (soaking toes in a decorative bowl, the dirty water, once emptied onto the dusty concrete floor is flicked dry before being carefully stacked back into the pile for sale), Mi starts asking the usual questions. “Where are you from? How old are you? (Answer to this one always seems to surprise people, but I cannot tell if it is genuine or a ploy to win my affections) Are you married?” However, Mi is very friendly and has really great English, so talking with her gets beyond these salient points (conversation in Viet Nam is dependent on a great many factors, including seniority, which is probably why so many questions are asked) and in the end she offers to show me around the town a bit. We go to the beach in the evening where mats are laid out with flickering hurricane lamps on each one, a network of lights leading to the moon. Then it is off to drink ice tea (as in the rest of S.E. Asia, Vietnamese women are very rarely seen drinking alcohol). The next evening we go swimming before heading to her house for dinner the off to a pop concert. Entering the amphitheatre to throbbing bass and a dancy beat, I was starting to think it might be a big party until a break-dancing competition of sorts starts up on stage (rather impressive some of them were too) followed by various singers standing like abandoned kittens in the centre of this huge stage, singing Vietnamese pop songs to a young audience. Reminiscent of the heyday of Top of the Pops, several of them seem to be channeling Michael Jackson with gloves, dances and all... however the majority of them have good voices, although I have no clue what they're saying. Mi is hilarious, commenting on how dup jai (handsome) some of them are. Recently broken up with her boyfriend of 8 years, she is, however, not on the search for another handsome man: all she wants is love (preferably in the form of a Canadian or Australian man, she thinks they are the most attractive – no clue where this preference comes from).
Even though I didn't get to see the sights I had planned to, I did get to experience a slice of Vietnamese life that I may never have seen had I not followed my desire to get rid of the old scratched colour on my nails for cheap. Moral of the story – there isn't really one. Just have fun and see where paths take you.
For some reason I really like Hue. Arriving in the early evening from a long (I lie, only 4 hour) bus journey where the air conditioning was little more than a thin drizzle of cold dog breath (buses here are rarely as advertised: never leaving on time – well, not the time you're told – never stopping at the scenic places they're supposed to, the air/light consoles above the seats nothing other than a courtesy to design,) and finding a reasonable hotel, I walk along the river to the railway station. I love and am intrigued by the feelings you can get from a place. Like people, whose personalities surely play a part and are therefore far more understandable as a source of getting a vibe from them, though I don't think it is the only factor in it, places also seem to send out signals and you can like (or dislike) them on first arrival. Some places grow on you over time...others you may never like, however hard you try. There is something about Hue. It just feels good to me, not like home necessarily, but it resonates somewhere within me.
I am tempted to stay an extra day without having even really seen anything of the city but book my train ticket to Hanoi for the 10th as planned. I'm excited about the prospect of taking a train in Asia, especially as I am taking the day train... over 12 hours of travel: lots of things to look at! Things that, no matter how many photos I may take or words I might use, I don't think I will ever be able to properly portray. This is one of the bittersweet facts about traveling – everything that you'd love to share with friends and family that you can't, because those things are in the air, in the every day experiences you have, in the way lots of Vietnamese people have of breaking out the most endearing, heartfelt smiles; in the diminutive plastic chairs and tables set out in eateries and cafes as though for a herd of dolls; in the people who set up cooking pots or ice buckets in the middle of the pavement to sell grilled meat, rice, drinks; in the incessant stream of bicycles and motorbikes streaming around you as you cross the road; the dust in the air; the bitter, tangy taste of greenery at the bottom of a bowl of noodles and meat or inside hand-rolled rice paper pancakes; the lush green hills in the distance contrasting with the parched sandy earth beneath your feet; the continual calls asking where you are from, how old you are, Manchester United, Vancouver...alright mate, eh?
Maybe some of these good feelings come from the temperature when I arrive. Having come from Hoi An (a town near the coast to the east of Hue) that I thought I would love and continually tried to get the energy to explore more than the intense heat and humidity would allow – and I thought Thailand and Laos were hot! - it seems somewhat cooler here, though that may simply be the time of day. Hoi An is a beautiful town with small streets strewn with tailors, souvenir shops, old buildings and eateries all lit up at night by atmospheric paper lanterns where many tourists go to buy custom-made clothes. I must admit that it was not my intention to make any such purchases while there, however I saw too many things that caught my eye (and were available for crazily low prices, compared to how much they'd cost at home anyway) that there is yet another parcel winging its way to me. My bag however, has somehow gained even more weight and mass than before...I blame it on gifts, which I don't want to send in case they don't reach their destination.
Either way, I spent most of my time in Hoi An relaxing and feeling an underlying tremor of guilt that I should be doing and seeing a lot more than I did. My experience was enriched, however, by following one of the hawker cries that I usually ignored. I was in the market, having just come back from having my second coat fitting and the prospect of a $1 pedicure lured me deeper amidst the wooden stalls selling knock-off, made-to-measure shoes, traditional hats, jewelery that all looked the same, and all manner of knick-knacks and souvenirs to a small stall sweltering beneath a corrugated iron roof, a lazy fan trying to stir the fetid air. Pedicure under way (soaking toes in a decorative bowl, the dirty water, once emptied onto the dusty concrete floor is flicked dry before being carefully stacked back into the pile for sale), Mi starts asking the usual questions. “Where are you from? How old are you? (Answer to this one always seems to surprise people, but I cannot tell if it is genuine or a ploy to win my affections) Are you married?” However, Mi is very friendly and has really great English, so talking with her gets beyond these salient points (conversation in Viet Nam is dependent on a great many factors, including seniority, which is probably why so many questions are asked) and in the end she offers to show me around the town a bit. We go to the beach in the evening where mats are laid out with flickering hurricane lamps on each one, a network of lights leading to the moon. Then it is off to drink ice tea (as in the rest of S.E. Asia, Vietnamese women are very rarely seen drinking alcohol). The next evening we go swimming before heading to her house for dinner the off to a pop concert. Entering the amphitheatre to throbbing bass and a dancy beat, I was starting to think it might be a big party until a break-dancing competition of sorts starts up on stage (rather impressive some of them were too) followed by various singers standing like abandoned kittens in the centre of this huge stage, singing Vietnamese pop songs to a young audience. Reminiscent of the heyday of Top of the Pops, several of them seem to be channeling Michael Jackson with gloves, dances and all... however the majority of them have good voices, although I have no clue what they're saying. Mi is hilarious, commenting on how dup jai (handsome) some of them are. Recently broken up with her boyfriend of 8 years, she is, however, not on the search for another handsome man: all she wants is love (preferably in the form of a Canadian or Australian man, she thinks they are the most attractive – no clue where this preference comes from).
Even though I didn't get to see the sights I had planned to, I did get to experience a slice of Vietnamese life that I may never have seen had I not followed my desire to get rid of the old scratched colour on my nails for cheap. Moral of the story – there isn't really one. Just have fun and see where paths take you.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Tunnels and the Mekong Delta
One of the tourist attractions in the Saigon region is the Cu Chi Tunnels, a subterranean web of tunnels that the Viet Cong built during the war that was home to hospitals, kitchens, and armouries, stretching all the way to Cambodian border! Despite knowing that the tour would be crammed with people, I decided that $5 was a great price to go and visit a part of modern history. On the way to the tunnels the bus stopped at a few places where we had to get off... after a while you get used to being expected to potentially buy something but that doesn't mean it doesn't get tiring. This time around we stopped at a factory where disabled people made decorative homeware (plates, screens, paintings etc.). We walked around looking at people doing their work - imagine someone coming to your office and walking around, camera in hand - then were ushered through a shop and, after a while, back on to the bus.
To get to the tunnels you first have to pay two different entrance fees. Tourists milled around like confused bees... Then there is a 'trek' through the 'jungle' (read walk through some sparse woods). Disregarding the whole mass-tourist feel of the place, I must admit that I was rather impressed - being shown the small tiny places where the Vietnamese soldiers hid from the mighty U.S. army, the ingenious (and ghastly) traps they made, the air holes they constructed and concealed... these were some clever, determined people. My favourite part of the tour was having the chance to walk in the tunnels themselves. There were 3 different levels during the war - one closer to the surface, the second underneath then the third which were even smaller than the previous two, and deeper...with an escape into the Saigon River. The first section we went in had been made bigger for westerners though we were still crouched over and shuffled slowly along, the tunnels dimly lit by low wattage bulbs. The second level was far smaller, and only 5 of us went down. On hands and knees we crawled through the darkness (it was pitch black), down slopes, around corners, over puddles and through some rather tight places. Although I knew people were behind me, and others in front, I felt rather alone down there and, at times, had to calm myself down in the pitch black. There were no reference points other than my hands on the floor and the feel of the walls near my shoulders, my knees rubbing on the floor. I just kept telling myself that I would not be trapped down there, crawling around forever. To think that the soldiers not only built such a tunnel system but moved around them so fast and stayed in them so long (normally up to 8 hours a day) is incredible. Even more incredible is that, at the tunnel site, you can fire AK47s, M1s, machine guns and more! I was hoping to find a rocket launcher there (don't ask) but in the end didn't even fire a small gun as you have to pay for the bullets...the price shown per bullet doesn't seem that bad, but when you add it up (have to buy a round of 10), it comes to about $15. So no shooting range for me.
The next day was another early start, this time to go on an overnight trip to the Mekong Delta. Sold as the place where 'the country comes alive' I was expecting to see lots of rice fields, buffalo and horse-drawn carts. Instead I discovered coconut candy, tourist traps, the Vegas of the Mekong Delta and the unbridled joys of ... the Bonsai Gardens! ;) Having met some really nice people on the tour, we enjoyed meals together and chatted a lot on the long, bumpy, beepy bus rides around the place. I was very excited to go to Cai Rang, a floating market, on the second day of the tour. Having woken up very early in order to be ready and breakfasted at 7:15am, the group walked to the pier and were taken on a boat trip up the river. The market was...smaller than we expected but still a great thing to witness - farmers bring their products to the market, advertising their wares by sticking an example on a long pole in front of the boat. They stay at the market for 3-5 days until they sell all their stuff, and take other products back to their villages. Potatoes, pumpkins, cabbages and other wholesale fruit and vegetable items were plentiful, and even though the season meant there were less vendors, it was a worthwhile trip. And now I have coconut candy to eat on long bus trips!
To get to the tunnels you first have to pay two different entrance fees. Tourists milled around like confused bees... Then there is a 'trek' through the 'jungle' (read walk through some sparse woods). Disregarding the whole mass-tourist feel of the place, I must admit that I was rather impressed - being shown the small tiny places where the Vietnamese soldiers hid from the mighty U.S. army, the ingenious (and ghastly) traps they made, the air holes they constructed and concealed... these were some clever, determined people. My favourite part of the tour was having the chance to walk in the tunnels themselves. There were 3 different levels during the war - one closer to the surface, the second underneath then the third which were even smaller than the previous two, and deeper...with an escape into the Saigon River. The first section we went in had been made bigger for westerners though we were still crouched over and shuffled slowly along, the tunnels dimly lit by low wattage bulbs. The second level was far smaller, and only 5 of us went down. On hands and knees we crawled through the darkness (it was pitch black), down slopes, around corners, over puddles and through some rather tight places. Although I knew people were behind me, and others in front, I felt rather alone down there and, at times, had to calm myself down in the pitch black. There were no reference points other than my hands on the floor and the feel of the walls near my shoulders, my knees rubbing on the floor. I just kept telling myself that I would not be trapped down there, crawling around forever. To think that the soldiers not only built such a tunnel system but moved around them so fast and stayed in them so long (normally up to 8 hours a day) is incredible. Even more incredible is that, at the tunnel site, you can fire AK47s, M1s, machine guns and more! I was hoping to find a rocket launcher there (don't ask) but in the end didn't even fire a small gun as you have to pay for the bullets...the price shown per bullet doesn't seem that bad, but when you add it up (have to buy a round of 10), it comes to about $15. So no shooting range for me.
The next day was another early start, this time to go on an overnight trip to the Mekong Delta. Sold as the place where 'the country comes alive' I was expecting to see lots of rice fields, buffalo and horse-drawn carts. Instead I discovered coconut candy, tourist traps, the Vegas of the Mekong Delta and the unbridled joys of ... the Bonsai Gardens! ;) Having met some really nice people on the tour, we enjoyed meals together and chatted a lot on the long, bumpy, beepy bus rides around the place. I was very excited to go to Cai Rang, a floating market, on the second day of the tour. Having woken up very early in order to be ready and breakfasted at 7:15am, the group walked to the pier and were taken on a boat trip up the river. The market was...smaller than we expected but still a great thing to witness - farmers bring their products to the market, advertising their wares by sticking an example on a long pole in front of the boat. They stay at the market for 3-5 days until they sell all their stuff, and take other products back to their villages. Potatoes, pumpkins, cabbages and other wholesale fruit and vegetable items were plentiful, and even though the season meant there were less vendors, it was a worthwhile trip. And now I have coconut candy to eat on long bus trips!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Cambodia to Vietnam, stop 12: Saigon
After relaxing by the beach in Sihanoukville and riding around on the back of bikes in the mud, drinking even more cheap beer and having a whole lot of fun, I am now in Saigon (otherwise known as Ho Chi Minh City), and have been wondering how to put the sights and sounds of this evocative place into words for a few days now. One thing I really like about it is that the houses have taken on Hundertwasser's ideas about the importance of where we live - what the buildings that surround us look like. They are so colourful, tastefully more often than not. The traffic here is awesome, as in you cannot believe what you are witnessing. Being driven around in a cyclo is quite an experience, as is being on the back of a motorbike, but by now I am simply not phased by it all and just sit back and enjoy the ride. Or maybe I have hopped onto too many bikes.... I have heard that Hanoi is even more insane so am dreading/looking forward to that!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Temples
After a great night out with Pross (my tuk-tuk driver for the day in Phonm Penh) which involved several bottles of cheap beer and strange snacks at a karaoke/working girl bar, the only westerner dancing to great tunes in Love Orange Club then cackling to myself while fitting to Temperature at another bar, I have yet another bus journey with different cargo than you'd see on a western bus. In addition to bags and boxes, this time around two scooters are also wheeled on to the bottom of the bus which will take me to Siem Reap.
On board I meet a group of New Zealanders who let me share a tuk-tuk ride with them to a swank (compared to usual standards/price) hotel. It has a pool - bliss! - and is one of the cleanest places I've seen, or maybe it is just in contrast to the dirt and dust outside. Luckily I share with Gretchen, one of the Kiwi's, as otherwise I would need to find a new, cheaper place to stay. Not exactly blowing my budget but certainly pushing it is balanced by finding new friends and sharing transport costs etc. That first night we all try to go to bed early as we have to be up at the crack of dawn for a ride to Angkor Wat to see the sunrise.
Which, in the end, we sort-of miss. It is quite cloudy in the morning but that certainly doesn't diminish this ancient monument's impressiveness and grandeur. A calm, huge moat surrounds Angkor Wat while a long stone walkway leads you inside. The site is truly amazing - it is huge, and every wall bears evidence of old carvings, grand stone architecture and hallways that are as atmospheric as they get. There are in fact many wats in the vicinity: Angkor Wat is just the name of one of them but is often used to encompass all.
Walking around the different temples, it's hard to believe that they are real; it is overwhelming and you often feel like you're on a film set. To imagine that this was built centuries ago - indeed it took 300 years to build Angkor Wat alone - not only its construction but the wonderful carvings that adorn everything...it is hard to let that sink in. As usual there are hordes of children wanting you to buy their postcards, t-shirts, bracelets. It is heartbreaking, frustrating, but ultimately I do not want anything and so refuse their exhortations to buy, buy, buy.
The town of Siem Reap has a lot more tourists than Phonm Penh did, and hence is a lot more geared towards them. After quite a few slices of Ecstatic Pizza (extra herbs) we go down a dark, muddy street to the night market. I'm not sure if it's the effect of the food but for once I see lots of cool things I would like to buy...oh the restrictions of baggage and money!
50c beers, relaxing by the pool and market-hopping are all par for the course; amid constant "no thank you"s to amputees selling books, people offering "massage! massage!", tuk=tuk drivers and beggars walking around with young children in their arms. Next stop is the seaside - Sihanoukville!
On board I meet a group of New Zealanders who let me share a tuk-tuk ride with them to a swank (compared to usual standards/price) hotel. It has a pool - bliss! - and is one of the cleanest places I've seen, or maybe it is just in contrast to the dirt and dust outside. Luckily I share with Gretchen, one of the Kiwi's, as otherwise I would need to find a new, cheaper place to stay. Not exactly blowing my budget but certainly pushing it is balanced by finding new friends and sharing transport costs etc. That first night we all try to go to bed early as we have to be up at the crack of dawn for a ride to Angkor Wat to see the sunrise.
Which, in the end, we sort-of miss. It is quite cloudy in the morning but that certainly doesn't diminish this ancient monument's impressiveness and grandeur. A calm, huge moat surrounds Angkor Wat while a long stone walkway leads you inside. The site is truly amazing - it is huge, and every wall bears evidence of old carvings, grand stone architecture and hallways that are as atmospheric as they get. There are in fact many wats in the vicinity: Angkor Wat is just the name of one of them but is often used to encompass all.
Walking around the different temples, it's hard to believe that they are real; it is overwhelming and you often feel like you're on a film set. To imagine that this was built centuries ago - indeed it took 300 years to build Angkor Wat alone - not only its construction but the wonderful carvings that adorn everything...it is hard to let that sink in. As usual there are hordes of children wanting you to buy their postcards, t-shirts, bracelets. It is heartbreaking, frustrating, but ultimately I do not want anything and so refuse their exhortations to buy, buy, buy.
The town of Siem Reap has a lot more tourists than Phonm Penh did, and hence is a lot more geared towards them. After quite a few slices of Ecstatic Pizza (extra herbs) we go down a dark, muddy street to the night market. I'm not sure if it's the effect of the food but for once I see lots of cool things I would like to buy...oh the restrictions of baggage and money!
50c beers, relaxing by the pool and market-hopping are all par for the course; amid constant "no thank you"s to amputees selling books, people offering "massage! massage!", tuk=tuk drivers and beggars walking around with young children in their arms. Next stop is the seaside - Sihanoukville!
Monday, May 25, 2009
Phonm Penh
The flies are as persistent as the beggars. Despite having woken up early (8:40 is early to me) to the electricity not working and then, when it comes on being baffled by the complexities of the AC controls - apparently ON/OFF doesn't mean the same thing here - I still have not managed to see half of what I wanted today. Making my way to the Grand Palace I'm accosted by hordes of tuk-tuk, cyclo and moto drivers all wanting to take me to the Killing Fields, wats or markets. Missing the Grand Palace (it shuts at 11am for lunch) I give in to the whines and pleas of two street children and buy them some fried rice. Unlike the kids in Phonsaven, they do not fall upon it hungrily and a part of me feels frustrated: are they not really hungry? I don't understand a word they say as they chatter away in Khmer and my attempts to learn their names and ages are thwarted by a massive communication barrier. I think one says she's 10 but the other says the same and they're obviously not the same age. Then I realise they're just copying the number of fingers I am holding up. I want to take a photo of them: the sweet younger one with big round eyes and a smiley face, and the scrawny, dirty-clothed older one who has a look of hardness and distrust in her eyes except for when she sings a little song. However it seems wrong to take a photo of their squalid suffering.
They follow me from the cafe to the National Museum entrance, wanting me to buy them clothes, give them money. Their clamouring is added to by a dirt-encrusted homeless family - babies wailing in young childrens' arms - physically handicapped men selling books and a gaggle of moto and cyclo drivers wanting to take me to - you guessed it - the Killing Fields. The museum is sweltering and contains a vast collection of whole and dismembered Buddha images in addition to those of other gods, amazing carvings and scriptures carved into stone. At one moment I am struck by a dismembered Buddha hand, palm up: so much like the beggars outside with their hands out seeking money. It's not their fault that their country was raveaged by horrendous civil war and is still in the excruciatingly laborious process of rebuilding itself. But do a few riel from me really help the situation?
---------- x ------------------------ x ------------------------ x --------------------- x --------
This question repeats itself and is on other travelers' lips. Last night I met Wendy and her partner, two older people on the road for a year. Their answer is to volunteer their time rather than give money - helping out at an orphanage in Sri Lanka, feeding giant pandas in China and, in a few months, working with orangutans in Malaysia. Yesterday a moto driver did offer to take me to an orphanage to play with the children and read to them...but it seemed strange and wrong to pick up any old tourist off the street and take them to see some vulnerable children. Furthermore, being alone and having never heard of the place combined with not knowing the driver, it was easier to say "maybe next time".
I pay $6.25 to enter the Royal Palace complex. It is huge, and a large part is not open to the public as the royal family (once disposed, not back on the throne) still reside there. The buildings look similar to wats and are shining examples to the wealth and splendour of the kingdom's rulers. Opulent throne rooms, highly decorative howdah's (seats for riding elephants) and elaborate painted walls, gold statues...oddly enough the exterior of the buildings look sad and have a haunted quality as they sit in gravel compunds by a busy city road. Next stop - the Silver Pagoda. So called because the floor is made of silver tiles (now mainly covered by carpets), this building houses hosts of small Buddha statues, some old royal family jewellery and an emerald Buddha, sitting above it all like a little alien. The light makes it appear as though this figure is glowing from within...or maybe I'm just in serious need of food!
With so many terrible stories, Cambodia is jam-packed with NGOs and other organizations trying to ameliorate daily life for many Cambodians. I have a delicious tapas-style lunch at Friends, where street children are trained to work in the hospitality industry. The food is excellent - as is the service - and I'm happy to discover that Friends is part of a larger umbrella organisation helpign children return to their families, deal with HIV, get better education etc.
After such a delicious meal it seems wrong to go to S-21, but that is my next destination. As if eating something disgusting beforehand could posisbly make this experience more palpable. Why go? And what is S-21? The buildings used to be a high school, but after the Khmer Rouger "liberated" Phonm Penh in 1975 and threw everyone out of Cambodia's cities they turned the school into a horrendous prison. Tuol Sleng (as it was otherwise known) witnessed interrogations, torturings and killings on a large scale, with prisoners ranging from peasants, teachers, the educated and old government officials to members of the Khmer Rouge and old prison guards themselves. Children, women and men were all kept and killed here or met their end at the Killing Fields. Their crimes? Usually fabricated by the Khmer Rouge and "proven"by confessions written under torture.
The plain rooms that were once places of learning now housed iron beds...the desolation, the sheer inhuman feeling of the place is at odds with the sun shining outside and fragipani trees dropping their flowers over the 14 white graves of the people whoe bodies the invading Vietnamese forces found here in 1979. Every bed had attached to it an iron chain and a metal box...photos on some walls in Building A, where 'higher up'officials etc. were imprisoned, show bloated, beaten bodies. Tourists walk through the rooms, stunned, unable to look each other in the eye. Prisoner headshots from the regime's archival process attack the senses in Building B...so many people, so much senseless suffering. Some images make me retch. The next building along is covered in barbed wire (to stop prisoner from jumping to suicidal freedom) and each room has been "converted" into 11-15 miniscule brick or wood divided cells. Some still have chains and bowls in. Others have ominous dark stains on the tiles.
The disparities between my life and these peoples is hammered home so often. This foul prison, the harsh regimes that had ideals to equalize a nation yet just succeeded in auto-genocide - of people and culture - is still affecting families today. Everyone I speak to has lost at least one family member to Pol Pot's insane rule. This is why I go to S-21, even if it is a gruesome place and other tourists' photographing beds where people died and photos of torture make me wonder why are we inexorably drawn to such suffering? Sometimes the seemingly endless rows of prisoners faces were overwhelming and I'd be relieved to see a photo of a dead body instead. I just hope that the exhortations of the pamphlet will be true: that by cataloguing these atrocities and turning the old prison into a museum will stop anything similar happening again.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Stop 11: Cambodia
Having blasted through Jon Swain's River of Time I now find myself in Phonm Penh, Cambodia. A capital city whose spelling defies reasoning, I was previously rather wary of this place. However sad (it is very) and traumatic River of Time is, it nevertheless made me look at old Indo-China in a different light. Those last days in Laos I forgot about my searing fever, forgot about delirious illness, dusty towns and the most foul, uncultured falang I had seen and focused more fully on the beauty, fertility and elegant grace of all around me. Many have fallen in love with this region, and it is not so hard to see why.
Flying into Phonm Penh at 7pm the city lights twinkling below me belie the atrocities this same city, country and people lived through only 30-40 years ago. In the year of my birth people were being killed, tortured, driven out of their own land. My taxi driver is just 4 years older than me and, upon my asking, says he was only very young when Pol Pot was in power. That his father, 2 sisters and 1 brother died under the Khmer Rouge regime is testament to the widespread effect of this movement that ended up abolishing markets, manufacturing, health care, education, culture, religion, the monarchy and the nation's currency, not to mention killing vast swathes of its citizens in addition to Chinese, Vietnamese and other settlers.
A city of sorrow that has risen from the ashes? More exploration is needed, but the profusion of beggars and terribly poor seen here outnumber those in Laos (perhaps because the truly poor there tended to be rural inhabitants) and I have only been here for about 2 hours...
Flying into Phonm Penh at 7pm the city lights twinkling below me belie the atrocities this same city, country and people lived through only 30-40 years ago. In the year of my birth people were being killed, tortured, driven out of their own land. My taxi driver is just 4 years older than me and, upon my asking, says he was only very young when Pol Pot was in power. That his father, 2 sisters and 1 brother died under the Khmer Rouge regime is testament to the widespread effect of this movement that ended up abolishing markets, manufacturing, health care, education, culture, religion, the monarchy and the nation's currency, not to mention killing vast swathes of its citizens in addition to Chinese, Vietnamese and other settlers.
A city of sorrow that has risen from the ashes? More exploration is needed, but the profusion of beggars and terribly poor seen here outnumber those in Laos (perhaps because the truly poor there tended to be rural inhabitants) and I have only been here for about 2 hours...
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Barefoot bowling
After a 10 hour bus journey down windy roads full of people puking (local people here aren't used to traveling and are all given plastic bags to retch into along the way), I am back in Luang Prabang, reunited with my old traveling companions, Edwin and Joe. Traveling with others is such a different experience than by oneself. Aided by my slow recovery and the extreme humidity and heat, most days were spent languidly lazing around, reading for hours at L'Etranger bookshop or cafe hopping. Unlike Thailand, there are few places in Laos to truly escape the grueling heat. No 711s pepper the urban landscape...no shopping malls or cinema complexes offer the heaven of AC respite.
One place, however, did. The Tat Kuang Si waterfalls – a majestic, glorious, breath-takingly beautiful set of waterfalls about 45 mins tuk-tuk ride from the city. Having seen Edwin's photos from a previous visit I knew I had to go...with rushing falls dropping into light turquoise pools in which you can jump, dive, and swim, this place is a taste of paradise. A lushly bordered path leads steeply up to the top of the falls – walking over water-carved stone and ascending through minor falls to the top was an experience in itself, but once you're there...wow. In a curve of the mountain several streams of water thunder and trickle down to several pools, below which is one far deeper with a rock lip looking out to a sheer drop and the various (9 I think) pools of blue-green below, then the river curling off into the green mountains beyond. What a view!
Jumping and diving off rocks into the clear water, the tourists are soon joined by a group of novice monks, young, faces surprisingly serene and, of course, shy in their bright orange robes. They huddle at the edge, hesitating to join in although some fashion their robes into sumo-style trunks in readiness. The problem, I think, is the sheer quantity of scantily-clad women. Monks are not allowed to touch (and in some cases talk) to women; after explaining this to the others the pool is cleared of our offending presence. With complete calm and balance, one young monk climbs a tree jutting out over the pool. At least 15m above it, the view must be vertiginous. He jumps – a figure amidst a swirl of orange, legs behind him like a character from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. The splash as he hits the water is soon followed by more as different monks leap, back-flip and dive-bomb into the cool blue.
Interestingly, the monks here shave their eyebrows as well as head hair and, from what I could discern, their armpit hair too. I am not sure why – whether Buddha had impetigo is unknown to me – but the fact that it took someone else to point out the lack of eyebrows (armpit hair was my next, immediate point of research) surprised me: how could I not have noticed? It made me think, bizarrely, of my mother. Her very thin (and short) eyebrows were never noticed by me until my sister told me of a time that a make-up artist painted some in and our Mum suddenly looked unlike herself. Perhaps she was a monk in a past life and those eyebrows are still growing back? :P
Surprisingly (coming from Thailand it is a real shock), Luang Prabang has a midnight curfew. This is probably in place to try and stop drunken hordes of backpackers infesting the UNESCO World Heritage City with their usual clamour and disintegration of local customs and morals. Very good, unless you've just got into the swing of things and start getting kicked out of bars at 11pm. Nevertheless, there is another option: the well advertised (by tuk-tuk drivers) Bao Ling alley. A short ride from the city centre, this fine establishment supposedly stays open until 3am. Packed with a healthy quantity of falang fighting for an alley and a few locals, a game costs only 15000 kip per person, bowling shoes optional. Never has bowling been so much fun: barefoot, rather inebriated people trying to get strikes with a strange assortment of ball weights – lighter ones vastly outnumbered by heavy bomb-like ones. In fact one night I enjoyed watching the perseverance of a tiny Laos woman heaving a 14 ball to the edge of her lane and launching it down towards the waiting pins. Every time she fell over with the effort. To add to the fun, the place must have been leveled by a drunkard or someone with inner ear problems. None of the lanes were even, all had some slight (in some cases rather more noticeable) tilt to one direction or the other, whether right at the end – the most frustrating – middle or beginning. Imagine your ball on a glorious, straight path to the centre region of the pins, only to veer off, often into the gutter, at the very last minute. As it always seemed to be someone's first or last night in the city though, bowling was nearly always on the agenda.
You'd think that we'd have become experts at it in the end... but no, wasn't the case.
One place, however, did. The Tat Kuang Si waterfalls – a majestic, glorious, breath-takingly beautiful set of waterfalls about 45 mins tuk-tuk ride from the city. Having seen Edwin's photos from a previous visit I knew I had to go...with rushing falls dropping into light turquoise pools in which you can jump, dive, and swim, this place is a taste of paradise. A lushly bordered path leads steeply up to the top of the falls – walking over water-carved stone and ascending through minor falls to the top was an experience in itself, but once you're there...wow. In a curve of the mountain several streams of water thunder and trickle down to several pools, below which is one far deeper with a rock lip looking out to a sheer drop and the various (9 I think) pools of blue-green below, then the river curling off into the green mountains beyond. What a view!
Jumping and diving off rocks into the clear water, the tourists are soon joined by a group of novice monks, young, faces surprisingly serene and, of course, shy in their bright orange robes. They huddle at the edge, hesitating to join in although some fashion their robes into sumo-style trunks in readiness. The problem, I think, is the sheer quantity of scantily-clad women. Monks are not allowed to touch (and in some cases talk) to women; after explaining this to the others the pool is cleared of our offending presence. With complete calm and balance, one young monk climbs a tree jutting out over the pool. At least 15m above it, the view must be vertiginous. He jumps – a figure amidst a swirl of orange, legs behind him like a character from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. The splash as he hits the water is soon followed by more as different monks leap, back-flip and dive-bomb into the cool blue.
Interestingly, the monks here shave their eyebrows as well as head hair and, from what I could discern, their armpit hair too. I am not sure why – whether Buddha had impetigo is unknown to me – but the fact that it took someone else to point out the lack of eyebrows (armpit hair was my next, immediate point of research) surprised me: how could I not have noticed? It made me think, bizarrely, of my mother. Her very thin (and short) eyebrows were never noticed by me until my sister told me of a time that a make-up artist painted some in and our Mum suddenly looked unlike herself. Perhaps she was a monk in a past life and those eyebrows are still growing back? :P
Surprisingly (coming from Thailand it is a real shock), Luang Prabang has a midnight curfew. This is probably in place to try and stop drunken hordes of backpackers infesting the UNESCO World Heritage City with their usual clamour and disintegration of local customs and morals. Very good, unless you've just got into the swing of things and start getting kicked out of bars at 11pm. Nevertheless, there is another option: the well advertised (by tuk-tuk drivers) Bao Ling alley. A short ride from the city centre, this fine establishment supposedly stays open until 3am. Packed with a healthy quantity of falang fighting for an alley and a few locals, a game costs only 15000 kip per person, bowling shoes optional. Never has bowling been so much fun: barefoot, rather inebriated people trying to get strikes with a strange assortment of ball weights – lighter ones vastly outnumbered by heavy bomb-like ones. In fact one night I enjoyed watching the perseverance of a tiny Laos woman heaving a 14 ball to the edge of her lane and launching it down towards the waiting pins. Every time she fell over with the effort. To add to the fun, the place must have been leveled by a drunkard or someone with inner ear problems. None of the lanes were even, all had some slight (in some cases rather more noticeable) tilt to one direction or the other, whether right at the end – the most frustrating – middle or beginning. Imagine your ball on a glorious, straight path to the centre region of the pins, only to veer off, often into the gutter, at the very last minute. As it always seemed to be someone's first or last night in the city though, bowling was nearly always on the agenda.
You'd think that we'd have become experts at it in the end... but no, wasn't the case.
Another bus
There are so many things about Laos (and Asia as a whole) that you cannot capture. Leaving on the 6:30am bus to Luang Prabang – and having to be driven to it in a truck after getting chocolate milk (I know!) to take drugs with – there are people lined up along the roadside. The devout. Every morning, early, the monks leave their monasteries and walk through the streets for alms. These people with so little give food (lots of rice) and I think water.
Dogs play at the side of the road. Cows wander around munching on leaves, on stray bits of grass coming up through the dusty, parched earth. Small fires burn in fields, driveways... I think this might be waste management in rural Laos. Makeshift vehicles drive by carrying grass, wicker walls, people. Life here continues to amaze me: the beauty, the squalor, the smiles, the rules within no rules.
Dogs play at the side of the road. Cows wander around munching on leaves, on stray bits of grass coming up through the dusty, parched earth. Small fires burn in fields, driveways... I think this might be waste management in rural Laos. Makeshift vehicles drive by carrying grass, wicker walls, people. Life here continues to amaze me: the beauty, the squalor, the smiles, the rules within no rules.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Fevertron
Being ill when alone in a foreign land is not too pleasant an experience. I've dealt with the odd stomach upset (who doesn't?) and a day or 2 of mild fever but the last few days were something else. Starting in Vang ViengＩgot a terrible fever... I felt like I was burning from the inside, and I wasn't hungry. At some point I started to feel very weird - delirious. Now I'd always equated that word with happiness but I know better now. My mind reeled from elation to sadness, from excitement to dullness. Many thanks to Josh & Tina who were online at the time and whose conversations (my part may have been all over the place) helped me stay sane.
The next day I felt mildly better and went to Vientiane. Upon arrival however I felt faint and very sick. My body ached all over, I could barely move and wasn't hungry yet knew I should eat. Forcing food down my gullet was painful - that night I watched movies with terrible sound problems and slept the sleep of the dead. Next day - to the clinic at the Australian Embassy. What would be wrong with me? Having all the symptoms of malaria (and most of dengue: I read up on them on the Internet and we all know that makes you an expert), which exotic illness would I be diagnosed with? It seems I escaped with the onset of pneumonia and some virus. "What if I've been misdiagnosed!" my worrying, ever-over-thinking mind screamed into the darkness.
In my febrile wanderings around Laos' capital (Vientiane has some pretty little streets with romantic French restaurants but is not a touch on Luang Prabang for atmosphere), I was lucky enough to see some of the Bun Bang Fai (Rocket Festival), where people fire homemade rockets into the sky, sing, dance and drink to bring the monsoon season. Smoky projectiles screeched, fizzled and sped their way over the Mekong. The people long for rain; I am trying to escape it, although I know I can't for long.
The next day I felt mildly better and went to Vientiane. Upon arrival however I felt faint and very sick. My body ached all over, I could barely move and wasn't hungry yet knew I should eat. Forcing food down my gullet was painful - that night I watched movies with terrible sound problems and slept the sleep of the dead. Next day - to the clinic at the Australian Embassy. What would be wrong with me? Having all the symptoms of malaria (and most of dengue: I read up on them on the Internet and we all know that makes you an expert), which exotic illness would I be diagnosed with? It seems I escaped with the onset of pneumonia and some virus. "What if I've been misdiagnosed!" my worrying, ever-over-thinking mind screamed into the darkness.
In my febrile wanderings around Laos' capital (Vientiane has some pretty little streets with romantic French restaurants but is not a touch on Luang Prabang for atmosphere), I was lucky enough to see some of the Bun Bang Fai (Rocket Festival), where people fire homemade rockets into the sky, sing, dance and drink to bring the monsoon season. Smoky projectiles screeched, fizzled and sped their way over the Mekong. The people long for rain; I am trying to escape it, although I know I can't for long.
Long bus journeys
The sheer beauty of this country really takes my breath away. This does sound like a terrible cliche, but on the long (6-8 hour) very windy bus ride from Phonsaven to Vang Vieng it's one that rings true. Whether this is accentuated by the fact that I feel like I really want some chewing gum and am queasy, possibly aided by the 6 hour wait at the bus station as the 10:30am bus crashed and the next didn't leave until 16:30pm (am now noting time in S.E. Asian superfluous fashion) I can't tell. Having met an Italian couple aiming to catch the same bus, the arduous wait at the bus station went by mercifully quicker: we played cards.
My Blackjack winnings of tens of salted pumpkin seeds disturbed me slightly - you know the saying "lucky in cards, unlucky in love". So, why not go back to the town of Phonsaven (bus stations always seem to be ridiculously enough not in or even near the town centre)? Go there and you will know why. In the meanwhile, I gaze out the window at miles of mist-shrouded, tree-covered mountains disappearing into the distance. At the side of the road I see a middle-aged man washing himself at a water spout. People here are, as a whole, very poor. Are things getting better? I don't know, but I hope. And every other hut you pass, even remote ones with wicker-woven walls, has a huge satellite dish outside, so I guess things can't be too awful (or people just have very different priorities).
My Blackjack winnings of tens of salted pumpkin seeds disturbed me slightly - you know the saying "lucky in cards, unlucky in love". So, why not go back to the town of Phonsaven (bus stations always seem to be ridiculously enough not in or even near the town centre)? Go there and you will know why. In the meanwhile, I gaze out the window at miles of mist-shrouded, tree-covered mountains disappearing into the distance. At the side of the road I see a middle-aged man washing himself at a water spout. People here are, as a whole, very poor. Are things getting better? I don't know, but I hope. And every other hut you pass, even remote ones with wicker-woven walls, has a huge satellite dish outside, so I guess things can't be too awful (or people just have very different priorities).
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Vang Vieng: Falang mao
Vang Vieng, over 8 hours away from Phonsaven by bus and full of falang. These tourists are here to party, and party hard. I find it amusing that this entails getting as drunk as possible, often as naked as possible, either in public (for the girls) or probably private for the guys. Having spent about an hour or so with some Lao people downstairs, which was interesting but sometimes slightly disturbing as a few of the men seemed to think that I was interested in having sex with them, I decided to go with some other travelers to a traveler bar. There were bright lights, western music (MGMT and some other hits hit the soundwaves) and lots of foreigners getting drunk much as they would at home, expect here there are less boundaries. Women take part in wet t-shirt competitions as though it defends the honour of their family. Funnily enough, if that was the motivation you'd give them they probably wouldn't do it. I wonder what it is about us westerners that we believe that the more liberated we are, the more we are willing to let go of our physical selves, not in denunciation or control, but to revel in the letting go.
I don't mean that there is anything inherently wrong with this, just that we, in general, seem to view this as a freedom when in fact it is not. In my mind, it is more that we become slave to it than master. Yes, getting naked in front of a load of people and giving yourself to whomever you choose (oh and what a choice hahaha) may be the most liberating experience of your life, but what have you freed from within you?
I am not sure that what I want to say is really coming out. I've had a lot of Beer Laos and some Lao-Lao (potent rice whisky) on top of a +6 hour bus journey which I had to wait over 6 hours for. All I really want is to talk to people I know, have fun with friends then cuddle up in bed with my boyfriend. I hate that people judge me, I hate that they think I am judging them. Sometimes I wonder if we all suffer from some sort of inbuilt guilt complex where we see others but feel bad for having an opinion of them as this then involves some sort of judgment, however surface-level that may be. The thing is, a component of human nature is to evaluate ourselves against what we are not in order to know what we are. I know that these people around me are a lot younger than me and having fun in the way they know how and are comfortable with, I wonder, for a moment, if this is the evolution of the species; a road towards having less discernible differences so we all become very similar on the outside and more able to communicate from deeper within,
Now, I know, this is all sounding a bit sci-fi. So I stop.
I want to be held. I would like to know it is okay to be like me..sometimes, in this sea of difference, I seek some sort of reassurance to stop myself feeling like I might go mad. Rarely you meet people who feel the same. Like gems amidst the mud and dust and straw of everything else, they stand out as something different. I wonder if I shine like them or look like some odd thing left behind from some far away place. This is my big-headedness coming out, but also this awareness that (maybe in large part due to age difference, something I never really thought mattered that much) I AM different.
In my small concrete room with fan whirring I look up at lumpy tangerine-blancmange ceiling, listen to the whirrrr of the fan and just want to get out of here. The travelers' idea of fun is to get drunk with a bunch of other travelers, possibly take your clothes off and act out all those same insecurities and power games as you would at home. What do you learn, what do you see that is different from your country? Maybe you feel more free as your friends are not there to see, record and maybe judge. Maybe you think this is what you are meant to do. And anyway, in another 5 years, will you really give a shit about the video of you dancing topless next to some random man who wants to get in your pants?
Probably not.
I feel like I come from another planet.
I don't mean that there is anything inherently wrong with this, just that we, in general, seem to view this as a freedom when in fact it is not. In my mind, it is more that we become slave to it than master. Yes, getting naked in front of a load of people and giving yourself to whomever you choose (oh and what a choice hahaha) may be the most liberating experience of your life, but what have you freed from within you?
I am not sure that what I want to say is really coming out. I've had a lot of Beer Laos and some Lao-Lao (potent rice whisky) on top of a +6 hour bus journey which I had to wait over 6 hours for. All I really want is to talk to people I know, have fun with friends then cuddle up in bed with my boyfriend. I hate that people judge me, I hate that they think I am judging them. Sometimes I wonder if we all suffer from some sort of inbuilt guilt complex where we see others but feel bad for having an opinion of them as this then involves some sort of judgment, however surface-level that may be. The thing is, a component of human nature is to evaluate ourselves against what we are not in order to know what we are. I know that these people around me are a lot younger than me and having fun in the way they know how and are comfortable with, I wonder, for a moment, if this is the evolution of the species; a road towards having less discernible differences so we all become very similar on the outside and more able to communicate from deeper within,
Now, I know, this is all sounding a bit sci-fi. So I stop.
I want to be held. I would like to know it is okay to be like me..sometimes, in this sea of difference, I seek some sort of reassurance to stop myself feeling like I might go mad. Rarely you meet people who feel the same. Like gems amidst the mud and dust and straw of everything else, they stand out as something different. I wonder if I shine like them or look like some odd thing left behind from some far away place. This is my big-headedness coming out, but also this awareness that (maybe in large part due to age difference, something I never really thought mattered that much) I AM different.
In my small concrete room with fan whirring I look up at lumpy tangerine-blancmange ceiling, listen to the whirrrr of the fan and just want to get out of here. The travelers' idea of fun is to get drunk with a bunch of other travelers, possibly take your clothes off and act out all those same insecurities and power games as you would at home. What do you learn, what do you see that is different from your country? Maybe you feel more free as your friends are not there to see, record and maybe judge. Maybe you think this is what you are meant to do. And anyway, in another 5 years, will you really give a shit about the video of you dancing topless next to some random man who wants to get in your pants?
Probably not.
I feel like I come from another planet.
UXO and Plain of Jars
Phonsaven is reminiscent of a film set. Not in its grandeur (it doesn't have any) but in its sense semi-desolation – that air of having been forgot. The main street makes me feel like I am in a western; the dust, the straight, straight road lined with concrete shops and restaurants advertising the sale of the same things with sun-faded images. The products look like they're straight from a 1970s reconstruction project. I opt to stay at Kong Keo guesthouse and it turns out to be cheaper than most other options (always a bonus). Right by the old airfield it is atmospheric with old ordnance (more on that later) but rather empty, and my cell-like room seems damp and musty. Whatever. I am only really here for one thing – the Plain of Jars. Plains would be more accurate. 
Dating from possibly over 2000 years ago, there are apparently 18 sites with these huge stone jars scattered around the landscape like guests mingling at a wedding reception. No-one knows why they're there or what they were for, but they are rather beautiful and, obviously, intriguing. The group I am with visit the 3 main sites of the Phonsaven area. Driving through the Laos countryside I am struck by how this nation is so much more of a developing one than Thailand, Malaysia and even Indonesia. This also means that things are so much more natural – as in linked to the earth and the reality of living with it. It is far clearer here how powerful a force nature is...makes me wonder how, in the Western world, we think we've tamed or mastered it with technological advances and lots of concrete and steel. I don't know if we're mistaken or not, but I do think we've lost a vital connection to where we come from, what we're a part of. At each Jars site is an advisory board telling visitors to stay within the white coloured markers – this is not to stop you walking on the grass but an important security issue. Unexploded ordnance (UXO) remains a massive problem in Laos, particularly in Xieng Khuang Province. Laos...unexploded ordnance? What? My ignorance was total until I read the Laos section of my guidebook and followed their advice to go to the MAG (Mines Advisory Group) centre in Phonsaven. Basically, between 1964 and 1973 the USA bombed Laos, flying 580,344 missions and dropping 2 million tonnes of bombs. Which happened to be in complete contravention of the Geneva convention signed shortly before the year this Secret War started. Scared of communism in S.E. Asia, these bombings were generally untargeted and many involved what are locally known as 'bombies', cluster-bombs: a large casing housing hundreds of smaller bombs generally full of ball-bearings that explode in many directions on impact. A bit like blowing your nose, these scatter across the green landscape....as 30% of them did not explode, they constitute, 30 years on, a deathly legacy of an 'illegal' war (what war is legal?). The thought that kept going through my head at the MAG centre, looking at war remnants and learning about their impact on the people of Laos was that someone made these weapons. Companies made profit on these items whose sole purpose is to kill and injure civilians. Cluster bombs do not pierce tanks. Do not do any great damage to buildings (especially if they're fortified ones). The question I did not ask myself earlier about why Laos is still obviously a developing country has been answered. These people, especially in rural areas, risk death and severe injuries on a regular basis to do the daily activities required to make a living. Tilling the fields, staking a buffalo to pasture, getting scrap metal to sell, playing in the fields as children...all could end in a loud bang and loss of life, limbs, sight. Even road building, or indeed, any kind of construction is a far lengthier and expensive process because of the huge amounts of UXO covering vast swathes of the country. Makes you think, doesn't it?
Dating from possibly over 2000 years ago, there are apparently 18 sites with these huge stone jars scattered around the landscape like guests mingling at a wedding reception. No-one knows why they're there or what they were for, but they are rather beautiful and, obviously, intriguing. The group I am with visit the 3 main sites of the Phonsaven area. Driving through the Laos countryside I am struck by how this nation is so much more of a developing one than Thailand, Malaysia and even Indonesia. This also means that things are so much more natural – as in linked to the earth and the reality of living with it. It is far clearer here how powerful a force nature is...makes me wonder how, in the Western world, we think we've tamed or mastered it with technological advances and lots of concrete and steel. I don't know if we're mistaken or not, but I do think we've lost a vital connection to where we come from, what we're a part of. At each Jars site is an advisory board telling visitors to stay within the white coloured markers – this is not to stop you walking on the grass but an important security issue. Unexploded ordnance (UXO) remains a massive problem in Laos, particularly in Xieng Khuang Province. Laos...unexploded ordnance? What? My ignorance was total until I read the Laos section of my guidebook and followed their advice to go to the MAG (Mines Advisory Group) centre in Phonsaven. Basically, between 1964 and 1973 the USA bombed Laos, flying 580,344 missions and dropping 2 million tonnes of bombs. Which happened to be in complete contravention of the Geneva convention signed shortly before the year this Secret War started. Scared of communism in S.E. Asia, these bombings were generally untargeted and many involved what are locally known as 'bombies', cluster-bombs: a large casing housing hundreds of smaller bombs generally full of ball-bearings that explode in many directions on impact. A bit like blowing your nose, these scatter across the green landscape....as 30% of them did not explode, they constitute, 30 years on, a deathly legacy of an 'illegal' war (what war is legal?). The thought that kept going through my head at the MAG centre, looking at war remnants and learning about their impact on the people of Laos was that someone made these weapons. Companies made profit on these items whose sole purpose is to kill and injure civilians. Cluster bombs do not pierce tanks. Do not do any great damage to buildings (especially if they're fortified ones). The question I did not ask myself earlier about why Laos is still obviously a developing country has been answered. These people, especially in rural areas, risk death and severe injuries on a regular basis to do the daily activities required to make a living. Tilling the fields, staking a buffalo to pasture, getting scrap metal to sell, playing in the fields as children...all could end in a loud bang and loss of life, limbs, sight. Even road building, or indeed, any kind of construction is a far lengthier and expensive process because of the huge amounts of UXO covering vast swathes of the country. Makes you think, doesn't it?
Road to Phonsaven
I don't know why it's so funny to watch people try to recline their seats on a bus, but to me, after only a few hours sleep, it is. After nearly getting in a completely different tuk-tuk for fear of missing the bus (and mistaking the driver for another...at some point it's true that all Asians look the same to Westerners, though I'm sure they say the same about us) I am now on the A/C 8 hour bus journey to the capital of Xiang Khuang Province. Bus travel in Asia is weird. You can buy your ticket in town (in this instance I got quoted between 80,000 – 120,000 kip) or just get it at the station for 75,000 kip. You put your bag in the under-bus storage compartment (or someone else rams it in there) then go off in search of snackage an a bathroom; there is an eight hour bus journey ahead of you after all.
Upon arriving back at the bus, you see all the bags being taken out of the hold and carried on to the bus (usually to prime seats for some unknown reason). Why you might ask? A valid question. In the case of this bus, its because a whole other kind of cargo is being loaded in there. Coal. Bags and bags of it that sometimes split open and the pieces diligently retrieved and shoved back in the rent cloth. Is this a needed product that one passenger is taking home with him? Could it be a gift for the in-laws? A bribe to an official or land owner? Or, more simply yet less interesting, does the 1 per day bus act as a cargo container too, carrying produce of different kinds to other towns? My mind reeled at the possibilities.
Also, you may not need your iPod. Many buses come kitted out, not with anything as practical as a toilet but with speakers and even TV screens – these are not for safety announcements dear friends, but for movies (anything from knock-off box office DVDs to local karaoke-style music videos) or, in the case of this particular bus, what I can only presume from the crackling in and out and almost blissful moments of silence, is the radio. At least the music itself, though often blaring (note to self: always pay attention to speaker placement when 'choosing' seat) is not too terrible. It does set the mood as the bus rolls slowly down this now sealed road past green hills, numerous trees and wood/wicker walled houses.
One more thing before I try to catch up on the sleep lost last night. Since Fiji, all countries I've been to have driven on the left. In Laos they drive on the right. I have this feeling that in Vietnam they drive on whichever side of the road they feel like, but I'm interested to find out how it is in Cambodia and Japan.
Upon arriving back at the bus, you see all the bags being taken out of the hold and carried on to the bus (usually to prime seats for some unknown reason). Why you might ask? A valid question. In the case of this bus, its because a whole other kind of cargo is being loaded in there. Coal. Bags and bags of it that sometimes split open and the pieces diligently retrieved and shoved back in the rent cloth. Is this a needed product that one passenger is taking home with him? Could it be a gift for the in-laws? A bribe to an official or land owner? Or, more simply yet less interesting, does the 1 per day bus act as a cargo container too, carrying produce of different kinds to other towns? My mind reeled at the possibilities.
Also, you may not need your iPod. Many buses come kitted out, not with anything as practical as a toilet but with speakers and even TV screens – these are not for safety announcements dear friends, but for movies (anything from knock-off box office DVDs to local karaoke-style music videos) or, in the case of this particular bus, what I can only presume from the crackling in and out and almost blissful moments of silence, is the radio. At least the music itself, though often blaring (note to self: always pay attention to speaker placement when 'choosing' seat) is not too terrible. It does set the mood as the bus rolls slowly down this now sealed road past green hills, numerous trees and wood/wicker walled houses.
One more thing before I try to catch up on the sleep lost last night. Since Fiji, all countries I've been to have driven on the left. In Laos they drive on the right. I have this feeling that in Vietnam they drive on whichever side of the road they feel like, but I'm interested to find out how it is in Cambodia and Japan.
Luang Prabang, Laos: Stop 10
The small plane was low on the ground with the propellers higher than the windows. This Aerospatiale Alenia ATR 72 flew over fields and through clouds before lush green hills were below us. Landing at Luang Prabang is beautiful – hills and mountains dot the landscape and the airport itself is tiny, one runway and one building (much like Fernando de Noronha's diminutive airport). Don't expect to find a duty-free here!
Most nationalities are required to have a visa to enter Laos and, contrary to the guidebook, the price varies depending on where you're from. The lowest is US$30 for several European and some South American countries. Americans and British pay US$35. For some reason the Canadians are left with a hefty price tag of US$42: the most expensive of the lot! Not sure what Canada's done to the Laos people or government, but I'm happy I don't have my blue passport yet.
This city's name sounds like a bell, ringing in a magical way. Luang Prabang...it is beautiful, romantic and easy to explore. The Mekong flows to one side of it and a river to the other, the city nestled in between like a happy dog sleeping in its bed. The atmosphere is friendly too, and there are a lot of travelers but it doesn't have the backpacker drunken vibe that lots of other places I've been have. At the airport I met Tom, an American geologist who was in Bangkok on business and came to Laos for a few days. We met up for beer one night and talked about a whole bunch of things, then at 11pm the lights went out and everyone was told they had to leave. It happens that Luang Prabang has a curfew! Everyone has to be home by midnight...quite a surprise!
My second day I didn't feel too well – feverish and muscle aches so I didn't get to see many of the sights I'd wanted...but it was great to relax and I plan to be back!
Most nationalities are required to have a visa to enter Laos and, contrary to the guidebook, the price varies depending on where you're from. The lowest is US$30 for several European and some South American countries. Americans and British pay US$35. For some reason the Canadians are left with a hefty price tag of US$42: the most expensive of the lot! Not sure what Canada's done to the Laos people or government, but I'm happy I don't have my blue passport yet.
This city's name sounds like a bell, ringing in a magical way. Luang Prabang...it is beautiful, romantic and easy to explore. The Mekong flows to one side of it and a river to the other, the city nestled in between like a happy dog sleeping in its bed. The atmosphere is friendly too, and there are a lot of travelers but it doesn't have the backpacker drunken vibe that lots of other places I've been have. At the airport I met Tom, an American geologist who was in Bangkok on business and came to Laos for a few days. We met up for beer one night and talked about a whole bunch of things, then at 11pm the lights went out and everyone was told they had to leave. It happens that Luang Prabang has a curfew! Everyone has to be home by midnight...quite a surprise!
My second day I didn't feel too well – feverish and muscle aches so I didn't get to see many of the sights I'd wanted...but it was great to relax and I plan to be back!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Notes on Wat Pho (Bangkok)
Intricate roofs, impressive tiling and the constant sound of devotional coins being evenly distributed into bowls... Wat Pho is famous for its reclining Buddha (depicts the moment of his ascension to nirvana) and I come, like all the other tourists, take some photos... he is impressive after all. At 46 metres long and 15 high, this is one big dude. Supine, eyes half-closed in what one can only imagine is bliss, I wonder what he thinks of all these people with lenses trying in vain to capture the majesty before them.
The wat complex stretches out under the sweat-inducing sun. There are numerous ornate chedi's and hundreds of smaller, golden Buddha images locked behind glass doors. I imagine them getting loose and running amok in the city, marching like an army down the streets, clanking a little like Tik-Tok in the Return to Oz. Their peaceful looks, multiplied many times becomes, after a while, a little alarming. They are watching you... Surprisingly some of them have belly buttons.
Every time I see a Western man (particularly an older one) with a young Thai woman my immediate thought is whether this is a 'business' arrangement. Also, at such a tourist attraction as this, how many other men must she have taken here? Must get bored of it after a while – or is this more of a cultural exchange than other parts of their relationship?
Sweat beading on my face (funny that a face can perspire so much), its time to move on. Back down the river for some lunch and an ice cold drink.
The wat complex stretches out under the sweat-inducing sun. There are numerous ornate chedi's and hundreds of smaller, golden Buddha images locked behind glass doors. I imagine them getting loose and running amok in the city, marching like an army down the streets, clanking a little like Tik-Tok in the Return to Oz. Their peaceful looks, multiplied many times becomes, after a while, a little alarming. They are watching you... Surprisingly some of them have belly buttons.
Every time I see a Western man (particularly an older one) with a young Thai woman my immediate thought is whether this is a 'business' arrangement. Also, at such a tourist attraction as this, how many other men must she have taken here? Must get bored of it after a while – or is this more of a cultural exchange than other parts of their relationship?
Sweat beading on my face (funny that a face can perspire so much), its time to move on. Back down the river for some lunch and an ice cold drink.
Chiang Mai
Northern Thailand: a whole other world yet still a traveler's paradise of a slightly different sort. There are lots of hill tribes that can be visited on various treks, the usual plethora of wats and a range of outdoor activities, not to mention massage, cooking and meditation courses on offer. With so much to do, what would I choose to occupy my 3 days here with? Not long enough to really go on a proper trek and with adventurous activities awaiting in Laos with (hopefully) less tourists, I decide to enjoy the city and some of the surrounding area on the back of a scooter. And take advantage of cheap but quality dental care to have my teeth lightened by cold laser. Yes, I am now a health care tourist...
There are a few wats outside Chiang Mai, the most impressive being Wat Phra That Doi Suthep, perched on a hilltop quite far from the sweat and dust of the city. On the journey there I also took in Wat U Mong near Chiang Mai University. Set in woods, there must be a meditation school here as many of the oddly utilitarian-looking sparse concrete buildings are signed as “Men's Quarters”, “Women's Quarters” etc. However I didn't come here for spiritual enlightenment, goddammit, I came here to see the underground tunnels created so monks could wander around and find that elusive nirvana themselves without straying too far from the Wat.
Following a path of Buddhist sayings written on sturdy plastic and attached to trees (my favourite is shown above) I came to the tunnels. I'm not sure quite why I was expecting a developed, labyrinthine system of them but there were three. All leading to the same place (unless you count the cleaners' storage cubby-cave as a destination). Next stop – a waterfall! There is an odd fascination with waterfalls all over the world and I still have to get to the bottom of it. In some hotter countries I think some of the appeal must be this cool, clean (?) water coursing down into pools, not to mention its cleansing properties and the sheer power of it. This was quite a nice one, running over rocks and the whole thing was part of an outer city park, lots of Thais were there having picnics, children running around.
On the way out Edwin & I passed stalls selling S.E. Asian snack food: deep-fried insects. Having once chowed down on these Alienesque creatures at Montreal's Insectarium, I shoved a crispy worm-like one in my mouth. Oh yummy. I think the stall owner was quite happy that these falang wanted to try his wares and proceeded to hand me a silk-worm (tasted like cheese) then a...huge grasshopper. Fried to brown perfection its big head and long, bent legs were too much for me; although to his credit Edwin munched down and declared it to be “delicious”, “the best yet”. Big fat locusts and smaller beetley type delicacies glistened in their oily fried glory.
That night we reunited with Joe who had stayed in Bangkok and a bunch of us went out to eat, drink and celebrate Edwin's birthday. The buckets, literally a small bucket of alcohol, usually cocktails, abounded and the fun began. Until the next day, when I had to get yet another night bus, this time to Bangkok prior to flying out to Laos. Although I would have loved to have stayed longer with my traveling friends and see more of the area, I just have to think to myself that there will be a next time.
There are a few wats outside Chiang Mai, the most impressive being Wat Phra That Doi Suthep, perched on a hilltop quite far from the sweat and dust of the city. On the journey there I also took in Wat U Mong near Chiang Mai University. Set in woods, there must be a meditation school here as many of the oddly utilitarian-looking sparse concrete buildings are signed as “Men's Quarters”, “Women's Quarters” etc. However I didn't come here for spiritual enlightenment, goddammit, I came here to see the underground tunnels created so monks could wander around and find that elusive nirvana themselves without straying too far from the Wat.
Following a path of Buddhist sayings written on sturdy plastic and attached to trees (my favourite is shown above) I came to the tunnels. I'm not sure quite why I was expecting a developed, labyrinthine system of them but there were three. All leading to the same place (unless you count the cleaners' storage cubby-cave as a destination). Next stop – a waterfall! There is an odd fascination with waterfalls all over the world and I still have to get to the bottom of it. In some hotter countries I think some of the appeal must be this cool, clean (?) water coursing down into pools, not to mention its cleansing properties and the sheer power of it. This was quite a nice one, running over rocks and the whole thing was part of an outer city park, lots of Thais were there having picnics, children running around.
On the way out Edwin & I passed stalls selling S.E. Asian snack food: deep-fried insects. Having once chowed down on these Alienesque creatures at Montreal's Insectarium, I shoved a crispy worm-like one in my mouth. Oh yummy. I think the stall owner was quite happy that these falang wanted to try his wares and proceeded to hand me a silk-worm (tasted like cheese) then a...huge grasshopper. Fried to brown perfection its big head and long, bent legs were too much for me; although to his credit Edwin munched down and declared it to be “delicious”, “the best yet”. Big fat locusts and smaller beetley type delicacies glistened in their oily fried glory.
That night we reunited with Joe who had stayed in Bangkok and a bunch of us went out to eat, drink and celebrate Edwin's birthday. The buckets, literally a small bucket of alcohol, usually cocktails, abounded and the fun began. Until the next day, when I had to get yet another night bus, this time to Bangkok prior to flying out to Laos. Although I would have loved to have stayed longer with my traveling friends and see more of the area, I just have to think to myself that there will be a next time.
Ayuthaya
Thailand's previous capital, this ancient city was ransacked by the Burmese hundreds of years ago and its wealth of temples (in Thailand known as wats) and ancient culture practically razed to the ground. What is left is a island city with many ruins and lots of tuk-tuks wanting to take you to them. A tuk-tuk is a 3-wheeled vehicle which can act as a bus (normally called a songtheaw) or a sort-of-taxi for one or a group of people. They're notorious in Bangkok for 'near-death experience' stories but Ayuthaya is a whole different kettle of fish: far more relaxed and far fewer tourists than its modern counterpart.
Although I started early, the day was exceedingly hot – I must admit to fantasizing about -20C winters – and I managed to see about 5 of the numerous wats that the area boasts; not to mention a very sad, heart-breaking Elephant Village which was also home to 5 lions in very small enclosures (or cages i the case of the two cubs). Not wanting to sound disrespectful, but after a while you can get templed (to be locally correct, watted) out quite quickly, especially when your driver speaks very little English and the 'helpful' pamphlet you decided to buy ends up discussing a lot of historical possibilities in pidgin English but not explaining much about the wats, the different components and their purpose, etc. The Lonely Planet has a small box of information about the position of the Buddha images and what they mean in addition to a brief description of what a chedi etc. is but in no way goes toward a deeper understanding of the complexities of it all. As in Bali, I started to find myself getting frustrated by my lack of understanding and eventually a bit numb to the beauty and significance of the wats surrounding me.
The rest of the day was spend escaping the stultifying heat in the air-conditioned glory of shopping malls and going bowling for about 2 hours – procuring some 3 Baht sport socks in the process. I am now on the night bus to Chiang Mai, it is 00:30 on Saturday (?) - 24 April – morning and we're at some pit-stop. Not being sure when the slightly disturbingly rolling and bumpy ride will begin again (magnified somewhat by the fact that this is a double-decker 'VIP' bus and all the falang seem to have to go on the top deck) and the lights be turned off, I shall sign off now and try to find sleep of some sort again. Having stupidly left my iPod in my backpack (in the luggage hold) I'm unable to fall into its blissful lullaby obliteration.
Although I started early, the day was exceedingly hot – I must admit to fantasizing about -20C winters – and I managed to see about 5 of the numerous wats that the area boasts; not to mention a very sad, heart-breaking Elephant Village which was also home to 5 lions in very small enclosures (or cages i the case of the two cubs). Not wanting to sound disrespectful, but after a while you can get templed (to be locally correct, watted) out quite quickly, especially when your driver speaks very little English and the 'helpful' pamphlet you decided to buy ends up discussing a lot of historical possibilities in pidgin English but not explaining much about the wats, the different components and their purpose, etc. The Lonely Planet has a small box of information about the position of the Buddha images and what they mean in addition to a brief description of what a chedi etc. is but in no way goes toward a deeper understanding of the complexities of it all. As in Bali, I started to find myself getting frustrated by my lack of understanding and eventually a bit numb to the beauty and significance of the wats surrounding me.
The rest of the day was spend escaping the stultifying heat in the air-conditioned glory of shopping malls and going bowling for about 2 hours – procuring some 3 Baht sport socks in the process. I am now on the night bus to Chiang Mai, it is 00:30 on Saturday (?) - 24 April – morning and we're at some pit-stop. Not being sure when the slightly disturbingly rolling and bumpy ride will begin again (magnified somewhat by the fact that this is a double-decker 'VIP' bus and all the falang seem to have to go on the top deck) and the lights be turned off, I shall sign off now and try to find sleep of some sort again. Having stupidly left my iPod in my backpack (in the luggage hold) I'm unable to fall into its blissful lullaby obliteration.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Bangkok
is not as crazy as I would have thought. This could be because the monsoon (and therefore low) season is nearly here, or maybe also the recent protests by yellow and red shirts. Either way, I do not feel as overwhelmed as I thought I would - but did keep adventures to the tourist areas.
One of the 3 people I've been traveling with returned to the States yesterday (22nd April) so we celebrated his last night with style. Well, that depends on how you feel about the word. Starting late (even by Bangkok standards 11pm is getting on a bit) we had a few drinks and did some people-watching on Khao San Road. Infamous backpacker destination, by night this brightly-lit street offers bars, restaurants, shops and market stalls of all varieties (though mainly cheap tat) and street meat galore. My favourite 'game' in Bangkok was determining whether the women I saw were really women. Thai's don't seem to think anything of the profusion of ladyboys or male girls that abound in the nation's capital, but so far I haven't found out why it is so acceptable. It just is.
We decide to head to Patpong - how can you be in Bangkok and not check out its notorious red light district? Traveling with three guys is quite a revealing experience - I am privy to their exclamations about pretty girls and various other such man-talk. It is also quite reassuring: I know I am safe with them and have had far less hassle than I got traveling alone (which wasn't much anyway). A rather fraught taxi ride through dark, empty streets gets us to a more lit-up road. The driver seems to think we want a personal tour of every place and we almost climb out of the moving cab just to escape.
Apparently the world famous ping-pong shows are over (too late!) so we head to a row of gay bars - I presume this is for my benefit. Along the way my heart goes out to a baby elephant who tries to shove a bag of bananas into my hands with his wet trunk. I look into his eyes and wonder if they drug him - no idea where the thought comes from but it seems so cruel to have this young animal in the heart of this concrete zone of bars and rooms where everything is available, for a price. My mind shudders at the possible implications of the elephant's presence... then I am whisked to a bar where a very charming waiter makes much fun out of the 3 guys and we talk crap for a while. The alcohol makes me very happy and open to random conversations with random people. As the night progresses and we move on to some other bars, I end up chatting with a woman whoh works as a tout for sex shows and tells me which of the women who pass us are actually not women. I am amazed. I have seen transexuals/transvestites in my time but these ones make a real art of it. As usual, many look far more womanly than me, but also so much...prettier, so much more effort has gone into their outfits and hair and make-up. Much like with some other girls. I wonder why I don't do more of the same myself but oh well...Perhaps I am too lazy - it just seems like so much hard work to put a face on every night when you just have to take it off later.
I then get into an argument with a bevy of rather scary looking ladyboys who surrounded 2 of our number.Ｉwasn't sure if they (the guys) wanted/needed rescuing but when I went to talk with them one of the ladyboys looks at me vehemently and tells me that she thinks I should just shut up. Escaping their evil-eyed stares we go to a club in a tuk-tuk where I proceed to dance on a podium with a variety of men (?) and women (?) and am accosted by several people. One very tiny woman introduces herself as Lik, she even has her name tattooed on her arm. I am not sure what we talk about but we dance for some time more before getting bored of the podium. Upon descending to the melee of the main dance floor I am told by the guys that I'm the only western girl there (not sure what to make of that), then a lady comes up to me and we speak for a few minutes. She has a very deep voice and tried to kiss me...I tell her I like boys, she is not dissuaded and in my drunkenness I start to talk about my boyfriend. After about 10 minutes of my rambling her eyes have glazed over but I'm still extolling his virtues as she (?) walks away.
Only two of us end up leaving the club at about 8 am and sleep comes upon me around an hour later...only to have to wake up to check out at noon and find another, cheaper place to stay. The hangovers are mingy but it was worth it. Like they say, one night in Bangkok and the world's your oyster...or lots of cheap t-shirts, knock-off footwear and many ambiguously gendered people!
One of the 3 people I've been traveling with returned to the States yesterday (22nd April) so we celebrated his last night with style. Well, that depends on how you feel about the word. Starting late (even by Bangkok standards 11pm is getting on a bit) we had a few drinks and did some people-watching on Khao San Road. Infamous backpacker destination, by night this brightly-lit street offers bars, restaurants, shops and market stalls of all varieties (though mainly cheap tat) and street meat galore. My favourite 'game' in Bangkok was determining whether the women I saw were really women. Thai's don't seem to think anything of the profusion of ladyboys or male girls that abound in the nation's capital, but so far I haven't found out why it is so acceptable. It just is.
We decide to head to Patpong - how can you be in Bangkok and not check out its notorious red light district? Traveling with three guys is quite a revealing experience - I am privy to their exclamations about pretty girls and various other such man-talk. It is also quite reassuring: I know I am safe with them and have had far less hassle than I got traveling alone (which wasn't much anyway). A rather fraught taxi ride through dark, empty streets gets us to a more lit-up road. The driver seems to think we want a personal tour of every place and we almost climb out of the moving cab just to escape.
Apparently the world famous ping-pong shows are over (too late!) so we head to a row of gay bars - I presume this is for my benefit. Along the way my heart goes out to a baby elephant who tries to shove a bag of bananas into my hands with his wet trunk. I look into his eyes and wonder if they drug him - no idea where the thought comes from but it seems so cruel to have this young animal in the heart of this concrete zone of bars and rooms where everything is available, for a price. My mind shudders at the possible implications of the elephant's presence... then I am whisked to a bar where a very charming waiter makes much fun out of the 3 guys and we talk crap for a while. The alcohol makes me very happy and open to random conversations with random people. As the night progresses and we move on to some other bars, I end up chatting with a woman whoh works as a tout for sex shows and tells me which of the women who pass us are actually not women. I am amazed. I have seen transexuals/transvestites in my time but these ones make a real art of it. As usual, many look far more womanly than me, but also so much...prettier, so much more effort has gone into their outfits and hair and make-up. Much like with some other girls. I wonder why I don't do more of the same myself but oh well...Perhaps I am too lazy - it just seems like so much hard work to put a face on every night when you just have to take it off later.
I then get into an argument with a bevy of rather scary looking ladyboys who surrounded 2 of our number.Ｉwasn't sure if they (the guys) wanted/needed rescuing but when I went to talk with them one of the ladyboys looks at me vehemently and tells me that she thinks I should just shut up. Escaping their evil-eyed stares we go to a club in a tuk-tuk where I proceed to dance on a podium with a variety of men (?) and women (?) and am accosted by several people. One very tiny woman introduces herself as Lik, she even has her name tattooed on her arm. I am not sure what we talk about but we dance for some time more before getting bored of the podium. Upon descending to the melee of the main dance floor I am told by the guys that I'm the only western girl there (not sure what to make of that), then a lady comes up to me and we speak for a few minutes. She has a very deep voice and tried to kiss me...I tell her I like boys, she is not dissuaded and in my drunkenness I start to talk about my boyfriend. After about 10 minutes of my rambling her eyes have glazed over but I'm still extolling his virtues as she (?) walks away.
Only two of us end up leaving the club at about 8 am and sleep comes upon me around an hour later...only to have to wake up to check out at noon and find another, cheaper place to stay. The hangovers are mingy but it was worth it. Like they say, one night in Bangkok and the world's your oyster...or lots of cheap t-shirts, knock-off footwear and many ambiguously gendered people!
Ko Phayam...no wait, Ko Chang
Leaving Khao Sok we were all ready for the beach again, and the islands beckoned - what a choice there are! The original plan was to go to the Surin Islands: part of a marine park, the diving and snorkeling there is supposed to be divine. However, in addition to a 6 hour boat ride and the high possibility of exceedingly expensive accommodation, the group made the decision to head to Ko Phayam instead - supposedly like Ko Samui (immensely popular island on the east coast) in the 80s.
A few buses took us to Rangong, basically on the border of Myanmar. We'd missed the regular 'ferry' service to the island so negotiated with someone to take a longtail - a 2 hour journey. Stocking up on grilled chicken and longan fruit at the market, we stepped aboard the most decrepit longtail yet, manned by what appeared to be a 15 year old boy. (Hard to tell, Thai's generally look a lot younger than they are). Then we're off! For 5 minutes to some other 'pier' where we wait about 20 minutes for two other pubescent youth to join us. Then we're off! For another 5 minute journey to get petrol. Then we're off! This time we really are... sitting shaded from the afternoon sun under the makeshift awning, life is good despite the water at the bottom of the boat and oily stains everywhere. But wait... 2 of us have to move to the back (right near the deafening engine) as otherwise, from what we can tell, the boat isn't weighted properly. Interestingly, the other 'crew members' are able to sit anywhere...spilling the fuel, smoking right next to it, throwing their rubbish into the sea...
A glorious sunset and perhaps 2 hours later, we approach an island in the impending dusk. Upon showing the driver a card with the name of the place we'd like to stay, he steers us to a beach. A deserted beach. A sharp whistle and someone comes, the bags are dumped on the sand and I'm the sole remaining passenger as the longtail bucks and bounces in the surf. This all seems wrong...we are not at the Bamboo Bungalows. Back the bags and others come and we go around bluff to another beach. This time there are lights and a few people. Recalling that some guidebook says you pass Ko Chang before getting to Ko Phayam, I ask the 14 year old female crew member if this is Ko Chang. She replies yes. I ask if its Ko Phayam. She replies in the affirmative again. It's nearly dark and as the boat reaches the sand we ask the 3 people there where we are. 'Ko Chang' they reply. Lovely, but...so various attempts at discussion start, aided by the woman who runs the guesthouse. Apparently its too dark for the teenagers to take us to Ko Phayam (no lights on their boat) and the sea is getting rougher. Negotiations are made, voices raised and the male owner comes out with a bong: conflict management Ko Chang style.
The bungalows are basic but nice, the owners very friendly, food absolutely great and the atmosphere utterly relaxing. The next morning we awake to a beautiful but small beach, days spent playing what we called shuffle board (same game as in Melaka), smoking for those who it appealed to and, for Edwin and myself, a walk to Long Beach. Supposedly the island's main drag. Empty but for about 6 people. Shops and restaurants look abandoned. Old pier stumps rotting away. Ghost town. There is a military presence on the island, in fact they paid the bungalows a visit one afternoon. A sorry-looking bunch, they're supposedly on the look-out for illegal Myanmar immigrants, although according to our hosts many work on Ko Chang. One with them, in fact. Every time one battalion moves in, the army welcomes the islanders to a big party on board one of their vessels, replete with food and drink. Funny old world.
Our days of relaxing draw to a close as we need to head north and one of our number is headed home. So early one morning we bid farewell to this blissfully underdeveloped island and head off in a much bigger, fuller longtail taxi to Ranong before the days final destination: Bangkok.
A few buses took us to Rangong, basically on the border of Myanmar. We'd missed the regular 'ferry' service to the island so negotiated with someone to take a longtail - a 2 hour journey. Stocking up on grilled chicken and longan fruit at the market, we stepped aboard the most decrepit longtail yet, manned by what appeared to be a 15 year old boy. (Hard to tell, Thai's generally look a lot younger than they are). Then we're off! For 5 minutes to some other 'pier' where we wait about 20 minutes for two other pubescent youth to join us. Then we're off! For another 5 minute journey to get petrol. Then we're off! This time we really are... sitting shaded from the afternoon sun under the makeshift awning, life is good despite the water at the bottom of the boat and oily stains everywhere. But wait... 2 of us have to move to the back (right near the deafening engine) as otherwise, from what we can tell, the boat isn't weighted properly. Interestingly, the other 'crew members' are able to sit anywhere...spilling the fuel, smoking right next to it, throwing their rubbish into the sea...
A glorious sunset and perhaps 2 hours later, we approach an island in the impending dusk. Upon showing the driver a card with the name of the place we'd like to stay, he steers us to a beach. A deserted beach. A sharp whistle and someone comes, the bags are dumped on the sand and I'm the sole remaining passenger as the longtail bucks and bounces in the surf. This all seems wrong...we are not at the Bamboo Bungalows. Back the bags and others come and we go around bluff to another beach. This time there are lights and a few people. Recalling that some guidebook says you pass Ko Chang before getting to Ko Phayam, I ask the 14 year old female crew member if this is Ko Chang. She replies yes. I ask if its Ko Phayam. She replies in the affirmative again. It's nearly dark and as the boat reaches the sand we ask the 3 people there where we are. 'Ko Chang' they reply. Lovely, but...so various attempts at discussion start, aided by the woman who runs the guesthouse. Apparently its too dark for the teenagers to take us to Ko Phayam (no lights on their boat) and the sea is getting rougher. Negotiations are made, voices raised and the male owner comes out with a bong: conflict management Ko Chang style.
The bungalows are basic but nice, the owners very friendly, food absolutely great and the atmosphere utterly relaxing. The next morning we awake to a beautiful but small beach, days spent playing what we called shuffle board (same game as in Melaka), smoking for those who it appealed to and, for Edwin and myself, a walk to Long Beach. Supposedly the island's main drag. Empty but for about 6 people. Shops and restaurants look abandoned. Old pier stumps rotting away. Ghost town. There is a military presence on the island, in fact they paid the bungalows a visit one afternoon. A sorry-looking bunch, they're supposedly on the look-out for illegal Myanmar immigrants, although according to our hosts many work on Ko Chang. One with them, in fact. Every time one battalion moves in, the army welcomes the islanders to a big party on board one of their vessels, replete with food and drink. Funny old world.
Our days of relaxing draw to a close as we need to head north and one of our number is headed home. So early one morning we bid farewell to this blissfully underdeveloped island and head off in a much bigger, fuller longtail taxi to Ranong before the days final destination: Bangkok.
Happy Songkran!
It doesn't matter if you have your camera with you. Or your passport. Or are carrying your bags to the hotel or airport. You've just entered a war zone and will very soon know it. It all starts with the woman who served you pancakes ten minutes earlier pouring a plastic container of water over your head. She's not angry, in fact she's smiling – this is Songkran and you should expect to get wet. Very wet.
At first you walk around wearing your soaked clothing with pride. Not all tourists are wet, and some look visibly worried about the possibility. In smaller tourist areas it's probably not too hard to keep dry most of the day, but given it's one of the hottest days of the year, getting wet seems like paradise. A bunch of us headed off by longtail to the nearby town, armed with water balloons and excitement. As the car engine puttered its way through the water, we hatched many plans. Upon arrival at Ao Nang's pier we were duly soaked before noticing that the traffic was only one way, and going at a crawl.
Waterless, we were at a severe disadvantage until we hauled ourselves up into the bed of a passing truck. Surrounded by smiling children with huge water pistols we realized our hands were not going to be good weapons. About 300 Baht later we're armed with super-soakers, pistols and buckets and the fun begins!
There are huge blue water butts at the side of the road providing a continual supply of cool water as they're constantly refilled with a hose. Everywhere you look, people are throwing water or having it thrown on them. People park their trucks, set the stereo blaring and dance happily, while bands of smiling Thai's walk past with talcum powder – sometimes rather mentholy and cold until it starts prickling and burning your skin – slipping it on to your cheeks, shoulders, hair. People smile as you soak them, you smile as ice water is poured down your back.
Thai New Year is a joyous occasion, often described as the world's biggest water fight, but its roots go far deeper than cooling off at the end of the hot season. April 13, the first day of this 3-10 day (depending on location) celebration marks the sun's passing into Aries and signals a time of change. The monsoon season approaches, and all the water thrown precipitates the downpours soon to come, Buddha statues are bathed in ceremonial flower water and carried through the streets so everyone can wash them. Then the water fight begins, usually in the afternoon. I'm really happy I got to experience this very different but very refreshing New Year - my fourth of 2009!
At first you walk around wearing your soaked clothing with pride. Not all tourists are wet, and some look visibly worried about the possibility. In smaller tourist areas it's probably not too hard to keep dry most of the day, but given it's one of the hottest days of the year, getting wet seems like paradise. A bunch of us headed off by longtail to the nearby town, armed with water balloons and excitement. As the car engine puttered its way through the water, we hatched many plans. Upon arrival at Ao Nang's pier we were duly soaked before noticing that the traffic was only one way, and going at a crawl.
Waterless, we were at a severe disadvantage until we hauled ourselves up into the bed of a passing truck. Surrounded by smiling children with huge water pistols we realized our hands were not going to be good weapons. About 300 Baht later we're armed with super-soakers, pistols and buckets and the fun begins!
There are huge blue water butts at the side of the road providing a continual supply of cool water as they're constantly refilled with a hose. Everywhere you look, people are throwing water or having it thrown on them. People park their trucks, set the stereo blaring and dance happily, while bands of smiling Thai's walk past with talcum powder – sometimes rather mentholy and cold until it starts prickling and burning your skin – slipping it on to your cheeks, shoulders, hair. People smile as you soak them, you smile as ice water is poured down your back.
Thai New Year is a joyous occasion, often described as the world's biggest water fight, but its roots go far deeper than cooling off at the end of the hot season. April 13, the first day of this 3-10 day (depending on location) celebration marks the sun's passing into Aries and signals a time of change. The monsoon season approaches, and all the water thrown precipitates the downpours soon to come, Buddha statues are bathed in ceremonial flower water and carried through the streets so everyone can wash them. Then the water fight begins, usually in the afternoon. I'm really happy I got to experience this very different but very refreshing New Year - my fourth of 2009!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Something from Bali
I am in a tourist shuttle bus to Kuta
listening to Arcade Fire on the iPod,
feeling a ridiculous sense of pride about live in Montreal
This huge massive feeling of well-being about my hometown
Yes, home. town.
That crazy island city with its schizophrenic weather, great bands, friendly people, mix of old and new, mass-manufactured and local craft, uber-cool uber-kitsch, amazing friends and great memories. I look forward to making more.
listening to Arcade Fire on the iPod,
feeling a ridiculous sense of pride about live in Montreal
This huge massive feeling of well-being about my hometown
Yes, home. town.
That crazy island city with its schizophrenic weather, great bands, friendly people, mix of old and new, mass-manufactured and local craft, uber-cool uber-kitsch, amazing friends and great memories. I look forward to making more.
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