Holiday You?

This Blog is Over

2009-01-20T15:01:00.000-08:00

Home for a few months now. Today seems like a good day to reflect.

First off, congratulations to Barack Obama and to the US. No matter your feelings about Democratic vs. Republican politics (or lack of difference therein), this country took quite a step forward in putting a man of color into the White House. I wish him, and us, the best of luck.

Somewhere earlier in this blog, I mentioned that Tami and I occasionally play a game: "Where were we a year (or two...or, now, three) ago?"

On this day in 2006, we were hunkered down, enjoying the warm mineral baths of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. We made a destination of "T or C" (as called by the locals) because we'd been camping in exceedingly cold temps for the preceding three weeks. We soaked in the heat and the hippie funk for three days before continuing further south.

(Early morning soak looking out on the Rio Grande - Truth or Consequences, NM)

On January 20, 2007, we prepared to leave Phnom Penh, Cambodia. The next day we were taking a boat down the Mekong to cross over Chao Doc, Vietnam. I may have had no point during our trip where I felt a greater sense of adventure...but also of apprehension. Vietnam shares a more complex history with the US than any country on our itinerary. I had no palpable idea of how we'd be received. Luckily it turned out very well. The people treated us warmly and the country, as a whole, stands as a highlight of our entire trip.

(Heavily laden rice boat making its way along a canal of the Mekong to the mill - Vietnam)

On the 20th of January 2008, we were in the former French colony of Pondicherry on the Bay of Bengal in southern India. Fresh from 13 months is Southeast Asia, we'd been back in India for just over a week. I wrote in my journal that morning of my surprise at how difficult it was, "yet again", to adjust to the chaos of the Sub-continent. As challenging at it was, Tami and I often find ourselves now, looking back on our adventures in India with sighs of longing. Over the course of two visits we spent almost a year there. Given the chance, we'd go back in a heartbeat.

(Chai vendor working his craft at a street stall - Pondicherry, India)

See what staying put at home will do? We're travel-ready ... even for India ... again! Unfortunately, that's just part of our DNA and a chronic condition. We're happy to be back and San Francisco looks better than ever. What a crazy time to re-integrate, too! The election and the economy have kept the news interesting if not slightly unsettling. I'm frankly amazed how thoroughly the latter pushed environmental concerns almost completely off the media agenda. Those issues are only getting more acute and $30/barrel oil...well, it doesn't help.

I could reflect nostalgically about this trip for hours. Most folks don't have that kind of time, though. In the spirit of brevity, I'll sum things up with a few numbers.

1,055 - Total number of days on the road.
11 - Total number of countries visited. (Doesn't include transit countries. Must have a visa stamp and/or must have walked the streets for a few hours minimum.)
240 - Number of unique places we slept. (Doesn't include repeat visits to places e.g. multiple visits to transit hubs like Bangkok, Delhi, etc.)
$19.25 - Per-person cost per day - all costs included from departure to return
$15.91 - Per-person cost per day - minus health insurance and plane fare
7 - Number of flights - destination to destination (not including connectors)
9 - Number of friends who visited us while we were outside the US. (Ken, Rich, Johan, Tish, Eric, Maggie, Mark, Sherry)
20 - Number of fiction books read.* (See below)
42 - Number of non-fiction books read.** (See below)
Favorite Feedback - From my uncle Gordon: "I don't just look at your pictures. I study 'em. I look at the background and try to see everything that was going on when you were there. I try to put myself in your place and see how it felt."
Tie for Favorite - Friends following in some portion of our footsteps e.g. Scott and Tami going to Koh Mak in Thailand, Eric and Maggie doing their own groovy trip.
Things I miss most from being on the road: Frequent, random smiles and hellos from strangers. Fantastic tropical fruit. Cheap, public transportation that goes virtually anywhere. Warm weather. A tangible sense of history in the surroundings.
Unsettling lesson: Where there's water, there's life. And ... the corollary: Where it's dry, there's little or none.

(Top of an irrigation dike near Hampi, India)

(The minimally-irrigated village of Nako, Himachal Pradesh, India)

Biggest surprise of being on the road - How bad the food choices were.
Runner-up surprise - How hard most of the people of this world work for their food.

(Farmer in the village of Langde, Guizhou, China plows a rice paddy the same way his people have for centuries)

(Buckwheat threshing - Kali Gandaki Valley, Nepal)

Biggest surprise of being home - How limited peoples' questions were about the trip. Most questions were limited to: "Did you have a great time?" ... "Did you get sick?" ... "What was your favorite place?" and "When are you going to write a book?"
Tie for biggest home surprise - How quickly time passes in the US. On the road we often remarked on how much we'd done since breakfast or how, on Thursday, something we talked about had happened only two days ago on Tuesday, seemed like ages prior. Now that we're home, we're experiencing that same old feeling of, "It's Friday already?!" Time really does fly here.

So that's it. Home. Healthy. Still adjusting. Eminently grateful.

'Bye bye...

It's all ahead now...

Books:

* Fiction - Oryx and Crake (Margaret Atwood), The Great Indian Novel (?), Delhi (Kushwant Singh), For Whom the Bell Tolls (Ernest Hemmingway), The God of Small Things (Arundahti Roy), All Families Are Psychotic (Douglas Coupland), The Life of Pi (Yann Martel), Perfume (Patrick Suskind), Sweet Thursday (John Steinbeck), Karma Cola (Gita Mehta), The Elephanta Suite (Paul Theroux), The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini), The Road (Cormac McCarthy), A Fine Balance (Rohinton Mistry), Shantaram - (Gregory David Roberts), 1984 (George Orwell), Foucault's Pendulum (Umberto Eco), Main Street (Sinclair Lewis), Hamlet, Richard II, Richard III, Much Ado About Nothing (William Shakespeare)

** Non fiction - In Ruins, Botany of Desire (Michael Pollan), A Tale of Two Valleys, Stupid White Men, Dude - Where's My Country (Michael Moore) , Ancient Futures - Learning from Ladakh (Helena Norberg Hodge), Highness - The Maharajas of India, The Gods Drink Whiskey (Stephen Asma), Seven Years In Tibet (Heinrich Herrar) , India in Slow Motion (Mark Tully), Small is Beautiful (E. F. Schumacher), The Snow Leopard (Peter Matthiessen), It Must Have Been Something I Ate (Jeffrey Steingarten), Return To Tibet (Heinrich Harrar), A Time of Gifts (Patrick Leigh Fermor), First They Killed My Father, Dispatches (Michael Herr), A River's Tale - A Year on the Mekong (Edward Gargan), The Girl in the Picture (Denise Chong), The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down (Anne Fadiman), The River at the Center of the World (Simon Winchester), Earth Odyssey (Mark Hertsgaard), Lost In Mongolia (Angus ?), Kitchen Confidential + A Cook's Tour (Anthony Bourdain), Riding the Iron Rooster (Paul Theroux), Himalaya (Michael Palin), Cambodia Now (Karen Coates), Slow Reckoning (Tom Athanasiou), Emergency Sex (?), Confessions of an Economic Hit Man (John Perkins), The Prince of the Marshes (Rory Stewart), The Spice Route - A History (John Keay), The World is Flat (Thomas Friedman), The Power of Now (Eckhart Tolle), King (?), Sorrows of Empire (Chalmers Johnson), Rogue States (Noam Chomsky), The Tree Where Man Was Born (Peter Matthiessen), Hell's Angel (Sonny Barger), Globalization and It's Distontents (Joseph Stiglitz), Soul of a New Machine (Tracy Kidder)

Last Long Haul

2008-06-16T20:29:00.000-07:00

June 16 - The Satyagrah Express train from Gorakpur to Delhi

* Note to self : Be sceptical of Indian trains named for swiftness. This is no 'express'.
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How fitting that I'm finishing my foreign sojourn with a marathon bus and train run. I've been traveling since I left the hotel in Kathmandu just over forty-seven hours ago. It'll take me at least another hour or two to get to my next, and final, one. The Monsoon has hit. I left in the rain and it's been gray or coming down most of the past two days. The various surges of aroma that typically shock your senses now hang in thick and constant in the humid air.

Any long piece of travel in the Developing World can humble you, but overnight rides weaken you in a way reminiscent of heartbreak. You rush to make connections or get through border crossings - in my case walking, taking a taxi, two buses and a bicycle rickshaw to get to and over the Nepal/India boder. You end up eating crappy food which invariably means carbs and fat. You're already tired physically and overwrought emotionally. Then, you battle through the darkness (or lack thereof, because no one will turn off the lights) and sounds and constant bumping and jostling of the moving vehicle. All night you fall, literally, chin-on-chest to sleep for just a few minutes only to wake up because of the pain in your neck. In and out. In and out. In and out...in and out of sleep for hours. You feel a surge of raw excitement at dawn both because you finally have something to look at out the window and the akward publicness of sleeping together is over. People know how to act in crowds during the day. Big public slumber parties are not so common. At dawn, your travel compatriots seem much more human for having gone through the same equalizing breakdown. You know, perhaps for the first time, a little bit about what they feel inside and you like them for it.

This particular trip started with a rainy taxi from Durbar Square in the center of Kathmandu. We rambled through the medieval lanes without a hitch finishing at the New Bus Park a couple kilometers north. Touts approached me immediately asking where I was going and to take their particular bus. I looked over the craft that were going to the border and settled on the one that looked the least uncomfortable. There was still an hour before the bus was supposed to leave but it was pouring so I sat in my seat and made a gloomy dinner of the sandwiches I'd brought. Apart from one English woman, I was the only onther non-Nepali/Indian. It took us an hour to wind through the traffic up and out of the Kathmandu Valley.

The winding continued for the next ten or so hours. As usual on buses here, the crew played an uninterrupted stream of Bollywood movie music. The good news is that this bus had a CD player - one of the first I've ever seen to discard the outdated, warbling cassette players. At least the music was clear! At our first stop, at around 11:30 p.m. I stayed onboard and tried to sleep. The crew left the bus door open, though, and the monsoon mosquitoes descended on me. I fought them for half an hour until the driver and crew came back from eating. We stopped for two more such breaks in the night and both times I had to get up and walk around to fend off the bugs.

Around dawn, we pulled into a larger town about an hour north of the Indian border. Our crew unceremoniously ordered us off the bus onto a smaller and supremely crowded local bus. I hesitated but none of the other passengers complained so I grabbed my bags and went along. I ended up sitting on a bag of rice in the aisle for an hour but it was fine. Everyone, locals and long distance travelers alike seemed genial - until we got to Bhairawa, still four kilometers from the border. That was the end of the line for that bus and we're directed to pile into an even more cramped 4x4 with no protection for our bags from the rain. The other option was to take a covered bicycle rickshaw. I had time to kill so I opted for the rickshaw.

It took probably five times longer and cost two or three times as much as the jeep but the silent ride along the rice paddies so early in the day was perhaps the best part of the entire trip. When you know you're seeing something for what might be the last time, you stare and listen and smell and absorb as much as you possibly can so it sticks deep in your tangible memory. You make a prayer of the luminescent green rice shoots and the quizzical buffalo stares and the smoke from the dung fires and the dripping of the rain and you listen to its rhythm and you repeat it back to yourself until you can do it all with closed eyes. Then you whisper thanks that you had a chance to see it and pray that others will have a chance to take a ride just like it.

We eased into a the small but very bustling border town where I changed the last of my Nepali rupees for Indian, filled out the exit papers and walked into India. At the immigration post there, I listened as one of the officials suggested to a young woman backpacker that she change her money with him. She asked what the rate was and he quietly mumbled one very much in his favor. I looked up as she was getting out money and mentioned that there were other places where she might want to see if she could do better. He immediately stammered, "Yes, there are official money changers, as well." She looked at me, looked at him and put her money back in her bag.

Sunauli, like border towns everywhere, is grubby. There is one long street lined with shops with housing bleeding out behind on either side. One half of the street is perpetually filled with huge, tandem-axle freight trucks waiting to cross into Nepal. Every time I've been through, the line is well over a kilometer long. The other half of the street is filled with a constant stream of pedestrians, bicycle rickshaws, cars, motorcycles and ox and horse carts among other manners of locomotion. It's never a pleasant stroll but the bus station is at the south end and you have to walk or take a rickshaw to get there. I was happy walking as it was early and relatively quiet but I needed chai first. I stopped at a stall and drank two. While I was there, a man came in and asked me, "Gorakpur?", the city where I was going. I said yes and he pointed out to his 4x4 parked across the street. There were already a couple men inside (this is important since they won't go until they get a full load of passengers) and his price was the usual 100 rupees so I grabbed my bag and got on board.

He and his two touts worked the stream of walkers coming from the border ruthlessly trying to get more passengers. Two other jeeps were parked there and the competion for riders was stiff. At one point, we had two more riders but there was an argument with the crew from the jeep in front of us about who approached them first. They ended up getting back out of our vehicle and hustled into the one in front. Rancor all around.

After about twenty minutes, our touts sprinted up from behind yelling and slamming closed all the doors. The driver started off before they even finished. We accelerated for about fifty meters and took a hard left down a narrow alley. We went another seventy or so meters and came out in a vacant lot. The driver wheeled the truck around and turned it off. After maybe forty-five seconds, two Indian police rode up on a motorcycle. One had a lathi (long bamboo stick used as a club) and one had a very old rifle. The cop with the lathi came over to the driver and started barking at him in Hindi. I've seen variations of this quite a few times now and I hoped that a foreigner there might temper his brutality a little. A couple times he shifted his glare from the placating driver to me assessing, I assume, if I could understand what was going on.

One assumption you can safely make about Indian cops is that they are guaranteed to be corrupt. They see many if not most law breaking as a way for them to extract bribes. A second assumption is that they are almost as certain to be violent. Indians may be used to this but it still shocks the hell out of me. This inquisition progressed as I've seen most do. The cop seems to bark, "What the hell do you think you were doing?" The offender says something trying to minimize or deny what was going on. The cop goes on, getting enraged that the accused would question what the HE saw. In this instance, the cop wanted the keys to the vehicle and the man to come with him. The driver pleaded but the officer just got more and more angry. As usual, a good sized crowd had gathered to watch. Eventually, he reached in the open door, grabbed the driver by the collar of his shirt and yanked him outside. Of course, that's never enough. He went on shaking him banging his head into the truck then almost throwning him into the mud. The cops took the keys, got back on their cycle and told him, I assume, to follow them back to their post. As soon as they were gone, the two other 4x4 crew guys frantically got us passengers and our bags out and told us to "GO!"

They might not look dangerous...

I was now happy to walk down to the bus park as originally planned. I knew some exercise would help shake off the grim adrenaline. At the bus park, I hopped on a half full small one and waited for it to fill up. Too much competition made that task take over an hour - not a big deal, my train wasn't until 3:25 p.m. and it was only 9: 00 a.m. but forward progress is usually preferable to stasis.

The rail junction of Gorakpur in India is a fabled nowheres-ville in the annals of South Asian travels. It sits at the junction of major rail lines and, if you want to get in and out of Nepal, you are most likely to pass through here. Lonely Planet says of it, "There is nothing to see in Gorakpur." After four visits, I have to agree. The Monsoon only made it worse. The normally dusty streets oozed with mud. I still had over four hours to kill so I made myself familiar with the rambling train station.

My ticket was only "wait-listed", a fact unknown to me until after I'd paid for it, but the travel agent in Kathmandu assured me I'd move up to a "confirmed" birth by the time of departure. Not true. I had, in fact, moved up, but only from 49 to 26. (*Second note to self: Don't trust Nepali travel agents.) Not only that but the wait list still had over 200 people on it. Great. I bought that ticket over two weeks prior and the best I could do with lead time was waitlisting. There were a few other trains coming through but I had no chance at an impromptu ticket on any of them. I had to get to Delhi to catch a plane, though. I asked three different counter agents and two other passengers who spoke English what I might be able to do. They all said to just get on the train and talk to the conductor. I resolved that I'd be on the train one way or another and deal with whatever happened once I was rolling. To be in Delhi in two days was non-negotiable.

The hours went by and 3:25 came...but the train did not. I found out it was a hour and a-half late. I won't relive the agony of the successive delays but each hour I returned to the platform, saw no train and went to the Enquiry desk to get the latest. I did this five times. We finally left at around 10:00 p.m. - six and a half hours late. I tracked down a conductor who immediately barked that the train was full. I pleaded with him about my flight and need to get to Delhi on time and that I'd take anything. I didn't even have to have a seat. I'd stand. He hesitated then said, "Go to Sleeper." I've seen plenty of people standing at the ends of the cars in Sleeper before. Now, I was going to count myself among them.

The car I chose was only about 2/3rd's full. I couldn't believe my luck when the train started rolling and several berths remained empty. I hoisted my backpack and bag into one, crawled up and was alseep before the last car was out of the station. I was exhausted. My next memory came when a man was slapping his hand on my bunk. He was asking me something in Hindi and, although I absolutely didn't want to hear it, knew exactly what it was. He was ensconsing his family into this compartment and they had the ticket for my berth. I looked down and around the car and my heart flooded with dread. There were people lying on every square foot of horizontal space. Not only was I tired, but I had my huge backpack to find a home for. I sighed, fell back, and told him, "OK, one minute."

By pure luck, there was a storage alcove at the end of the car just big enough for my pack. I stuffed it in and stepped out onto the platform. Hundreds of people slept everywhere on the cement. (See below video)

I was happy to discover that I'd slept about four and a half hours - better than nothing. I got back on and took a place next to the door. A family had taken the floor behind me (see below) and four of five scruffy men joined me standing. Everyone looked tired and no one spoke but in all the jostling, I never heard one raised voice. Indians have been through all this and more.

The train rolled on. Everything was quiet - a rare thing in India. Apart from thebuzz of the overhead fans and the clatter of the tracks, I heard nothing. Successive station platforms punctuated the darkness. At some stops, the lone light at either end of each car attracted clouds of bugs. They engulfed everything around, including those of us standing. Some of the men hopped off the car into the dim light of the station until the train moved again. I was reading and the white pages of my book looked like and entomology experiment. That happened only once. Afterward, I did the platform hustle, too.

(Sleepers awake in the a.m.)

Finally, the sky started to lighten. Passengers made their ways to the bathrooms at each car's end. I don't think I've ever turned and made room for people so many times in one stretch. It went on for maybe two hours - men, women, teens, women coming back for a second round with kids, old people (apparently incontinent based on how many trips they made). It was as if the whole train car refused to stay in their seats. Somehow, though, daybreak seemed to put everyone in a tolerant mood, me included. I'd be later than I planned but I was reasonably certain I'd make it to Delhi now. I just had to ride it out.

Rolling through that early morning countryside, I also felt nostalgia flooding back into me. Who knows when I'll see tropical fields and villages like this again? Hell, who knows when I'll ride a train again? The dim light and fatigue, one point, made me question what I saw. Out in a field about a hundred meters from the train were what looked like two birds. They were so tall, though, that I literally doubted my sight. Less than hour later I saw another pair, this time much closer to the train. An Internet search showed me I'd had the very good fortune to see these:

http://www.savingcranes.org/species/sarus.cfm

The train rolled on. Station after station. Even on a long ride, trains in India are rarely without interesting things to see. You get the impression that half of India's billion-plus people are on the move at any given time.

We eventually crossed the Ganges and down on the banks below the bridge, a group of people were having a funeral. The flames of the funeral pyre had just started to burn when we rolled over. The men stood around the pyre and the women, as is tradition, squatted in their own group a few meters away. The Ganges.....freaky.

On board, you never know who or what you're going to see. In India, there is a group of people called hirja's You might call them transsexuals or, in some cases, eunuchs. They like to refer to themselves as a 3rd gender. As you might imagine, they are quite marginalized. One way they support themselves is to beg on trains. I've seen quite a few and they always like to push for money from foreigners. I was happy to fork over a few rupees.

The last hour of the ride the air got grayer and grayer. The smog told me we were finally penetrating the 10 million(+) person mega-city of New Delhi. I was so tired I was numb. Finally, out the left window I saw a wall of the Red Fort. Relief.

Shortly, I was out on the street in front of the Old Delhi Railway Station in my rickshaw. The ride to the guest house in Pahar Ganj neighborhood took another half hour.

I think it was almost 50 hours from door to door. I gave myself a good, long scrub, at a tasty south Indian style meal....an slept. Fun stuff...but I think I'll wait awhile before I do another trip like that.

Vipassana post-script

2008-05-21T19:06:00.000-07:00

Lumbini, Nepal

Some folks have said I may have painted an overly bleak picture of my experience with the Vipassana meditation course. Perhaps a long-honed propensity to sandbag swayed me toward under-selling what I came away with. I most certainly didn't want to appear like some of the few starry-eyed alumni I've met who can't seem to find anything but unqualified, raving praise for their own experiences. That kind of summary always smells of "promotion" to me, or of someone clinging to a life preserver of dogma. I prefer the dynamic of "attraction". Check things out for yourself. If you find something or things you like, excellent. If not, perhaps the practice or philosophy is not for you.

There is no doubt that the Vipassana course put me through ten honest days of gloves-off grappling with my brain and body. But when do you ever grow without some fear or pain? I don't want to discourage anyone. This course taught me a LOT. I will continue with this practice and, if I'm lucky, very likely do another course or more at the Vipassana center in California. Without exception everything we were exposed to was practical and self-assessable. In other words, I was able to judge for myself to see what I found. For the record, I was - and I very much like what I felt.

It's not a small coincidence that I'm writing this post from Lumbini, the birthplace of Buddha. Tami and I made a last-minute change of plans for trekking and came north into Nepal. The road goes near Lumbini where we've heard that a handful of Buddhist monestaries is growing in a large campus of sorts. Each monestary is built in the style of the representative country where Buddhism is practiced. We had a very good two-hour meditation at the Korean complex.

For me, life in this modern world is confusing and not easy to navigate with happiness and tranquility. Vipassana seems to be a useful tool to help me do that better. That's enough for me to keep on trying.

Travel back to the age of chivalry

2008-05-18T09:21:00.001-07:00

Following on the subject below of things swinging, we just finished traveling in the state of Rajasthan where you can't swing a cat without hitting some medieval fort or palace. Most of them are perched dizzily on intimidating bluffs or escarpments. Nearly everyone who comes to India makes a trip out to Rajasthan to take in the romantic settings and desert landscape. I think we spent almost a month.
Us with Jaisalmer Fort behind

Rajasthan has a history that seeps from the ruins of its past. About a thousand or more years ago, different "clans" moved into the area and building fortifications. I can only imagine water was more plentiful then because the region prospered judging by the architecture and infrastructure left behind. Cities grew and some of the people obviously made a great deal of wealth. From everything we read, the "Rajputs", as they were known, also fought a LOT.
A havelli "house" in Jaisalmer - they'd be palaces anywhere else

Actually, in the those days and before, city states seemed to always be fighting. From my read of the history of Rajasthan, it didn't take a lot to start a conflict. In one case, the prince of Jodhpur was promised the hand of the princess of Udaipur. He died unexpectedly so the second eldest son was elevated to crown prince. Tradition had it that the marriage would proceed as planned but with the second son. The Maharaja of Udaipur, however, didn't like the second son as a choice and instead promised his daughter to the prince of Jaipur. This was enough of a breach of protocol that the Maharaja of Jodhpur and his army intercepted the wedding procession with ALL THE DOWRY GIFTS (worth a very great deal) on its way from Udaipur to Jaipur. The armies of the two offended city states pursued the Jodhpur transgressors back to the fort you see below and gave siege for NINE MONTHS. These were serious folks when it came to honor, fighting and money.

Jodhpur Fort and part of the old city

Sometimes, the forts were not enough to hold off defeat. In rare circumstances, a siege was insurmountable. Some lasted for years and the occupants of the forts would eventually run out of food and water. When everything was viewed as hopeless, the defenders embarked on a final path that epitomized their idea of chivalry and honor - jauhar. Much religious ceremony preceded jauhar but the final steps included the self immolation of all the women and children in the fort. This often numbered in the thousands. They built large funeral pyres of wood, covered them in oil and burned themselves to death. When this was completed, the men would ride or run out through the gates to fight until death. In one case in Jodhpur, the fort was almost taken in a surprise attack. There was not time to conduct the rituals and burning. Rather than have their women and children treated with dishonor, the men had to cut their throats. Imagine the fury of their fighting on riding out against their foes after leaving behind their families, dead by their own hands.

The "Victory Tower" in Chittor Fort

Part of the wall at Chittor Fort

Fighting between city states or principalities was not uncommon. Everywhere, Europe included, went through those long, brutal centuries where fighting touched everyone at some point or another. They built huge walls and lived inside them for a reason. Violence came up close and, if the need called, everyone who could joined in the battle. Whichever city was stronger, prevailed getting the economic spoils. It occurred to me that the US never went through this brutality. Apart from one paroxysm of nastiness - the Civil War - our history has no scar tissue from American on American violence. We have the wars to eradicate the Native Americans but those, for a long time were portrayed as a noble cause - and there are few or no monuments of those conflicts left behind to remind anyone. Makes me wonder if this contributes to our willingness to use violence to get what we want in current times.

Another part of Chittor's wall

Anyway, you can almost throw a dart at the map of Rajasthan, get on a bus or train, go to the city and see some freakish fort or battlements or palaces. At one point, Tami and I badly misjudged the map in our book. We took a six-hour bus ride to get to a certain old fort to find out no roads penetrated the hills between us an said fort. We deliberated and headed instead the opposite direction to Chittor. It was supposed to be good, as well. Well.....good it was. This was just one more of those scenes where we wandered around ruins Disney would covet (but never approach in quality or scale) and mumble the litmus test phrase of travelers' fulfillment, "You've got to be kidding me."

Old alcove paintings at Bundi Fort

Being the early part of the hottest season, we were blessed to have most of these ruins totally to ourselves. We could wander for hours and only see a few other people. We could find supremely meditative and beautiful places and sit for long periods imagining what the royal high-life might have been like. Very nice stuff.

Interior at Naggaur Fort

Another interior at Naggaur Fort

I have to admit, I'm tired of seeing stuff, tired of buses and new guest houses, tired of the grime and Indian guys who cannot behave like adults. I'm tired of Indian food. Be that as it may, India just keeps coming on. There is so much to see here I am at a loss to contextualize it. If you get a chance, you'd be missing out on so much if you didn't come here.

Like a wild monkey...

2008-05-12T08:12:00.000-07:00

Jaipur, Rajasthan

At 7:00 this morning we bid a poignant goodbye to the place where we'd just spent ten challenging days. After a very great deal of consideration, Tami and I joined a meditation course taught in what is, reputedly, the technique most true to that taught by Sidhartha Gautama Buddha 2,500 years ago. The technique is called Vipassana, which means "to see things as they really are". The course was held at a beautiful little campus just outside of the city of Jaipur in a desert arroyo that could be in the hills behind San Diego. The place was overrun with peacocks, parrots, a handful of other colorful birds and the occasional mongoose - stark yet peaceful contrast to most of the locales we've visited in India.

I first heard about Vipassana during my first trip here in 1994. I met a young Canadian couple that had recently finished a course and they could not enthuse about it enough. Their description and the descriptions of many other people over the intervening years have invariably acknowledged the difficulty of the course but praised the peace of mind that comes from working through it. The challenge comes in the form of 10 days of silent, mostly sedentary contemplation. You enter the course and say nothing for the duration - even to yourself. You're not supposed to make eye contact with other "meditators". Separation of men and women. You rise at 4:00 a.m. and work until 9:00 p.m. with a few rest periods. Your two meals and one snack are served in a dining hall. The idea is to focus on your inner self.

I have to admit, I was intimidated at the prospect of enrolling. In the past couple years we met many alumni who told us they were emotionally and physically overwhelmed during the experience. Most people have no experience trying to hold a sitting position for more than a few minutes, let alone holding a position on the floor with nothing more than a thin pillow or two to support you. After even just an hour, pressure points, joints and muscles ache. After a few days, the pain is supposed to be inescapable. The psychological pain, a result of the introspection and intense focus, was also described as agony. Again, the vast majority of people never slow down to try to take an objective look at what's going on inside themselves. Most people go from cradle to grave without attempting to take such a look. When those that do try take the step, they often don't like what they see.

So why enter the course? I felt I had no major crises in my life. Nonetheless, at any given time there always seems to be a flow of distress that ebbs and flows beneath the functional surface of living. Whether I'm concerned about relationships or work or financial security or the inescapable reality that my life is coming inexorably closer to its end; periods of unmitigated peace are fleeting and rare. Some menace often seems to be lurking around the corner.

I've done enough rooting around with my anxieties to know that a) I'm not unique in this worrying (almost everyone does the same) and b) most worrying is pointless (everything will pass as it's going to whether I stress about it or not) . All I can do is try to do the right thing in the present. That said, I also know that taking a focused look at my fears and hopes would require a lot of work and letting go of many patterns of "distraction". Since I'm about to transition back home, into one of the vortices of artificial, superficial torment that is the materialistic Western Word, now seemed like a good time to see what fears I could clear out of the mouldier recesses of my psyche.

My room

Even though participants are discouraged from writing, I could not help making some notes every day. This is an honest ten-day session, not eight days in the middle bookended with half days of in- and out-processing. We got started on the eve of the course with some meditating in the Dhamma hall. The teacher and assistants also explained how the next 10(+) days would proceed. There were 33 men (me as the sole non-Indian) and 17 women (four non-Indians). We sat on the floor on 30" square pillows with a smaller rectangular pillow under the butt. Already, in the first couple hours, I shifted repeatedly because of the pain.

Our schedule

Day 1) They wake us by ringing a gong in the center of the campus. Much more peaceful than an alarm clock. Mid-way through today I envision myself dejectedly scrawling the first of ten hash marks on my cell wall. The life of a monk or the that of an exiled prisoner? The idea is not to react to any sensation - pain, itching, twitching, etc. Watch them with the knowledge that the truth of the universe is that all things arise and pass and so will your sensations. In the instructor's words, "No itch is eternal."

I tried sitting "Indian" style like most of the other meditators but within an hour or so had to unfold my legs because of the pain. As the day wore on, my changes became more and more frequent. Of the other men, only one - a 60(+) year-old Sikh man, 70 or so pounds overweight fidgeted more than me. Temps are in excess of 100 degrees. With nothing to divert my attention, I cannot believe the monstrous and slowly unfolding length of the day.

One of the meditation halls

Day 2) I'm glad I can't speak with anyone. This is hellish and I want to see how I deal with and interpret it. This a.m.'s first session was the worst so far. The pain was excruciating but fighting it while falling in and out of sleep infused the entire two hours with a nightmarish quality. The Sikh man (and two others) now sit on chairs in back.

Day 3) I realized that I forgot to take my Doxycycline (for malaria) for the past two days. Otherwise preoccupied. The silence and isolation help instill the sense of individuality and earnest importance of this whole endeavor. We've been give plenty of instruction but as the teacher quoted Buddha last night, "I can show you the path but you must walk it yourself."

This a.m. I finally got a glimpse of non-thought. My mind focused and slowed. It was brief, just a few short interrupted silences, but shortly after came a wash of insights and a feeling of clarity. Shutting out the background noise works like a long-overdue laxative. Unfruitful thoughts like status or money concerns or guilt about people I've wronged or indictments against those who've 'wronged' me or hedonous revelry melt away. Goenka (the founder of the Vipassana organization) in last night's discourse, laughed that the mind "is like a wild monkey swinging from branch to branch." How apt. Until I got a glimpse of my mind's mania, I'm not sure I would have understood his analogy. My thoughts seem to run as fast as possible from one to the next. There is a dissonant narrative loop playing in my head constantly. It's very likely you wouldn't even see unless you were patient and wanted very much to see it. The brain is tricky and seems supremely eager to not let you get a look at it.

The scene tonight outside the Dhamma Hall was like an infirmary. Men tottering to and fro their hands pushing where their hips meet their spines. Groaning and sighing. Some lie flat on the low cement berm to rest their backs. Five now sit on chairs to the real of the meditation hall. Temps were in the neighborhood of 110 degrees today. Everyone seems exhausted.

Day 4) Our method of meditation changed today. I don't want to give away any surprises but, as the days progress, the course challenges you more and more with increased complexity.
More pain. Many feelings of anger and resentment - all flailing in different directions. Surely this process is dredging up many things. The paramount goal here is to remain equanimous and not judge, just observe what's going on inside.

Day 5) Questions of morality being discussed in the discourse. The ultimate goal here is enlightenment or liberation of the soul. This meditation and self-assessment is the first of many, many long steps. Seven men now sit on chairs or against the back wall.

Day 6) The non-communication ultimately does take a toll. I find myself curious about my compatriots. That's saying quite a bit since I was thoroughly tired of dealing with Indian men before coming in. In many ways, India is a country filled with men who remind me of how I was when I was about 19. That kind of adolescent, know-it-all, loudmouthed, silliness is not at all pretty. Out on the street, they're always smarting off about something. It must be killing them to have to keep their mouths shut. Some already have not been able to resist.

The pagoda

Day 7) Today we were each assigned meditation cells in the above pagoda. Fascinating. The cells are small and dark. Inside you are hyper-aware of even small sensations compared to in the meditation hall under the fans. I was much better able to concentrate. By the end of the day, I was drained. I have not focused so hard for such a protracted period on anything like this in years. I finally accomplished a half lotus position for one of our group sittings today. It was hard but it allowed me to sit nearly perfectly straight up making for much better concentration. My knees now feel like someone's been hammering on them, though.

Day8) Everything has been wratcheted up for the home stretch. Again, I don't want to give away any surprises but the program for the week is progressive in what is demanded. The message driven home repeatedly is simple - 1) be aware and 2) be equanimous. "See" the world for what it is and don't hold attachments or aversions to what you see. This all begins with looking at yourself.

Day 9) Victories in this process come unexpectedly. Today I sat in a half lotus. After about 45 or 50 minutes I had a wide-open opportunity to look into the heart of pain. The pain in my right knee throbbed with a glowing heat but, with the faith that I wasn't doing any damage and with the further advice of the Dhamma that I should just be an observer, I sat. Instead of focusing on other thoughts I zeroed in on the pain. It seemed like it actually had something to tell me and part of that message was that running away wasn't necessary.

Following on the heals of this, I was able to let go of my anger at the other meditators who, by now, had been flagrantly disobeying the precepts of the course. As expected, the Indian guys caved on the non-talking agreement. By day 6 a small group of them casually conversed whenever the teacher wasn't around. At their worst, they joked and seemed to mock the whole process. I kept wondering why they were there. It was huge relief not to care any more. I was moving forward.

Day 10) This is a big summary day. After the morning's group sitting, we are finally able to talk. I seek out Tami and we meet in front of the office - the only place men and women can talk (but not touch). I feel clean, grounded, tired but exhilarated. At first words don't come easily. What can I say about something that feels profound. On my way, one Indian man who seemed to work the course seriously asked how I felt. I replied, "good". I asked him and he smiled and said, "I got something new." No small praise in a cynical, message saturated world.

May 13. Back to the top of this entry. Yesterday was our first full day out of the Vipassana center. Things move a LOT faster out here. I was a little disappointed (attachment!) to find I had to let go of some of my hard-earned tranquility. Just crossing a busy street here is at odds with thorough reflection. That's how it is, though. Tami and I also both noticed that our sense of smell was back to normal. The smells on the street were overwhelming just like when we arrived in India. Pee-yewww. (aversion!) Another funny thing was that I kept forgetting to pay for purchases. I guess being on the all-inclusive honor plan for 10(+) days somehow took me out of the loop of commerce.

Random Notes from the Great Thar Desert

2008-04-17T01:01:00.001-07:00

Currently writing from Jaisalmer, a city in western Rajasthan. This is a desert state and Jaisalmer, founded in the late 12th century prospered on the trade of gold, silver, sandalwood and opium. These days, it sustains itself on tourist and military spending. This is about as far west as most travelers make it in India. The Pakistan border is only a 100 km away - hence the massive military presence.

The main attraction for tourists like us is the massive old fortified city. It cuts quite a profile against the bleak Great Thar Desert. The fort and all the buildings in town are made of the same golden local sandstone much of it carved with fanciful natural and geometric detail. The oldest lanes of the city have the feel of something I'd expect out of caravan times.

If you look on a map, you can see it's isolated out here. At night the stars shine bright and luminous. There is a restaurant that serves passable Italian food - something we haven't had in quite a while. Their location is romance par excellence with seating along the top of one of the ancient walls next to the city gate. Last night, Tami pointed out a satellite cruising overhead as we ate.

People have been living here for a long time - not as many people as live here now, though. Their lifestyles have changed dramatically, too. Until fairly modern times (less than the last 100 years) people who lived in the desert made do with very little water. They cooked their vegetables in the same water in which they washed them. Any water that was left went to the livestock. Rajasthan is in a state of perpetual drought (the definition of a desert, of course). Nonetheless, the population is quite a bit bigger than California and it gets even less rainfall. Currently, Rajasthan has more than 50 million people and is expected to have 80 million by 2016.

Depending on the severity of the 'drought', on any given year over 1000 villages and more than 300 towns receive all their water via truck or train tankers. We saw this camel tanker yesterday. There was a little depot on the edge of town and four of them waited to fill up.

Camels aren't the only big animals out here. This being India, there are plenty of cows - sacred to Hindus. It's not unusual to see big ones like this girl below waiting at the door of a house waiting for any leftover "chapatis" - rounds of flat bread. They'll climb right up the stairs and wait for someone to feed them...and inevitably, someone does.

Beach Cow

2008-04-16T23:34:00.000-07:00

Fourteen years ago I stumbled into Goa after two months of racing around big tracts of north India with my friend Sherry. She returned to the US to go to school and I headed south to a place where I'd heard that a traveler might be able to decompress from the craziness of the Subcontinent. I figured I'd stay for a few days or a week then head back into the fray. I stayed for a month....and still had to reluctantly drag myself away.

Me on Asvem Beach - Goa

This time around, Tami and I almost didn't bother stopping in Goa. The sad reality of the evolution of almost all travel destinations is that they almost never get better over time (see the country of Thailand or the city of Kathmandu as exhibits "a" & "b").

Tami with Vagator Beach behind - Goa

A good beach is just as much of a lifesaver as ever here, so we followed the advice we'd gotten from a handful of seasoned travelers and headed to a town called Gokarna on the coast of Karnataka State. The beaches were nothing short of epic and supremely relaxing. Almost all the development was low-impact bamboo and thatch but you could always get a cold beer or some decent dal and rice or a fruit salad.

Morjim Beach from Vagator Fort - Goa

We ended up staying for about ten days - a few days of which we spent checking out big festival in honor of the God Shiva. I was ready to head to Mumbai but Tami had heard me talk so glowingly of Goa over the years that she had to at least see it. We agreed to visit Chapora, the small village I'd stayed in in 1994.

Holiday makers on Asvem Beach - Goa

We ended up staying more than two full weeks and...."still had to reluctantly drag ourselves away." :)

Putting in on Kudle Beach - Gokarna

Goans and travelers have had a decade and a half of development to ruin things and, admittedly, some things are not perfect. On the whole, though, Goa is still one of the best beach scenes I've ever spent time in. Development has been kept low impact i.e. no high rises. The coast is breathtaking. The dance scene has plenty of energy. The people, especially Goans and the long-time visitors are laid-back and seem to be open to all kinds of lifestyles yet tourist culture hasn't overwhelmed the flavor of the place. The live-and-let-live attitude that Goa became famous for still flourishes.

Dog days on Kudle Beach - Gokarna

For the first time in more than two years we were able to dance - I mean boogie down for hours at a time. The vibe on the dance floor reminded us of the best scenes at home - everyone friendly and connecting.

Low impact development on Paradise Beach - Gokarna

Goa is one of the Grande Dames of budget travel. Backpackers have been coming here for more than forty years. The package tourists are here, too, but they stay to their own areas in central and south Goa. Backpackers still have some places (the best ones really) all to themselves. If you're willing to stay in a hut, get around on a little scooter or hump your pack down a ravine to the beach, you can get some quality solitude.

Backpackers trundle off Kudle beach to the road - Gokarna

And....one interesting thing about Indian beaches is that it's still India. You can never be sure what you're going to see.
Beach cow with a growth - Gokarna

Those Eyes....

2008-04-15T23:07:00.000-07:00

A few days ago Tami and I bused it for ten hours from Patan in Gujarat to Jodhpur in Rajasthan. Sometimes, especially when you venture off routes not frequented by western travelers, you become a spectacle. You see it most at extremes. In Mumbai, we hardly drew a second glance. Mumbaikers (as the city's denizens are called) have seen it all, like people in any other world capital. It didn't take long after we left to feel the change, though. It's a safe equation that you can ratchet up your chance of drawing attention with every few kilometers you go into the folksy hinterland.

I think I've mentioned before that privacy is tough to find in India. Now, after three trips and more than a cumulative year in the country I see one of the things about traveling here that is most exhausting. If you've never been subjected to it for a prolonged period of time (and prior to traveling here, I hadn't), you don't understand that constantly being stared at is a form of psychological torture. It can make you CRAZY.

There's no doubt I'm more aware of it more because I'm traveling with Tami. She, draws far more stares than I do...but I see most of those and try to run interference when I can. Even on my own, though, I guess I look different enough to be the news of the day when nothing else is doing.

The guy at the photo above sat across the aisle from us on the bus ride I spoke of. He got on in some small town and COULD NOT STOP LOOKING. He gazed with such an absence of reserve that I am convinced he did not believe I was another human. For a long time I hid behind my sunglasses and tried to ignore him. I have no idea what he found so interesting but he sat with his head craned around for a solid two hours. Once in a while I'd look directly back at him and he would not flinch - not a thing in his expression changed. It was unnerving.

If I made a note in my journal, his eyes followed my hands like they were going to burst into a shower of gold flakes. If I reached into my bag for gum, he watched every move - from pack to mouth. I took the photo above by taking my camera out of my bag while it was down between my legs. I never looked at him - just pointed the camera at him because I knew he was staring and fired.

Finally, I started writing about it in my journal. This....I can only guess...what too much for him. He actually offered his seat to a man standing next to me and stood in his place looking directly down on what I was doing. I lasted about two sentences and folded up shop. No one else on the bus (except Tami, who'd gone completely incommunicado behind her shades and I-Pod) showed any sign that they thought it was weird. And why should they, many folks here stare. They don't care that some stranger stares at a foreigner.

Thank heavens he got off at some other small town. He left without a word but kept glancing back right until he stepped off the bus.

Bye, bye...

Hooray for Bollywood

2008-04-12T10:22:00.000-07:00

Been off-line for awhile. This being our home stretch (in a quite literal sense) we've been moving and seeing things at a brisk pace. We were in Mumbai (formerly Bombay) recently. Mumbai is the main home of the Indian movie industry usually refered to as "Bollywood". They make a lot of films in Bollywood - upwards of 800 a year, I believe. For reasons I don't fully understand, the makers of films in India like to have non-Indians appear as extras. This is so common that the Lonely Planet guidebook even has some pointers on places you might get "discovered".

One recent day, Tami and I were walking into our guesthouse and a man asked us if we wanted to be extras. Tami hesitated b/c she had to replace her camera that had just died. I thought, "Why not?" and arranged to be picked up the next morning at 6:00 a.m. From the very first, it was clear that this was not going to be a...glamorous endeavor. You see, three or four blocks up the street is the Taj Palace, the nicest hotel in Mumbai. We saw Westerners of all stripes coming and going through the Taj's noble portal every time we passed. No, to find his Euro/North American faces, the casting agent came instead to the small cluster of guesthouses (some might call it a ghetto) frequented by backpackers. I guess when you're in the background it's not so important that you have long straggly hair or haven't shaved in weeks (as did the Argentine who was with us). They just want folks with round eyes and light skin.....that, and they only want to pay 500 Rupees a day (about $15). Whatever, it wasn’t about cash. The 500 roops didn’t even cover our room. I figured it might be worth some laughs…and it was….for about two or maybe three of the nineteen hours.

I and a couple other sleepy looking scruffs piled into a small bus with about a dozen people of various national origins but all uniformly European. No one talked except for one, probably over caffeinated young woman from Buffalo, NY who announced to her friends that it was “croissant time”. Where she got one in Mumbai I do not know. Our shuttle driver sped off through pre-rush hour Mumbai with speed being the operative word. We bumped and turned and jostled on roads I’d have driven at half the speed and that in a sports car. He clearly had a deadline and in this case the operative word, I hoped, wasn’t going to be dead. We only got stopped by one cop. I watched the driver not so slyly slip him a handful of bills and we were rolling again in less than two minutes. It took us a full hour to cross Mumbai, 100% of the way by surface streets. It’s a BIG city. At last we wound our way through a very stinky little slum then a line of trees and finally out to the edge of a broad beach.

All the accoutrements I would have expected were there – generator truck, props, cameras, lighting equipment, tents, etc. It was a real production. The “white folks” first stop was at our canteen setup. Breakfast on the beach was a decent way to decompress from the terror of the breakneck Rally of Mumbai.

Most of the people just nibbled but I dug right in and piled my plate high. Something instinctive told me that there were no guarantees when I’d get a chance to eat again and thank heavens I did. With about 150 people trying to coordinate shooting on a beach, take after take pushed lunch from noon to one to two and so on. Almost all the extras were moaning with hunger (and boredom) by mid-day. The “stars” had their own little table with snacks and tea and coffee but it was made clear to a couple of the riff-raff that we weren’t supposed to touch it.

They hustled us through breakfast to "wardrobe" where we were fitted in whatever passed for the Indian idea of beachwear for westerners. The girls got a lot of floral print things that hid skin and the guys got shorts and singlets that made us look like strongmen from the early 1900's.

Work commenced. It turned out we were shooting a "two-fer" that day: one commercial for Sony Handycams and one for an Indian bank - both themed with families at the beach.

It was also fun to see the production assistants run and jump...and splash...to get the shots. I'm glad I don't do this for a living.

The best part was undoubtedly hearing the director shriek at his assistants on the loudspeakers in his mix of Hindi and English. As the tide receded from the prepared set, "WE'RE LOSING THE F*CKING PANNI (water) MAHESH! IF WE DON'T GET IT THIS TAKE YOU CAN KISS YOUR OPENING SHOT F*CKING GOODBYE! CELLO!! CELLO!! (go!, go!)"

My role was supremely easy. I got placed next to the lovely Genvieve from Montreal. Our background roll was to make conversation and look like we were having fun at the beach. Not the easiest fifteen bucks I've ever made but certainly not the hardest.

Che's the one

2008-03-07T21:32:00.000-08:00

It's not official but, after months of casual observation, we have a winner in the most common person to appear on T-shirts and posters in India. I've walked past many Gandhis and several Kurt Cobains. Every now and then you see a vestigial Britney. A close runner-up would have to be a WWE wrestler named John Cena. Yet, taken as a whole, even the whole WWE stable including The Rock, Stone Cold Steve Austin and some guy with an "H" in his name, their numbers still aren't enough to outpace the ubiquitous Che Guevara. From what I've seen around south Asia, for whatever reason, Che's the icon you have to have.

Quiet Game

2008-03-06T00:06:00.000-08:00

A couple weeks ago we were walking down a street and we came to a sports stadium. The gates were open and I saw players running around on the field so I went in to take a look.

A soccer game was going on and the stands had a good crowd.

The play on the field was fast but...oddly quiet. I watched. I looked back at the stands. No one was talking - they were signing.

Only in.....

2008-02-19T02:45:00.000-08:00

So...there are reasons for and against visiting any country. With India, there are strong reasons for and against. On the plus side, India holds a seemingly endless handfull of trump cards to cancel out any negatives. Most of those cards fall in the suit of "Only In India". Tami and I can see the difference most tangibly in how much we write and how many photos we take here compared to other countries. If you've spent time here, you have some idea of what I'm talking about. True to form, the past month has coughed up an unbroken string of such "OII" moments. Just yesterday I was walking down an alley here in Mysore and I saw this booth out of the corner of my eye:

I continued walking for fifteen or twenty paces wondering if I really saw what I thought I saw...so I went back, looked at the sign and asked the man sitting on the floor if "setting bones" was his actual business. "Yes! Bone setting...and massage!" Okay . . . .

It happens all the time here. This morning I went out to buy yogurt for breakfast. It was early and the streets were quiet but just down from our corner I saw a tight cluster of maybe 30 men gathered around someone along the side of the street. As I approached I could hear the call and response between a man's voice and a high-pitched, muffled boy's. Occasionally a drum played by another boy and a high-pitched whistle punctuated the exchange. I looked over the shoulders of the crowd and the ringleader was evangelizing about something as he exchanged folded pieces of paper for money with the onlookers. Par for scenes like this, the men and boys stared motionless with wide eyes. From what I could gather, the man would get Rupee notes of a given denomination and a young boy hidden at his feet, under a wicker basket, covered by a rug would call out the amount that someone had handed the man...all without seeing the bills. At the end, the spectators who handed over cash would read the papers which may have been something like fortunes...but I don't know.

I already mentioned the pilgrammage Tami and I joined in Tiruvanamallai. (Tami wrote a full blog about it.) There, every month on the full moon, hundreds of thousands of Hindus come to join in a 14 kilometer walk around a holy mountain. They start late in the evening just after the moon rises and the crowd flows all night and into the next day. Indians are pretty serious walkers and, in a collective setting like this, they hustle. We were both exausted and sore by the time we finished sometime before dawn. That all the pilgrims walk barefoot on rough, pebble strewn asphalt made the circumambulation sincerely humbling.

The masses start by gathering and performing different rituals at the temple in the center of town. Thousands gather at the main gate (tallest one at the far side in above photo) and the atmosphere feels for all the world like something straight out of the Middle Ages. After the appropriate amount of fire oriented devotion, they troop off through the neighborhoods to the edge of the city. All along the way the route is lined with ancillary temples big and small and old and new. Almost every pilgrim veers off the road to perform prayers at these.

As you might expect, there are also all manner of wacky participants of different natures. There is a legion of beggars, food and chai sellers, a few free food stations provided by larger temples, performers (among them a handful of blind musical groups), booths selling religious paraphenalia and videos and dvd's of various gurus preaching the gospel, palm readers....and on, and on. The guy with this van was one of a few we saw who had a computer mounted in a console that apparently told your fortune.

The whole walk took maybe five or six hours but those were some of the most interesting hours I've enjoyed. Scenes like this are not common (or expected) for a guy raised in a small, Midwest farm town. On the future "to-do" list is a repeat of this walk on the full moon of the final month of the lunar year (usually November or December). At that time, on the main pilgrimage of the year, the local holy men erect a huge, ten-meter tall "wick" on top of the mountain, saturate it with three thousand liters of oil and set it on fire.

Death Defying Circus

2008-02-18T23:00:00.001-08:00

A couple weeks ago, in a small hill town called Kumily, we saw a traveling daredevil show where motorcycles and small cars raced around inside a big, wood and steel frame cylinder. Spectators stand a few rows deep on a ledge along the top and look down into a 25 foot deep x 40 foot wide cup. The motos and cars ride up the walls using centrifugal force.

I'd seen one of these shows with just motos back in 1994 and was duly impressed but I would never have believed you'd get a car - even a small car - up the walls of one of these narrow bowls. They start off the show with one guy driving a moto round and round at high speed....and HIGH SOUND - (They run a straight pipe right out of the cylinder for added thrill effect. This gets the crowd's attention.) What really got my attention was the way the entire structure swayed and shook as the moto raced below us. I was also more than slightly terrified by the fact that a rickety rail was all that separated us from the flying racer in the event anything went wrong. At first I wouldn't get within a full pace of the rail.
(You can see the blurred image of the moto in the center of the photo right on the top seam of the wall.)
As the show progresses, they run two, then three motorcycles up in the cylinder at the same time. Each rider tests his skill and the crowd's ability to keep calm by performing stunts - riding no-handed, crossing legs over the bike, standing one-legged on the seat, riding hand-in-hand with two bikes alongside each other...all the while the racket and shaking feeling like we were standing inside a dreadful machine shop.

Periodically, they stopped before their next number. Near the end, when they brought out the "big guns", I saw one of those things that ellicted a, "you have got to be kidding me" from my own mouth. A young boy of maybe 4 or 5 years had been standing with the drivers. Nonchalantly, he opened the passenger door of the car below on the right and climbed in. Moments later, everyone else mounted a bike or got in a car.....and off they went.

For the next several minutes, two cars and three motorcycles raced around the cramped bowl. One trick had a moto race along parallel on the downside of a car. Don't ask me how they did it but he stood on the upper peg of his bike, lay across the hood of the car and joined both outstretched hands with those of the car driver reaching from above. As if negotiating all that wasn't enough, one of the car drivers (the one with the child inside!), crawled up and drove around standing upright outside of his window using his feet on the wheel. This show cost us 20 Rupees each . . . about 50 cents, American. I'd gotten my money's worth and then some.

For those who wanted a final thrill, the other car driver, also standing outside his window and driving with feet, raced along right at the rail at the top of the bowl. Indians with 10 Rupee notes in their hands leaned over the rail and this guy . . . this James Bond of India . . . reached over at high speed and snatched them. I handed over two.

What's in store for you?

2008-02-18T20:22:00.000-08:00

Every day in India offers the potential to see something you've never seen before. A while back in Tamil Nadu, we visited a huge temple dedicated to the god Shiva in Chidambarum. Inside, we came across this fortune telling duo - a man and a parakeet. People desiring a look into their future sat for a card reading.

On command from his human partner, the parrot would come out of his cage. He'd then follow more directions pulling cards from a shuffled stack.

After enough cards had been 'drawn', the bird returned to the cage and the man proceeded with the reading. Nice show.

A National Institution

2008-02-18T08:02:00.000-08:00

If you've spent any time in India, you know chai (what we Americans call tea) plays a role in Indian culture unlike any drink we have at home. Yeah, we drink coffee or Coke to get our caffeine but, like most things in the US, the process is more about convenience and speed. In India, getting and drinking a tea is a time-honored process that takes a skilled preparer and a patient...but entertained...customer.

We went to this guy every morning in the Tamil Nadu city of Pondicherry. He worked at a corner stall on the street and you COULD NOT walk past without stopping to watch his act. All the chai guys put on a show and this guy's was as good as any. His chai was excellent, too.

Get the milk boiling and swirl in the tea leaves...

Run the brew through a sock strainer...

Add a little sugar...

Give it a vigorous mixing....

And pour without looking.....

Edible artistry.

Relax, buddy...

2008-02-07T01:30:00.000-08:00

A couple weeks ago I ranted about some of the headaches of traveling in India. Those events and my reaction were true but...India's a big place. Time and cumulative experiences, especially good ones, can modulate the lows so your overall impression is a lot more positive. I am back here for a third time, after all, so India must have plenty going for it, its innumerable pains in the ass notwithstanding. I also needed a reality check about how soft we got in Southeast Asia. Traveling's comparatively quite easy there and returning to India, I suppose, will always hold the potential to be a shocker.

As of today, I think we've been here for a month..and en total, it's been pretty amazing. In that time we've seen two Unesco World Heritage listed monuments...

joined in an all-night, full-moon, fire-filled pilgrammage around a holy mountain with a couple hundred thousand barefoot devotees of the god Shiva...

seen two, rural, all-night performances of traditional Hindu dance and music ceremonies...

toured spice and tea plantations...

spent a week exploring one of the largest intentional communities (i.e. communes) on Earth...

been "blessed" by an elephant....

looked out on the Bay of Bengal one day and on the Arabian Sea ten days later...

I'm sure there's more.

The big lesson at this point has been, "Don't fight it, man." That should have been obvious and it's a prime metaphor for life in general. If you don't try to roll with what life (in this case, life in India) gives you, you're going to expend a lot of energy trying to change a reality that is infinitely larger than yourself. You're also going to miss out on a lot of amazing things along the way.

Can't I just enjoy my milk?

2008-01-25T08:27:00.000-08:00

Last night a man barged into our conversation as we drank spiced milk at a corner stand. No "Hello", no "Excuse me" - he jumped straight to, "Which country?" (as in..."are you from?") Sometimes it's tough to maintain patience. Sometimes simple courtesy can be a stretch. Reflexively, the corners of my mouth stretched back into a tight grin and my eyes rolled. Guys like this seek any engagement they can scrounge to use as an "in" to sell you something. Usually, the less they have to offer, the more willing they are for any entree. They often sidle in close, ignoring boundaries of personal space that Americans take so much for granted that you don't even know where they lie...until someone crosses them. My hand instinctively goes for my money pocket when I sense it. This guy had stepped over the line. Before I had a chance to think about what was coming out of my mouth, he was backpedaling, "Why you is angry with me?" Tami and I both hesitated and she opened with an explanation of the protocol of public interaction.

He had us.

So...instead of him working through the usual litany of, "How long you are in India?"...."What is your profession?"..."What is your good name?"....etc; he was perfectly happy to learn about how Americans don't like to be rudely interrupted mid-conversation. He knew that was just a different path to get to his (and our) inevitable destination: he had a rickshaw and wanted to know if he could drive us around the following day.

A blind person could see it coming. As I did, I could only shake my head with the same tight grin and endeavor to conclude our discourse. Still sticking to the standard script, he tried to salvage some dignity by thrusting his hand toward my stomach. (Indian men, for whatever reason, feel compelled to want to shake the hands of foreign visitors. A day rarely passes where a hand doesn't unexpectedly jab out at me as I walk down the street. After you've spent enough time here, you'll understand why I always try to avoid the handshake. Sometimes, though, that hand comes in close enough that you reach out purely out of self-defense.) That's pretty much where I was with our friend on the milk corner. So I grasped his hand....and I noticed two things one right after the other. His hand was unnaturally soft, like a woman's. I quickly glanced down and saw not one but two small thumbs resting on the back of my hand right at the base of my index finger. Amazingly, both nails were filed into the typical, long, rounded "v" common to male Indian digits. With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowds and traffic, no rickshaw to be seen.

Back In India

2008-01-20T08:16:00.000-08:00

We've been back in India for about ten days. For this being my third visit, I'm flabbergasted by how tough it is to get accustomed to being here yet again. The stenches are impossible to ignore. I keep finding myself getting angry about open sewers or curbs that reek of urine. The Indians have had years...decades, if not centuries now to deal with the filth. But it doesn't seem to change. I can only speak from the experience of my past visits - the first just over fourteen years ago. It has not gotten any better. As other countries "progress" economically, they build better things. For better or worse, China scraps out old, barely functional neighborhoods or roads or buildings and they replace them with cleaner, more comfortable, higher capacity upgrades. As the Indian economy grows, they just build more and more of the same ill conceived junk. Yes...the odd corporation builds a modern, high-tech campus on a remote greenfield site; the few wealthy families build extravagant, walled villas on farmland outside the cities or they stuff more and more brand new, big SUV's . . . on the same crumbling and constricted roads. Otherwise, the whole place is just as annoying and difficult to negotiate as ever. Either they don't want day to day life to get any easier or they just don't know that it can be better. It certainly is hard to believe anyone would choose to live this way.

Last night, we moved into a guest house and the sheets were so dirty we washed them ourselves. (Not the first time.) That was a perfect capper to our day-long odyssey from Chidambarum. Our departure from there began with the obese, toothless, domineering manager screaming at me to wait until his irritating boy flunky inspected our grimy, mosquito-ridden room to see of we'd harmed anything. Yeah, right....

His controlling pushiness was in keeping with his behavior when we checked in the prior afternoon. Then, he asked if I had any pens like the one he'd given me to sign the register with. It wasn't enough that he'd pointed to one of our small bags, was told it contained food then allowed his flunky to hector us mercilessly for part of our lunch. Now he wanted pens from me? He and the boy were so spookily persistent that Tami and I went to unprecedented lengths to try to protect our belongings while we were away from the room. In two (+) years on the road, I don't remember taking such measures to make theft difficult for potential pilferers. I lifted the backpacks onto a high concrete ledge on one side of the room then tied them in a web of cord. Before we left, we took a photo with a digicam as a reference to see if they had been tampered with. Traveling with peace of mind, eh?

So, as I tossed the room key on his counter and turned to walk down the stairs, his protestations grew from his customary bark to a literal scream. I thought, "what the hell???" Yeah...we scratched paint on his precious, rickety chair or left (yet one more) stain on his sickening walls. "Bye, bye loser." Moments such as this can constitute the occasional satisfying triumph of traveling in India. He and his staff had done plenty to bully us and, for whatever reason, he felt he had to push us around one last time before we left. (Yes, we could have not checked in at all but the psycho behavior didn't start until after we handed over our cash.) Situations like this are exactly what is meant when people say traveling in India is tough. Being here can feel like a never-ending battle not to get screwed or belittled.

All the way to the train station I kept glancing over my shoulder to see if any of his minions were following in pursuit. We submerged into the hubbub of the bus station and I celebrated with a tea. Several buses a day supposedly run the 70 kilometers (42mi) from Chidambarum to Pondicherry so we thought our transit was simply a matter of getting on, turning on our IPods and enjoying the ride. Not hardly.

Although there were many buses, almost none had their destinations written in English. (Tamil script looks like elf writing to our eyes.) We had to ask repeatedly, "Pondicherry?" This being India, whenever a bus pulled into the lot, its doors were immediately mobbed with scores of riders fighting to board. With our 50(+) lb. packs, we never stood a chance. Even more disheartening, the couple times we were able to get on a bus we thought was going our way, the driver or conducter would shoo us back off - ostensibly either because the bus was not in fact going to Pondicherry or because it wasn't leaving for a long time - both lies. One time I asked a driver if the bus was going to Madurai. He said, "No, Pondicherry." I told him that was great, we were going to Pondi. He immediately backtracked and said I couldn't board because the bus wasn't leaving until 12:30 and waved me off to find a different one. A short while later I noticed people boarding the same bus and taking seats. We got on but the conductor this time blocked the way and said the bus wasn't going until 1:00. I said I didn't care but he still wouldn't let us on. The real reason for that was our big backpacks. Every single bus gets absolutely stuffed with humans and our packs represent one more headache for workers whose jobs, from all appearances, offer litter more than an unmitigated stream of headaches.

That's their problem, though. Our problem was to get the hell out of Chidambarum. After a solid hour and a half and scores of buses coming and going, we were finally guided onto a coach by two students. Before the conductor saw us, we wedged our packs and ourselves into a back bench (there are no luggage areas on these buses). As we paid (for three seats) we were informed that the bus was turning west 20km short of Pondi in the junction town of Cuddalore. We'd have to undertake this process again there. Awesome.

Luckily, Cuddalore has many more buses continuing to Pondi so the crush of humanity was more manageable. We quickly found a bus and seats ... then we waited for the bus to fill. For a good 45 minutes in the midday heat we waited until every square inch of standing room was packed. You can learn new meanings to words like thirst and claustrophobia traveling in India.

Without any further complications, we arrived in Pondicherry and prepared to exit the bus....or so we supposed. Because we had our packs, we thought it was best to wait until the other passengers fought their ways out the doors. Our hesitation backfired, though. Before we could step down, the throngs below were heaving to get on so they could get a seat. It was ridiculous. Even though it was obvious that we needed to get off, no one would stop pushing us. I had no choice but to push back...and gravity was on my side. I'm describing human interaction that is void of all courtesy - just a notch below being dangerous. It was like this during my first visit to India and it's still like that today.

If that wasn't bad enough, the next instant gifted us with another of India's charms. I heard Tami yell and turned in time to see her whack a man with one of her small bags. I didn't have to guess why. As soon as she told me he groped her, I gave him a solid stiff-arm in the back. That, or nothing I yelled could get him to turn around. He obviously knew exactly what he did and was too embarrassed to face confrontation in front of dozens of Indian men and women.

With our adrenaline high, we set out looking for a room. It's festival (holiday) time in the state of Tamil Nadu right now and rooms can be hard to come by. At the best of times getting a passable room in India can be frustrating but right now it can make your hair a shade grayer. We dropped the packs in front of a restaurant and Tami waited while I went looking. Out of fifteen guest houses I saw two rooms that would make a prisoner of war cringe and one that just might have been preferable to sleeping on the filthy sidewalk. Everything else was full. We finally gave up and took a rickshaw into the center of town to search there. After a few more strikeouts we found the place where we are now. It ain't great but at least the sheets are clean.

More later.

'Bye 'Bye Cambodia! So Long Southeast Asia!

2008-01-08T19:13:00.000-08:00

Two lovely sisters and one long-armed photographer in Angkor Borei, Cambodia

A while back, a friend e-mailed that it seemed we'd really "gotten rooted" in this part of the world. It's true, we've been in the countries of what is referred to as SE Asia since late December 2006 - over a year. My friend sent that e-mail back in June. At the time and after, I worried that we may have stayed in this area too long. We should have been out covering more diverse ground. We should have picked a less developed region. Yada, yada, yada... Now that our time here is coming to an end, though, I'm very happy we landed where we did.

I think we've gone slowly enough and stayed long enough to say we got a fair taste of SE Asia. And on reflection, if you're going to get rooted someplace on this planet, SE Asia isn't a bad place at all to have that happen. My biggest worry was that this area has seen budget travelers for over thirty years - lots of travelers. Even so, we still found plenty of interesting and inspiring things to do.

I never doubted that lingering somewhere was going to get into my heart. I just had no clear preconception of how that would manifest itself in my feelings. Now, during the last days in this region, feelings of sadness and satisfaction come strongly. We could have landed anywhere. For a number of reasons, we could easily have not stopped. We did, though, and Southeast Asia has, despite my initial misgivings, turned out to have been an excellent choice.

See for yourself...

Adaptation on the streets of Bangkok

Curious beetle buyers in Mae Sot, Thailand

Mobile brush and broom vendor in Bangkok

Me posing for scale at the base of the second level of Angkor Wat in Cambodia

A victorious (and very happy) duck owner after a prolonged and successful pursuit - Hue, Vietnam

Filtered light at the pagoda of the Emerald Buddha, Saigon

An almost empty beach on Quan Lan Island - Bai Tu Long Bay, Vietnam

Tami entwined in the roots of an ancient tree and an ancient temple - Preah Khan (Angkor)

Tami above Bai Tu Long Bay - Vietnam

Tami at a cool waterfall - Bac Ma Nat. Park Vietnam

Salt harvesting in Doc Let Vietnam

Some tough local girls in Don Det, Laos

Saigon traffic!

A family that rides together.... - outside Phnom Penh

Pigs in a basket - Near Ninh Binh, Vietnam

This noodle-laden bike couldn't quite make it - Cu Da, Vietnam

The fleet and the morning haul - Mui Ne, Vietnam

Monsoon dog wash in Phnom Penh

Huge, boom fishing contraption - Tonle Sap, Cambodia

Banana-laden bike - outside Phnom Penh

In twelve hours, we'll be back in India. What a ride that's going to be. What a ride this has been.

Home can be where you make it

2008-01-08T00:53:00.000-08:00

As Tami and I planned our break from the career/life path that we'd been on, we discussed a ton of different reasons why wanted to leave our home in San Francisco. It didn't take long for a short list to develop. I don't know if I've gone back and articulated those objectives but, now that I look back, we've been able to "check" many off the to-do list.

We wanted to enjoy some warm weather. Check.

Night market scene near our house

We wanted to get out of a 9-5...or, more accurately...an 8-6 schedule. Instead of clocks and calendars dictating how we used our time, we wanted the rising and setting sun or the seasons to dictate. Check.

We wanted to see if we could let go of some of the stress we were feeling. Check.

We wanted to spend time outdoors. Check.

We wanted to use our bodies i.e. trekking, riding bikes, swimming, etc. Check.

We wanted to share some of our experiences on the road with friends from home. Check.

We wanted to try different foods and cuisines. Check.

I'd traveled outside the US a fair amount before this trip and enjoyed all the above experiences to one degree or another. There was one thing I'd never done before, though, and that goal topped my list. I wanted to live somewhere for awhile - call some foreign city or town or village, "home". As we prepare to depart Southeast Asia, I am happy to say that we have been able to enjoy a brief version of that experience now, as well.

Neon sign for the market where we shopped in Phnom Penh.

Our goal in "living" someplace, meant that we wanted to get to know it better than you would if you were just passing through. We wanted to work. Originally, we had hopes of opening a restaurant or some other business. For a variety of reasons, we got cold feet on that one. The next logical step was to try to contribute something helpful to the place where we settled. On that note, we got extremely lucky with our positions with Kiva and Maxima. Not only did we find work, but the work was fascinating and the people we worked with were so gracious and professional that I'll do well to try to match their examples. I feel very fortunate that I leave Cambodia calling many of them friends.

Some of the Maxima staff at the wedding of one of their colleagues.

Wedding procession at the same wedding.

We wanted to live someplace other than a hotel. In this case, we were also very lucky. We looked at several places but fell in love with a third-floor flat in a family's house. We had a big, tiled terrace in front, a great roof deck...and the thing we wanted most - a kitchen. Tami and I will be working off the extra pounds for a few months. :)

Thanksgiving crew on our roof at sundown.

We hoped get to know people - locals and/or expatriates. Cambodia is a great place for both. I sound like a broken record going on about how nice the Cambodians are but that's the reality. Come and check it out for yourself. Lots of interesting non-Cambodians have settled there, as well. One nice ending story is that, Bari (second from right in the above photo) took over our apartment. We had some very good times with him and were super-happy to pass on such a groovy pad to someone we knew. Funny footnote: Bari's originally a Michigander and was one of the founders of a vegetarian restaurant I worked at in Ann Arbor back in the late '80's. Now he's making a home in Phnom Penh working with local folks out on Koh Dach, a nearby island in the Mekong River.

So, now we move on - sad to go but very happy we had this opportunity. If you're curious at all if you can do it, have no fear. It's a great experience. Somehow I don't think this is our last time, either.

Fruit shake vendor at the night market near Orussey

Rough (In)Justice

2008-01-07T06:55:00.000-08:00

The former main entrance to Sihanoukville's market - Psar Leu

A few days ago we were in the town of Sihanoukville on the southern coast of Cambodia. In the middle of one night I woke up to sirens, an uncommon sound I recalled hearing only a couple times during our months in the country. The next morning our French host told us that the city's market had burned, "Zayr iss no moah mahket."

When we went by to take a look, we were speechless. We'd shopped at this market before and complained that it was scruffy, even by Cambodian standards. It was where the city shopped, though. All over Southeast Asia, people buy almost all of their food from central or district markets - sprawling covered warrens filled with stalls of produce, meat, fish, dry goods, clothes....you name it. Each stall is owned by a family and, at least in Cambodia, that stall provides the main or sole income supporting a LOT of people.

Piles of clothes smolder

It's no wonder that people pored through every scrap of their burned belongings trying to salvage anything of value. I saw one woman carrying the melted remains of a fan. I assume she was going to try to pull the copper out of the motor to sell it for scrap. Very few Cambodians can afford to waste anything.

Over the subsequent few days, we heard from several different people that the local government had tried to "influence" the vendors at the market to move to a new facility. The land where the existing market stood in the center of downtown Sihanoukville had been sold for another purpose. Most of the vendors chose not to move because rents at the new market were too high. Then, after functioning in the same place for decades, the market burned entirely a few nights ago.

Not one person we talked to was surprised that the market burned. They weren't happy, but they seemed resigned because they knew they have little or no recourse. This type of eviction happens with sad regularity in Cambodia. As cities become crowded and the economy slowly grows, land formerly deemed not worth much can, over time, become coveted. Squatters, small-business people, anyone not connected to the powers-that-be are forced to move, often to places distant from their former locations.

And no, you can count insurance among the many things that these people do not have.

Getting Around Phnom Penh

2007-12-22T21:35:00.000-08:00

Phnom Penh may be one of the largest cities in the world with no public mass transit. It's the biggest city I've ever visited where you can't find even a single city bus. Gettng an accurate census in a sprawling, ramshackle place like this isn't easy. Most current estimates put the population here at somewhere just over two million. The population of buses, trains or any other form of surface mass transport is ZERO.

Phnom Penh experimented briefly with buses three or four years ago. The experiment lasted only three months because, I've been told, no one would ride them. The denizens of this city have a more unique form of transport that they seem highly unlikely to stop using - the motodup (augmented by the larger and much more romantic tuk tuk - see second vehicle in the photo below). A motodup is simply a 100-125 cc motorbike (often a version of the Honda cub made by Daelim from Korea) and driver that will put you on the back of his bike and drive you around town for a small fee. The cost varies depending on the distance. As foreigeners, we ALWAYS had to negotiate but we invariably settled near the usual cost of about fifty cents per kilometer.

Many guidebooks tell you that the street corners are full of waiting motodup drivers easily recognizable by their ubiquitous uniform - the baseball cap. It's almost impossible to walk past them without hearing the song of the streets, "Hello Sir, moto?" or the more simplified "Moto?".

Cambodians famously do NOT like to walk. That, supposedly, is the main reason why the bus experiment failed. Motodups will take you from door to door. With a bus, you have to get off at some predetermined stop and walk to your final destination. Motodups are cheap. You can find one any time of day or night. They're very convenient. It's no wonder we see thousands of these guys (NEVER have we seen a woman driver) around the city. Women riders go sidesaddle.

When we started work, we needed to get from our house to our office. We toyed with the idea of buying bicycles but never got around to it. Instead we hit up the motodups on the corner closest to our house. Both of us can pile onto single moto and get to the office in less than ten minutes. Since our Khmer was limited, we drew a simple map of our destination. With a little deciphering, the driver seemed to understand and off we went.

After only two or three days, a strange thing happened. One of our drivers picked us up for the second time - a repeat. When we tried to fumble through the map description and directions, he smiled and waved us off. He remembered where we were going. It was amazing. Get on the bike; no need to give directions; no need to negotiate the fee; just roll and enjoy the scenery. It was like that every day going forward unless we had a driver who'd never carried us before.

I won't go into the hair raising aspect of trusting your life to another driver in some of THE MOST chaotic traffic on earth. Suffice to say that, if you're paying attention at all, it can be very scary. The rules of the road here are minimal and traffic flows based on lack of resistance more than any other factor. It completely common to drive down the wrong side of the street agains traffic as long as you stay closer to the shoulder. Red stoplights merely mean "slow down". Intersections ebb and flow with the cross traffic pushing and nudging until someone can break all the way across. Of course, all of this happens without helmets for the passengers.

Don't eat the bear paw

2007-12-18T20:42:00.000-08:00

Yes...the trade in endangered animals. We've all heard the stories about how anything goes (...onto an Asian dinner plate). Just east of Phnom Penh there's a long string of huge restaurants frequented almost exclusively by Khmers (Cambodians) reputed to sell all manner of exotic cuisine - everything from cobra to dog to different parts of endangered deer among other things. The above billboard is just over the river from Phnom Penh right where the restaurants begin. It implies that you go to jail if you serve up anything threatened or endangered. One can only hope the authorities actually enforce whatever regulations might be on the books. As Cambodia, like much of the developing world, is open to the highest bidder, I wouldn't bet on the menu being close to what most Westerners would consider conventional.

Friends Make It Feel Like the Holidays

2007-12-10T19:22:00.000-08:00

Staying put seems to be the right tactic if you people to visit....and we always want people to visit. We've been in Phnom Penh for a couple months now and it seems like this city is on the road "to" or "from" someplace or other for a number of our friends. Sherry, pictured above with Tami on the roof of the Foreign Correspondents' Club, was the latest familar face to spend some time with us. We hadn't seen her for almost two years. She was one of the stalwarts who saw us off on our last night in the States back in NYC.

Unlike other visitors - this is actually a first now that I think of it - Sherry came to visit as a result of work, not pleasure. She works for the United Nations and took a weekend out of a very hectic schedule to fly down from Vientienne, Laos. She's no stranger to traveling in the developing world and fell right into the rhythm of seeing the sights in Phnom Penh. We did some of our local favorites (riding in tuk-tuks - above).

You never know what you'll find on the streets of this city. Notice how at-ease Sherry is. I was afraid the rump of that beast might have swung over and crushed me.

One of the nicest things we've been able to enjoy by staying put, is our kitchen for cooking . . . . and our terrace for eating. Every guest has had to endure long brunches or dinners where Tami and I try to get satiated on all the foods from home we miss. This particular morning it was Latin American - desayuno tipico. Homemade tortillas and salsa, too.

One afternoon, a friend of ours who lives here, Bari (far right) arranged a private, sunset boat cruise on the Mekong. Ouch. You can't believe how peaceful and mellow it was out on the river. Phnom Penh can be kah-ray-zeeeee and the boat was an unexpected release. After a couple snail-paced hours, we were all smiling.

The icy beers helped, too.

Even the captain enjoyed himself. (Check out his Britney logbook...)

One morning, we had the bonus treat of two more people joining in from home. Perry and Mike, two friends of one of Tami's girlfriends were passing through and joined for brunch.

In and out. Two days and she was back on a tuk-tuk to the airport. Much fun. It'll be that much more fun to laugh about our little sojourn when we're back home someday. Adios amiga!

The Eric and Margaret Road Show

2007-11-28T01:20:00.000-08:00

Two more friends from home just rolled through for a visit...and what a treat it was. As fun as our time out here on the road has been, very little can beat catching up with friends over a long brunch or dinner. Every time someone visits, it feels like a personal envoy from our homeland has set aside time for classified debriefing.

This time was a little different, though . . . . and possibly even a little better. Eric and Maggie didn't merely come out for a vacation and throw in a visit to us. They have put together their own version of a "break from the path" and struck out on longer-term odyssey of their own. Both successful professionals, they took a step off the treadmill and have been on the road since this past summer. They started in Turkey, went back to the States for a full two-week stint at Burning Man, decompressed at Lake Tahoe then made their way to Southeast Asia. They arrived in Phnom Penh just in time to celebrate American Thanksgiving with us.

With their visit, it might be the first time Tami and I can include ourselves on our friends' "visitor-on-the-road" list. One thing we found especially nice is that, in the past few months, E & M have covered a lot of the same ground as Tami and I. It was refreshing to get their hometown impressions of experiences we've shared. It's also been encouraging to see how comfortably they seem to have adapted to life on the road and how inspired they seem to be about the things they've seen.

Tami and I know there's a lot of awesomely fun stuff out here. It reinforces our delight, though, to hear the enthusiasm in Eric's voice when he described having a complete stranger in Vietnam hop on the back of his bicycle as Eric pedaled along with the guy on the back while neither could understand the other...but it was all just fine.

Every time we see friends from home Tami and I know we've got a lot to look forward to on our return. We miss everyone a lot. Reconnecting with some of you will have the added laughs of reminiscing over some of the stuff we saw together along the way.

What can you get for your dollar today?

2007-11-27T08:03:00.000-08:00

A lot less than you could back in August. That dollar you had THREE MONTHS AGO is now worth 91.4 cents. Our 12 Trillion dollar economy is now less than 11 Trillion. If your investments haven't appreciated 8.6% in the past ninety or so days, you're down.

The above chart compares the value of the US Dollar to a basket of currencies from other nations. A month ago, Federal Reserve Bank chair Ben Bernanke replied to questions about the falling buck by mumbling that within the US, the dollar is still a dollar. That leaves out those things Americans buy from abroad....starting with OIL. You can go down the list from there. We are a deficit nation. We buy more from abroad than we sell. Dollar goes down, our prices go up.

Got Gold?

Some Links To Our Fellows Work

2007-11-16T22:30:00.000-08:00

As I said below, we've been busy. Here's some examples of what we've been doing. Just click the link and you can get to a blog for Kiva Fellows.

http://fellowsblog.kiva.org/2007/11/16/do-what-you-know/

You can see a compendium of my journal entries for Kiva/Maxima if you click on the link over to the right of this page called "Kiva Fellows Posts"

What Have We Been Up To?

2007-11-16T20:42:00.000-08:00

Man . . . it's been a busy last few weeks. Since early October we've been working as Fellows with a microfinance institutution (MFI) here in Phnom Penh. Micro-finance has been around in various forms for over a hundred years but most people date its crossover into wider familiarity with the Grameen Bank in Bangladesh in the 1970's. The founder, a man named Muhammad Yunus, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts. (It's a fascinating story if you click on those links.)

As I understand it, the idea of microfinance is to loan money to people who otherwise have no access to credit either:

1) ... in sums large enough to do anything more than pay for day-to-day living expenses or...

2) ... at interest rates low enough to allow them to pay it back without incurring further debt.

Perhaps the most common question asked and certainly the first one I asked was, "If the lendees can pay back the loans with interest, why don't they just save the money themselves and save the interest cost?" I've been told by several loan recipients that the schedule of making loan payments enforces a discipline that they would otherwise find elusive. These people do not put money in the bank. They are too poor (most earn around US $2.00 a day, give or take) , bank branches are few and far between and Cambodia has a recent history of bank failure and total loss of funds due to civil war and corrupt mismanagement. So, the money of the people our MFI works with stays in their homes. And when the money is there, they tell is there is always some need that causes them to spend it - whether it's a child that needs clothes or an extended family member that has an emergency. The fact that a loan officer visits them once a month gives them the excuse to say, "No, I can't spend it."

Loan officer disburses a loan (US Dollars are the default currency in Cambodia)

When they do get the loan, they suddenly have open to them choices they never had before. For example, we interview many people who make their livings by weaving cloth on hand and foot operated looms. For generations many of these people had only one avenue of managing their cost and income. They would get thread from local middlemen who also serve as the sole buyers of finished cloth. The typical arrangement our clients describe is a middleman extending 0a weaver credit of enough thread to make three finished pieces of cloth with the middleman taking two and the weaver taking the profit (with a price set by the middleman!) for the third. Apparently they got by but there was little or no movement up any economic ladder. Now, a weaver can get a loan for a few hundred dollars, travel the ten to thirty kilometers into Phnom Penh to one of the large markets and buy the supplies themselves for a lower cost. When they have completed enough finished pieces, they can take them into the city and sell them for a higher cost. The power of capital!

Weaver on the Mekong island of Koh Dach

Other business fare better, as well. Many farmers formerly could only afford a limited amount of seed, fertilizer, pesticide, etc. because they had a long period of waiting before they harvested and sold the produce. Now, they can take out a loan at a reasonable interest rate, buy larger amounts of materials and harvest and sell more at the end of a growing cycle. Many MFI's even offer a special loan product for farmers that allow them to make small payments early in the cycle when they have no cash flow saving the larger payments for the end of the growing/harvesting cycle. Whatever the situation, my experience in five weeks of interviewing clients is that they are very happy to have access to the funds.

So what's the role of Tami and I in all this? We applied to work with this organization from San Francisco called KIVA. They worked out a system set up on the Web to connect individual lenders (NOT donors) with people in need in the developing world. If you go to their website they explain it in detail. The essence of it goes like this, someone in Seattle goes to the Kiva site. There they see profiles of businesses/people in need of funding. Seattle (after they set up an account) clicks on a business they want to loan to and the funds go to an MFI who works with Kiva in the target country. At some point in the payback period, someone from KIVA or the MFI interviews the loan recipient to assess the impact of the loan. That's where Tami and I come in.
Tami on one of our morning commutes - a ferry across the Mekong River

We work as Fellows for Kiva. We get the distinct pleasure of riding with our MFI's (MAXIMA) loan officers to interview then blog about the clients - and you might not believe what a great time this is. We're doing many of the things we left home to do but, because we're working with a local organization and with a Cambodian who can interpret, we are allowed much deeper into the local culture than we've been ANY time on this trip. We're seeing a whole spectrum of the entrepreneurial economy. Because, at this economic level business and family are essentially inseparable, we get to see lots of family life we'd never see as well. Working with MAXIMA, we also experience working with a professional organization and MAXIMA is first-rate. Even though we're only scruffy volunteers, their staff has welcomed us in and supported us as if we were managing partners.

So, we have about another month of our term with KIVA/MAXIMA as Fellows. We'll see what comes after that but for now we're enjoying this very much.

2007-11-01T07:03:00.000-07:00

Well...we were just graced with another care package from home. This time, it came in the form of our globe-trotting friend from Manhattan, Manhattan. He's become so synonymous with his home city that his friends haven't come up with a better nick-name for him. Thinking about it, part of the reason his handle has stuck so well is that, more than most anyone I've ever known, Rich (real name) makes the effort to put in an appearance where and whenever he sees the opportunity to spend some quality time with friends. Exhibit A below...

Hell on Wheels (note mermaid surfing on the crocodile behind)

I don't think he's missed a Burning Man in nine years. He comes out to San Francisco or LA for fundraisers and parties. And now, following in the footsteps of Captain Ken, Manhattan has become our only other friend to make the super-hero list of people from home who've visited us twice. Man gets around...!

I've lobbied for a while now that Manhattan, while worn with unredoubtable aplomb, might be a less accurate moniker than he deserves. The more I get to know Rich, the more I see all these colorful and unique aspects of his personality incipient with naming possibilities. Those of you who know him might well agree. Consider this an opportunity to submit suggestions. :)

Right at home...

Rich has spent a surprisingly huge portion of his life on the beach. I learned more about that over the past few days. The man's second home is Jamaica and he knows his way around the sea, sand, thatched bungalows and cold beers as well as anyone I've ever met. He was/is very good company.

No, "Playa Shark" has been retired. Try again.

Our man blew into town from Thailand, checked out a few sites here in Cambodia and swept back out for NYC in time to celebrate Halloween. (At least we think he made it, we still haven't heard from him.) For a guy who'd I'd consider to be mellow, he sure tired Tami and I out. Seems like that's how it happened last time we saw him back in Amsterdam.

We'll miss ya Rich/Manhattan/Traveller/Excess/????

Very Cool Boat Ride

2007-10-21T00:35:00.000-07:00

Our first week of "work" here in Cambodia turned out to finish with a three-day national holiday. Our offices were closed so Tami and I took the opportunity to return to the ruins of Angkor in the northwest of the country. We repeated the route we took back in January taking a bus from Phnom Penh to Battambang. From there, we took a boat down a river that feeds into the Tonle Sap, Southeast Asia's largest lake. The ride takes anywhere from six to over ten hours but we were excited to do it again. I think we both consider it one of the high points of our entire time on the road.

Over the course of the ride you see people living next to and on the water in ways that seem straight out of some whimsical fiction. The children along the way (and there are hundreds) scream "hello" and wave like parade queens and marshalls. I think the boat passing is the high point of any day. On our first trip we saw floating pig pens tethered behind floating houses; huge, hand-built bamboo fishing contraptions that raised and lowered a net suspended from a long boom; floating stores/barbers/other businesses; trees hacked to just above the water line for firewood for cooking....it was surreal. We left Battambang just after dawn. The Khmers (Cambodians- almost all of whom use the boat as transport between watery villages) ride down below in the seated area. The tourists all ride up on top to enjoy the view.

About an hour and a half into the trip, this guy came through to check our tickets. So, what would he have done if we didn't have one? LOL

Often, the captain threaded a path through flooded scrub growth. We saw lots of channels and how he knew which to take was a mystery. At one point, we had to share the lane with this boat of Muslims. Apparently there are many living and fishing in the area. They were all smiles.
Sometimes we had to duck the overhanging branches. My shoes almost got swept overboard.
We realized after the first good strafing that the branches were home to innumerable red ants. For a long time everyone alternated between ducking branches, sweeping ants off the deck and brushing frantically at their clothes. No more relaxing sunbathing. It was hilarious.
We were happy we survived that part.
At villages where a passenger was getting off or on, a canoe would row out to meet our boat. It was like an aqua version of a Greyhound bus coming to a small town. Family members and friends seemed really happy to see one another.
If you worked as hard as this dude all your life, you might look this tough.
Life on the water seemed to be just as beneficial to some of the ladies. Is that a mermaid tail she's sitting on?
Even out here TV has its irresistible appeal. What the heck they can receive, though, I have no idea. It's REMOTE.
Everyone has a boat. All the boats have batteries. As a matter of fact, batteries are what power those TV's or any electric lights. A common business seems to be a battery recharging station. Got generator?

A little off the top?
This is a super-sweet ride. If you're ever in the area, check it out. Here are more photos from both our trips: http://destinationasia.myphotoalbum.com/view_album.php?set_albumName=album33

Stasis

2007-10-02T07:25:00.000-07:00

Checking in from Cambodia where the rainy season is beginning and the temps have finally fallen into the sub-molten range. It's been almost ten months since Tami and I first came to this region. Southeast Asia has been fun and interesting. We've spent time in Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos and China (even made it over the border into pre-uprising Burma for one day).

Two days ago, we crossed back into Cambodia. This time, we're going to stay put for awhile. A couple of months back we started searching for volunteer positions and we've just been placed in Phnom Penh. We're excited because we really enjoyed Cambodia our first trip through back in January. The Khmer people are super-friendly and charming, especially the kids.

The country's just civilized enough that you can be comfortable, but twisted enough that you can dip into plenty of experiences that you'll remember for a long time. (See the delicious fried crickets and tarantulas below.)

It's got nice coast and beaches.

It's got ancient ruins that are simply superlative. I've never seen any more inspiring on this planet.

If all goes as planned, we'll be in Phnom Penh for the next three months. We're excited. We'll be volunteering/working for an organization (Kiva) that makes micro-loans to very small business people. I have a feeling we're going to learn a lot.

Something about this particular stop feels different - like we've reached the farthest extreme of our orbit. As with all other good things, our time on the road feels like it might be coming to an end. Plans can always change but, after Phnom Penh, we expect to turn our sites slowly toward home. From Cambodia we plan to go back to India for a few months and, barring any irresistible temptations . . . . we should be back in the States by early summer.

It isn't all bad

2007-09-28T08:39:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I can whine about Bangkok. I watched this today, though. Beautiful.

Under this huge, traditional swing, a woman fed the pigeons.

She gave me a warm smile when I walked up.

Who's flying?

The Thai's do this prayer-like salute called a 'wai'. She held the bread between her hands and wai'ed before every broadcast.

Happy birds and a happy bird feeder.

Phewww . . . Bangkok

2007-09-27T22:18:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow we finally leave this city. Including our visits last December, we've spent almost four weeks in Bangkok in the last ten months. I can honestly say, there is little I will miss about it. A comparably dubious honor belongs to only one other city in this region, Saigon. Let it be known: the two huge commercial/population centers of SE Asia are not for me.

This isn't to say you can't have fun here or that Bangkok doesn't have its highlights. You can and it does, but they come at a high cost. First and worst is the pollution from vehicles. In this case I'd have to rank smog and sound as equally damning.

Bangkok is a black sinus town. Spend only a day walking around and you'll see what I mean. I notice that I unconsciously draw the shallowest of breaths crossing intersections. Waiting for the bus I stand as far back from the curb as possible.

Bangkok has its back alleys and, because Tami and I love to walk, we find and use many of them. The alleys inevitably end, though, dumping you back out on some clogged artery. If you're a walker, you're going to spend too much time scuttling along the edges of big, flowing rivers of smoke-belching steel. Even the all-too-rare green spaces are little islands buffered by little more than fences.

Motor vehicles have an equivalently negative impact on your ears. It's very tough to escape the cacophony. The main road fronting the block where our hotel sits is a huge boulevard, Ratchadamnoen Avenue - 12 lanes of buses, taxis, tuk-tuks, motos, cars, pickups and whatever else can be piloted to race from one stop-lighted intersection to another. Not only is there the raw physical threat to your body from merely trying to cross, the fumes here are especially tortuous. In minutes, my eyes burn. Just looking across a couple-hundred feet of air space you can clearly perceive the haze. The cumulative and non-stop roar of the traffic is like an industrial grand prix. Ratchadamnoen has become as much a psychological barrier as it has a physical one.

As I say, I won't miss much about this town. One sadly ironic inevitability though, is, if you're going to spend any significant time in southeast Asia, you're going to pass through Bangkok. And, because it's so huge and such and inertial sink, your to get stuck here for longer than you'd like. Oooof...

Burma? Myanamar? Call it what you want. It's bad either way.

2007-09-27T21:07:00.000-07:00

Bangkok -

The news from across the border to the west of here is grim. Yesterday I read that troops in support of the military Junta that's ruled the country since 1988, opened fire on crowds with automatic weapons. Most of those in the streets peacefully protesting are Buddhist monks. The Guardian, of London, reports that less and less news is getting out of the country as the authoritarian regime is desperately trying to shut down all internet, cell-phone and international phone contact. One blogger, an exiled Burmese living in London has been blogging and posting photos sent to him from people inside the country: His Blog

This is big news here. There are an estimated million or more Burmese refugees living in Thailand. More chaos there translates into even more refugees here. Tami and I spent a week along the Thai/Burma border ten hours north of Bangkok. On one songthaew (a simple pickup truck taxi)ride, we spoke with a young guy who had not seen his father in 17 years. He said he'd led a union march in the capital in 1990. Afterward, soldiers came to their house, took him away. He's been in jail since. The only person allowed to see him has been the wife. The young man we spoke to had to leave Burma two years ago. He also had joined a peaceful protest. The police/army came to their home shortly after and he had to flee out the back of their house. He made it to Thailand and has been here since.

I'd like to be optimistic that Burma could see something like what happened in the Philippines toppling Ferdinand Marcos, South Africa with Apartheid or in countries in the former Soviet Bloc. Burma has a very popular, democratically elected leader, Aung San Suu Kyi , a Nobel Peace Prize recipient who's party won 58% of the vote in a nationwide 1990 election. The military rulers refused to hand over power, nullified the election and placed Aung San Suu Kyi under house arrest, where she remains.

Durian - My New Love

2007-09-25T08:01:00.000-07:00

Money in hand and eyes on the prize.

Some time ago I wrote about "firsts" and how they come less and less frequently as you grow older. Food offers lots of opportunities for firsts because there are so many freaking cuisines prepared around this world. Take out the preparation part, though, and food in its natural state is much more limited in scope. If you then subtract the animal kingdom - things like fried tarantulas, dog, beating snake heart, monkey brains, etc. - you're limited to grains, leaves, fruit or any other edible parts of plants. You can sample many of hundreds of kinds of mango, for instance, but even if they vary wildly in quality and character, they're still mangos. Discovering truly new and interesting food as a vegetarian isn't easy.

Negotiating for a Little Globe of Heaven

About eight months ago, when we were first in Cambodia, we tried, just for the heck of it, the fruit called durian. I'd heard about durian for at least twenty years. I say "just for the heck of it" because the first thing people remark upon when describing the fruit is the smell. It was supposed to be a sulfury, sweet aroma that many people find unpleasant. Many places, notoriously Singapore, don't allow Durian on buses, trains or in many public places simply because of its aroma.

Recently, Tami and I were told by staff and other passengers on a bus to stop eating the durian we'd brought along for the ride. Novice mistake. Once you taste it, though, and especially if you fall for it the way we have, you'll understand how we might have wanted to take it everywhere.

People get obsessed about durian. When we first arrived in Bangkok, there were two Australians going on and on . . . and on, sheesh . . . about durian. They'd just arrived and couldn't wait to find some to eat. I thought the woman was going to break into an erotic dance just talking about it. It was weird. The guy said he'd sometimes eat two a day when he had access to them.

That kind of behavior is not uncommon. Check out this guy's website: Durian Palace There are lots of sites out there like this.

Now, after getting familar with the fruit, I have repented and can understand why. I didn't even know something with such a complex and powerful flavor existed in an uprocessed state in nature. Like many new and challenging experiences, when we first tried it I wasn't sure I liked it. It's like the first time you try blue cheese or a single malt Scotch or the first time you heard Kid A by Radiohead. You weren't sure what to expect but what you got was like nothing you'd ever had.

For reasons we have yet to fully discern, durian seems to stir a certain kind of sinful indulgence. Vendors set up on roadsides and sell almost exclusively at night - often late into it when most all other vendors close. It isn't so cheap, either. We typically pay between 25 and 40 Thai Baht for a kilo - about a US buck a pound - but more than half the weight is waste. At the above stand, I met three women who had driven AN HOUR to get a rare variety of durian. Apparently it was pretty special. It cost 280 Baht a kilo - stratospheric in these parts!

We first sampled it a couple times in shakes. I'd walk along afterward thinking, "That was different. But, do I like it?" I'd wake up the a day or two later wanting to try it one more time just to see. Curiosity got the best of us and we bought our first whole fruit. Our room was filled with the sweet, fecund aroma. We cut into it and, for the next hour, tasted and mused on what other foods compared to it and what other foods it might combine with it to make new recipies. We thought about naming a restaurant after it and using a sillouhette of the fruit as the logo. We'd have durian dishes never seen before on the menu.

The fruit itself? The outside rind is covered in tough, sharp spines. Cutting into them is a craft in itself. The fruit's texture is kind of like an avocado crossed with a soft artichoke heart. It has a butterscotch flavor (especially when it's more ripe), some vanilla, some kind of subtle nut and (here's the part that most people would get sqeamish about, but it's the best reference I have) liverwurst. I know . . . . it sounds crazy but somehow it works. I am officially obsessed. It's hard to imagine not having access to this food once we leave. As I understand it, the US doesn't allow import of durian unless it's been frozen - and subsequently, completely ruined. I don't know, if it weren't for the fact that I want to go home to see my mother, we'd buy a house here and open a restaurant called Durian.

Only In America.....(unless you're not there)

2007-09-03T08:03:00.001-07:00

Celebrating Burning Man 2007 at Si Satchanalai, Thailand

For the ten years prior to coming on this journey, the end of every August found me making my way out to the Black Rock Desert ninety miles northeast of Reno, Nevada to participate in Burning Man. I never really had a doubt that the gathering was special. I'd never come across an event where so many people chose willingly to subject themselves to so much. If you want to attend, you face inclement weather, hard work, lack of sleep, usually significant out of pocket expenses among other discomforts.

Burning Man might not be for everyone, but it's come to be the social center of gravity for me and many of my best friends in San Francisco and further afield. Now, after being a spectator of two "Burns" from outside the United States, I see Burning Man in a context I couldn't have appreciated before - and I can see, more clearly than ever, how unique it is and how lucky are the folks who attend. There simply is nothing like it going on anywhere else.

Tami and the Man, flanked by two Buddhas

The obvious distinguishing factor is that the large majority of the people on this planet simply don't have the discretionary wealth to spend on something like Burning Man. If you've attended, you know how much it can cost. When you're out there, you can see how much infrastructure and how much material and labor go into the art, to setting up the city and the large camps. The RV's many people drive to the Playa are far more luxurious and spacious than many family "homes" on this planet. What many camping Burners think of as adventurous outdoor survival for their week in the desert would be normal living conditions for hundreds of millions of people. How about time off from work? A majority of people on this planet don't have firsthand experience of what vacation time is, either. "A week in the desert to dance round the clock and look at art? Right..."

Ariel View of Black Rock City (Eric Bong - 2004)

In addition to all the time we've spent in "developing" countries, we've also met a great number of traveling Europeans, Australians, Japanese and other people from industrialized countries. They have the wealth but they don't have anything like Burning Man happening. I'm not sure why. Few countries have the open space; especially publicly-owned open space the use of which is codified in law.

One disquieting difference we've noticed is that many countries don't allow their citizens the freedom to even conceive of such a collective, participatory and counter-cultural freak show. I put special emphasis on freedom. I bash the politics and governance of the US a lot but, the Patriot Act and the other encroachments foisted on us since 9/11 notwithstanding, Americans have been endowed with civil rights that are still the envy of many people on this planet. Go to a country like Laos or China and try to pull off a Burning Man event. The authorities would, without accountability to anyone but themselves say, "Ummm, I don't think so." And that would be the end of the discussion. If it wasn't people would get hurt.

The "Belgian Waffle" (Nightshade 2006)

From afar, I also have come to recognize that Burning Man owes a specific debt to the colorful history of northern California and maybe San Francisco, in particular. Starting with some curious explorers (Sir Frances Drake comes to mind) and loads of fortune seekers, a lot of freaks have settled there over the years. Northern California has long been a haven for those who stand out because they look, think or behave differently. Extend that propensity for oddity out to an extreme and you can see something like Burning Man taking root.

We've covered a lot of miles and spent almost two full years in lands that fly many flags. Apart from maybe the citizens of India, I think if you dropped a typical person from most any country down in the middle of Black Rock City, they'd honestly think they were on another planet and have a breakdown

Of course until the nearest well-mannered Burners took them under their wing and helped them get sorted out. :)

Anyway, the whys and wherefores matter little. Burning Man happens. That it does is something anyone who's come to appreciate it should cherish. People do join in from all over the world. With luck, the whole lovely experiment will grow and spread.

Preah Vihear

2007-08-30T22:30:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while we have a day or two where I'm reminded exactly why we came out into the World. When you've been travelling as long as we have, it's easy to fall into a routine of just 'living' on the road. You move from one town to another; find a decent guest house, suss out the markets, find out who sells the strong coffee and cold beer, see the sights. More often than not, the sights don't amount to much more than a town going about its daily life. Luckily, that can be plenty interesting.

If you're really lucky, those routine times get punctuated by experiences that stand in such dramatic contrast that you feel like you just stepped off the plane. Did I say strong coffee? Some places can make you feel like you just poked your head out of the womb or you're at your first day on campus. Preah Vihear - a temple/palace complex on the Thailand/Cambodia border is one of those places. We'd heard about it and had it on our list but, because it's difficult to access, we weren't sure when we'd be able to visit.

Fate had it that we recently had to cross over into the Isan peninsula of Thailand. This was as close as we needed to get. We aimed for Si Saket, the town that is the traditional jumping off point to visit Preah Vihear from the Thai side. Even though PV is in Cambodia, it takes a couple rough days of dirt-track travel to reach it from there.

From 950-1150 AD, a series a Khmer kings began and finished a temple on the peak of a sloping mountain 2000 ft. higher than the surrounding plains.

Looking Southeast

Looking Southwest

One the the first impressions you get as you climb into the ruins is how much power and wealth the Khmers must have had. Monuments like this certainly display a certain long-term vision. Ten centuries after it was built, people still come to marvel and draw inspiration. Makes me wonder what we'll leave for people living a thousand years from now.

Ruins are fun for planying on....even for kids.

Thousand year-old portico

Monk Invasion

You also can't help but see that the builders appreciated a good view. You'd have a hard time finding a better place. It's like looking out over an ocean but it's all jungle.

Fine and lasting craft.

These kids brought great life to the ruins.

Girl and heavenly door

Proud Cambodian

Blocks get eternally comfortable with the trees

Side Trip in Ten Photos

2007-07-28T21:18:00.000-07:00

After crossing into Vietnam from China, Tami and I hunkered down in Hanoi. The city has a lot of character but it's one intense place. After three weeks we decided to take a break and go down to the ocean to a place called Ha Long Bay. It's famous for these limestone karsts studding the coast. We ended up spending two weeks bouncing around a few locations. It was breathtaking.

View of Hon Gai from a Karst on the edge of the bay. We climbed up here twice, spent at least three hours and saw no one. Notice Tami down to the left with her hands up.

Ultra-modern bridge spanning a smaller bay between Bai Chay and Hon Gai.

Father of a family we spent time with in Hong Gai. They have a view to die for.

The boat out of Hon Gai to Quan Lan Island. Hello Ha Long Bay.

One of the beaches on Quan Lan. We pretty much had them to ourselves like this. Gulp...

Tami (if you close) over Bai Tu Long Bay.

Cai Rong pier from a karst in Bai Tu Long Bay.

Rolling down the pier to ice the fish.

One part of view from our hotel room when we returned to Hong Gai.

Drying sea stars in Hong Gai.

We're still in Vietnam - mid-way down the coast in Hue. For our latest photos you can click here: LINK http://destinationasia.myphotoalbum.com/view_album.php?set_albumName=album46

2007-07-07T21:23:00.000-07:00

Venal - adj. 1. willing to sell one's influence, esp. in return for a bribe; open to bribery; mercenary: a venal judge. 2. able to be purchased, as by a bribe: venal acquittals.
adj. 3. Capable of betraying honor, duty, or scruples for a price; corruptible.
4. Marked by corrupt dealings, especially bribery: a venal administration.

Duplicity – noun 1. deceitfulness in speech or conduct; speaking or acting in two different ways concerning the same matter with intent to deceive; double-dealing.

I just got back to Internet land and read that Lewis Libby will walk. Yeah, George Bush merely commuted the sentence, but that removes the only part of the penalty that would really sting. Call me naive but I simply can't believe the audacity. They are essentially letting a man off the hook who, as found by a jury and sentenced by a conservative judge (a judge appointed by Bush himself), was guilty of obstructing justice in a matter of national security. Bush based a big part of his platform on protecting American citizens from anyone who'd compromise that security. He made his name, in large part, as a tough-on-crime guy. "George W. Bush during his six years as governor of Texas presided over 152 executions, more than any other governor in the recent history of the United States." His administration has renditioned people off the streets of foreign countries. They're tapping the phones and reading the mail and e-mails of American citizens.

Now, Libby walks. I can only imagine Dick Cheney and Karl Rove were sitting there saying, "George has said so many unbelievable things maybe this one will fade into memory just like everything else."

Fool - noun 1. a silly or stupid person; a person who lacks judgment or sense. 2. a professional jester, formerly kept by a person of royal or noble rank for amusement: the court fool. 3. a person who has been tricked or deceived into appearing or acting silly or stupid: to make a fool of someone.

Bye Bye China

2007-06-05T21:06:00.000-07:00

Four days ago we rode a train then a tuk-tuk (a scooter converted into a mini taxi) to the border of China and Vietnam. In many ways, I was sad to leave. In one very important and overriding way, I was happy - happy to have discovered the country when and how we did. China has been the unparalleled pleasant surprise of this trip. Admittedly, I entered with only the vaguest notions of what was in store. Due to such vacancy, China had only its immediate predecessors to live up to. Being that the most recent of those had been the decidedly inhospitable Laos, the ground was fertile for an upside surprise.

Boom truck, decorative rocks and billboard outside Dali

China's natural beauty, comparative tidiness, ambition & industry but most of all her people, coalesced into an unfailingly pleasant place in which to spend time. Again, our visit here has to be qualified by the caveat that we visited only three provinces quite far from the political and population centers. Nevertheless, if New Mexico, Washington State or Missouri can be said to typify at least a few things American, our travels had to have touched on some of what is China in 2007.

Neon sign that covered the entire side of a building in Kunming. Check out the small blue symbol of an atom on top.

And if a country can have a collective mood, it's really 1960 for the people of the 'Middle Kingdom'. China is ebullient, genial and above all else, welcoming. For many Chinese, things are looking up for the first time in their lives. Kids are all going to school. People are (again...for better or worse for the planet) are buying things they could never buy before. Chinese are traveling in their own country, a place of which they are very proud. Folks are out trying to make money in all kinds of ways - and, from what we saw, there is money to be made....even if some of the ways are entry-level.
Tami and our bikes on a bamboo ferry - Cost for two: about a buck.

One-girl band at a big, outdoor night market in Yangshuo.

Very, very nasty looking truncheon carried by men guarding an armored truck. There were NO smiles when I took photos.

For those such as the Tibetans, Uighur or any other ethnic minorities out of favor with the ruling Hans, the same cannot be said. We didn't see any repression or talk to anyone who had but that might have been due to the language barriers and the short length of our stay. We certainly read enough about cultural hegemony, restrictions on freedom of speech, punitive economic treatment, among other curtailments of rights. I suspect plenty of that does go on. It just was not apparent. Some residents of New Orleans, former and present, might say something similar about their plight.

Post-Katrina New Orleans

Before leaving, we'd spent the prior few weeks cruising around areas that are, for the most part, barely touristed by non-Chinese. It's a bit of a mystery to me why hordes of Western travelers set their sights on the countries of Southeast Asia when China, just to the north, offers such an interesting and fun array of possibilities. Even more, China ain't gonna stay like it is for long. I know I've said it before but, from when we arrived to our last minutes in the country, you can see evidence of the gargantuan energy going into modernizing the country.

For my money, most of that modernization is a tragedy because what China is losing is rare and becoming harder and harder to find.

One-man sawmill carving a beam from a tree for a traditional style bridge. Check out that pipe.

So, that's it for China. If we're lucky, we'll be back. If you're lucky, you'll go.

Artful Farming

2007-06-05T07:17:00.000-07:00

Since we've left home, we've spent time in chili pepper plots that filled the shallow valleys of southern New Mexico; cotton fields of west Texas that were plowed so close to the dirt roads that there was no shoulder or ditch, tulip fields laid out in Holland that looked like a Mondrian canvas - only brighter; fragile, high-mountain fields of barley and buckwheat in the Himalayas that (and this is a fact) will not exist in twenty years because the glaciers that supply the water for irrigation will be melted; super-verdant planes of rice that stretched to the horizon in the Mekong delta where conditions are so fertile they can plant and harvest three crops in a single year. There were others but, for sheer, fully-realized beauty, none hold a candle to what we hiked through in Guizhou Province.

Wandering around the developing world, you come to the undeniable realization that most of the world's population is still involved with farming. In the US, something like 40% of our population still farmed as recently as the early 1900's. Now, the number is closer to 2.5%. Not so in almost all the countries we've visited. During planting or harvest, fields are CRAWLING with PEOPLE digging or cutting or threshing or carrying or plowing.

In the hills of southern China, for example, they don't even use gas powered roto-tillers. Almost all the farmers still plow with Oxen and hand-made, wooden, single-bottomed plows. We even saw one guy pulling a plow himself while his wife steered it. If you think you have any idea what hard work is, try doing that. I will forever remain humbled.

Imagine if this were your office.

They work hard but, wow, what beautiful plots they tend. We traveled around this area for a few weeks. I haven't felt so at peace since we were isolated on an island in Thailand or high in the Himalayas of Nepal. I have no idea how long areas like this will remain. China is undergoing such huge and sweeping changes right now. The largest migration in human history started some twenty years ago and is accelerating each year. Rural, farming Chinese are flocking to the cities for higher paying work. The trade-offs don't make the choice look simple.

Like farming a skyscraper

Chance Meeting in South China

2007-06-05T00:29:00.000-07:00

Travelin' Tish Hendershot and Tami Quest

I think we have a new category in our "heroes" gallery.

Perhaps it had to happen eventually. If you're out here on the road long enough, you start bumping into other travelers who you've met one, two or three countries prior. It doesn't occur often but we've met familiar backpacker types in back alley eateries or sitting at the other end of a restaurant full of people - sometimes months and months after last seeing them. Maybe your eyes develop a latent sensitivity to picking the known from masses of unfamiliar faces teeming the cities and streets of Asia.

That might help explain my reaction a few nights back while Tami and I were eating dinner on a side street in Yangshuo, a tourist destination in Guanxi Province. It was a Saturday night and the street outside had a steady stream of strollers like the midway at a fair. Suddenly, a profile and walk looked distantly familiar. Without even thinking, I got up, ran around the corner and tentatively uttered the name of the person I thought it was - "Tish?" She turned around with an "I've just seen a ghost" look but we knew right away we'd just made a very, very....very low-probability connection.

For the first few minutes I think we were all too stunned to say much. After we came back down to earth, we realized that Tish had some time, we had some time and so, we spent the next four days doing a bike tour around some of the most sublimely beautiful country on this planet.

Back to front: David, Tamara, Tami, Tish, Sarah

I've known Tish from San Francisco for quite a few years now. Her work takes her all over the world but I was still stunned to meet up with her unexpectedly. As a further note of coincidence, a few years ago, Tish bumped into Captain Ken on a street in Bangkok - the same Captain Ken who just visited us! Tish and Ken get around.

She was in Yangshuo because she'd just finished a project up in Beijing and Shanghai. She came south with some friends and we all rode to Fuli town the next day to a market.

Man at the Fuli Market selling all manner of creepy crawlies that bit stung and otherwise apparently work wonders when rendered in rice whiskey for you to drink or rub on that aching joint. The original snake oil? Note the elderly patrons to his left.

The day after, we headed north into the countryside with the town of Xiping as our destination. No decent maps were available so we set off with a hand-rendered tourist diagram and asked farmers along the way for guidance. What we thought would be easy to reach in a day proved utterly elusive with only an hour or so of light left. We covered a lot of ground but we had yet to cross (or find a ferry to take us across) the Li River. Plus, every time we asked people which direction to Xiping, they invariably got agitated and launched into an indecipherable monologue in Chinese.

David practices some circus moves during recess.

Luck was with us, though. As we entered a small village, two people were motioning animatedly for us to go just up the hill to . . . what looked like a small guesthouse. Low and behold, after riding for seven and a half hours through nothing but seventeenth century farmland, we'd found refuge. The proprietor, Zhao Qiao Young, could not have been happier to see us nor more hospitable. He loaded his refrigerator with coveted beers and we settled into a long spell of relaxation.

Things at Camp Zhao were so comfy, in fact, that we stayed for a full extra day just to explore and soak up the beauty of the area.

Tami, Mr. Zhao and Tish above the Li River

We finally did make it to Xiping - two days later than planned but I remember no one complaining. Tish departed north and Tami and I, as our visa was running out, made for the Vietnamese border. If life's best pleasures are those that come unexpected, Tish helped make our already wonderful time in China that much more magical.

Ron Paul

2007-05-25T02:21:00.000-07:00

I've been reading speeches by this guy for a couple years. He makes more sense than any politician I've heard in a long time. I can't believe the system actually allowed him to get elected in the first place. Let's see how the other Republicans try to take him out of the race.

Here's what he had to say about patriotism a few days ago before Congress:

The true patriot is motivated by a sense of responsibility and out of self-interest for himself, his family, and the future of his country to resist government abuse of power. He rejects the notion that patriotism means obedience to the state. Resistance need not be violent, but the civil disobedience that might be required involves confrontation with the state and invites possible imprisonment. Peaceful, nonviolent revolutions against tyranny have been every bit as successful as those involving military confrontation. Mahatma Gandhi and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., achieved great political successes by practicing nonviolence, and yet they suffered physically at the hands of the state. But whether the resistance against government tyrants is nonviolent or physically violent, the effort to overthrow state oppression qualifies as true patriotism. True patriotism today has gotten a bad name, at least from the government and the press. Those who now challenge the unconstitutional methods of imposing an income tax on us, or force us to use a monetary system designed to serve the rich at the expense of the poor are routinely condemned. These American patriots are sadly looked down upon by many. They are never praised as champions of liberty as Gandhi and Martin Luther King have been.

Full text of speech is here:

http://www.lewrockwell.com/paul/paul388.html

His campaign website:

http://www.ronpaul2008.com/

China Consumes

2007-05-25T01:16:00.000-07:00

A shot of China Consumes Association's TV show "Consume Times"

If you haven't been reading the financial press for the last decade or so, China's economy is a mega-beast poised to gobble down, process and spit back out a tsunami of consumer and industrial goods like the world has never seen. I can vouch for their appetite to shop. Those with the means have what seems like an undending supply of stores in which to blow time and money. Now and again, due to equipment wearing out, I've had to dive in myself.

Before some recent hiking, I needed to find a pair of trailworthy shoes. In the country that supplies the bulk of the world's footwear, you'd think finding shoes wouldn't be a problem. Not so. Many of you have heard such tales before but I was astounded to find out how difficult it is to get shoes big enough for Caucasian feet. I wasn't in a huge hurry but, over the course of a couple weeks, I must have asked at well over a hundred stores. The best any of them could come up with were high-top basketball shoes.

A world-class star for some world-class consumers

Old Yao has had quite an impact here but it didn't do me any good. Luckily I found a store in Kunming selling top-of-the-line hiking shoes at a third the cost I'd have paid at home. Had my feet been two sizes smaller, I'd have had an infinite supply. Also in Kunming, we went to what only can be described as malls - of just athletic shoes. All the big cities have shopping like this. Multi-storey buildings specializing in shoes or women's accessories or whatever. My sister would love it here.

The Chinese middle class is estimated to be around 300 million people strong currently and growing fast. The buying power of each of those is something like one fourth to one third of that of a typical American consumer. The thing that frightens me most is how the whole tendency to consume is accelerating. We've only spent a couple months here but you can get an idea of the growth continuum from snapshots by visiting different places.

China still has plenty of poverty. We've spent a lot of time in villages and the people there buy nothing more than the absolute essentials - things like farm tools, rice, sandals, etc. In bigger towns you start to see cell phone stores and motor cycle dealers. The big cities are as I described above - they have it all and all you want of it. Keep in mind, we've only been visiting the southwestern hinterlands of the country. The real wealth and buying power is concentrated in the east. What I've heard about those areas sounds like a consumerist's shangri-la. All I can say, is look out Planet Earth.

School's In

2007-05-24T06:51:00.000-07:00

Day after day
Day after day
We study English every day
Don't be lazy that's the way
We study hard day after day

China is old. For some odd reason, I take comfort in that. I think the Chinese do, too. And from the knowledge of how long their civilization has been around (5000 years - give or take), it seems they possess a deep and abiding faith in their culture. Not much seems to shake them. From what I've seen so far, they harbor a belief that if you're going to do something you might as well try to do it right (unless, of course, you're selling pet food to the United States). I can only speak comparing China to some of the other countries we've visited. So many of them just can't seem to get ANYTHING together. I used to worry about visiting India before it changed too much. I might have said the same thing about Laos or Cambodia or Honduras or any number of a handful of other developing countries. Now I think there is not so much to worry about. I will be old and gray before some of these places start to look like the US or Europe. There are countries that seem to be on an effective path of development and some that aren't. For better or worse, China's on that path.

Thirty-five years ago China had one of the very lowest per capita incomes on earth. Twenty-eight years of Mao Tse Tung drove the country into the dirt. Today China is among the more comfortable places we've traveled. Growth (again, for better or worse) is evident everywhere. The Chinese, as a people, seem to have said we're going to modernize and get with the Global program.

The photo above is from a small, ethnic village in rural Guizhou Province (the poorest province in China). They're starting the kids on English at nine years of age. Recently, the government in Beijing declared that all primary students in the COUNTRY will learn English. Prior to that, middle and secondary students studied it. We've talked to some young people fresh out of college. Before they graduate, they must pass certain levels of CERT (College English something or other...) exams to graduate. There is such an immense amount of pressure to be proficient in English that written Chinese is being neglected. (Everyone speaks Chinese but it takes a virtual lifetime to learn the thousands upon thousands of Chinese characters.)

Are the Chinese afraid of the language of their primary rival, the US? Do they let the official history of "imperialist aggression" and "exploitation" suffered at the hands of "capitalist roaders" cow them into thinking "it's the Chinese way or the highway"? Nope. They know, just like any business person anywhere, that English is and will be increasingly essential for global business. They're on it. Look out.

Old Folks At Home

2007-05-24T05:53:00.000-07:00

Since we've been in China, I've had a feeling of comfort and I couldn't quite put my finger on why. China seems exceptionally safe. It's relatively (for now) cheap. As I've mentioned, the people are exceptionally helpful and friendly. That said, seldom have I felt so at ease in a country. After spending more time here, I think I can see one reason why.

Much like the older people of India, elderly Chinese, for lack of a better way to describe it, aren't afraid of being freaky. The old people rock styles that would make the illustrator of any book of childrens' fables, weep. Expressing a personal panache here seems to be a sign, if not an outright requirement, of reaching your senior years.

Any effort at all seems to be deemed better than none.....and admittedly, you do see some clunkers- the haphazard towel thrown around the head or the lopsided farm hat that makes the wearer look like they've lost any sense of balance.

In an environment like this it's kind of hard to shock people. Their flair helps put a foreign traveler a little more at ease. You can stand in the middle of a public square scribbling down some thought in your journal and no one bats an eye. You can wear sunglasses with crazy colored lenses and, if they do anything at all, they just laugh.

What's that? You say you've got a country where freaky is the norm? A place where they put a premium on being yourself? I like it. Sign me up.

"Captain Good Times" is More Like It

2007-05-23T06:55:00.000-07:00

(Been out of Internet territory. Time to catch up.)

May 17, 2007

Just got a farewell e-mail from Captain Ken. Today he leaves China. Tami and I don't head back into Vietnam for at least a couple more weeks so, I find it strange (perhaps because Ken is going home) I'm already starting to miss this country. More on China later but, without a doubt, I'll be missing Ken.

We parted ways over a week ago. Ken has a neice teaching in Henan Province far to the north so he went to visit her and see some sites in that area. Just knowing that he was still in the country and getting his e-mail updates so we could compare notes made traveling here seem more familiar - and fun.

We spent a couple weeks together running around Yunnan Province. From the moment I first saw him walking up the street, the guy fell right into the rhythm of things. We met up in the moutain town of Dali and immediately took a two-day bicycle ride through the fields around Erhai Lake checking out the villages during a big harvest. Many people, even many backpacker-style travelers, might have found that kind of touring a little esoteric if not boring - not to mention physically challenging. Not Ken. We rode, stopped in village after village, chatted with people to get directions, snapped a ton of photos, scrounged around for food and blundered back and forth in one village to find the only guest house - and it was a ball for all of us.

When we returned to Dali, we sought out a bar that let us use their video system. Ken had brought a DVD of videos he shot out at Burning Man last year. It was the first live action Tami and I had seen of the Playa since being there ourselves. Tears ran down my cheeks even as I laughed out loud at many of the images. Ken, with a lifetime of experience in the movie business, had captured a beautiful half hour of Burning Man life - and he couldn't have found a more appreciative audience.

Ken gets friendly with Fei Fei - our Dali friend and sometimes host.

From Dali we headed north to Lijiang and the Tiger Leaping Gorge. We spent the better part of four days hiking a canyon cut by the Yangtze below the "awe inspiring diadem" (inside LOL) of the Jade Dragon Snow Mountains. Brother K celbrated his sixty-fifth birthday last year yet he hiked the mountains with the enthusiasm of a Boy Scout. As Pleasure Sean sagely observed of Ken's exuberance and style, "We're all taking notes."

Accomodating Tami's addiction to photography can be a touch trying at times. Captain happens to be a monster behind the camera, too. Between the two of them I knew immediately I'd have to ratchet up my patience if I didn't want to see them only at the guest house at the beginning and end of each day. Watching one of them scramble up a hillside or squat next to a gravestone to get a good shot worked as a positive contagion for me, I have to admit. Ken brought us both some fresh eyes and his helped invigorate mine.

Any of you who've spent time with Ken know he doesn't just bring enthusiasm to an activity. The man has more stories and tales than just about anyone I've ever met. I'm just about ready to petition the National Archives to declare Ken Phelps a national treasure and force him to get it all down on paper.

(Buy this man a beer,sit down and listen - Money-back guarantee for a good time)

Follow-up On Internet Access (the COPE bill)

2007-04-25T07:25:00.000-07:00

I posted last summer about the COPE bill (renamed HR 5252):

http://holidaydarin.blogspot.com/2006/06/for-sale-one-not-very-recently-used.html

I'm happy to report that after passing the House of Representatives, the bill died in the Senate when Congress adjourned at the end of 2006. That's great news for now. The telecommunications companies donate big in DC. Don't expect that they'll give up trying to abscond with profits from a system they never even had a hand in creating.

Another Sweet Reunion

2007-04-25T01:32:00.000-07:00

And the first member of our "Heros" list to be inducted for the second time . . .

Captain Ken Phelps!

Ken met up with us in Dali a few days ago. He's brought news of home; a full, in-person summary of the Garage Mahal fundraiser party and his own unexcelled and inimitable self.

Stay tuned for more photos and stories.

China Continued

2007-04-25T00:16:00.000-07:00

Modern Kunming

I've come to realize that I can't really say "China" when characterizing my experience here. China's just too complex and enormous for that. My myopia started to become apparent when we hit the city of Kunming, capital of Yunnan province. Yunnan alone which, in three weeks, we've just started to get a feel for, is a bit larger than California and has 45 million people; several million of which are ethnic minorities with cultures much different than the majority Han Chinese. Sometimes Tami and I feel like we are in an Andean village in Peru, sometimes in a farm valley in Burma. If a person had the time and money, a fantastic trip would be to enter China at a distant southern or western border and travel slowly overland to Beijing or Shanghai. As we've moved north from Laos, the changes have revealed what a huge, teeming country this is.

Prosperity and energy were apparent from the moment we crossed over from Laos. I was in no way prepared for Kunming, though. Accurate numbers are hard to come by because China is changing so rapidly. Our guidebook published in 2003 says Kunming had about four million people at that time. We spoke with a local man who worked for China Railways. He was an engineer and seemed to be very well informed. He said the current figure was closer to five million and the government expected (and was building out the infrastructure to accomodate) a doubling of that to ten million by 2020. Sheesh! We have two metro areas of ten million in the US - LA and NYC. People here keep telling us Kunming is a small, big city in China.

Tami with Kunming Behind

Whatever... numbers only tell part of the story. Visiting Kunming felt, for the first time since Bangkok, like visiting a full-fledged, modern metropolis with all the accoutrements: forests of skyscrapers, constant passenger jet traffic, bright lights and so on. It was not unexpected to find that the people of Kunming while nice, were a bit more like city people everywhere - busy with their own lives and fairly indifferent to a couple of foreigners walking their streets. That said, we did have a handful of very nice interactions and conversations with Kunmingers. Virtually very person we asked for help, whether it was a bus driver or a shoe repair person, took care of us with a smile. I'm starting to think they put courtesy dust in the water here.

Kunming's New "Old City"

Kunming is an old city. They even have what they call an "old city". What's left of that is going away very quickly, though. From what we've read and what we're seeing, the Chinese have not been sentimental about old buildings. Many "old cities" - some centuries old - around the country have been razed to make way for modern towers. Kunming stands as a stark example of that. Here and there you see rickety old slices of villages nestled among modern glass, steel and concrete. Even the area city developers are calling "old Kunming" seems destined for a ground-up makeover. Pretty much every city we've visited has buildings or neighborhoods constucted in traditional styles. Apparently they do this, not out of a love for the past but with the understanding that "old" is what Chinese (and foreign but to a lesser extent) tourists want to see. I'll give them this much, they stick to traditional styles and use local craftspeople. I've never seen so much hand carved stone and wood.

When they cast their eyes to the future, the gloves really come off. Kunming's avenues and huge pedestrian areas show an awareness of what design qualities make for a grand urban experience. The Chinese are clearly thinking big and thinking long-term.

Of course, "long-term" begs a bigger question or two. They seem to be building with only slightly more regard for dwinding oil supplies than we do at home. They're building up with towers rather than out "ex-burbs". American style ex-burbs are unlivable without cars. We've seen rail lines being constructed on a massive scale. That's certainly more efficient for moving people and goods than cars and trucks but it won't be enough. They are following a resource gulping, consumerist model that is adding fuel to the already raging fire.

The Cold Shoulder and the Heat & the Haze or . . . No Accounting for Taste 2

2007-04-11T08:09:00.000-07:00

4:30 Sun (No Sunglasses Needed!) - Luang Prabang

So...as I said below, in all our time on the road, we hadn't really heard a bad thing about the country of Laos. Even in conversations with travelers over past years, virtually all of them raved that Laos was a special place. Consequently, as a rare exception, I'd allowed myself to fall into a trap with Laos - the trap of having high expectations. This almost always sets me up for a letdown but it was hard to discount all we'd heard. The one negative we'd come across was in our guide book. They wrote that the spring months in the north of the country could be smokey due to slash and burn agriculture practiced by the ethnic hill tribes. Little did I know.

Spring in SE Asia can be unbearable enough with just the heat.There is no breeze and the humidity gives the air a weight you almost have to push through. Like the Laotians themselves, we had to retreat most days to some internet cafe or under the fan in our room (no air-con) for two or three hours or risk getting decimated by the heat. In the capital, Vientiane, the air had a haze that seemed like smoke or pollution but without any distinguishing smell. As we moved north visibility - and breathing - became more constricted.

Like Walking in a Bowl of Hot Soup - Luang Prabang

Mature trees are rare in Laos so the coutryside has a mostly scrubby appearance. On the bus north out of Vientiane we saw our first blackened hillsides. We had no idea why the hills and valley floors were destroyed they way they were. The land often seemed too steep to farm and everything that was burned seemed to be left fallow. Nonetheless, the local people continued to work up and down the mountainsides with what looks like disdain for anything green. Everything is left white ash, black snags and tan and red earth.

We spent time with one woman from New Zealand who went on a couple day trek near Luang Prabang. She was astonished to walk, at times, along the trail with fire buring on both sides of her. This on days when the temps were just shy of a hundred degrees fahrenheit!

As horrifying as the land is, the air has been transformed into the most irritating and inescapable fallout of the burning. From Vientiane north we were plunged into a haze that burned the eyes and lungs and blotted out the sun. Even at mid-day, on the worst days you can stare directly into its light with naked eyes. One day, at a bus stop in Udomxai, pieces of black and white ash rained down on my lunch - and I was eating under an awning! Every time we'd take a shower, the washcloth turned a turgid gray. Our poor lungs...

What could the people grow that would be worth such destruction? For more than a week, in all the areas that had been burned, we saw nothing planted. Finally, up near the Burmese and Chinese borders, we saw rows of spikey plants along the slopes. A local man who spoke some english told us they were trees. They mature enough for harvest in seven years. As far as we could see, they cut and burn the trees so they can . . . grow trees. Okay...

Springtime In Laos

Whatever, I'm not a farmer and I'm most definitely not in the shoes of a Hmong tribe family man trying to survive. The experience of living in that atmosphere was nothing I'd like to replicate, though. If you're thinking about going to Laos, don't go in spring

Agrarian Apocalypse - Luang Nam Tha

The devastation is grim but it doesn't fully answer the complaint I made about not being able to account for other peoples' taste. The big, suprising negative we encountered had to do with the Laotian people themselves. For a lack of any more charitable way to describe them - they just weren't that nice. I try to live by the credo of not saying anything if you don't have anything nice to say but I've never felt so stumped by such a disconnect between what other people seem to perceive and my own perceptions. Why do other travelers give Laos such an emphatic thumbs-up?

I like to interact with the people in new places - even if they tease or have laughs at my expense or struggle with the language barriers with sign language or whatever. I didn't take off on a travel adventure out of misanthropy. I like to try to connect with people now and then. It's fun to make eye contact and see if you can find any commonality. That that approach didn't work so well for me in Laos. You can walk down the street or trail all day saying "Sabadie" (hello) and get only the most tepid repsonses - very often, none at all. That happened so often that, after a few weeks, I fell into following the Laotian example walking along withdrawn not saying anything to passersby. Even then, they still avert their eyes when they get close and almost never initiate a greeting.

One thing that Laos does offer is a chance to see and experience life at the village level. When you come from the West, you don't get that chance very often; if at all. The odd thing for me is, one of the expectations from village life is friendliness or camaraderie, even if it's only in passing. If you don't have those things, walking through a town of people who don't smile or turn away can make you feel very unwelcome. It's too intimate of a situation to be in without friendliness. At best, it felt like acute disinterest. At worst, it felt like suspicion or even judgement.

OK, fair enough. People are what they are and that's fine by me. My question is why so many other travelers speak so highly about how nice the Laotians are. It's not like I'm traveling alone. Tami came to the same conclusions as I did. One of our German friends who visited in Vientiane said, after only a couple days, that he "missed the smiles" （He's spent quite a bit of time in Thailand right next door to Laos and, I guess, expected the Laotians to be similarly friendly.）I don't know, call me blind for the five weeks we were in the country. All I know is that the people of every country we've visited have their character and that character comes in many shapes and sizes. The Laotians were the first people on this trip to make us feel like they were barely willing to tolerate us visiting their country. Weird.

No Accounting for Taste

2007-04-10T19:46:00.000-07:00

In a million years I'll never understand how some people can see things one way and someone else will see the same thing a hundred and eighty degrees differently. I mentioned in an earlier post that I was apprehensive about visiting China. For years I'd heard how difficult it is to travel here. ''Virtually no one speaks English. Being a vegetarian is impossible. The people try to trick you on prices.'' These and more are commonly heard travelers' laments. By the same token, for years but especially since Tami and I left on this trip, we've heard not a single disparaging comment about Laos, which we just left.

We've only been in China for about six days but, if our experience thus far is any indication, this place is going to be fascinating and enlightening. As I said below, the people here have been the best. Sure, we've had to haggle on some prices but much less so than Vietnam or India. They have been so nice that, in some sense, we feel, for lack of a better analogy, like old family returning after decades abroad. The smiles and enthusiastic hellos are killing me. I helps that we haven't seen the floods of foreign travelers, backpackers or otherwise, that ply all the routes of SE Asia. For the first time in a long time, we feel like we are in a place very far from home.

It goes w/o saying that China is huge. Area-wise it's about the same as the US and it has more than FOUR TIMES the population. This is a world unto itself and you can feel it. In other countries there are lots of concessions to western sensibilities, spoken English, for example. So far here, we've been approached several times by people who start coversing in Chinese as soon as we say "ni hau" (hello). When we try to explain that we can't understand them, they don't get it. One guy yesterday kept pointing to his ear. He thought my lack of understanding was b/c I was deaf! One young woman, when she and her friends realized we couldn't understand what they were saying, took a full minute to write out a phrase . . . in Chinese. She thought we'd at least be able to read it.

Many people here seem to be so inside the Chinese experience that they think everyone else must be, as well. It makes for very interesting travel b/c you really can feel that they're living their lives with no regard what some tourist might be willing to pay for. You can still find that kind of unselfconsciousness in villages in some countries, but it's a rare thing in cities.

The city where we are currently, Jianshui, is great example of this. It looks what I imagine many of the mid-sized American Rust Belt cities looked like fifty or seventy-five years ago. It's kind of grey with mostly masonry construction. All the streets and lanes are lined with shop fronts owned by local small-business people. People are out and about shopping, drinking tea, eating or just socializing. The general mood is genial. People smile and laugh. Employment seems to be fairly robust. Activity really picks up in the early morning and at the end of the work day. Factories (actual factories with smokestacks!) are scattered off in the distance around the edges of the city. People seem comfortably busy.

China has a lot of coal. The smell of it burning permeates the city but that smell is something best taken in small doses. It is, at one and the same time, comforting like a campfire but, because of the sulfur, irritating. (The sulfur dioxide from Chinese coal burning is dumping tons of acid rain onto Japan and killing many of its lakes.) My eyes and lungs have a slight burn especially in the morning and evening when people cook and heat the most. Most of the coal comes in shallow cylinders like those in the photo to the left. Holes are drilled in the center to make the coal burn faster and hotter. The smell of Jianshui reminds me of the cities of the Midwest back when I was young.

I already mentioned that getting some vegetarian food has been no problem. Actually, we've been finding as much interesting veggie food here as any country we've visited. It's cheap, too. We can both have a decent, full meal for one American dollar.

As for people not speaking English, for the most part, that's a big plus. We're forced to learn some basic Chinese words now. Pantomime and struggling to pronounce words correctly do a lot to bond travelers with locals. So, yes, it's early days for us in China but we both feel like we know a good thing when we see it. I'm looking forward to more.

This, of course, has led us to ask ourselves how we ended up spending so much time in Laos. Check out the next blog to see how that unfolded.

Yunnan Hospitality

2007-04-10T08:10:00.000-07:00

Tofu Grill in Jianshui - Yunnan Province, China

Yesterday we stopped at this tofu grill for lunch. These grills are all over Jianshui and this style of dining is far and away the most common in town. All of them have charcoal grills the edges of which are heaped with these little pillows of tofu.

The Grillmaster

As people eat, the grilltender moves more tofus to the center to brown over the coals. In a glass case at the door they have bowls and bottles to concoct various dipping sauces with ingredients like peanut paste, chili paste, fermented soy bean paste or soy sauce. They also have a bunch of bowls of cooked veggies, meats and cold relishes. You get a small plate or two of the veggies, sit down by the grill and pull a tofu pillow off the grill when you want. People sit shoulder to shoulder, low to the ground dipping tofu and driking tea. For the first time in a LONG time, we're in a city that does not see many tourists from outside the country. People often stop and stare at us like we have two heads, especially the older ones. As soon as you say "ni hau" (hello), though, they break into huge smiles.

I liked this guy's hat

Anyway, people here can be nice, and I mean catch-you-way-off-guard nice. While we were eating at the above grill an old guy sitting next to me put his hand on my shoulder, pushed a ten yuan note into my hand and motioned at my and Tami's plates. He was buying us lunch. I did my gracious best to decline but there was no way I was going to override his hospitality. This was a totally working class place and he was the image of a working class guy (Jianshui looks to me like a true-blue working class city, something like Saginaw might have looked in 1925.)

Our first night in the country, we were sitting at a little noodle stall on the street. It was hot and had been a LONG day traveling from Laos so we were looking for a beer. Everything on the menu was printed in Chinese script. All we could do was point at a bottle and hold up a finger. The food was a mystery. We left to go down the street and saw a man selling fried potatos and tofu squares (tofu's everywhere it seems). Armed with snacks, we went back for a second beer. The young people working the noodle stand saw that we got food and, after bringing our beer, dropped a plate of noodles on our table (w/o meat!), no charge.

We haven't been here long but China is certainly working hard to make a great impression. We're liking it!

Waxing and Waning?

2007-04-09T06:40:00.000-07:00

New Grade for the Freeway - Yunnan

We just crossed over from Laos into Yunnan, a southern province of China. Two words describe my feelings about coming to China: curiosity and apprehension. I'll explain the latter in another post. The curiosity comes, more than anything else, from twenty years of hearing about the stupendous economic growth and development in China. The first stories I'd read described areas like the capital, Beijing, or Guangdong outside of Hong Kong, where new skyscrapers, factories, even whole cities were being built at a speed that hadn't been seen in anywhere in the world since the period after WWII - if ever. I remember talking to a neighbor from my hometown who took a trip to China with his wife around 1992. He was a very successful businessman back in Michigan; by many accounts the richest man in the county. When we visited in California shortly after their return to the States, he said if he were a young man then, he'd take a quarter of a million dollars and head straight to China. I didn't have the quarter mil but, knowing how well he'd done in his career, I got the point. His eyes saw a China on the rise.

Stories of China's emergence as a world economic player played on the front pages more and more frequently and with greater detail. Maybe four years ago my former boss took a trip to Shanghai. He returned with eyes wide in wonder. He said he'd never seen such a concentration of human energy. The famous quote making the rounds at that time was that three-quarters of all the overhead building cranes at use in the world at that point in time were in the city of Shanghai.

All this is old news now. I read the other day that China will pass France this year as the number four economy in the world. (Due to opaque financial reporting and doctored govt. statistics in China, many think it passed France some time ago and is much larger than officially reported.) Way out here in the Chinese hinterlands, I wasn't sure what we'd see. As soon as we crossed the border the difference was tangible. Laos is the scruffiest and poorest country in SE Asia. China's side of the border crossing felt like Thailand, now a wealthy country in its own right. The road north, though, was rough. For several hours we crisscrossed back and forth on an old road running beneath an under-construction super-highway.

The Chinese are punching an expressway, conceived no doubt in Beijing, from the provincial capital of Yunnan, Kunming - five hundred (+) miles north of the border, down through northern Laos into Thailand. You could say this is China's own version of a 'NAFTA' freeway. For the entire ride we saw small mountains carved out, forest cleared and overhead flyways built to smooth the route through areas filled with tribal (not Han Chinese) farmers who still have yet to run plumbing into their houses. Talk about imminent culture shock.

Seeing the juxtaxposition of something so sleek and modern slicing through a farm landscape reminded me of seeing the final stretch of I-69 between Lapeer and Pt. Huron get completed. My dad worked building the highways of Michigan . . . back when Michigan had an economy that the world envied. Four-lane divided ribbons of concrete crossed the state from city to city. I think his last job was helping to complete that stretch of 69 in the late 1980's. His and perhaps industrial Michigan's swan song?

I-69 Just east of Pt. Huron

I remember being a kid in Bad Axe in the '70's and '80's. Every now and then, the rumor would make the rounds that M-53 might get upgraded from a two-lane to a four-lane divided highway. The trip to Detroit and all the glamour of the city would be just an easy cruise away. Life in a small town would be salvaged from total provincialism.

Reunion

2007-03-14T08:27:00.000-07:00

Toasty Afternoon At Buddha Park

Add to the heros of our travel experience the wonderful couple Jorg and Corinna from Germany. This past June we stayed at the same guest house in Ladakh. They are very nice folks with whom we didn't get to spend enough time last summer. Lucky for us, they love to travel and decided to come down to Laos to have a look around while are here. They've stayed in touch with us and we were able to meet up here in Vientiane for a few days. What a treat to spend time with some familiar faces.

With luck, we'll share a few Pilseners in Germany or treat them to some California hospitality sometime in the future.

:)

Lost Mail

2007-03-14T08:09:00.000-07:00

It's come to my attention that I have not been receiving some e-mails both here in Laos and in while we were in Vietnam. If you've e-mailed me since late January and I never responded, please try again.

Vietnam Post Script

2007-03-07T22:32:00.000-08:00

A few nights ago we drank a couple beers looking, for the first time, across the Mekong River toward Thailand. Laos marks something like our ninth country since we left the US. Looking back, some images of Vietnam that'll stay with me...

Fairly Typical Saigon Street

Scooters - I've never seen a country with such a preponderance of two-wheeled motos on the roads. You can be riding down a major city avenue with a view for many blocks. The street will have hundreds or even thousands of 100cc motos (and bicycles) but not a single car or truck. The streets look more frenetic but the traffic actually moves more slowly and you're not separated by walls and windows. It's more fun and somehow more civilized than auto culture. Huge plus. If you want to cross a street, you merely step out into the flow and ford it as if it's a stream. In Saigon, we met a young architect from England who was so astounded by how flawlessly this worked that he crossed an entire avenue with his eyes closed.

Side-saddle Tami

We bought bread from this man every morning in Hue

Food - I'd be challenged to find a country with a more vibrant food culture. That's right, France or Thailand, you might be beat. Vietnamese markets have an unbelievable variety of fresh produce and ingredients. People are obsessed with food there. Everywhere we walked with groceries, the locals would zero in on what we carried and try to figure out what we'd bought. If we stopped to show them, they'd go through every single thing in our bags. Their coffee is nothing short of a revelation. I am spoiled forever as all other coffee else will be a weak, pale reminder. If you eat seafood, Vietnam might be the ultimate heaven. The entire length of their coast with the South China Sea is one gargantuan fishery. The variety and freshness of what they catch is like nothing I've ever seen.

The Love Hotel - We stayed at a place in Hue that had us scratching our heads at first. The room was decent enough and the price was right (about $5). The only hitch was that our bathroom was separated from the bathroom next to ours only by a partial wall. Over the top we were able to discern (all too well) our neighbors' comings and goings. After a couple days, we realized the room next door turned over a few times in a day . . . and it was always couples going in or out. Empty wine bottles often appeared outside the rooms for the cleaning lady. Then Tami noticed that many of the fluorescent light tubes gave off a lurid pink light when they were on. The giveaway was the wall-sized banner in our second room (we moved to get more privacy in the bathroom) picturing an undergarment-clad couple (Caucasian, oddly enough) surrounded by mounds of fruit and wine. At least the new room had a balcony.

Smoking - Vietnamese smoke a lot . . . and they smoke early. It's limited almost entirely to males but age seems to make little difference. I wish - I WISH - I'd gotten a photo of the young boys playing video games in the internet cafes SMOKING. I'm talking kids ten or eleven years old.

History - Vietnam certainly took me back to a different time. Apart from Cuba, I've never traveled in a country where I felt so cautious about how, as an American, I might be perceived. In many places I feel like I'm able to establish who I am as an individual without being labeled as part of something larger or external of me. In Vietnam, though, American history is so wrapped up with theirs and so recent that you can't help but be aware of how it's impacted the people. The devastation that was caused in Vietnam (and Cambodia and Laos) by the US lasts until this day. Yes, other forces added to the chaos in Indochina but I can only speak as an American about our involvement and impact. We withdrew our forces but the populations left to sort out the mess. To paraphrase one American general - 'the Vietnamese will never be able to recover from this (the war). They lost an entire generation of men. 'Famous Photo of Kim Phuc After Being Burned by Napalm and Photo of Her Twenty Years Later

The culture of life on the water - Between the Mekong Delta which takes up the southern quarter of the country and the long coast, I'm surprised Vietnamese don't have webbed feet and worship Poseidon. I grew up with the term "Vietnamese boat person" as part of my lexicon. I had no idea how apropos that is. Deliberating the Morning Haul - Mui Ne
Scene From a Mekong Delta Floating Market
"Big Belly" Freight Boat in the Mekong Delta

Link to Vietnam Central and Highlands photos.

DMZ and Out

2007-02-27T06:28:00.000-08:00

The other day we crossed over into Laos following the southern edge of what was formerly the DMZ (demilitarized zone) separating North and South Vietnam along the 17th parallel. The last day before we left Vietnam we rented a scooter and drove a hundred and sixty kilometers visiting the sites of some past battles. One of these was the small mountain plateau where the US marines established the Khe Sanh combat base. Pieces of military hardware sit scattered around rusting in the clouds. It would be tough to overstate the sense of grim empathy one feels for the men who fought there. It was surreal to ride around the empty, green countryside with my girlfriend on a rickety old Chinese scooter in an area where, thirty-five years prior, any American - practically any human, combatant or not - would have been shot at or mortared on sight.

How angry do you have to be to shoot this at other people?

More than 10,000 people died fighting around Khe Sanh and the US set records for supplying the base by air and bombing the surrounding area to protect it.

Partial and unexploded bombs from some of the 40,000 TONS dropped around Khe Sanh

Relic Chinook

Apart from the few Vietnamese attendants at the entry, it was just us - quiet, misty and gray. Very haunting.

Tet Pt. 2 - The Dark Side

2007-02-17T03:44:00.000-08:00

Tet marks another milestone for Vietnam - and for America. On the first day of Tet in 1968 the North Vietnamese army launched country-wide surprise attacks against US and South Vietnamese forces throughout South Vietnam. Up to that point, president Johnson and the Dept. of Defense had been unflappable in their insistence that the ability of the North to mount or sustain any campaign had been irretrievably broken. Anyone who lived through it or who bothered to learn recent US history knows that the Tet Offensive , instead, turned the tide of public opinion in America against the fighting that was killing so many of its sons. In the ensuing malaise, Lyndon Johnson chose not to run for re-election and Richard Nixon was elected on the basis of his (secret) plan to end US participation in the war. We know where that led.

The upcoming fourth anniversary of "Shock and Awe" will distinguish the American war in Iraq as the second longest in US history . . . after Vietnam. Additionally, the money spent in Iraq and on the wider "war on terrorism" since 9/11 is also reaching levels that have only been surpassed twice in our history: "If U.S. involvement continues on the current scale, the funding for the Iraq war — combined with the conflict in Afghanistan and other foreign fronts in the war on terrorism — is projected to surpass this country's Vietnam spending next year. " (From a recent LINK Los Angeles Times story - full story below.)

In his book about the Vietnam War, Dispatches , Michael Herr said of the human and capital expenditure of that conflict, "There was such a dense concentration of American energy there, American and essentially adolescent, if that energy could have been channeled into anything more than noise, waste and pain it would have lit up Indochina for a thousand years."

Surely one has to wonder if history has not, in painfully short order, repeated itself costing lives and money no one would choose to spend if not for all the fear fomented by our government. Do we know where this is leading? I read quotes from members of Congress saying the only acceptable path is one that leads to victory. Large-scale, direct US military involvement in Vietnam lasted about ten years. The country, engulfed in what was essentially a civil war, still fell to the North. What will "victory" accomplish in Iraq and what are we willing to pay?

War costs are hitting historic proportions
The price tag for the Iraq conflict and overall effort against terrorism is expected to surpass Vietnam's next year.
By Joel Havemann
Times Staff Writer

January 14, 2007

WASHINGTON — By the time the Vietnam war ended in 1975, it had become America's longest war, shadowed the legacies of four presidents, killed 58,000 Americans along with many thousands more Vietnamese, and cost the U.S. more than $660 billion in today's dollars.

By the time the bill for World War II passed the $600-billion mark, in mid-1943, the United States had driven German forces out of North Africa, devastated the Japanese fleet in the Battle of Midway, and launched the vast offensives that would liberate Europe and the South Pacific.

The Iraq war is far smaller and narrower than those conflicts, and it has not extended beyond the tenure of a single president. But its price tag is beginning to reach historic proportions, and the budgetary "burn rate" for Iraq may be greater than in some periods in past wars.

If U.S. involvement continues on the current scale, the funding for the Iraq war — combined with the conflict in Afghanistan and other foreign fronts in the war on terrorism — is projected to surpass this country's Vietnam spending next year.

And the accumulating cost is adding to resistance to President Bush's war policy in Congress as well as in public opinion, even though concern about the cost in human lives, the war's impact on America's place in the world and other such factors loom larger.

Last week, when Bush unveiled his new war plan — which included sending an additional 21,500 U.S. troops to Iraq and launching another effort to provide jobs and public services in Baghdad — the cost issue was raised by Republicans as well as Democrats.

But it had been simmering for more than a year.

Members of Congress have talked relatively little about the war's accumulating price tag because of the human costs, Rep. Zoe Lofgren (D-San Jose) said. "But certainly we're cognizant of it," she said. "When you say for what we're spending in a month in Iraq, you could fully fund and double the science budgets of the United States and come up with a viable alternative to oil, it puts it in perspective."

Even so loyal a Republican as Sen. Judd Gregg of New Hampshire, who chaired the budget committee until the Democrats took control of the Senate this year, criticized the administration's approach to war costs, calling it "without any discipline as to how much is going to be spent."

"They're gaming the system," Gregg said.

At a media briefing before Bush's speech Wednesday night, a senior administration official said the president's plan would entail $5.6 billion in military expenses and $1 billion in reconstruction and other civilian costs.

In the broad landscape of federal spending, those are not huge numbers, though $6.6 billion is more than enough to cover the budgets for all the country's national parks, national forests, historic monuments, protected wetlands and wildlife refuges for a year.

What makes the cost issue increasingly sensitive is not just questions about whether it will buy success but also the fact that the new plan's cost will add to a mountain of bills for earlier military and reconstruction efforts with what many see as little or no positive return on the investment.

Some Republicans, especially fiscal conservatives worried about the deficit, are particularly unhappy because, they say, the president and the Defense Department have refused to address the war's impact on the budget in a straightforward way.

Instead of including war costs in the regular budget, such as the one Bush will send to Congress next month, the administration has been asking Congress for emergency-spending bills that short-circuit many of the usual review procedures for appropriating funds.

"Muting and undermining the legitimacy of the congressional role in funding is, I think, undermining to some degree the commitment to the war effort itself," Gregg said.

The administration says its approach is necessary because it is unable to determine what it will need for the war in the coming fiscal year, which begins each October. Critics say that may have been true early in the war but that by now most costs are predictable far in advance.

Last year, Congress approved a provision in the annual defense authorization bill calling on the administration to change course and put its request for war funds in regular spending bills subject to full congressional review.

Said Sen. John McCain (R-Ariz.), the provision's author: "Neither the White House nor the Congress is making the tough decisions about how we are going to pay for the ongoing wars. Adding hundreds of billions of dollars that are more conveniently designated as emergency expenditures — so they do not have to be budgeted for along with other national priorities — is only making our fiscal problems that much greater."

Sen. Edward M. Kennedy (D-Mass.) proposed that Congress block Bush's new plan by withholding funds. To date, Congress has not used its power of the purse to limit Bush's prosecution of the war, partly because it doesn't want to seem to deny U.S. troops any needed support.

"If you cut off funding, you're cutting off support for the troops," said Rep. C.W. "Bill" Young of Florida, a top Republican on the House Appropriations Committee. "Whether you support the battle they're involved in or not, the vast majority of the American public is still very supportive of our troops."

During Vietnam, Congress did threaten to limit the use of the defense budget. At one point, for example, it prohibited the use of funds in Cambodia.

But Congress flexed its fiscal muscles only toward the end of the Vietnam War. Bush's war on terrorism is in its seventh year, and at a comparable stage of Vietnam, antiwar lawmakers could muster only a handful of votes for limiting funds.

From the beginning of President Lyndon B. Johnson's troop buildup in 1965 to the fall of Saigon in 1975, the United States spent the equivalent of $662 billion in 2007 dollars, according to the Congressional Research Service. The war in Iraq is harder to measure because its costs tend to be mixed up with those of the war in Afghanistan and Bush's broader global war on terrorism, says Steven Kosiak, director of budget studies at the Center for Strategic and Budgetary Assessments in Washington.

Starting with the anti-terrorism appropriation enacted a week after the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, Kosiak figures the United States had spent $400 billion fighting terrorism through fiscal 2006, which ended Sept. 30.

For fiscal 2007, Congress has so far approved $70 billion. The president is expected to ask Congress for $100 billion more.

Even if the fighting stopped soon, which few expect, the bills would continue to accumulate as the Pentagon pushed to restore what the war had cost in troops and material.

Happy New Year....er, Tet!

2007-02-17T02:37:00.000-08:00

That's right, by the Vietnamese (and Chinese) calendar, today is Tet, the first day the year of the Pig. Over the past week we've seen a growing frenzy of excitement in the towns and cities. The markets have been even more bustling and crowded than usual as people buy all the traditional decorations, foods and gifts that go along with Tet. If ushered in properly, Tet holds the potential for an auspicious upcoming year. People take that seriously here. Following tradition, people decorate with the proscribed flowers; clean house, shop and temple; clear outstanding debts (try that America!); buy new clothes for the children and more. This is the most important holiday of the year in Vietnam and you can feel it everywhere. Being especially nice to others (including foreigners) augurs well for relations in the upcoming year, so we've been the recipients of more smiles and hellos than ever. Very nice.

A Long Road

2007-02-17T02:08:00.000-08:00

A few mornings ago, as I packed my backpack and the sun reddened the eastern horizon, I asked, "how many towns has it been?" In the fourteen months since leaving our house to when we arrived in Hoi An, where we are now, we've slept in 121 places. I was surprised how easy it was to trace back through each of them, some no more than a single night sleeping in an open Arkansas field or a non-descript Indian guest house. I guess that says something for the ability of variety to inscript your memory.

A few weeks ago we observed we were carrying six (it's now seven) kinds of currency. Only two of them are in throw-away quantities.

Hello . . . can you read me?

2007-02-17T01:38:00.000-08:00

Barring Thailand, Vietnam has been the most materially comfortable place we've visited since Europe. The Vietnamese are a little like northern Europeans in that they work hard and keep things in order. One rather ominous downside, though, is that there are some websites that you cannot view from inside the country, notably Blogspot/Blogger. We can post but we can't read what we post once it's up. Weird.

In many parts of the world, dissident political dicussion, banned from all mass media, is forced to migrate to the World Wide Web. Voices find their outlet on blogging sites . . . unless they are in Vietnam or countries with similar free-speech restrictions.

Here's a link to a BBC story discussing a handbook to protect your blog or website from censors: Link
Actual web address: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/technology/4271062.stm

Made It

2007-02-15T00:26:00.000-08:00

Made it on the bus and enjoyed the six-hour ride from Kon Tum to Da Nang on the coast. Took the above photo over the shoulder of our driver on a stretch of what used to be the old Ho Chi Minh Trail very near the area of Dak To, an area of very extensive battles forty years ago. The Vietnamese are slowly re-grading and paving the former North Vietnam army supply route as the second north-south route in the country.

So, we made it as far as Da Nang that night. Our goal was Hoi An, 30 kilometers further south but there were no more busses running by the time we arrived. We found a guest house and, fortuitously, a vegetarian restaurant and settled in for the night. We woke up just after dawn the next day to some scratchy anthemic music and distorted, loud speech echoing above the traffic noise. I went to the roof of the guest house and saw this commemoration in the roundabout just down the road.

Don't Believe Everything You Hear

2007-02-11T19:14:00.000-08:00

Woke this morning before sunrise to catch a bus. We're trying to get from the central highlands town of Kon Tum out to Hoi An, on the coast. Supposedly the bus companies have to pay more for insurance for westerners than Vietnamese so the price for the ticket (we were told) was almost twice that for locals. This happens a lot in Vietnam. After travelling for a while, especially in poorer countries, you get used to folks trying to make extra cash off your white skin. Fair enough, but we have to try to bargain. Also, after a while on the road, bargaining becomes part of the sport and even an obligation.

So, we argued...and argued - and as we argued, one bus after another left the station for various destinations - including ours. In many towns, there is one big, morning departure then only infrequent buses for the rest of the day. We had two local moto-scooter drivers (sort of a taxi driver) who shadowed us at every bus we queried and every time we went to the ticket desk. At first I thought they were sabotaging our effort to pay the local fare. Then I thought they were just trying to help us as our Vietnamese is very limited and English is almost non-existent. Everytime we'd struggle to ask about price, time and destination; the moto drivers started chattering in Vietnamese. The driver or ticket taker inevitably listened to them and told us there were either no tickets or gave us some riduculously inflated price. By the time the last bus left the station, I concluded the moto-jerks were, indeed, running interference and had stranded us. Hey, it happens. It hasn't happened much at all to us on this trip but here we are. After the station emptied, we ended up getting a normal ticket on the afternoon bus - our fingers are crossed in hope that they actually let us and our backpacks get on board. We found an internet cafe and are trying to fill some time. Let's see if we make it.

Aftermath

2007-01-23T22:41:00.000-08:00

A final, belated note about Cambodia. You'd have a difficult time moving around in the country without crossing paths with some persons who've been physically maimed by war. The following is from the web site Mekong.net

"Unfortunately, one of the most lasting legacies of the conflicts continues to claim new victims daily. Land mines, laid by the Khmer Rouge, the Heng Samrin and Hun Sen regimes, the Vietnamese, the KPNLF, and the Sihanoukists litter the countryside. In most cases, even the soldiers who planted the mines did not record where they were placed. Now, Cambodia has the one of the highest rates of physical disability of any country in the world. While census data for Cambodia is sketchy, it is generally accepted that more than 40,000 Cambodians have suffered amputations as a result of mine injuries since 1979."

Click on the link and check out the rest of the history. It's a singular study in ongoing human suffering.

I add this information as images like these have been difficult to get out of my mind. Cambodia really won me over. Her people were the single biggest reason for that. Even after so much suffering, they live with a love of laughter uncommon in my experience.

Landmines are still manufactured and used widely in conflicts around the world. More often than not, they are placed in an area for some short-term war need, then left only to be stumbled upon years later by someone who had nothing to do with the conflict. If you want to learn more about landmines you can see the web page of The International Campaign to Ban Landmines.

Really Cool

2007-01-18T21:08:00.000-08:00

We have a friend back in the Bay Area who's done a lot of travel over the years. He's a genuine adventurer and when he goes out on the road he dives right into whatever experience is before him. I'm only guessing, but I'd say he's been traveling for almost as long as I've been alive. He's seen a lot and when you've visited as many parts of this world as he has, I think you get a more tempered perspective on what's exciting. This isn't to say he doesn't get thrilled or enjoy interesting experiences. Even now, he still travels more than anyone I know. I think he just feels less compelled to "sell" his excitement. If a place is worthwhile to visit, he'll say it's "pretty cool". If it's exceptional say, like Macchu Picchu in Peru, he'll amplify that to "really cool". It doesn't seem to matter if he's talking about someplace that might break and ordinary person's heart. If a place shouldn't be missed, he'll let you know with a "really cool".

After a more than a year on the road seeing wonder upon wonder, the last week Tami and I spent wandering around the ancient ruins of Angkor. It was really cool.

Link to Angkor Photos

A Country of Hustlers and Jokers

2007-01-16T07:47:00.000-08:00

Around the ancient ruins of Angkor, the children are the most motivated vendors. Moreso than perhaps any place I've ever visited, the kids know how to work the charm. Their most effective weapon is their stylized use of English. The letter "r" changes to "ah", "v" changes to "b". Syntax gets modified so the kids sound a little like Yoda, from the Star Wars movies. Statements come out in a sing-song, rise and fall of the voice - the end always trailing away on an elongated, plaintive drawl.

"Buy one moah my beeah (beer)..."
"Gib me one moah orange again..." (From a girl who saw oranges in a small bag we carried. We had given her no oranges in the first place.)
"Buy my cold drinks, okayyy...?"
"Buy my post card nowww..."
"Don't say no, say yes..." (after I answered in the negative.)
"No? Buy twooo..." (after I answered that I didn't want one.)
"Hello Sah (sir). I sell you cheap, cheap big plan. Two Coke for one dollahhh..." (from a boy running up to us, menus in hand.)
One common tactic involved the kids trotting up the final twenty or so steps to us saying "hello" breathlessly. Initially, we asked them what was wrong. They'd answer something like, "I ran so far to catch you." It took us a couple times to realize this was a sympathy ploy for us to recognize their hard work.

I mentioned in the prior post that Cambodians seem to love to have a laugh, especially if it's at the expense of a 'falang'. One morning I saw this crude looking saw laying on some blocks. I thought it looked interesting so I clambered over for a photo. A small group of women workers eating close by took an interest and started talking. At first they watched me maneuver around the rubble trying to get a good angle. Two came over to look at my camera screen to see why the heck I might be trying to take a picture of a weed chopper. One woman sitting facing the group started a monologue that elicited periodic ripples of laughter and affirmations from the others. I could tell she was talking about me because she and the others would glance in my direction just before or after the laughs.

I got my shot and walked past. Her monologue continued without a break. Both she and the others tried to stifle increasing laughter. Since I was the obvious object of the joke, I stopped to watch. The monologue lady was laughing so hard she was rubbing her belly, gasping and wiping her eyes yet still she talked on. This had been building for something like two minutes. Just behind her, facing myself and the ladies, sat a small group of men groundskeepers. Throughout, the guys never fully shared in the laughs. After I stopped to watch, they only smiled nervously shooting me furtive glances I can only assume were intended to confirm, without a doubt, that I didn't understand what she was saying.

What entertainment I could have provided by merely taking a photo, I have no idea. I could still hear the laughs and the occasional "falang" as I rounded the corner of a ruin.

Cambodia for Sale

2007-01-14T23:18:00.000-08:00

Roadside, hand-filed keys.

I'm not sure what I expected of Cambodia. No other travelers we'd met said they really liked the country but none said they really hated it either. It made me curious how they almost all paused, thoughtfully reassessing their experiences to see if anything had changed since the last time someone had asked their opinion. We'd heard that it was 'lawless', a bit like the wild west, that you had to watch your back. I knew, like its neighbor Thailand, Cambodia had a thriving sex trade. I'd heard the legends about shooting ranges where you could fire off AK47's or grenade launchers. (True, even now.) We heard from more than one person that, if you wanted it, you can get it in Cambodia. The past half century has seen Cambodia struggle to get out from under the yoke of the colonial French, stagger from the horrific maelstrom of violence that flooded over from the U.S. war in Vietnam only to then fall into a ghastly genocide at the hands of the Khmer Rouge.

What we found after we arrived was a surprise, if a surprise can unfold slowly over weeks. I don't know that I've ever visited a country that confounds and charms the way Cambodia has. It's a scruffy land of hustlers who seem to love few things more than having a laugh at the expense of a "falang" (foreigner). Easy to obtain visas, low cost of living and the ability to live under the radar have drawn expatriates from around the world who've opened all manner of businesses, notably bars, restaurants or other entertainment oriented ventures. I didn't know Bogie's Casablanca still had modern day cousins but Cambodia seems like that kind of place.

You can rent scooters or motorcycles easily. Forget the helmet, though. Cambodians don't bother with those.
Traffic flow on the streets is akin to blood cells in a vein. Where there is space, bikes, scooters, cars or cycle rickshaws crowd into the lane until they can flow freely. At intersections, it's very common for the two-wheeled vehicles to cut the corner by cruising right through a gas station or parking lot without slowing.
Books, the backpackers' great indulgence, can be had here for a fraction of what they cost even next door in Thailand. Cambodia puts little effort into copyright protection. There is a cottage industry re-printing (i.e. photocopying) books. DVD's and CD's can also be had for extra cheap. There is even a small chain of shops (see photo below) here that allows you to download MP3's to your audio player from "their" very extensive catalogue. For the local folks looking for Asian pop music, some enterprising Cambodians simply set up a computer, a monitor and some headphones on the sidewalk and allow people to plug in and get music right on the street as if it's a snack.

Sex for hire is as common as coffee here. It's an old, routinely accepted practice in southeast Asia. Some entrepreneurial expatriates put new spins on it, though. Down on the coast, Russian "investors" (i.e. mafia) opened a club where customers choose from girls who swim in a pool mermaid style or lounge with large snakes.

A lady and a potential customer.

2006-12-23T04:54:00.000-08:00

(Written December 21st)

Link to current photos

Today marks a year since we pulled out of the driveway back in San Francisco. If you can remember that feeling you used to have when you were a child on the first day of summer vacation - you had all the time in the world ahead of you and you were free to do whatever you wanted - that was how I felt last December 21st. The following 365 days have not disappointed in the least way. I suppose some people roll their eyes at my or Tami's repetitive expressions of how grateful we are. Call me naive but I still feel it strongly.

After a full year of literally wandering the planet, we finally landed on a beach. We're on an island in the Gulf of Thailand called Koh Mak. In my mind, when you strap a backpack to your body and board an international flight, a tropical beach hovers confindently somewhere in the wings as the inevitable default destination. If you're lucky, you can find a beach with the right balance of calm serenity and comforts. Palm trees, sand and clear, warm water might be the comfort food of backpacking travel - perhaps of all travel.

Beach life is one of those parts of a big trip that you know is going to give you some low-impact, intimate interaction with nature. It's going to give you a sure chance to slow down. (And no jokes about what the heck do we need to slow down from...everyone needs a little beach chill in their lives from time to time.)
Koh Mak delivers. Actually, if Koh Mak were any more relaxing, I'd think it was fiction. Apart from a thatched hut on stilts, we virtually live outside. We can walk through huge groves of coconut palms swaying in the breeze. We get to submerse our bodies into the limpid ocean all day. Beers are cheap and very cold.

We may be in and out of touch for awhile. Tomorrow we take a boat for Cambodia. If the next year turns out to be anything like the last, we're in for lots of fun. May yours be that, as well.

Happy holidays and all the best!

'Bye-bye to the Sub-Continent

2006-11-25T19:24:00.000-08:00

A lion stands guard as a boy and a dog share a rest.

Today is our last day in Nepal and the last, after nearly two hundred, in the area geographers refer to as the Indian subcontinent - the expanse bounded by the Himalayas to the north, the Bay of Bengal to the east and the Indian Ocean to the West. I rose early today for walk around Kathmandu's old central square trying to absorb every trademark impression; commit to memory in some tangible way all the sights, sounds, smells and any sensations that make the Hindu heartland special. When I force myself to acknowledge that these last hours are all that's left, my heart shivers at leaving behind this taxing but familial chaos.

Puja (prayer) offerings for sale

At one of the many temples just after dawn the smell of the burning butter lamps and incense wafted all around. The devout stood in line to ring bells and hang chrysanthemums and daub colored tikka powder on the antiquated stone idols.

After the sun came up, I bantered one final and, as always, unpredictable time with the man - the clearly over-educated man - who, from before dawn to well after dark, squats on a very low wicker stool in front of a grimy kerosene burner making and selling tea to the students and merchants in the square in front of our hotel.

The best tea shop in Kathmandu

He combines his preparations with solicitations to all the passers-by with the frenetic energy of a trader on the floor of a stock exchange. Every day he finds time to intersperse our morning cups with pearls of humorous wisdom culled, if he's to be believed, from a life path more circuitous and full of surprises than I can guess at. I will miss his smile, his barking exhortations at potential customers and even the confusion I feel at not knowing which of his eyes to respond to as one wanders randomly in its socket the other bounding back and forth or up and down in rhythm with his animated head. I will certainly, certainly miss his tea.

I'm plotting how I might fit in one last taste of naan; chewy flat bread hot out of the tandoori oven. Before I leave I want to eat one last bag of Kurkure, the Frito Lay snack seen only in these parts because it's too spicy for anywhere else.

This has been a good time to be in Nepal. The government, such as it is after years of turmoil and fragmentation, has signed a peace agreement with an insurgent opposition group. The revolutionaries (that's really the only fair term for them) fought an eleven-year battle to dislodge the world's last Hindu monarchy who've ruled the country as a fiefdom for almost two and a half centuries. The good political news for Nepal started in April with a cease fire agreement and culminated last week with the signing of the peace agreement. Since then, the streets of Kathmandu have been filled with celebratory Nepalis buoyed with optimism that peace and more equitable opportunities might become the norm in their lives.

So, five countries in ten or so months. Tomorrow we move on to a new region. As when we pulled out of our driveway, before we left New York for Barcelona, departing Europe for New Delhi and, now, flying to Bangkok, southeast Asia projects the gravity of another major chapter. The warm weather, warm Thai people, fantastic Thai food and the beaches should, with luck, help make the transition tolerable.

'Bye-bye.

360 Degree Wow (Pt. 3)

2006-11-05T19:58:00.000-08:00

Khangsar from Old Khangsar

Link to current photos

Trekking evokes hiking in mountains through nice terrain and, with luck, interesting cultures. What we found out around Annapurna was an experience so dense with variation, so large in scale and still so fundamentally and sincerely different than our normal lives back home that Walt Disney or a Vegas impresario would be lost at how to wake people from their somnolent lives so effectively. Who're the lucky duo yet again? By the grace of the good heavens above, Tami and I.

We were lucky that, for the length of our trek, the work of fall harvest filled the valleys. Every day below treeline people swarmed over the terraced fields cutting, threshing, winnowing, drying and storing their provender for winter. By the latter stages, villages were starting to celebrate the succesful harvest with ritual festivals. In Marfa, the local monastery held a traditional dance. For a few days, buddhist monks wearing elaborate masks and costumes acted out scenes from ancient stories as villagers from up and down the valley came to watch. The excitement was like a local rock concert. The monasteries themselves could fill a traveller's description of the trek.

Buddhist iconography littered the valleys for most of our way. Long walls piled with carved 'mane' (mah-nay) stones, chortens, gates, prayer wheels, prayer flags and more added a reverant salute in celebration of the awesome beauty of these peoples' abode.

One morning, in Marpha, we awoke well before dawn to the sound of horns then drums coming from the monastery up the hill. The commotion continued until we were fully awake so we decided to roll with it and go see what was happening. We put on almost every piece of clothing and trundled out into the dark chill. Up at the gompa, three local lay women were performing what looked like the morning puja or ceremony. They walked around the perimeter of the building spinning prayer wheels, muttering "om mane padme hum" (hail to the jewel of the lotus within), and lighting the juniper smudge pot in the center of the courtyard. Three stories above, the tops of the four walls and, to the west, the mountains behind, framed the dawn stars. A huge spar rose up forty or so feet from the smudge and streamers of prayer flags stretched from its top to the surrounding walls. A monk in his red robes arrived to towel the wooden floor inside. None of them took even passing notice of two westerners standing quietly. The setting of this place of worship, similar to so many others we've seen in these mountains, makes me wonder if a spiritual practice or cosmology is possible without a tangible connection if not outright integration with nature.

I could go on but who has time to read so much? If you're curious, talk with us when we meet. Our excitement will be easy to tap. Those friends who do love to spend time in the mountains, put Annapurna, or at least Nepal, on your list. Sure, it's not like it "used to be" and I wouldn't say it's without faults. If done right, it sure as hell can be wonderful. Moreover, with 'development' working its own dark magic, it's not likely to get any better over time.

I'd kind of thought that I was starting to get saturated with travel experiences. This trek erased any ennui. Time seems to have slowed on this part of our trip. The month on the trail felt like a month. It didn't rush by in a flurry of discordant activities and logistical encumbrances. Many people we met on the trail, as I might have expected from outdoor enthusiasts, were people who'd I'd likely befriend at home. As time passed out there, I, for the first time in a while, worried less about politics, money and problems outside my control. For better or worse, the trip obliged me to live in the Present. At the very least, it's probably not unrealistic to guess that I may never be in this good of shape again.

Or have this much facial fuzz.

No, I did not drink all that beer.

360 Degree Wow (Pt. 2)

2006-11-05T00:20:00.000-08:00

Some numbers:

31 - Number of days on the Circuit
175 - Approximate number of miles walked as we did the Circuit (including side and day trips)
19 - Number of villages or encampments in which we overnighted
2 - Number of nights we slept at a higher elevation than any peak in the US outside Alaska (14,600' and 15,840 respectively)
3 - Approximate number of miles in elevation gained from the beginning of the trek to the highest point (2,592' to 17,769')
.97 - Approximate number of miles climbed during biggest single day of ascent (5,100' from Tatopani to Ghorepani) Ouch...
10 - Approximate number of US dollars spent per person/per day on the trail

Link to current photos

The first three days we walked through tropical green hills and deep river valleys layered with rice terraces and surrounded by forest. Despite our daily yoga practice in Varanasi, our legs and lungs were pitiful matches for the foothills of the Himalayas. After ending each day more exhausted, we capitulated in the village of Jagat on our second night and contracted a porter to carry some of our things. Porters are an integral part of trekking and of living in these mountains. They comprise a class of laborer similar to trucker in the West. Well before recreational backpackers ever existed, let alone heard of Nepal, porters carried much of the trade goods that moved through this entire region. Due to the challenging nature of the topography here and what that means for 'development', they still do.

We'd been hiking from the start with two very bright and very nice Australian guys just out of college, Peter and Jonnosch.* Peter had a bad knee so he, Tami and I decided to offload some of our heavier things onto our new porter, Arundha. Thank heavens for that man. The next two days were tough uphill and, if it weren't for him, they would have been miserable. His fee when we parted ways was just over fourteen US dollars. That was good for him, actually, as we only loaded him maybe forty pounds of gear. Most porters contracted by tour groups make about $3.50 a day and carry twice that weight or more. I tried hefting some of the larger porter loads I saw and, no exaggeration, could barely get them off the ground. They told me they weighed around sixty kilograms (130 lbs.)!

On the fourth day we started to get closer glimpses of snowy ridges and peaks. The temperatures were lowering and the air thinning. It started to feel like the mountains. We pushed on for a long time as it was our final day with Arundha and we wanted to cover as much ground with his aid as possible. We also wanted to avoid Chame, the marquis tour group village that marked this stretch. Organized groups of 12 to 20 people - mostly from Germany, France and Spain in our encounters - platoon around Annapurna with their retinue of porters and guides in tow. When they descend on a lodge or guesthouse, their sheer numbers impart a kind of hegemony that is tough to escape. They take over a dining room so thoroughly that, if you weren't paying attention, you might think you were in the Pyrenees or the Alps rather than Asia.

An hour and a half past Chame was the tiny village of Bhratang. We made for it but our energy and the valley light were failing badly by the time we reached it late in the afternoon. We'd only eaten a mid-sized breakfast and skipped lunch to make time. After about nine hours of climbing, we were famished. The trail approaching Bhratang was lined on one side by a long stone wall that shielded an apple orchard containing hundreds of trees. We'd seen almost no fresh fruit since we started the trail so I was surprised the trees still held most of their apples. From where we walked, I could see what looked like dozens of sizes and colors. My stomach lurched in a much different way than it had after the buffalo gore.

Our small lodge actually fronted the orchard and an old man squatted on the deck slicing a huge basket of apples for drying. As soon as I dropped my bag, I went back down to the manager and asked him, if we paid him, we could go into the orchard and taste from the different trees. Without hesitating he walked me back down along the wall, showed me the place to climb over and pointed out where his half of the orchard began. With the very whettest of appetites and an equally sharp knife, Tami, the two Aussies and I trundled down to the trees and commenced a feast. (Though it would be difficult to quantify, there is no doubt we burned more calories every day than we consumed. The net result is evident in our current emaciated appearance.)

We picked an exemplary specimen from each tree, quartered it, tasted with slow relish then moved on until we spotted apples that looked different and repeated the ritual. Each tree had unique fruit and virtually every one was better than any apple I buy at home. All were organic. Most all were too small or misshapen to make it into a supermarket bin. The flesh was often as hard and crisp as a potato but super juicy and bursting with flavor. The fourth or fifth tree we sampled stopped me cold. If I were stranded on a desert island and forced to pick just one apple , this was it; a thin skin that popped as you bit through, flesh that split under your teeth like crystals and a balance of sweet and tart that made me forget all other apples...forever. For a guy that is an avowed slave to his palate and stomach, I was in heaven.

(As a sidenote: Early on in our travels, Tami and I both read an excellent book called "The Botany of Desire". The author explores the history of Man's relationship with apples - and three other plants - in very interesting detail. I learned that all apples originated as knobby wild fruit not so far from Nepal in central Asia. The fruit we buy and eat today is much different and has changed drastically from its forebears. These apples of Bhratang were heirloom apples, closer in quality and character to their ancient relatives than anything I'd probably ever eaten.)

The sensory transition that began with the change of topography and climate and climaxed in the orchard, presaged satisfaction and joy that most 'practical' adults won't allow themselves to hope for out of fear of assured disappointment. On our hike the next day, the valley opened up to reveal Annapurna II, a glaciated peak three miles above us yet so close we could trace every foot of the incline directly from the ground we walked. That night we stayed in the village of Upper Pisang, the first of ten consecutive nights at which we slept at 11,000 ft. or higher. Apart from some modern consumer goods, intermittent electricity and plate glass, the villages we visited had not changed in hundreds of years.

Trekking evokes hiking in mountains through nice terrain and, with luck, interesting cultures. What we found out around Annapurna was an experience so dense with variation, so large in scale and still so fundamentally and sincerely different than our normal lives back home that Walt Disney or a Vegas impresario would be lost at how to wake people from their somnolent lives so effectively. Who're the lucky duo yet again? By the grace of the good heavens above, Tami and I.

* (I found out later that Peter, also unawares, walked up to the Buffalo killing just as the celebrants delivered the final hack. His description of what he saw was quite a bit more ghastly than my own.)

360 Degree Wow

2006-11-04T06:42:00.000-08:00

Well..that took a little longer than we thought. Not to worry, though. We're both safe and sound in magical Kathmandu trying to put a few pounds back on our scrawny bodies. What we thought was going to be a nice two or three week hike turned into a month + a day of hard work and rarely interrupted bliss. Where to begin....

Morning Departure for the Trailhead

Link to current photos

I'm afraid some description will be lost on those who don't like to spend time in the mountains so first, a little context. Before we even made it into Nepal, we knew we would do at least one trek. The Annapurna Circuit was one among several possibilities but we'd heard grim stories of it suffering the ruin of its own popularity. Images of backpack and Gore-tex-clad Westerners lined up at narrow passes or cable bridges kept our thoughts tentative for this route. I'd heard about Annapurna before I got my first passport over twenty years ago and, even then, the area was already a well known destination for trekkers the world over.

The word 'trek' itself is an unfamiliar word to most Americans. We typically describe the activity as 'backpacking' which is partially correct. Within the setting of North America, mountain backpacking is pretty much limited to putting everything you need to survive into a backpack and heading out into the wilderness. In mountainous places that have been inhabited for far longer, mature settlements and even societies existed long before there were roads or cars. Populations are more dense and humans live, as they have for a long time, with an intimate relationship with the mountains. Much of the Nepal is populated like this and trekking through it yields a much different kind of experience. You still get the nature but you also get a cultural component that can be just as rewarding.

Barring Tibet, Nepal has the highest average elevation of any country on earth. The majority of its land slants either up or down some part of the Himalayas and travel, even now in more places than not, has been limited to those willing to do it on foot. Necessity gave birth to a well developed network of "roads" (trails, actually) used for trade. People either carried their goods themselves or loaded them on horses, donkeys or yaks. As trips can take days or weeks, every village had at least one inn or teahouse for travelers to eat and bed down for the night.

Nepal remained closed to the rest of the world until 1950 when its king, optimistic about the prospect of earnings from foreign exchange, agreed to let in tourists. In the late 1960's, budget travelers looking for unspoiled, off-the-beaten-track destinations stumbled upon the mountain trade routes and their teahouses and inns. Word spread slowly that you could walk among the most amazing mountains on earth with the added bonus of spending time in a culture minimally affected by Western development. By the time Tami and I arrived in Nepal the reputation had had the better part of four decades to spread far and wide. As I said, we were tentative if not outright skeptical.

We started our Nepalese visit in Pokhara, the traditional jumping off point for Annapurna. Arriving directly after five months in India and, more importantly, after three weeks in Varanasi -- pressure-cooker India distilled into one, very dense and intense city -- the refined calm and cleanliness of Pokhara's tourist area only increased our suspicion about overexploitation of the area.

On our first full day we decided to get some exercise by hiking up one of the lakeside hills to a huge stupa. It was hot and we couldn't believe how much we sweat but the views were nice. We knew the high peaks were to the north but, being the end of monsoon season, clouds shrouded that horizon all day. Then, as we started to go down, Tami stopped with an oath that most Christians would think mildly inappropriate. Above Phewa lake in front of us, above Sarangkot ridge a few miles beyond and above and much higher off the horizon than you'd think to look for land - or, as Peter Mathiessen says in the Snow Leopard, "...so high as to seem overhead"- a break in the clouds revealed a glimpse of the snow and rock pinnacle of Machhapuchhre. From the maps I'd seen, the Annapurna summits were twenty and thirty miles to the north. Macchapucchre loomed so big and clear, it looked no more than an afternoon's walk around the nearest hills. Then and there we both reconsidered our 'ban' on Annapurna. We were still at the very beginning of trekking season and since Pokhara had almost no other tourists yet, we reasoned the Circuit might not either. Two days later we were on a bus to the trailhead at Besisahar.

Events and observations can take on unintended portent prior to challenging and unfamiliar endeavors. Our bus ride coincided with one of the final days of the Nepali festival of Dasai. On this particular day, the faithful attempt to appease the goddess Durga with a ritual slaughter of some livestock, usually goat or buffalo. All along the five hour ride we saw fleeting and distant evidence of rural carnage. As I stepped off the bus and adjusted my backpack, I walked over to a group of twenty of so locals gathered in a circle at the side of the street. Over their shoulders I could see a young buffalo stretched between a few men pulling ropes from his back legs. His front legs and head were tied to some protruding re-bar stretching him prone to the pavement. In the next few seconds, a man standing beside the animal raised a large but very inadequately sized khukri knife mounted on what looked like a broom stick and drove it down on the buffalo's spine at the neck. I was in no way prepared for this. I heard a loud crack, saw some red where the blade struck and the men heaved against the beast's frantic struggling. Horror of horrors, the little blade did little more than bounce off the bone and tear the skin. I saw instantly this would be a prolonged, gory affair. I was five paces down the street before I heard the next chop.

My vegetarian stomach was still reeling five minutes later when, down a side alley, I saw two legless, headless and bloated buffalo corpses wafting smoke to the heavens. To remove the animal's hair, a man with a rag-bound torch on a stick was smearing kerosene over the hides. It's been over twenty years since I stopped eating meat and the smell of barbecues holds no nostalgia for me. I hurried faster toward the trailhead.

Did I think we were marching off to our own slaughter? Not at all. After India and Varanasi, the sacrifices of Dasai were really not so shocking. If anything, they helped to make me acutely aware of my present existence; more overwhelming than coffee and certainly more bracing than anything I'd imbibed over an adult lifetime, I was embarking on a long awaited trek, alert and appreciative of all that lay ahead.

Line of Demarcation

2006-09-29T09:35:00.000-07:00

Pokhara, Nepal

Tami observed that tomorrow will mark the first anniversary since we left our jobs. It seems especially auspicious (her observation, as well) that we depart on one of the epic hiking routes, the Annapurna Ciruit. (Note, I did say 'hike', not 'climb'.

What a year it's been. At the end of it I can only bow my head in thanks.

So, we'll be out of touch for anywhere between two to three weeks. Don't fret if we don't get back to you right away. We'll certainly be thinking about you.

Meanwhile, in the 'what will our legacy be?' department, this from yesterday's Washington Post...

Dan Froomkin - Bush Rules - washingtonpost.com:

Washington Post Link

"Today's Senate vote on President Bush's detainee legislation, after House approval yesterday, marks a defining moment for this nation. How far from our historic and Constitutional values are we willing to stray? How mercilessly are we willing to treat those we suspect to be our enemies? How much raw, unchecked power are we willing to hand over to the executive?

The legislation before the Senate today would ban torture, but let Bush define it; would allow the president to imprison indefinitely anyone he decides falls under a wide-ranging new definition of unlawful combatant; would suspend the Great Writ of habeas corpus; would immunize retroactively those who may have engaged in torture. And that's just for starters.... The people have lost confidence in their president.... Bush remains deeply unpopular... mistrusted... out of touch....

But he's still got Congress wrapped around his little finger. Today's vote will show more clearly than ever before that... the Republicans who control Congress are in lock step behind the president, and the Democrats -- who could block him, if they chose to do so -- are too afraid to put up a real fight. The kind of emotionless, he-said-she-said news coverage, lacking analysis and obsessed with incremental developments and political posturing -- in short, much of modern political journalism -- just doesn't do this story justice...."

One of their readers observed:

"This is bad. Very bad. I can't underscore how bad this is. This is our Fugitive Slave Act, our Sedition Act, our Korematsu. This is a danger to our domestic liberties and a terrifying threat to our national security--for its impact on our international standing and on our alliances may be terrible indeed."

Brother From Another Planet

2006-09-18T22:14:00.000-07:00

Most rececent PHOTOS HERE.

Well, well, well...

Flirt with the gravity of Planet Burning Man and who knows what might come shooting out of the cosmos? Just after the festivities finished back in Nevada, I got an e-mail from Mark, a person who joined our camp, Garage Mahal, for the first time this year. He was on his way to India to meet a friend and wanted to see if we could cross paths. This isn't so easy, as India is just over a third the size of the US. Comparitively, he could have been flying into Missoula, Montana and we could have been in San Diego. Lucky for us, we were still camped in Varanasi which gave us a fighting chance because he and his friend both wanted to visit this city anyway.

After several e-mails trying to nail down meeting places and times, we finally hooked up. They checked into the same guest house as us....but, OOOPS, what's this? Their rickshaw (motorcycle-taxi) driver took them to a different Vishnu Rest House. (Funny side note: In India, to try to cash in on an existing business's success, competitors have NO reservations about naming a business after an established, successful hotel or restaurant. Upstart business make it known to all rickshaw drivers that the 'imposter' hotel will pay a 'finders fee' to any driver who delivers customers to their door. We have subsequently heard that there are as many as seven guesthouses in Varanasi with some variation of Vishnu in their names i.e. "New Vishnu", "The Real Vishnu", "The Original Vishnu", "Ganga Vishnu", etc.) Once we figured out that we were at different "Vishnus", Mark and Alexandra moved to ours. We had an excellent 30 or so hours hanging out until they hopped a train to Agra.

What a quick and surprising dose of "home"! Major kudos to Mark for such a well-timed and appreciated precision strike.

Wayyyy Over the Line

2006-09-13T00:59:00.000-07:00

Some of you know that I spent several years working in the beer business. One of my roles at the company where I worked had to do with regulatory conformity. Perhaps the single most important part of this concerned what is commonly termed "label approval". The governmental body that has primary and almost sole responsibility for this is the Alcohol Tax and Trade Bureau (TTB) in Washington, D.C.

I'm not sure anyone would debate that alcohol's role in human history has been and continues to be turbulent....the swizzle that stirs the drink in certain circumstances, so to speak. Ever since prohibition in the 1920's and early 30's, the TTB has had an explicit restriction against making any "therapeutic claims" for alcoholic beverages. Basically, this means that a beer or wine company cannot claim, even implicitly, that their product can make you feel or perform (in any way) better after consuming it. I saw some ingenious attempts at circumventing or navigating, rather, the spirit of this regulation....the best of these, for better or worse, originating from my own company.

The most obvious (and terrifically worn out) tactic is to throw a few pretty and scantily clad women into your ads to make a man (men drink the vast majority of beer after all) think he might meet similar women if he drinks "X" beer. All the big brewers do this and it's long accepted that the consumer can draw his own conclusions regarding his own probability of meeting similar women.

When a brewer wants to communicate something that promises more 'efficacy', they have to take a more subtle approach. A typical ploy could involve sending a message to potential consumers that your product might enhance the male sex drive or make a drinker feel more masculine. Designers (not the company I worked for) might try to communicate this (and did, however ineffectively) by including the image of a Rottweiler dog on their beer can. In their print advertising they (again, not my company) might claim that their product could make you 'last till the dawn'. Most all efforts treading into this 'claim' territory are caught by the specialists at the TTB leaving a legacy of fairly straightforward communication based on brand and quality. Until relatively recently, even claims of alcohol strength were discouraged by the TTB.

Nonetheless, beverage marketers continually try to step just a little further over the line with the designs they submit in an attempt to get the upper hand on the competition thereby putting out a product about which they can build 'myth'. See, if you have 'myth', you can play on that to differentiate your product from all the others. But myth is a subtle thing and the dance the TTB does with it's constituent manufactures actually helps enforce a subtlety that, ironically, lends any embryonic myth credibility. In other words, because of the TTB's long record of managing therapeutic "claims", if a marketer went too far over the line in its claim, no consumer would believe the hype. Conversely, if a marketer got something through TTB...perhaps the 'word on the street' is true.

I have recently discovered, in India, they apparently regulate alcohol marketing by using somewhat different guidelines. The US beer market is relatively conservative. My experience allowed me to see plenty of interesting ads and labels that all pushed the envelope but all that was within an admittedly prudish marketing environment. My horizons have now been broadened and I have now, offically, seen EVERY LAST THING...

And if you had any doubt at all...

I'm not even sure what this communicates. I am, however, absolutely certain that I will avoid drinking "Fire" at all costs.