Welcome to Miss Anne's World

Neither here nor there

2009-06-15T12:12:00.000-04:00

The Doha airport is nothing special, in no way luxurious, at least in the parts I'm admitted. The toilets smell pretty awful and the floor is covered in an inch of water, which an attendant pushes around with a Squeegee. At least, they aren't the squats, or a trough, or a simple hole in the ground.

There's a prayer room, carpeted like a mosque, so I don't imagine I'm exactly welcome. But no worry, I did enough praying on the flight here to last a lifetime. A family room, a smoking room and quiet room follow the prayer room. This morning two gentlemen walked into the quiet room, which I have called home since 11 pm last night, and lit up. As they chatted away over a cigarette, I spoke up. The only Westerner in the room, seemingly, and the only person with any objection to cigarette smoke...or balls...I didn't ask that they leave. I ordered. They didn't speak English, but another quiet roomer motioned and translated. Quietly. And so they moved. They wore tunics and pants, and one had pink and orange hair, a dye job gone all wrong, I'm guessing. Nearing 7 hours of almost falling asleep, jerking myself awake every 20 minutes for fear of missing my flight, I was neither a pretty nor patient lot.

Moments later, I watched two Japanese women wheel their bags into the prayer room and set up shop. It seems I'm not the only one a bit turned around this morning.

Take off, hoser!

2009-06-14T20:38:00.001-04:00

I have never ridden in a car going as fast as I just did on the way to the Bangkok airport. Not as a teenager, my brother trying to scare me so badly as to make me pee my pants. Not as a passenger when a certain cop friend o' mine is driving. I was running a bit behind, true, and there was a good deal of traffic. But once on the highway, no major trouble. Still, for the last 12 mile stretch to the airport, my cabdriver must have been inspired by the planes overhead. If the car'd had wings, we'd have lifted off the ground for sure. Now, I don't mind an assertive driver, even aggressive, but this was a bit too close to nuts for me.

It's weird the waiting game. Waiting a few more days, a few more (as in 26) hours before being home. Feelings of nervousness and anxiety to return, but in a good way, mixed with feelings of sadness that the adventure is done. The pilot just came on the PA in the airplane to let us know that we should expect turbulence for the first 3 hours of our flight to Doha, Qatar, my layover. THREE HOURS?!? Really, buddy? Couldn't you just say that we may experience some turbulence? No, it shall be.

Great. The first hour wasn't so bad. Yes, some turbulence. Then dinner was served and drinks. And all hell broke loose. I have never witnessed what must have been 10 foot jumps while on a plane before. My tray went flying. I actually considered whether I should drink the rest of my mini-bottle of red or if I'd prefer to be sober for the crash. Lights flickered on and off inside the cabin. The nearest person to me, a sexpat with old school tattoes, I had seen him drop a few pills at takeoff. No reassuring glances from him, looks like I'm going to have to talk myself through this one. I clutched the armrests and repeated the word calm for what felt like hours. Flying over the Bengal Sea during a storm, man? No. Thank. You.

I would have never thought I could be so happy to reach the Arabian Peninsula.

Happy day

2009-06-13T23:24:00.005-04:00

I met a fun Spaniard on the bus back to Bangkok. Miguel. And it's his birthday! The Spanish lisp on the letter z, zeta pronounced theta, and it makes me laugh! Miguel and I had a ball. So "gracias" in Spanish Spanish is pronounced "grathia." Hmm...doesn't that mean that the c as well as the z are spoken with a (I don't what else to call it) lisp? Guess I'll have to make Spain next in my ventures.

So I took Miguel out for a birthday dinner and night out. In his honor, as well as in honor of the many lovely Geminis I have in my life whose birthdays have just passed, or are today or tomorrow. There are a boatload of them in my life. Thanks to all of you for your understanding and pizazz!

Stuck?

2009-06-12T23:19:00.000-04:00

We get stuck sometimes. In places, on things. I'm having the same dinner as I did last night at 15 Palms. Red curry with prawns. It's just that good that I couldn't not have it again. On the beach, toes in the sand, a lovely breeze. Soon I'll be going home. Here's to hoping I don't get stuck. Everything will work out. It always does.

Monkeys sea, monkeys Rum

2009-06-12T22:51:00.001-04:00

As has happened on several occasions on this getaway, again I am alone. There are others whom I have mentioned. And every hour or so, a random or two strolls the north of White Sands up to Independent Bo. More than not they take pictures of these jungle bungles, stuck in a cove, sheltered in trees. A real getaway, it's like a ship wrecked into the trees and rocks, planks of the ship the floors, extraneous bits of rope linking all things. It's found through word of mouth and only that way. No frills. Bungalows have a fan. A shower head and nozzle. A bucket and porch. Oh, and monkeys. Don't leave food in your bungalow. Never mind the ants, the monkeys are what will truly do you in. Oh, and the rum...have I mentioned that?

As will the ocean. The waves crash at the foot of my bungalow. The sea is angry, not safe for swimming on this part of the island. I've ventured knee high at most.

I can exhale here. I am contented. A perfect close to my holiday. I dream of my friends and those I love. Soon.

The mechanics of life

2009-06-11T18:34:00.003-04:00

At Independent Bo, there is an English couple and two French twins and their Cambodian...uh...working girl? I talked to her today for a while. She beamed about the 53 year-old Canadian father of her 2 kids. She's 27 and they are married. He took the kids to Canada, and bought her a house and car in Cambodia. Their first child is a girl. But their second child? What luck...a boy! From what she said, once she got pregnant with the boy, everything changed. The husband got tons of job offers, loads of money, although she has no idea what his job is. She's just thrilled that her womb was the lucky one, her son the golden boy. She had even consulted a monk who she said told her her son would look like the Buddha. From what she said, it's all worked out. He got what he wanted, a family. She got what she wanted. A house, car and cash. He's had a vasectomy. But when I asked about her tubes, "Oh no. I have more babies." I know. Who am I to judge? But how do you say condom in French?

It's hard to see. Strapping westerners walking by with Thai women (often quite young) clutching their arms. It's not real. They're not a couple. Shared time? Hired time. Jacqui said it ruins the men here. Some lovely young lady walks by. Yes, sir. You can have her. For a price. Whatever you want is available to you. At a premium. Almost like a gas station. What do you need? Car wash? Oil change? Fuel, wiper blades? Come on down to Sheila's. We're always open.

It's a different life. Every single one. And I guess we're all doing what we can to survive. And be happy.

Outside in

2009-06-10T17:59:00.005-04:00

Koh Chang is dead. I like it. People, but not that many. And none concerned with me. What. So. Ever. It's nice being left to ponder, to enjoy, to chill. I've settled in to the Apocalypse Now of Koh Chang, Independent Bo. I have a bungalow on the sand one story up from the water. Palatial, no? But A-ok.

Last night I went to a friend of Jacqui's house. She'd just moved in and decorated. Charming! And thanks for the invite! We were eight. Then six. Let me mention Anuska. Belgian married to a Thai man. Intense. We all joked and drank whiskey and whatever else, and near the close of the night, she mentioned that we (the US of A) should be ashamed of what we did to the American Indians. I mentioned that I am proud of my country, granted not for the treatment of people native to the continent. But that for me, as a general feeling, there's something unique and special about the States that I love and am proud of. I responded. And didn't back down to her. Bring it on, Belgium. Well, she lost it and started screaming at Jacqui. Quote: "You're not Espana. You're Jew! You're ashamed to say you're a Jew, but you know what you are! You Jew!" Hmm...as though one's religion indicated nationality. Jacqui was born in Spain, and her mother is Jewish. Are all Catholics from Vatican City? Strange, this Anuska and her reasoning. Of course, it could be the Sangsom Thai Rum.

Jacqui told her to leave, which she did, just after pointing at me and saying, "And you! Your country is shit!" Woah. Thank God. Allah. Buddha, Shiva, Zeus we were drinking not tequila.

We think we know, but we have no idea what it's like to be from somewhere else. Or what's going on in anyone else's head. A Belgian living in Thailand, I'm sure she fights feeling like an outsider every day of her life. But is that a reason to beat up on other more obvious outsiders? Jacqui mentioned that this can become a way of life here. Drinking beyond your limits, and often. An island of alcoholics. Oh, also. Anuska teaches SCUBA certification. For her living. To outsiders.

The last of the Kohs

2009-06-09T20:59:00.003-04:00

My cab driver this morning told me, "I love you!" Well, maybe it's a city versus non-city people thing with me? I ventured out last night with Nampu, one of the gals who works the front desk and remembers me (and she I) from my stay at Lamphu Tree Hotel three months ago. We hit Koh San Road, and let me tell ya, it hits back. The one thing to watch out for, in my case anyway, is Sangsom Thai Rum. They serve it in buckets, people.
You've been warned. As seems often the case, we danced the night away to a band covering all the hits. From The Scorpions to No Doubt to Guns 'N Roses. The best part, which have I mentioned?, are the singers' interpretations of the lyrics. Love it! Oh, and a lovely gentleman did walk me home. I say, these city-folk seem to receive me much better than did the Islanders. Thankful.

I am headed to the Ekkamai Bus Station for the bus then ferry to Koh Chang. The manager of the hotel wrote out 'Ekkamai Bus Station' in Thai for me to hand my cabdriver. Either this man has the most exquisite handwriting I've ever seen or Thai is the most beautiful written language. Either way, I considered having it tattooed on my body. While others get Chinese characters meaning peace, longevity, truth...me...Ekkamai Bus Station.

Koh Chang is the Thai island closest to Cambodia, only about 5 hours from Bangkok. I have only a few days left in this adventure and thought, "Why not, one more excursion?" I had thought of crossing into Lao from North-western Viet Nam, but it is truly the road less traveled. And Lao is not known for its timeliness. Or airlines. Five days in Lao and I may easily have found myself stuck.

On the back of my cabbie's seat reads this sticker: "In a zoo, we do for animals what we have done for ourselves in houses. We bring together in a small space what in the wild is spread out." Considering the size of my apartment, that makes me most like a Tasmanian Devil. Or proportionally perhaps some kind of frog.

With a coffee from Dunkin Donuts, I am ready. And the only farang on this bus. Three Buddhist monks. Three Thais, one with a baby. I love the details. For example, what do payphones look like in Thailand?

Remain open to the universe and it will present itself to you. And amazing what it presents. Often presents. The zipper on my bag from Sapa broke on our stop for lunch. Only problem, it broke closed, not open. The only foreigner on this bus, except Jacqui. A jewelry maker, she shoved her way into my bag problem, determined to fix it. And so it began. Turns out, Jacqui knows a few of the Islanders I encountered at the start of my trip. Small. Small this Earth.

So Jacqui offered me a ride. Off the bus, we awaited her driver. Jayin (jiy-yin). We met up with her around the corner of the bus' last stop. Jay is fabulous. And a lady-boy. We ran a few errands, had some lunch and chatted into the afternoon. On the ferry over to Koh Chang, we encountered Robin Hood, a drunk former cargo captain who had seven golden Buddhas around his neck. The sea rough, the ferry was buffeted about, but never fear. Robin Hood is here! Apparently, as long as he's on your ferry, nothing bad is going to happen. A six pack of Heinekin and we'll all tell ourselves anything.

Back to Bangkok

2009-06-08T20:09:00.002-04:00

I got to Bangkok late last night and was supposed to get a 7 am wake-up call to go head out to Koh Chang today. Instead, I slept til noon. I stayed at Lamphu Tree Hotel my first few days in BKK, and enjoyed so much, I'm back! Tonight I'm going out with Nampu. She works the front desk and remembers me from before. This place seems to get a fair amount of repeat clients. Quick note: they no longer stock Chang beer in the mini-bar.

Cigs

2009-06-08T19:08:00.000-04:00

Camel is not international! Just an observation.

Planes, trains and taxi cabs

2009-06-07T18:28:00.000-04:00

I bid Sapa adieu today, back to Hanoi on the overnight train for an early morning flight back to Bangkok. I think the sleeper train may be a bit of a scam. I'm in a normal seat and we shall see. I get the feeling everyone pumps the sleeper cars because they're double the price. But I think I may have finally learned a traveler's lesson. Do for yourself. And don't be lazy. You can rely on agencies to book things for you and pay higher prices for the ease of not having to take care of things yourself. And I do. But more often than not, if you go directly to the source, a train station, the ferry, the airport, whatever it may be, you'll get the same ticket for the actual price. People will say many a thing to help you part with your cash all over this Earth.

Ok. The sleeper cars are worth it if you want to sleep on the overnight train. In the main cars, where I found myself last night wide awake, people drink, talk, listen to music, cry (at least kids). It's not the worst thing, but it's not the most relaxing or restful either. And when traveling from Sapa to Hanoi, make sure you get a ticket returning you to the main Hanoi train station. I got dropped off at an alternate stop this morning, had to search for a main thoroughfare and taxi, and yes, missed my flight to Thailand. My poor cabbie. There is no international symbol or signal for airplane. Putting your hand in the air and making a whistling sound does not mean "airport." Stressed, I am not always a nice person. So, we tried another cab. Got out a guidebook to indicate Noi Bai airport, started out on our way, and got cut off by the former cabbie. I guess he wanted our fare. So kicked out of the cab by the second driver, loaded back into the first, I repeated, "Noi Bai...Noi Bai...NOI BAI!" The second driver explained that we needed to get to the airport. During the trip I also learned that screaming, "Fast! Drive faster!" isn't universal cab speak. Somehow in a cab New York City comes out of me. Our driver called a friend who spoke English and passed the phone to me. All the while, I'm getting even more aggravated that the driver is going 30 KPH so that he can make a phone call. Nonetheless, the driver, the talker and I all agreed on a price, including an incentive if we made it to the airport in time.

And hey. We did make it to the airport. And I missed my flight. Thankfully, Air Asia has an office upstairs where I was able to change to a later flight for a nominal fee. Phew! One week only left of this journey. Hope all goes smoothly, more smoothly than today, at least.

This land is your land, this land is my land...

2009-06-06T20:02:00.000-04:00

We spent the day hiking into the valley. Surrounded by local village women, Bee, her sister, and mother led our group down the mountains. Looking back on my travels, I have met people from several groups of indigenous cultures across continents. Of those, Bee (the one in the middle in the picture, wearing a bumble bee turtleneck) speaks the most incredible English and maintains the sunniest disposition. Villagers walk the streets of Sapa, talking to all tourists, to be friendly as much as to request purchases of their goods. They carry mostly handmade tapestries, bags and jewelry. And as is often the case, a sale is a symbol of luck and coming fortune. And if you show interest, be prepared to buy at least something. It's a strange thing, this life. And money and all.

Sapa is breath-taking. Green terraced rice fields, mountains, a chill in the air. Five different tribes live among the hills and highlands around Sapa. Hiking down and through mud proved difficult at times. So comfortable with the landscape, however, our guides grabbed our flailing arms and legs at almost every turn. I have to admit, while I appreciated the help, it was also a bit unnerving. Do I look as uncoordinated and unfit as the offered support seems to suggest? Oh, I guess we all need a little help from time to time. Our group led by family also consisted of a mother and daughter traveling team. Pretty adventurous, if you ask me, to be hiking in the mud down the mountains of Vietnam in your sixties. Shout out to Jen's mom!

It's amazing to think how removed so many of us are from the natural landscape of the lands on which we live. For Bee and her family, trekking down a mountain, we were all essentially walking what would in the States be her subdivision, street, then driveway. When was the last time I hiked a mountain to feed or clothe my family? How liberating in some ways to live on the land. No mortgage payments to worry about. But then again, I wonder if it's a struggle to feed your family.

We did make it to Bee's house. Several children, one pants-less, and Bee's husband and mother were home. The house was three rooms. Dirt floors, a kitchen with a fire pit, and two bedrooms. Simple. Funny how the notion of mountain people here seems so different than what the term conjures back home. Everyone here seems happy. Friendly. Interested. The pulse of humanity, whether you're of a tribe, from the city, from a different country, everyone here in Sapa seems curious and accepting. Open. It's catching.

Not so lonely, my planet

2009-06-05T20:58:00.000-04:00

Let's talk about guidebooks. Now, many of you may view guidebooks as wasteful or weak. Those with a more pioneering spirit may dive into a new country without having done any research. Me? Sometimes. Bolivia, Australia, I didn't have a guidebook for either of those. Often enough on the road, however, you find yourself surrounded by the Lonely Planet traveler's circuit. As a source for maps and as a general guide on where to go, it's ok, but lately, talking with others, it seems its recommendations have been stale, even raunchy. Within a year's time, a lot can change. And, apparently, especially in Asia. Sometimes I'm left wondering if anyone from that guidebook actually dined or slept in the spots recommended. From what I can tell, the savvy traveler these days does independent research and relies more on Trip Advisor than a particular guidebook.

For example, the Nature Bar and Grill in Sapa? What a sad lunch. Ernesto had to order two meals, the first neither that tasty or filling. Sapa town is small and quaint, with many options for lodging and dining. What you'd expect of a mountain village, complete with its own cultures, cuisine and handicrafts. And cool weather, also a welcome relief from the heat of Viet Nam's climate. But even finding a decent Vietnamese coffee can be harder than you'd think.

After scouting out local spots, my friends and I decided to give our hotel's menu a shot for dinner. And I'm telling you, Boutique Sapa is the way to go. They even offer room service! For breakfast, afternoon tea, I'm sure even dinner, although we preferred it on the rooftop terrace. Another lovely thing about this hotel is the clientele. We've all become fast friends. Ranging in ages from early twenties to late sixties, coming from China, headed to Lao, back to Hanoi, whichever direction, we all meet up at some point in the day to exchange the latest details. And the owners themselves, pictured, are also wonderful sources of information.

Boutique Sapa Hotel

2009-06-04T23:08:00.005-04:00

Word to the wise, the minibuses from Lao Cai to Sapa are only 30,000 VND. Woken up just before 6 am by the coffee vendor, hopping off the night train, don't let anyone con you into paying more than 30,000 VND for a minibus ticket to Lao Cai. It's an onslaught and, flustered and half-asleep, the experience can be more chaotic than taking a baseball bat to a bee hive. And don't, under any circumstances, pay anyone any amount in US dollars!

One girl in our group got charged $30, over 20 times the actual price. And when we all hopped on our minibus together, the culprit tried to prevent Sarah from getting on the same bus as us, given that she had bought a ticket from a different company. He held on to her luggage and tried to separate her from the rest of us. I wasn't having it. I loaded her stuff on the van and made her get in. He could have me, but not Sarah. Something about living in New York makes you quicker to get in someone's face in the midst of confrontation, especially when you know someone's taken advantage. Luckily, a woman was loading the people in our van and organizing tickets. I looked at her and knew that she knew what had happened. She held onto Sarah's ticket and yelled at the man, as if to say, "Fine! You made your money off this girl, but now I have the ticket you sold her. Pay me half the money you charged her, go away, the girl stays with us and I'll return the ticket to you later." I'm guessing they have to account for every ticket sold.

As well, they run another racket once you get to Sapa. You may find yourself dropped off at a hotel, not necessarily the one you've chosen and named for the driver. So be polite, but be specific and be firm. You may see a few hotels before you reach the one you have reserved. As if often the case in traveling, the driver gets a commission if you stay at any of the random first stops taken.

At the first hotel we were shown, Ernesto called the hotel he'd already contacted. He reached the owner and she sent three motorbikes to gather us and our things. They showed up within minutes and whisked us away. Do yourself a favor in Sapa. Stay at Boutique Sapa Hotel. Affordable prices, new rooms, an amazing view and rooftop terrace, it's all worth it! And the owners are delightful. We were met with warm towels and tea once in the lobby and cafe. I stumbled in with glass in my foot and before I knew it, the owner had tweezers and alcohol...ready for surgery! And, do not be mistaken, my feet were nowhere near the loveliest thing in the lobby. On to our room, the owners added a bed to our room at no added charge, and at total of $21 a night?!? And then, the view? Sa Pa is gorgeous.

In the evening, the owners set up moto rentals for all of us to visit a nearby waterfall and catch the sunset over the mountains. I'd never driven a scooter but I'm great on a bicycle! Turns out, I'm not too shabby on a moto either. Two wheels, hand controls, big whoop. Sarah, my partner in crime, drove at one point. Not such a good idea. Having lost control of the bike, she pretty much threw it to the ground with me still on it. And I nearly ended up with what seems to be the Southeast Asia traveler's initiation: a nasty, motorbike exhaust pipe burn on your right leg. They're as ubiquitous here as rice fields. Hopefully, I've met my quota with the gashed knee fiasco on Koh Phan Gan, the rusty nail scare on the Ton Le Sap and the glass shards from Cat Ba Island. All in all, if those are the most of my worries, how easy I've got it.

Shared berths

2009-06-03T23:08:00.009-04:00

On the bus back to Hanoi, I took pictures of our group, individuals as well as a group shot.I know, I'm silly. I guess I wanted us to all live on together somewhere, even if only in the memory of a photograph. What an amazing group of people! Everyone got along. Everyone was kind, fun, interesting and interested. I feel blessed.

Back in Hanoi, several of us continued to travel on together to Sapa, the highlands, on an overnight train. Jazmine, the wicked funny Canadian, and I were in a berth with two Singaporeans. How advantageous! My parents have been living in Singapore for the past 2+ years, so we had plenty to discuss. Another man also joined us in our berth for a bit of the conversation. He was Chinese but they referred to him as the Chinaman. We talked about life and family, but more than anything I think they were aghast at how friendly and outgoing we were. Three days on a party boat, not much sleep, we were a nutty pair to encounter. Jaz even pull a quick-change into her nightie in front of them. Blond, blue-eyed and bra-less. Classic!

We booked the night train to Sapa at Hanoi Backpackers' as well. And all things considered, we should have asked a few more questions. Ernesto ended up in a berth with strangers instead with any of us. And while it's not such a big deal, I would have been really uncomfortable had it been me.

Cat Ba Island

2009-06-02T21:17:00.006-04:00

Snaking through the trees on Cat Ba Island, reported to mean sad woman, renamed when the men left to fight in the war, many in our group myself included struggled up one of the larger limestone hills. Little-to-no sleep, having had drinks to boot, the hike did in even some of us who did sleep.

At the top of the mountain is an observation tower. Rickety to say the least, almost at the top, with one final stair to climb, you find no stair at all. The last landing before stepping onto the wooden platform at the top is altogether missing. Probably not the best combination. Lack of sleep, possible hangovers, hiking and a safety hazard or two...ah, life is indeed an adventure! Thankfully, I took out a travel policy with the heli-vac option.

Many of the islands out in the bay are said to have been used as hospitals during the war. With more than 2,000 of these islands, it would be more than difficult to locate anyone in hiding. People live in the Cat Ba bay, as well. Mostly on fishing boats, much like on the Ton Le Sap in between Cambodia and southern Vietnam.

On the boat-ride out yesterday, still close to the mainland, I started thinking about garbage. Often enough this earth is used as our dumping ground. In Northern Peru, on the ride from Piura to Chiclayo, for example, in the shoulders on each side of the highway lay gutters of refuse. Does anyone know of any global trash pick-up efforts? Just a thought...

Ha Long forever

2009-06-02T10:43:00.007-04:00

After a three-hour bus ride out of Hanoi, we boarded the Jolly Roger, the Hostel's boat, and cruised out into the bay for about two more hours. It's breath-taking out here. Small limestone hills leap out the water everywhere you turn. And in the most unusual shapes. Legend has it that dragons cane down from heaven to protect Vietnam from invaders to the north. The dragons spouted jewels and jade into the water, forming the islands and a natural barrier and protection for the country. Myth further has it that the dragons so loved the bay, its calm waters and people that they stayed, the longest beaches the dragons' tails.

Once far enough into the bay and away from any other boats, Viet, our local guide, laid down the law. Rules on the boat:
1. Be careful buying anything from the women circling the boat. The water they sell, for example, is not purified.
2. No swimming alone.
3. No drinking alone.
4. No sleeping alone.

Simple enough, I guess. Dexter, the American who speaks only American and is a bit unusual, thus nicknamed after the serial killer show, was the only one to challenge a rule. Everything he bought was from the women in the boats. He's in law school. Figures.

After the rules, we all jumped from the top deck into the water. Geronimo! Harry, our English-speaking guide, mentioned that they frequently have to get people to mingle and chat on the boat. Our group instant friends, Harry confided that Canadians are the friendliest. When they're on the boat, everyone gets along well. Beauty, eh?

The sunsets out here are unforgettable. I think I could stay here forever. We watched the sun slip behind the jade hills. And then the party started. And lasted until dawn. No. Sleep. Til Brooklyn!

Into the bay

2009-06-01T17:23:00.001-04:00

So midday yesterday, I signed up for a boat tour of Ha Long Bay with Hanoi Backpackers' Hostel. I wasn't interested in staying at the hostel, but the main selling point for booking the tour through them was the woman working their tour desk. Her name is Rio. Yep, not sure if she dances on the sand, but she's one of the the nicest and most helpful people I've met on this trip. And all in all, I wanted to book a trip with other fun travelers...and on the bus now, I think it's going to work out.

Jazmine, a Canadian is to my my right, and I don't think I've laughed this hard in months. Next to her is Hadas, an Israeli who just finished her two years in the army. We keep exchanging glances after hearing the words coming out of Jazmine's mouth. She's one of those people who hasn't traveled much yet, or been exposed to much outside of Alberta. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, in school to be a nutritionist, everyone on the bus thought she was from Callie. She's naive and doesn't even know it yet. It's great.

This group is going to be a blast. Several French Canadian girls, several English-speaking Canadians, a dude from Mexico, a Spaniard, a Swiss girl, the Israeli, two Scottish guys, two guys from Philly, and several Brits thrown in for good measure. Getting to know each other, our guide Viet asked us to describe ourselves, maybe what languages we speak, where we're from, etc. Some of us speak several languages, some only one. And then there's another guy from the States, next to last to introduce himself. And here's what he said, "I'm from America. I speak American." I responded, "I'm sorry. Can someone please translate?"

At night

2009-06-01T12:39:00.001-04:00

Last night, Sean and I ventured out into the city. We sat on kiddie stools in the street with other tourists and locals alike and drank Bia Hoi into the wee hours. It's local draft beer, mini-brewed at small shops around the city. When finished with one beer, the woman at the pony keg dumps the swill into a bucket and pours you another. Just wondering...where does the swill go? Is it twice brewed? Ah, who cares. The beers work out to about 15 cents each.

After a kebab, a small triangular meat sandwich, we moved on to a "proper" bar and joined several teachers for a drink. Each of them mentioned how rough it was teaching in Hanoi, wink, wink. Apparently, the situation is good enough for them to want to prevent word from getting out. A bit of bumping and grinding on a few of the teachers' parts, and Sean and I moved on again.

In the doors to a small bar with a pool table, we snuggled into a booth with four locals, Linh (lean), Duc (dook), Tho (tawh) and Hai (hi). Vietnamese is a tonal language, which stumps me. Hai, for example, can mean some six different things in Vietnamese. It means the number two. It can be a proper name. It may be used as an adjective. The meaning depends upon the tone and emphasis on syllables. Hai's name refers to him when pronounced in an arc of sound. Woah, where to begin? A few hours into our discussion, we were shushed, the doors closed and gates of the bar locked. From what I could discern, bars are supposed to close at a certain hour. Police cruise the streets to ensure cooperation, at which point all the bars simply close their gates and quiet all customers. Interesting. In Banos, Ecuador, the cops would enter the bars and send everyone home, the nightly raid. In Hanoi, they don't seem quite as vigilant.

Consider the source

2009-05-31T20:58:00.001-04:00

Hanoi. A new place. The capital. We got in early this morning, maybe 1 am, and everything was closed. Even our hotel. Not much for nightlife? On a Saturday night/Sunday morning? Hmm. So we sacked out, planning a full day ahead.

Man, is Hanoi confusing. We're staying near a huge lake, which would normally be a great landmark for getting my bearings. But apparently not in Hanoi. Street names change from block to block. And there are more eleven-way intersections than I've ever seen in my life.

Hence, our taxi to the Temple of Literature. Whether a symbol of education or art, or homage to those ancestors who so revered study and teaching, the temple is highly trafficked by tourists and locals. Surrounded by gardens upon entry, visitors pass through four main gates. In the first section is a pool. I wonder if like in many of the temples in Cambodia, the pool was used for cleansing prior to prayer and/or study. Another section of the temple is devoted to doctors with rows of huge stone scrolls mounted on the backs of sculpted turtles. As we walked, children and their parents alike rubbed the heads of the turtles and dropped small donations at their feet. For luck, for honor, for health, many people I've met say the Vietnamese are a superstitious people. Whatever helps, I say. A building at the end of the temple showcases the history of the temple with shrines to its influential men.

Oh, almost forgot. The taxi fare was 15,000 Vietnamese Dong. Our driver tried to charge us 150,000...not so fast.

Next we visited the Hoa Lo Prison, known also as the Hanoi Hilton. Built by the French in the late 1800s and used to house Vietnamese prisoners, it was taken over by the Vietnamese in the 50s. As has been the case throughout much of my journey in Vietnam, I am familiar with names and places mostly because of Vietnam war history and movies. It's curious to think back in the history of humanity...is there a place, a plot of land on this earth where war has not occurred?

Walking through the exhibit, statues of Vietnamese prisoners are locked in foot shackles in a row. Winding further back into holding cells, getting to what must have been solitary confinement, peeping through the opening in the door, there sits another statue. I gasped. I wasn't expecting to see any representation of a body in the cell. And the detail of the sculptures? They may look goofy upon close examination, but at first glance, they're life-like.

Further into the prison still, is a section on the American soldiers who were kept there, most notably John McCain. Photos of American soldiers in the exhibit are shocking. In pretty much all of them, the men are smiling. There are photos of Christmas and the prisoners exchanging gifts. In others the men are exercising or cooking dinner. It seems that the Vietnamese are quite concerned with showing how well the prisoners were treated. I wrote down a quotation in the exhibit that I found striking, and hope there are no inaccuracies in my copying it. "American servicemen participating in the war of aggression by US administration in Viet Nam and caught in the act while perpetrating barbarous crimes against Vietnamese land and people should have been duly punished according to their criminal acts, but the government and people of Viet Nam, endowed with noble and humanitarian traditions, have given those captured American servicemen the opportunity to benefit a lenient and generous policy by affording them a normal life in the detention camps as practical conditions of Viet Nam permit it and conforming to the situation in which war was still on."

As has been the case here in Vietnam, I am learning a different perspective on the war. In history class, the Vietnam war was painted as the US defending south Viet Nam in a civil war. Here in Viet Nam, I haven't seen a single mention of it. The war seems to be viewed as an act of US aggression. Whether this is the propaganda the Vietnamese government is teaching its people, perhaps as is the US with its slant and version, or fact, who knows? Are there three sides to ever story: yours, theirs and the truth?

Dang, Danang!

2009-05-30T23:16:00.001-04:00

The Danang airport is 30 minutes north of Hoi An. The airport itself? There were three people in line ahead of me at check-in. Red alarm clock font glows above each counter indicating flight and destination. At least it's not blinking. Simple security check, a scanner. Inside, there are three gates from which to board your aircraft. The waiting room is like a hospital, or maybe the Social Security Administration. Rows of 1970s beige round rump seats all attached to a metal plate at your feet. A souvenir shop, a restaurant and can beer bar, people playing cards.

We left Hoi An at 9pm, for our 10:55 pm flight. An hour and 10 minutes from Danang to Hanoi and it's 12:30 am. All for under 50USD start to finish, can beer excluded. Not bad, not bad.

Triple mint

2009-05-30T19:56:00.001-04:00

"It's like Eskimo fairies blowing on my nether regions!" That's what Sean thinks of my triple mint soap. I think I've mentioned them before, Copa Soaps. I packed three bars, saving the triple mint best for last! I'm not fond of sharing soaps with people, really. Or tooth brushes. But on occasion, it does happen. Anyway, Sean was smitten. Go 'head, Copa.

I'm getting away from Hoi An easy. I only bought one jacket and one dress. We had planned to spend the day at China beach. Raining and gross, we took to the tailors. I guess no one will have these two new additions to my wardrobe in New York, right? And I'm flying out of the Danang airport tonight. Good bye, sleeper buses!

Just before we loaded into the taxi, Sean and Chen (one of our Israeli counterparts) jammed out. She plays guitar. Our going away song was "Leaving on a Jet Plane." I cried.

The uke

2009-05-29T23:00:00.001-04:00

It's not easy this life. Well, I think it's much easier if you're lucky enough to have been born in a place like me. You can do things, travel the world, many things are just givens. But, I guess we all struggle in our own ways. Still, it must suck to see groups of tourists cruising your hometown if you can hardly leave it. Or do you see it, realize it's different, and prefer what you already have?

This afternoon, Sean and I met up with Andreas, a German from the Nha Trang boat ride. We sat in an open-air restaurant drinking beer, Sean playing his ukulele. He picked it up in Saigon. It's the best. Music. I love it. And miss it. At the restaurant, a toddler of a woman we came to know as Huong snuck out from the back and took over the ukulele. Giddy, he danced and played with Sean. And he ate a whole box of cookies. Good fun.

An instrument turns individuals into groups. A person with a guitar joining, voices, maybe someone has a drum or drumsticks or something. Walking down a street with an instrument, it's an instant hoot!

Hoi Anne!

2009-05-28T22:44:00.004-04:00

Back on the night sleeper bus headed to Hoi An, the guidebook I have states that the stretch from Nha Trang to Hoi An is the fifth circle of hell. Great. One of the bus attendants strung a hammock up in the stairwell at the foot of my bed. At his insistence, any time I wanted to exit the bus, I had to climb over someone else in his or her bed. "Pardon me, bud, but you're working. Wake up. Move. Move. Please. Thank you." And piss off. Argh.

My blanket smelled soiled. And my pillow left my face feeling...waxy. Oh, the joys of traveling. The upside: I met a lovely Israeli trio and yet another bad-ass New Yorker! Funny how less than desirable circumstances can bring people together. We made it to Hoi An and scoped out one hotel before settling in at Hoang Trinh Hotel. The ladies of the house greeted us with cloths to wipe our faces (yes, still waxy) and glasses of cool water, even before the discussion of room and board began. Such a simple gesture, but so appreciated. It's so nice to be treated like a person from time to time, not just a disgusting, dare I say, backpacker. If you're in Hoi An, please stay at this place. A double is $12 a night with a full tub, t.v., air conditioning, internet, and the hotel even serves food. The upstairs rooms have balconies overlooking a Chinese temple. But really, the staff is what makes the stay worth it. They're just so nice.

Out and about, Sean (New Yorker by birth now living in Hawaii) and I cruised the town and the river. Hoi An is small and quaint. A city of wooden shophouses, streets and a Japanese bridge, and named a UNESCO world heritage site, it has some of Viet Nam's oldest remaining structures and streets. It's small and great for walking. And tailors. Hoi An is the spot to have clothes made. Mannequins of all colors and cuts, you can't imagine trying on winter coats, dripping with sweat. But it happens! All fit and cut for you, your measurements. This place is magic.

P.S. Did you see the classic pink Vespa??

Bites

2009-05-27T16:55:00.002-04:00

To the islands around Nha Trang today, I hopped on a boat with 30 or so others. A short bus ride from town out to the marina, a cable car hangs above the water, spotted itself with a bit of garbage.

We snorkeled and swam for the first hour. Well, the locals drank beer, the tourists swam. In the water, I kept feeling small things biting me. Turned out to be mini jellies. Yikes! I'm not too big on lurking sea creatures. We lunched on the roof of the boat, squid, shrimp, spring rolls, spicy tofu. And after lunch came the entertainment. Our crew Viet Nam's number one boy band, our cruise director did a little karaoke in a coconuts bra. Hmm...

After the show came the floating bar and happy hour. Side note: it's always happy hour in Viet Nam. A life buoy chucked into the water, our bartender balanced himself and bunches of bottles of mulberry wine, served with a touch of pineapple. Too sweet for me. I met a couple from Sydney and a German, good people. The rule for the floating bar is that everyone drinking has to keep a foot attached to the life buoy, as much for silliness and to secure that none float off or drown. Our group turned into a chain of bobbers, all linked one to one. And I at the helm am amazed how much drag a baker's dozen of people can cause.

The clouds rolled in at our last island and we sat on the top of the boat in the rain.
Back in town the Aussies and I went to dinner at Mecca Restaurant. In usual form, I asked our host and server what I should eat. Canh Chua Ca is what showed up, delicious sour fish soup. When in Nha Trang, ORDER THIS! Carla and Chops helped me polish off the soup, there was so much of it.

Nha Trang

2009-05-26T17:25:00.003-04:00

I got off the night bus this morning about 6 am to a swarm of motos and hotel hawkers. Walking has always suited me, even with a 30 pound bag on my back. I still haven't managed to switch successfully to metrics. Nha Trang is lovely. Beach? Hell, yes! I found accommodation pretty quickly and headed for a dip. My room is $14 with a balcony overlooking the street, a view of the ocean from one block away. There's a rooftop terrace will great views of the beach and town, too. While what I'm paying is probably expensive compared to what you pay traveling with others, I have to pinch myself from time to time, considering NYC prices.

To the Four Seasons cafe beach front in Nha Trang, I'm lunching on spring rolls and, yes, a cool beverage. Although, I imagine Viet Nam only has two seasons, hot and hot and wet. Ahh, what do I know? Yesterday, a woman shoved me out of her photo of Ho Chi Minh at the Parliament building in Saigon. I'm pretty sure she was Chinese. Personal and physical space here aren't a concern. Whatsoever. In Cambodia, people who bumped into you would turn to apologize but not so much here. Trampled, you may be, shoved, bumped, run over. Check yourself, before you wreck yourself.

Oh me, oh my...have I failed to mention Vietnamese coffee? Lord have mercy, it is the greatest thing on this earth...at least lately. Potent? Um, yeah. And they serve it with condensed milk. And over ice. Papa Joe Peek put it best. It is indeed "the elixir of the gods!" I'm up to two a day. One in the morning, and then the afternoon coffee. It's a culture here. In fact, I think it's Southeast Asian. Afternoon coffee. Fine, some of us may do it in New York. Or the US. But everyone does it here. Across countries. Across peoples. And condensed milk?! Delicious in your coffee. I have yet to explore its fat content, et cetera, and for now prefer to stay in the rich, bitter, cocoa-colored darkness. What we don't know, can't hurt us...cliche for a reason that I'm hoping applies to me!

Night moves

2009-05-25T23:15:00.004-04:00

Viet Nam is known for having a good postal system...we shall see. So today I mailed out a whopper package for 1,000,000 some odd Dong. Yep, the money is called Dong. Quite efficient, a clerk behind the counter even packed the box for me. I haven't been buying tons of stuff, but it's a relief to unload as much as you can to lighten your load.

Here's what I've gotten myself into now. An eleven hour sleeper bus ride to Nah Trang. The bus has bunk beds, seven beds per row, three rows, two aisles running between them, each bed maybe six feet long and a foot and a half across. It's a sight. There's a shelf for your shoes, which the driver made me remove before entering the bus. Thank god I wore socks. It cost $23 for an open ticket of two overnight bus trips, Saigon to Nha Trang, then Nha Trang to Hoi An. It works out to about a dollar an hour, much like in Ecuador.

The all-night experience involves fifteen minute intervals of almost sleep strung together with speed bumps taken at such a pace that you're almost thrown from your bunk. That, in combination with repetitive blasting of the horn almost every five seconds spells a sleepless night. I have moved seventeen times, completed five full rotations. Were I the hands of time, I'd have circled the face of the clock following in synch minute by minute. We stop every hour or two as well for a break. I never thought I'd say it, but I miss the M14.

Seeing Saigon

2009-05-24T23:25:00.001-04:00

I checked out of Yellow House Hotel first thing and into Kim Hotel just down an alley. Clean, a huge bed and balcony, now we're talking! A family run spot, they are all so welcoming. Oh, and there's a mini-bath tub, too!

I am a tourist today. First to Independence Palace, I toured what was set to be the fortress of Diem, who our guide referred to as the US puppet leader of South Viet Nam. Ok. The palace was build in 1868 originally by the French, refurbished by Diem, but finished only after his death. Built as the hub for receiving international and domestic guests, as well as housing the leader and his family, the palace has been left decorated as it was in the 60s. Conference rooms, a convention hall, a full bomb shell war room basement, a casino room, even an entertainment room with a view of the house chopper, the palace is a 1960s fortress. The dining room in the living quarters reminds me of my grandmother's house, now my uncle's place, totally renewed and refreshed. Leaning against the glass of the dining room I am transported back to Christmas dinners and pot roast. Fancy glasses and heavy silverware, soft light and gauzy curtains glowing in the light of dusk.

Next to the War Remnants Museum. First things first, you are greeted by US tanks and jets just inside the entry past the ticket counter. And once inside the exhibit, the first words you see are from the Declaration of Independence, also translated into Vietnamese. The stage is set, the ironies and atrocities soon to be revealed. Scary to say, I am thankful I haven't eaten yet today. My lunch would've come up. Walking through this museum, I alternate between shock and chills. It's a physical reaction to the visual displays. Disgust, horror cannot even come close. I am proud of my country and proud to be from my country. Looking at these images, war-torn bodies, you see what war means. Whether in the name of democracy, liberty, religion, gasoline, however complex, staring at the faces of the aftermath of war, it seems so unnecessary. I cannot imagine what it must be like to be a soldier fighting on foreign soil or to be a civilian living through a war waged in your own country. It occurred to me. What would happen if they were no armies? What would this world be like without any defense forces? Utter chaos? Or more harmonious?

The exhibit chronicling the devastation the war exacted on future generations was also gutting. Agent Orange and napalm not only affected those involved in the war at the time, but also generations to come. Birth defects in the children of civilians and soldiers alike, malformations, disease, reproductive malfunctions, limbs missing, it's hard to look.

Upstairs, there is also an exhibit about the journalists who covered the war, many of whom are still missing. Several countries sent troops into Viet Nam and several others sent journalists. Civilian, military and professional casualties, this exhibit is comprehensive and stark. I have never worn camouflage in my life and, from this day forward, hope I never have to.

See, taste, sell

2009-05-23T23:09:00.006-04:00

First impressions of Viet Nam, the people seem to have a better lot than those in Cambodia. Fisherman sleeping on their boats just the same, only the boats just over the border seem to be three times the size. And houses are made of cement or stucco. Not bamboo, wood and tin. We just passed a church, too. Bright pink stucco, I'm a bit surprised to see a cross on its steeple.

Along a small river, everyone is relaxing in beach chairs. And every house has an antenna on the roof. It reminds me of passing from Ecuador into Colombia, Cambodia to Viet Nam. And again I feel free. A new country, a new adventure.

In Saigon, I've met an Aussie couple at Go2 bar just up from my hotel. As luck would have it, it's happy hour. The first taste of beer in a new country, somehow there's nothing sweeter. I am sitting outside and in the past few minutes, ten people have cruised by offering everything under the sun. Wallets, books, cigarettes, even marijuana. Interesting.

Back at the hotel (Yellow House Hotel--P.S. don't stay there! Unless you like rats the size of cats...), I met two New Yorkers. Funny how you have to travel half way around the world to meet people from the city! Manhattan, Queens and the Bronx, we're having a tri-borough ball, cursing NYC style.

Viet Nam bound

2009-05-23T22:41:00.000-04:00

It's 8:19 am Saturday morning and I'm on the bus headed to Viet Nam. Wish me luck! In line for the ferry to cross the Mekong River, kids and salesfolk line the street offering sunglasses, lotus fruit and empty hands. A child weaves through the buses and trucks leading a blind man. They all bang on the luggage doors of the bus to get your attention. If you open the window, it's a swarm of hands and offerings. Once on the ferry, full of trucks and buses, one enterprising (or hungry, not sure which) kid has climbed up to the second floor of the ferry. Bird's eye view, he's scoping out who has yet to eat the snacks the bus company provides passengers. He knocks on every window and points to his mouth, a plea for food. With the first package passed to him through an open window, however, he pockets a croissant and drops the remaining snacks to the floor. Onto the second box, he passes it to a buddy just down the stairs. And with the third, he finally opens and eats a croissant. I can't tell if he's hungry, sharing food with family or hording stuff to sell.

Horns function as signals here, used more than turn signals themselves. Before passing, everyone honks a time or seven. Motos, trucks, pedestrians, all are honked at, seemingly as a form of etiquette.

If headed from Phnom Penh to Saigon, by all means take the Mekong Express bus. For $12 and a 7 am departure, the borders and visa process is a breeze. On the bus, the attendant takes your passports just after offering you a snack and water. You cross the Cambodian border about 11 am, your passport stamped and exit photo taken. The attendant gathers the passports again along with your entry card into Viet Nam. Then still on the bus almost at the Viet Nam border, a doctor entered the bus to take our temperatures. Granted, only foreigners are subjected to the procedure. I guess H1N1 has people on heightened security. Check. None showing fever, although oddly enough the local kid in the row behind me has puked three times so far. Gather your baggage and on to Vietnamese customs. Again, the attendant handles the process, all of us waiting for our names to be called. Check, check. Next running your bag through the scanner, and a final check of your passport, and welcome to Viet Nam! The border done in 40 minutes, and you're back on the bus. Little hassle, no trouble. Nice.

Tuol Sleng Prison Museum

2009-05-22T18:55:00.003-04:00

While the Killing Fields yesterday were difficult to see, experience, understand, today we visited the prison where people (the elite, intellectuals, rich, city-folk) were detained and tortured for up to a week before taken to the Killing Fields for execution. Tung Sleng Prison, better known as S 21, was once a primary school transformed by the Khmer Rogue into a prison.

When trying to imagine even relive such hideous acts of human nature, it is much more tangible, human and devastating an experience having another person share his or her own story with you while you attempt to take it all in. Today, our guide was in her mid 40s. She had personally been held in a children's camp outside of the city during the Khmer Rouge, from age 10 to 13. From what she said, people were happy with Pol Pot's ideas at first, that the city and countryside would again be united, the rich and poor given equal opportunity and options. But in reality, city life and those in it were decimated. Taken out of the city, separated from her entire family, uncertain where they were, if even alive, hearing her story put a face, an individual experience to the horror. Prisoners were fed two spoonfuls of porridge three times daily, tortured twice a day. Within a week's time, none were able to stand. All in all, it didn't much matter, from what she said. The prisoners were sent to the Killing Fields to be exectued shortly thereafter, left in a mass grave. The cells were hardly three feet wide, many of which still have spots and smears of blood in them.

As you walk through the prison, you are met with the faces of those massacred. Soldiers were required to photgraph every person admitted upon arrival, as much for prisoner identification as for proof to Pol Pot that the soldiers were doing their jobs of bringing people in. A number assigned to each person daily, sometimes over 700 people were admitted in a day. The photographs of the prisoners fill the rooms that were once their torture chambers. Men, women, children. In some of the photos the people are smiling. They had no idea for what they are headed. It's horrible.

After the Vietnamese invaded and liberated the country, seven of those who had been held in the prison survived. A sculptor, two painters, one translator, two mechanics and an eletrical engineer, only a very few whose particular knowledge or skills had proved beneficial to the Khmer Rouge had been spared. Our guide shared with us her feelings upon being set free. She said all she could do was put her hands together in front of her chest in the sign of prayer, thinking, 'Please, let me find my mother...please, let her be alive.' Our guide's father was killed, as well as two brothers and a sister. She lives with her mother to this day. The prison requests that you give a donation to your guide, depending on your experience and what you think reasonable. Our guide put the money we gave her in the donation box at the ticket entrance. I wish she'd taken it herself but hope that whatever ends up in that box truly does go to help a country of survivors.

The Killing Fields

2009-05-21T19:58:00.004-04:00

A short ride out of Phnom Penh is Choueng Ek, one of 300 of Cambodia's killing fields. Previously a Chinese cemetery, the Khmer Rouge turned the grounds into mass graves from 1975 through 1978. This location in particular was discovered in 1980 by the smell alone. Khmer soldiers had used DDT to hide the odor and prevent decomposition of bodies.

If I understand correctly, Phnom Penh evacuated, Pol Pot, the leader of the Khmer Rouge, ordered the extermination of a majority of people living in cities: the elite, the rich and the intellectuals. The idea being that all Cambodians should go back to living on the land, the city the root of evil and corruption. Foreign journalists as well were executed so that no information of what was happening would get out of Cambodia. As it was, Cambodians themselves had no idea what was happening, where they were being taken or why.

At the site, you first encounter a memorial stupa filled with skulls of many of the murdered. On the walking tour is a Boddhi tree against which soldiers are said to have swung babies by their legs to their deaths. Bodies have been exhumed from 86 of the mass graves, 43 still reamining closed. The graves three to four meters deep held 70 people. Larger ones, as many as 450 bodies.

Those executed were beaten to death with bamboo, so that no bullets would be wasted. They used bamboo as well so that no shots were heard. Music is said to have been played at the execution to mask screams. Many of the soldiers involved in the executions are reported to have felt justified. The rich and powerful had done nothing to help the poor in the country, so why would the soldiers who now had the power be merciful? The killings were in some form a revenge. As well, those who dissented would be executed themselves.

In 1978, the soldiers in the east and west split, the east wanting an end to the killing. Many fled to Vietnam for help, prompting an invasion in 1979. In total, two million died throughout the country in those five years, whether from exectuion, overwork or starvation. Criminal trials and investigations are still ongoing as of this year, the head judge claiming corruption and interference even as of this month. Our guide for the tour is probably my age. His father, a part of the elite, worked in the government in Phnom Penh and escaped with family to the countryside. So recent, any person you meet on the street has a story, the impact of which is at times hard to hear. Today we have walked hallowed ground.

Kids

2009-05-20T16:27:00.000-04:00

The Mekong Express Bus. A contradiction in terms for us today. Neither were we on the Mekong, nor was it express. Nonetheless, we've made it to Phnom Penh. Off the bus, we were assaulted by tuktuk drivers and the price war began. "Miss, Madam, Sir! One dollar!" Everyone here wants to make some cash. And every buck helps. Cambodia's money is the rial, but the preference is the dollar. Outside of all the temples in Siem Reap, children offer you books and bracelets, tee shirts, anything for a dollar. Here in Phnom Penh, adults are hoping to pry you of your dollars. Somehow that's much better.

Another uncomfortable situation here is the sex trade. While in Thailand, the industry is made up of prostitutes and ladyboys, here in Cambodia there is a huge campaign against children in the sex industry. It's horrifying. One of the posters I saw today lists a number to call to report suspected activity. The number started with area code 027. And above each of the numbers listed was a picture representing a kid at the age of the corresponding number. Zero, a baby. Two, a toddler. Seven, a school girl with braids. It hurts my heart. And it scares me that there would actually have to be an ad put up against it. It's an awakening.

Sapped

2009-05-19T23:14:00.001-04:00

Cruising the Psale market, you can purchase a number of items this morning. Crickets by the can-full, tiny clams with or without chilis, dried starfish, potato pancakes, breaded and fried bananas. Our guide admitted that when he drinks, he snacks on crickets. Speaking of our guide, if you ever need a guide in Siem Reap, contact Set Kim. I have his number. He's wonderful and has loads of information. Oh, and sugar cane juice! A popular drink, the cane is loaded into the juicer just a carrot, the juice caught in a small plastic bag, wrapped up with a straw. And off you go!

We visited the hospital temple after the market. Probably the most fascinating temple for me, back in the day, you had to travel to the temple via boat. A man-made lake surrounded the hospital, a physical barrier to separate the ill from those still healthy. Inside the temple were four pools and five brahmans. First you would consult the brahman on which pool you would had to visit. And after a dip, cleansed, you'd then enter the shrine where holy water would be poured on your head to heal you. The four pools represent the four elements in life: water, earth, fire and air. The shrines smell like the room underneath the back porch in our house on Hilo Court. Dark, dank, dusty. Mud and water. Moss and mildew. The air thick with minerals.

And on to the temple of the mother. The trees are overtaking the temples. It's beautiful. Spung trees grow on top of the temples, over them, through them. Nature is all pơwerful.

The last stop of the day, we took a boat ride to Tonle Sap lake. A floating village, Vietnamese and Cambodians live in boathouses on the water. They move more than ten times a year. As heavy rains and dangerous weather roll in, they float to a nearby mountain. The water is green with algae, full of life. The villagers use the lake water for everything. Showering, washing, you can imagine. While that may take some getting used to, along with living in a house so small you cannot stand up, the view is pretty incredible. The sky and sea meet in the horizon. Interestingly enough, we got stuck on the way back to the car. Fifteen boats all trying to pas through about three feet of water? Not going to happen. The one in the middle weighted down by lumber, all the others had to go around through the mud. Some captains are better than others, let's just say. Oh, and I cut my heal also. And got drenched in water. Yes, the same water that everyone dóes everything in. This cut's got infection written all over it.

Dedication

2009-05-18T02:29:00.001-04:00

Cambodia is amazing. The history. The culture. I'm so happy to be here. It's not modern. People aren't running around on their iPhones worried about getting here, getting there. There's no, "I just couldn't be bothered..." The people here are willing to share of themselves, of their culture. Pride, even embarrassment.

We started the day with Bantay Srei, the citadel of the beautiful girl. Many of the temples were built in honor of a god and also dedicated to a person. Four kids were just inside one of the galleries playing with balloons, including, yes, one little, beautiful girl. They'd blow up the balloon, stick it in your face and let the air out, giggling all the while.

The walls built of different types of sandstone, with pinks and yellows, this is the most colorful of the temples. The stones are a direct reflection of the color of the earth from that time. The quality of the carvings and sculpture is shocking. Hands from 967 etched designs, symbols, lessons into these stones. And they are still here. What fragile lives we live, and yet the efforts of so many in special places of the world still stand. It's a testament to human will in homage to god.

Our second stop for the day was the Cambodia Landmine Museum. Aki Ra, a former Khmer soldier, who is spending his time out of the army undoing the work done while in it, has established the museum and a relief fund to aid the victims of landmines. According to information at the exhibit, thirteen countries in the world are still (or haven't prohibited) producing landmines: Russia, China, India, Nepal, North Korea, South Korea, Pakistan, Singapore, Vietnam, Iran, Cuba, USA and Burma. It costs $1 to build a mine and about $1,00 to find and destroy it. Aki Ra and his co-workers have been able to locate and diffuse up to 36 mines in an hour. Still, landmines have an activity life of 150 years, potential to affect people and their families for years to come. The CLMRF also houses a dozen or so children who've been exposed to landmines. Written consent is required to photograph any of the kids. As I was walking through the exhibit, a fifteen year-old kid strolled by, carrying a cell phone in his only hand.

Angkor

2009-05-17T17:56:00.002-04:00

Siem Reap's main attraction is Angkor Wat. Temples upon temples pepper the city, built in the 10th to 12th centuries in Cambodia. Talk about amazing. A three-day pass for $40 and you, too, can visit as many of the 2,000+ temples possible.

The beginning of our Angkor Wat extravaganza started this morning with Angkor Thom. What once was the capital city of the Khmer empire, it was erected in the 12th century by King Jayavarman VII. Five main gates of entry and exit, we entered through the southern gate. Symbols of good and evil, the balance in nature, line the entrance. To the left, gods, the right demons, both supporting Naga, the snake deity. Nine square kilometers, five years, a million people and 4,000 elephants, and poof! You've got a city complete with temples, jails, dancing halls, libraries and then some. To light the city in the evenings, workers cut small holes in the trunks of gum trees and lit them on fire. For two hours the flames would burn in the trees lighting the paths. As you walk, you can still see this practice being used.

Kim, our guide, told us a lot about the Khmer kingdom. King Jayavarman VII, who ruled from the late 1100s to the early 1200s, erected many of the temples still standing in Cambodia today. A Buddhist himself, but respectful of the Hindu religion, many of the temples built under his rule honor both religions. His successor a Hindu and nowhere near as tolerant of Buddhism as VII had been of Hinduism, Jayavarman VIII stripped Buddhist temples of sculptures, carvings, anything reminiscent of Buddha. It's a shame. In many of the temples, ornate carvings and sculptures that have somehow lasted all this time center around a figure of the Buddha that has been stripped blank. In the Bayon temple, towers still stand in honor of Buddhism, but were augmented after Jayavarman VII's death to reflect Hindu influences.

On to Angkor Wat in the afternoon, I wasn't sure I was ready. There's something so magical about walking in the footsteps of those who lived a thousand years ago. And being in a wonder of the world? It's a big deal.

The only temple that faces the west, Angkor Wat was built during the rule of Suryavarman II, 30 years prior to Jayavarman VII. Dedicated to Vishnu, it is the only temple to face westward. Across the moat, along the esplanade entrance lie two pools covered in lily pads. Boys swam in one in the heat of the afternoon. Inside, carvings of ancient Hindu stories and morals cover the walls. The churning of the sea of milk, battles of monkeys and demons, Apsara dancers, it's exquisite. Struck with awe and disbelief, it's amazing to think that stones brought from mountains hundreds of kilometers away on the back of elephants, were pieced together to make this structure almost a thousand years ago. And it still stands. One must also give a 'merci' to the French and their efforts in restoration. Incredible.

We closed out the afternoon hiking a bit to watch the sunset from Phnom Bakheng. Built in the 9th century with 109 towers, there are six steep and narrow staircases to maneuver before reaching the top. Clouds rolled in on us and we made the descent just before the storm.

Smile and look pretty

2009-05-16T14:48:00.001-04:00

Cambodia, anyone? We landed in Siem Reap today. Into the airport, you join a line for entry visa processing. Handing over your application, photos and money, the gentlemen behind the counter check the info, place your money in a briefcase and slide you down to the end of the counter.

I opted to write in a journal for a few minutes, leaning on the counter. Not wise. One of the officials approached me, leaned over to look at what I was writing and then called out something to another official. Oh, crap. Logging your observations of the visa procedure and processing? Wait until you've actually been granted the visa and aren't under the watch and scrutiny of officials. Sometimes, I'm just an idiot. Have I mentioned that lately? I wrote for ten more seconds, then packed up my notebook and pen. I make this joke from time to time that all my mother told me growing up was, "Just smile and look pretty." That anything in life will swing in your favor if you follow that saying. Not sure it works in Cambodia. I may be headed back to Singapore yet again, and sooner than I had expected.

Vietnamese Visa

2009-05-13T14:42:00.000-04:00

To leave where you're from is to know the beauty of this earth. I have seen five continents in 32 years, and am hoping for all seven by 34. The majors still elude me: China, Russia and India untouched. But there is hope.

I dropped off my passport today at the Vietnamese Embassy. A tourist visa must be arranged prior to entry and takes a business week, or two days on rush and $70. The application filled out twice and two passport photos supplied, I hope it works! Winding down my last month traveling, I am shooting to visit three more countries. Wish me luck!

Out and back

2009-05-12T17:07:00.002-04:00

Cruising high above the outback, it's fitting that roads writhe and wriggle through the red dirt like snakes. Clouds are the only shade offered in puffs and spots. Sometimes the roads or perhaps dried riverbeds crisscross one another. It looks like a plate of spaghetti, sauceless.

I made it out of Sydney. The customs official could tell my anticipation and played with me more than I'd wished. He prattled on about places I should have visited, and more places, and more places. "God's own country and you only spent a week?" he asked. "I'm no God," I replied and smiled. "But more saint than sinner." Phew. He believed me. Stamp's on! I do look forward to returning to Australia. There's so much more to see. But for now, that'll have to do.

Back in Singapore, at Changi, you are greeted with thermal monitors, scanning all passengers for heightened body temperature. Epidemics having devastated countries in this part of the world, they take serious security measure to prevent further issues. H1N1 has impacted life here, too, despite no cases having been found here yet.

Thanks

2009-05-10T23:50:00.000-04:00

It's a rainy Sunday. And Mother's Day. It's strange and admittedly a bit heart-wrenching to be walking around Manly alone watching families gather. Everyone is all dressed up, drinking and laughing. It makes me miss my own clan.

For dinner on Sundays, Alex and his cousin have a ritual of Mexican. Worlds away, why not? Let's see how the Aussies do Mexican. And in the joint, turns out there isn't a single Australian working. Even funnier, relays the Italian at the register, this is the only day that no one of Spanish origin is working either. Tacos at the hands of a Romanian turned out just fine. In the spirit of my girl Keri, throw anything in a corn tortilla, and I'll love it!

My last night in Manly, Alex and I cruised to the Shore Bar again. This time the fellas were from Calgary and loved my hair. One had on a Guns 'n Roses tee shirt. First a skeeze-ball, now a Canadian? Knock 'em dead, Anne. We left and wound down the night with a few more beers. Nothing major, a chill goodbye to the beach.

I have to say a quick thanks to Alex. He made my trip to Manly educational, varied and exciting. I saw a side of Manly I never would have without his openness to show the random American girl around. Traveling normally spurs a desire to share, but I was surprised to meet someone in his every day life with that same capacity. The first day of the tour, the only word I said to him was thanks. And I said it a bunch. And rightfully so, it should live on as the last to him to. "Thanks!"

And happy mom's day, Mom! Love you.

Thirties

2009-05-09T22:58:00.003-04:00

This morning, I strolled along a boardwalk from Mark's to the Manly Wharf. They put on a market every Saturday, I'm guessing. I gave Alex, my impromptu personal Manly guide, a ring and we headed out for the day on another tour of northern beaches. He showed me his former apartment in Dee Why, Palm Beach--apparently, the rich people beach, among many other neighborhoods and beaches. He brought his dog along for the ride, too, which was fun. The pup's small but named Zeus. This kid is Greek (technically, half-Greek, sorry, Alex), so go figure.

Now here's where the real fun begins. Apparently, Americans are, well, dumb. Oh, and clueless. That's Alex's impression, at any rate, of people from the US of A. Who knew? We are rumored to believe that kangaroos and koalas live in people's backyards here. Hmm. I'd never even considered that. And then there's the accent thing. I've gotten mocked and laughed at a bit, our slang and vernacular so different from Australian. All in good fun. At certain moments, though, I hope I changed the guy's opinion. The words I use and the way I speak is odd, as it is, I fear for even my closest of friends in the States. For the first time, I wished I'd had my own personal dictionary. Anne-to-English, English-to-Anne.

We talked about our lives, too, and the cities we live in. City culture seems to hinge on the notion that everything is more important. Work, deadlines, appointments, it's all more important than life. Than living. Sitting at the lookout point of a national park and wildlife reserve with Alex and Zeus, staring into the distance of the sea, the water and sky hardly seem separate. Nothing is separate, nothing different from any other thing. Alex says, "As long you can take at least 30 minutes out of your day to enjoy life and appreciate, you'll be fine." Funny. That's exactly what I'm doing. I just have to be sure to take it with me wherever in this life I find myself.

To the Shore Club back on the main drag for the evening, we were Anne, Alex and Anna. Dancing into the evening, we had fun. Anna attracted a guy 10 years her junior. The joys of being in your 30s! I fended off the affections of a scary, much older version. "You're so foxy," in his best Australian accent, was the lead-in line. How could I not laugh? Here's to me, meeting totally random strangers who turn out to be lovely and wonderful people.

And here's to Laurent! She's thirty-something today. Happy birthday, girl!

Touring

2009-05-08T20:34:00.000-04:00

To the Argyle on Sydney Harbour last night for drinks, I met up with Ellen and Mark, two fellow travelers with whom I'd spent time touring South America. Both are headed out again themselves, Mark to France, Ellen back to South America. And Mark offered to let me crash at his place in Manly.

I walked into the bar with my pack and flip-flops. Not cool. The doorman, however, let me into a side room for a bag drop-off and quick change. Excellent. Fashion and presentation are important here. Thankfully, I did bring one dress. Oh, and a pair of heels.

After a few rounds, we headed to Manly. There we went for drinks, and more drinks. And this morning, rather afternoon, I woke up curled up on the floor with a cat. At the house of one of Mark's friends. It's not as bad as it sounds. Really.

Enter Alex. He slept on the sofa a couple of feet away from me and offered me a ride back into town. Score. That ride turned into brunch and beers. And then a tour. We explored the northern beaches, up into the cliffs looking out onto the water. I didn't take any pictures. Sometimes, although rarely, I prefer the moment to live only in my mind. Some memories, experiences I think you just prefer to keep to yourself.

My whole first day spent seeing the beaches of Sydney, Alex shared his country with me. He even let me drive! Now, I have wrecked my share of cars, driving like a loon. But when the gear shift and steering column are on the wrong side of the car? I turned into a grandma. And he, a tough guy, let me know.

We spent the evening at a bar on the main strip overlooking the ocean. One of Alex's buddies lives upstairs, so several people relaxed and enjoyed up there. Mesmerized. I watched the water and the night. I am thankful. A chance meeting with a kind stranger and I've seen a lot.

Manly, baby

2009-05-08T10:08:00.000-04:00

Manly. Yes, I'm in Manly, Australia.

Let's just hope it lives up to its name! Tee, hee!

Sydney Harbour and Harbour Bridge

2009-05-07T21:06:00.004-04:00

It's like a dream. I can't believe I'm here. Sydney Harbour. The Opera House. Who would have ever thought I'd be staring at it? Breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking. And the weather, gorgeous, pales in comparison. I booked a 4:15 Harbour Bridge Climb today. The sun sets about 5 pm, so I'm excited to see the cityscape at dusk and into the night. Cat, my customs official, recommended I hike the bridge. She did let me in the country, so here I am.

Quick word to the wise: if you're going to climb the bridge, and are on vacation like me, don't have more than one beer at lunch before doing so. I just joined my group and there's apparently a breathalyzer test. Right. If you blow more the 0.05%, no climbing for you.

The bridge climb preparation is quite an affair. Having signed a health and insurance wavier and passed the breath test (phew!), you are zipped up into a gray jumpsuit, your belongings left in a locker. No cameras, no spare change, no wallet, the climb has strict regulations, and understandably so. From the highest point, anything dropped onto traffic passing below could cause serious damage.

In the next section, you are equipped with a belt and rolling ball belay, a headlamp, fleece, radio and headset. With a trial run climbing metal ladders, familiarizing everyone with the belay, and a bit of instruction from our guide Chris, off we went.

A group of seven, we were two Aussies, six English and one American. Scratch that. Two Americans, including our guide. I have to admit, I was excited at the prospect of listening to the Aussie accent during our three+ hour climb. But, as it turned out, Chris was from the States. "Which state?" you ask? Georgia. Macon, GA. Small. World.

Somehow in life, I have no fear of heights. I enjoy climbing, love being up in the air. But of the women, I was in the minority. Lucy, the girl behind me, had asthma and a serious fear of heights. The climb begins just underneath the bridge and roadway along a metal grid see-through catwalk. Then you ascend maybe ten vertical ladders, cars whizzing by you on the roadway. Pretty cool.

Up at the top, to the Aussie flags blowing in the breeze, we watched the sun say goodbye and listened to Chris' stories about the city. Given that you cannot take a camera up, your guide takes all photos of you on top of the bridge. Then you have to buy them at the store once back at the bottom, my photos pending. The view is amazing. And the climb fun, though nothing strenuous. But to see the city behind you, the harbour under your feet, it's worth it.

Observations

2009-05-06T20:38:00.002-04:00

Walking through Central Station, the Hare Krishnas and Jehovah's Witnesses are having a turf war! It's like West Side Story, only their weapons are hand cymbals and Awake! magazine.

So Woolworths is a huge chain here, which is surprising. The company in the US and the one here apparently unrelated, I'm shocked a company would choose this name to open a store, launch a brand. But when talking to people about it here, they know nothing about the segregation or sit-ins and boycotts in the 60s in the States. The sign out front even reads welcome. I guess we all have our own history. And I am half a world away, in a different hemisphere, among new generations.

And there's Krispy Kreme here. All of sudden, I'm 13 in the back of someone's dad's van cruising down Ponce to the main store in Atlanta.

And can we talk about another observation Australian? A friend of mine Paul, he's from Melbourne. And he's a bit obsessed with coffee. And now? I get it, Paul. Even at the junkiest spot in the CBD, the coffee annihilates any New York breakfast cart's. It is an art form. And my vow from back in the Cameron Highlands to drink tea instead of coffee? I take it all back. I bow down to the Aussie coffee gods. And will make many offerings.

Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. They drive these cars here, like an updated El Camino. Or some sort of scary blend of a sedan and pick-up. I am not a fan. But I fear I am all alone in that. They're apparently called Utes (yoots), as in utility vehicles. Oh, they make me giggle!

CBA

2009-05-06T14:32:00.002-04:00

I met an old friend today for lunch. It's not so much that either of us is old, thank you very much, but that I've known her now almost half my life. We shared details of our lives over bowls of soup.

Originally, we met the first day of university, a long time ago now. The two years we were both there happened to be some of the most personally embarrassing, disappointing and trying moments of my life even still. It has always been difficult for me, feeling somewhat trapped by those memories, as though to her I've never been anyone different or beyond who she knew then.

A different person I am in many ways, still the same in some, I wonder if she feels the same. We grow. We change. We are at best vague reflections of those memories passed. And all in all, it's more comforting to know a person for a long time, I think, than to strike a match and watch your friendship burn out. To see the changes we all go through, input or none. To share.

And when I look back on it, she taught me how to share. At Runk Dining Hall (the horror!), she always used to nibble off my plate. To the point where I'd get more of things in order to accommodate. Looking back, we should have shared a meal today, in honor of those days.

Whatever happens, I'll be happy to know her, however long it may be. It's funny to think that someday we may be staring at each other across a table, grayed and withered. Til then, and even then, nothing but the best, girl!

Customary?

2009-05-05T20:52:00.003-04:00

Ever heard of the Australian Inquisition? Neither had I. Until this morning. Boy did I get stopped at customs and searched. For over an hour. I'd asked the quarantine people (idiot!) about a stupid bag of pistachio nuts the bartender gave me last night. For free--ain't nothing in life for free. And they snagged my immigration card and mucked it all up. Awesome. Guess I'm the lucky one from this flight to get inspected. Me and my mouth.

Customs unpacked every single thing, from my purse, from my luggage. And then twenty minutes later, I got swabbed. Well, my stuff did, not so much me. And upon return, I was pleased to learn that my bag tested positive for narcotics. Oh really?!? Who knew my folks had using my bag to smuggle narcotics in and out of Singapore? Where the punishment for drug smuggling is, yes, execution.

Second swab of a different area of my bag, the bag itself carted off to be x-rayed, then came the rapid-fire. "Who are you staying with in Sydney? What are you planning to do in Sydney? Why'd you book your visa only three days prior? Where have you been traveling? Alone or with friends? What do your parents do in Singapore? Have you taken drugs since traveling? Anything recreational? Do you have any drugs on you?" My responses harried. "I have two Advil Liqui-gels in my bag..." Nerd. "Do you have any friends in Sydney? How did you meet them? Where did you go to university? What do you do for a living? How do you make your money? How much money do you make a week?" This cannot be happening. And on no sleep on the overnight flight, and two cups of coffee. Can you say edgy?

My turn, "So what if the second swab comes up positive?" My customs agent replies, "Then, we'll have to do a third and final swab." And me, "What if that comes back positive?" Her: "We'll deal with that when it happens." Great.

Back to her. "Do you have anything in your pockets?" My answer, "Just my baggage claim check." "Do you have anything strapped to you under your clothes?" And the best of the best, "No. I am not a smuggler. I am no mule!" Yes, I said that.

Blood pressure through the roof, you hear stories about people slipping things into your bags but it's in Bolivia or Kazhakstan or somewhere really far away from me right now and far more developing a country than Singapore or Australia, right?? Is this really happening?

"So, miss, the second swab came back negative." "WHAT?!?" "No, no...I said negative! You've been very cooperative with all your answers. Thank you for that. You're free to go." Shaking. I was shaking. So, my customs agent's name was Cat as it turned out. And she intimated, "You've nothing to worry about if you're innocent." HA! Right. I've traveled a fair amount of the world and never had that kind of treatment, innocent all the while. She then started helping me repack my bag. "Woah woah woah!" I pretty much shouted. "Please, please, step away from my bag. Don't touch my stuff, no offense. I've got it." After that kind of scare, I'd rather deal with my stuff with mine own hands.

As I entered the bathroom to gather myself, on the verge of tears, I turned to my right, and on the wall was a syringe disposal. The irony. Welcome to Sydney.

Fall in May

2009-05-05T09:10:00.000-04:00

It smells like fall. "And the leaves that are green turn to brown..." (Simon & Garfunkel). Nice. Clean. It feels like late October. Football, pumpkins, sweaters, cider. Wait...it's May?!? Funny how the weather can confuse.

Sydney's fall is funny, with New York's as a touchstone. Some people are in full winter gear, hats, scarves. Others in summer dresses and flip-flops (thongs, as they call them). It's hot in the sun, cold once the sun sets. And at first glance, the city is much more culturally mixed than Singapore. Multicultural, even among native Aussies (pronunciation: Ozzies). I like. I have to admit, the people seem a bit more tawdry here, though. Bleached out beach culture, fashion trendier than classic. More LA than NYC. Granted, I've only been here for 6+ hours. Who am I to judge?

I'm having a Kilkenny at Paddy Maguire's, in homage to South Park. The bartender is from the Czech Republic, working, from what he says, among Irish. How is it that all over the world the bartenders are Irishmen? I guess we do what we're good at. And we do what we like. The song Joey just came on in the music rotation. I'm defecting.

Here's the next plan. To live spring and fall only. Travel the globe chasing the two, or perpetually escaping hot and cold. Forget the extremes. I'm going to live moderation in the moderate. Ha. What a laugh. To travel to spots all over the world that would allow me to live out those two seasons only for the next two years. Nothing dieing, dormant. Only life anew and the hint of winding down. Then, I'm off! But I wonder. Would you then spring forward in October? And fall back in May? Oh, me. Time is constant, regardless of who keeps it.

On dasher

2009-05-04T23:45:00.002-04:00

Classic. Another classic move from this one.

Chilling, doing some writing, after a lovely salmon fillet and salad, my moms asks, "So. What time is your flight tomorrow?" I'm headed to Sydney for a week or so. Lackadaisically, I wander over to my email to check. "It says I leave Tuesday at 00:25 hundred hours!?!? WAIT...that's just after midnight, right? I'm leaving in a couple of hours??" Mad dash to pack. Thank god she asked.

A drink in hand, belly up to the airport bar, I've made it. Man, I am off my game. And here I'd thought I'd have a day or so to get an itinerary set for Sydney. Guess not. Going to dive right in. But I am the luckiest girl in the world. I can go anywhere. Do anything.

Chinatown

2009-05-04T21:23:00.001-04:00

We spent the afternoon in Chinatown. Just inside the doors of the People's Park complex, you're hit with quite a strong odor. Tiger balm. It's referred to as the perfume of choice for the mature Chinese woman. And I'm guessing a whole of lot of them must shop here.

To Yum Cha for lunch, it's Singapore's most well-known dim sum spot. All sorts of steamed delights. Barbeque pork, prawns. Tasty. Chinatown in Singapore is much nicer than Chinatown in New York. Or Kuala Lumpur, for that matter. I picked up a few things here and there, a mahjong set being one of them. And you thought I was joking...

We closed out the day visiting the Buddha tooth relic temple. We did a quick stroll more than an intensified tour. As it stands, the tooth has been proved not to be from the Buddha's mouth. But those who believe believe still. Along the left side of the temple, workers were loading a truck full of orchids to be tossed. What a shame to see something of such beauty and rarity chucked in the back of a pick-up.

White Tiger

2009-05-03T04:20:00.002-04:00

Now, here's a book I'd recommend: White Tiger, by Aravind Adiga. The story of a kid growing up in a poor, rural village, this novel paints a rough if unflattering portrait of real-life in India. In letters to a Chinese official, the narrator and protagonist Balram reviews the twists and turns of his life, revealing the dark and light, the ying and yang of everything around him.

A rite of passage story, the reader is drawn in by Balram's innocence and naivete. He is a meager son of India, among so many just like him. Pulled from school to support his family, Balram's last name identifies him as a part of the sweets-makers caste and he gets work in a tea shop. With a lucky break, he manages to get a job as driver, moving up in the world. But taken to the city, far from his family and village, he changes.

Living among the wealthy, he eavesdrops on conversations, learning, listening. Still a servant, however, he cannot pass through the bars of his caste cage. As the caged white tiger, Balram watches and waits. And in another stroke of luck, he seizes a chance opening of the gate, pouncing on any standing in his way to freedom. Violent in action and sly in reaction, he manages to avoid punishment for his wrongdoing and make it in society. But once Balram frees himself his cage, he gives more respect to those still in their cages than those who've broken free. A boss, rich, respected, the white tiger identifies with and provides for those who remind him of who he once was.

Corruption among the higher castes, their abuses visited upon those below them, the author spares none in this work. While a quick read, the story is full of details an outsider can appreciate, from men's addictions to chewing betel nuts to the difference in deposit value of empty liquor bottles. Adiga does not spare religion in this work either. Hinduism a mask for Balram, a formality, he uses it as a ploy to better his situation. A true entrepreneur. Likewise, prejudice against Muslims surfaces in the novel. India, a melting pot, and, as Adiga describes it, ready to boil.

Black and white

2009-05-02T21:11:00.000-04:00

Another day of rain. Another bummer. So, to the streets I go.

I am fascinated with graffiti around the world. I'm fascinated by a lot, let's be honest.

While far from an artist myself, although hopefully a creative person, I am interested in people and their work. Globally. Tags, art, stories, perspectives, which and whatever. Whether a simple message, political stance, or art for art's sake, the images with which we choose to surround ourselves speak to life. And while a fair amount of work is needed on my part to give credit where credit is due, hopefully, some exposure is better than none. Indeed, I am far behind.

While wildlife and nature are what Borneo is known for, things haven't worked out exactly as I'd hoped while here. So this shall remain my impression of Borneo and a different kind of wildlife.

The images in this post are from an abandoned lot in Kota Kinbalu. White columns, the bones of a building yet to be erected, have been made into a makeshift gallery. The power of the image shared equally in the hands of the artist and the eyes of those looking.

Critters

2009-05-01T23:08:00.000-04:00

"It's raining, raining. Ooh, baby it's raining..." I'm neither a fan of Rihanna or, today, of the rain. Yesterday spent in the mountains, today's supposed to be the day for snorkeling and a hopeful beginning of a SCUBA certification. With poor visibility and high winds, we won't be checking out any ocean critters today. We were planning to island hop, too, but sitting in the rain on an isolated island? I don't think so. There's always tomorrow! And a bit of a slap in the face, just before dusk, the skies cleared and the sun came out. Another gorgeous sunset, the day doesn't feel like such a loss, the sun having shown its face at least to kiss us goodnight.

And how wrong I was. Our dining experience this evening was one of a kind. Port View restaurant on the water in KK is unique. Just inside the front door, welcome to a wall of fish. Greeted by aquariums stacked to the ceiling, massive tiger prawns stuck in plastic Coke bottles, a rainbow of fishes, lobster, you pick your poison at Port View. At varying prices per gram or kilo, the daily catch is yours to be had.

Once at a table, the house menu offers a long list of supplemental dishes, veggies, chicken, soups, rice. Wine, beer, Chinese tea, fresh juices, while nice, remain at best sideshows to the fish. It's a good idea to make it an early dinner in order to get the freshest selection. Suggestions of cooking styles for the fish also vary, but I'd stick to steamed were I you. We had prawns sauteed in garlic, a bit of overkill. Oh yeah! And there is a show, too! Dancers squeal and squawk past diners to take the stage in a revived tribal number or two.

Note: having investigated the restaurant a bit online, watch out for endangered species being enthusiastically suggested and sold at special prices, passed off as, for example, parrot fish. Buyer do beware.

Akira

2009-05-01T13:20:00.001-04:00

Just a quick shout to one of my buddies. This one's for you, Les! Miss you, love you.

Kinabalu

2009-04-30T18:26:00.002-04:00

The mountain is not going to happen for me. May 1st is a holiday, for all of Asia, it seems. As well, while heading to Borneo to hike Mt. Kinabalu without a tour package is said to be possible, it ain't easy. One company owns the overnight lodging on the mountain, another the permits required to hike. From what I've learned, you have to travel to the park (minimum 2 hours from town) to see if there are any cancellations for the following day, and at that, there's no guarantee anyone will have canceled. Especially on a holiday.

The mountain itself is about 12,000 feet, the summit granite which you have to pull yourself up with ropes at certain points. I have to admit, I'm bummed. Not in the best shape of my life, it would have certainly been a challenge. At the same time, I'm strong and was looking forward to the challenge.

We did visit the National Park and hot springs though today, and walked a canopy through the trees. Our first stop in a local village, the people chew betel nuts. It looks like a tiny red cigar poking out of their mouths, and leaves a red film on their lips, teeth and tongue. Does anyone else remember Mercurachrome? My dad used to use it on, well, any and everything that ailed. Inside the park, a short hike up to the canopy walk, my mom got two steps out and flipped out. Unsteady, giggly, you walk on 2X8 planks of wood through the treetops, holding onto ropes with a net lining on either side. Rereading this, it doesn't sound all that safe, I guess. Sandwiched between my dad and me, though, the moms made it. At one point, she turned to my dad and said, "I'd get in her pocket if I could." Hell, I figured. She carried me around for 9+ months. Least I could do.

P.S. Does the end of the walk look like a heart to anyone else but me?

Dancing Queen

2009-04-29T11:42:00.000-04:00

The day spent getting to know Kota Kinabalu, we walked along the water. And walked. And walked. Sometimes what looks like a short distance on a map turns into, well, 7 more kilometers. We eventually found Down Below Dive Shop and reviewed options. I'm hoping for a lot of things here in Borneo. There's a mountain to climb and I'd love to get SCUBA certified. We'll see.

To the sunset at the Shangri-La, there cannot be a better sunset view in all of KK. Oh, and there's a fire show to boot!

After dinner, I went out for a little karoake. Why the hell not? I think people are intrigued by me here, a single girl, different. Or maybe it's pity. If I'm a curiosity, probably less so once I open my mouth. Granted, I did start out with Sweet Child O Mine. Still, the bartender befriended me. Shocker. The only girl drinking Chivas, I'm sure. Another girl befriended me, too. We sang ABBA together and lit the place (all three occupied tables) on fire. From Borneo and only 24, but married with two kids, and dating her husband's best friend, she told me her story. Hurting her parents, her husband, abandoning her kids, all that conflicting with her desire to be free. Guilt and more guilt, she turned to me for some answers. Who am I to say anything? All I have is freedom. She thinks she's selfish for not returning to her family and husband. And talk about some guilt. For me? Guilt doesn't exist. If you are true to your heart and honest about it, you cannot feel guilty.

Then she showed me the cuts on her wrist. I swear. All over this earth, people are hurting. And I just want to spread love. We can all be happy. And live our dreams. How? How does it happen? How do we make it happen for all of us? Having the time of your life...and not just in a song?

A little rain

2009-04-28T00:29:00.000-04:00

And it's a downpour. Leaving Singapore today, I survived the scariest cab ride of my life. The driver's hands shook on the wheel for most of the drive. Hugging the right lane of a three-lane highway, I have no idea what the man was thinking. You couldn't see a thing in front of the car. And lights are an afterthought in the daytime. Getting splashes from the flood rising in the well on the right, along with the wake left by cars passing on the left, I wish I'd been driving. Speaking of, it's still weird hopping into the left front seat of a car and not driving...

Once at the airport, under the awning out of the rain, the driver let out a sigh. You know, you may be sweating but it's a whole different thing when you know your driver (or pilot) is flipping out, too.

So...Borneo, here we come!

The Singapore Zoo

2009-04-27T23:33:00.003-04:00

While my parents live here in Singapore, me? I'm still a tourist. To the zoo!
Just a few steps inside the zoo, we were greeted by tamarins. Chilling in a tree, in the middle of the entrance. No cage, no fencing. You can just reach out and touch someone, no AT&T necessary. Two tiny little black and white monkeys. Right there! How's that for a good start?

On to mousedeer, false gharials (like crocodiles) and proboscis monkeys. Singapore has the largest collection of proboscis monkeys in the world. They've had great success breeding them. They just look funny. Like they should be telling jokes to every visitor that cruises by. Were there ever a stand-up comedian of the monkey family, the proboscis would be it.

And white tigers. White and brown striped with blue or green eyes, the three lazed around in the afternoon heat. Omar, Winnie and Jippie are their names. Singapore also has a night safari, too, but the sightings are limited. I hear the best of it is the cats growling while prowling. Did you know that all tigers are Asian?

Oh, and I fell in love today at the zoo! The pygmy hippo?!? I've never been to much of a hippo lover, but this thing is the cutest creature I have ever seen. It scoots along the bottom, too dense to float or swim, and has been named the underwater ballerina of West Africa. I love it! Tiptoeing through the rivers of Africa, they can hold their breath for up to 6 minutes.

While zoos tend to depress me, creatures locked up, out of their normal habitats, the Singapore zoo seems so much freer. Kangaroos hopping around, curious emus hoping you have a snack, it's a much more interactive zoo than I've seen. Cranes and storks cruise far overhead pilfering food from flightless flamingos.

There are polar bears here, too, which surprised me a bit. A mother and son pair, Sheba and Inuka respectively, the son is the first polar bear to have been born in Singapore. They live year-round in an air-conditioned 16 degree Celsius space. We attended a feeding of the bears and watched Inuka hunt live fish in the water. From what the feeder said, at birth, he weighed about one pound. Now, however, at 18 years of age and full grown, he weighs over 1200 pounds. Damn! In the spirit of the polar bear, I guess, the woman next to me had on black jeans and a turtleneck. In 30+ Celsius...that's 90+ F.

And have you ever seen a mandril? No, it's not a bluegrass instrument, although it does have a blue, well, bum. A long red bridge of a nose, blue cheeks and a white beard compliment pink, purple and blue fur on its tail end. Astonishing. My camera battery died, so unfortunately no pics. Boo his. But a baby orang utan stole the show today. Ropes link trees together in the orang utan exhibit, but in the heat most of them seek shelter. The only baby of the group, however, did a bit of showing off. Holding on with his right arm and leg, he stretched his body out, hanging. Then, switched to the other side. And then he did cartwheels along the rope, all the while watching us watching him. At times at the Singapore zoo, it's hard to know who is on display.

Yes, Kha!

2009-04-25T23:00:00.001-04:00

Singaporeans love to eat. So they say, they themselves, even. And this country is such a mix of people, you can find different fare on every corner.

This evening we opted for Thai at Kha in Hort Park. Talk about a gorgeous location, the restaurant offers outdoor seating on a reflection pool or a back patio, as well as cooler seats indoors. We arrived just as the sun set. Striking.

It's hard to surmise when abroad what exactly defines fine food and service. In Singapore, it seems as though locals assess three things when dining. One: quality (and of course freshness). Two: service. The third factor, however, seems to vary with respect to the first two, as though there were a sliding scale of some sort. Three: cost. So if there's excellent food, no service but cheap prices, a place may still get a great review. On the other hand, if quality is mediocre, but service is great and the prices are cheap, the place may still have a queue. If, however, the prices are high and either of the other two factors are less than stellar, the restaurant will get crucified in reviews and word-of-mouth. What's also interesting is that the service here is usually lacking. You have to flag people down, at times having had a hand raised throughout the meal.

So, Kha. I looked up its translation, and I believe it means yes when spoken by a woman. In that case, kha! I loved it. One waiter had teeth jutting from his mouth like Stonehenge, charming. Another, who is Thai, made recommendations that were lovely. We started with a sampler of salmon, chicken and crab cake, as well as a pomelo salad. As the main courses arrive, the staff walks around with rice buckets, white or red, as much as you'd like. I had a spicy beef stir-fry. It made me sweat but wasn't too grave a challenge. I also drank Duvel with dinner, a welcome respite from the knee-jerk of Tiger beer. All in all, Kha has been one of the best places I've eaten since here.

Another funny observation, people take their kids to dinner at all hours. In New York, 5 pm meals are for bartenders who've just gotten up and parents of small children, affectionately known as romper room (in either case). Kids here, however, run amuck all hours of the night!

The waves

2009-04-24T18:53:00.005-04:00

Today we took a walk along the Southern Ridges Tree Top Walk. An elevated walk in Singapore that leads you into the trees, you pass local flora and fauna and catch nice views of the water in the distance. Up to the top of the hill, we passed the Alkaff Mansion. What I imagine once was a gorgeous mansion, the grounds of late are in in serious disrepair. Previously a restaurant and venue for special occasions, the mansion's beauty and glory now are left only to the imagination.

An architect's playground, the Henderson Waves section of the walk is a blend of function and whimsy. Thin wooden planks pieced together in a never-ending wave, it's a skateboarder's dream come true. Of course, skateboarding is prohibited...Singapore. The rest stops along the waves mirror the walk, another set of waves themselves. It's cool.

The walk leads to the cable cars over to Sentosa, a hip beach spot for Singapore. In our car, a gentleman asked if he could join us. Not a problem, he turned out to be Percy, Sales and Marketing Director for the whole cable car facility. We chatted, a welcome distraction for my mom who is not keen on heights. Percy shared that a big announcement is to be made Monday about the cable cars. He wouldn't tell us what the big news was...but I guessed it. A new cable car model is going to be added to the ride. I hope they have clear floors so you can see the ocean under your feet!

In the cars, you get a good view of Singapore's shipping and freight docks. Huge containers stacked one upon another upon another, it's big business. And the Singapore Merlion, the main one, peaks out from Sentosa island, keeping watch over the city. Off the cable car, we opted to go up into the head of the Merlion. A short introduction tells the story of the first prince to land in Singapore being greeted by a ferocious lion. The two met eyes, according to the story, and in a moment of understanding agreed to live in peace. And so, the Merlion has become the symbol of Singapore.

Down to Siloso Beach, we grabbed some lunch at Coastie's. Peel-and-eat shrimp and a pitcher of Carlsberg. Now, we're talking! Feet in the sand, drink in hand, we relaxed listening to the waves of the South China Sea hit the shore. With eyes closed, you could be anywhere in the world. But open, the view is unmistakable. Barges, rows of them, line the ocean like a parking lot. Singapore and commerce go together like beach and beer.

Mahjong!

2009-04-23T23:10:00.002-04:00

Oh me, oh my, I have crossed into a new territory, people. I played mahjong today! Eight women and a lovely lil lunch in the middle of the day, we played mahjong all afternoon.

Having grown up playing cards, the rules are easy to follow. Two tables set up with the tiles in the middle, you deal counter clockwise around the table. A game of suits, you collect pairs, threes and fours of a kind and runs. It's fun. And I had a blast!

Games tell a lot about a person, whether sneaky or a straight-shooter, whether points-concerned or just in it for fun. I enjoyed sizing up my mom's friends and they me. I won a few games at the beginning. Beginner's luck. But once the game got going, they made mincemeat of me.

Don't be surprised if I come back to the States with a set for each of you! Especially you, Gladys and Roni!

Under ground

2009-04-22T18:24:00.000-04:00

Today, we headed to Arab Street. Strange saying it, even stranger writing it, but it is so. There is a street here named just that. And along this street and throughout the area, you can find an assortment of items. The typical souvenirs, rugs, jewelry, non-alcoholic perfume, clothing. We saw a store with a row of tunics and matching veils side-by-side a velvet wall hanging of Jesus. Unusual.

They say that Singapore is a fine city, as in, you get fined for everything, chewing gum, defacing property, et al. But I couldn't imagine that any cosmopolitan place in the world wouldn't have graffiti. And so, down what is said to be the smallest street in Singapore, Haji Lane, I tapped into Singapore's graffiti community. A funky little strip of cafes, shops, galleries, Haji Lane is the most outside-the-box place of this tiny rhombus of a country. If anything is underground in Singapore, this is it. You can relax and smoke a hookah or buy second-hand Japanese brand clothing. Shop-houses on the second level are decorated with artistic elements. On Haji, anything goes, within governmental reason, of course.

Around the corner, I saw the first Muslim cemetery of my life. A plot of land, covered in cement stones that resemble large chess pieces, extended out behind one of the mosques. No indication of who had been buried where, if anywhere, I was left with more questions than answers, intrigued and wanting to know more.

I also entered the first mosque of my life today. Removing my shoes and covering my shoulders, I was met by a guide who reviewed the house rules. No video cameras, no shoes, appropriate covering of body parts, no stepping on the carpet and no going up the stairs. Ok. I walked in expecting something. The hidden secrets of what? Allah only knows. Having been prevented from entering the mosque we visited before, and my mom every other mosque she'd ever visited, there is something taboo, forbidden crossing the threshold. But honestly, the main prayer room looked like a hotel convention room, minus the tables and chairs, with an alcove at the end. Fully carpeted, well-lit. I believe the alcove at the end is the qibla, indicating the direction of Mecca.

From what I understand, Islam discourages idolatry and excess, favoring simplicity. It was indeed simple. There were no embossed crucifixions, no ornate pews or chandeliers, no microphone system for the preacher. A few men came and went, as did women, although they are relegated to the balcony to pray, hidden from view by a screen. Different bindings of the Koran were available on shelves throughout the main room, and a wheelchair lift was hidden in the back.

Let's face it. Islam is a mystery to me. From customs of women being required to cover themselves to hearing of eight year-old girls being married off to fifty year-old men in Saudi Arabia, I struggle to untangle and understand what it is to be Muslim. For the women. For the men. But in a mosque today, it seemed no different than praying in any church, temple, synagogue. Although I have to admit, the thought of being put up in the balcony reminded me of scenes in the movie To Kill a Mockingbird. Only in this instance, we'd all be segregated by genitalia.

In the know, la?

2009-04-21T22:58:00.001-04:00

I have been in Singapore now for the longest stay of this trip so far, enjoying time with my parents and seeing what has been their city for a few years now. Every day is an education here. It is a curious world of difference.

Singaporeans add the syllable "la" into conversation at their leisure, though usually at the end of a sentence. And articles as well as verb tenses are generally deemed useless. For example, if you say, "I'm going to pick up some wine. Do you need anything?" The response from a Singaporean could be, "No need, la." Ok. Or when booking an appointment to have your refrigerator fixed, you may ask, "Can you come at three?" The response, "Three fix refrigerator? Can. Can," the 'can can' part said in rapid fire like it were one word. Cancun, only Cancan. And when you say, "thank you," the return is, "welcome!" This language is called, yep, you guessed it, Singlish. And my mom has become surprisingly fluent!

I am confused on when to say what and on what applies to whom. The ethnic make-up of Singapore is mostly Chinese, then Malaysian, then Indian. They all know who they are and who everyone else is. And among those populations generalizations are made of each. To live here is to know who is what and who thinks what of whom. For me, I remain a deer in headlights.

Here are a few things I've noted, nonetheless. Those who work in construction most often look West Asian, whether Indian, Bengali or Nepali I know not. But for lunch, they usually find a shady place to nap, under a bridge or tree. I have only met one Philippina so far and her English (not Singlish) was amazing. She was a waitress at the Long Bar at Raffles Hotel, but typically they are known to work as maids. While cleaning people's apartments may not seem like paradise, it can get worse. A couple was hauled into court recently for allegedly abusing their Philippina maid. Yikes! Also, worse still, many maids live in a tiny room off the main apartment, no electricity, no air conditioning, no bathroom. There is a "maid's room" in my parents' flat, where no one lives. I am no Michael Phelps, but my wingspan extended I could touch the walls. So, it's probably 5 feet by 6 feet.

And outside the windows of many apartment buildings and HDB flats (government housing), laundry dries on long poles hanging out the windows. People joke that this is the official flag of Singapore. A woman was reported to have died this month, falling from her 8th floor apartment, leaning out the window to bring in the laundry.

Also, the government rules the country with what is called economic freedom and social control. I'm not exactly sure what all that means. But as for social control, here's an example. The language a child learns in public school here is dictated by the origin of the father. Were a Singaporean woman of Chinese descent to marry a Singaporean man of Indian descent, their children would learn Tamil in school, for example, as well as English. Were the father of Chinese descent, however, the children would learn Mandarin. Children are taught their "mother tongue," the word mother referring to the father's family's country of origin, the child's mother and her native tongue irrelevant. It's strange to me that kids in the same schools would be required to learn a language based upon ethnicity rather than a choice extended to the family of that child. Oh, well. There's always private school, right?

But here's what I wonder. Why not just teach English only? Singaporean isn't a language and they have adapted English to serve their needs (a former British colony). Here's the catch. From what I've read, the government needs this type of curriculum in order to maintain this "multi-racial" society. Mind you, it is not multi-cultural, as the cultures remain quite distinct. But aren't we all in the human race? Still, Singapore's government is founded on and maintained by keeping these distinctions. A non-Singaporean cannot own land. But even a Singaporean landowner has rules on to whom he can sell the property. In ways like these, the government controls its population, no lines blurred. Likewise, if charged of a crime, you see a judge in court. There is no jury of your peers, no difference of opinion. And if found guilty, the punishment can range from a fine, to caning, to execution. A woman just got of the bus in a t-shirt that reads, "Legalize it." The fine print of the shirt indicates that it refers to legalizing gum.

As for economic freedom? Singapore thrives, many banking institutions set up shop here. And shipping is huge. And have I mentioned oil? From my parents' window, you can see the occasional bursts of flame from the top of a refinery. But with social control, it's hard to imagine that true freedom in anything can exist. A quirky place for me, I cannot wait for what tomorrow may bring.

Asian Civilizations Museum

2009-04-20T23:02:00.000-04:00

To the Asian Civilizations Museum today, we joined a guided tour reviewing the museum's temporary and permanent exhibitions. Covering history as far west as India over to China and into southeast Asia, this part of the world has such a fascinating history and intermingling of culture, religion and customs.

The tour began with a discussion of Buddhism. Our guide told the story of the Buddha Siddhartha. A holy man having predicted at birth that Siddhartha would be either a great ruler or a man of wisdom, his father (also a king) kept him behind closed doors most of his early life to seal his son's fate as a ruler. Overcome with curiosity of the outside world, at age 29 Siddhartha took a ride to see the beyond the walls of what had been his world. On this journey, he encountered four things that would change his life from then on: an old man, a sick man, a corpse and an ascetic. Having never witnessed suffering, old age, disease and death were a shock to him. Of equal impact was the ascetic's refusal of society and its trappings, and his focus on ridding himself of fear and suffering. Siddhartha returned to the palace, pondered what he'd seen, and ended up renouncing the life he had to embark upon a quest for enlightenment. As a Buddha, Siddhartha discouraged any worship of him, and upon his death requested that his image remain anonymous. In homage, nonetheless, people made imprints of his feet, or represented him as the lotus. Tidbit: Buddhas are said to have toes that are all the same in length.

Discussions of headhunter tribes of Borneo, the story of Ganesh and why he has the head of an elephant, an exhibition on the Singapore river, the museum has quite a collection.

Most recently, they are running an exhibit on KiangXi the Manchu emperor of the Qing dynasty in China. KiangXi took the throne at age 8 and ruled for 60 years, the longest rule even still of any Chinese emperor. I don't know much about China's history, so for me, the exhibit was especially informative. KiangXi seems to have been a Renaissance man, in purest sense of the word. Involved in every aspect of his empire and far beyond, he encouraged dialogue and study of military training, arts, religion, science from all parts of the globe. An open-minded human being and yet disciplined, he had a personal lust for life and knowledge ranging from archery to calligraphy. He helped to fuse ideas from Europe with Chinese tradition. The crown jewel of the exhibit, according to our guide, is a small vase from KiangXi's time period. What makes the piece so special is its blend of European and Chinese design on porcelain, along with its authenticity mark engraved on the bottom. Maybe five inches in height, the piece is so rare, most vases from this period damaged or broken if still in existence. The museum had to take out a huge insurance policy for this piece alone. The tropics don't lend such a favorable climate to the preservation of artifacts and antiques.

300 and Ginger

2009-04-19T17:40:00.001-04:00

Sundays, ahh, Sundays. For more years than I can recall, I have worked on Sunday mornings. Brunch is a big production in the city. But today was none of that!

And what's more, I got to watch a movie. Oh, delight! And while it may not be the best movie in the world, I watched 300. An especially nostalgic movie for me, the first and last time I saw it was in Vilcabamba, Ecuador. I had been traveling with Alejandro and our dog Ginger for a few months, that week in Vilcabamba to be the final in our shared journey. Alejandro and I...we had lots of fun, talk about some dancing! But Ginger utterly adored me and I her. Watching this movie took me back.

The owner of the hostel in Vilcabamba had dogs. Big ones. And Ginger, who fully grown still fit in my hands, never seemed to realize that a big dog could and would eat her in one bite. The lounge where everyone watched movies had hammocks hanging from the ceiling. And that little puppy lounged in her own or on someone's lap. She was full of energy when the time was right, and so chill when necessary, too. I miss her even still and hope she's having fun!

Street walkers

2009-04-18T16:56:00.003-04:00

Today, we cruised the neighborhood called Geylong to pick up the aforementioned charger. Rad was staying in what is known as the red-light district in Singapore. Funny how blue-light these districts are in the daytime. His hostel is directly across from a Methodist elementary school, to boot. Irony.

I climbed the stairs to the first floor where a middle-aged Chinese woman greeted me. I asked her for the charger, mentioning Rad's name. "Oh, no. Rad left this morning." Here we go again. I reiterated that I was there for the charger and said my name. Ahhh, magic words. She unlocked the office and presented it. I jumped into the air a couple of times. Then hugged her. She smiled and even giggled a little, but I think I made her uncomfortable with that move. After several thank yous and a couple of bows, I was out the door. Luck renewed, camera able to be properly recharged! Seriously, I couldn't believe it. Something like that is not important in the grand scheme of things, but that someone was willing to make it a big deal, hauling it wherever he went for weeks? Well, I'm touched. Thanks, Rad. Thanks.

Back to my now two-week tour of Singapore, next we checked out the main post office, nothing too wild, but it affords a good view of the city. Even though this city, state, country is so small, I still seem unable to get my bearings. We walked through a Malaysian market (mostly headscarves and tunics for sale among fruits and veggies), and passed Malay Village. Many Malays here used to live in communities called kampongs, traditional communities, only one of which still inhabited remains in Singapore and is on the verge of demolition.

We walked along rows of historic shop-houses, storefronts on the street level, apartments upstairs. A new karoake bar among them, the people here send flowers for openings. A gesture of luck and hope in new beginnings, it's funny to see flower arrangements dedicated, "All the best to 'Love You, Karaoke'!"

We stopped for laksa for lunch! I first had it in CH in Malaysia. My favorite, here it is a soup with coconut milk broth, noodles, shrimp, laksa leaves, fishcake, chilis and cockles. Famous 49 Katong Laksa does a great job. Sitting at a table on the side of the road with a jug of lime juice, you just don't care how hot the temperature is.

Rad is Rad

2009-04-17T23:36:00.011-04:00

You know, sometimes in life I am a bit superstitious. When a decision has yet to be made about a topic in my life or a question remains unanswered, and I am no longer able to influence the outcome whatsoever, I throw my hands up. Surrender. Let it go. Fine, I may obsess about it a little still (no comments, peanut gallery), but what's going to happen with it will. Enter Rad.

I left my camera battery and charger charging in the Cameron Highlands the morning I left, weeks ago now. And on the bus fifteen minutes down the curvy mountain road on the way out of CH, I realized it. I couldn't exactly ask the bus to turn around, although I considered it. The schedule alone would prevent the turn back. Not to mention, where would a bus make a U-ie on a two-lane mountain road? So, at our first stop, two hours later, I called the Lodge (Daniel's Lodge) and asked the lovely woman working the counter if she could pass it to Rad, one of the guy's staying in my dorm. I had met him officially only that morning before leaving CH and we exchanged email addresses. Here's how my first phone call on a Malaysian pay phone went:

Shuffling through receipts, aHA! I found the receipt for my bed and called the number at the top. Up walked the bus driver as I'm dialing, my purse spilling it contents on top of a trash bin. What a mess.

"Yes, hi. My name is Anne." I said to the woman on the phone. "I just left the Lodge this morning and I left my battery and charger there. Charging..."
"Bus is leaving," says the driver. "Wait! I left something at my hotel in CH. Can you just wait a moment?" I reply. He hovers and lights a smoke.
"Hello? Hello? Hello??" says the woman.
"Hello? Yes, hello!?!" Repeat my lead in.
"Oh, yes! Hello, Anne!"
"Yes, Yes! Hello! Do you see my charger and battery? Are they still there?"
"A small square one?
"Yes, yes! Can you leave the them with Rad? He's in the same dorm I was in?"
"Sorry...what?" Another Malaysian 50 cen piece into the phone.
Repeat.
"Rad? Rad is not here right now," she informed me.
"No, no. Can you leave my charger with Rad when you see him next??"
"Oh, yes, Rad? Sure!"
"You'll leave my charger with Rad?"
"Sure, I'll give it to Rad. No problem."
"Ok, ok! Thank you so much!"

Phew. I hung up. Have I mentioned that one could use an interpreter at times, even though all parties are speaking English? The driver draws a circle with his hand pointing at my bag. Accomplished, I wanted to give him a high-five, but it didn't exactly work out.

Now, I know it sounds silly. A battery and charger? But my second day in Singapore, my camera battery almost dead, we cruised the electronics mall for a replacement. Two asides: in Malaysia and Singapore, like goes with like. There is a mall for electronics, a luxury goods mall, a mall for massages. Sometimes, one mall may diversify and simply do a floor of each, one floor hairdressers, the next shoes, the next Oriental rugs, and so on. Also, in Singapore there is apparently a discount for every single thing. It's an expensive city, so people are always looking to save dough. Back to the charger, we couldn't find the same one. So I picked up one that would suffice, although didn't ask for the discount, and, therefore, the dude didn't give me one. Bastard!

So, again feeling superstitious about having lost the first thing on my trip, and unable to find another one, I panicked! My mind starts to think, "Uh, oh, your luck is running out..." Silly, right? Not to mention, now my charger is going to be passed to a random guy who doesn't even really know me. And me, I have to do my best to be charming (no problem), and yet subtle about asking if someone I hardly know could get me my charger (a bit more problematic for me).

Over the period of the last three weeks, Rad and I exchanged a couple of emails. Nothing dire, but I expressed the difficulty associated with losing the charger. I offered to meet up with him, even head back to CH, whatever worked best with his travel plans. And, then, I let it go. A week and a half of no response and today, I got an email from him. He left the charger and battery in a hostel in Singapore. He held on to them for weeks, and left them practically on my folks' doorstep. God bless him. Good people do good things. And sometimes things just work out. Superstitious I shall remain, and I hope I can return the favor, whether for Rad or someone else.

M & M

2009-04-16T19:22:00.001-04:00

Back in Singapore today in the afternoon, we unpacked and headed out for Mexican and margaritas at Margarita's on Dempsey Road. I got mixed tacos, no surprise there, spiced with chipotle. The spices are a bit different than what we get in the U.S. but still quite tasty. Here, cinnamon is used to flavor more than just the mole, and it's good but different. The margaritas were also reminiscent of life back in the States. I just wish the margarita crew, you know who you are, could have joined us around the table!

Massages and the sunset

2009-04-15T22:19:00.004-04:00

Sanur Beach is chill, not much night life. The locals call it snore beach. We are staying at a resort that has one of my favorite things...a swing bar! My friend Keri and I first encountered one of these in Playa del Carmen, Mexico last September. And of what fun. Drinks and swings? Brilliant. While the seats at the swing bar in Mexico were wooden, here the swings are chairs with cushions. Trouble. The bar is a circle, too, but ringed with cushioning so that you don't destroy your knees swinging. While I haven't been much of a party animal here, I have tried a few drinks made with arak, the local palm tree sap liquor. I like. I like.

Sanur Beach Hotel is a fully-equipped resort. Two pools, clay tennis courts, a gym, several restaurants and bars, one hardly has to leave the resort. Me personally, I ducked out of my room for a dip in the ocean or to sun at the pool, not much more. Many of the guests are on all-inclusive getaways, as well, swimming up to the pool bar at noon to enjoy.

My mom and I sneaked into the hotel spa in the afternoon for massages. Two hours later, we walked out refreshed and revived. The package included a full body massage, full body scrub, yogurt treatment and flower petal bath. The scrub stands out as the best part for me by far. I cannot recall the last time I had a massage. What a treat!

At low tide, the water recedes far out into the sea, exposing a large amount of the sea floor. Fisherman trudge out through the sand for an evening catch. Guests also venture out onto the newly-exposed beach looking for shells and coral. The beach is also lined with an esplanade that runs the whole of Sanur. We strolled our way to a market at the northern end of the beach, having been joined by three women, shop-owners, a few minutes before we hit the market. I have to say, I would recommend the market in Ubud over any other I've seen in Bali. The Sanur market is nothing more than left-overs from Ubud. I think the women head to Ubud to shop themselves to replenish their merchandise. Many of the boutique beach-front hotels on the northern end of the beach look like paradise.

Our last night here, we headed to Seminyak for the sunset and dinner. Seminyak is apparently the place to be seen in Bali. At the bar at La Lucciola, we sipped cocktails at the beachfront bar and watched the sun go west. A known spot for sunsets, tourists and locals alike jockey for the best seats and pictures. We showed up without a reservation and were granted a table without too much of a problem. Delicious food and a great view, dinner was almost perfect. The only issue came when the bill did. Another party's drinks and appetizers ended up on our check. It took five members of the restaurant's staff to correct. Ah, well. It's not like we had anywhere to be...

Spare yourself the Sparrow

2009-04-14T22:04:00.004-04:00

Many of you may have read, heard about, even experienced the red-light districts throughout Asia. Young, beautiful Asian women on the arms of Western men? Big deal. Happens all the time in New York, at least. It takes all kinds. But here, something's different.

I first noticed an unusually high percentage of this combo in Chiang Mai, Thailand. It's none of my business, but in line for a coffee, hearing the man order for the two of them, the woman not so well-versed in English, it made me wonder. Are these two in love? Eh, who cares...but upon closer look, most of the men looked, well, broken. Older, worn, even dried up, like prunes. Not only lovely, these women sure were kind to take to these men. I didn't realize. Should have left my naivete in New York. Here, it is all paid. Paid time spent. A job. And out in the open in many shades of legal. Ok. Who am I to judge?

But hearing what are probably urban myths created by travelers (or at least I hope they are), many of the women have families they leave to support through this type of work. I don't know what women who work in a sex industry think or feel. Do they hate the work, enjoy it? Are they indifferent? I can only imagine what they dream about. Are their dreams any different than mine?

So at the airport, on the way to Bali, I saw a book called Red Light Nights, Bangkok Daze and picked it up, hoping for some insight. I finished it today. And I'm discouraged, even disappointed. William Sparrow, writer and author, not sure if acclaimed, has enjoyed researching red-light districts of Asia and the women (and ladyboys) in those areas. His book, however, is no more than a compilation of articles he has already published on his website (which I won't link). I can't say his book or any article therein was as informative as I expected. More specifically, I'd hoped the stories would tell working women's stories and lives.

Beginning the book with a write-up of what I imagine is one of his most lascivious experiences, Sparrow moves on to discuss porn stars, twin fantasies and, my favorite, his buddy's affinity for the old and ugly. He chronicles his friends' trysts and his own experiences with women, using those stories to argue the superiority of Asian women and to justify his use of their services. It begs the question. Would his articles have been written if he did not already have an affinity for these women?

But here's the real issue for me. The lines are blurred. Fine, as a writer you may have to use creative methods to get a story. But is research really research when you pay someone to sleep with you for it? And how can a writer investigate the sex industry and never have a moment of conscience? In one of his article's written about a teenager in Burma he writes, "It is one of the very few experiences I have had in Asia where the girl on offer was certainly not willing to sell herself for sex..." Wow. That is just sad. How many of these women would do this work if they'd had the same choice. I wonder still. Does this man ever read what he writes?

As is, there is more sex-pat than writer in Sparrow. He scrapes the surface to titillate but remains far more at large than investigative. I guess I'd hoped to enter the doors and communities I will never see. To become a spectator in a world I have never entered. Smells, sights, description. But alas, Sparrow does not deliver. I guess money can't buy everything. Upon discussing my feelings of the work with my Mom, she exclaimed, "Damn! And I paid for it!" While a woman can certainly pay for it, only a woman living the life can tell the real story, at least in Sparrow's case.

If interested in this topic, please do research and find a legit account of what it means to work these districts. Or wait for my next review. Either way, spare yourself this one.

The outsiders effect

2009-04-13T07:55:00.001-04:00

Throughout history, the people of Bali have maintained a distinctive culture and way of life. Hindu kingdoms in other parts of Indonesia, dating back as early as first century AD, are said to have coexisted with the native Balinese, establishing the first Hindu colony on Bali in the 1300s. In the following century, however, the introduction of Islam in Indonesia and its growing power, particularly in Java, caused many artists, noblemen and priests of Hindu faith to flee to Bali. Those who sought refuge adopted many Balinese traditions and customs, resulting in the unique culture and practices, a blend of Hinduism and animist beliefs, found there today.

According to Bagi (the bicycle tour owner and operator and native Balinesian), crime is not an option on Bali, at least not for the Balinese. Any Balinesian who commits a crime is reported to the village head and faces extensive punishment. Whatever was taken or harmed remedied, the individual punishment and the subsequent family humiliation serve as the main deterrents against crime. Accordingly, most of the crimes committed and reported are attributed to outsiders. Whether fact or fiction, Bali has unfortunately been dealt its fair share in the last several years.

In 2002, three bombs on Bali, claimed by an Islamic terrorists, killed 202 people and injured 209 more. Just about 40 of those killed were Indonesian, the remainder foreign nationals. At that point, Australians were not granted insurance if traveling to Bali, which has been one of their frequented vacation destinations. Tourism on Bali suffered, as did its people. Again in another attack in 2005, suicide bombers killed 26 people, most Indonesians, and injured 126 others. The terrorists concentrated their targets on tourist locations, and in the first bombing, the US Embassy. According to Bagi, not a single person arrested or involved in the attacks was Balinese.

The islands have seen a slow but steady return of tourists since the bombings. And those who've visited the islands notice increases in room and board and activities alike. But the Balinese maintain that tourism is not what it was prior to the attacks. While the Indonesian government recognizes the economic benefit of a place like Bali, the religious differences and Western tourists have made the islands an attractive target for terrorists. One can only hope that Bali's beefed-up security may prevent future violence and help restore prosperity to such peaceful place. But for the Balinese, more than anywhere else I've seen, the good is taken with the bad. In that same vein, the men convicted of the 2002 bombings (all from Java) were executed by firing squad last year.

Sanur Easter

2009-04-12T23:28:00.003-04:00

Goodbye, Ubud! Today we headed to Sanur for Bali beach fun. On the way, we stopped in Celuk, a silver and gold artisan village. Hand-crafted right in front of your eyes, you see silver melted and blended with copper to make it stronger. Then, depending on the type of jewelry being made, the silver is hammered into tiny silver balls for earrings, or long strands to coil for bracelets. You name it. Meticulous work.

And, lord, there's plenty of it. The shop we stopped in seemed more a gallery. In a sea of earrings, necklaces, pendants, rings, figurines, silver as far as the eye could see, I was stymied. A lover of silver, a ring on each hand and a necklace, all of which I almost always wear, I looked for presents for friends. Honestly, though, I couldn't even begin to take in the variety. So much merchandise, I found it impossible to find that one piece that stood out.
If you go to Celuk, head to a compound, or family shop, instead of one of the large galleries. I think it's easier (and probably more authentic an experience) to choose something nice from one artisan, rather than a silver factory.

At Sanur, we reached our hotel, settled in and hit the pool. Blue sky, beach, sun. Into the evening we scouted out the boardwalk for a dinner venue. Unhappy with the options, we joined many of the hotel's guests for an Easter dinner buffet. "Happy Easter Day" read the sign above the bandstand. Turned out there was a performer, too. Clad in red head to toe, including her pumps, backed by a dude with a keyboard, a Chinese singer reeled off a number of hits. Straight out of a Hong Kong karoake bar, we nicknamed her Suzy Stretch Pants. A little Elvis, then Only You, with an instrumental groove by Johnny Smooth Hands, it was too funny. Now, I love singing. And I love music, too. But this was, well, an Easter comedy. After a couple of numbers, Suze took a break, at which point, out wandered a three-piece band. Among the crowd, the guys serenaded several tables and got people clapping, some even up and dancing. Now we're talking.

I want to ride my bicycle!

2009-04-11T21:00:00.008-04:00

Bright and early and out the door this morning, we headed out of Ubud for a day of biking around Bali. After a hearty breakfast, or as the Aussies say "brekki," we suited up, mountain bikes, helmets, sunscreen, water. Our group ranged in ages from 6 to 80, cities from Perth to Denver.

On the road, our first stop was to a local Balinese compound. Families live together on into adulthood, with wives and children adding to the unit, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles often all living together. Each room serves a purpose in the house. Related to the parts of the body, each compound has a family temple, bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen. The family usually has a main source of income as well related to the compound. The first family we visited farmed. In the back of the house they kept pigs and chickens. One of the sows had just had a bunch of piglets. Cute! On our way out, the woman of the house was making sweets to sell. Sticky rice cake, anyone?

Through the village, small children just outside the house greet our group with "hello!" all too eager to use English. It's wild to think that cruising past these walled compounds, we're viewing a neighborhood. Imagine a bike ride through an Atlanta neighborhood, for example. Houses with driveways, trees, shutters, cars, kids playing in the cul-de-sac. It's the same here, only these houses are decorated with stone work and hand-carved figures, and look more like temples. The main entrance to most homes has steps up to a gate that you pass through, protected on either side by two figures. Mirror images of one another, the figures point their hands in opposing directions. And the figures are almost always covered at the waist with black and white checkered sarongs. Everywhere you look in Bali, this material covers the bottom half of figurines. The material itself represents good and evil, the dark and light forces. But I have yet to discern why the figures are covered at the waist.

Another thing to note. Every house has an offering in front. Made of bamboo, the offerings sweep high into the air and curl back over the street. At the base, out of reach of animals, is a small opening or box in which the family places a daily offering to the gods. Inside on a banana leaf that's been folded into a small tray, you may find a variety of things: flowers, sticky rice, bananas and a stick of incense. I have failed to mention thus far that the majority of people in Bali are Hindu. While the Balinese would never wish for harm, they recognize the balance in the world, the necessity of opposing forces. These offerings are placed outside for the gods of both good and evil. Something placed in the box for both to thank the gods of good and appease the gods of evil. And as a matter of fact, I have seen these offerings at every opening or entrance. In front of the door to my room. In front of the door to the hotel. Lining the streets at the doors of businesses, they are everywhere.

Riding through Bali on a bicycle is an experience. As many of you may know, I have ridden a bike as a main form of transportation for the last 10 years. On a bike, you are so much more in touch with your surroundings. At peace even. You feel the breeze through your hair. You hear the birds around you, music in the distance. An approaching car? You hear it. You're in it. As is the case here in Bali today. And have I mentioned the land? Rice fields have been carved into the land, terraces of green lined with palms. And the workers in the distance sickles in hand spot the fields. And the colors. Many of the temples have umbrellas in brilliant shades peaking out over the temple walls. To enter many of the temples, men and women both have a dress code. Men are required to wear a headband, a long shirt and a sarong, the women, a long shirt and sarong, and for both a waist sash. Having none of that, I am contented to peer through small windows of the temples and openings, a peeping Anne.

Banyan Tree Bike Tours, owned and operated by our guide for the day Bagi, had it hands full with our group. The youngest kid in our group rode on the back of his father's bike, but his brother kept the tour guides occupied. Told to keep left to avoid traffic, this kid covered the rode, weaving a snake's path through Bali. I think he may have been used to coaster brakes, instead of the hand breaks all our bikes had. Generally speaking, though, most of the guides seemed happy to look after the little renegade. I imagine they have kids and took to him as though he were their own.

We stopped at another compound. The livelihood of this family? Arak. A local moonshine made from palm tree sap, I imagine this family does quite well. Strong in odor but nowhere near as strong in taste, at roughly 6 US per bottle, it sure beats the local prices for Jack. And if you need to something stronger, like petrol, run by the neighbor's for a quick shot of Absolut? In small villages where there are no official gas stations or pumps, locals refill old liquor bottles with gasoline, a makeshift Shell.

Past rice fields and through villages, up our first hill, we passed schoolkids headed home. The girls all had two braids in their hair. And everyone was in a uniform. They spoke in English, asked us questions, and upon response with a question asked of them, they laughed and shied away. I don't know if they understood my questions or were just being coy. Either way, it was fun. Next we stopped at a rice field among several workers to watch the process of harvesting rice. Growing in stalks that look like wheat, they beat the stalks against wood to free the kernels of rice. As we watched, another worker walked up carrying an eel. Bali apparently has mud eels living among the rice fields. They laughed and said it was lunch. Just down the road, another group of workers were flanked by a woman yelling. I asked Wyan, one of the guides (his name meaning fourth child), why she was yelling, and he indicated that she was cursing Bagi and the tour. According to him, she was angry that he would parade his group of tourists in front of her, none doing anything to help her or give her money. Many of the fields have scarecrows, too, although, they prove scary to crow and human alike.

Our tour finished with a bit of off-roading, through the woods, across a river at a lovely house. Bagi's house. His wife greeted us, having prepared an amazing lunch for the group. Balinese eat large amounts of rice and lean more toward vegetarianism. Lunch included spicy tofu, chicken satay, a fish curry, tempeh (who'd have thought?!?), vegetable and rice. Afterward, she offered coffee or tea and small Balinese sweets. While noshing away, the group got to chat a bit. And as it turns out, Bagi has seen the world, having worked on a cruise ship for a few years. And of all the world, he still chose to return to Bali. I can understand. And after a day like today, I am thankful he did. Not one part of this day has lacked a thing. Brilliant job, Bagi! Thanks to you, your family and crew!

Around Ubud

2009-04-10T23:36:00.004-04:00

Ubud is wonderful. It's a balance of Balinesian nature and culture. Sure, tourism is thriving here but it isn't out of balance with the local vibe. More specifically, tourism doesn't wipe out or replace all Balinesian. Our rooms look out onto a rice field, rice the major staple in the Balinese diet. I think we've ended up with the best rooms, not to mention views in the place.

Down Monkey Forest Road, we headed to the market in the afternoon. Hand-carved items of cats, owls even male parts, silver, bags, sarongs, everyone wants to you to be his or her customer. Most say it's for luck. Whether first customer, last customer, first customer after the last, it all seems to revolve around luck. Who doesn't want to be lucky? Pretty smart tactic, if you ask me. The Ubud market, however, does have some serious steals on batik, and on dresses. Uh, oh. Note: for any clothing needs, go upstairs! The prices are half and there is more selection.

After the market, we lunched and then hit the tourist information center. Every evening, troupes of dancers perform traditional Balinese dances. The performance we're slated for is of both Legong and Barong dances.

At dusk, the stage with the Ubud Palace doors as the backdrop, the performance began with Gamelon music. Fifteen men or so, use hammers on xylophone-like instruments made of bamboo. Backed by Balinese drums and cymbals, the haunting, staccato plucks of the hammers set the stage for the opening of the show. Traditionally performed to entertain kings, one woman descends the palace steps onto the stage to commence the Legong dance. Precise movements, exquisite costuming and intense facial expressions the dance is mesmerizing. Two more women join the first and weave among one another in rhythm and response to the music. Their costumes shimmer, layers of gold, reds, greens, ornate jewels, the make-up striking. Girls enter troupes to learn the dances at young ages, in order to master the movements, the expressions. American aside: a woman in the audience sells drinks, snacks and mosquito repellent.

Next is the Barong dance, divided into several sections. The parts of the dance serve different functions. In the first part of the Barong, a huge dog and monkey take the stage. This portion of the performance is listed as an overture before the main performance, but I have to admit, this performance intrigues and delights as much as any other part. The jaws of the dog are wooden and snapped together to make an impression.

The remaining parts of the Barong tell a story, revolving around a main theme of Balinese culture. Good and evil. Everything in Bali is known to have two sides, a good and bad, each of which must be respected and appeased. The remaining acts of the Barong dance involve a widow and her black magic being confronted by a white magic guru. The guru carries orders from the king to heal all who have fallen under the widow witch's spell. The two enter into the battle of good versus evil. The witch burns a banyan tree, the fire of which the guru extinguishes in order to restore the tree back to life. Aware that she has lost the battle, the witch transforms herself into a monster. Forcing the guru's hand, he too transforms into the protector. The people of the town surrounding the two, those who feel evil threatening their bodies pierce themselves with kris knives to combat it, good eventually prevailing. The last of the dance closed with the full moon rising above the palace. I wanted to howl!

Bali, Bali, Bali!

2009-04-09T23:32:00.004-04:00

Off to Bali, Indonesia today, we made it to Singapore's Changi airport with time to spare. We perused the book store, made our selections and headed to board for the two hour flight. I'm excited to see another country, another part of the world. And for me, and many States-side, Bali has been no more than exotic notion. The likes of which only yuppie honeymooners had the luck to visit.

At the airport in Bali, a sea of signs with others' names greeted us . Ours were supposed to be in the mix but never showed. After an hour or so, our ride found us, his car having broken down. Bummah! We hopped in a taxi headed for Ubud, the first spot on our week's tour. It's an hour from the airport to Ubud, along some small streets, and over a fair amount of potholes. At times, only the full moon lit the way! We made it to Sri Bungalows at last. And somehow, I've ended up in the Princess Bungalow!

Spree...it ain't just a candy!

2009-04-08T00:16:00.001-04:00

So, Singapore seems to have added another addiction to my fold. Shopping. Now, now. Those of you who know me are shocked. "That girl has been a shop-o-holic the past 11 years that I've know her...!" Right, right. Well, I'd like to think I'd remedied my behavior in recent years. Guess not.

Really, it's not so much of an addiction. It's a past-time. Like, umm, baseball?!? Yeah, yeah...that's it! Anyhow. I picked up a few cute dresses today, a skirt, several tops...but out of all of it, I only bought one dress! Not bad, right? Not bad at all! My bank account and my storage locker, and those two things alone, are happy that Singapore caters to a smaller frame of woman. Imagine the trouble I'd be in if every woman had, well, boobs.

Singapore is to shoppers what I imagine Vegas is for gamblers. There is a shopping mall for every neighborhood. It's more like there's a neighborhood built around every mall. And inside, there are hairdressers, travel agencies, bars, restaurants, movie theatres, karaoke bars, massage parlors. Why leave? It's as though I'm in the seventh grade again. "Mom, can we go to the mall??" Oh, dear.

US Embassy Suites

2009-04-07T23:47:00.002-04:00

Official state department travel warnings often encourage you to register with the embassy in each country you visit. I'm sure some people do it. And I imagine you do if you're working abroad, or have a specialty visa. I, personally, have never visited one in my travels. Likewise, in the unfortunate event of your passport being lost or stolen, you have to visit your respective embassy for replacement documents. Thankfully, in this case, I have not had to visit. Fingers crossed.

Today, my mom and I went to the US Embassy here in Singapore to add pages to her passport. Certain countries require no more than room sufficient for a small entry and exit stamp. You can visit three countries and not even fill up one page. Other countries, like Indonesia, require a full page for the entry visa, plus room for the exit stamp, and won't allow you entry without the proper space. We're headed to Indonesia in a few days, hence the need for the pages.

As luck would have it, we chose to visit the embassy on the day the embassy opted to change its policies. Be warned: what used to take 45 minutes now takes two days! While a pain, I can only imagine what the wait must be at other embassies and for other countries. All things considered, a two day wait is nothing compared to the years it can take others to reach a desired destination in the first place. Still, as we've got it so good, we expect such rights, such service. I've been told since a kid that I could do anything, be anything. Opportunity coupled with a positive outlook doesn't lend much favor to the word "no." And with no notification listed, either on the internet or in the embassy itself, patience in the waiting room grew thin. The embassy could join up with the Embassy Suites Hotel, and start a joint hotel and passport service. Check into your room, drop your passport in the room safe, request the necessary services, run down to the bar for happy hour. The next day check out with souvenirs from the hotel gift shop, your passport done. It's a thought...Upon finally being called to the appropriate room, complaints about the wait ended with discussions of letters to Senators!

After the embassy, we headed to the Raffles for tea. This place gets some business! June, another friend of my parents, and her husband are also moving from Singapore on their way home to Boulder. Best of luck!

So long, farewell!

2009-04-06T22:49:00.001-04:00

Tonight we had a going away party for two of my parents' friends. Andrina and Alex are headed back to New Zealand tomorrow, having been in Singapore for 5 years. The expat community (peppered with a few Singaporeans) my parents have become a part of is at times a revolving door of comings and goings.

Gathered for the farewell at my folks' flat, we ate, drank, laughed. The women in the group get together far more than the men, so tonight the men were able to meet and carouse. I've been enjoying sparkling red wines like Lambrusco (for which the Italian in Langkawi mocked me--it's apparently swill) for a few years, but tonight shared a sparkling Shiraz. I fear it may be the Boone's Farm for red wine...at least it doesn't come in a box! I enjoy wine, regardless, and I hope haven't been a snob about it. Others liked it, too. And even men!

Getting to meet the people my parents have been talking about for 2 years is also cool. My mom, in particular, has traveled a fair amount with friends, taken Tai Chi with others and told stories about their lives. It's nice to put a name to the faces.

I have to admit, as well, I love parties. People getting together, having a meal, drinks. I just love it. And I much prefer to play hostess rather than being a simple guest. It's a delight, I think, in making sure people are enjoying and have all they desire.

We watched the sunset and chatted about our experiences. A new to the circle and the only kid in the crew, everyone was curious about my life and experiences in Asia. And while many of the men, and some of the women, work at the University, paths don't always cross, until, say, at a going away party. Tonight. Among the getting-to-know-you conversations, a strange one developed, in particular, between Kitty and Huei. The two women, both from Taiwan, found out that they'd grown up in the same area of Taiwan. Even more interesting, had gone to the same elementary and high schools. Shocked, the conversation then turned in to a battle, each woman trying to find out who was older, while revealing nothing of her own age. It was fun to watch. Cliches are cliches for a reason. Small world, indeed.

Singablanca

2009-04-04T22:09:00.000-04:00

We had brunch this morning. Like normal. Saturday brunch at Epicurious. I had smoked salmon on a bagel. Delicious, fresh juice. Wait...where am I??

Singapore is a big deal. Cosmopolitan. Successful. Locals and expats alike enjoy the restaurant culture, nightlife, business, universities, museums. Oh, and did I mention shopping? It's a serious metropolis for Southeast Asia. From what I've seen so far, THE metropolis.

After brunch, we cruised along the Singapore river. The country, independent for just over 40 years, has combined its British influence with modern, purely Singaporean constructions. A former post office has been turned into the Fullerton, a five-star hotel. The previous Supreme Court building opposes the new one on the skyline, a British colonial one facing the alien spaceship-styled new building.

The river is lined with great views of other city architecture. One building nicknamed the Singapore calculator, banks and more banks, and a merlion! Singapore is said to have been named from "singa" which means lion and "pura" meaning city. The lion city, the fish portion of the merlion emblem represents the city's link and historical tie to the sea as a port city.

In the near-ground, the river is dotted with restaurants and bars. A mix of cultures, mostly Indian, Malaysian and Chinese, all kinds of cuisine are available, even fusion of those. Outside influences also abound. A German beer garden. And was that Hooter's? Why, yes. Yes, it was.

After our river ride, we cruised a few of the shopping malls and headed to the Raffles' Hotel Long Bar for a cocktail. Singapore Sling, anyone? The Raffles is a luxury hotel named for Sir Stamford Raffles, the founder of modern Singapore, and has also been declared a national monument. One of the top 100 hotels in the world, it is indeed a beauty. While many parts of the hotel are reserved for residents only, the Long Bar is a treasure open for all. Upon entry, you're greeted to a floor full of peanut shells. Leaf fans line the wall and alternate swings for a breeze. The bar is all dark wood, the staff in waist coats and sarongs. The setting is so classic, you expect to see Frank Sinatra stroll in with a cigar and martini. It's Casablanca in Asia...except for the Aussies in their board shorts!

Sixty-five and Singapore

2009-04-03T20:53:00.002-04:00

I hopped on the bus this morning for Singapore. Down the mountain roads, I had a touch too much whiskey last night (thanks Helen and Celine!) and struggled to keep my breakfast down along the curvy roads. I've never been one for motion sickness, but hey. We grow in this life, right? We change. The bus had no bathroom in it either. Worrisome. But, I made it. Deep breaths are worth a lot in life. Breathing in general, I guess...

So today is my Dad's birthday. Happy birthday, Pops! So I figured I'd trek down to Singapore to celebrate. I'm excited to see my parents and their life half a world away. Today, my Dad is the same age as the year Singapore became an independent country!

Approaching the Singapore bus station, which is no more than a drop-off at a high-rise of karaoke bars, I switched on the audio and listened. ABBA. I longed to be at Lucy's in the city, dedicating Fernando to her and dancing into the night. And then came Air Supply. "I'm all out of love. I'm so lost without you..." That one is all Salome Solano!

Hey, look! Night golf!

I'm not an addict, no, I feel...

2009-04-03T06:10:00.000-04:00

Oh, heavens, people. I have an addiction. Never having had the addictive personality that many I know and love have (or at least never admitting it), aside from coffee (oh, and maybe alcohol? I fear), Southeast Asia has officially stripped me of my non-addict status. It's called 100 Plus. Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. It tastes of flowers ever so slightly, with a hint of orange, like Fresca but SO much better. The stuff also has eletrolytes in it. Not only tasty but also restorative? I say, "Why not?" It's like a cross between Orangina, seltzer and Gatorade! Downside, of course, it's a Coca Cola product, but what can you do? Monopoly is not just a Parker Bros game.

P.S. It's also good as a mixer (at least with ice, Bombay Sapphire gin and a little lime juice).

When the world gives you mud...make tea!

2009-04-02T23:13:00.008-04:00

Into the jungle highlands today, we were 6 ladies and Spencer, our guide, on a trek to see the largest flower in the world. We climbed into a 4X4 Land Rover and clambered into the hills. About halfway up the mountain, we encountered another Rover, tire popped, half the wheel submerged in mud. Stuck with no jack. Confusion, conference, conclusion between the drivers, we headed back into our Rover to pass the stranded. Into the mud also, just even with the other Rover, we too got stuck. The road fully blocked, both groups' trucks mud-logged, we roughed it up the rest of the hill through mud and more mud. It was the same color as Georgia red clay. I'm thankful my shoes are black...not sure it'll come out of some of the girls' sneaks.

Dan, Sana, Evelyn, Helen, Celine and me: 3 from China, 1 England, 1 Switzerland and 1 USA. An all-girl group, we crossed streams via bamboo bridges, skipped across rocks and boulders as the river widened and then took a small break at the main waterfall. All sorts of wild flora, fauna and insects stopped each of us from time to time for a snapshot. There was this one flower that looks like an alien, something created on a computer, only it's 100% natural. Not to mention gorgeous. About an hour later, we made it to the flower. Rafleesia, named for a local who first found it and a foreign botanist who kick-started a local program for new discoveries, the flower can stretch up to three meters wide. We saw two, one half-open, unable to complete its bloom because of a tree branch blocking it. And up the hill, a fully open one, three feet wide and red. What a cool thing to stumble upon in the jungle. Up close, really close, it smells like what our guide Spencer calls "a Malaysian public toilet." The flower attracts bugs inside with that smell (like a dead animal) so that they will pollinate future flowers. Only in bloom for 8 days, the flower dies after about a week after blooming never to reopen again in the same spot. If you touch it, the petals turn black, so our guide asked us not to indulge. He did say that the flower feels like leather.

Back down the mountain, we stopped at a local tribal village. Spencer called them aboriginal. We watched a demonstration with blow pipes, which the tribe still uses to kill animals. Our group was most enamored with the village children. And they with our cameras! Seeing themselves and pushing the buttons to scroll through their images caused serious giggles. I put Chichamon on my shoulders and ran through the village. Nothing like a kid to bring out the kid in you. One of the village men said, "Excuse me, miss, but that's my son. You cannot have my baby." Laughter and a big sigh, I relented.

We headed next to the BOH tea plantation.Malaysians drink 7 million cups of tea per day, apparently 5 million of which the BOH plantation produces. I learned how much more healthy tea is for you than coffee. And from today forward, I hope to make the switch. Tea is a natural anti-oxidant, contains fluoride and is anti-cancerous. Early in the plantation's history, women plucked the tea leaves by hand, but in the 80s the plantation switched to men with lawnmowers.The plantation makes black tea in varying degrees of quality and ships the tea outside of KL to add in other flavors. The tea plants themselves carpet the hills. Rolling hills of tea, it's gorgeous here. We relaxed for a spell and all had a cup of tea.

We finished the tour with a stop at a strawberry farm and then a butterfly sanctuary. At the strawberry farm, one of the workers snuck us samples of the berries. They are a bit more bitter than sweet, but still delicious. I think they were young, under-ripe and, therefore, tart. Speaking of, a strange thing happened at the farm. The worker who'd fed us all berries asked one of us to take a photo of him with another of us girls with his cell phone. Only right before the picture was snapped, the guy chose to embrace a certain part of our friend's body, an inappropriate spot. The girl taking the photo leaned out from behind the phone, in shock. Woah...what was that?!? Meanwhile, the girl in the photo who just been fondled swatted the guy's hand away. A swift departure from the scene, we rejoined our guide. We told Sana (from Hong Kong), who hadn't witnessed the incident, what had happened, and she marched off to retrieve the photo from the guy's phone. The one who had been in the photo, however, told her to let it go. What can you do?

We moved on to the butterfly farm where they also had an insect and flower exhibition. The size of your hand, some of the butterflies were iridescent. The grounds are covered in butterfly wings, as they have such short life span. It's sad to see beauty lasting such a short time.

On to roses and cacti, hibiscus and birds of paradise, the flowers were also exquisite. In the Cameron Highlands, the weather is cooler but there is still a good mix of sun and rain. I saw these pink flowers and they looked like wedding bouquets. Will you marry me? Only kidding. At the right time, the one of us who'd been violated relayed the events to our guide for future guests he might take through the joys of CH. Spencer was apologetic and disgusted but not totally surprised. Mind your bodies, ladies, at strawberry farms.

Back into town, we all agreed to meet for dinner. Steamboat at the Mayflower, we dined in local tradition, a meal a bit like fondue. A huge boiling pot in the center, ours was chicken broth, you pay per head and get the following: chicken, fish, squid, beef, mushrooms, cabbage, noodles, eggs, fish balls, and more! You drop the goodies into the pot at certain times, depending on the time they take to cook. Veggies and noodles take no time so they go in last. And from what I could tell, certain things are deemed healthier to eat first, meats and fish, followed by veggies and tofu. It's a nice coursing of a meal, not to mention interactive. And, from time to time, messy! We had a great group today. And at dinner Spence revealed that, early in the day, after we'd all been picked up, he walked into the tour office and all the guides had been jealous. A group of 6 women, a rarity, he'd struck it rich! What a ball.

We continued into the evening at the Jungle bar. Whiskey, beers, fire and fun. I love the Cameron Highlands.

Cameron Highlands

2009-04-01T23:09:00.000-04:00

And, of course, what I figured would happen did happen. I got stuck in Tapah last night. It's not even on the map I have of Malaysia. The last bus to CH left Tapah at 3:30, which the folks in KL neglected to mention. Joy.

So after cruising the two streets of Tapah, I had satay and carrot juice for dinner. The juice is mixed with condensed milk and is too sweet for me. Like a creamcicle only carrot flavored. For satay, they run a stick through meat, place it on a grill and fan it with a banana leaf. It's hard to tell where people are from here. But, for sure, I am the only foreigner. They're all mixed up and mixed together and it's great. I'm sure it's just a surface observation of one unaware. I went to an internet cafe and was met with a fair amount of shock. A strange woman, and on her own?

My bus for CH left at 8:30 this morning. And I have made it! I'm staying in a dorm at Daniel Lodge and love it. The people are so friendly. The air is cool, a breeze, and the mountains. For the first time in weeks, I'm not sweating!

I walked to a small waterfall today and stumbled upon a snake. Looking, looking, closer, closer and it raised its head. Yikes! Anne-be-gone! The waterfall was beautiful but underneath bobbed tons of empty water bottles. I'm afraid eco-tourism hasn't truly hit CH yet. A conscious effort, I'm doing all I can to create no garbage while here, or at least nothing that cannot be recycled. We'll see.

In the evening, everyone heads to the Jungle Bar, attached to the lodge. The town has two bars, apparently, the other of which is seldom hopping. So most of the nightlife happens around a bonfire behind Daniel Lodge. They serve beer, have a pool table and keep the tunes coming. The stars your roof, it's heavenly. A great mix of people, we were Aussie, Korean, English, Iranian, Swiss, German, Southern Indian, among others. People are indeed people.

Tapah the evening to ya!

2009-03-31T19:55:00.000-04:00

My bus is late. And I'm on the local, boo his. I missed the direct shot to the Cameron Highlands by 20 minutes, confound it! So I'm off to Tapah for a connection to CH. The bus is super roomy. I didn't have to put my pack under the bus; it's at my feet and I still have leg room. Given that I'm supposed to transfer in a few hours, it's handier anyway.

Jo and I had bacon and fruit for lunch today before parting. Mmm. Tasty! The manager of the Summer Guesthouse was really good to us. It makes such a difference when the people at the place you're briefly calling home are caring and nice. I'd recommend this spot to anyone. Great location in the Golden Triangle and Linda, too? What a deal.

Almost 3 full weeks of traveling, 2 countries, 3 regrets. The third is my iTouch. That thing has wifi on it, which would have been so handy. What was I thinking? Oh, and 2 losses. The wrap I had to buy in Bangkok at the royal arts exhibit bit in the dust in Koh Phan Gan. And a pair of ratty square silver dangle earrings, too, have fallen by the wayside. C'est la vie! Meanwhile, what have I gained? Not sure how to measure it yet. But a container in peanut butter is in there somewhere, among, I hope, a bevy of profound feelings and thoughts.

I'm watching you...

2009-03-30T23:04:00.003-04:00

The sky unleashed a wrath on our tour of the 360 degree view at the top of the Menara Tower, which I've been calling the Needle for three days. Jo called it the Spike for the first two, but the Needle ultimately won. We agreed that the best time to head up to the top would be dusk, to see the city in both day and night settings. But clouds rolled in about an hour before we got there and after the sun did set came the rain.

The highest view you can reach of the city, a walking tour around the top supplies a fair amount of information, though outdated. You see the government headquarters, two stadiums, a great view of the Twin Towers, in the distance the Batu caves, Chinatown, among other KL sites.
The photographs of the landmarks and the pre-recorded walking tour could use a serious updating.

Back at the bottom, we stirred about, the rain preventing a return to our neighborhood. So we sat at a cafe and saw something neither of us had seen in our lives. A woman in full covering, all black with no eyelet cut in the material even for her eyes, slipped her tea cup under her veil to take a sip. You can't even show your face to drink tea. I can only imagine the torture of eating in public--impossible! I have done a little research and it turns out that this type of veil is called a niqab. Apparently, the more covered you are, the more sacred? Or the more likely to make it to heaven. From what I've read, according to the Koran women should be covered including hands (impractical, eh?) and face. What I can't seem to isolate is whether this veil is a choice/preference or encouraged/required. At any rate, I had never considered what it must be like to take a coffee in these clothes. Until today. I don't think I've ever sat and watched a woman drink tea for that matter. But today? I'm mesmerized.

After the top of the Needle, we cruised the animal kingdom. We arrived at dinner time as well, and got to see snakes eating mice, sometimes live, sometimes half-maimed. In the case of the "dead" mice, the handlers would hold the mouse's tail and pull its neck. I couldn't watch or even be near it. Afterward, though, they were still twitching. We saw crazy looking frogs, a huge assortment of snakes, monkeys and spiders. One of the monkeys had just had a baby. Talk about a mini-human. Anyone who denies evolution as part of the path to humankind should get up close and personal with a baby monkey. The mother, quite protective, doesn't like it when women approach. Our guide informed us that with men, she's less worried, but with women, she goes on alert. Her look says it all, no?

To the Batu Caves!

2009-03-29T20:18:00.001-04:00

Jo and I woke up in the bunker, hot as Hades, and set the course for the day. To the Caves! We have meandered the streets of KL, not really sure where we're going, but certain we'll get there. There is a telecom needle here like in Seattle, only they just call it the Tower. It serves as an awesome directional point. Our guesthouse is between the Twin Towers and the Tower so when lost all we do is look up.

Finally to Chinatown for the bus to the caves, we skirted the wares and braved the sellers of the Petaling market district. Who knew you could get a fake Gucci watch for $40, walk away, walk back, walk away, walk back and walk away again with it on your arm with the band fitted to your size for $5?!? And if anyone wants a pirated DVD, this is the place!

The number 11D bus makes the 13 km trip out of KL to the caves. We found the bus and ran to the 7-11 (talk about an international company) for a quick snack, only to return to find the driver had left us. Buses leave fairly regularly, so no worries. Quick warning: don't sit in the last seat of the bus. Going over one of the many speed bumps, you may find yourself in the lap of your neighbor.

At the caves site, a huge golden Hindu Buddha stands at the gate, almost as high as the staircase leading into the caves. It's enormous. Up 250+ steps to a series Hindu temples, prayer services are offered twice daily. Incense and mist hangs in the air as do many stalagmites. The mood inside is peaceful and serious, a place for prayer and to show thanks. I had a personal moment there, one of reassurance and comfort.

Two flights down from the top, you can also enter the dark cave. With Wellington boots, head lamps and Jerome, our guide, we trekked into the darkness. Three kinds of bats greet you as you walk along. None blood-thirsty. And there are cockroaches everywhere, but not the ones who fly. The cockroaches are sun-sensitive and will die in the light. Nice to know there is one thing that could wipe out at least one species of cockroaches.

Further into the cave, Jerome showed us stalagmites and stalactites and the columns they form upon joining. He also shared several stories of lore, a couple coming to the caves for their honeymoon, never to be heard from again. Certain parts of the cave are millions of years old. Unbelievable. And the path you walk along used to be a river. Jerome asked us how we liked Malaysia, to which both of us responded with favor. He retorted that we obviously hadn't been there long. Funny. He's from Malaysia but finds it difficult, restrictive. The Muslim religion apparently trumps all. If a Muslim wants to marry a person outside that faith, the person must convert (unless the couple goes to a different country). Jerome is Christian and I'm guessing in a minority. He also confided that the Chinese and Indians are the ones who do all the work. Hmm. Who knows? It's good to hear the perspective of someone here, and an expression of dissent. I got the feeling that in Thailand you could speak your mind, but only about certain things, one of which wasn't the government. I am learning. I am listening. And I'm fascinated. We are each and every one unique. Whether a 28 year-old tour guide and spelunker, or a 17 year-old Iranian, our opinions vary far and wide, each of us an exception in some way.

KL, anyone?

2009-03-28T23:28:00.001-04:00

So this morning, everyone was up early, Jo and Tom to catch flights, the others, who knows why. I figured, "What the hell?" and joined the two. At the airport I got on the same flight as they headed for Kuala Lumpur. An hour later, we touched down in KL. From the domestic airport to the Sentral train station, Jo and I said goodbye to Tom and hoppd on the monorail. Packs and all. Fifteen million stares later and a photo having been taken of us by two Chinese dudes, we found a place to stay.

In what they call the Golden Triangle, we are at Summer Guest House. We surveyed a few recommended spots but decided on a basement room at Summer. It's in the basement, no window and is basically a bunker. The fan in the room at max capacity sounds like a chopper above you and is actually pretty soothing when trying to get to sleep. Linda, the manager of the house gave us a good deal and we'd seen a couple of strange places already.

The Golden Triangle is shopping mecca in KL. They even have a Forever 32 (as I call it). We spent the day walking getting acclimated with the city. I dropped off some laundry and we explored the city. In the evening, we took an outside bistro table and ordered chicken with coconut milk rice. It was good but spicy. And as they dropped us the bill, they told us we had to pay right then. The prices apparently change for dinner at 7pm and, from what we understood, we had to pay right then to avoid paying dinner prices. The family of six next to us, however, had not yet received much less paid their bill. I have to admit, I'm still confused why they wanted us out so quickly.

After dinner, we headed for the Petronas Towers. Malaysia's Twin Towers were built of Islamic construction out of a special cement in squares fitted on top of each other to make an octagon, a traditional Islamic design. At one point, the lights of both buildings went out. I figured, hmph, it's run by a gas company. Maybe they cut off the lights to conserve energy. We then realized that it was in honor of Earth hour. How cool, right? It hurts a little bit, I have to admit, to look around here and see so many things that New York has (or once had). A Times Square, Twin Towers. I cannot imagine what would have happened were the attack to have happened here. It's still unimaginable and staring up at these buildings, it was magnificent and yet painful. The city is a huge mix of cultures and religions just like New York.

Touring Langkawi

2009-03-27T23:37:00.001-04:00

Today the whole dorm rented a car. Well, a station wagon really. A Scotsman, a Peruvian, a Tasmanian, four English and me. Magnus, Rafael, Michael, Elzie, Jo, Gemma, Tom all formed the first National Lampoon's Langkawi Vacation. Eight of us piled in a station wagon, our first stop was up the Langkawi cable cars for a panoramoic view of the island. The cable car cuts a sharp angle up and down the mountain. I got scared at certain points and I'm not that frightened of heights. The car moves up the mountain attachd to the cable rather than along it which surprised me.

On the top of the mountain there is a bridge extending out into the mountains and surrounding fog. You can see Thailand from up there and get a reflexology foot rub. Nice! The highest two viewing points are up stairs above the bridge and get a nice breeze. Back down the mountain on the cable car, I had my bad to the descent. At one point, I turned around and almost lost it. Looking behind you through glass to find nothing but a steep fall, my feet tingled and stomach dropped.

We stopped for lunch in a small Muslim village. The first group ate most of the food at the only stall that was willing to serve scantily clad foreigners. Jo and I tried a few other spots that all claimed to be finished for the day. We stopped at another stall where a nice woman had cabbage, bean sprouts, carrots, garlic, chicken on ice and three kinds of noodles. Sounds good to me. She added in some chilis to spice mine and it was delicious. We were happy to have waited. The first group had only fried stuff.
Next stop to the seven wells, we hiked up a few hundred steps to a waterfall we'd seen from the cable car ride. A huge tree off to the right had been uprooted whole and landed on a shelter. Only, the tree didn't look like it could have fallen on its own. It looked like someone (God) had just yanked it out like a weed and crushed the shelter with it. The wells were chilly and it rained a bit but the view was nice as was being in nature.

We watched the sun go down at a beach on the top of the island. We affectionately named it shit and shells beach. Looked like the cows fancied it as much as anybody. There was a swing, too, which made Elzie happy. So, sunset, good fun, Skol beer and a soccer ball. What else do you know in life? Oh, yeah! Maybe a sarong. Tom and Magnus had picked up a couple for themselves in the Muslim village, donning their new purchases as the sun went down,
proud to be in skirts.

As the sun said goodnight, our evennig began. Back to the dorm for a shower (for some of us, myself included), we set off for the beach for drinks and then on to several bars. Dancing, drinking. Ladyboys. Gays. Straights. All having a ball.

More than half a world away

2009-03-26T23:14:00.000-04:00

Second night on Langkawi. Roberta. A fun, wild Italian.

We chatted with the Iranians and Roberta got chills at one point. Moji didn't know that the airplanes that had targeted the Twin Towers were full of people. Somehow he didn't know (or it had never been reported in his news) that the planes were full of passengers and that that's how word got out that the flights had been high-jacked. Throughout the night, we had moments of shock, pure disbelief. This world. It's so small and yet still so big. We're separated by so much more than we realize. Borders the physical walls but too often so much more than that.

Breathe

2009-03-25T12:18:00.002-04:00

It's a new day. Yesterday, the rain poured and today nothing but blue sky. I loved Satun. Small town, you can walk around at night alone. I wore a scarf as it rained lightly through the evening and found it nice. I'd have thought having to wear a head scarf would be bad but it prove beneficial. Granted, I didn't have to wear it. I chose to do so. When covered up, people seem to pay less attention to you. You're incognito, masked, under cover.

On the ferry to Langkawi this morning, I met a couple who've been sailing the world for the last 16 years. The sea their front yard. And back yard. And swimming pool. Hmm...market probably, too. I can't imagine my home being a boat, but maybe that will change.

Langkawi is an exhale. A much needed sigh of relief. It's really small. I've booked a dorm bed in at a place called Gecko Guesthouse (doesn't seem to have a website) on Pentai Cenang. Langkawi is getting there. Construction is still in infancy stages of development. There are no major Miami skyscraper hotels beachfront, all restaurants and shops seem locally owned and run. No Starbucks, although there was one at the ferry station. The people are chill. Lots of reggae culture and dreads. There may be as many travelers as locals but we seem to be greeted with hospitality. Oh, and cats. I've not seen a single dog but tons of cats. They're everywhere. Add up all the dogs and chickens in Thailand and it might equal the cats in Langkawi.

Satunalia

2009-03-24T23:35:00.002-04:00

This morning I thought, "Please, God. Get me off this island. And please, God, out of Thailand." I'm not sure the Thais like me so much. It makes me miss South America. The people. The landscape. And yet, check out the landscape. Sometimes, we just don't realize things, do we? I saw the sunrise this morning, up early to catch a boat. I made it on the ferry back to the mainland and I'm singing the theme song to Reading Rainbow. Remember that one?? I hope it's a good sign.

Everywhere you turn in Thailand, there are photos of the monarchy. On the sides of buildings, outside peoples' homes, inside their homes, they are everywhere. While I am far from royalty, I cannot imagine what it must be like to have your picture displayed literally everywhere. At first I thought it was out of homage or pride, which may still ring true, but I'm wondering also if by chance the images are erected, for example, on an overpass because the royal family sponsored the building of it. Or perhaps, it's keeping up with the Joneses, and that you're uncool if you don't have a clock with the face of the royal family. Who knows?

I am bound for Satun today in a full air-conditioned minivan. We just passed what looked like a cemetery. Small monuments built into the side of a hill, like a mini memorial built for a family or person, it looks like a place for prayer. It makes me wonder. What is the custom here for death? Burial rites? We also just passed a mosque. Good sign. The closer you get to Malaysia (the closer I'm out of Thailand), the religion and culture shifts more to Muslim.

At Hat Yai, the sky opened up and began monsoon season, I'm afraid. Unable to drive, I got stalled for an hour en route to Satun. To anyone ever traveling through Surat Thani, Thailand to Langkawi, Malaysia: DO NOT buy a ferry ticket for Langkawi ahead of time. I repeat, DO NOT buy your ferry ticket from anyone but the ferry ticket seller. Yes, it's official. I got scammed. Have I mentioned that I'm ready for a new country? Oh, and on a personal note, somewhere between Samui and Satun, I developed body odor. The horror!

So, Satun. My last stop in Thailand for now. I'm staying at Odumsuk Hotel and the manager is really nice. She gave me a bottle of water once in my room, and there are 2 glasses, 2 towels, 2 pillows. A'ight! Walking the small town streets, I can hear singing in the background. It's beautiful. I think it's a Muslim prayer or call to worship. This town is a mix of Malay and Thai, Muslim, Buddhist and there's even a Christian church. Arriving here in the evening is nice. The main drag looks like an amusement park. There are neon lights covering the streets, and just a touch from the road is a ferris wheel. Fun! And the people. I'm the only foreigner and yet everyone greets me with smiles. The manager of the hotel drew me a detailed map of the town so that I could catch a songtheow (orange pick-up truck with benches in the back, a makeshift bus) to the ferry tomorrow morning. She included distance (150 meters) from block to block, churches and mosques, banks and restaurants. This puppy is handy.

I cruised Satun's night market for a bite to eat and picked up the essentials. Bread for breakfast, cashews and a pear. This night market is a wonder. All kinds of meat on a stick, balls of all sorts, as well, whether meat cheese, rice, or a surprise, and there is this big block of black gelatin on ice. No clue. Wait...was that jelly doughnuts? Why, yes. It was. And here's pizza. Not only religiously diverse but also gastronomically? For a tiny town that no one really thinks to visit, this place is a festival! Go 'head Satun. I brought a little something back for the manager and her daughter to snack on. Kindness begets kindness.

What's the story?

2009-03-23T18:44:00.001-04:00

I made it to Koh Samui today and met Dennis. A Swiss French, he's lived here for 12 years and recommended I stay at Morning Glory. Excellent! After cruising Bo Phut, the Fisherman's Village and finding no reasonable accommodation, I took him up on the offer. He told me to hang out for a sec, that he'd even take me there. This must be the day of generosity, or maybe just free rides. Either way, I'll take it.

I sat down with Dennis and up walked Peter, an Irishman. We all cheersed with a beer and chatted. And as a scary, fat old dude was about to take off on his moped, he offered me free lodging. Well, I'd never been offered free accommodation and didn't know how to respond. I stuttered...well... "You want to stay for free at my house?" he reiterated. Dennis muttered, "I don't think that's what you want." Then the old fat man said, "Free. Boom, boom. Tuki, tuki," or something which needed to translation. Eww. No, thank you. Free? He couldn't pay me enough. Good riddance.

So at Morning Glory, the road was fenced off. As it turns out, the joint's been cut off, no electricity, no water. The owner, an Austrian man, had apparently failed to pay for the road access, even though he owns the land. From what I hear, most of these islands are mafia run, price regulated by them, anyone deviating from them punished. In some way or another. So Dennis offered his own house. He said he has a comfy sofa that I was welcome to call home for a few days. Here's the rule. If I won't do it in New York, I won't do it anywhere else. So I did my best to graciously refuse. He seemed a bit rejected but I think I made the wise decision. I ended up at Rainbow Bungalows just down the beach and tomorrow am headed south. I am ready to get to another country entirely. Things haven't seemed to go so well these past few days. Whether me or something else in the world, the best part about traveling is that you can leave.

God bless Harley Davidson

2009-03-23T11:25:00.001-04:00

Tough, Thai and generous. Cruising up the hills with my 30 pound pack on my back, I held on to a woman who offered me a lift to the pier. On her Harley! Hell, yes! Talk about an abs workout. Up hills and down and twists and turns...nice!

Sometimes I think the universe speaks to you, or maybe on behalf of you. After the encounter with the nasty wife, I went to get money from the ATM. One of which malfunctioned, the other of which was being reloaded. Bahtless with no way to the pier, leaving on bad terms, here came a lady on a Harley. God bless America. No charge, just out of the goodness of her heart, she was headed that way and gave me a lift. It may have been the adorable plaid jumper I was wearing...but, honestly, I don't think it had a thing to do with me. She had a good deed for the day in her sights, and thankfully I was the recipient.

Can I have a...?

2009-03-23T11:11:00.000-04:00

So this morning for breakfast before I even opened the menu, the wife asked me where I was headed today. Hmm. "Nowhere," I replied. How wrong I was. Since I had told her 2 nights on the day I checked in, she assumed I was leaving today. No one asked if I'd like the room another night. And posted on the door of the bungalow is a notice of house rules, one of which states that you have to notify them one day before leaving. I notified no one and so thought I could chill out a few days more. So not so. We exchanged words and she told me there were no other available bungalows. Great. So I guess I'm out.

She goes to greet others who've come for breakfast, takes their order, brings their drinks, never again looking my way. Sitting. Sitting. Sitting. She feeds the cat and dog, hollars at someone in the back. Sitting. Sitting. Sitting. And she disappears. Ok. I can take a hint.

I take to my bungalow, perch on the top step and cry like a little girl. A few moments later, I pack. When almost finished, along comes the husband. "Excuse me, miss? We have one room, shared bathroom, for 200 baht. Would you like to see?" Interesting. Upon arrival two days prior, the wife said there was no acomodation for less than the 500 I paid for the beachfront bungalow I was now getting kicked out of. And so I berated him. "I don't know what your wife's problem is with me. I have been nice and clean. I have eaten at the restaurant and your mother has been kind to me. What is her problem?!?" He did not know where to start. Or finish. I told him I didn't want any part of the place any longer. I asked if I could now have my breakfast, ate, paid and left. Isn't this beginning to sound redundant? So maybe it's me.

At any rate, I'm off to Koh Samui. Let's hope there are no nasty, glasses-wearing fishing village, bungalow-running, fibbing wives to encounter. And can someone chant or something for me? It seems most appropriate.

2009-03-22T21:03:00.001-04:00

So here's the funny thing about Neutragena 45. The sun here is about level 145. And, no, I'm not laughing about it at the moment. I am a big red blob. Traveling on one's own has it perks. Having someone else to apply liberal amounts of sun screen to your skin is not one of them.

There are bats here. I'm not sure what kind but it's inspired me to shut and lock my windows at night. The swooped past my bungalow just after dusk. And there are also salamanders everywhere. They make a lot of noise!

First regrets

2009-03-22T20:51:00.001-04:00

It took some doing to arrive at the date today. I knew I left NYC on Monday the 9th but couldn't resolve what that made today.

I spent most of the day organizing. I washed clothes, always fun. You never know what the detergent will smell like! I checked a few things on the internet and tended to the knee. Betadyne is the cure-all here. Regret # 1: I forgot Neosporin and only realized it once I needed it. Regret #2: I forgot peanut butter. Heather...weren't you supposed to be in charge of making sure I had that?!?! At least peanuts are in steady supply to assuage such cravings. They have, in fact, become a meal a day, usually lunch.

Happy to have some solitude, I am not alone, just among strangers. And few at that. I am reading short stories, the greatest travel writers of the US year 2007 for inspiration. One of the writers today mentioned that you have to be able to deal with yourself--just you--when you travel. If you get squirrely, you lose it. I don't get nervous or worried so much, generally just miss certain people. I have yet to cry from it...still too early.

A fair amount of the day was also spent fending off a colony of ants. They have gone on attack. Nothing humanly edible inside, they seem to love Queen Helene cocoa butter lotion and savor Crest cool mint get. All of my stuff rinsed of the creatures, everything in my bungalow is now hanging in some sort of bag from the ceiling, to stave off further curiousity, aka infestation.

At dinner the lady of the house wrapped up my leg. Very sweet. I think she is the owner, her son and his wife, and a baby sister all run the place. The wife...not so nice with me. I'm not sure the deal but she's just plain nasty.

Bungalow 11

2009-03-21T10:12:00.001-04:00

I am in Chaloklum. Finally. Fanta Bungalow #11 and I'm set. It makes me miss Montanita in Ecuador and my friends there.

A fishing village stuck in a bay, this place is calm. Serene. Just what I have been looking for. It's going to start to settle in. I am on vacation.

Longtail fishing boats skirt in and out of the bay throughout the day. Walking into "town" one finds dried squid and huge fish hanging tail to head. The water is crystal green and the sun all power.This spot is on the northern part of the island, so the sunsets aren't as spectacular as I imagine on the western side, but I am content, still.

Ain't no freehouse

2009-03-20T21:42:00.003-04:00

I left Chiang Mai last night on a bus. I know...another bus? Necessary to get to Bangkok to fly to the south. Thai island hopping, here we come!

I made it to Bangkok's international airport at 8 am for a flight a few hours later. My first domestic flight a week and two days into the trip, it's pretty much the opposite of South America. People eat interesting thngs here for breakfast. French fries, sushi, chicken and rice. I guess it could be dinnertime for any of them though, headed wherever else in the world. Or maybe that's normal breakfast fare. The coffee here is strong. Enough to have taken me years back to adding sugar to coffee.

So having landed in Surat Thani, I had to bus it to the ferry pier, then ferry it to Koh Pangang. A full 24 hours later, from Chiang Mai to final destination, I gambled and agreed to stay at a place on the island called Treehouse. It's new and hard to find, recommended by an Englishman on the ferry who was also on the bus with me. His friends are the owners and he said he'd do his best to get me a deal or something. And it's much closer to where I want to stay than the pier, so I figured easier to get where I was going. We loaded into a taxi at set off for the place. A half hour later, the taxi drops us off in the darkness at a makeshift bridge that crosses a stream. We have to hike the rest of the way, pack and all. No worries, I figure. I'm up for an adventure. Along the dirt road, we meet a bevvy of barking dogs, whose owner steers us in the right direction. In the fading light of Glyn's cell phone, I fell. Bleeding, sweating, unsure the place really existed, we came upon a creature in the woods. Nice. The chupacabra. Or maybe a bear, I thought. Yeah, a tropical bear. Turned out to be a pony.

We did finally make it to the place. I got introduced by the Englishman as the girl he just met on the ferry. Nice. And I paid more than I had hoped for any room, much less his buddy's place.

Oh, well. Whatever. So we dined with a South African couple, the German couple owners and her father. The South Africans offered food and drink as did the owners to both of us. I too pitched in with beers and orderd my own meal. As for Glyn. Nada. So. He bought nothing, paid half for the taxi up to the place in the middle of nowhere, arranged nothing and said nothing about it. Hell, he even used my guidebook to indicate to the taxi driver where we were headed.

I woke up to men sweeping the dirt around my bungalow. Weird. And someone cranking the engine of some vehicle. See, my bungalow, unlike the free one Glyn had, was next to the main house where all activities take place. I wasn't even beachfront! The place has no internet access. And to get to where I wanted to stay would cost 5 times by boat from the Treehouse than would heading back to the pier, where I was just last night, and then shooting over to my desired spot. So after two cups of coffee, both of which I paid for, I paid my bill. And I left. The female owner looked at me shocked. "But you haven't even been to the beach yet." Hmph. I wanted to ask, "How much should I fork out for that?"

Certain things

2009-03-19T09:09:00.001-04:00

Early in the morning begin the roosters. Tick, tock, and they don't stop. It's like they're in competition, all of them, throughout the village. One pillow to one ear, another to the other, and still you hear every single one of them.

We rode two hours more down the river through rapids on our bamboo raft. Bun fished with a throw net a couple of times and snagged three fish.

The only girl, Bun often stuck me in the middle of the raft oarless, thinking me helpless, or weak, I guess. I did my fair share of rowing but through the rapids, it was men only steering us through the rocks. At one set of rapids, we lost Carlston. JP said he turned around to nod at Carlston, "Phew, we made it!" only there was no Carlston. A quick dunk for him, I wasn't too keen on getting bumped myself. Having seen our elephant's dung drop into that very same water the day before, I can only imagine...

The last and final tribe we visited was from China. They wear layers of clothes in such heat and square hats with coins of metal attached. At lunch, they did their best to hawk their wares. I was happy I'd bought the first day. Looking back, it was the most impressive of options.

With this trek, the three of us decided that certain things needed mention. So here I go. The extras, water, beer, tips to you elephant guide should be explained somewhere in the tour information. I imagine larger groups end up the bread and butter of these hill tribes, but for us just three, it was at times uncomfortable feeling forced to purchase. Likewise, I enjoy hearing about the culture who is affording me lodging and food. And our guide did little to share with us their culture. What a shame. The trip cost 1700 baht a piece, which is about $50 for three days. At the same time, factoring in all the added extras and the fact that they were never mentioned, a customer can feel a bit less than satisfied.

At the same time, I have to remember. Before taking off on the trek, I booked a flight from Bangkok to Surat Thani in the south for just over 1800 baht. The flight is only an hour and ten minutes of my time, opposed to a few days of hiking, an elephant ride, bamboo rafting and encountering a different way of life.

Elephants and bamboo

2009-03-18T08:39:00.000-04:00

Day two of our trek was mostly downhill, which destroys my knees. Once the landscape evened out, we found ourselves traversing what in a few months will be tall with rice. Terraces cut into the land, rice means sustenance for the villagers. They don't sell it but live off it, enough from the field usually to feed all the families. Along the way, Bun and I picked young ferns. It's a local veggie eaten there usually with sticky rice.

We made it to Bun's home village in time for lunch. His village is big, lots of families, lots of chickens, dogs, cats, pigs, water buffalo. They have a school here, too. And all the animals roam the village, the river, under houses. Carlston got trapped at one point on the road in front of a group of water buffalo, pinned by a fence. A guy on a moto came honking by and got them moving lucky for him.

Our lunch was a noodle soup, breakfast eggs and toast. After eating came the showcase of local goods. Much less variety than our first stop and nothing different. I fear, however, that a purchase is required of us. The attitude is less of sharing culture or discussing the crafts but of giving up money. When something is expected it's much harder for me to comply. It's difficult at times, traveling, but is perhaps the least price we could pay. Supporting those with close to nothing. Sometimes, though, you feel like roadkill on the side of the highway soon to be discovered wounded or dead, lying in wait for that first bite to be ripped from your carcass.

We rode elephants in the afternoon through the forest and across the river. What a creature! Perched on her back, we rocked side to side as she maneuvered the landscape. We were 3 on one elephant, Carlston, the guide and I; JP and his guide on the other. His guide had an implement, a wooden handle with a large metal hook. JP said his guide hooked his elephant in the eye when she deviated from course. She would screech, too, a sound I've never heard from an elephant. I thought he was pulling on her ear, which seems far better than eye. Their skin is so thick. Meanwhile, every chance she got, our elephant took a snack. She uprooted saplings and tore down bunches of bamboo. From behind, elephants move like large, shapely women. Slow and steady and rhythmic.

After the elephant ride, we floated down the Mae Tang river on a bamboo raft. Bamboo poles our oars, our raft was 11 poles of bamboo wide. Remarkably, it didn't sink with the four of us on it and all of our backpacks!

A bit like Apocalypse Now, we arrived at the next village, the Langhu tribe at dusk. We ate dinner, among it snake soup, and I tried the local rice whiskey. Not bad, not bad. Sure beats moonshine! The stars were out last night and beautiful, so we built a fire and stargazed. Later, I sat in the owners' quarters and sang songs. Hotel California, The Winds of Change. Nothing like a little Scorpions to bring people together. The owner played guitar. He and his wife have been married since 19 and 17, respectively, are 37 and 35 now and had one daughter a year after marriage. What a fun diversion from my daily life. Let's be honest. When was the last time I sang anything by the Scorpions?