Sigh...India...
I was glad that I spent my final days in Thailand relaxing at my cousin's house, enjoying my hot showers and western toilets with toilet paper, because I aint gonna be getting much of that here. I was averaging 100-300 pages of Shantaram a day. I didn't want to lug that huge ass book with me to India. I have enough to carry.
Arriving to the Bangkok airport to check in for my flight, it wasn't difficult to tell which counter was forIndia. There was mostly men pushing huge carts of potato sack covered packages and huge disorderly lines. On the plane I went to the bathroom and broke out in a huge smile and dance because there was already bhangra music playing on board. Taking my seat, I found myself next to a fat smelly drunk man who downed 4 beers and a glass of wine on our short flight. He kept pressing the bell and light for stewardess to come and barked at them to give him another. He asked me if I was married. Of course I am.
Arriving at the Calcutta airport there were already two women sleeping on cardboard boxes in the bathroom. I took a cab to the one tourist spot in town, which is called "Sudder Street." I saw the cafe where I was supposed to meet my friend Ben, and went there with all my stuff. I felt immediately at home. I took out my many books and ordered a mango lassi and honey ginger lemon tea, both of which were incredible. Ben came shortly thereafter. It turned out that he did a great meditation course in the town of Bodgaya, where Buddha achieved enlightenment under a tree. He met lots of cool people at the retreat who were all coming in and out of the cafe all the time and sat with us. I really felt like we were at Leopolds in our own version of Shantaram.
The parallels continued in Varanasi. I never would have felt comfortable following a "guide" around town if I hadn't seen how much the protagonist of Shantaram gained from his relationship to Prabu. My guide was called "Tota" meaning parokeet in Hindi, because apparantly some people thought he looked like a bird. He brought me to Hindu and Nepalese temples, showed me how to make an offering to the goddess Durga for the holiday of Nivrathri. He showed me the clothing factory where he and others hand sew saris, blankets and scarves. The owner of the factory became irrate when he discovered I didn't want to spend massive amounts of money, but that comes with the territory.
Varanasi and Rishikesh, where I am now, are two of the holiest places I've ever visited in my life. Being by the ganges river and seeing people bathe in it, pray, participate in pujas, dodge cows and monkeys wherever I go...well, I can't do it justice here at this internet cafe so I won't even try. I'm looking forward to seeing many of you again at the end of April.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Justifying my existence
It just so happens that I woke up at the beach the other day and the words, “What is Julie doing in Asia?” popped in my head. I had mentioned that I would be working in Thailand and I’m not. Later in the day at the beach I spoke on the phone with Pamela, who said that she had gotten together with a group of our mutual friends in New York the night before when someone asked, “What is Julie doing in Asia? Finding herself?”
Today is March 18th, the day I was SUPPOSED to go back to the United States before I extended my ticket. The original precursor for the extension was “working” or volunteerism. The former ambassador to Thailand worked at the think tank in Washington, DC where I was interning and he helped me get a connection with an NGO here. My first conversation with the director of the IRC in Bangkok was promising. He said, “I have three different opportunities lined up for you. But how long are you staying? A month at each place would be ideal.” “Oh, I better extend my ticket,” we both agreed.
We planned to talk over the details in Chiang Mai. But once I got there, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that he was avoiding me, not returning my calls, and when I saw him at the night market he avoided looking at me and treated me with suspicion. (Really! It’s true! I’m not just being a drama queen, and by the way, there also was really a dead body floating in the Mekong river next to our slow boat, to answer a couple of your doubts.)
When I eventually spoke to the director of the NGO, he spoke about unforeseen bureaucracy, messy politics with their partner organizations. He said I could wait indefinitely for a meeting to happen between some NGO directors who were then out of town, but I told him that I wuzn’t gunna stick around to wait for something that might never happen. So instead I’ve just been embracing my life as a traveler.
One of the things I liked best about my time in Nicaragua while serving in the Peace Corps was hanging out with kids, climbing trees, picking fruit, dancing, singing, and spending time outside. In Laos one evening I was sitting at a wat (temple) when a girl sat down next to me and began to give me travel advice since she seemed to have been everywhere in the world. Her mother was home schooling her for a year abroad. She was having an alternative 7th grade: instead of spending an awkward year of middle school in New Mexico, she was spending it in The Middle East, Europe, and Asia. She was one of the wisest 12 year olds, or people of any age, that I have ever met.
Today is March 18th, the day I was SUPPOSED to go back to the United States before I extended my ticket. The original precursor for the extension was “working” or volunteerism. The former ambassador to Thailand worked at the think tank in Washington, DC where I was interning and he helped me get a connection with an NGO here. My first conversation with the director of the IRC in Bangkok was promising. He said, “I have three different opportunities lined up for you. But how long are you staying? A month at each place would be ideal.” “Oh, I better extend my ticket,” we both agreed.
We planned to talk over the details in Chiang Mai. But once I got there, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that he was avoiding me, not returning my calls, and when I saw him at the night market he avoided looking at me and treated me with suspicion. (Really! It’s true! I’m not just being a drama queen, and by the way, there also was really a dead body floating in the Mekong river next to our slow boat, to answer a couple of your doubts.)
When I eventually spoke to the director of the NGO, he spoke about unforeseen bureaucracy, messy politics with their partner organizations. He said I could wait indefinitely for a meeting to happen between some NGO directors who were then out of town, but I told him that I wuzn’t gunna stick around to wait for something that might never happen. So instead I’ve just been embracing my life as a traveler.
One of the things I liked best about my time in Nicaragua while serving in the Peace Corps was hanging out with kids, climbing trees, picking fruit, dancing, singing, and spending time outside. In Laos one evening I was sitting at a wat (temple) when a girl sat down next to me and began to give me travel advice since she seemed to have been everywhere in the world. Her mother was home schooling her for a year abroad. She was having an alternative 7th grade: instead of spending an awkward year of middle school in New Mexico, she was spending it in The Middle East, Europe, and Asia. She was one of the wisest 12 year olds, or people of any age, that I have ever met.
She was also a helluvalot of fun to spend time with. We climbed many a tree, enlisted some Laotian kids to have a contest on the street of who could jump the farthest. These were the kids who had previously been trying to sell us things and Bela made them put down their souvenirs to play for a little bit. She encouraged me to conquer my adult fears and do the tarzan swing into the beautiful water falls. (I sucked at it and only worked up the courage to do it once instead of repeatedly like her and her mom) Everyone needs a Bela in their lives, I think.
After coming back from Laos, I spent a bit too much time in the noisy city of Bangkok. My friend from New York, Molly, came to visit me for the Jewish holiday of Purim to try my cousin’s hamantashen. They were quite interesting varieties of the triangular cookies with exotic filling like orange peel, dates and golden raisins. Molly and I went to the beach afterwards, and I have been island hopping since, at Koh Phangan, Koh Tao, and Koh Sammet. My friend Manali who I met in Laos was taking a diving course at Koh Tao and I went to go meet her there. We went snorkeling at “Sharks bay” where you actually see little sharks pass you by under the water. “They’re nice sharks,” they reassured me, and I took their word for it. When the motorboat picked us up to bring us back to the less pristine beach where we were staying, there was a German dude in it who had just been diving and saw an actual whale shark! I felt the excitement of my former first grade students from the inner cities of Brooklyn, asking questions about the baleen in this harmless whale’s mouth that filters through the ocean water for food. I couldn’t believe that he had just seen a real one instead of just a picture in a book!
Another great thing about this whole travel bit is getting to know people from different countries who I’d never otherwise bond with. I met a Pakistani guy on the ferry ride to Koh Phangan whose father had been in the army his whole life. He had never finished an entire grade growing up in the same school because he moved around so much. He didn’t realize that I was Jewish until the middle of our dinner conversation that night, but he took it well and told me that I was the fifth Jew he had ever met (the rest of them were other people from this trip to Thailand.) Before leaving the island, I gave him a bottle of Israeli wine that my cousin’s rabbi had given to us as a gift at Purim. He said that he had never tried wine before (he drank beer and other alcohol -- I wasn’t trying to pervert the poor fellow and he was happy to try it, even though Muslims aren’t supposed to drink.) I thought it was cool that the first wine he ever tasted would be Israeli kosher wine with Hebrew letters printed on it.
My Swiss friend who I had met on the train in India just lent me the book Shantaram, which has been occupying my days recently. It’s an obsession, actually. Anyone who’s read it understands what I mean. That book is amazing. It makes me really excited to go back to India and try to surrender to the madness a little more. Thailand was a very easy country to get around in, well- mapped out for a tourist. India is not. Since I had my extended trip in Asia to fill with non-volunteerism, I bought a return ticket to go to India again and try myself out to see how much I could surrender this time around.
My first stop after flying into the city of Calcutta will be a good test: we’re taking a train to Varanasi from the airport where cremations take place along the Ganges, and I heard that anything could happen. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Another great thing about this whole travel bit is getting to know people from different countries who I’d never otherwise bond with. I met a Pakistani guy on the ferry ride to Koh Phangan whose father had been in the army his whole life. He had never finished an entire grade growing up in the same school because he moved around so much. He didn’t realize that I was Jewish until the middle of our dinner conversation that night, but he took it well and told me that I was the fifth Jew he had ever met (the rest of them were other people from this trip to Thailand.) Before leaving the island, I gave him a bottle of Israeli wine that my cousin’s rabbi had given to us as a gift at Purim. He said that he had never tried wine before (he drank beer and other alcohol -- I wasn’t trying to pervert the poor fellow and he was happy to try it, even though Muslims aren’t supposed to drink.) I thought it was cool that the first wine he ever tasted would be Israeli kosher wine with Hebrew letters printed on it.
My Swiss friend who I had met on the train in India just lent me the book Shantaram, which has been occupying my days recently. It’s an obsession, actually. Anyone who’s read it understands what I mean. That book is amazing. It makes me really excited to go back to India and try to surrender to the madness a little more. Thailand was a very easy country to get around in, well- mapped out for a tourist. India is not. Since I had my extended trip in Asia to fill with non-volunteerism, I bought a return ticket to go to India again and try myself out to see how much I could surrender this time around.
My first stop after flying into the city of Calcutta will be a good test: we’re taking a train to Varanasi from the airport where cremations take place along the Ganges, and I heard that anything could happen. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Crossing the Border into Lao
Our minivan approached a little house in the mountains of north Thailand that had the words “Laos embassy” painted on the side. This was supposed to give us sufficient confidence to hand over our passports so that we could get Laos visas. The fee that was required depended on your nationality. $35 dollars if you’re American, a little more if your Canadian and if you’re German , Australian or English, it would be better to come back next year because it will be free then. In the meantime, give us all your money. One dollar extra because it was the weekend (seriously!)
A Laotian man who headed the tour company joked that they would sell our passports for a thousand Thai baht each. He also broke the news that the journey would take close to 20 hours instead of the 10 the tourist agencies promised. He said, “They tell you five hours one day, five the next, take your money and then laugh at you once you walk out the door.”
He also told us it was a good idea that we’re taking the slow boat if we want to return back to our countries. I got to see numerous “fast boats” passing us by with people donning their helmets. Apparently some are catapulted out and die when the boat comes up against a rock or driftwood. No kidding that we passed a dead body in the boat. A group of English girls saw the body first and motioned to the boat conductor. When he saw it he began to laugh.
We made a stop for the night at a village whose only visitors were those making the mandatory stop over on the way to Luang Prabang. We were warned ahead of time that we may encounter some scams or sketchiness. “Grab your bags and don’t let anyone help you carry them,” we were told. The village lived up to its reputation. Many tourists were accosted with offers of sex, drugs including opium and cocaine, and free Lao whisky. We shared our stories on the boat ride the next morning when we left at 9:30 AM and didn’t arrive to our destination until 6 PM, without a break.
Despite my numerous seeming-complaints, I enjoyed the ride thoroughly. It was non-stop gorgeous scenery of mountains, river and sun-sets, naked Lao children swimming and playing, wild animals on the shores. Lots of conversations with cool people on the boat, not to mention scandalous tales to report on this very blog.
A Laotian man who headed the tour company joked that they would sell our passports for a thousand Thai baht each. He also broke the news that the journey would take close to 20 hours instead of the 10 the tourist agencies promised. He said, “They tell you five hours one day, five the next, take your money and then laugh at you once you walk out the door.”
He also told us it was a good idea that we’re taking the slow boat if we want to return back to our countries. I got to see numerous “fast boats” passing us by with people donning their helmets. Apparently some are catapulted out and die when the boat comes up against a rock or driftwood. No kidding that we passed a dead body in the boat. A group of English girls saw the body first and motioned to the boat conductor. When he saw it he began to laugh.
We made a stop for the night at a village whose only visitors were those making the mandatory stop over on the way to Luang Prabang. We were warned ahead of time that we may encounter some scams or sketchiness. “Grab your bags and don’t let anyone help you carry them,” we were told. The village lived up to its reputation. Many tourists were accosted with offers of sex, drugs including opium and cocaine, and free Lao whisky. We shared our stories on the boat ride the next morning when we left at 9:30 AM and didn’t arrive to our destination until 6 PM, without a break.
Despite my numerous seeming-complaints, I enjoyed the ride thoroughly. It was non-stop gorgeous scenery of mountains, river and sun-sets, naked Lao children swimming and playing, wild animals on the shores. Lots of conversations with cool people on the boat, not to mention scandalous tales to report on this very blog.
More on quirky Chiang Mai
Did I mention that I really like the city of Chiang Mai? It felt like home. A city that even Lonely Planet Guides describes as quirky suited me just fine.
I was glad that I followed my instinct to rent a room from the hostel called “Nocky’s House.” As soon as I sat down with one of the awesome Thai daughters I fell in love and wanted to give her my money. The hostel was owned by a kick-ass family who gave me special discounts, great treatment, and even offered my money back when I would change my plans periodically!
I had a Chiang Mai routine: walking to the water filter machine on the street and preparing my two plastic bottles to be filled with UV-treated water. The machine that I liked best was broken and the water pressure was freakishly strong. Every other machine barely filled up one bottle of water for 1 Thai baht, but this baby, not only filled up two, but also came out so forcefully that it splashed me in the face and splattered all over my clothes, without fail, every time.
From the water machine, I would walk away drenched and refreshed to “Soi 6” (the streets are numbered as “soi’s”) where there was a market to buy some fruit, spicy noodles and eggplant, and then to a kick-ass bakery to buy some delicious and cheap banana bread. A dollar was all it took to get a loaf with moist raisins and cashews on top.
Someone at my guest house had suggested that I check out the vegetarian restaurant called “Blue Diamond” that had delicious organic food with many veggie options. I quickly became a regular.
One of the things that I loved best about Chiang Mai was its transportation options. To get from one side of the city to the other, you could take a communal taxi, which consisted of jumping on the back of the pick up truck. This was the custom in Nicaragua when hitchhiking as well, but the “sawnthaew” has two benches on the long side of the truck and charges a dollar or less. It’s quite economical and convenient.
The city is also quite bike friendly and I used this option to get to more of my spiritual, quirky destinations. First I found a yoga studio that was offering a weekend workshop on finding yourself. My favorite part of the program was being catapulted in the air by four people while I shouted “ME!” They confirmed that it was me by looking into my eyes and saying, “Yes, it’s you.” A moment that I will surely never forget.
After visiting the yoga studio I went to a gorgeous temple that was built in the Cambodian “Angor Wat” style. Three days a week they offer “monk chats” where the monks sit down with you and tell you all about their traditions, lifestyle and anything else you wanna know.
Another day I visited the woman’s correctional facility of Chiang Mai. These female prison inmates are trained in giving Thai and foot massages. The money they earn from the treatments is saved until they are released. Can you imagine going to the jails in the US and letting the accused criminals give you a massage?
I was glad that I followed my instinct to rent a room from the hostel called “Nocky’s House.” As soon as I sat down with one of the awesome Thai daughters I fell in love and wanted to give her my money. The hostel was owned by a kick-ass family who gave me special discounts, great treatment, and even offered my money back when I would change my plans periodically!
I had a Chiang Mai routine: walking to the water filter machine on the street and preparing my two plastic bottles to be filled with UV-treated water. The machine that I liked best was broken and the water pressure was freakishly strong. Every other machine barely filled up one bottle of water for 1 Thai baht, but this baby, not only filled up two, but also came out so forcefully that it splashed me in the face and splattered all over my clothes, without fail, every time.
From the water machine, I would walk away drenched and refreshed to “Soi 6” (the streets are numbered as “soi’s”) where there was a market to buy some fruit, spicy noodles and eggplant, and then to a kick-ass bakery to buy some delicious and cheap banana bread. A dollar was all it took to get a loaf with moist raisins and cashews on top.
Someone at my guest house had suggested that I check out the vegetarian restaurant called “Blue Diamond” that had delicious organic food with many veggie options. I quickly became a regular.
One of the things that I loved best about Chiang Mai was its transportation options. To get from one side of the city to the other, you could take a communal taxi, which consisted of jumping on the back of the pick up truck. This was the custom in Nicaragua when hitchhiking as well, but the “sawnthaew” has two benches on the long side of the truck and charges a dollar or less. It’s quite economical and convenient.
The city is also quite bike friendly and I used this option to get to more of my spiritual, quirky destinations. First I found a yoga studio that was offering a weekend workshop on finding yourself. My favorite part of the program was being catapulted in the air by four people while I shouted “ME!” They confirmed that it was me by looking into my eyes and saying, “Yes, it’s you.” A moment that I will surely never forget.
After visiting the yoga studio I went to a gorgeous temple that was built in the Cambodian “Angor Wat” style. Three days a week they offer “monk chats” where the monks sit down with you and tell you all about their traditions, lifestyle and anything else you wanna know.
Another day I visited the woman’s correctional facility of Chiang Mai. These female prison inmates are trained in giving Thai and foot massages. The money they earn from the treatments is saved until they are released. Can you imagine going to the jails in the US and letting the accused criminals give you a massage?
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