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Where I've Been

2011-08-08T11:09:00.001-04:00

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Singapore: A Fine City Indeed

2011-08-02T09:00:00.006-04:00

So reads the ubiquitous t-shirt, in the surprisingly- able-to-have -a-sense-of- humor-about- itself dictatorial city-state on the southern tip of the Malay Peninsula.

We arrived weary after a few hour flight on airasia.com (yes, that's the official name of the airline), to a hypermodern airport a striking contrast to those we saw in Indonesia. (And, I believe, the highest ranked airport on the great website, sleepinginairports.com, and yes, they really do have free foot massage machines there). Customs was simple, taxi was seamless. Zipping down clean new highways, past billboards advertising- what, yes, the Women's World Championship Netball Tournament is RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW in SINGAPORE! We could even go! How totally random! We were dropped at our hotel- a cheapie by Singapore standards but still more than twice what we were spending in Indonesia. The place was a little cigarette-smokey, and a little prostitutey. But hey, the price was right and it was basically across the street from the eat-off-the-platform clean Singapore mass transit subway/skytrain thingy.

Day one we wandered around the city center, or tried to find the city center. All the buildings seemed like new skyscrapers, and the heat and humidity and lack of breeze could only be described as "punishing" even well into the afternoon. In terms of aesthetics, I can basically describe Singapore as "like China, but clean," we is not exactly a ringing endorsement. But we strolled by the river and past little shops and pubs that were touristy but charming, kind of "Wee-Britain" district of smaller scale colonial buildings along the water. From there we wandered to the "colonial district" which distinctly lacks colonial buildings, although there were a few cute old British Empire-Era government buildings that were nice to look at, and imagine what it might have been like once upon a time. Not much else besides malls, although we did stop by a high end mall food court for lunch, where we had some kick-ass dumplings and dim-sum, watching cooks behind glass and wearing surgical masks preparing our food with the utmost hygienic care. Re-energized we headed out to walk in this apparently unwalkable city that is built for either subways or SUVs, and soon found ourselves exhausted by the heat again. Searching for something besides air-conditioned mega-malls to cool off, we followed signs and wandered up to a park, historic Fort Canning Park in search of shade and relief.

Again, a charming old British era fort and park, and we headed up to an old colonial building, only to hear pounding noise as we approached. Sure enough, we rounded the bend and saw handmade signs advertising Singapore DethFest 2011, and legions of black clad, tattooed and pierced, chainmail wearing pan-Asian death metal fans milling about, selling merch, and greeting friends each time the door swung open to blast more music outward into the park. Now this was a definite incongruity with the image of a sterile Singapore no doubt, but what made it more hilarious was the fact that literally steps away, a traditional wedding was setting up. Next to the dethfest sign was a sign pointed to Steven and Ashley's wedding, which meant watching well-heeled evening gown clad guests walk past dethfest attendees and up toward the white rose covered trellis and enjoy lemonade and quiet conversation while every few minutes the muted death metal roar exploded outward as the doors opened. We just sat and people watched the whole thing, each group seemingly oblivious of the other, and not seeming to mind the presence of their celebratory neighbors. And, in that cool Singapore way, both groups were as diverse internally as externally- Chinese descendants mingled with Subcontinentals, a few old British folks and Malaysians wandered around in each group, and really showed the best of Singapore as a successfully diverse, pluralist, multicultural place. And yes, English is the official language, but its a strange English, like India - sort of British, and sort of its own thing, peppered with odd (to our ears) idioms and accents, and responses that give pause, like when you say "thank you" the response is "never mind."

Finally, as both the sun and mosquitos began to descend, we headed down and back to the streets before wandering into the national museum, free after 6PM. A great interactive exhibit traced the history of hawker food from the British colonial days through the present, and other exhibits showed off Singaporean pop culture from film to fashion to music, all housed in a grand old colonial building. The food exhibit certainly got us excited for dinner, and we were now armed with notes on what we wanted to eat and headed to a hawker center for some "carrot cake," Peking duck, and a few other local specialties, washed down with cool iced chrysanthimum tea. And all this while watching on all the TVs, yes, once again, the world netball championships! Back on the refreshingly AC subway home to our hotel, a nice walk in the now tolerable temperature past some smaller scale buildings and the reeking durian fruit stand across the street. (Which is weird, because I thought durian was illegal here, maybe its just illegal to have inside or something.)

Next day we were off again early, wandering our small scale Chinatown like neighborhood, enjoying a Vietnamese style iced coffee at a local coffee shop, and then back on the SMRT train to downtown. As I said, the trains are like a spotless version of the London Tube and ultra air-conditioned, with signs in English, Malay, Chinese and Bengali, and the announcement voice the same woman as the London Underground, making the same warnings. We wandered Chinatown, a great, though touristy neighborhood that was setting up for the day, selling "A Fine City" t-shirts, trinkets, and assorted Merlion merchandise (the Merlion, half-lion half-fish, is the symbol of Singapore- mythical since the mid-60s tourism campaign.) Wandered past the Buddha-tooth temple (the number of temples in Asia with tooth relics of the Buddha would suggest however, that that man had a LOT of teeth...), which I realized had been done in gold leaf by an old friend of mine Dave from Providence. The buildings were charming and looked like old China or the Victorian Asia of the imagination, brightly painted two-story wooden structures with shutters above and shops down below. Some good looking food sold in a few windows, including some historic pork jerky place that advertised "pork floss," but we decided instead on Hainan Chicken and a few other specialties at the nearby hawker stalls. Oh, and who should we see wandering the streets that day, but ALL THE WOMEN'S NETBALL TEAMS out on the town, with locals asking them to pose for pictures, and the first black people we'd seen in months.

What else to report? Not much, spent the afternoon in the megamall district of Orchard Road, watching the luxury shopping, (Singapore's national pastime it would seem), and Asian tousrist posing outside of the rows of Louis Vuittons and Pradas, hands in victory poses. We didnt spend much time inside, but did enjoy an amazing pork rib noodle soup somewhere. One thing I couldnt help noticing in the police state, was that none of the stores had anti-theft devices, I guess it never even occurs to anyone to steal. And up early the next day to fly to a VERY different airport at Kuala Lumpur, basically a giant temporary airport made of corrugated metal, sweating in the Malaysian heat. The only interesting thing there being the electric fly swatter employed by the Starbucks employees. And from there on to Burma.

Yangon Redux

2011-07-25T06:56:00.000-04:00

Left Bagan on the night bus, safely getting out of town without paying for the temples. The autocracy is also a beaurocracy it would seem- although my hotels and buses and entrance tickets all required passport numbers, visa numbers, addresses etc, no one seemed to cross check my Bagan entrance ticket that I'd been given by another tourist, something I'd been sweating about for the past few days. Well, I can just say I'm relieved to have no more night buses for a while. Nothing much to report about that, except that once again the sweet chanting of the diamond sutra with synthesizer music and accompanied by bizarre animated videos and maps of Buddhism around Asia eventually turned into the inevitable terrible blaring Burmese soaps. A late stop at a truck stop with nothing but women frying chicken and potato chips while The Lion King played on an old TV (not the first time I'd seen it- apparently the people see it as an allegory for the current situation and the Aung San family, etc.)

Arrived early and not so bright to the guesthouse and crashed for a few more hours before heading out for the day. Lunch at a local spot, chatting with the waiter about politics and sports and travel, he was eager to hear if I'd e to the new capital of Nay Pyi Taw, built a few years ago from scratch and basically an empty gleaming new city built for billions of dollars. " yes, Than Shwe lives there," he said "lights are on 24 hours not like here, air-con 24 hours for Than Shwe, no blackouts, no generators, but no one lives there." Air-con also for the penguin exhibit at the national zoo there, that no one is allowed to go to. It's apparently a very strange and surreal place.

From lunch out to the market for some shopping, wandering down the broken wet streets in flip-flops and once slipping about an inch from an open sewer. Got within a few blocks of the market when the downpour began, so running through the ancient streets getting soaked and dodging ancient cars. The government basically banned car imports and taxed them so they cost over 200000 dollars (yes, dollars) which means a fleet of ancient Pre-89 Toyota Corollas wheezing around prowling the city. Unlike every other city in Southeast Asia, no motorbikes since the 2007 protests. They also have steering wheels on the right because the country USED to drive on the left until the random day in the 90s when the generals switched it all around without warning. Of course, you can always tell a rich person or government person (same same, really) by their newish SUVs. And I saw plenty of motorcades of big shots everywhere flying the new flag and toting around some minister of something, while all the other cars stopped.
Anyway, did some shopping at the market and still a few hours before sunset when I wanted to see Shwedagon again, but too far from the guesthouse and pouring rain, so ended up seeing X-Men at the movie theater once I got though all the metal detectors.

After some previews and propaganda, an announcement on screen had something about everyone honoring the country, and the national anthem blared over a clip of the new flag waving. I didn't know what to do, but couldn't help no one stood up, put a hand on their heart or anything. Movie was decent and totally forgot I was in Burma until the shock of the strange theater and a floor now completely carpeted in sesame and peanut shells. On to the Shwedagon, which really was incredible by sunset and night, different colors and different quoted peaceful vibe with the candles and a few birds.

Back to my hotel for dinner, with nothing much else but sleeping to do. Read the English language newspaper- which included on the front page a piece about the local cabbage harvest, an article about Martyr's DAy without mentioning Aung San Su Kyi, and a puff piece about "China Celebrates 60 Years of the Peaceful Liberation of Tibet." That about sums up the cooutry and many of its issues right there! And now on to ChiangMai.

Oh, one last thing, the stressful-as-hell money thing here.
Once upon a time the junta's astrologers (are we sensing a theme here?) told the to only print money divisible by nine! Thankfully those days are over but money is a major pain in the ass. The only good money to bring is US cash, (although at a few places that take euros, I smugly enjoy the fact that they enjoy the same exchange rate as the dollar). There are no ATMs an certainly no credit cards due to sanctions. And the bills to exchange have to be PERFECT, and I mean perfect! "crispy" they insist, and I hand over a twenty to by guesthouse. 'Notha one please." hand over a crsipier one. "notha one please.." and so on, until finally they decide to give me less for various bills than others. "This one I give you 7600, these ones 7300." a hundred dollar bill also gets a better rate than a fifty which is better than a twenty and so on. Furthermore, certain serial numbers are considered unlucky and are unchangeable as well, and to top it off, in exchange for exquisitely crispy bills, I get kyat that are shredded with holes big enough to look through and with a surface area 99% covered in scotch tape. Oh yeah, and the 1000kyat note is the largest in circulation and worth slightly more than a dollar, which means changing 100$ I can't even close my wallet. (see photos)

Begin Bagan

2011-07-24T10:34:00.001-04:00

The chapati stand around the corner seems to be the local favorite among the city's Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists and backpackers. (In general, the best food seems to be in these Indian joints that are always nearby to the Hindu temples) Its a bunch of women slapping our chapatis dough in front of bubbling vats of curry, just out on the sidewalk and spilling knee-high tables with buckets for chairs into the street. The waitstaff are all under ten years old, and are constantly sneezing into the food, and wiping their hands on their filthy shirts. For change, they don’t always have exact, so they augment with a random few pieces of candy, a package of instant coffee, a few cigarettes, or a packet of tissues. Locals get chapati and curry scooped into plastic bags, and a lighter hangs from a tree to light cigarettes. Its great, except for the nasty cold I got from eating there, that I'm still nursing a few days later in Bagan.

My motorbike driver to the bus station and I chatted for a while, as we zipped through traffic and he cursed the local drivers. He spoke with an amazing cockney accent, I asked where he learned it and he said "Where do you think." I was right. "On the pillow. Ya know what I mean mate? I've got a British girlfriend. Ha ha!" He's going to Thailand next week to marry her, and we discussed the relative benefits of living in Thailand, Burma and London - he's not sure. We zipped past some massive new malls on the way out of town and I asked who shopped there. "Chinese arseholes... Government arseholes..." was his response. I didn’t press more about politics.

Busride was only moderately hellish. Bus filled up and they put down the dreaded middle seat for half the bus, ending, mercifully at me. (sometimes in these place they put seats in the aisles to make more

money illegally. Unpleasant and claustrophobic experience for all. Seated next to an elderly monk who snapped open the sports pages on the bus, and smoked cigarettes (albeit mindfully) at the dinner stop. Ended up making new travel companions though as we searched till nearly midnight for a guesthouse, and four of us shared one crappy double room somewhere near the market in Bagan. Thankfully, the next day we all got adjoining singles on the roof of the hotel across the street.

So let me introduce the gang- there’s Josh, the septuagenarian pensioner Basque Spaniard who fled Franco's Spain when he got drafted for the army and moved to Australia and joined the merchant marines, sailed the world, then moved to Australia and worked as a professional chef and waiter. He's great, old timey salty left winger with a great accent. (You can guess what we all talk about, politics and food!) Andreas is an Italian chef/teacher with dreadlocks down to his knees that brings joy to all the local people, but whenever he meets a foreigner as tells them he is from Napoli, they all say, “Ah, the garbage place!” much to his chagrin. He also chain-smokes the local cheroot cigars. Kis the LA yoga girl who is bright but not super knowledgeable and breaks no stereotypes (sample conversation: Me: Oh, did you get an Indian SIM card for your blackberry? Her: No, I havent gotten aroud to it yet and I’ve been here for five months, its been like, thousands of dollars in roaming fees.” Evenings are generally spent filling her in on who was the Khmer Rouge, and other relevant history of the region. But she’s sweet. And then their friend P, a grumpy Swiss arrived today.

So the first morning in Bagan we rented a few bikes, ancient fixed gear Fuji cruisers for a dollar a day. Realized that they all ride bikes with no top bar because the men and women wear Long-Yi shirt/wrap things, so makes more sense. And the temples, well, they were amazing. The ruins are red brick colored, and over 4000 Buddhist temples in this area about the size of Manhattan, dating back over a thousand years. If you’ve been to Angkor, they mostly look like some of the smaller temples there, and there are little villages all over the place, peanut and sesame farms everywhere, and very, very few tourists. The occasional trinket seller is at some of the larger temples, but mostly we had the temples just to ourselves and the noisy locusts. The day was hot as hell, (Sorry east coasters, no sympathy for your current heatwave), but a nice breeze when you climb the temples or clamber around in the candlelit tunnels and stairways inside. Best temple was the Ananda temple, with its four incredible buddhas and striking and imposing architecture (and striking and imposing AK47 wielding soldiers out front!). One of the statues is designed to appear to smile up close, and frown at a distance. A few hawkers outside try to sell stuff, as with any sight, but they leave you alone after a few minutes and the talk just turns to family, life, the usual while we wait out the heat. One guy tried to sell us some rubies, and we waved him away. “Fakes, right?” He paused a moment, and nodded in agreement, we all laughed. “Where do the real rubies come from?” He pointed to the mountains. “Mines.” “But we cant go there, can we?”

“You, no, me I can go there.”

“What else is there? Heroin?” He nodded. “Yaa-Baa?” He nodded. “War? He nodded. “The minority peoples." We then spent some time chatting about how he prices his goods (we were cheap riding up on bicycles, he'd charge far more if we arrived in a car, or with a tour group... I tried to explain that Americans werent rich anymore but he wasnt believing it.

Other locals were similarly friendly and chatty, offering to repair our bikes free of charge, and laughing and joking with us. Many were excited about the previous week’s visit from Aung San Su Kyi, and showed us pictures they had taken of her, or casually mentioned their cousin who had sold her a trinket of some sort.

A few took us to their village one day, where we

got to watch an ancient grandmother rolling and smoking cigars the size of bananas, (seriously!), the animals at work, and women getting water at a 1000 year old reservoir that they still use, walking down the steps barefoot and dipping yoked buckets into the water. We saw cave temples that were still active with monk beds in them, ancient temples, new temples, all pretty incredible with views that were even more incredible than the temples themselves, over the Ayerwaddy River, boats carrying illegally harvested teakwood upriver to Ikea factories in China and to the mountains beyond. We biked down back pistes and got lost in villages on the way to watch the sunset at one particular temple, and had a village full of kids cheering us on and running to keep up as they directed us to the temple, and we rewarded them with some of the delicious local tamarind candy. The sunset temple was hilariously crowded after a day of exploring temples undisturbed, the one recommended by the Lonely Planet, so ended up seeing every Westerner I’d met in all of Myanmar there, well all fifteen of them. We looked out on the plain dotted with spires and turrets, looking like massive overgrown chesspieces dotting the plain. Temples of all sizes and shapes, wedding cake white cubes, rich red cathedrals, and gold-leaf topped spires in every direction. Then the rain hit, we watched it coming across the plains and barely made it to our bikes as the storm was upon us, soaking us thoroughly for the 45 minute bike ride home in the dark, though it was the only rain we got in the rainy season, so cant really complain too much.

Another day we went to Mt. Popa, a Nat (local pre-Buddhist) and Buddhist site, that basically I dont know how to describe other than showing a picture. Its the Mt. Olympus of pre-Buddhist Burma, with shrines to the holy Nat spirits all over it. Although really, it has monkeys and monkey shit all over it, and is best viewed from a distance. The first tip-off should have been watching tourists climbing off the mountain and purell-ing their bare feet (you have to take shoes off in all the temples here). The razor wire is also a tip off, and yet still the place is crawling with monkeys and reeking of monkey shit. Up close and at the top the views are pretty cool back over Bagan, but for the most part its most interesting to stand in front of the pagoda-topped volcano and view it from a distance.

Our taxi driver picked up some guava at a local fruit stand and delivered it to a friend in a small village on the way home, where we got to his his moonshine still for palm sugar whisky (I passed on trying it), and sampled the fresh palm sugar and palm juice, delish. Fell asleep only to be woken by Andreas shouting as a starfish sized spider climbed over him. On our way again, we made it back to relaxed on the roof-deck of the inaccurately named Eden II guesthouse and swapped travel stories for our last night before Yangon again. Andreas won the best travel story ever, with tales of a tour driver dying of a heart attack in central Tibet.

The Road to Mandalay...

2011-07-23T08:11:00.013-04:00

...Has many potholes.

I took the good karma private bus, (also cheaper than the shorter, but apparently heroin cartel owned airline) which also meant being up at the crack of dawn, (5am) although the monsoon rain drumming the tin roof is what really woke me up even before the alarm. Took a taxi to the bus station, (an hour away!) where I was again rather a spectacle. as the only white foreigner in the place. The drive out was beautiful though, past endless pagodas and monks and nuns making their rounds for alms (the monks here wear the deep reds, the nuns an amazing bright pink). And they were even making the trick-or-treat rounds at the bus station. The other women women in the "waiting room" (read: plastic lawn chairs on dirt floor) all unsnapped their pocketbooks and handed over a hundred kyat or two to the begging young monks, and I didn't have any small bills but they turned up their nose at my Oreo offering. Bus station was your standard developing country bus station, kids selling gum and old women selling fruit, but a lot more monks wandering around, and the dust mostly settled by the night's rain.

The bus station had a TV which showed a local Sayadaw preaching and praying, kind of incredible, as various people came by and blessed the bus. Washing it, placing elaborate flower bouquets in the wipers and antenna and making other offerings for the journey, which really did kind of reassure me. I don't know whether such blessings work on the bus, but I truly believe they work on the people- reminding the drivers to be cautious. Once on the bus it was more prayers on the TV, before it settled in to terrible Burmese sitcoms and soap operas. Landscape was mostly empty, a few water buffalo and oxcarts from time to time, rice paddies, and the occasional village with bamboo huts, not even a corrugated metal roof in sight. This country was once the rice basket of Asia before the military completely mismanaged the economy.

The guy next to me was eager to practice English and immediately asked me for my facebook and gmail addresses, and wanting to hang out in Mandalay (how they have facebook access here but not in China I do not understand...). He also insisted on buying lunch at the bus stop, which I refused, although he then made me promise to let him buy me dinner in Mandalay, to which I reluctantly agreed , figuring I'd never see him again. He was also quite eager to talk about Buddhism and Christianity, he was Christian, though we were able to agree that they both valued the same things, but there we were a Burmese Kachin Christian and a White American Buddhist on the road to Mandalay. Not much else to report, a few checkpoints, some bags for people to spit betel juice into, and a 200kyat note that sat on the floor of the bus the whole time, no one touching it until I handed it to the driver at the end of the trip who put it on the dash. Weird, people do seem scrupulously honest here.

My moto ride from bus to guesthouse was relatively easy, I have to say, there is nothing like the feeling of arriving at a dusty baking bus stop in some developing country, and riding on the back of a motorbike with a backpack slung over each shoulder, just hoping you get to your destination. My hotel is decent, with a few other foreigners about, including an interesting retired Aussie schoolteacher who now works in Dharamsala, and a few younger backpackers. Connected with a German guy and Chinese woman for dinner at the local chapati stand on the corner. This place was a sight, tables a foot off the ground, sitting on buckets, steaming buckets of curry kept hot by burning wood, women rolling out chapatis and sneezing into them, while the waitstaff was literally a bunch of kids running slamming chapatis down in front of us with the utmost efficiency accompanying their world weary looks.

The next day the German and Chinese and I split a "taxi" to a few of the ancient cities around Mandalay. By taxi, we were expecting, well a taxi. What we got was essentially if Mini Cooper made a pickup truck, you would about get the idea. The cab was about four feet long and three feet wide which the three of us managed to cram into. The spedomoeter was covered up- just a sticker with a picture of Buddha and no idea of how fast we were going. But the sights we did see were impressive! First up was the U Bein bridge, the worlds longest teak bridge, almost a mile. It may not sound that amazing, but it really was beautiful, going over a lake and basically connecting two monasteries, making for ample photo ops and swarms of dragonflies flitting about. Little stalls along the way sold food, knick-knacks like wallets and purses made of watermelon seeds, t-shirts that read "Souvenir of U Bein" or read fortunes (seriously the astrology/fortune telling thing here is huge...). The temple on the opposite side was very strange, with rather kitschy miniature replicas of many great Buddhist sites (Golden rock, etc) of Burma, which gave it a bit of a mini-golf course feel, but was overall pretty cool, with great views from atop a tower, and a somewhat more Tibetan feel to it architecturally. The driver we had, Mr. To, was not very pushy, and stopped at a shop or two, but they were generally interesting- a gold leaf factory where we could see people hammering sheets of gold, a carving workshop with some incredible puppets and wooden statues, and a Lyongy (sort of sarong) factory, where women clacked away on wooden looms with bamboo pedals that looked straight out of the industrial revolution. My German compatriot bought a few and also told me an amusing story about buying the sandlewood makeup at the market, with plenty of advice from various local women telling him the relative merits of each type. He was planning to be a "Burmese Person" for Halloween. I neglected to point out the poor taste of anyone, let alone a German making such an ill-advised costume choice. From there it was more temples and monasteries, arriving at one larger one just in time to see the monks lining up silently for lunch, about 2000 of them silently and patiently standing in line, a river of that dark red and saffron. Our lunch was a little iffy. I tried what I thought was fish curry, (passing on the jellyfish salad) and was pretty tasty, only to realize that it was in fact mutton brain. In general, I tend not to totally freak out about this kind of thing, but I was frankly terrified of getting hoof-in-mouth disease or something, and so spent the remainder of lunchtime throwing up in a bamboo outhouse, the further details of which I will spare you. I just sat and nursed my rolex brand water and nibbled on a few candied chestnuts (delish!) and felt awkward amongst my companions, and ardered a coke for my tummy. Yes, I thought I could finally get to a coca-cola free country, but they smuggle in Thai coke from Thailand! (Though no McDonald's here... yet!)

Onward from there down dirt roads, past small stores and juice stands, locals carrying bundled sticks, weaving past pickups and trucks overflowing with monks, nuns and other passengers, sitting on the roof, hanging off the edges, and waving to us. First one person would notice, nudge their friend, smile, we'd wave, they'd wave back and smile, it was impossible not to get joy from the simple human connection of seeing someone who looks so different, but taking such mutual pleasure in a wave and shout of 'hallooooo'.

Our final destination was another ancient capital of Burma, this one that required a teak boat ride to an island where the capital had been, and then haggling for a donkey cart to take us around the dusty as there were no cars. (Note to self and others, do not get on a donkey cart ever again, especially with two other people and driven by a seven year old) It was even more impressive, and great to be the only people at ruined old pagodas and temples, tumbling around in a donkey cart even smaller than our "taxi." Climbed a spectacular old very-leaning tower, where we were chased by a few adorable girls selling jade necklaces shouting "okay hello you buy!" up the tower, around the tower, down the tower, on bike trying to catch up with our donkey cart, smiling and laughing and shouting "two thousand!" holding up two fingers...

Back to the hotel to find a note from my bus-mate who was apparently making good on his promise. Actually ended up running into him at the Chapati stand and feeling terrible, though we decided to have him take me to Mandalay hill on his motorbike, which was today's activity. The chapati stand around the corner seems to be the local favorite among the city's Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists and backpackers. (In general, the best food seems to be in these Indian joints that are always nearby to the Hindu temples, and sure beats more tea leaf salad , fermented bamboo and fried noodles with cabbage), The place is a bunch of women slapping out chapati dough in front of bubbling vats of curry, just out on the sidewalk and spilling knee-high tables with buckets for chairs into the street. The waitstaff are all under ten years old, and are constantly sneezing into the food, and wiping their hands on their filthy shirts in a world weary manner. For change, they don't always have exact, bills so they augment with a random few pieces of candy, a package of instant coffee, a few cigarettes, or a packet of tissues. Locals get chapati and curry scooped into plastic bags, and a lighter hangs from a tree to light cigarettes. Its great, except for the nasty cold I got from eating there, that I'm still nursing a few days later in Bagan. The other evening activity was taking in a dissident comedy show by the (in)famous moustache brothers who are currently under house arrest after years in prison for making jokes about the government. I can't say it was funny- the humor was not-so-fresh, but I can say it was fascinating, though strange, watching them play clips of American celebrities talking about them and fast forwarding clips about the horrors of the Burmese government, which was all a little odd to try to be laughing after speeches about child soldiers.

And Mandalay hill the next morning was impressive. I cant deny that pagoda/buddha/temple fatigue is rapidly setting in, but climbing to the top of the hill, (which the Buddha himself apparently climbed with Ananda some 2500 years ago) with thousands of pilgrims and not a westerner in sight was fantastic, if claustrophobic, and some great views over the city, to the royal palace in the center, and stupas dotting the landscape for miles out to the mountains that begin the Himalayan foothills. It was unbelievably crowded due to the fact that the full moon apparently merits a national holiday off from work here in Burma (the astrology thing again!) , and thus a long weekend and sightseeing for the locals. From there to another strange temple, featuring the worlds biggest book that's the Buddhist canon inscribed on marble in thousands of stupas. (more details to come, but my hour is up.)

Yangon Day One

2011-07-23T07:08:00.007-04:00

So before I delve into Burma I want to say a few words about this place an my decision to come here. Burma, or Myanmar as it is now called, is surely the worst government in Asia and perhaps the worst in the world. This is a military dictatorship/kleptocracy that has ruled with an ion fist for decades, imprisoning thousands of peaceful protesters form monks and nuns to students and even comedians. A government that kills monks and journalists in the street. Tortures prisoners. Mines it's own territory in ongoing ethnic conflicts that are fueled by the illegal mining, timber, and oil, as well as heroin and meth trades much of which are with forced labor of prisoners. A war fought by conscripted child soldiers, human minesweepers, in which villages are burned and buddhist nuns raped at gunpoint. Meanwhile the people are kept in poverty while the generals have multimillion dollar weddings, inexplicably move the capital of the nation for billions of dollars based on the advice of their astrologers, and fight a war with a billion dollars a year in military aid from China. If you don't know much about the situation, or figures like Aung San Suu Kyi, I encourage you to educate yourself with a simple google search.

At the same time I have always wanted to visit one of the most actively Buddhist countries in the world, one of the most closed and isolated countries in the world, talk o the monks and the people, and see the Shwedagon Pagoda and the temples plains of Bagan. I also want to educate people on the outside, readers of my blog, etc about how truly fucked up a place this has been and continues to be as the world ignores the situation.

I also planned to spend minimal money, giving little or nothing to the government (ie, no railroads for me, and sneaking into sites where possible), and donating equivalent money to Burma awareness and activist groups abroad afterwards. Suggestions would be much appreciated.

So anyway, I'm here in Yangon. Up and out this morning proceeded to get completely lost. The streets are completely potholed messes, a la Cuba or Cambodia. I don't know if its Nargis or neglect, but it basically looks like someone walked up and down the street pushing a jackhammer, and then added garbage and mud to the whole thing. Theres some crumbling colonial glory, but mostly it looks like much of the developing world. That is to say, to paraphrase a journalist I met once in Phnom Penh, "Mildewed cement buildings with metal rebar sticking out of the top." (and in wealthier ones, not Burma, Blue glass and tiles on said buildings.) I soon discovered there are no street signs in my neighborhood, or anywhere in the city, and a lot less text in English than I expected. Monks and nuns wander around begging bowls open, and trishaws ply the streets along with a few ancient cars and jeeps. The women and men wear a kind of pale yellow makeup as well as sarongs called Long-Yi, and I don't mean a few people, I mean the vast majority dress like that. Stumbled into a wonderful temple and just sat and tried to calm myself down after getting completely lost and a little overwhelmed and get my bearings amidst the serenity and the stares in the shady pagoda. Decided to start walking again and found a big street, and looked for addresses to no avail, until finally one building said it
was Bogyoko Aung San, (a big street) and I was then able to get a vague sense of where I was, until finally a few streets with numbers appeared.

It was around then that a Burmese guy about my age approached me and started chatting in English, and offered to show me around- I was initially very hesitant, all my travel instincts said no, stay away, this is a scam, but my people instincts suggested he was genuine and earnest, just wanting to show me the city in exchange for English practice, and he mentioned that he worked as a guide during the touristy season. He seemed genuine, so I went along with it. We walked past Shule Pagoda, though skipped it, given that its supposedly so-so, and the fee goes straight to the government. Admired the fortune tellers and incense sellers outside, along with the women guarding laundry baskets filled with songbirds (you can buy one and release it for luck or a wish. They fly into a tree, but I have a sneaking suspicion they just end up back in the same laundry basket the next day). We passed by a Hindu temple to Kali, which was kind of a fun flashback to India, seeing the bellringers and colorful and crazy statues of the gods. There were also fortune tellers everywhere inside and around the whole colonial neighborhood surrounding Shule. He explained a lot about the superstitions, astrology and numerology beliefs here that are fairly intense, including the recent decisions by the government on advice of their astrologers to move the capital and to make a new flag.

From there we boarded a city bus, which was quite the experience. Imagine a "bus" with about a five and a half foot ceiling, wooden floors and a few scattered wooden benches, and PACKED with dozens of Burmese people, who were utterly fascinated by my presence. It was fun, to be sure, but I cant say I was too sorry to unwedge myself from where I was jammed in (the sweat at least helped me dislodge) and get off the bus at the bottom of the hill beneath the massive, 300something foot solid gold stupa of the Shwedagon pagoda. And impressive it is, dating back, legend has it 2500 years, when the Buddha gave some of his hairs for the place's founding, and has only grown and gilded since then, and is basically blinding in the tropical noonday sun- but what do you expect for a massive solid gold stupa?

Wandered past the planetary shrines, where worshippers pray and wash depending on what day of the week they were born (mom, do you remember?). Others left gifts for the Buddha and spirits called nat, usually on the recommendation of astrologers, but the gifts are funny- "you must leave three pieces of bread, a glass of milk, and a jar of jam" and variations like that. Stopped by one of the many shrines inside and bought some gold leaf for a few kyat, which I applied to a Gautama Buddha for merit and a wish.

Briefly stopped and watched a close circuit image of another Buddha sculpture, which my friend explained was a statue that a group of people had allegedly seen blink five years ago, and so now it was placed in a secret cave but a closed circuit camera was trained on it 24/7 and all could watch if it blinked again. (Insert terrible joke about surveillance state here!) So the whole complex is a series of smaller shrines and stupas surrounding the big one, and Buddhas and pilgrims everywhere, and amazingly, only maybe six westerners, though a few other Asian tourists. The grand stupa itself as I said is 322 feet high, I think it was 60 tons of gold (I need to check on that) and the top crown is covered in 1100 diamonds, 1383 rubies and emeralds, then that crown is crowned with 4351 MORE diamonds, and then tipped with a fist-sized 75 carot diamond! Photos at the museum showed when it was briefly taken down, and bejeweled with more donated gemstones (though, there are a lot here in Burma, but still...), many of which are people's family rings, jewelry, earrings etc that then hung before it was hoisted back up. Pretty incredible, and brilliant in the sun. And, my guide who I'd agreed to was extremely knowledgeable, and I was thinking he maybe was pretty genuine and worked for a real company.

We left the Shwedagon, sweating and panting, and returned to the bus and hit up the market, mostly full of ruby and jade shops (which he declared were legit, not fakes) and a few assorted trinkets and t-shrts, along with traditional clothes, food, and everything else one finds in such a market. We did get into a few interesting antique stalls, selling old bells, gongs and the occasional opium weight, all of which are cool, but I'm trying to decommission stuff, so not sure if I'll go back and buy anything or not.

From there my guide suggested a lunch spot he knew, and I was starving and exhausted, and now at which point I started to get nervous, having read in China, Vietnam and other books countless warnings about the "friendly" locals who want to practice English and then stick you with an insane tea or lunch bill. We browsed the thali selections at the place (a very larger Indian population here in Yangon, legacy of the colonial era), and I decided against the pig intestine curry and the goat brain curry and went veg and mutton. As soon as we sat down and I started to get nervous, kept asking how much everything cost, and then alternatively feeling plagued with liberal white guilt for being doubting of his generosity, and feeling hungry, dehydrated, starving, anxious about the quality (or the spice!) of the mutton I was scarfing down, mouth stinging from the extremely sour lemon pickle on everything, wondering if my sweat was anxiety, heat fatigue, sunstroke or what, and generally feeling paranoid and weird. Every time the waiter came around to offer more food, my host kept insisting it was all-you-can-eat, but I declined, imagining an ever growing bill, and wondering whether I'd have to stay in Yangon and be broke, (no atms, no credit cards here) or just pay a massive bill and be left with minimal travel cash, or be arrested for not paying and ending up in a Myanmar jail or.... But it was all okay. The bill was about four dollars, and white liberal guilt trumped my traveller's cynicism, for a nice change of pace.

From there we walked most of the way back to the hotel, where he also pointed out all of the not-so subtle undercover police, and explained that the reason things had been so clean at the Shwedagon today was because a dignitary from China was probably visiting, also probably the reason for all the police everywhere. He stopped and bought some betel nut to chew, and I asked him to show me how, which he and the street vendor also found uproariously funny and interesting, and bought me a leaf which was painted with lime, filled with betel, tobacco and
cardomom, and I proceeded to chew with no notable (ill or good) effect, save for the fact that I was now, like the locals all over Asia and the subcontinent, was spitting red every thirty seconds. "Do I spit like a local?" "Yes, very good!" he laughed. I'm sure I blended right in!

Back to hotel, and greeted by the Burmese women, who giggled at each other and the only words I could make out were "Harry Potter"and ""American." Seriously, everywhere I go in the world, I put on my NOT ROUND glasses, and I get either Dr. Who or Harry Potter. Wandered out to dinner at the surprisingly decent "New Style" restaurant, where I was the only white person, and had every waiter in the place at my table the whole time, and every time I looked up, all eyes on me. I got a decent enough stir fry, (thank god for the Asian penchant for photo menus), and ate some peanuts.. were they peanuts, suddenly I worried they were some kind of larva appetizer I'd read about in the lonely planet, no wait, okay, they were peanuts after all. The owner wanted to talk soccer, but his English was not so great, and hard to hear over the blaring Burmese rap music and video being shown of gangsta Burmese hip-hoppers, who seem to have a penchant for the "Little Miss ___" t-shirts and who's video's otherwise display a strong influence of American 80's music videos.

Anyway, there is a lot more to write about, particularly some political situations here that I don't want to write about until I'm in Thailand. Let's just say that there's a joke here about George Orwell- that he wrote three books about Burma: Burmese a, 1984 and Animal Farm...

Back now at my hotel trying to decide whether I should take the evil bad karma train owned by the government early in the morning tomorrow, or the good karma bus which goes overnight and thus is rather unpleasant. I think I might have missed the train opportunity, so might not even matter.

Labuanbajo and Back to Bali

2011-07-10T23:32:00.001-04:00

Or: Five Mata Rays is Alright

The only drawback is that we are a bit out of town, which means having to head to a dark corner of town and furtively have locals kids in the dark offer us motorbike rides back, which all feels a little like a drug deal or something. Oh well, the place is beautiful the sunsets are truly extraordinary over the islands in the harbor and beyond.
So it's clear why Flores is the next hot destination in Indonesia- it's a huge and diverse island without many tourists. The villages are still charming, and it's got what the rest of Indonesia does, incredible volcanos and rice paddies, village life, indigenous tribes, and at least here on Flores, Catholicism rather than Islam or Hinduism, and so again has a different cultural feel.
So what have we done? Day one was mostly lounging by the pool, relieved to be off the damn boat. Day two we took a day trip out to a local desert island, which was amazing, though unbelievably hot and we of course ended up a little sunburned. I have to say though, if you are in search of Robinson Crusoe fantasies, Indonesia is the island nation for you. Which reminds me, among the random white people on our boat was a German witha bike who we saw pedaling past us in Labuanbajo as well. Now I'm a biking fan, I love biking at home abd when I travel, I've bird in (mostly down) the Himalayas and Andes, and even fantasize about doing an all-biking trip someday. But one place I do not dream of biking is an island nation. Like Indonesia.
Anyway, the island was great, but now that we are hooked on diving we decided to dive Komodo, which everyone ha told us is allegedly the best diving in Indonesia, one of the bet diving nations in the world. So we set out early with a Dutch family (of course), to an incredible dive with all manner of bright coral and incredible fish. I've never had the experience of diving where it truly looked like a nature video, but the clarity, visibility, diversity was unlike anything I've experienced, not that I've experienced a lot of diving in my life, but I know I will always compare everything to this. The second dive was completely different- we went down where we we just saw nothing but endless dead coral that looked like dynamite fishing aftermath we saw a bit in the Gilis, and were caught in an incredibly strong current. Our divemaster put a stake into the ground and instructed us to hang on in the current. As beginner divers, we had no idea what was going on, but we held on until soon in the distance a gigiantic manta appeared. And when I say gigantic, I mean, like 12 or 15 feet wide, just drifting next to us in teh current, staying perfectly even as it undulated silently on the ocean floor just staying in place. We just held on and watched, until at one point I turned my head to Olivia and looked over her as another one approached, nearly drifting over her, easily the size of a king sized bed hovering above her. And that was the dive, just holding on at the bottom as rays drifted by, over and around. All told we saw about five, which seemed incredible to us, though our divemaster told us that in the rainy season there are literally hundreds at "Manta Point" where we were...
From there the boat stopped briefly at Rinca, the other island with Komodo Dragons, so the dutch family could get a look. We just hung around the cafeteria again, old hands at Komodos, we knew where to spot them, and a huge one came by sure enough. I went over to get some pictures whil a group of Australian doctors and nurses taunted it, throwing their hat to it and taking pictures. (apparently, the Australian Federation of Nurses has a contest in which you win a prize if you get the best photo of the AFN hat somewhere amazing. They got a great one of it in a Komodo's mouth, and the hat afterwards was shredded. Not sure it was the best judgment, but then, Australia's founding father's werent known for that...

Last night in Flores was mellow, dinner with some Dutch and Germans we;d met on our boat. Ate at the restaurant "The Lounge" (motto - dribbling a little olive oil and squeezing a little lime on your adventure) was clearly the hangout of choice, with a giant TV showing, of all things, the womens netball world championships. Netball, amazingly enough, was a topic our German dinner companion knew something about- as he had a PhDin physical education with a concentration in basketball. (I swear I do not understand the European education system!) we enjoyed dinner, swapping travel stories from this and other trips we've all taken. Of course, we thought our dive had been spectacular, but the Germans were just back from two days of diving to report that they'd been diving with all manner of sharks, baby dolphins and turtles... Not that I'm complaining about what we'd seen, but damn! Decent food too, and not the weird "apple pie" we'd experienced of pizza dough, apples, and chocolate sauce elsewhere in Flores.

An early trip to the airport the next morning, where we were required to be three hours early for our tiny flight back to Bali. Shockingly enough, we were the first people there, some Dutch couple right behind us, who were instructed to be four hours early. And this airport was literally smaller than our tiny hotel. Security was being asked for tickets, with a metal detecting wand half heartedly waved over our bags, no metal detection for us or X-Ray for the luggage or anything. It was a little nerve-wracking, especially as our propellor plane looked, in shape and size, like a kid's toy Still, glad we chose Merpati and not Wings Air, who slogan reads "fly is cheaper." not that Merpati is anything to write home about, and my faith was a little shaken by the fact that in the seat pocket magazine was a prayer card in multiple languages representing multiple faiths- now I appreciate the nod to diversity and pluralism, but reading the prayers for the pilot and flight in many faiths actuat made me mire insecure "in the name of Allah, without whom we are helpless, bless this aircraft and flight crew..." no, not kidding! And the diversity of Indonesia really is great, our flight had a contingent of Indonesian Catholic priests on it as well.

But of course, we survived the flight back to Bali, and arrived in semi-shock back in the land of high traffic tourism, in an otherwise lovely beach town called Sanur, sort of an Ubud on the beach with countless restaurants and spas, and this time there were tsunami evacuation signs everywhere, but at least everything in Bali is on a small scale. (When tourism first hit in the 1920s, the local priests decreed that no new building could be higher than a coconut tree, which keeps massive hotels, at least in height, to a reasonable size.)

Basically spent the next few days lounging around Sanur, taking walks on the beach, and generally just relaxing and resting. The other other thing of note was a trip to Ulu Watu, a clifftop Hindu temple INFESTED with overfed tourist-spoiled monkeys, most of whome were playing with sunglasses, wallets, and other items purloined from tourists, and where we watched a firedance of the Ramayana, which was pretty cool (see pictures.)

So what else from Bali and Indonesia, here's the roundup of other weird observations. Well, the world is getting smaller- every advertisement here as at home suggests "find us on facebook" and the cell phone companies lure customers with promises of "free texting and facebook." The old report on strange potato chip flavors from aroudn the world now includes seaweed, barbecued chicken and barbecued beef. We saw a number of bikes with steering wheels instead of handlbars, and the most amusingly ironically named internet cafe ever, "Wank Internet."

More to come on Singapore, and then my next adventures solo and visiting Dan G in his native habitat...

Komodo and The Journey East...

2011-07-10T21:49:00.000-04:00

We signed ourselves up for a multi-day boat voyage from Lombok to Flores, with stops in Komodo, Sumbaya and the occasional desert island along the way as our post-diving adventure. The trip started not long after sunrise with a boat back to Lombok, a walk to the bus station, then bus to Sengiggi, the bustling capital of Lombok where we joined with the other twenty odd travellers we would be sharing quarters with on our thirty food wooden boat. Mostly Dutch, mostly young, and thankfully mostly not a boatloa of drunken Australian and British backpackers. We'd actually expected mostly Aussies here in Indo, but mostly it's been 90 % Dutch. Funny how westerners tend to travel to their old colonies- Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos and Morocco are positively lousy with French, while India was crawling with Brits, and Cuba was full of Spaniards, and here in Indonesia, this part anyway, it's all friendly, perfect English speaking Dutch folk. No matter... We started our trip with an extended visit to the Mataram mall, which, if you've ever wondered what an Indonesian shopping mall is like, wonder no more. All I can say is it was like every other developing world mall I've been to- blue glass and all, except that smell of rotten milk pervaded the whole thing, even from the parking lot. It took us a while before we realized that was the Durian fruit for sale inside the mall. No interesting stories from there though, except for the one gigantic beetle that flew out of my pocket when I reached in to grab money to buy peanuts.
Onward to the requisite stop at the "traditional authentic genuine indigenous craft village," where the Sasak people, descendants of Burmese sailors from centuries past, made ceramics from the volcanic clay of Lombok. (Exit through the traditional indigenous authentic gift shop...) we crossed Lombok, skirting volcanoes and rice paddies, stopping briefly to watch boatbuilders at work before boarding our own vessel. A lovely stop and snorkel (where the current nearly carried us away!) at a New Yorker cartoon style tiny palm tree desert island, where we also enjoyed a barbecue, campfire songs and 60s hippie guitar singalong classics as sung by our Indonesian guides, and headed back to the boat beneath the incredibly dark sky, crystal clear southen hemisphere constellations and the streak of the milky way above.
Thanks to our friend Mira, we opted out of a cabin and slept on deck. This was a great fresh air option until the waves started crashing over us around midnight, and our companions on deck fled for the main room belowdecks filled it up, and chaos ensued as foreigners of all languages scrambled for decent spots as the waves crashed overboard, the wind swept away bedsheets, and the boat pit hex and yawed in the pitch black of night. One netherlander was tossed by a lurch into the mast, and was screaming and crying. Chaos ensued. Somehow we made our way to the rear deck where we found a dryish spot to 'sleep' until sunrise, my childhood fantasies of sleeping on boat decks, stoked by one too many fantasy novels, brought to an end by a firm reality check.
The next day was a few more small island stops, as we chugged past Sumbawa, a small-by-Indonesia-standards island that was probably the length of New York state. Toward evening we stopped at a small village there, and wNdered ashore to meet villagers unaccustomed to white faces. In this weird postmodern world however, we all kind of awkwardly stared at each other, the white folks mostly too ashamed with their white liberal guilt to photograph the native types, while the indigent indigenous silently stared and smoked while filming us on their cell phone cameras. Did not however, get a chance to see this infamous indonesian kid: We wandered around past their elevated bamboo huts, past goats and by cows so skinny I actually thought they were deer, as some of the Dutch played soccer with the kids to the sound of the evening call to prayer. Though Indonesia is not especially devout and is in fact quite liberal in Interpretation of Islam, a few women covered their heads with scarves and men wore sarongs and Muslim caps, though the Religion is apparently quite intertwined with animist beliefs, spirit worship and goat sacrifice.
That nights rest was far better than our first- we managed to secure ourselves a cozy corner of the rear deck as we sailed onward to The Island of Komodo. Sunrise woke us of course, as we made our way through smaller scattered islands, these drier and more strangely featured than the first islands. We arrived in Komodo harbor, plunked down our camera fees and tromped through the brush in search of the infamous dragons. Two hours of hiking in the dry heat, a multi-day boat voyage and twenty odd hour flight to see the great poop of the infamous Komodo dragon. Dejectedly, we returned to the gift shop cafe and sipped coffee, only to encounter a few roaming beasts seeking scraps behind the kitchen. They really are crazy creatures, basically like landbound alligators, with forked tongues and apparently feast on the local deer, monkey and chicken population (though no humans since an unfortunate Swiss tourist went missing, and all that was found were his sunglasses. The beasts eat the bones of their prey.)
Got our few photos and were back to the boat via dinghy, (which the crew kept referring to as the "dingey"), with a brief stop at the inappropriately named "red sand beach"'and then into Labuanbajo, Flores's main harbor, by nightfall. Thankfully, we found a place to stay and a flight home four days later, which allowed us to escape more boat time. We settled in at the Bajo Komodo Eco Lodge a short ways out of town, and relished the first hot showers we'd had in well over a week.

Boat/ark, sinking reality...

Gilis and Beyond...

2011-07-08T01:53:00.006-04:00

Getting to the Gilis was less of a hassle than initially anticipated. The gillis, I should explain, are three tiny (1 sq km ) islands off the coast of Lombok, the Connecticut sized islamic island neighboring Bali. Generally they are renowned for their isolation, pristine beaches and incredible diving. It was here that we decided to get our Scuba certification and do some beach lounging. After setting out from Ubud to a small port town on the East coast of Bali, we boarded a rickety "fast boat"- basically the standard Indonesian bamboo boat with six outboard engines crammed onto the back, and headed across the channel to toward the intimidating smoldering volcanos of Lombok (10000ft high!) accompanied by numerous severely hungover and/or still drunk Australians and Brits. From Lombok it was a quick boatride to Gilli Trawanagan, where, mercifully, the Aussies left us for "the party Gilli" and we caught another boat, with only a pair of Austrian lesbians, to the quieter Gili Air.

Right off the boat it was a much quieter vibe, and a two hundred foot walk to our charming bungalow and from there a short commute to our dive school (oceans five). We took a sunset stroll around the entire island in about an hour, listening to the chants of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer across the water, through coconut groves and past families working on their wood and bamboo fishing boats. Not a motor on the island, not even a motorbike, just donkey carts humping their way around the sandy paths. Not a big party scene either thankfully, although we did see an Indonesian carrying an enormous bag of ecstasy, apparently Indonesia as an Islamic nation does not drink (although alcohol is everywhere) but does indulge in the use and manufacture of MDMA, and is the worlds biggest exporter of the stuff. We settled into a decent meal at one of the beachfront restaurants where you pick a fish or lobster from the display and they grill it over coconut husks for you. Not a half bad way to start the beach portion of the trip.

Day two we got to work at our dive school, under the expert, if indecipherable tutelage of one Cockney accented South Londoner who I could understand about 75% of what he said. Thankfully, Olivia works in London regularly and could translate. Sample quote- "so we'll just pop downstairs chum-chum, you and the missus are looking like a right well pucker bird and geezer down there..." etc etc.

And the dives were, well, incredible. I won't bore you non-diving types with the details, but it was damn beyond the best diving I've ever done- reefs that extended for miles, green sea turtles nesting in barrel sponges the size of thirty gallon drums, lionfish, angelfish, parrotfish, wrecks, moray eels thicker than my thighs, just truly truly spectacular stuff. Great instruction, great dive shop (although you may not want to go right now- we watched as the whole island came running to put out the fire that -was- their power generator.) and overall a phenomenal experience. And really incredible to head to dives in traditional boats that are made of wood and bamboo, with these crazy outriggers than make them look like giant waterbugs (see photo).

Bali

2011-07-03T20:50:00.008-04:00

Bali really lives up to the promised hype of being beautiful, mystical, and tourist-trodden. The streets of Ubud are lined with incredible Balinese architecture, which is basically to say that everyone's house looks like a crazy red and black Hindu temple, and you cant walk down the street without accidentally stepping on a perfectly arranged offering, usually an immaculately folded banana leaf with rice, cookie, flowers and incense burning, or a woman carefully placing one out on the sidewalk or upon a wall somewhere. It also smells like college- the comingling scents of clove cigarettes and incense pervade everything (and the distant dischordant sounds of Gamelon don't hurt either (Sorry y'all, Wesleyan in-joke)). Flowers spill over walls, and the people are some of the most genuinely friendly I've encountered anywhere. Sure, they want to sell you batiks and carved buddha figurines, but they are not in the slightest bit pushy about any of it.

Our charming Jati Homestay in Ubud, is pretty great. Our room is set on our own little palm-filled rice paddy, with its own flock of ducks, which generally wake us up when they start fighting with the chickens and roosters, which then wake up the monkeys, which awaken the Australians next door, and then us. The jetlag is fairly insane at 12 hours. Breakfast is decent and the grounds of the house are beautiful and fascinating to watch the Balinese traditional life of the women sewing and assembling the mornings offerings, the kids playing, and then men... smoking and tinkering with their motorbikes.

So we wandered down Monkey Forest Road to the Monkey Forest, where AGAIN I was immediately attacked by a monkey-

I swear, I have monkey attractant on (see last summer's monkey attack incident). This time I didn't even have any food on me, but the monkey climbed up my leg, hoisted itself up my shirt to perch on my head and literally do the

monkey-sitting-on-my-head-and-cover-my-eyes thing while he pulled ferociously at my hair and tried to eat it, which hurt like hell. Olivia helpfully got a few pictures of the incident, to be uploaded later...Rest of the day was more wandering, hiding from the crowds of Dutch and Australians, and trying to find charm in Ubud between the t-shirt vendors, Starbucks, and Ralph Lauren.

Day Two:

We found the charm in Ubud. It is found by leaving Ubud. Preferably by bike. We signed up for a bike tour, which turned out to be spectacular, and began at the rim of Bali's largest volcano, something close to 10,000 feet high. At the volcano outlook, peering out across rice terraces, villages and volcanic lakes, someone asked when the last eruption of the broken peak was, to which our guide responded 1986, before being whispered a correction. "I'm sorry it was actually last week, and killed all the fishes in the lake" oh well, glad we were now headed away from the mountain, and so our downhill descent back began.

It was an incredible ride, and not just because it was mostly downhill. We zipped through small villages, high-fiving little kids, outrunning stray dogs and chickens while narrowly avoiding topless old women laying out rice to dry in the sun, or balancing impossibly large baskets on their heads. We paused briefly to see a small home and learned explanations of the architecture, shrines and different living areas in the Balinese living compounds, where multiple interrelated intergenerational families shared meals and more, saw men training their roosters for the nights cockfighting festival (the winner lives to fight again, the loser... Satay), while women stripped bamboo and wove it into mats to make walls for their homes, spitting red betel juice out of their stained mouths. Through alleys and dirt paths we saw kids creating and flying incredible kites, filling the skies over the terraced rice paddies with kites ten to thirty feet long, and I managed to dodge two young men carrying a whole palm trees, 100 feet long down a small country road. Past the traditional occasional Asian gas station- aka a bamboo rack of absolut vodka bottles brimming with golden gasoline, glimmering in the tropical sun.

It was a great way to see village life, and actually felt a little more authentic than most of the tours I've been on. We also stopped at an allegedly organic farm in the countryside, where we saw the spices that first made these spice islands valuable colonies worth fighting over between the Brits, Dutch and Portuguese. Vanillapods and football size and shaped cacao beans were growing next to peppercorns, cloves, cinnamon, and cardamom, along with ginseng, ginger, turmeric and other medicinal roots. Coffee bushes were everywhere, and the small plantation even had it's share of caged civets to which they fed coffee. "why?" you might reasonably ask? To make the world (in)famous civet poop coffee, without the use of "poophunters" as our guide delicately explained. For those who don't know, the civet cat has an appetite for the coffee bean and certain enzymes in it's stomach that ferment the raw coffee in a way that allegedly enhances and complexifies (is that a word?) it's flavor. Their beans are not digested, sonthey are picked out of it's poop, thoroughly (allegedly) cleaned, roasted, and brewed for the pleasure of your author and his companions. A delicacy prized by coffee fanatics the world over. And the verdict dear reader? Yeah, tastes like coffee.

Day Three:

The next day, we met up with Tova and her mother, and enjoyed a long walk through villages north of town, far more pleasant than the endless Eat-Pray-Lovers and tourist shops selling all manner of bamboo crap, alternating storefronts with spas offering Bali massage, foot massage, Thai massage, hot stone massage, milk bath, spice bath, herb bath, tea bath even fish bath (in which you get in a tub with tiny fish that chew off all of your dead skin!) More amazing rice paddies, and the strange and wonderful pleasure of visiting with a friend completely out of context on a continent thousands of miles away.

April, May Books

2011-04-07T07:39:00.013-04:00

The Upside of Irrationality- Dan Arielly

Quirky neuro-ecconomics forever! I love this stuff, my favorite parts being the experiments about work and learned helplessness, which I plan to use in my own next book. Much more of the same kind of fun stuff as in "Predictably Irrational," but I just can never get enough. Very interesting stuff.

My Stroke of Insight- Jill Bolte Taylor

I enjoyed this quite a bit- the memoir of a neuroscientist who struggled to recover from her own stroke, after knowing enough to know that she was having a stroke. The whole thing was fascinating, though occasionally somewhat dry. The last chapters in particular were interesting, especially to anyone with an interest in mindfulness, and pre-verbal states of awareness. A great book to assign (and probably is regularly assigned) for a brain and behavior 101 kind of class.

Real Happiness - Sharon Salzberg

Ladies and gentlemen, I have my new go-to recommendation book for patients and people who want to learn a little about meditation. HIGHLY recommend this to any beginner. Just enough humor, just enough science, just enough spirituality, and plenty of heart and wisdom to make this an easy read, crystal clear book for anyone who wants a book about meditation that is also highly simplified and straightforward. Seriously, cant recommend this enough. Comes with guided meditation CD too.

Why Beautiful People Have More Daughters - Alan S. Miller, Satoshi Kanazawa

Kinda goofy evolutionary psychology book, with some great ideas and theories, and some, well, rather dubious ones. The whole thing is by nature rather essentialist especially as it relates to the sexes, but some fun theories that may or may not be totally legit. Like, why do men like large breasts, long blonde hair, blue eyes, and and certain other attributes? Amusing evolutionary explanations for these and other questions.

The Ape in the Corner Office - Richard Conniff

MORE evolutionary psychology- this one with a focus on worklife. A lot of the same references as my favorite pop quirky psych stuff (Paul Ekman, Franz DeWaal, John Gottman etc), but a pretty fun read nonetheless. Interesting ideas about social dynamics, and humans evolving to be part of tribes and tribal culture, and the evolution of social behavior. Worth a quick read if you're into that sort of thing.

The Four Hour Work Week - Tim Ferriss

Ridiculous title aside, okay, and ridiculous ideas aside... I dunno, this book was weirdly inspiring, I found Ferriss’s energy and enthusiasm for living life simply infectious... In a good way. Although some chapters veer into hypersepcific (ie, efficiency with product orders) other chapters on setting up a lifestyle (his mantra is “lifestyle design”) that you love, and for minimal work and money is inspiring. And actually, not minimal work, just a lot of work smarter not harder kinds of strategies for negotiating work from home, taking more time off now and enjoying life rather than deferring everything until retirement is sort of the name of his game. Just the chapters on importance of and how to travel, combined with the chapters on being more productive at work and getting over procrastination by simplifying and slowing down were worthwhile. If you’ve got a travel bone or an entrepreneurial bone in your body, definitely give this a read.

Made to Stick - Chip and Dan Heath

Another social psych-ish book on why ideas from marketing campaigns or urban legends, are “sticky,” and how to make ideas stick. I particularly liked the sections on writing, teaching, and spiritual ideas, but the whole thing is chock full of fun and engaging case studies and straightforward explanations of useful principles for advertisers, marketers, public health advocates, or anyone trying to get their ideas to "stick."

Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother - Amy Chua

Where to even begin. You've probably heard the controversy- domineering Chinese mother writes memoir about near abusive treatment of kids to raise perfect Ivy-leaguers, and been horrified by the highlights (lowlights) of the book- ripping up child's insufficient mother's day card, locking 3 year old outside, calling daughter human garbage, etc, and yes, these were deeply disturbing and well treaded ground for the outrage. What I found bizarre as well though, was her self-satisfied smug tone, her sadism seemed directed not only at the kids but at the reader, to the point that I felt claustrophobic, boxed-in and judged. I felt like she dared me to judge her so she could accuse me of racism, and the whole thing came off as utterly contemptuous of both Western and Eastern culture, and I suppose most contemptuous of herself. Strange to so forcefully choose to perpetuate such negative stereotypes of so many groups. I'm left both deeply puzzled and deeply disturbed.

The Social Animal - David Brooks

Okay, where to begin with genre here- nonfiction novelization of an intro psychology textbook? As written by a well-known political journalist? That about captures it. A nonfiction narrative story of an imaginary couple and their backgrounds and relationship, that basically draws from all old and new psychology, mostly developmental and social psychology research and describes said research. Kind of an interesting idea. Definitely a fun and interesting book. Were I teaching developmental or social psychology, or even psych 101 I'd probably assign this book, as it is really fun, a helpful way to make real and memorable a lot of the scientific principles and studies that are usually pretty dry. Funnily enough, it directly cites all of these favorite kinds of books I've read- Nudge, Predictably Irrational, Networked, How We Decide, Overall, a fun read. Recommend this.

February / March Books:

2011-03-07T14:55:00.008-05:00

Thrive- Dan Buettner

The social psychology of positive psychology... Is it possible to socially engineer a happier society? This book explores a few cases studies of the world's "happiest places" - Cities and towns in Costa Rica, Singapore, Mexico, Denmark, and San Luis Obispo CA to explore what the people and their local governments are doing right to encourage and maintain the greatest happiness and life satisfaction for their people. An interesting addition to the positive psych canon, and I'll likely reference it a lot in my next writing project.

Life- Keith Richards
After coming off Dylan's indulgent "Chronicles vol. 1" I was a little doubtful, but then found myself extremely engaged and fascinated- not just with the life of vice, but the music, the historical aspects of the book. Learning about post-war England and then the slowly changing world in the 1960s, understanding the roots of rock and roll in African American Blues and other historically black traditions that were co-opted, and then just hearing the good old gossip and degeneracy of Keith and The Stones was a real kick. Fun, fascinating stuff.

Let The Great World Spin - Collum McAnn

Straight up, this is the only book I can think of where each chapter was worse than the preceding one. Starts out incredibly promising with great characters and the plot and writing go downhill from there. One of those "everything is interconnected" multigenerational stories (that are usually in the form of Hollywood movies about LA, cf: Short Cuts, Magnolia, Crash), I so wanted to like this book, especially after the lead-off, and then just found myself struggling to get to the end. I see why people like it, but I'd be happy to debate anyone on its larger merits.

Spark- John Ratey

John Ratey (Ned Hallowell's old ADD writing partner) on the benefits of exercise for: depression, anxiety, substance abuse, hormonal issues, concentration, and more. Basically takes the reader through the research while offering up case studies and practical how-to's, as well as solid scientific underpinnings to why and how exercise changes the brain. I suppose really all one needs to read is the first chapter which lays it out- its gets a little repetitive, but still, as a mental health practitioner I always appreciate learning of other treatments for mental illness besides drugs and psychotherapy. The most important thing I learned in all the redundancies were that pushing yourself is very important- a few sprints during a cardio workout are important, as well strength training being added in, and exercise that requires brain power and fine motor work (yoga, tennis, etc)...

January Books

2011-01-04T11:23:00.013-05:00

Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World - Haruki Murakami

I LOVED Wind-up Bird Chronicles, both as a book and a piece of literature, and this was recommended by some as even better. I enjoyed it, and found it thought provoking, though not nearly to the degree that I like Wind-up Bird, which had a lot more depth and nuance to it. The plot was hard to engage with, although I was pretty taken by the second half and thoroughly enjoyed it, in spite of it being a distant second.

Toward a True Kinship of Faiths: His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama

Not sure if I'm necessarily the ideal target audience for this, I do like to think of myself as pretty tolerant, pluralist, and interested in a lot of spiritual traditions. But I did feel like I learned a lot about religions I knew little about, their common overlaps, and I like how inspired he was by seeing pluralism in action in India, past and present. I also appreciated that he called out scientists and secular humanists to join the respectful dialog as well, encouraging mutual respect between religions and science.

Chronicles, vol. 1: Bob Dylan

I'm a Dylan fan- not a hyper-obsessed Dylan fan to be sure, but I enjoy and appreciate songwriting and creativity. This book though... I dont know, part of the problem may have been that I did the audiobook, which had an insufferable reader who would drop his g's and try to sound like Dylan, but even that aside the metaphors were flimsy and overdone- disappointing for such an amazing writer, and the tone so affectedly reeking of the most self-indulgent of Dylan's self-invention, and the narrative just so... boring, that it was hard to get into. Furthermore, and I don't know if I'm the first to make this observation about the book, but I think what I really was interested in was an biography of Robert Zimmerman, and what I got was an embroidered memoir of Bob Dylan.

White Teeth- Zadie Smith

Granted, this book was good, and had all the elements of a good book- intergenerational immigrant family drama, well drawn characters, humor and warmth, sophisticated ideas about race, gender, ethnicity, religion and identity with a subplot about genetic ethics that offers a modern take on these questions, and yet... I just couldnt get into it. As much as I liked it and appreciated the ideas, it felt like a bit of a chore to pick up, figure out which characters I was reading about, and push through a little further. It has all the elements of a good book, a great book even, but for my taste, not enough elements of a good read.

Beautiful Boy - David Sheff

I've been meaning to read this book for a while now, and keep putting it off. Its now been almost ten years sober for me, a young man who surely put my parents through hell when I was using, and a recent conversation with a devastated parent kind of pushed me toward finally reading this book, as shitty as it might make me feel. And yeah, I don't feel good thinking about times in my life, but it feels important, personally and professionally, to examine a little bit of the perspective of those who love someone who is an active addict. From the start of the book I was hooked. Sheff is a great writer, and his opening description of a relapse and moving from there toward the motivation to write before delving into the story of his son from birth on could have been a cheesy way to start, but turned out to be immensely powerful in really capturing the horror of watching someone turn into the golem that addiction makes them. It treads the standard addiction memoir ground, though again from a fresh perspective, and integrates science and stats in ways that feel helpful, not pedantic, all the while conveying the hopeless confusion and hellish ups and downs of living with someone in active addiction. Can't recommend this enough. Anyone with an interest in addiction, and certainly anyone in mental health should read this.

Tweak - Nic Sheff

The foil to "Beautiful Boy" this addiction memoir written by the meth-addicted son described in "Beautiful Boy." Well, it suffers from all the problems and perks of a good addiction memoir- addictive to read with some solid debauchery and despair followed by some really astute insights into addiction and recovery, with writing that was mediocre to poor, although the guy wrote the thing half when he was using and have when he was barely sober, and all when he was very very young, so given those constraints and complaints aside, its pretty impressive.

The Power of Less: Leo Babuata

The guy who does "Zen Habits" blog did this book about productivity and personal organization, that may well be the best book on that topic I've read. Simple, straightforward concrete advice about how to organize yourself, set and achieve goals, beat procrastination and be happier at work and home. I think a lot of the material in here isnt new, but is presented well and may well be going into my next book. Definitely recommend this book if you are looking for help organizing your life and getting things done!

The Four Agreements: Don Miguel Ruiz

Bizarre, circularly hypnotic writing style and some very odd metaphor choices in this quickie self-help book from the 90's. Damn I read a lot of these things, this one was recommended by a patient. Some solid ideas about being careful with how you speak, not taking anything personally, and the level of self-respect you have being parallel to how much you will tolerate in others, but overall didnt really speak to me. Interesting uses of Mesoamerican mythology to frame the ideas, I'm guessing this is sort of marketing toward Latinos or people with an interest in Native American traditions and ideas.

After the Ecstacy, The Laundry - Jack Kornfield

Silly title aside, this book is really amazing. Like, in my opinion, all of Jack Kornfield's books about Buddhism and spirituality. This one is based on conversations with spiritual leaders and their struggles with trying to be perfect and spiritual in the face of life in all its complexity and imperfection. Not that I'm a great spiritual leader, but as a therapist it can often feel tremendously difficult to tolerate people's projections on me that I am wise, knowledgable, or have my life together when I know my own perfections and can feel like a fraud. Chock full of wonderful quotes and anecdotes, folk tales from around the world, it was both inspiring and engaging.

November/December Books

2010-11-18T21:46:00.012-05:00

Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao: Junot Diaz

Really effective, surprising and engaging book that I just loved. Turns the tired tropes of the first-generation immigrant narrative on their heads with humor and grace, and is a pure pleasure to read. This, the multigenerational story of an Dominican family surviving the dictatorship of Trujillo, then the new traumas of immigration and family dynamics. Overflowing, at times overwhelming, with its sex and violence, but never gratuitously. Can't recommend this one highly enough. And so good it got me to re-read...

Drown: Junot Diaz

Yeah, amazing short stories by Diaz, some better than others, but still an amazing short story collection about Dominican families in New York and New Jersey.

Goodbye Columbus:

The Human Stain - Philip Roth

Yep, the Philip Roth kick continues ever onward. I found this dragged a little more than American Pastoral which I read last month, although I still enjoyed it. The more Roth I read though, the more his own unhappiness, bitterness and misogyny starts to leak through. Still, an interesting study of identity, identity politics, sexuality, academia and the second half of the twentieth century.

Goodbye Columbus - Philip Roth

After the few darker Roth novels I read this year, this love story novella was a breath of fresh air. Capturing the conflicts of class and the confines of the era's conformity (1950's/60's America), this was a wonderful adolescent love story of passion and heartbrake. Star-crossed lovers I suppose, but not a tragedy in the classic sense. Surprisingly sweet for Mr. Roth, but I suppose it was his first book...

Portnoy's Complaint - Philip Roth

Are we sensing a theme this fall?

Okay, so I really enjoyed this, and found it fascinating as it is so damn famous, and wow, there really is a lot of masturbation in this book. Funny probably to read it so late after publication, and I can understand its impact at the time, and though hilarious at times, it didn't do a ton for me reading it now. In fact, it kind of made me feel icky in the way that reading Bret Easton Ellis will make me feel like taking a shower in bleach after I read one of his books. Further, it really continued to reveal to me the depths of Roth's bitterness and anger toward the world. My thought process "Wow, he really hates shiksa women... oh, I guess actually he just really hates women in general and is a misogynist... oh, now I can see that he just really really hates people."

Shopclass as Soulcraft - Matthew Crawford
A meditation/manifesto on the value of certain manual labor- craftsmanship to be most specific, over being an intellectual or physical cog in the larger production/consumption machine. Crawford himself is a PhD who became a motorcycle mechanic, and speaks of the joys, creative stimulation and good income that comes from craftsmanship, not to mention the self-esteem and self-efficacyt that emerges from problem solving work. Sure, he gets a little moralistic and rigid at times, but overall a solid critique of what we currently call capitalism and its soul-destroying nature in the American corporate version of it. In a lot of ways, he's speaking to and for the very same ideology of a book like "Fight Club," just in a less angry voice, and without the more problematic gender politics of that book. I'd highly recommend this to anyone in education, or in mental health for that matter, as it does tell us something about why our world as we know it is so unsatisfying.

Sway- Ori & Rahm Brafman

Yep -the standard book I love to read, pop social psychology stuff. However, this one had two sections I would recommend be mandatory reading for anyone becoming a therapist- one on theories behind the bullshit rise in bipolar diagnosis (and not a corresponding rise in suicide and bipolar behaviors at the epidemiological level) and another on the depressing/fascinating neurobiology of greed- yep, making money gives people the same rush in the reward centers of the brain as cocaine, and leads to similarly immoral behavior. And we wonder why ethics crumble in the face of money...

The Invisible Gorilla: Christopher Chabris and Daniel Simons

Do people know about the Invisible Gorilla study? Now a classic of psych 101 (but not when I took it 15 years ago!). Amazing experiment about attention, "inattentional blindness" and how we are deceived by perception. The book covers that, and then branches out into more generally how to not draw conclusions from data. It would be great for an intro psych course, also explaining why recent grads of med school overdiagnose pathologies (pay attention fellow early career shrinks!), explains the most egregious attribution errors in scientific research and how we stumble into them and how to avoid such pitfalls of trusting intuition over hard-headed analysis, and takes a few swpes at malcolm gladwell along the way. Anyone teaching psych 101 or with a passing interest in psychology, check this one out.

The Dharma Bums: Jack Kerouac

So, I'm revisiting a lot of books I should have read while in college, when I... had some different priorities. The point is, I'm a little older and wiser now than at the peak time I probably would have enjoyed some books more. Which is to say- although there was a lot to like about The Dharma Bums, its sort of a fundamentally adolescent book, and although there is nothing wrong with that, I just would have liked it more when I was younger or in a different place in my life. Would I recommend it? Yes, but more as a document/artifact that a pleasure read or anything enlightening about Buddhism or as literature. All told though, it was a fun read, and I do understand why its so beloved.

The Mindful Path to Self-Compassion: Christopher Germer

* * * * *
When I was in grad school for psychology, I very nearly wrote my dissertation on the history of self-help books, before writing about meditation with kids and teens. (a much better choice) I still have a place in my heart for self-help books, crappy and otherwise, and their anthropological value. I went crazy with some recent classics not so much in the self-help, but self-improvement realm recently:

How to Win Friends and Influence People - Dale Carnegie

Um, wow- I get why this is a classic. Its really really good and helpful tips on succesfully living in the world of people, whether you are a business person or parent or just someone who has to interact with people. Also unrelentingly positive, and articulates so many basic principles from Ancient Eastern and Western thought, or that could easily be articulated in today's positive psychology. Good stuff. I'm going to start throwing it a my shy and anxious patients.

48 Laws of Power - David Greene
Hot on the heals of Dale Carnegie I decided to check out the polar opposite self-improvement book, partly out of sheer anthropological curiousity about this Machiavellian update and apparent hip-hop bible. Verdict? This book is seriously godawful, not because of the amorality, but the atrociously hammy writing, and embarrassingly, hilariously enormous oversights where it directly contradicts itself (ie, court attention at all costs- any publicity is good publicity, and guard your reputation its priceless). Anyway, again, why did I read this? I guess it was a moderately amusing glimpse of what second-rate wanna-be MBA types fancy to be intellectual reading and keep prominently on their faux-mahoganey shelves. I kept imagining the Christopher Moltisanti's lackeys from the Sopranos.

How to Make People Like You in 90 Seconds or Less- Nicholas Boothman
Yet another book in the self-improvement anthropological study this month, this one an apparent classic in the annals of "neuro-linguistic-programming." Kind of ridiculous in its purported science of following people's speech, body language and other preferences to communicate more effectively, it was kind of interesting, if kind of bullshit. It is however, a great title for a book.

10 Qualities of Charismatic People: Tony Alessandro

Yeah, I don't know, really just more of the same as these other three books above...

September/October Books

2010-09-14T11:34:00.016-04:00

Wow, I don't know what's happened to my attention span lately, but I was unable to finish no less than three books in the past few months- very unlike me. It also shows either a decreasing attention span, or perhaps an increasing maturity that I no longer put up with books that bore me. The first was "The Black Swan" (no, not the basis Aaronovsky movie) the non-fiction by Nicholas Nasir Taleb- the thesis of which is that big, history changing events are basically unpredictable, and we try to explain them in hindsight, but this is pointless. Well, okay, but I'm not sure how we can stretch that out to an entire book Mr. Taleb, besides citing examples like the recent market crash or 9/11 over and over again, and saying that these things are unpredictable, but somehow you can predict them- either as a high priced consultant or for the price of a hardcover book. The other I just couldnt get into (sorry Aaron), was the sci-fi contemporary classic Spin, by Robert Charles Wilson. I get Sci-Fi, I like sci-fi, I appreciate that it creates a space for interesting ideas to test themselves and play out against a backdrop of the implausable or inconceivable, but I just didnt feel like I was seeing anything new or any important confirmation about human nature that I didnt see beforehand, which is why I read literature. So what have I read recently? Also finished though kinda hated (mostly out of boredom) "A New Earth" by Eckhart Tolle. I was just bored, bored, bored and then annoyed- and this from a guy reads a LOT of self-help books and can usually understand what people find appealing about them.

Ranting aside, some things I did like in recent months:

Surviving the Dragon: Arjia Rinpoche

Fascinating, depressing look at Tibet during the cultural revolution as the communists seized power and sent in the red brigades to overthrow the existing order through attempting to erase culture, torture individuals to testify against each other and generally begin the cultural and literal genocide against the Tibetan people and culture. The book is written by a lama who became a collaborator with the Chinese, then fled from Tibet to tell his story. Really well worth reading for anyone with an interest in the Tibet issue or even just 20th century China.

Switch - Chip & Dan Heath

Very cool book about affecting behavior change on the individual and group levels. I have no idea why these kinds of pop sociology/social psychology books fascinate me lately, but they do. A great shout-out to my family friend Jerry Sternin also made this fun, as well as a unique explanation of solution-focused therapy and how it operates. Metaphors used throughout are easy to understand, and many I actually have already integrated into my work as a therapist - like "the elephant and the rider" as short term decision making vs. long term decision making, and how to fool yourself into better behavior (ie, saving money, eating healthy, etc). In the end, they also nicely explain that you cant force behavior change, but there are factors that are the same in all behavior change- looking for exceptions to the rule/problem, building those, making it as easy as possibly systemically for change, enlisting the "primitive brain" in helping us, etc. And, in January, you can actually read some applications that inspired me from this book in an article about sticking with new years resolutions that I will be quoted in in Good Housekeeping.

Freedom- Jonathon Franzen

As my friend Dan succinctly put it in his gmail status: Corrections > Freedom > Most Books. That about sums it up. I thoroughly, thoroughly enjoyed this book, was reading it before work even. Sentence for sentence, it was perhaps better written than The Corrections. That said, I did feel it covered a whole lot of territory that The Corrections (possibly my favorite book ever) didn't cover, and was not quite as fun or efficient. The intertwined plots each went on slightly too long, as did the book as a whole, and I never laughed aloud as I did with The Corrections. The tone veered from mild satire into a Tom Wolfe-esque bizarre narrative devices, which also felt tonally inconsistent in spite of some unforgettable lines and poignantly revealing and truthful moments that hit like a punch in the gut. All told, I'd still highly recommend for a balance of pleasurable and thought provoking.

American Pastoral - Phillip Roth

This was recommended highly by Dan after we were discussing Freedom, as another upper-middle-class American family angst drama, and it is one I've been meaning to read for a long time. And yes, it was good, really good- well written, nuanced, terrifying, hilarious, many things, but somehow didnt quite capture my interest in quite the way that Freedom did, even as it explored similar themes. Still, a truly great book, much deserving of its excellent reputation and praise.

Palestine -Joe Sacco

Wow, friend Ben O recommended this, as a pure example of the amazing things that one CAN do with a comic/cartoon. Its a graphic novel travel memoir of his time in Palestine in the early 90's and offers some really interesting perspectives on the Palestine/Israel issue and history and complexity on both sides that rarely gets explored in the tiny narratives that we encounter in the media. Depressing, to be sure, but I'd still highly recommend this for a more human-scale understanding of the issue. And although critics fault him for examining only one perspective, I like that as Sacco himself points out he's not trying to tell two sides, he just is presenting one.

The Accidental Billionaires- Ben Mezrich

As Ben B points out "Oh, Ben Mezrich is writing another book about overprivileged Ivy-leaguers behaving badly?" Well, yes. This is the book that The Social Network movie was based on, and true to Mezrich's form, its both entertaining and impossible to put down, in spite of the fact that the writing is atrociously littered with hyperbole and cliche. Still, a fun read if you want a little more backstory on the lurid history of Facebook.

Bonk - Mary Roach

Sorta ended up being exactly what I expected and thus wasnt exactly "disappointed" because I had such low expectations. A snarkily written, double-entendre ridden pop history of sex and science from ancient times through the present. Some great anecdotes and fun facts to be sure, but ultimately even a topic like this one didn't have quite enough going for it to keep the irritating writing at bay.

The Devil and Sherlock Holmes - David Grann
Okay, so basically this is just a compilation of his articles from the New Yorker for the past few years, and capitalizing on the success of Lost City of Z and the infamous story about the Texas death penalty arson case. And I've read all these pieces before, but damn I forgot what a phenomenal writer he is and that he's written many of my favorite pieces in recent memory- the giant squid piece, the Aryan brotherhood piece, the French con man who pretends to be a missing child in Texas, and the crazy Polish novelist-murderer piece. Yeah this is good stuff, even on a second read. What makes the New Yorker great, and an heir to the great writing of William Finnegan.

Also fewer books this month in part due to my recent obsession with listening to Marc Maron's WTF podcast which I highly recommend. (And yes, I also finally caved in and started listening to Radiolab, allowing the quality of its substance to generally overriding its extremely irritating stlye) Favorite captivating recent episodes of WTF include Louis CK, Judd Apatow, Maz Jobrani, Adam McKay, and Maria Bamford, and. Other ones with big stars are also really interesting- Robin Williams, Ben Stiller and others. I'd highly recommend it for anyone with an interest in the creative process, as its instructive and fun to hear about the creative process (and unbelievably hard work) of so many interesting talented people, and a pleasure to briefly feel like an insider in the crazy world of standup comedy. PLus Marc Maron is a great character himself, a recovering alcoholic whose resentments, insecurities and neurosis frame each interview while also leaking into and informing them, and in a self-aware but not self-pitying way.

A Few Chengdu's and Chengdon'ts, Pandas and Bamboo

2010-07-30T11:40:00.002-04:00

So I've not written about the food much or in a while. Typically, the snack food is strange to us- chips flavored like pork, beef, chicken, 'piquancy,' blueberry or corn (I tried the corn ones- they didnt taste like corn, but they did taste like the corn flavored candy I had, which, Amelia and Ben, sadly did not taste like candy corn). Then there are things like vacuum packed pig snouts, chicken feet, etc, and other odds and ends we don't generally eat back in the states, though I admire the Chinese ability to use the whole animal. Anyway, Szechuan Provence is of course world renowned for its food and we've had some very good and very spicy meals here. Restaurants typically showcase the freshness of their offerings with beautiful displays of fresh vegetables and greens that would make a locavore foodie swoon, next to the somewhat more depressing overfilled tanks of catfish, bullfrogs, turtles, eels, snails and "young dragons" (The amazing Mandarin to English translation of crayfish). These they happily slaughter for you and toss into the hotpot- an interesting dish itself, extremely spicy (la) but tempered by so-called Szechuan numbing spice (ma), which makes the tongue kind of vibrate, and then heaped into bowls of scallion, peanut, cilantro and chilis. Delish. You wash this all down with walnut milk, which also cuts the spice somewhat. Unfortunately, the meat cuts at hotpots are usually offal, so we perused a menu of duck tongues, sheeps blood, pork gristle, etc etc that someone had painstakingly translated, (see photo) and our waitress in belabored English very cheerfully informed us that the black tripe was very fresh today. Ermmm, we'll just stick with squid and fatty pork I guess. In general, the locals are typically very surprised to see the likes of lao wai such as ourselves in their restaurants, and helpfully offer to take us into the kitchen to pick out whatever we want cooked/slaughtered/hacked up/deep fried/"explode fried" - (the also awesome literal translation of stir-fried), smoked, stewed or whatever. The menus are also typically hundreds of items, which can be a bit overwhelming, and confusing to peruse and prioritize (strange flavor pork or fish flavor pork... with eggplant or with peppers... the permutations predictably go on and on...) Everything is also served very much on the bone, even tiny bits of chicken, which requires significant amounts of delicate chewing and spitting. No big deal to the Chinese, who have plates of spat-out bones piled high on the plates next to them by the end of the meal, except at fancier places where the staff regularly whisks away your plate of bones and gives you a fresh plate. Which reminds me- the things you've heard about the Chinese and spitting is absolutely true. Everyone from wrinkled and stooped old men to well heeled young professional women to infants seems in a constant state of hawking and spitting phlegm everywhere from bus stations floors to sidewalks- its just no big deal here. Is it the wretchedly polluted air, the fact that everyone smokes? Who knows, but we had a cab driver spit out the window the other day not realizing his window was rolled up, and with no shame at all just wiped it clean with his sleeve. Cultural differences, I know, I know, I'm not trying to suggest anyone is a barbarian or anything, but its just, well, different- to be eating a meal in stereo surround sound of the constant refrain of phlegm spitting. And I've no doubt committed numerous faux-pas in the course of the past month- the least of which has been my absolute ignorance of the language, probably furthering ignorance of my own boorish behavior, or else the Chinese are too patient and polite to bother mentioning anything to me, so I'm not trying to judge...

So what else have we been up to? Mostly based out of Cheng-du, which we have increasingly taken to referring to as Cheng-don't (and not to be confused, when you buy your ticket to fly here with Cheng-do or Chang-du, or Chungdu), which apparently means, no irony intended, "perfect metropolis," which is interesting for a city that seems hotter, humider and possibly more hellish than Delhi if thats possible- no wait, its not. But it is insanely polluted, can hardly see a few blocks in the yellow-white air (kind of a lovely pale urine color), but is otherwise your standard megalopolis in the developing world. Entire blocks of concrete open air shops seem dedicated to one product, (our current hotel is on a street which only sells shower heads and gas burners, though we are conveniently located near the gas-pump district- yes, stores that are filled with gas station gas pumps- very odd!), tons of motorbikes and bicycles, though at least half the bicycles are electric bikes, thus hard to understand where all pollution comes from. Weird also that there seem top be Starbucks and ATMs on every corner, (which are amusingly called "Cash Recycling Machines"). Chengu also some charming rebuilt/built from scratch fake old timey neighborhoods (called new ancient style shopping districts) complete with pagodas and little coi ponds that actually have dry ice and make mist and always where you can find a Starbucks. And I will say that this town has some great buses, and it looks like the subway will be opening any day now even as tuktuks bearing wooden cages filled with puppies putter past. Weird how things can both feel behind the Western world and be leapfrogging ahead at the same time.

The few attractions nearby include some giant Buddha statue that we skipped, though we did make time to see the Giant Panda Breeding Research Center, aka the Panda Brothel, which all told was pretty damn cool. I dont know if I ever actually have seen Pandas, and they really ARE quite adorable, both the giant pandas and the smaller red pandas (technically, apparently, a type of raccoon) although NOT cute are the infant pandas which look like DREN, and the infant pandas being the most adorable. Oh yeah, and I totally took this video of one sneezing.

The other activity we decided to do was go off the beaten path and view the so-called Bamboo Sea, a huge expanse / nature preserve of bamboo, with like a million kinds of bamboo or something and where movies like Crouching Tiger's flying scenes were filmed. We expected a minor debacle in getting there as its completely off the western tourist map, and got, well, a moderate debacle. The three hour non-ac busride was closer to six, the only hotel around conveniently inflated their prices, and absolutely not a soul spoke a word of English. Still, what little we got to see was very cool and beautiful, and it was worth getting out of the city for and having a bit of an adventure. The hotel was also positively enormous, perhaps awaiting a future of tourists that will never come, or reflecting a past glory that maybe was, but it was strange to be staying in hotel- no, complex, that was completely empty excep

t for Ben and me, and we were hoping that all work and no play would not make the general manager Mr. Zhou a dull boy. Thankfully, nothing Shining-like went down, and we left peacefully on our 8 am bus, only feeling moderately extorted.

I will also add at this point that our two year old Lonely Planet Southwest China (and the LP Tibet for that matter) have proven repeatedly to be utterly and hopelessly out of date. Neighborhoods that are now rubble. Multiple hostels that no longer exist. Subways where there weren't subways and trains where none had previously existed. Its made for an adventure in some ways, but I really haven't had a guidebook this bad since LP's Colombia book, also completely inaccurate (and according to someone who owned a hostel there, never researched by the author, who just emailed him for advice on sights and places with the promise of a good writeup without even visiting.) So the point I suppose, is that China is changing fast and a very foreign feeling place overall- perhaps the most foreign feeling country Ive been to, which otherwise would have been India, except for the fact that India is the largest English speaking country in the world. Other weird observations- it's strange to be in a country with a one child-rule. There are not so many kids, and you never see families. Though apparently China's population will be almost halved in another 40 years. The strangest thing about adopting/aborting away female children is China's so-called "bachelor bomb" -think about this: 40 million Chinese men who will never marry or have kids.

Anyway, kids, thats it for now. See you all soon, and think of me on my 2 hr, 19.5 hr, and then 1.5 hr flights home tomorrow. China's been amazing, but I'm also really looking forward to seeing you all. Haven't ever really been so ready to be back from a trip.

Grumpy Monks, Monkey Attacks and More on China's Holiest Mountain

2010-07-26T11:34:00.002-04:00

Started out the other morning to hike Mt. Emei Shan- one of China's holiest Buddhist mountains. It's about 10,000 ft and a 52k climb. Emei town, at the base of the mountain, is your standard tourist town full of little restaurants and trinket shops and has a lot more fake waterfalls and Christmas lights than most holy sites I've been to in the world. Anyway, first order of business was trying to find the trail head, a task that was not so east given that topographical maps are illegal in China and so the map we had to use- a hand drawn cartoon-like thing that looked like it belonged in the front of a children's fantasynovel and would be better suited to locating the Pevensies in Narnia or tracking Frodo's progress across Middle Earth than it would be for staying on course for a 52k mountain climbing excursion. The names listed on the map- joking monkey tollgate and elephant wading pool (see picture attached) only furthered the sense of the fantastical. But a few hours of searching and we found the correct trail in off to a somewhat late start.

Thousands of years of history and thousands of climbers a year mean that someone, sometime along the way had decided to make the trails all stone steps-which made it interesting to be climbing a mountain by stairs. Ben was helpfully calculating thenumber of empire state buildings we were ascending and descending as we progressed. The mountain is also dotted with temples and pagodas - 72 to be exact, and we were planning on staying in monasteries on the way up. All the monasteries and stone paths created the feeling of being on an Indianna Jones movie set- no not in an Indianna Jones like setting, but set- like. A thin veneer of touristy artifice continued to pervade the whole mountain. But it was beautiful and realtively unspoiled, crews were picking up litter as fast as the Chinese tourists could drop it, and we saw some amazing flora and fauna- we hiked past tea trees, bamboo groves, rhododendron hedges and different biomes the higher we got. Multicolored butterflies floated past and we stepped over weird leaf like slugs

in what was really a rain or cloud forest, though mercifully no rain. And then of course, monkeys- the other fauna.

We approached the so-called joking monkey toll zone, (Tibetan Macaques, technically) so named because its swarming with monkeys (and Chinese tourists), and the monkeys block your path and you have to give them something to get past. For the most part though, they were fat, lazy and sated by the tourists feeding them, so we got our pictures (you can get right up next to them), and progressed onward and upward, away from the monkeys and away from the tourist hordes. Upward we went- the ascent getting more intense, with regular 500 stair ascents with no landings and a few monkeys here and there, or the occasional snack stand offering water, red bull, tomatoes, cucumbers and all manner of fungus. Finally we came to a flattersection, and a monkey stopped in the path in front of me. I rapped my monkey stick on the ground (my bamboo hiking pole that we'd taking to calling our "Hellz Wind Staffs." Nothing, he just stared back at me. "Hey Ben, check out how fearless these monkeys are!" I shouted up, and looked back down he was gone. Suddenly, a weight on my back. Shit. I turned and could barely make out a furball on my backpack. "AAAAGH!" I started spinning backwards in circles, frantically (and very, very awkwardly) swatting at my pack with my bamboo stick. It was all rather slapstick and I must have looked like Chevy Chase in Chinese Vacation if there were such a thing, though I was also having a hard time standing up- not just off balance from the monkey on my back but laughing so hard at the absurdity of it and how I must have looked. He didnt let go either- not until he'd gotten into the backpack and extracted my bag of peanuts I'd been saving for later did he leap off. He stood there staring at me, peanuts in hand. I took a step forward, he bared his teeth and hugged the peanuts closer. I attempted to bare my teeth back, but even though I never had braces, my teeth are not very scary. Okay my simian friend, you've won this round fair and square. Besides, the peanuts here are stale and always dusted with MSG. (as it everything- yes, thats the secret to Szechuan cooking- and they even give you a dish of it with your meal to season your food a little more should you so desire.)

Monkey episode behind us, we pushed onward, on the lookout now for monkeys and food more securely stored in our packs. The fog was coming in thick, and I could barely see Ben ten paces ahead. We found the next monastery by literally walking into it- and it was quite beautiful and dramatic in the fog, the sound of gongs and sweet smell of incense that we couldnt see, pagoda roofs sliding in and out of the fog... very cinematic. We rested for a while but a good sized tour group came up behind us, and we decided to press on to Yuxian, the next monastery seven or eight kilometers up the path.

An hour or so later we arrived at the dramatic clifftop Yuxian temple, where we checked in with a grumpy young monk who kept a slingshot for monkeys tucked into his robe, and mostly sat around smoking cigarettes and watching kung fu movies. (educational movies perhaps? After all, Emei Shan is purportedly where the Shaolin martial arts style originated. And by the way, there is ALWAYS a kung movie drama on TV here!). The views were dramatic, and this place too was literally crawling with monkeys and monkey families, dozens probably that would keep running into the temple, the kitchen, the hallways, and were admittedly quite cute in spite of my newfound monkey paranoia.

A decent night's sleep and an extremely bland monastic breakfast and we were up early for more insane stair ascents through the fog in the quiet of the morning and up to the elephant bathing pool temple, where we paused and looked out over the other mountains- the other temple-topped peaks poked out of the fog like islands floating in the clouds, a really incredible sight like out of an old Asian painting. We paused for some pictures and a break and pressed onward, listening to the sounds of the forest, the streams running and... honking horns? We heard the parking lot just below the summit before we saw the dozens of behemoth buses belching out diesel and letting off seemingly thousands of tourists. It was a similarly dispiriting feeling I had climbing Mt. Washington- up early to hike, only to arrive at a parking lot of folks who'd driven it and were just looking for souvenirs and bumper stickers. We pushed through the crowds to the trail the last few kilometers to the summit, which was clogged with new tourists, those who werent taking the gondola the rest of the way, and the last few steps hindered by demands by schoolgirls that we get in pictures with them- (really should start charging for these!) And ultimately the summit was pretty spectacular, a massive gold Buddha and temple crowning the dramatic peak with some phenomenal views. Lunched at the summit and decided to stay up there as well, and awoke early the next morning for a somewhat disappointingly cloudy sunrise before heading down. And about ten steps down the clouds broke, and I mean, seriously broke- within minutes the stairs were transformed into rushing two inch deep rivers and waterfalls as we scrambled to the lower summit to find a bus in the parking lot we'd been disparaging less than a day before. But boy was that ride home in the rain sweet, even though my clothes are still drying a day later.

So its back in Chengdu now, a few more days in China for Pandas, Bamboo and hopefully some more interesting culinary adventures. Probably one more email before I head home Saturday. Meanwhile, thanks for reading and really looking forward to seeing everyone next week! By the way, great NYTimes article about contemporary Tibet here...

Hello Dali, Goodbye Kunming, (Hello Chengdu)

2010-07-23T14:22:00.001-04:00

Starting this email on my iphone while sitting on the side of the road waiting for the bus to Dali to get going again. Dali being the next overtouristy "traditional" old Chinese town on the trail south. By overtouristy I generally mean overpopulated with Chinese tourists not Westerners. Lijiang was lovely, in spite of the rain (flooding apparently washed away a few towns and people with them here in the past few days), and I highly recommend the Panba hostel, in spite of its inexplicable Christmas themed decorations- (we had a Merry Christmas stocking hanging on our door- perhaps we are close to the factory?)

Yes, our bus is not broken down, but once again, something has happened in the distance and we are stuck waiting. So I realize I've written a lot about the driving here, and i relize also that there are certain unfortunate stereotypes about driving out there that I don't want to perpetuate, but I will say that there are unique qualities to road travel in a country where 95% of the drivers learned to drive in the past five years. For example, heading out of town in a taxi to the bus station (in a car whos brand uses the starfleet/ star trek logo), we drove on a three lane road- no, not three lanes in either direction, just three lanes with white dotted lines. Our taxi to the bus station took us down a terrifying but not atypical three lane road- sort of a lane for one direction, sort of a lane for the other, but most cars, including ours seemed to prefer swerving in and out of the middle lane, feinting left and right at oncoming traffic like some insane video game. We talk in America about cars being an extension of ourselves, and its true here, but people drive the way they walk- a line is more like a funnel shape, and occasionally someone will be just stopped at an intersection reading a newspaper as we saw yesterday.

Secondly, without exaggeration and without exception, every single busride of over two hours has resulted in waiting for well over an hour for the bus to wait for an accident. Sometimes a minor fender bender, often a truck or bus gone over the side. And you just wait, meanwhile, police appear, sirens blazing, but only seem to have on their sirens to get PAST the accident, not resolve or help with the issue by exercising any kind of authority whatsoever that could speed things up. Eventually, some settlement is reached, perhaps by the crowd who stand aroud taking pictures and watching and contributing to the debate of fault. Of course, when one lane of traffic stops, the traffic in that direction merely crosses the line and doubles up both sides of the road, resulting in miles of cars and buses backed up in either direction again taking up both sides of the road with both directions of traffic. At least today we are waiting in a scenic rice paddy. Ah, and moving again, and now that the movie has ended, the bus is now showing Karaoke videos, which the passengers thankfully are (mostly) not singing along with.

Anyway, now in Dali, aka Xiaguan, an "ancient" town on the shores of a lake with some holy 1000 year old pagodas nearby. I have to say, these towns are starting to blend together like the Unesco-fied colonial cities of Latin America. Beautiful to be sure, but we are ready to do sonethong else pretty soon. I have to say though, although tourist, Dali is less touristy than Lijiang and Shangri-La, and more oriented toward western tourists than Chinese ones, and feels a little down at heels/rough around the edges which lends it some authenticity that I like. Either that, or its a little more friendly and familiar to me as a Westerner, and its nice to get a decent cup of coffee and even, yes, a slice of cheesecake. We checked out the temple in the rain (Which has not let up in what feels like weeks), which in the rain and fog, bore little resemblence to the photo attached.

With the rain, we only stuck around Dali for a day and headed out by bus for Kunming, a small Chinese city of a few million in Yunnan. The trip started well on the expressway, past traditionally dressed women harvesting their rice paddies as they have for millenia seemingly oblivious btoy the sudden sprouting of an expressway in the middle of their rice paddy. But soon we were off the expressway and going very slowly chugging up nearly washed out dirt roads pocked with craters. We were moving along decently until gradually things slowed and then heart sinking feeling as the bus shuddered and the engine shut down, just before nightfall. A few more hours waiting on and off the bus as the sun set on the side of the road, walking up and down past villagers, and Chinese texting, eating and chatting and a makeshift casino where men were shouting in Mandarin- with cigarettes and cards in one hand and fistfulls of Yuan in the other. I have to admit I was starting to grow suspicious, given that the villagers had a strong economic incentive to cause breakdowns given the money they were making selling tea eggs and boiled corn. During the wait we even watched a local set up some logs, stretch a tarp over them and start boiling water, making soup and setting out benches. In our hunger by midnight we found ourselves busily slurping soup with dozens of other Chinese denizens of the makeshift restaurant. Finally a ways after midnight we were moving again, but not before the passengers of whichever bus had broken down had piled into ours. Note to all planning to travel by bus in China- don't forget to pack four meals, three books, a headlamp, raincoat, pillow, tent, extra money and hopefully a strong bladder- be like the boy scouts, be prepared...

Kunming was pouring with rain when our bus pulled up at three AM along with every other bus that had been stuck in the same traffic. Cab competition was predictably fierce but manages to get one to the weird Chinese hotel that our last hostel had booked for us. We arrived and fell immediately to sleep, waking up the next day to discpver that our hotel room was on the 8th floor of an anonymous skyscraper and our room was next door to various business offices- the hotel rooms seemed to alternate with office suites and apartments. With no clue where in this giant city we were, we successfully navigated ourselves from filled up hostel to filled up hostel until we decided to just leave our bags at the Hump Hostel- Kunming's primary megahostel, and try to get train tickets OUT of Kunming. The station, while not more insane than Indian rail stations, was impressively insane and of course entirely in Chinese and no foreign ticket office as in india. We tried waiting in a few different lines as we attempted to decode the Chinese characters on the schedule boards, only to deduce that the next three days worth of trains to Chengdu were sold out. A plane ticket was a no brainer though, at less than $100 and less than an hour, compared to 60$ and twenty-two hours. See you later Kunming.

But not before we attempted to find the comforts of home in this foreign city. We wandered in the worst rainstorm I've been in since Cambodia in '06, around Kunming's answer to Times Square, made ourselves sick on Big Macs and attempting to take in an American movie. After much pointing and then photographing and showing the picture of the movie we wanted to see, we settled into the air conditioned theater. A few Chinese subtitles popped up in the credits and we relaxed, looked like not dubbed but subtitled. Until Tom Cruise starting speaking Mandarin and we began wondering if the movie was dubbed into Mandarin with Cantonese subtitles. Oh well, we killed enough time to beat the rain and escape to Chengdu that night, the largest city in Szechuan provence.

More on Chengdu, its amazing food and its charming whitish yellow air in a few days. We are currently in Emei, site of a holy buddhist mountain which we will be climbing for the next few days while crashing in monasteries. Hopefully the smog won't kill us here either!

And I don't mean to sound so negative- the trip remains quite a memorable adventure, in spite of some illness and travel difficulties. Still, looking forward to getting home and seeing everyone and acting like an incorrigible snob about Szechuan food!

PHOTOS: Rice Paddie where bus broke down, Dali, Dali...

Lijiang is Gorges or How I Learned to Love Commie Naxis and Wu-Tang Cola

2010-07-18T14:15:00.001-04:00

Arrived in Lijiang a few days ago and checked into a great hostel (Panba!) after some linguistic confusion (two person room, not two person bed). True to the word of other backpackers we encountered, its at least as touristy here as in Shangri-La, but way less artificial feeling. Lijiang has one of those old towns that you would think exists only in our imagination about ancient China - traditional pagoda roofed buildings, flagstone streets, old canals rushing water between the streets. Strolled the alleyways and backstreets eating some random street food, the whole place has canals and bridges and views of Jade Dragon Mountain and is reminiscent, for me, of Hoi An in Vietnam, though somehow now quite as charming, but still, quite charming.

Tiger Leaping Gorge is apparently THE trek to do in Southern China- China in general for that matter. I was ready for a little bit of hype, but the place exceeded my expectations and then some for a pleasant surprise. The gorge is so nam

ed for a legend about a tiger leaping across it or something, which strikes me as unlikely, but still. Unfortunately, the fact that it lives up to the hype also means that the local government is furiously planning hotels, golf courses and theme parks. For now however, it remains unspoiled. We headed out in the rain unfortunately, and day one was mostly up- the 28 bends (switchbacks) to be precise and about 6 miles or so to the guesthouse at the halfway point. Only an hour or so in however, we were pleased to see a sign reading "halfway." A few minutes later, another sign reading halfway. Okay, well, maybe its approximate. A good deal later, another sign, and we realized that it was an advertisement for the amusingly and unironically named "Halfway House" guesthouse. Upward we pushed through the rain, c

lambering up the clay trail, and pretty easily passing the few other gringos on the trail, slowed by hangovers and their constant cigarette breaks. Local kids with donkeys followed us much of the way, asking if we were interested in renting a donkey, but we were doing okay. Almost lost the trail a few times, but the one good thing about the donkeys was that the trail could always be found again by following your nose or eyes back to the donkey shit. And in spite of the rain, or perhaps because of the clouds and mist, the views were spectacular across the Yangste roaring below and over to the mountainous cliffs on the opposite side of the gorge. Thousand foot waterfalls pouring down sheer cliffs, mist forming and unforming around the mountains, the nearest description I can make (lame reference alert) was that this place was clearly the inspiration for the hanging mountains of Pandora from Avatar. But real. After an hour and a half we made it over the 28 bends and through a villages to the Halfway House. That place too had the most spectacular view I've about ever seen in my life, looking out across the gorge. The place itself was incredible Swiss-Family-Robinson-Esque place that even had hot showers and great food. Spent the evening shooting the shit, in fact, having the most ridiculously utter nonsense conversation with an Irishman (my favorite of the anglophone travellers) and the drollest Dutchman, and just spent a few hours laughing and swapping stories.

This morning, after a great night's sleep, we headed out again ambitiously for the next town. A clear but slightly misty day, we traversed through ancient Naxi tribal villages with stone walls and those pagoda-y, Chinesey looking roofs, terraced farms cut into the mountain, past goat-herders and wild horses, over waterfalls and through bamboo forests and down through a... marijuana field? Wait a minute- you don't need to have read The Beach to know that when you stumble onto someone's private marijuana patch in Southeast Asia you have definitely gotten yourself lost. And lost we were, doubling back, tripling back, running out of water, stumbling through farms to find villages that seemed completely empty we were starting to lose steam. Finally we pantomimed to some peasants tending their pigsties who pointed us one way, and stumbled into another farm where the girl there spoke enough English to say "This way road!" Well, basically we crashed our way down the gorge and to the low road where we caught a van and picked up a nice young couple who'd gone to Brown and even knew a few people in common. Drove about ten minutes until we reached a point where the new road was covered in rubble from a dynamite blast we'd heard a few minutes before. And by rubble, I mean gigantic boulders that a front end loader was busy clearing away. While we watched. For another hour. As the rain began. But soon enough we were on our way, swapping travel and America stories with Nate and Emily, and learning about his great iphone app (pleco- check it out) that translates characters that you draw on the touchscreen instantly into English, or at least into amusing Chinglish. It is a GREAT way to pass time in traffic jams... We also learned some great phrases that we tried out on our poor driver, including the wonderfully onomonopaetic "oo-uhh" which means "to vomit." And the other delightful piece of Mandarin? Wu-Tang means sugar-free. So if you want a diet coke in Beijing, order a "Wu-Tang Cola."

2010-07-15T03:34:00.001-04:00

Starting this email on my Iphone while sitting in yet another traffic jam, and with a GI system on the fritz and temporarily tamped down with a steady regimen of Cipro and Immodium on the way to Dali- the next overtouristy "traditional" old Chinese town on the trail south. At least we are in a scenic rice paddy, though too bad its raining again. So- I'm well aware that there are stereotypes out their about driving, and well aware that I keep harping on the traffic in this country and don't want to play into it, but I do just want to comment a bit more on the insanity of road travel in a country where everyone has just learned to drive in the past five years. Its insane. We left our great hostel, Panba in Lijiang, probably the best hostel I've ever stayed in, although Christmas themed for some inexplicable reason- Merry Christmas written everywhere and a stocking hanging on our door. Our taxi to the bus station took us down a terrifying but not atypical three lane road- sort of a lane for one direction, sort of a lane for the other but most cars seemed to prefer swerving in and out of said middle lane. Furthermore, without exaggeration I can say that every single trip we've taken of more than two hours has involved waiting around at an accident scene watching people who've crashed their cars / buses/ trucks /tractors into each other argue for hours about who is at fault, with no sign of police or any kind of officials doing anything beyond putting on their sirens so that they can get past the scene of the accident. And half of the trips have spotted a car, truck or bus thats gone over the side and into a ditch. Uh-oh, This accident appears to be an overturned bus, which is sort of changing my appetite for taking an overnight bus from Dali to Kunming... Good thing we are moving becuse the movie on the bus has ended and it is now on to showing Karaoke videos. No, I'm not kidding. That god the passengers arent singing along- not too many of them anyway...

Okay, now in Dali, AKA Xiaguan. These towns are starting to blend together like the Unesco-fied colonial cities of Latin America. Beautiful to be sure, but we are ready to do something else pretty soon. And the rain isn't helping, and apparently Lijiang had a few deaths from flooding yesterday. Dali however has a bit more of a run down feel than some of the other towns we've been to- seedy almost, dirty, a bit rough around the edges, and more more for Western backpackers than Chinese tourists. Is that why I like it more, or is it the seediness- not sure.

No other particularly enlightening observations at this point. Some wacky things- I went to buy potato chips and all they had were chicken, beef, pork and corn (!) flavored chips. I opted for corn, which were very strange, though not as strange as the corn flavored candy. There is also some weird brand of car here that makes the collectivo style minibuses that have as their logo the starfleet insignia, which is kind of awesome. Bus station sold lighters that had Bin Laden on one side and George W Bush on the other. Food continues to be good if Szechuan, some fun deep fried ribs and Kung Pao chicken, and the other odd things about restaurants are that there are no napkins, place settings come to the table shrinkn wrapped and you have to unwrap them, and they sell the local rotgut alcohol in single serving shot glasses that are sealed. And if you ever do go to China, I know I mentioned it before, but the Pleco app for Iphones is super fun way to pass the time. Draw Chinese characters as best you can on your screen, and they translate automatically. (Watch video here). The other news is that our two year old Lonely Planet is also hopelessly out of date- there are now trains everywhere, and tons of stuff exists that didnt when the last edition of Southwest China came out.

Confucian Confusion

2010-07-12T09:40:00.001-04:00

Well, farewell Tibet for now. Had a interesting final chat with our guide/minder "Jesse/Tsetse" as we stood urinating next to a bridge draped with prayer flags on the way to the way to the Lhasa airport and he expressed for the first time some emotion for the first time about the Chinese occupation. I told him that many in America and the West care about Tibet, but thought to myself later about how our actions- the desire for cheap Chinese anything, ultimately belies and betrays our words. The scene at the airport itself felt somewhat laden with meaning, arrivals seemed to be full of soldiers and departures full of monks. Symbolic? You tell me, or maybe we just arrived on a particularly ironic day.

Anyway, the flight to Shangri-La in Yunnan Provence was easy enough. And let me say a few words about airlines. Chris, you might ask, you're an intrepid traveller, what are the best and worst airlines in the world? We all know the American ones are decades past their glory. Europe? Please! Not much better. What about Japan Airlines, please fulfill my stereotypes about the orderly and clean Japanese! Nope, the same shitty food, seats and attitude as the major Americans. The best airlines my dear reader are found in developing countries, aspiring countries. Royal Thai, India's Kingfisher, China East, I bet Korean Airlines is great. They load you up with swag beforeyou're even sitting down- various bottles of tea and water, stuffing your pockets with pens and mints, multiple full meals on 45 minute flights, even today on China East it's a complementary mystery box of four tablets from "Yunnan Mingjing Pharmaceutical Ltd."

Regardless. We made it to Shangri-La, and so now, here's the story of Shangri-la, not to be confused with the legend. The scenic Himalayan town of Zhongdian in Yunnan Provence decides a few years back to rename itself Shangri-la to boost tourism for the great and growing middle class in The New China. Tourism booms, and charming old neighborhoods are demolished for high rise hotels. Tourists and their yuan stop coming because quaint village is now gone. Local town fathers come to see the tragic irony, but no so aware of irony that they decide to build overnight from scratch an ersatz "old city" with antique style buildings and suspiciously even cobblestones that now overflows with trinket shops and hotpot restaurants. Yep- irony dies faster in The New China than a nascent democracy movement. The whole place feels a bit disney-esque, or like a movie set. Peek down an alley and catch a glimpse of workers furiously building a new old style building, saws humming and hammers swinging and the whole place still smells of sawdust and fresh wood varnish with probably none of this here even a few months ago. Giftshops sell more Tibetan crap than I saw in Tibet, plus tons of animal pelts, real and fake, and overall its a bit of a shock to see so many tourists, both Asian and Western after Tibet, which had at most about 200 westerners in the whole region last week. Had the most expensive and worst meal in China yet (okay, the barleyflour and yak butter tea was worse), at an overpriced tourist joint (hard to find much else) where we had the yak hot pot- 80% gristle and fat, 19% bone, 1% meat. The streets are full of tourists and the occasional tribal woman from the hills wearing an elaborately embroidered vest and fuchsia turban, of course she is getting crowded out by the Chinese women in their fake tribal costumes.

Our plan to do some trekking north of here was shattered by the disappointing news that due to construction, only one bus every 10 days goes north. So looks like we're stuck here and then tomorrow its on to "Tiger Leaping Gorge." We've now made it down to Lijiang, another scenic town with a real old town. Buses were sold out so we waited in the rain at the Shangri-La bus station- fairly typical developing world bus station (which is to say, generally nicer but more chaotic than those in the states). Watched the weird apple-green three wheeled taxis pull up, which look like a 70's vision of the future, (kinda like the cars in "Sleeper"), and unload passengers with laundry baskets of live chickens- not so unusual, but then seeing someone unload a BAG of live chickens- that was a new sight for me. Horribly uncomfortable busride, though through some beautiful foggy mountains with scenic villages looking straight out of Crouching Tiger or something, and then some pretty grim communist era "new villages" where the pigs and dogs fought over the trash- which was ironic, because really there was plenty to go around.

Anyway, Lijiang is beautiful and now I'm feeling a little more optimistic about China. Tomorrow we'll be trekking the gorge...

No Rest 'till Everest

2010-07-09T09:20:00.003-04:00

I'm trying to stay calm after accidentally deleting the last three days of writing... But here goes...

If I didn't explain this before, one needs an "alien travel permit," many permits in fact, to travel here in the so-called Tibetan Autonomous Region. And a Chinese government approved guide. And to leave Lhasa of course you need a driver because you can't just hop on a bus alone. So after months of emailing and document mailing and money wiring we got things all arranged for said permits and guides and drivers, and allow me to introduce the characters: We have a tall grumpy driver named Tawa- who continually presses cheap Chinese cigarettes on us despite our protestations and "Jesse" a soft spoken guide who speaks a bit of English and and Mandarin but mostly of course Tibetan, which is a little frustrating. But hey, we really didn't pay much for this so...

So off we went in our van (that had a sticker on it that said "land cruiser") out of Lhasa p

refecture and into the countryside, first nosing our way through the insane traffic of Lhasa, past the Muslim butchers on the edge of town, standing proudly in frontof massive yak carcasses in their shops, and onward past soldiers at attention in bulletproof glass boxes looking like mannequins or like toy soldiers still in their plastic boxes. Finally we made it out onto the "friendship highway" (friendship between who and whom I wonder?) a charming two lane country road where the insane driving and honking began in earnest, and I began toget a flavor of hinges driving I've heard so much about. At regular intervals there were five cars passing each other at once, with ample use made of both shoulders. And the road itself was filled with all manner of machine and beast- dogs and cats, goats and yaks jostled for space with tractors, pilgrims, nomads, trucks and land cruisers (a

nd Buicks of course) and EVERY ONE of which Tawa, our driver honked at. Commencing the honk from a distance of about a half a mile from each object which meant of course more or less constant honking. It was like a child getting to play driver as if the best thing about driving was gleefully honking. Even in the countryside, without much around it seemed incessant- I swear Ben and I looked at each other once and asked each other if Tawa had just honked at a tree. Yet, somehow either Tawa's driving or the dashboard ornamented with Boddhistavas and Buddhas and prayer flags kept us safe.

No matter, there was a lot to see along the way out to the city of Shigatse, where we'd spend the night and then onward to Everest. We paused at a mountain where our guide pointed out ladders painted on the side and explained that the mountain was still used for sky burials. A sky burial is a traditional Tibetan funeral, in which the body and organs are chopped into pieces and left ona mountaintop to return to nature,and the skull harvested to make a drinking cup (yes, we saw them for sale in the market) and the human femur made into a flute (yep, them too!). These serve both as offerings to the natural world and reminders of life's impermanence.

Stopped briefly at the scenic and holy salt lake of Yamdrok-tso, the shores of which pilgrims ceremonially circumambulate for seven days and which busloads of Chinese and Korean tourists unceremoniously dump their candy wrappers and plastic water bottles. From there we stopped briefly in what looked like a dusty town straight out the American West (save the Chinese and Tibetan signs) to the amazing monastery of Gyantse where there was also an amazing hilltop fortress straight out of the Tibet of my imagination. Onward past more monasteries nestled in the mountains, bright red and gold against the brown mountains, past one with a female incarnate lama and the monastery famous for practicing mediations that superheat the body to survive for days outside in the Tibetan winters.

We drove onward through the Himalayas about 20 miles north of the Bhutanese and then Indian frontier and finally arrived in Shigatse, second largest city in Tibet a depressing town by any standard, and its most redeeming quality being that the feeling of occupation by the Chinese was less apparent than in Lhasa. Still, the crackdown a few years ago and subsequent steep decline in tourism meant almost no restaurants that cater to westerners (as I mentioned in an earlier post, there can't be more than a few hundred westerners in all of Tibet right now) so we found the one restaurant with an "English" menu, passed on the steamed yak tongue and fried sheep lung specialties and got some delish pork with chilis that we only hoped was pork and not the enormous rat we'd seen scurrying around that suspiciously disappeared after wed ordered. The spiciest thing I'd ever eaten, it was delicious, so spicy that the pungent garlic tasted almost sweet. And much better than the breakfast offered this morning- yak butter tea and barley flour. Yes, take a spoonful of barley powder and a sip of tea and make porridge in your mouth! God it was awful. And yak butter tea, the ubiquituous beverage of the Tibetans- imagine if you will hot rancid milk, but saltier and greasier, and that will give you some sense of yak butter tea, which is just yak butter melted into hot water. Ugh, just the smell of it now makes me nauseous.

Anyway, onward we went, over 16000 ft passes bedecked with prayer flags, through flourescent green barley fields, all the while mountains looming in the background and the clouds barely above us in the enormous sky. We passed valleys dotted with nomad encampments and wild yaks and goats, hilltop hermitages and temples ancient and crumbling and temples more recently restored, past smaller and smaller villages of traditional tibetan architecture- whitewashed walls and mud bricks drying in the sun. We passed a monastery with a female incarnate lama, and the monastery best known for the monks who practice meditations to superheat their bodies to meditate outside in the Tibetan winter. We even passed within a few miles of the cave of Milarepa- Tibet's most famous magician-saint. Multiple miltary stops (Checkpoint Charlie Chans?) where we waited around while barely pubescent People's Liberation Army soldiers triple checked our passports and "Alien Travel Permits." Finally we came to last village of any size where the only thing they sold was water, cigarettes and oxygen cannisters, (really, I could have used those more in Beijing!) bought our water and turned down a dirt piste for the last bone jarring five hours. Everest (Qomolongma to the locals) began to appear, revealing a bit of her shoulders or flanks from behind a cloud then disappearing again. We finally passed the photogenic Rongphu Monastery - highest in the world, and one of the places one can stay near the base camp. We pressed on a bit further to a small nomad tent village where we ultimately spent the night in the shadow of Everest. We were well fed by our nomad family- some soup with homemade noodles and unidentifiable yak parts floating in it, and dipped outside for a now fully clear view of the world's highest mountain as the setting sun lit it up. Then, to bed, where we slept on blankets and carpets, kept warm by a stove that burned yak dung. The mother of the family sat around knitting and tending the yak dung stove while her kids ran around in their crotchless pants (cheaper than diapers I suppose, and greener? maybe?)

Up early to drive and then clamber the rest of the way up to base camp. Don't really know how to describe it- it was amazing and inspiring to be standing on that mountain. Base camp wasnt much- a hut, another army post, Tibet's worst toilet, and a whole lot of prayer flags and yaks. But just incredible, indescribable to be standing on that mountain... And to be at 16000 feet and knowing that the mountain is another two miles up vertically. So I suppose can say I came within a few miles of the summit of Mt. Everest?

I wonder what will happen when the glaciers melt on these incredible peaks, it will make climbing different for one thing, but certainly impact all of the rivers across asia- the Yangtse, the Mekong, the Indus and the Ganges...

The ride back, though beautiful, was interminable, now that we were just heading back to Shigatse. But we got to see the impressive Tashilunpo Monastery, seat of the Panchen Lama, second highest lama in Tibet and who chooses the next Dalai Lama (thus the Chinese are trying to control the Panchen Lama, in an long story of intrigue I wont get into but you can read about at Tashilunpo.org or probably on wikipedia). Tashilunpo is in great condition, probably because, as rumor has it, the place is riddled with Chinese spies and monks who have collaborated with the communists. It is like a medieval walled village, the outer wall lined with prayer wheels, and then a kora or circuit for pilgrims to walk inside, and it was again packed with pilgrims carrying their yak butter in nescafe commuter mugs tucked into their silver and turquoise clasps and pushing us along on the tide through the various temples. There was Tibet's largest Buddha at 26m (sitting down!), and numerous gold and silver stupas towering above us,and outside just amazing little cobblestone alleyways to wander around.

And from there, it was another five hours back to Lhasa. Uneventful with the exception of an amazing Szechuan lunch with a menu completely in Chinese. Our guide, who's English is limited and Mandarin apparently even more limited, unhelpfully pointed out everything on the menu and explained it as "meat with vegetable." Yes Jesse, but what meat, with what vegetable. We ultimately resorted to "menu dipping" pointing at random to two items on the menu. At least we knew the chicken and eggs would be fresh, local and free range as they were wandering aroud the front yard. And what we got was incredible- spicey chicken with ginger and squash and an amazing sliced potato with pork belly stirfry. Wow. Much better than the yak burger I had later (which incidentally, tastes just like a veggie burger. So my vegetarian friends, if you are thinking of eating meat- start with a yak burger).

Well, that was a long entry. Now, in a few hours we depart Lhasa and fly to Shangri-La. Yes kids, there is a Shangri-La, or at least a town the Chinese government decided to rename Shangri-La to boost tourism!

(Pictures: Ben & I at Everest, Yak, Gyanstse, Jesse & Tawa in the Nomad Tent, Map of Everest,)

Yakity Yak- Don't Talk Back (especially not to the People's Liberation Army) or You Must be Jokhang

2010-07-07T09:08:00.010-04:00

I don't know whether the terrible night's sleep was due to indigestion from the yak BBQ I had for dinner or the altitude or delayed jetlag or what, but I was thoroughly exhausted waking up this morning. I even fell asleep on a table over lunch. There is also only one time zone in China, which means that I even though I woke up at 6ish, crack of dawn was still hours away. Anyway, we got up and basically watched the sunrise over the Potala from our hostel's roof, while below the police loaded themselves into their armored personnel carriers and the garbage trucks collected the garbage to the incongruous bleeping electronic tune of happy birthday to call people to bring their garbage out. (And I wonder if Chinese tourists to America write emails back to friends in China saying they sing each other the garbage song on birthdays in America). Overlooking the the city were plumes of smoke and I wondered momentarily if there were riots or fires in the old quarters, but realized it was plumes of incense smoke drifting up from braziers on the pilgrim circuit as pilgrims tossed juniper and barley in by the fistful, and lending the city a sweet, if suffocating smell.

We headed down and wandered a bit around the Barkhour circuit- an ancient pilgrimage circle weaving through ancient alleyways around the Jokhang temple, the holiest site in Tibet, (the Vatican of Tibetan Buddhism I suppose you could say) with all the hundreds of pilgrims and prostraters (and definitely no protesters). Many wore pads on their hands, leather aprons with rubber reinforcements and even reinforced shoes to protect themselves from the hundreds or thousands of full body prostrations they made around the temple, their foreheads bleeding and filthy and bodies surely weary by the day's. Many held out their aprons for pilgrims to stuff money into to earn merit for their reincarnation. There was even a man with one leg who we saw in the morning and then again later in the day, still at it making his way around doing full prostrations. The circuit and temple were packed with pilgrims from all over, with traditional yak wool smocks, brightly colored yarn braided into the hair of both men and women, and somewhat incongruous but ubiquitous cowboy hats. There were also dozens of feral lapdogs in the procession, yes, Lhasas and Pekingese, adorable if a bit shaggy, but likely rabid. The people here in Tibet are also also consistently genuinely friendly and curious, very soft spoken and, not to be creepy, but Tibet easily has the highest percentage of beautiful women I've seen in any country, even Colombia.

We then entered the Jokhang itself, jostling our way through claustrophobia inducing crowds in the tiny medieval corridors thick with smoke and lit only by yak butter lamps. Many pilgrims had purchased thermoses of melted yak butter to add to the lamps as offerings as they muttered prayers over the flickering lamps. The smoke stained murals of demons and boddhisatvas combined with the smell of incense, sounds of chanting and throngs of traditionally dressed pilgrims really felt like something out of a fairytale storybook stereotype of "Mystical Tibet." Of course, the obnoxious hordes of Chinese tourists didnt allow the feeling to last, and the greasy-with-spilled-yak-butter floors also made it critical to focus on watching your step.

Our guide/minder was unfortunately not very helpful in his broken English, and there was also that awkward and uncomfortable interactions that can happen sometimes when travelling where one know more (factually speaking) about certain cultural sights and such than the locals (actually Tsetse I'm pretty sure that's the fifth century, not the twelfth century...). And what is up with my terrible habit of speaking back to people with accents in accented broken English right back to them, as if they can understand me better. Yes, yes- tomorrow go with taxi Potala Palace? Ugh. it makes me feel like such an ugly American...

The afternoon was spent at Norbulinka, the Dalai Lama's somewhat run down summer palace, parts of which we couldn't visit because there were pictures of him there, and yet some wonderful gardens and lakes to wander around and relax, kind of what I'd hoped the forbidden city would be but wasn't. There was also an amazing broken English explanation of the place, that I tried to photograph here.

From there onto another temple, Sera, the second largest monastery, once home to almost 7000 monks, then none after '59, now back to about a tenth its former size and slowly rebuilding itself as evidenced by the tittering girls pushing around wheelbarrows full of cement. Admittedly, by this point the statues and stupas were starting to blur together as temple fatigue started to set in, but the grounds themselves were breezy and pleasant for a stroll until we came to the courtyard of the debating monks. We sat in a circle as young monks drilled each other on questions of theology and Tibetan history, demanding answers with a sharp stomp of the foot and clap of the hand, almost like a baseball pitcher's windup. Near-full-contact academic debate, which, in spite of understanding no Tibetan beyond "Teshe Delek" (hello) was extremely amusing.

Now for a stroll around town and some dinner. Oh, and today's best Chinglish? Well Simpsons fans, I'm not making this up but a shirt that read "Nestle Chocelate Malk."

POTALA PALACE:

I'm writing from an internet cafe, in fact the only internet cafe in Lhasa and what advertises iself as "the best toilet in Tibet." And from what I've seen so far I'd have to agree, though still amazing that you can't flush toilet paper in the best toilet in Tibet. Its also packed with white people, the most we've seen- there are probably no more than a hundred or so in all of Lhasa right now.

So today was a trip out to the Drepong monastery- largest in Tibet and nicknamed the rice pile due to it's extensive rambling of white buildings and temples on the side of a mountain. Very cool and just unique enough to not feel exactly like all the other temples which do start to blur. From there it was down to the Potala Palace, well down and then very much up, the 300 year old hilltop palace of the last nine Dalai Lamas, until thee 14th fled in '59. First of was the obligatory photogrpah with a Chinese tour group, before entering- not as bad as the photo taking and stares in India though. (see blog 7/08) Maybe we should rent ourselves out though -seems to be good money in it...

Kinda an eerie feeling walking through the Dalai Lama's bedroom, his alarm clock still next to his bed where he left it 50 years ago and now and has been unable to return, yet I can shuffle through with dozens of Chinese tourists and gawk. His bedroom window also now looks out on what used to be a village and now is a massive communist style monument to the 'liberation' of the Tibetan people by the PLA. And let it be noted too that the top of the palace flies a positively MASSIVE Chinese flag, lest there be some confusion. Not to mention the fact that possessing a Tibetan flag can get you arrested.

Interestingly however, the 50yuan note, second most valuable banknote in China, has the Potala on the back. I feel in some ways that this sums up the complicated relationship between the so called Tibetan Autonomous Region and the Peoples Republic. Not just that it's about money, but the cultural exploitation for money is part of the irony given the busloads of Chinese tourists. On the one hand, it suggests that china values Tibetan culture enough to prominently display, and to not completely destroy this place as very nearly happened during the cultural revolution ( and did happen to 3000+ temples in Tibet). And yet such a display also sends an undisputable message that Tibet is a part of the People's Republic. I can only wonder what the Tibetan people feel about this- pride, conflicted, resentment? I'd ask but I can't - you never know who could be listening... Okay, enough philosophizing.

But the palace was cool- amazing in fact, countless temples with solid gold 3D mandalas and gold leaf stupas, 40 ft Buddhas and boddhisatvas, as well as the red and black faced demons who are the Buddhas protectors, (Varjapani and Hayagriva) a meditation cave, and over 1000 rooms, of which we got to see about 20. It did feel somewhat sterile though- Chinese guards, no incense and chanting and missing the vibrant lived-in feeling of the monasteries that have been coming back.

Beijing to Lhasa

2010-07-05T18:11:00.001-04:00

The great wall lived up to its hype. Pushing through early morning Beijing rush hour traffic we worked our way through the hazy morning smog of Beijing- so polluted that you couldnt even see a quarter mile ahead down the road, and past seemingly thousands of cranes (no, not the beautiful delicate birds) assembling new megablocks of skyscrapers that made Co-op City look like a quaint country village. Past demolished gray brick hutongs (traditional neighborhoods) now just piles of bricks, and then out of the great megalopolis of Beijing and into the "countryside" where we passed demolished traditional quaint country villages that were rapidly being converted into McMansion suburbs all in the name of The New China. If the cultural revolution can't stamp out the old, so-called Chinese-style capitalism clearly will. Past giant power lines we travelled, and through a village with a supermarket called "Playboy" complete with the bunny logo, a few army bases and assorted junkyards and factories.

Finally we arrived. We had signed up for the "Secret Great Wall Tour" which promised a 10k hike along an untouristed part of the wall, and were dubious about these advertised claims, but our van, after passing through a few great wall spots clogged with buses disgorging tourists, ultimately stopped at a completely abandoned and crumbling section and let us out to make the hike. The mountain air was somewhat better than Beijing, where the joke is that to get some fresh air you should smoke a cigarette, and the breeze was a welcome relief in the punishing sun. (And Yes, Mom, I wore sunblock!) Yes, the untouristed bit of the wall was also in a state of some disrepair it must be noted. After the slightly disappointing day at Tianenmen Square and The Forbidden City, my jaded self was truly impressed. The great wall is also insanely steep as it winds over mountain passes, and we slogged our way up some relatively intact steps, and then sections that were near vertical inclines with stones that crumbled and fell onto whoever was hiking behind, which made for a pretty Indiana Jones-esque experience. That and walking along sections with undergrowth, and in fact overgrowth- trees and bushes higher than our heads in places and sprouting out of the wall. A few hours later we'd hiked our little piece of the wall, and our eighteen year old fresh-faced guide declared "you are now true men and women having made ascend of great wall!" Busride back included some standard chatting with the various other expat English teachers, exchange students and gap-year Aussies who, all things considered, were pretty cool. Seem to be more Americans in China than most other places I've travelled besides Europe.

After spending some time at the hostel trying to nail down the last details of our Tibet trip, we headed back across Tianenman Square to a night market purported to have the best, or at least most interesting, street food in Beijing. And yes folks, I ate a scorpion. And a snake. I passed on the donkey penis, starfish and seahorses, and definitely did not have it in me to try to rat or the tarantula. Nor did I brave the heaping piles of tripe everywhere I turned. And I'll admit dear readers, that although I was looking forward to eating snake, I would not have tried the scorpion had Ben not fearlessly ordered a skewer of "medium scorpion please" first. Taste? Kinda like greasy chicken skin. And the snake, kind of like eel, though they loaded it up with spices so much that really the only thing objectionable was its surprisingly rubbery texture, but then, what other snake do I have to compare it to? Oh, but the pork buns? They would put David Chang at Momofuku to shame.

Back to the hostel for the best night's sleep in some time, then this morning up early to fly to Tibet. I can't deny it, I was pretty excited when the officer asked for my passport and then said "papers please" and we got to hand over the "Tibetan Autonomous Region Travel Permit" addendum to our visa that was months in the acquisition. Okay, I'll admit it, he just gestured and I said, "oh, papers please?" and he responded "yes yes, papers please." The flight itself was relatively straightforward, a brief stopover in Chengdu, a city of zillions somewhere in western china with a nicer and larger airport than anything I've seen stateside or even in Europe, and a bumpy but reasonable landing after flying not above, but next to the Tibetan Himalayas. The flight to Lhasa, interestingly, was about 95% Han Chinese, a couple Mongolians, and I counted nine White folks. This tells you something both about China and Tibet, where in Lhasa the ethnic Chinese outnumber the Tibetans 3:1, and Tibet has apparently become the new hot travel spot for young Chinese yuppies. We deplaned, gasping like fish for air, not because of the pollution as in Beijing, but the oxygen thin air of a 10,000 foot city (yes, 2x Denver). Our driver and guide/"minder" managed to meet us, and we had a nice drive into Lhasa, stopping to eat some grapefruit sized melon at a roadside stand. The outskirts of Lhasa could be any third world hellhole city- constant honking as we passed luxury cars and donkey carts, pedestrians leading yaks and bus drivers, and we gradually made our way down some giant boulevard past rows and rows of car dealerships, mostly selling Buicks, and then turning a corner and then, suddenly popping into view above the blue glass shopping plazas was the Potala Palace itself, as glorious as I'd imagined it to be. And okay, you know what? I'll do it, I'll use the adjective "resplendent."

And Tibet so far is actually far better and more authentic than I'd feared it would be in all the reading I've done. Certainly it is changed, and certainly the horrors of the cultural revolution left an indelible mark, but Tibetan culture seems indelible in its own way. (for more on Tibet History recent and older, that I won't or probably shouldnt get into here and now, check out The Road Home, My Land My People, Dragon in the Land of the Snow Lion, or Surviving the Dragon). Certainly its a country under occupation, as the hundreds of PLA troops I saw today alone would testify- stationed at every corner, and even not-so-discreetly under umbrellas on rooftops, holding their rifles and scanning the streets for trouble.

But we are staying in the Tibetan quarter, our hotel balcony has views of the Potala and we can watch the pilgrims making the circuit around the Barkhour temple below, dressed in traditional garb, chanting and spinning prayer wheels as they circumambulate the back streets of Lhasa, many having travelled thousands of miles to make this trip to the Barkhour and Jokhang temples. The army soldiers walk disrepectfully counterclockwise, guns in hand and knock shoulders with the pilgrims, but at least the streets are thronged with pilgrims and its not even a festival season. Barkhour square itself is awash in merchants blasting Tibetan hip-hop (straight outta Lhasa?), which drowns out the wails of pilgrims prostrating themselves dozens, hundreds of times in front of the temple. So the good news is that something of the original Tibet very very much thrives here in Lhasa today.

Tomorrow its off to the temples, then the next day the palace assuming we have adjusted to the altitude... More to come...

I < 3 BJ

2010-07-03T09:00:00.004-04:00

Well, I made it. A lovely layover in Vancouver with an old friend for a day, who I think literally took me to EVERY neighborhood in town (thanks Gilli!), then entered metal tube for twelve grueling hours, and exited said metal tube in the brand spanking new Beijing airport (feng-shui compliant!), and easily through passport control where the twelve year old didnt even ask me a single question before ushering me onward toward the light rail that brought me to baggage claim. The subway car was filled with chinese police, also all looking about twelve years old, with mismatched boots and matching fake rolexes, and the CUTEST K9 dogs I think I've ever seen- like beagles and collies and such. The airport, built in time for the '08 Olympics, was incredibly nice, and yet for some reason it will be demolished and rebuilt again to be completed in 2012.
Successfully met Ben at baggage claim, and took a taxi through the smog to our hotel a few blocks south of Tianenmen Square. For most of the drive Beijing looked like a dystopian LeCorbusier-esque supercity of giant buildings and superhighways, full of luxury cars (I guess its either luxury car or NO car here in the New China), most of which were Volkswagens or, inexplicably, Black Buick Regals. I havent seen so many Buicks since visiting my grandmother in her retirement community! Anyway, the hotel neighborhood does appear to be at a normal scale. In fact, its a pretty cool old neighborhood, old low buildings and alleyways crowded with bicycles and rickshaws and peddlers of all kinds selling dumplings and whatnot. Our Hostel is perfectly decent, and full of the usual motley crew of Australian and European backpackers, and thankfully with functioning air conditioning. (As the pilot announced when we were landing, "temperature in Beijing is currently 94 and hazy of course!"). Jetlagged, we stumbled into a phenomenol dinner spot where we gorged ourselves on courses of Peking duck- first came the skin, so shiny and crisp you could practically see your reflection, then the tender meat, withsides of scallion and cucumbers to roll up with the duck in spongy chinese pancakes. Yeah, wow. And so much more appetizing than the rest of the menu which thankfully at least had pictures (donkey meat in spicy sauce, jellyfish with fermented vinegar (redundant, I know), and cow tendon in salty sauce.) Then to sleep, where I was indeed a very jetlagged viking.

This morning up at near dawn for breakfast and then discover than the city was broiling hot and humid even by 8am (theres apparently a heat wave here too!) We wandered aroudn our neighborhood, a lovely shopping area complete with H&M, Uniqlo and Starbucks, and to Tianenmen Square, which was really... just a big square. Apparently the biggest city square in the world. (See pictures, and no, in China, you most definitely cannot access THAT picture of Tianenmen Square, though I wondered what someone would do if one decided to pose in the center of the square holding up your hand like the tank man). Onward to the not-so-forbidden city, which was swarming with hordes of Chinese and international tourists by 9:00, most of whom were smart enough to bring parasols for the blazing sunshine- it got up well over 100 by midday. Parts of the forbidden city were quite cool and impressive, mostly the side buildings and gardens which werent nearly so crowded, though overall, I'm sorry to say, I felt a little jaded but just wasnt that impressed. A few impressive buildings, and certainly a massive scale, but for the most part, it was just a series of giant squares and pagoda-like buildings. Sadly, I've been in so many ersatz pagoda buildings in various Chinatowns and Chinese restaurants that the orginal sort of didnt seem that impressive, and kinda felt a little tackty almost with the red roofs and gold dragons everywhere. I know, I know, I mean, it was impressive, but I think I just prefer other architecture styles- Wat Pho and the royal palace in Bangkok for example, or other places just have more interesting architecture to me than China. We wandered back through some alleys in ou neighborhood, to touts calling out "little brother friend, you come but t-shirt!" as they hawked T-Shirts of Mao, The Great Wall, and the unintentionally funny I <3 BJ in the I <3 NY logo. Plenty of good Chinglish printed everywhere on signs and t-shirts, my favorite being the kid in the NY Yankers T-Shirt. Anyway, back here now to try and stay awake, and on to the great wall tomorrow.

More Ice Cream Experiments: (Creamsicle, Dulce)

2010-06-14T12:58:00.005-04:00

So I cook a ton, not sure why the recipes posts are increasingly ice cream focused, but hey, its summer... I've been having a ton of good luck with ice cream making lately- using Cook's Illustrated's phenomenal recipe for Khulfi with no variations, and then building on other people's recipes for dulce de leche ice cream, fresh mint ice cream, and David Liebowitz's creamsicle ice cream from "The Perfect Scoop"- I book I find inspiring in its ideas, but tedious in its actual recipe execution- the recipes are both needlessly complex and needlessly rich- my friend actually got sick once making the chocolate ice cream with its insane number of eggs. I really dont see the need for more than four eggs in an ice cream custard. No matter, I did like his creamsicle idea as a nice idea and a non-artificial version and reference to wonderful childhood memories of creamsicles from the ice cream man. And Liebowitz's idea of using sour cream in ice cream is also an incredible one and is inspiring more ideas for me (key lime, peaches and cream and others- see below.) And hey, its really the only halfway decent ice cream book since my battered childhood copy of The Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream Cookbook.

So with that- my enhanced no-cook version of

Creamsicle Ice Cream

2 Cups sour cream (one pint)

1 Cup Half and Half or Cream

3 Oranges - zested and juiced

1/2 Cup Sugar

2 Tsp Vanilla

Combine zest and sugar in a food processor or blender. Add remaining ingredients and blend until a consistent texture. Freeze, maybe adding mini chocolate chips or or bits of chocolate as well.

Dulce De Leche Ice Cream

First- let me just say that dulce de leche is about as brainless a custard ice cream as you can get. All I've been doing is putting in the blender three egg yolks and three cups of cream, half and half, or whatever combo until nicely blended. Then drop in can of dulce (or about 10 oz) in the blender, and blend- the good thing here is you can fully blend it, or fully blend some of it, and then partially blend in the rest to give it more of an interesting textural contrast. Then, pour into a pan and gently raise the heat until a boil comes and the custard thickens. Chill and freeze in the ice cream maker, adding toasted nuts as you see fit.

Mexican dulce de leche, Cajeta, is made with goat's milk for an added tang. Here again I was wondering whether a half cup of goats milk would add this touch, or even a bit of sour cream into the above recipe.

As I said before, I feel mixed about The Perfect Scoop book, but like some of the recipes concepts. The idea of using sour cream is very intriguing, and once I'm back from China this summer I'm planning to try a few recipes- a Peaches and Cream with sour cream, and a Key Lime Pie. Here are my rough drafts, if you feel inspired to try them, let me know how they work out:

Peaches and Cream

1.5 Cups Sour Cream (or creme fraische)

1.5 Cups Half and Half or cream (depending on your level of indulgence)

1/2 cup sugar

4 Peaches - diced

2 tsp vanilla

3 Egg Yolks

2 T minced candied ginger

Make a custard by blending and then cooking the sour cream, cream, egg yolks and sugar and egg yolks. Stir in vanilla. Reblend the mixture with one of the peaches and peach juice, and freeze according to instructions. Partway through, mix in the rest of the peaches and candied ginger.

Key Lime Pie

I'm imagining basically the same as creamsicle, just using 6 limes and their juice and zest, maybe stirring in crushed graham crackers.

March / April Books - Pop Sociology and More...

2010-04-22T11:31:00.005-04:00

How We Decide: Jonah Lehrer

Pretty damn interesting take on decision making, mostly from a neuroscience perspective, which both makes me interested, and leaves me somewhat skeptical, given that my neuroscientist friends tend to tell me that in spite of all th fMRI hype, we really don't know much. But this book was basically pop neuro-economics, and that kind of shit fascinates me, whether the science is a bit shakey or not. But- it investigates how we make decisions whether we are poker players or whether we are shopping for cereal. Basically, its like a Malcolm Gladwell kinda book, but more neurosciencey, or pseudo-neuro-sciencey. But definitely entertaining and some good cocktail party fun facts.

Drive: Dan Pink

More pop-ish psychology and theory of human motivation. Accessibly written and explicated studies about creativity, ways to motivate yourself and others - be that at work or the classroom or home, and some interesting ideas and theories about tapping into intrinsic rather that pushing with extrinsic motivation. Pretty interesting, but a lot of overlap with some of the other similar stuff I tend to read.

Buy-ology - Martin Lindstrom

Honestly, kind of horrifying to read this and realize how much more money goes into scientifically researching consumer habits than probably the worldwide academic system can budget to study the entire remaining spectrum of human behavior. For that reason, this book was both fascinating and extremely depressing and disturbing all at once. Plus, the author was kind of pompous. Its a lot of trying to cite neuroscience research in understanding consumer decisions, aimed at a branding/marketing/advertising audience, not aimed at people like me - although, I find it important to know my enemy! Interesting studies about the history of product placement (ie, diamond companies paying hollywood to have engagement rings be diamonds fifty years ago until it became inculturated (sp?)), why cigarette warning labels don't work, how cigarette companies pay bars to paint and decorate their interiors with colors (ie, marlboro red) than encourage smoking, etc. Scenting stores to encourage buying, (ie, the Samsung store apparently has a faint melon scent), and the similarities between branding, religious experiences and sporting events at the neuro level. Crazy shit. Scary shit.

Pema Chodron: Getting UNstuck

Wow, I can't believe how incredibly good her stuff is! Seriously, I'd not picked up Tibetan Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron's stuff in a few years, and was bowled over at the crystal clarity and depth of her teachings and instruction on meditation and Buddhism. I got the audio from the library and sort of wanted to immediately re-listen to it as soon as I finished. Her ability to tie what could easily be obscure or esoteric Tibetan wisdom in a very practical way to our modern world is incredible. I'd highly recommend this for either beginners or for more advanced pratitioners.

How to See Yourself as You Truly Are: HH The Dalai Lama

I was honestly a bit bummed out by this one and found it kind of dull, in contrast to a lot of his other works. Just couldnt really get into it, though I usually enjoy his works.

Nobody Move: Denis Johnson

Quick and super-entertaining romp California noir, though a very different feel and flavor from Already Dead, Denis Johnson's book from ten years ago. Great characters, and a solid story with Johnson using more spare language but very effectively writing outside his usual comfort zone in a way that didnt feel forced. Good one for the beach this summer.

Three Cups of Tea: Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Renin

I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed it- I'd been putting it off for years as its seemed so cheesy inspirational, but then it turned out to be truly inspirational. Seriously, I was about to jump on a plane to go help build schools in Pakistan, pretty amazing stuff.

Buddha: Deepak Chopra

How could a novelization of the Buddha's life be boring? Well, this book pulled it off. Not sure why I was hoping for more out of this one, but I was really bored throughout. I guess I also know the story pretty well, so it didnt hold many surprises, but it didnt really build tension, make interesting characters, or otherwise do much for me. Not recommended, though did make me want to reread Siddhartha.

February / March Books: Food and Funnymen

2010-03-02T13:35:00.011-05:00

In Defense of Food: Michael Pollen

Oh wow, this book really blew my mind. Not because I felt like I learned a whole lot of new information, the book has a lot in common with Marion Nestle's wonderful "What to Eat" but because I felt like he perfectly articulated my views/ideologies if you will on food and eating. Basically- stay as far away from processed foods as possible, use whole ingredients, use as short a food chain as you can, and cook for yourself. A bit of politics in there as well makes it interesting for me, and also has really practical pragmatic ideas about how to eat well as well as just pushing an ideology or ideas about why we should. I highly recommend this for food nerds.

Omnivore's Dillemma: Michael Pollan

I was actually a little bored with this at first- Pollan traces four meals he eats, a fast food meal, an organic TV dinner, a an all-local ingredient meal and a self-hunted and foraged dinner. Not surprisingly, they got more interesting as they went along, in part because I've already read a lot about industrial food and the conundrum of "big organic," in other places, which made reading the local food and the hunted food sections the most engaging and different. This was another really interesting and fun one, and I think this or In Defense would be interesting book group books. So with that- who wants to start a book group?

Botany of Desire: Michael Pollan

And here is where the Michael Pollan kick went too far. I think this is his first book, and it showed- overwritten and surprisingly dull. He traces the interrelationship of humans and four plants - corn, apples, tulips and help, and the co-evolution of both, which to me was a really interesting idea- that both species benefit and evolve with the help of the other. But the writing and the stories themselves were surprisingly dull, even if packed with amusing historical anecdotes about tulip investment bubbles and apple speculation. Not one I'd really recommend unless you are way into the history of food.

Mindless Eating: Brian Wansinck

The last in my "series" about food. For now... This was pretty fascinating book by a "food psychologist" who consults with academia, industry and the military on how people eat, decide about food, and why they eat the way they do. Full of quirky vignettes and studies (though some common sense) like that we eat more food if there are more kinds (ie at buffets, or we meet more m&m's when there are more colors), and that we really cant taste much (think chocolate yogurt is strawberry in the dark, or that lemon jello is strawberry if we put red food coloring in it), and that our bodies don't really tell us when to stop eating as much as our eyes do. The most interesting study here being about a "bottomless" bowl of soup that kept refilling itself and people ate quarts of the stuff, as opposed to when they had to serve themselves more. Sort of a quirky take on food and eating decisions- as if Malcolm Gladwell had written a book on food. Overall, pretty fascinating, if you are a major food nerd, and a major psychology nerd. Which is more likely me than it is you.

Hoodwinked: Perspectives of an Economic Hit Man - John Perkins

What can I say, I love Perkins's muckracking about the international corporatocracy in his last two books, so I picked this one up with excitement and anticipation. And wow, I've not a read a book that made my blood boil anger that this did in a long time, about the outrageous behavior of the finance industry recklessly exploiting and destroying our own country, not just the developing world. I almost couldn't finish it it was so enraging. But what I like about Perkins, at least his last two books, is that he increasingly ends on a positive note of empowerment, what practical things we can do to make a difference, and it feels a lot more hopeful than just having the curtain pulled back on how terrifying the world really is.

Power- Thich Nhat Hanh
I really enjoyed this, the first book of his I'd read in a while. Really important messages about taking care of people if you are in a leadership position, and ways to maintain integrity when you have a little bit of power in the world. Important stuff, but will it be read by the right people? Although I do believe a lot of this was based on a presentation he gave a Davos, so we'll see. Its certainly in important time in history for corporate and political power to have some integrity...

Born Standing Up: Steve Martin

Now this memoir was really disappointing. I don't know how someone can make a book about standup unfunny and dry, but somehow Steve Martin managed to do it. Not even that I'm a huge fan of his recent past two decades of work, but I remember really enjoying his old standup albums fromt he 70's when I was younger, and thought this would recapture that. Yeah, it was about that, but he made the fatal error of describing the comedy from setup to punch line and explaining why it was funny rather than just letting the jokes speak for themselves. The effect was ridiculous as you would expect. Not very interesting, not really worth the time.

January Books

2010-01-31T12:22:00.004-05:00

David Foster Wallace - Consider The Lobster
Fun stuff in this collection of essays from the 90's and early 2000's. Though ironic that I read it WHILE reading Infinite Jest (see below...). I really enjoyed the 9/11 and the Adult Convention essays, felt like classic DFW stuff. Reminded me that I might like his nonfiction better than his fiction, but still...

David Grann - The Lost City of Z
Now this was super fun. Although maybe a little long (basically its a book length version of the New Yorker article from a few years ago, and didn't need that much expansion) it was incredibly entertaining and informative. I was also reading this while I was planning to visit the Amazon, though unfortunately I then found out that the Leticia region in February is the rainy season in the rain forest, and opted not to go this round. But this book is a fascinating look at hundreds of years of history and anthropology of the Amazon, told through a thread of searching for a lost city in the Amazon region. Although the ending was a bit of a letdown, especially having already read the article, I'd still highly recommend this for a solid adventure travel book complete with crazy-ass stories of the past and present in the Amazon region of South America.

Malcolm Gladwell - What the Dog Saw
So basically this is just a collection of his New Yorker pieces over the last five or ten years. Which frankly, are a lot better and more engaging than his last book (Ouliers) which felt really scattered. I was kind of getting sick of his glib "you think its this way, but look at this quirky counterintuitive explanation for how the world really works and get your mind blown" shtick, which is usually backed up by cherry-picked evidence and mediocre-at-best science. This collection though reminded me of why I do/did enjoy Gladwell's older and shorter pieces, which don't make as many claims so much as put forth ideas for consideration. I'd still definitely recommend this, in spite of not thinking so much of Outliers, and its nice to pick it up and just read a piece or two and then put back down.

Superfreakonomics - Leavitt and Dubner
Basically, see my previous complaint about Gladwell's "Outliers." Though this had some thought provoking ideas that were sort of fun to think about, a lot of them felt a little bit half-baked at best, particularly the global warming ideas. However, some of the stuff about neuro-economics and decision-mkaing was interesting, and certainly more engagingly written than the disappointingly dry "Nudge" by Thaler and Sunstein I read last year.

Infinite Jest - David Foster Wallace
Yeah thats right. I finally finished it. (Let me clarify, this was an 8 month ordeal in which I read many other books, passed my boards and wrote a book....) And frankly, I'm not sure if it was worth it. (I know, I know...) I think I would have liked it more when I was younger. Thats not to say I didnt like it, or think it was well-written, I just didnt think it was terribly mature I guess. Although the recovery/halfway house stuff was brilliant (and accurate to a T!), I didnt exactly find the non-plot compelling (not the point, I know, I know...). And you know what, I'm not afraid to say he could have used a good editor and it would have made for a better book.

Resumption of Recipes: Thai Iced Tea Ice Cream

2010-01-01T17:17:00.004-05:00

With graduate school and now the licensing exam receding into the past, time, though not abundant, does create some space in my life for cooking and posting recipes. This evening I am making Pad Thai (from Hot/Sour/Salty/Sweet) and for dessert homemade Thai Iced Tea flavored ice cream, I invented this recipe, though when I googled the concept, I clearly was not the only one to come up with the idea of thai iced tea flavored ice cream:

THAI ICED TEA ICE CREAM

3 Cups of Light Cream (or 2 cups 1/2&1/2, 1 cup heavy cream)
2-3 egg yolks (I like this ice cream relatively light, though still think a custard is important for texture)
1 Can condensed milk
1 Cup Thai Tea (From good ol' Super 88)
1 tsp vanilla

Gently heat cream mix with thai tea until almost simmering, then let steep for about 30 minutes.
Strain the mix, and make custard by constantly whisking yolks into cream over gentle heat until bubbling and thickened. Stir in vanilla and condensed milk. Let chill, and freeze according to ice cream maker's instructions to yield about a quart.

VIETNAMESE (THAI) ICED COFFEE ICE CREAM
So really, this is the same thing, except using espresso (or finely ground french roast, or cafe du monde coffee), in the place of the tea. I also don't let it seep for so long, and of course leave out the vanilla. If you are using cafe du monde (used commonly in vietnamese coffee in america after so many vietnamese refugees settled in louisiana and near the gulf of mexico), let it seep longer or grind it more finely.
If your strainer is particularly fine, you may want to add a teaspoon of fresh grounds for texture before putting into your machine.

Either of these ice creams (or both!) make a wonderful treat to end a southeast asian style dinner.

San Gil and Environs

2009-01-05T08:09:00.006-05:00

The security situation here is quite odd. Colombia is no doubt in civil war/ its quite apparent from the newspaper headlines every day and from the soldiers walking around with AK47s slung over their shoulders. And yet, I have never yet felt worried or in danger, and this trip almost feels like its been fewer adventures than almost any other. ELN is almost over, and FARC has had aterrible year of operational setbacks, and a massive turning of public support away from the guerillas as they continue to hold innocent hostages.
And, it does feel as if the vibe of the country is that the war is ending, peace is very nearly here. Rebel groups like ELN is in practically final negotiations, and the infamous FARC has had aterrible year of operational setbacks, and a massive turning of public support away from the guerillas as they continue to hold innocent hostages and move farther from their original ideology and compromise themselves with terrorism and narcotrafficking to pay the gun bills. What was once a movement to liberate the peasant class, fueled for years by cold war politics like the rest of South America, then had the fuel of cocaine money keep the conflict burning. But now, after forty or sixty years of war, the people are ready for peace. Still, strange signs abound of Colombia's brutal history and continuing brutal present. We drove past a minefield yesterday, and Ive noticed that cars and buses all have signs advertising that they have GPS. I never saw any GPS units, and thus took me a few days to realzie that that is a kidnapping deterrant, that a GPS was hidden somewhere on the vehicle. Boarding the bus we were frisked up and down, but no one ever asked to look in our carryon bags, and while the bus had a separate locked compartment for the driver, as I wrote before, the airplane cockpit was wide open...
Anyway, so we left little occupied Minca a few days ago and headed into the mountains near San Gil, where we are now. The drive was beautiful up winding roads and into the mountains. Unfortunately the 9 hour drive became more like 11. I sat staring out the window into the dark half asleep and felt the white noise of the bus change abruptly, only to realize we were breaking down. Now, I just explained how peace is coming to Colombia, but I'm still not exactly thrilled with the idea of spending a night in the Colombian jungle on a sitting-duck prize of a bus, even if Colombia had a better reputation for safety. Some guys got out and stood aroudn, a few tried to fix it and we were off and running within a half an hour, although three more breakdowns only added to my anxiety. Had a layover night in Bucaramanga, and arrived to San Gil at a reasonable time the day before yesterday.
San Gil is a lovely colonial town tucked into in the mountains with a rushing river running through the center. The streets become incredibley steep, and some have the old sidewalk-for-stairs thing, and with flowers bursting in bloom the whole thing has a bit of a San Francisco like feel architecturally. Spent yesterday morning hanging out at our excellent hostel chatting with the other travellers, a few know-it-all Americans and some other nationalities represented, and had a hilarious talk with the Aussie owner who explained in depth how the guidebooks worked. One brand that will remain nameless simply emailed him to ask his to write a description of his place and a little about the town, another never bothered coming to San Gil at all, despite being only six hours away, and wrote incorrect information (though did receive and apology when he emailed undiclosed backpacker guidebook company), and another visited the town but never came to the hostel, and was quite open about this fact when he got in touch. Come afternoon we took a great rafting trip, having opted for the easy float trip rather than the hardcore rapids trip. The fonce river was still bumpy enough to be fun, and the views up the canyon onto local farms, through mossy banyan like trees and jungle vines, was a lot of fun, in spite of the worlds grumpiest river guide.

Santa Marta, Minca, Taganga

2009-01-04T10:54:00.008-05:00

Bill had -negative 1 days of getting a stomach bug, having gotten food posioning in Florida delaying his arrival by a day. We agreed to meet in Santa Marta, a smallish beach town on the way to Venezuela, next to the snow-capped Sierra Nevada mountains. I took the most hellish and overpriced collectivo ride, rather than the bus, resulting in a six and a half hour voyage that should have only been four. It was certainly a pretty if long voyage, past ocean on one side, banana haciendas and mountains on the other. Got to Santa Marta finally, but found no rooms at the inn we had been hoping for, so I got us a room elsewhere and left a note behind for Bill who was coming later in the evening. I immediately changed into my bathing suit and headed straight for the beach, only to discover that although I had been excited by how genuinely Colombian Sta Marta felt, that genuineness extended to the way they treated their beach, the hordes of Colombian tourists left garbage all over the beach, and the swimming looked none too appealing with the sight of a massive oil tanker loading up from the pipeline on the edge of town, (apparently unbombed by los FARC today), and another massive boat loading bananas onto pallets into containers. Didnt exactly seem all that clean. Wandered the city as darkness approached, and wondered if Bill had made it into the country without a return ticket out, apparently a real headache for getting through migracion. But finally I wandered back into the hotel to find him checking in, apparently having received no note from the hotel we had agreed on, and only finding it after checking his email. It was great to catch up over dinner and wandering the boardwalk, past giant 30ft light filled Santas sleigh and a Feliz Navidad sign. Ive not seen Bill since my 5 year Wesleyan reunion, which is a long time as my ten year is coming up in a few months! But its a been great travelling with him, reminsicing about the past, and talking about our various lives and futures.
Wanting to leave Santa Marta we decided to head to the fishing/backpacker town of Tanganga, next to the national park. No longer so backpackery, it was now mostly Colombians who occupied nearly every hotel. With no hotel again, we ended up sleeping at an elementary school that had been converted to a hotel for the holidays, and slept soundly amidst desks and chalkboards, beneath a row of enciclopedia de ninos. Hit the beach, where we enjoyed some fresh fried fish and did some swimming and lounging about. It was New Years Eve, and we barely made it past midnight, having a generally pretty mellow evening wandering the town. The people in town were revelling by draggin massive speakers out onto their patios and eating and drinking with friends, inviting people to stop in and chat. It was a nice low-key new years scene. People also tended to have some sort of new years scarecrows out, what they represented I'm not quite sure. We retired shortly after midnight, which we only realized had come when the firework-lighting kids started lighting their firecrackers in greater force than before. We also managed to miss the first death of 2009 (according to the local paper) when a drunk driver killed someone in Sta Marta shortly after midnight.

Onward the next day, we'd decided to head to San Gil in the mountains on the way up toward Bogota. Unfortunately, New Years Day meant nothing was open, not even buslines. Probably safer that way to avoid a driver still drunk from the night before trying to navigate mountain roads. So we took a taxi up to Minca, a small partly Indian town a few thousand meters into the foothills of the mountains,. Minca looks down over the beach towns and the ocean in one direction, and with views into the mountains in the other. We took some walks to waterfalls, watched coffee being dried out on the side of the road, and chatted for a while with an absolutely batshit crazy German guy. Bill had it right when he described this fellow as Herzog-esque, the man had been living above Minca for nearly ten years. Old Klaus Kinski claimed to be an intermediary between the rebel groups and the government and people like journalists and anthropologists. He also tried to scare us with stories about posionous snakes killing people, scorpions attacking tourists in their sleep, and other horror stories of the jungle. It was hard to tell how much he was bullshitting, though on the other hand hed been living in the jungle for the last ten years. Not to mention, our little cabin we'd rented not only had massive spiders, but Bill killed a scorpion and I chased a few bats around before giving up. And the bug bites I'm still itching three days later.
It was a gorgeous town and a pleasure to explore., though did feel like an army occupied town. Apparently it was only pacified a few years ago, and this was clear with the fact that army troops wandered around town chatting casually with their mistresses by cell phone in one hand, AK47s in the other. I have my doubts that the safety was on. From there on to San Gil in the moutnains, the next entry coming soon...

Islas

2008-12-29T20:36:00.005-05:00

Up early for breakfast and to get to the docks before the boats lefgt for their daily tour of the local national park and islands. A lot of hurry up and wait, while I watched seemingly thousands of colombian tourists pile onto the same boats that I too was sucker enough to get on myself. A very choppy voyage out to playa blanca, a miles long stretch of sand about an half hour away by boat where we dropped half of our passengers, and then the rest of us fools on to the national park and aquarium. Disgorged the boat at the island that was about an acre total, and headed to the so-called aquarium, admission not included in boat trip. Holy shit, without a doubt that was the most bullshit aquarium ever, and when I glimpsed it from the ticket booth, I immediately decided not to even bother with the outrageous price for a bunch of docks set around giant nets with fish caught in them. Thats right, basically a giant cage for fish from which one can look down into the water and attempt to view fish. I then returned to the dock where I watched hundreds of colombians climbing out of their boats to overrun the sweltering hellhole of an island. Finally able to get back onto the boat, and headed past tiny islands with solitary giant houses on them (I wonder what line of work those folks are in?), back through the ocean, past tiny wooden canoes that were far from shore, carrying just one aging fisherman and making a very hemingway-esque picture.
Finally made it to the beach, and though a famous one from cartagena, it was not too crowded. Offered some amazing fresh oysters and lobster ceviche upon arrival, which I enjoyed with lime juice, and then was charged a whopping 20k Pesos. I handed over 1000, and walked away. Met some Colombian-Americans who cheerily asked me about my trip, and invited me to go out with them later. I took their phone number and they told me to call at around 1230!!! I didnt. I feel old.
Although, I actually ended up staying up late (for me) that night, wandering the streets of the el centro neighborhood, charming colonial buildings and the streets packed with people until midnite. The plazas that had stood near empty a few hours before were suddenly bustling with people, a few colombian afro-caribbean groups were doing dance routines, some kind of combination of krumping and flamenco. The plazas were packed, people acting like human satatues, selling cotton candy and trinkets, it was like europe. Wandered around some more, talked to a few locals, but mostly people wanted to offer me drugs (perico-parakeet, cocaine) or women (amigo- conozco blancas, indias, mulattas...) No gracias amigos. I think thats the curse of travelling alone, looking forward to meeting up with Bill soon.

Cartagena de las Indias

2008-12-28T18:33:00.008-05:00

Overnight flight to Bogota was, for the most part, sleepless. Arrived pre-dawn to stumble through customs and attempt to find my connecting flight to Cartagena in three more hours, hoping I could catch the earlier one since I was so early. No such luck. Waited around the Bogota airport ina terminal with no ATMs and tried to sleep, but found my stomach eating itself with hunger was keeping me awake. That and the blaring telenovelas from the various tv screens around the terminal. Finally boarded the plane and promptly fell asleep, only to awaken to the beginning of the descent toward the coastal city of Cartagena from the mountains. Needless to say, spectacular landscape from the air, high green mountains, low blue marshes and lakes, and an amazing view through the cockpit windshield (not the same security concerns here I guess, the door was wide open), that revealed on one side turqoise glimmering carribean waters and on the other side a snow capped Andean peak. Damn, not many places where one can see both of those things together.
Getting from airport to city was painless, both hassle-wise and financially, although my first greeting upon stepping out of the cab was a swiftly tilting colombian offering me "cuatro gramas de heroina pura." Ugh, No gracias amigo. Found a decent enough hotel for too much money and set out for breakfast. A fair number of gringos abound, but its actually rather hard to tell the gringos from many of the more european looking locals, except that the gringos are generally the ones wearing shorts and flipflops, and the locals wearing jeans and carrying fancy handbags. Felt completely safe here by the way, and read about Cartagena not having seen political or narco terror violence in at least ten years, to reassure all potential fretters out there.

The old town itself is gorgeous, hands down the prettiest colonial town I{ve seen in the Americas, and believe me I{ve seen my share from mexico to bolivia. Bouganvillea spills out from spanish balconies over wrought iron gaslamps, horse drawn wagons clatter down cobbled streets, sun soaked plazas and brightly colored houses wind down alleys... you know, the standard colonial thing, plus an amazing fortresslike wall surrounding the town, and the breezes of the caribbean wafting through when it suddenly feels too humid to move. Somehow managed to explore much of the old city in the afternoon before I collapsed in a sleep deprived wreck. Wandered the old spanish fort, the largest and thickest walled in the Americas.

Cartagena was a major port for Spanish gold coming out of the south, and their primary port on the Atlantic, hence it was a rather tempting target for pirates and privateers for centuries. Not wanting to see the same fate that repeatedly befell, say, Granada Nicaragua (multiple burnings to the ground) the Spanish erected a massive complex fortifcation complete with underwater walls and chains to keep out invaders. It worked. The fort and walls surrounding the town stand today, and I wandered around for a while in the blazing heat, taking occasional refuge in the old tunnels and dungeons, before realizing I had completely forgotten sunblock. I returned to the hotel, over the little causeway past fishermen throwing nets, and lathered up with sun block at my hotel. Out for more exploring, Cartagena truly lives up to its reputation as the gem of the Americas. I paused to sit and read or sip coffee in one plaza after another, each more beautiful than the previous. Some with shady jungle plantings and tropical birds overhead, others with pigeons cooing and ice cream sellers ringing the bells on their pushcarts. The last was full of umbrellaed cafe tables where I sat for a while and rehydrated myself and watched the people drift by, taking photos in front of the massive Botero sculpture. Men and boys came by offering me cuban cigars and/or grams of cocaine, both priced at less than 3dollars. I declined and made my way back through the market vendors selling shoelaces, a man pretending to sneeze and showing off the fake snot dangling from his nose that was for sale for a quarter, (kind of weird in a country infamous for its other products for the nose), and decided to check out the parque central. MUCH less nice than the various plazas I´d been in all day, the parque was nothing but men sleeping or chatting in low voices and prostitutes galore. Okay, to be fair, they may have been extremely friendly though ragged looking women. Back to hotel for a siesta.

Woke to find that it was well after 9PM and I had slept clear through my alarm, the earplugs likely didnt help on that front, though probably did help when it came to the blasting vallenato music seemingly on the other side of my hotel door. I wandered down to the street in search of dinner and foudn the streets completely transformed by night. The afternoon quiet had given way to thumping music, and it seemed like every place that had its wooden shutters closed by day was open for business at night. Scrounged some grilled chorizo froma street vendor, listened to music in a nearby plaza bustling with skateboarding children and ambling old men, and went back to bed not much later.

More of the same today. So no great adventures thus far. Looking forward to my friend Bill Wilson (no, not that Bill Wilson) arriving tomorrow in Barranquilla, though we'll have to see how the logistics work out for meeting up. Hopefully the morning and afternoon will be spent exploring local islands and my next post will be a bit more interesting.

11/5/08

2008-11-05T10:15:00.003-05:00

Few sentiments I can express that haven't been expressed already. What other synonyms are there for "elation" and "relief?" Its the opposite of when something bad happens and you keep remembering the next day, constantly flooded with sadness again and again. I keep remembering "oh yeah, this means the supreme court is saved... oh right, the wars can finally end... health care... global warming and alternative energy... and the symbolism to the world, and the inspiration to the world. No more smug Europeans, I can ask those snotty French why they haven't elected an Algerian, the Brits why no Indians or Pakistanis have been PM yet, or German folk why the German Turks haven't risen to lead their country. And far more important than that, is that our example allows all these former colonial powers can now rise to the occasion, and will competitively feel the need to. What an amazing day of hope for America, what an amazing and hopeful day for the world....
Thats all for now. Off now to lean back, smile, and not have to read polls for a few more years.

Autumn Books

2008-10-27T23:00:00.009-04:00

Autumn Sweater/ Autumn Books: I'm feeling Insanely lazy. Reviews will follow this listing soon enough...

Dreams From My Father / The Audacity of Hope

Confessions of An Economic Hit Man - John Perkins

God's Middle Finger - Richard Grant

Shambhala: Sacred Path of the Spiritual Warrior - Chogyam Trungpa

You Shall Know Our Velocity - Dave Eggers

News of a Kidnapping - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

The Namesake - Jhumpa Lahiri

Mindful Path Through Depression

Full Catastrophe Living - John Kabat-Zinn

Wherever You Go, There You Are - John Kabat-Zinn

American Born Chinese

Blankets - Craig Thompson

Buddha - Osamu Tezuka

The Secret History of the American Empire - John Perkins

Walking Dead 1-8

Outliers - Malcolm Gladwell

Unaccustomed Earth - Jhumpa Lahiri

Summer Books

2008-08-08T01:33:00.009-04:00

Books of Summer

My Land, My People: HH The XIV Dalai Lama

I snuck reading this on silent retreat in Ladakh, the culturally and ethnically Tibetan region in northern India. A great read, essentially the DL's autiobiography from childhood until his exile. Not just a personal story through, which does move the book along, but also includes excellent descriptions of Tibetan culture, as well as tracing the history of Sino-Tibetan relations across the centuries. I read this, then a month later watched "Kundun," which clearly used this as source material. Definitely recommended for anyone with an interest in Tibetan history and culture.

Shalimar The Clown: Salman Rushdie

And this one I read as I prepared to go to Kashmir- where much of the book takes place. (But see that entry for what actually happened to my Kashmir plans). An interesting take on historical fiction, sort of a contemporary historical fiction, mixing real people and events with fictional ones, which gave a unique view of history and offered a unique understanding of colonialism and its cold war consequences, echoed in layers of personal stories and larger world events. This was a very cool idea, executed very well at some points in the book, and poorly at others. Ultimately, though thought provoking and well written, there were just massive swaths of the book that I was incredibly bored, even though there were parts that made me unable to put it down. A mixed bag overall, with some moments of brilliance and some of utter ridiculousness and boredom.

Bangkok Haunts: John Burdett

The third (and last?) in the Sonchai Jitlecheep Bangkok noir trilogy that began with Bangkok 8. Also, without a doubt, the most ridiculous of the three. Still, I greatly enjoyed this adventure complete with the usual cast of prostitutes and Bangkok mafiosos, with the added dimensions of the Khmer Rouge, snuff films and Cambodian black magic. If you enjoyed the others, you'll read and enjoy this, but it is undeniably over the top.

Are You Experienced?

Ah, lad lit. Sort of like Nick Hornby lite, but extremely lite. I read this book in one sitting on a train in India. The story of a british lad who follows a girl to India for a gap year experience, with hilarity ensuing before he finds himself. The backpacker stuff in the bok did have its moments, like a group of Australians bragging about their various feats of derring-do, but otherwise an entirely forgettable reading experience.

The Great Railway Bazaar: Paul Theroux

Shout out to Matty for recommending this one. Paul Theroux gets on a train in London in the early 70's, crosses Europe, the Iron Curtain, into the Mid East, across India and Southeast Asia as the Vietnam War winds down, through Japan, across the bering sea and then all the way across the USSR and back to Europe. Though feels dated in its views of other cultures at times, the historical value is remarkable and observations of his fellow travellers are hilarious. Highly recommended, especially for other travel nerds. Particularly a good read on a sixteen hour train ride in India.

The Amber Spyglass: Phillip Pullman

A few years after having read the first two, I finally got around to reading this one. Not surprisingly, I absolutely couldnt put it down. Even better than the other two. I also had the interesting expereince of stopping through Oxford on the way back from India, and enjoyed seeing the sights described in the book. Most interesting was the history of science museum, complete with old maps and instruments that were so clearly the inspiration for the golden compass itself, as well as worlds contained in the books: ie, references to muscovites, tartars, and others on the maps. Worth checking out that museum if you are a fan.

What to Eat: Marion Nestle

Okay, another food nerd book. This one is ostensibly a nutrition book, about the pros and cons of various foods and a very straightforward what and how much of what to eat, and written by a well known nutritionist with no ties to industry. The book is organized by food group, and goes deeply into the politics behind the food and why we think its healthy- ie, lobbying from large companies at the FDA, subsidies that artificially lower prices on certain products that we are therefore more likely to eat (ie, corn-syrup sweetened goods), massive advertising campaigns, industry funded "science" and lawsuits against defensiveless "regulatory" agencies that are usually stuffed with industry people anyway. Utterly fascinating in the politics, extremely pragmatic and user friendly in its nutrition advice, I would highly recommend this book. Effectively answers questions like what does organic mean, what are trans fats, etc, etc. Amusingly mocks various specious fad diets, superfood claims, and other food misconceptions. On another note, I'd also highly recommend the muckraking documentary about Monsanto seeds that many people in India had recommended to me:

http://vodpod.com/watch/725926-the-world-according-to-monsanto-wide-eye-cinema-free-conspiracy-videos

And for more GOOD info on food health and politics: Center for Science in the Public Interest

The Quiet Room: Lori Schiller

Oh, the older I get the less I can abide terrible writing. This book, the mostly ghostwritten memoir of an upper middle class Tufts student who experiences a psychotic break and eventually develops schizophrenia is so riddled with idiomatic cliches that its nearly unbearable to read. On the other hand, its readable in one sitting. Writing aside, the story is a decent one and illuminates a lot about our mental health system from inside- inside the system and inside the mind of someone suffering from a very serious mental illness. Wouldnt particularly recommend it, though does have some interesting stuff. Don't blame me if you cant get past the prose.

Coming to Our Senses: John Kabat-Zinn

Hmm, Jon Kabat-Zinn may be the grandaddy of clinical mindfulness and meditation, but this book just lacked something. Although his science is great, and even his ideas are really good, the writing falls a little flat. Further, though a good concept on which to build a chapter- using our senses as a means into mindful awareness, it probably would have worked better as a book chapter not a whole book.

The Wise Heart: Jack Kornfield

Generally speaking, I'm a hueg fan on Jack Kornfield's work as one of the leading American Buddhist teachers. And this book was very, very good, without a doubt- the content was great, writing more than adequate, and the stories and examples both accessible and effective. Unfortunately, having read and listened to a lot of his other material, this felt a bit like a half-hearted rewarming of other material. If youre a fan of Jack Kornfield, you'll find more of his good stuff, but not much new here. If you're new to him, I'd recommend this, its a solid and efficient presentation of his classic ideas- many of which were previously only in his talks, in one book.

God's Middle Finger:

Hello Dalai... Goodbye India

2008-08-05T09:31:00.012-04:00

Somehow I found the train out of Amritsar to Pathankot from which I planned to catch the bus onward to Dharamsala- home of the Dalai Lama and his exiled government. Thankfully, the bus was easier to find than the train- I just headed for the berth with the large pile of kiwi hippies. Actually, only five, and they were not all hippies, more of an assorted group of anglophones than Kiwis. Not with them was the Polish rastafarian who kept telling everyone he had just come from Pakistan. His only luggage was a digeridoo, (thank god he digeri-didn't try to play it on the bus*) and lucky me, I got the seat next to him. A bridge had gone out no the road to Dharamsala, so we had to take a detour. Unfortunately, the detour was a muddy one lane road. Unfortunately, busses and trucks from each direction had decided to take the detour, resulting in a massive traffic jam alleged to be sixty cars deep, just stuck facing each other on the top of the detour road. This made for a bit of standing around time, which was good beacuse I was also really hungry and thirsty. This was exacerbated by the fact that I had a candy in my pocket (given to me as change instead of rupees) that I had decided to try to aid my thirst, only to discoer ut was spicey masala falvored candy. Yeach! By the way, I've noticed that EVERYTHING here comes in spicey masala flavor- from Lays potato chips to cigarettes to candy. Anyway, I got my water and then got to know the group of kiwis a bit as we stood around a tea stall by the side of the road drinking chai, and they were a good group. We decided to wander around and see what was happening in the town (nothing- except that it seemed the town village had turned out to watch the army and police fight with each other about sorting out the massive knot of a traffic jam). A few buses up we discovered a number of nuns from a Korean Zen convent leading their bus of pilgrims to Dharamsala in some ridiculous looking calisthenics. Bored, we decided to join in the aerobics, much to the delight of all the nuns and Koreans. The buses then started, so we all ran back to get on the bus and move sixty feet before stopping again.
We decided to try to play gin rummy but had no table, and so the game soon got out of control, at which point we decided to go up to the roof, where we could watch the beginning of the sunset over the himalayas anyway. We all clambered up and started playing cards on top of someone's steamer trunk, and before we knew it the bus was moving again, with us still on top! Soon we were zooming through the jungle, ducking rhodedendron bushes and sliding all over the place as the bus careened around corners and tilted perilously past gorges with us clinging to the top. Still, it felt safer up there than on the bus- at least we could jump off in the event of a crash. We were just laughing uproariously, waving at the at the locals with cries of "HAL-ooooo!! howareyooooo?" before all bursting into a rowdy rendition of Sadly, after about twenty minutes of wiping tears of laughter from our eyes, the driver slowed to another stop and we were waved back to our seats. It was some of the most fun I've had- if you ever have the opportunity to play cards on top of a moving bus through the himalayan jungle- don't miss your chance.

But the hours of delays meant that a 3:00 arrival was more like 9:30, so, exhausted I found a guesthouse and crashed for the night. Dharamsala itself is kind of a dump, so I stayed where most people do- upper dharamsala, AKA McLeod Ganj- a town about 50% backpacker/ 50% Tibetan monks 10k up the mountain. As I mentioned before, Dharamsala is a small hill station that the DL and his exiles were offered by Nehru back when they initially fled Tibet following the Chinese invasion. Since then, its been the center for Tibetans fleeing oppression in China. It also happens to be full of backpackers and various spiritual seekers, and happens to be the rainiest place in India. Oh, and did I mention its currently the rainy season. It is beautiful however, when the clouds part, which they do for up to minutes at a time, stunning views of bright green himalayas appear, with terraced sides and amazing gorges. The rain is kind of depressing, and my guesthouse felt rather like a moist basement- there was even a massive slug in it, prompting me to move. (and I mean massive- bigger than the ones back in Washington state) . So, the Dalai Lama holds public teachings now twice a year- and this week was one of those weeks, filling up the town, but also really being quite exciting.

I got to the teachings late because I had to register (passport, photos, get an ID made and then through major security), and stumbled aroud until I foud a seat in the aisle. This turned out to have an excellent view of his holiness, only about 60 feet away. Then, when he left the teachings, I was in the front row as he walked by and blessed everyone!! Unfortunately I was not personally privy to a high five from his holiness, but I did get a wave and eye contact. This massively obese Russian woman next to me got quite the chat however, as the Dalai Lama asked where she was from then pounded her on the back and said "oooh, a big one... very big!"

The teachings were alternately obscure and esoteric and then kind of overly simple, but being there, with people from all over the world and the DL himself was a very powerful experience. The Audience was about 60% Tibetan, most of those monks. Then various westerners, as well as Koreans, Japanese, and Chinese and a handful of Hindus and Sikhs. The Buddhist monastics who had come ranged from the bright orange robed forest monks of southeast asia to stark brown and gray Zen monks of Korea and Japan. The temple itself though was kind of depressing, from the grandiose palaces and monasteries of Tibet, these people now had a rambling cement and cinder block complex that was rapidly mildewing, with a definitively industrial and utilitarian feel to it. Still, at least the Tibetans have something to call their own and replace what was destroyed by the chinese in their homeland.

Spent the next few days at the teachings and then afternoons drinking decent lattes and eating cake in all the little cafes around Dharamsala, and hanging out occasionally with the kiwis. They invited me to dinner at their palce in Bhagsu- the next village up the mountain, a little quieter and usually where people hold full moon raves in the shadows of the himalayas once a month. But it was a fun dinner, and I got to know a bunch of the local volunteers, as well as the various local weirdos who havent left Dharamsala in years. Met some cool Tibetans who were back volunteering having lived in the west their whole lives, and then one super standoffishly arrogant american who was literally wearing a fullbright t-shirt, which he was also wearing the rest of the week. (Its a small town, you keep running into people.)

Post-teachings I attended a major rally and then march protesting the IOC choice of Beijing for the Olympics, as well as the continued Chinese occupation and repression in Tibet. The whole town of McCleodGanj seemed to shut down to attend, and thousands of monks, laypeople and western supporters were there marching and chanting the five miles down to Dharamsala town. I have no idea how much media attention this garnered back home, but I gather not much. Still, it was powerful to be a part of, and though I won't get into using this blog as a soapbox, I do strongly encourage people to learn more about the Tibetan situation, as well as the situation of political freedom in general in China before buying made in China goods or supporting the Olympics.

Well kids, tonight I'm back to Delhi on a grueling overnight bus. Hopefully I will have a sober driver, unlike the Irish people I met the other day. They were telling that their driver had started doing shots of whiskey to stay awake. Then they said, without a touch of irony, "But it was only fair, the guy had been driving for 24 hours straight by then!" Ah, only my Irish brethren could make such a comment...

So I likely won't be writing again until I patch together the next set of book reviews- though I may assemble some assorted memories and observations about Indian culture. Thank you all for reading!

(Pics: Himlalayas around Dharamsala, HH the DL, Putting the Cloud back in McLeod, Protesters)

*Yeah, the didgeri-don't line belongs to Zack Whedon superstar.

Borderline...

2008-08-04T07:44:00.004-04:00

Pulled into the station at Amritsar and I was pretty well asleep, only when one of the Germans tapped me did I wake up and start gathering my stuff. Five of us jammed into a rickshaw and headed straight to the Golden Temple- Amritsar's claim to fame, and the holy pilgrimage site of the Sikh religion. It was quite impressive, and since we were there at the crack of dawn, we were the only westerners there with the thousands of pilgrims milling around. The light was also impressive at that early morning hour, bouncing of the glowing golden domes. I know very little about Sikhs- save the fact that they don't cut their hair or beards, and keep them in their turbans. The other observation I will make is that they keep lots of stuff in their turbans- like, pens, notebooks, and little combs they take out and comb their mustaches with. Yeah, mustache combs. They are also very proud of their history as brave warriors and vengeance seekers. The museum had enormous photos of the corpses of the martyrs who had occupied the temple in the early 80's demanding an independent Sikh state- (the bulletholes are also still visible), an uprising crushed by Indira Gandhi. But as the caption pointed out "The Sikhs would have their vengeance!" True- Indira was assassinated by her Sikh bodyguards weeks later. Similarly, an uprising against the British was crushed by a British general, who was then assasinated while in London twenty years later! The museum was full of bloody tales and bloody paintings of various sikhs being tortured and beheaded, then getting their vengeance later.
But its not all about being warriors- I don't mean to give that impression. Like many religions in India, it was a reaction to the caste system of Hinduism and the rigidity of Islam. A strong belief in the equality of all people means that everyone eats together at the same table or floor- which we did in the pilgrim hall. They dished out decent dhal and rice as well as chapatis from a machine all for free, which we ate with our turbaned brothers and sisters on the floor of the temple dining hall. That was a fun experience.

I found a hotel and crashed for the rest of the morning, and then got up to look for a restaurant. I trudged around in the heat until some Indian yuppies started talking to me in a way I knew I wouldn't be able to escape. "Which country?"

"U.S. and A" (I've taken to responding to this inevitable and constant question with a little bit of Borat) The same old conversation went on and on, then they asked- frankly rather Borat-like:
"In USA, there are many niggers?"

"Umm, there are black people-African Americans, but they don't like to be called that word.

"Yes, but there are none here so we say that now. Are they dangerous like 50 cent? Do they do drugs? Do you like 50 cent?"

Not wanting to translate the nuances of America's history of racism culturally and linguistically, I fast changed the subject. Next thing I knew though, I was sitting in a coffee shop getting interrogated about western girls, seemingly the favorite topic of eastern men. They kept asking me if I wanted to drink beer with them and go to a brothel, which I kept politely declining. I did take them up on their offer of lunch- the best khulcha in Punjab they assured me. It was delicious too- though I was having so much fun talking to them I didn't even notice I drank the tap water. Oops. (though its been 48 hrs and no sign of trouble) Like most Indians, they kept trying to hold my hand and arm while I walked down the street with them, which was kind of strange- they'd also shout to girls "Englishman!" and point to me, until the police started yelling at them. Then they explained that they liked to stand outside the girl's college and watch them get out of school, but the police wouldn't let them. "Fucking pigs! Fuck the police!" in their lilting Punjab accents. They also kept trying to impress me by trying to use their credit card everywhere- which, shockingly enough was not accepted by the various dhabas we ate at, at which point they'd start shouting "Motherfuckers! I hate these stupid bitches don't take credit cards!" I finally managed to ditch them, though I did enjoy riding on their motorbike and getting a free ride home in the heat.
That night I decided to head to the border and see the only other thing to do in Amritsar- which is watch the border closing ceremony with Pakistan at Attari- the only open border crossing between the countries. I had read that it was entertaining, and some other travellers had recommended it. Since their was nothing else to do, I figured why not spend some time heading out there for what sounded like some kind of subcontinental changing of the guard.
I took a local bus, which was running late on the trip out, and since there were no other Westerners, I figured the whole thing wasn't much to see, or else I was late. Got to Attari, and there seemed to be a festival going on. Food stands were everywhere, people selling India hats and flags, and I asked the guys next to me what was happening. "The border closing!" "Right, but whats all this stuff, is there a festival?" "No- the border crossing- 10,000 people every night!" I headed through the throngs of Sari-clad women and small indian children carrying cotton candy toward the border and what sounded like blaring pop music. I stopped and bought some chips and a soda and headed toward what looked more like a stadium than a border post.

Soon it was apparent that it looked like a stadium because it was a stadium. Imagine a football stadium with a fence running through it lengthwise and a road running through it widthwise. The fence separated Pakistan from India, and the road was for cars that crossed the border during the day. I entered and took a seat on the ground next to the road. It was 120 degrees even at 5:00- I've never sweated through a shirt before that day, and I was literally sitting still not moving. The stands were packed on either side, and ridiculous looking guards preened around in giant hats and menacing stares, the Indians and Pakistanis wearing literally the same outfits just in different color schemes. In the middle of the stadium women danced to nationalist Hindu pop hip-hop and the latest hits (including my fave- "It happens only in India") while the men danced in the stands. (People in India love dancing, at weddings, parties, etc, but the men dance with men and women dance with women). Every so often an MC would start a chant, "HINDUSTAN...." and the crowd would roar "ZANZIBAD"(long live!). Meanwhile, on the other side of the fence the mirror image was happening, which Urdu music and an MC stoking the crowd with "PAK-I-STAAAN....." and the crowd taunting back at Indians "ZANZIBAAAD!!!" Everyone was waving flags and wearing green, white and orange facepaint like it was the Superbowl. Finally, the "show" began. The peacock dressed soldiers from each side would march one at a time to the border while the crowds erupting into wild cheers and chants, goose-stepping and stomping, their faces screwed up into crazy contortions and then wait for the other side to do the same. At last all the soldiers made it up to the front, and high kicked around, almost knocking their own teeth out, before slamming the gates shut so hard one of them fell over, and then they slowly lowered their respective flags. It has to be seen to be believed, so here are some pictures and a youtube link. As the book describes, the whole thing is out of Monty Python's ministry of silly walks sketch...

Came back on another packed bus, filled with exhilarated indians. Found a pharmacy to stock up on more malaria medication, and couldn't help but notice that about half of the pharmacy's stock was aphrodisiacs, including "Spanitch Fly" and "Pusii Brand Sexy Gum." [sic] I think this says something about Indian cultural attitudes toward sex and the sexes.

For Youtube of the border ceremony, Click Here... You may want to fast forward to about 30 seconds in.... But its definitely worth watching!!

Meanwhile, here is the "It happens only in india" video as well, and hopefully will learn to embed video one of these days.

Golden Temple Express Mail

2008-08-01T07:35:00.013-04:00

I'm hardly the first to notice that India's labyrinthyne train system, with seemingly dozens of differnt classes of travel that are impenetrable to the foreigner is an apt allegory for india's various classes, castes and ethnic groups, and that the train stations are a microcosm of Indian chaos, but I'll say it anyway. The train thing is nuts.

First, Delhi station means wading through rickshaws trying to strongarm you in, then through the crush of humanity waiting around the lobby of the station, sleeping, eating, cooking, doing anythnig imaginable. As I make my way upstairs touts and various scam artists are calling to me conflicting advice, most untrue "Sir, no foreigners allowed here!" "You must pay fee to enter station!" "Sir, you must have ticket to enter station!" "Sir, foreign ticket office is closed, come to my travel shop!" "Sir, very dangerous inside station..." "Sir, your train is cancelled!" ad nauseum. They also all literally hang on my arm until I reach my destination.

So I made it to the foreign ticket office- a relief from the chaos below and told by the "helpdesk" to take a seat and watched a bunch of sellers sitting behind desks and helping no one. The room was of unfailingly polite japanese tourists who were reluctant to get up until called, so I just approached the desk of the nearest agent, who started helping me right away. The culture clash of the Indian concept of the line and the Japanese one certainly worked to my advantage... Still though, they didn't make it easy: civil servants the world over from the DMV in the states to the ticket sellers in India are all cut from the same passive-aggressive slightly aspergersish cloth. Completely rigid, I was given no information on trains, not sold a ticket on a train because it was less than 4 hours before departure, and then booked on the less-than-ideal SL class of sleeper train, and told I could "upgrade" once on the train. (also told by others that a little baksheesh goes a long way on a train...)

Frustrated by the train business, I decided to seek comfort in an "american day" in delhi. I hit up the coffee shop for an iced eskimo blast, ate a brownie, and then went to the New Delhi McDonalds. Now if I thought the coffee shop in delhi was a scene, boy, check out the McDonalds. Standing room only, with more employees thatn I've ever seen at mcdonalds helping seat people (I was seated with a family, thank god not with chatty young indian yuppies who mostly made up the clientele.) No beef at Indian MickeyD's means a McVeggie delux and fries for about a dollar. The McVeggie was sort of like if you imagine mcdonalds made a giant pakora and slathered it in massive amounts of mayo. The fries tasted relatively normal, but I had a nasty case of Delhi belly from the bad combo of food and actually was sick by the time I got back to my room, where I showered and watched some HBO.

Anyway, waded back through the madness of New Delhi station, to try to find which of the dozens of platforms my train was leaving from. The annoucements are in Hindi and English- should be helpful, right? But it literally has the announcement in English EXCEPT the track number, as in "Golden Temple Express to Amritsar now departing from track number paangch." At first I thought I was just hearing wrong, then I realized that they were not saying it in English.

At last I reached my train, third class non AC wasn't so bad after all, I was in a section with a bunch of Japanese at first. I was seated across from a Japanese girl who was busy gingerly blotting the sweat from her forehead until it was completely dry, then moving on to her arms, then down to wiping her ankles perfectly dry. All told, the effort took ten minutes, by which point her face was again soaked in sweat, rendering her labors completely futile as she started over. Eventually another Japanese found them, and I switched seats with him and sat with some insane Germans and one american in another booth.

The good Germans had come OVERLAND from Germany- trains across turkey then hitch-hiking and trains through Iran, uzbekistan, turkmenistan, and Russia. When they reached Mongolia they bought horses and trekked across to Ulan Batoor, where they then flew to Delhi, having been denied a Chinese visa. (Word among current travellers is that NO ONE is getting into China these days without plane tickets, hotel reservations and a ticket to the olympics!) They were on their way to Northern Pakistan to try to do some first ascents of 6000m monutains. Their gear was vintage WWI army surplus packs made of canvas and leather, and they had quite the stories about securing the Pakistan visas. First they waited a week in DElhi for the interview, then got an appointment for 9am. They had to wait until two o'clock, when they were called in and asked two questions about their destination. The remaining questions were about European girls "You can really just talk to them? You can have a relationship with whomever you wish? The women have no morals?" etc etc. Anyway, the Germans were very cool guys, and after Pakistan they were planning to go back to Iran, then a boat to Dubai before crossing the Arabian peninsula and finishing in Lebanon. Hard-Core. But they were really not-macho about it, just very matter of fact, unlike some other nationalities who are constantly bragging about their ridiculous travel exploits. Maybe it was because they were all friends from scouts.

It was a decent train ride in spite of third class accomodations. In fact, drifting off to sleep I felt more content than I have in all of India, just drifting to sleep, my ipod playing my sleepytime mix on a train somewhere in northern india...

No Way Norgay...

2008-08-01T06:26:00.010-04:00

Awoke again at the crack of dawn, this time to visit Thikse monastery in time for the morning prayers and pujas- offerings. Thikse is yet another grand tibetan-style gompa outside of Leh, and arrived there in about a half hour, just in time to hear the end of the prayers. The main hall, covered in ancient murals of demons and boddhisatvas, was thick with incense and the rhythmic chanting and signing of the elementary school aged monks, who were chanting prayers while under the strict eyes of the older monks, who would point at them whenever they became unfocused, as children naturally do. The sounds were wonderful, and the children adorable. But the chanting soon ended, and so spent some time wandering the other temple rooms within the huge complex- more like a mini-city than a monastery. It was a prayer week, so all the monks were making offerings and chanting in each prayer room, making the gompa seem far more active and alive than any of the others. We also ran into a bollywood star and his beautiful starlet girlfriend, which was vaguely interesting- though funny that and Indian probably would have been absolutely thrilled. He was probably unsure what to make of our lukewarm interest. Over breakfast some monks tried to teach us the low incantation of their chanting, which was extremely difficult, but we all had a good laugh. Flagged down a car and hitchhiked bay to Leh, in time for the bicycle descent of Khardung-La, highest motorable pass in the world (18,380ft).

Got to the bike shop in time to have no good choices of bikes left- ragged chains, flat or bald tires and cracked frames abounded. I kept bitching until finally they "found" a trek, or at least the same indian piece-of-shit bike with a legitimate looking trek decal on the side. Secured our permits (going to border zone again) and rode up in a jeep with a few folks from the retreat, as well as some crazy danish kids who were raving about how cheap travel in america is, and one american girl.

The descent began on the one-lane road that though "motorable," hardly meant "paved." The first few kilometers were mostly dirt, anxiety producing in terms of skidding on my mediocre brakes next to sheer drops. The views were spectacular- snow capped peaks leading into desert mountainsides and into green stupa-dotted valleys. The ride somewher between an adrenaline and an anxiety rush. All in all, I do think Bolivia's World's Most Dangerous Road ride (see July 07 entry) was more fun and more beautiful. Eventually reached old Leh, (pictured) the old part of the city where I finally had to pedal. (What- I paid 15$ to pedal this bike?) Shortly after trying to switch gears to go up hill the grinding began, and suddenly my deraileur snapped off. At least it wasn't on the major part of the descent. Unfortunately, took a few wrong turns in Old Leh (where its so steep that many of the streets are just stairs- a la cuzco, peru) and the dregs of ladakhi society- men in towels soaped up and showering from buckets and children literally shitting on the street next to them. Finally made it back to the bike rental place, where, while we stood around chatting, it became apparent that the bike was all messed up. They called me over and started yelling. "What happened, what have you done?" A crowd started to form and more of their friends appeared, including some nine-foot tibetan guy who was yelling in my face "you foreigners, you lie, you crash the bike, now you must pay us!" I tried to explain that their shitty bike and lack of maintenance caused the problem, and that I'd not signed any contract, that I could have been injured, but to no avail. "We have your passport number, we call your embassy!" Norgay, tenzing, Lobsang and the gang were now furious. Someone else tried to calm them down and while their attention was diverted, I started to sneak away.. I was partway down the street when one caught up to me.
"You talk to my boss, you come backhere and talk to my boss!!" "No, I am leaving, I did not break your bike..." "I tell your embassy! I have your passport and visa number!!" (Which they did, because of the crazy beaurocracy/security in this country) Finally I told him to tell the embassy and they would work it out, pointed for him to go back to the office, turned the corner and ran as fast as I could back to my hostel. Spent the next hour panicking every time someone came or went from the guesthouse that it was the guys from the bike shop. I replayed every scenario- the permit office has my hotel name, but I think the permit office is closed, so they won't find out until tomorrow... The embassy wouldnt possibly care... would they? What if they tell a police friend to stop me at the airport..." I finally showered and changed into my glasses, changed outfits, put on my hood and scarf and ventured out to use the internet. Ran into Jim, and had dinner with him then met up with some other folks to say goodbye to Leh. Someone showed me the beginning of a shortcut to my guesthouse that avoided the bike shop. Very helpful until I became hopelessly lost trying to make my way through pitch black dark alleys with only my headlamp. Eventually I stumbled out onto a road, and made it back to my place, terrified of running into Norgay and his bike shop mafia...

Allow me to explain a few things about Indian transportation. I'll start with airplanes. Noow granted, there have been literally dozens of bombs found in the last fwe days, and tensions are running high with Pakistan... Arrived at the airport after cab was thoroughly vetted by cops and military at parking lot. Enter airport, have to explain "e-ticket" for five minutes to the security guard, which I had just watched the westerner in front of me do. Then, walk through a metal detector WITH my bags, followed by metal detecting wand and pat-down. Put bags through x-ray and am told no carryons. Get bags again, this time with stickers on them, told carryons okay, just no batteries. Now go to get my boarding pass. Get boarding pass, get bag stickers stamped, send checkin through. Go through another metal detector and wanding, this time told no carryons, explain that I was told carryons were okay, (and note that everyone else has them). Go through detector and wanding, have bag x-rayed and wanded, then sticker is re-stamped, after perfunctory search of bag. Sit and wait. Then everyone called to tarmac to idetify their checked bags, which are then stamped again. Hurry up and wait. Get in line to go onto tarmac to get onto bus. Get metal detected again. Board bus. Drive bus for ten feet to aircraft. Board aircraft, feel relief that Norgay and the gang didn't track me down. Open bag and notice extra camera battery and multiple tubes of suntan lotion...

The flight over the himalayas was gorgeous...

Julay Julay.... (or The Baby Lama Drama - Not to be confused with Peruvian entry the Baby Llama Drama)

2008-07-30T06:57:00.012-04:00

When I travel, I generally make an effort to learn four words in the local language: Hello, Goodbye, Please and Thank You. Thankfully, in Ladakhi, "Julay" means all four of these....

Spent the weekend at the lovely "Open Ladakh Trekking Meditation Camp," run by a former monk named Vivek who has studied in Thailand and done time as a monk in Burma, now has a family house where he runs retreats outside of Leh. I had arrived late, having been packed into a collectivo like mini-minibus packed with tibetan monks who were playing with their cell phone ring tones.

Although a silent retreat, the western participants all met and chatted beforehand at an opening dinner. It was kind of a scene- a hippie schoolteacher from vermont, an irish guy who the first time he wanted to travel he worked as a mechanic on an oil rig, and saw ports from Saudi Arabia all aroudn Africa, South America, the Caribbean and the states without being allowed off the boat- he quit his job and bought a ticket with the money to go see the world. He was pretty cool. There was an American who had recently graduated from Antioch college, and was surprisingly square (I've emt many Antioch dropouts, but never an alum) who was named Jim and looked like Jim from the office, though much smarter and less smarmy. An American crystal therapist who lives in San Marcos de Atitlan Guatemala (home of the pyramid school), a few woofing Europeans, a Gibraltan who had been travelling for seven years and came to India after a breakup with her boyfriend- the lion tamer in the Japanese circus. This was funny and made for great conversation, because a canadian hippie had also been in the circus in Australia. Anyway, these were a few of the more colorful characters, but most of the people were pretty out there, save one American lawyer who I liked a lot and Jim the American , both of whom I talked to a bunch on the last day when silence was broken.

So, as I said, it was a silent retreat, sleeping outside in tents in a valley of the Himalayas right outside of Leh. The stars were magnificent at night, the mountains majestic by day. We sat outside for much of the first day, in yellow pastures of barley and wheat with crumbling stupas in the distant fields of the other local farmers. Day two we did some hiking in the hills, and then rested again in the fields. The last morning we broke silence and most people decided to stay and trek a bit more, exploring the local palace and monastery. It was a fun day, and then some of the people that had done yoga teacher trainings while in India put on a yoga class which we all did before dinner. It wasnt bad, though a bit embarrassing when they couldnt remember whether to breathe in or out in various assanas. Many of this group then decided to share a jeep the next day to visit more monasteries in the valley.
The monasteries were, as usual, extremely impressive. There was Likir, (below) classically tibetan with a cool museum that had bizarre artifacts like a skull drinking bowl and femur flute for ceremonies, as well as a gigantic buddha outside. Alchi was very different from the other tibetan style gompas, with wooden architecture influenced by Kashmiri mosques, and extremely intricate murals (above) painted on the inside walls. Basgo (left) was built perched on a crumbling cliffside ina moonlike valley that looked rather like Arches or Canyonlands national parks back in the US. I had a great time at the monasteries, but the shared jeep with the hippies really started to grate on my nerves by the end of the day. I really didnt think I could take one more converstaion about how Jesus lived in India, or a debate about auras. I was relieved to return to Leh with a real room, real bed and the first hot shower since arriving in the Himalayas. Of course, woke up super early again, accustomed to arising at 5:00 for meditation, and headed back to Phyang Gompa where a festival was happening. Decided to go local transport on the bus, which was packed full of locals and gringos. The seats were filled overcapacity, so it was standing room only on the bus with a ceiling that came up to about my shuolders. Not the most comfortable half hour ride, stooped over, and the bus stopping to let on more excited monks and local villagers with each town we passed through. The festival was very cool- elaborate masked dances that represented... something... and a festive air at the monastery with merchants, food stalls, and of course beggars everywhere. I finally had the disturbing realization that the beggars I thought were suffering from burns are actually lepers, not burn victims. I also continue to be an Indian media darling, as I was niterviewed about the festival for some Indian TV station. Back today for internet, and signed up to bicycle the world's highest road tomorrow assuming by border region permit comes through...

Better to be Mr. Late than the Late Mr...

2008-07-24T10:28:00.007-04:00

Spent the past few days visiting the incredibly beautiful and dramatic mountains, canyons and gompas of the Nubra Valley, northeast of Ladakh toward the Tibetan frontier. My companions were a gujarati couple who were both accountants for US companies, and a professor who was actually from the university of siberia. And, our idiotic 16 year old driver, who was lazy and careless, not my favorite qualities on one lane cliffside himalayan roads. So up we went, (bollywood soundtrack the whole way) winding over Leh into the mountains, up to Khardung-La, which is the highest point of the highest road in the world, at 18,380 ft. Nothing much there but a little army checkpoint, (we were constantly having to show our permits and passports), and with a crashed plane, a bunch of army trucks and soldiers, and prayer flags flying. And a sign reading "Khardung La - Highest Motorable Road in World - 18380 ft. - NO PARKING." Amazing views in all directions over mountains, valleys, and glaciers, and after parking for a few mintues, we descended into the valley. Unfortunately, we were caugfht in the middle of a 20 deep army convoy, and our driver insisted on passing these guys on our one lane road all the way down the valley until we hit another checkpoint, where we could just as easily have passed them then. Oh well.

Deeper into the valley until we stopped at Hunder- the end of the line for westerners, beyond the heavily guarded little river and bridge lay no man's land, then Tibet. There was a great Gompa that the Russian and I hiked up to, with more amazing views. I was hoping to see K2 in the distance, but other mountains blocked my view.

Stopped briefly by a camel farm, where the Gujaratis wanted to take a ride on the two-hump camels apparently descended from the silk road days. Our idiot driver howver, splashed his way through a stream and mucked up the engine, which meant a much longer time watching the Indian couple prance around on camelback than expected. There were also some nice yaks and montain goats to look at by the time the car got giong again. We then moved slightly back upstream to another charming town with another charming Gompa, called Diskit. It seemed to have apricots on every tree that wasnt a pin-straight poplar, public stupas everywhere, charming little stone walls with brambles on top, yaks wandering about and a prayer wheel on every corner. Mountain streams with little wooden bridges were everywhere, and when you walked over a bridge you could literally feel a drop in the air temperature of a few degrees from the frigid himalayan water.

Awoke VERY early this morning in the hopes of hearing the monks at morning prayers in the Diskit Gompa. We succeeded, but there were not too many monks around. Still, it was very interesting to listen, and the monks offered us some yak butter tea, which I choked down to be polite in spite of its mouth-curdling saltiness. But there was not much else to look at in Diskit, so we moved on to the next town, Sumur, where we looked at another, more modern Gompa. Do you want to hear any more about Gompas? Don't worry, I won't bore you... Heres a picture. And next time I'll add some interior shots as well...

The drive back was uneventful, save for seeing a truck that had recently fallen off the cliff and the halted army convoy below scavenging the wreckage. It was a certainly unnerving to be ther in the immediate aftermath. Happy to be safely back in Leh, and soon at a very safe meditation retreat...

Yakity Yak

2008-07-22T03:21:00.008-04:00

If anyone needs a yak-pun-themed embroidered t-shirts, let me know. Ladakh has plenty. You know, "Hard Yak Cafe," "Yakkin' it Up in Leh," "My Best Mate Went to Ladakh and All I Got Was This Bloody Yak T-shirt. "

Up again yesterday at the crack of dawn, pre-dawn in fact. Delhi still sleeping, which was really strange. Dogs laying under trucks and cuddled up to slumbering cows, rickshaw drivers curled up in their cycle-rickshaws, others asleep just in doorways. The flight itself was easy, and 100% tourists, mostly French (as usual, and with their noses buried in their guides routards.) Got to Ladakh bright and early and found a lumpy-bedded guest house for next to nothing, and tried to nap. Little success, so I set out for breakfast to plan my day. The altitude was definitely noticeable, but not terrible, just a mild headache. So about Ladakh: Its a small town about 10,000 feet up in the Himalayas bordering China/Tibet. Culturally, its mainly Tibetan- technically in fact a part of Tibet and pre 20th century basically fell under the Dalai Lama's jurisdiction before borders were as clear as they are today. In the 1950's, as China moved to Tibet, the Indian army zipped up a few brigades to plant Indian flags and snag the Ladakh region to keep it out of Chinese hands, though border disputes remain. What this means is that Ladakh is basically a little Tibet- often described as the last Shangri-lah, though this apparently also describes Bhutan in travel brochures- which I suppose makes it the penultimate Shangri-lah, and Sikkim- the antepenultimate (is that correct latin scholars?) Shangri-lah. The language and script are Tibetan, and the people are ruddy cheeked like ethnic Tibetans and dress in wool robes, sort of like woolly shalwar kineezes with wooden sandals. Also many monasteries around, so lots of robed monks. However, lots of Muslims are here as well, many refugees from the troubles in Western Kashmir and Jammu, many are green-eyed and fine featured, said to be descendents of Alexander the Great's conquering army. The other people that are everywhere are the indian army- there is an enormous base here that guards the sensitive Chinese and Pakistan borders that are extremely close. In fact, permits are needed to basically just leave town and head a few miles toward Tibet/China. Which I will do later in the week.

So yesterday after no sleep and no sunscreen and no altitude adjustment, I decided to head to the Leh palace (above photo) similar stylistically to the Potala Palace in Lhasa, and perched dramatically above the town. Not much inside, but great views. I ascended further, and against better judgment to a small Gompa (Tibetan Temple) atop the mountain-like hill that was fluttering with prayer flags. Now, I think probably everyone has seen the little greeting-card sized prayer flags commonly found in Tibetan restaurants and hippie dormitories, but some of the actual ones here fluttering in the mountain breeze are the size of bedsheets, and just beautiful when they catch the wind. The little Namgyal Gompa (seen in back of first photo, and in this other photo) was very cool, and as I read about it my book warned not to do the hike on the first day at altitude. Oops. I then became paranoid for the rest of the afternoon- paranoiacally trying to parse out the symptoms of altitude sickness from my sunstroke, dehydration, and general exhaustion from waking at 3:45 AM. I guess the light-headedness was not a sign of enlightenment. Stumbled down to explore a few more temples and look around the town, before becoming overwhelmed with exhaustion and headache, I fell asleep for the night at 6PM, not to wake until the muezzin's morning prayer call at sunrise, then asleep again till about seven.

Got up today and took a taxi ride to Phyang and Spituk, Tibetan style Gompas. I realize there is little more boring than reading about architecture, but they were pretty cool. Elaborate white-and-red monasteries perched on cliffsides, with incredible murals inside the main temples, many dating back hundreds of years. Many of the artifacts inside were smuggled in from Tibet after the Chinese invasion, and the places were mostly to myself and the literal hunchbacked dwarf monk who hobbled around and opened the temple prayer rooms and chapels for me at Phyang. The silence and serenity was lovely, just the sound of the spinning prayer wheel bells, the rushing of the Indus river and the birds. Oh, and in the valley below the sound of AK47s at firing range of the massive military base that sprawls across the valley below.

Hopefully the pictures can capture a bit what my description cannot. The afternoon I spent wandering the town, exploring the Old City- a mud-brick and wood pile of traditional tibetan style houses and alleyways that is slowly being restored by the tibet heritage fund. (Sort-of pictured here with standard veggie garden.) It will be truly incredible when its done- probably by the end of the summer- the houses will be painted brilliant whites and yellows, with bright red windows in the tibetan style. and probably the guesthouses and restaurants will migrate there soon after...

Also got my permits in order to visit the Nubra Valley region for tomorrow and the next day, so will be updating then, and likely incommunicado. After than, doing a short stint at a meditation center for the weekend, and then not sure after that....

Udaipur -> Delhi

2008-07-20T07:19:00.010-04:00

Udaipur was, as I think I mentioned, generally pretty charming, cleaner (though hardly clean) and prettier than the rest of India thus far. Its described as the venice of asia, somewhat apt in terms of both cleanliness and beauty. Most of the town is painted white, old or old looking architecture abounds, and the centerpiece of the town is a giant lake with two major islands that are completely taken up with palaces of raj's past that look like vertiable wedding cakes. Much of the a Bond "octopussy" was filmed here, and the hotels seem to all advertise shows of the film nightly at 7PM, though we managed to make it the entire time without seeing the show. Because it was off-season, we were able to very cheaply stay in a great hotel with phenomenal views over the city, lake, and mountains beyond, and great food in the restaurant. In fact, most of the hotels had phenomenal food.

One cool thing we did was take a cooking lesson. An older woman carefully taught us an exhaustive menu which we then got to eat- Chai, Biryani, Eggplant-Tomato Curry, Muttar Paneer (like saag paneer but with peas), Pakoras, Chapati, Paranthas, Gulab Jamun (lightly fried chunks of milk dough in sugar syrup) I actually felt confident on leaving that I much better understood how to make indian food. The secret, as Americans are just beginning to discover, is adequately cooking ("blooming") the spices and aromatics (garlic, ginger, onions) to deepen the flavor. (The cooking actually changes the chemical makeup of the spices, releasing new flavors). The whole lesson was a lot of fun, and I'm looking forward to cooking for anyone upon my return and a modest break from Indian food after travelling. I also want to learn to make "butter chicken" my new favorite Indian dish- its sort of like chicken tikka masala, but I guess more authentic. (Chicken Tikka Masala is technically a British dish, invented by a Bangladeshi in London in the 1970's).

Not much else of note in Udaipur- though would highly recommend it. We saw a few other Havelis, browsed the antique stores, and each had a mild run in with a cow. (Head-butted from the rear- a little scarier than it sounds and has now sadly diminished the trust and admiration between us and our otherwise adorable (and ubiquitous) bovine friends.

Returned to Delhi yesterday morning to the hotel royal (seemed a more promising name than the "hotel decent" on the same street.) Spent the day wandering around dazed in the heat and smog again and not really accomplishing much. Visited and were mildly disappointed by Fabindia, and the Khan market- though the latter had an excellent bookstore (Full Circle) that I would highly recommend for books or just escaping hellish delhi, at which we spent a long time browsing the books.

Oh, so more again about food. For the past year we lived right by and walked past the Craigie Street Bistro every day. Outside there was a sign posted from Food and Wine magazine which had rated the 10 best restaurants in the world to eat meat. Our Craigie Street Bistro was named #2. The number one spot was reserved for a restaurant called Bukhara in Delhi. Well, finally, we made it to Bukhara in Delhi, though it was different than we would have expected. First of all, its in a big ex-sheraton hotel that looks like a horrible compound of bunkers (not unlike hi-rise and lo-rise to drop the Wesleyan reference). The restaurant itself has decor that is rather like Flintstones-meets-Genghis-Khan if you can imagine it- stone walls, and bizarre tables and seats made out of tree stumps. And no silverware. However, true to its reputation the meat (lamb kebabs) was amazingly tender and piping hot off the grill/tandoor. An amazing bread stuffed with spiced onions that I'd never encoutnered before, and a wonderful dessert that we had been seeking but didnt know the name of (rasmulai- paneer soaked in rosewater basically).

And this morning, Olivia jetted off to London, and I remain here...
I was supposed to go to Srinagar this morning bright and early, but when I got to the airport this morning I read that an IED had blown up a bus of soldiers on one of the highways outside of town. Freaking out, I found another newspaper, that mentioned a different attack on a different highway the day before that one. Figuring that although I had been planning to take the OTHER of the three highways from Srinagar to Leh, I might want to reconsider. Changing flights was a huge and humiliating hassle, but I'm now heading directly to Leh in Ladakh tomorrow. I like my Himalayan adventures peaceful and shangri-la like. So I headed back to Delhi feeling like a bit of a wuss, but you know, I'm a grown-up who makes responsible decisions and now has things in my life worth living for.

The only problem was that a tuktuk drove me halfway to delhi and then insisted I take a taxi and pay them more. Enormous argument ensues with exhausted and sleepless me marching down the highway back toward Indira Ghandi International Airport, with now dozens of taxis stopping to fight over who got to drive me to Delhi and holding up rush hour delhi traffic. MAde it back to the hotel safely, and tried to relax and ponder what on earth I'd do in Delhi. Little was open as its Sunday, so more aimless wandering and time at cafe coffee day drinking my iced eskimo (like a tropical holiday on mt everest! - actual description) and reading my crappy backpacker novel until I was politely asked to make room for other customer.

Standing around in the punishing humidity, some Indian guys (call center yuppies sporting Benneton shirts and Gucci sunglasses) started talking to me. I told them I bailed on Srinagar and they were so upset with me, as if I'd insulted them. But there were bombs on two of the three highways in two days! I tried to explain. No no! Srinigar its like heaven, you must change again and go back to airport, you miss the most beautiful place in the world! It is heaven, it is heaven!!! When I said Americans were not very popular in the world these days they just retorted ad nauseum They can kill so many Americans in Iraq and Afghan, here they only want to kill Indian army, not tourist! In spite of their generous offers to use their fancy phones to immediately re-change my tickets I remained unconvinced, and even more difficult was trying to polite decline an offer of taking coffee with them. Although had I felt better, hanging out with Indian yuppies would have been an amazing cultural experience, I just wanted to be alone and not have my masculinity questioned by a bunch of Indian dudes in tight Bennetton shirts.

So, attempting that, I foolishly sat in a park until a funny little turbaned man approached and started chatting with me about ear hygiene. He showed me a little notebook of lukewarm testimonials from tourists, along with photos of himself cleaning the ears of various dutch, english and japanese travellers in the park and simply would not go away. He eventually started even looking in my ears and tsking and exclaiming "oh my god! So dirty!!" and tried to get his q-tip in until I had to walk away. Ambled my way back to the hotel and rested, past junkies literally laying in the gutter to the quiet of my hotel room where I watched the indian news, amusingly entitled "Weekend Update."

Walk Softly and Carry a Monkey Stick

2008-07-16T10:45:00.016-04:00

Headed out from Udaipur for a jaunt in the country- or rather, a trip to Mt Abu. Great view out the window, proving the old axiom about the journey, not just the destination. Gradually, the touristy shops of Udaipur gave way to local markets, selling objects of actual use to Indian people. Men pushing rickshaws and singing their broomselling or chai-vending jingles passing little tire shops and mechanic shops, with men in turbans sipping chai in circles and chatting. Past camel-carts and rickshaws, weaving around copulating cows and even past a saffron-turbaned man washing his elephant on the side of the road. One memorable sight was a multistory glass and steel hotel going up on the outskirts of town, at least ten or fifteen stories high, but a construction scaffolding that was entirely made of bamboo! I cant believe I missed the picture. Eventually we passed under the sign leaving Udaipur reading "Thank you, please come again!" and we were headed deeper into the countryside. Nothing much for a while but children playing cricket and cement walls, whose only purpose seems to be providing space for signs advertising cement, and the occasional ad for English classes (guaranteed 100% call center placement!!) We pulled up to a roadside dhaba and had some of the best samosas of my life for breakfast, eating on the morning's newspaper before hitting the road again.

Past more shanty towns of trash bag houses and humans sleeping in filth and rooting through garbage, past roadside mini-mosques where Muslim truck drivers stopped to offer prayers. Eventually we came to some sort of freeway under construction- with construction seemingly by hand (and head, given that people were carrying cement and asphault in bowls atop their heads). We'd get up to speed for about three minutes, then suddenly the road would end, drive down some one-lane dirt roads for a few minutes, then back onto the highway, then back off again moments later and on and on for at least an hour. It was as if instead of building the road beginning at point A and working toward point B, they were just letting each village build their own
section. Which, maybe they were, given that just getting people to work must be extremely difficult. Even when the highway was decent for a few minutes, the Indian people seemed to want to drive on both sides of the divide, in both directions, typically in the middle of the lanes.
Eventually we would our way up into the mountains, and the scenery was drastically changed and more green and lush from mostly desert Rajasthan. The views over the valley were spectacular, even with all the fog and haze, and eventually we made it to the little town of Mt. Abu in our little taxi.
We found a decent enough though overpriced hotel overlooking the lake, and set out to explore what the area is best known for- the 1000 year old Jain temples, carved to incredible intricacy in marble. Photography was not allowed, but it will be hard to forget the incredible detail in the enormous temples, the ceilings in particular were almost alive, dripping with elaborate designs that were almost so thin light came through, in the shapes of gods and demons, but also just sea-anenome-like organic shapes. As usual, words cant do it justice, so I will try to import some pictures from elsewhere to demonstrate. The Jain temples are also incredible serene, and just lovely places to sit and escape the chaos and filth of India for a while. After the temples, we wandered around Mt. Abu where there were tons of Indian tourists (a popular honeymoon spot) and almost no westerners. We were photographed like crazy. One girl was frantically whispering to her father, who came and asked us in English where we were from and could the daughter be in a picture with us. We said USA, and the girl looked ecstatic, she was then literally shaking with excitement while her dad took the picture, and was kind enough to thank us for our trouble. The town, as I described, was a funny combo of mostly Indian tourists and honeymooners, and was really tacky in a very Indian way. For example, a cute lake with bright colored pedal swan boats, and a larger dinner boat named "the Titanic" in a fit of bad judgment or perhaps cultural misunderstanding. (What next, our plane to delhi is called the Hindenberg?) The food in town thankfully, was excellent, got the local thali, and there were some great hikes around.
We also stopped by the Brahma Kumari museum, a sort of cult with branches all over the world with a truly bizarre museum with amazing life-sized dioramas of various vices and members that dressed exactly like the movementarians from The Simpsons.
Next day we were up and headed to Ranakpur, site of more Jain temples. Sadly, no stop at the cafe coffee day we passed (the Indian coffee chain that inexplicably doesnt open until 10am!). The road was beautiful, winding through small villages with just a small market, sometimes nothing but a municipal water pump where women and children were gathered, filling their water canteens to carry back to their homes balanced on their heads. In the smaller towns, many of the Hindu women even cover their faces with a veil. Ranakpur was similar in style to the Dilwara temples at Mt. Abu, though grander in scale with less intricate, though still impressive carving. A few pilgrims were there, wearing their pilgrim clothing and walking softly, covering their mouths with a cloth so as not to accidentally breathe in and hurt any living creature. Impressive and beautiful, the place and the ceremonies we observed.

From Ranakpur it was through more incredible countryside and small tribal villages by one-lane road- somehow reminiscent of Italy or southern Spain, hilly and a little bit dry, and huts with brick roofs that probably gave it that Mediterannean vibe. Much of the time I leaned out the window trying to capture the perfect photo of a village scene, or at least village woman with the giant nosering. Mostly came up empty handed. From there it was on to Kumbargarh fort, a decent enough fort and palace complex, distinguished from others mostly by the fact that the views were not overlooking smoggy cities, but just rural landscape, other mountains and green valleys below. Home again to Udaipur, more chaotic and western touristy, but still far calmer than the rest of India thus far...

Tomorrow, more on Udaipur, Tuesday's cooking lesson and other observations...

(Pictures, as usual, not mine)

Sitar Hero

2008-07-13T07:47:00.012-04:00

Okay... where was I last, its been a bit of a whirlwind. So, last place we were was Bundi, a really charming small town approximately between Pushkar and Udaipur. This was the first town where people greeted us with "hellos" on the street that weren't immediately followed by "you come to my shop!" which was refreshing to say the least. Very few tourists, and we stayed in an old Haveli (17th century restored mansion), which was very cool and full of interesting antiques and murals and such, and very cheap given that its the off-season. It was the first place where I finally felt relaxed and adjusted in the two weeks that we've been here- I guess India just takes a bit longer to ease into than most places. Bundi has got a wonderful palace and fort at the top of the hill, and winding streets complete with little cupolas and archways that lend it a very exotic feel, almost reminiscent of Chefchauen in Morocco, partly because of the ubiquitous pale blue paint on most of the buildings. We spent some time exploring the palace in the pouring rain, but it did mean no one else was there. Amazing gardens and arched arcades, marble sculptures, and wonderful intricate hand painted murals that were very well preserved inside of the palace. The views were also incredible over the valley and out over serpentine walls snaking outward along the hills on which the palace and fort were set. Many levels to this fort as well, with some dizzying views downward over sheer drops of a few hundred feet- first down walls which grow out of cliffs. Though very Hindu and Mughal in architectural style, there was something reminscent of tibetan architecture like the potala palace just jutting out from cliffs. We also were browbeaten into renting a monkey stick for the fort, albeit for 10cents. "Mot for hit monkey, for scare monkey"- the monkey stick man carefully explained. Well, no monkeys, so I guess it worked?

We wandered around the town a bit because of the rain, and were invited to chai by a kid named Jaypee, who works placing people in jobs with American companies in call cventeres and computer programming positions. His command of English was great, though maybe just his command of dirty words as he spent much of the conversation regaling us with tales of his various conquests of European and Indian women, and his friendship with the local Raj. Still, another genuine non-sales-related conversation was interesting. The guy at the internet there was similarly obsessed with talking about women, and was explaining his internet business to me, which, not surprisingly, was basically a way to get customers for his hashish business.

Dinner we were invited by an extremely charming and charismatic ten-year-old to her mother's homestay house, where we enjoyed the company of the family's children as we ate at a table in their living room. I really cant believe we didnt take pictures of the family and their charming turtle Gobhi (Cauliflower). Excuse, tortoise, the girls were quick to point out that "turtles live in water and are non-veg so they bite you," unlike friendly Gobhi the tortoise. Well, the girls were charming, with excellent English, and the home cookin' was pretty damn good too. Would recommend stopping by if you are ever in Bundi...

So onward by train the next AM to the Chittorgarh fort, the biggest for in Asia apparently. It was extensive- a few kilometers long, full of interesting temples and palaces. I found the temples particularly cool, as most were at least 1000 years old and Hindu temples that had the distinct honeycomb/cornhusk shape and the the bas-relief detailsof the temples at Angkor Wat- also originally Hindu. Also visisted a very pretty, very serene Jain temple. The views over the fort and landscape were also phenomenol, though overall I must confess that fort fatigue is rapidly setting in.

A miserable wait for the bus on the side of the road, followed by a lot of time standing on said bus, before a seat opened up on the way to Udaipur. Though a bunch of kids wanted to clear their seats for me, I really didnt feel like the extended conversation that would result, so stood until I couldnt take it. Finally sat and had everyone on the bus staring for the few minutes I was talking to my neighbor- this must be what being a celebrity is like. We were also mobbed at Chittor by people taking photos, literally blocking our path until we relented.

But Udaipur again felt reasonably relaxed and clean, and least by Indian standards. Also a lot of tourists, which can be sometimes irritating, sometimes just kind of comforting to have around. A great dinner at our really nice hotel with lake views, and up today to visit the city palace. Again, do you really want to read another attempt at describing a palace? Probably not, okay- but let it be stated for the record that Udaipur has by far the best palace of anywhere yet in India. Elaborate murals, integration of Persian and delements like marble carving and inset glasswork. We also got a guide, which meant we explored less, but learned a lot more. Got to see the Raj's car colelction, including his attempt at creating a solar rickshaw, and looked at crazy old armor, including horse armor that disguises the horse as as elephant so that other elephants won't attack. Beautiful marble courtyards and lawns, and just generally an A+ palace. Classy those maharajas were/are.

(Photos: As usual not mine: Bundi Palace, Bundi Palace, Chittor Fort, Angkor-esque temple at Chittor, Udai Palace, Udai palace - pics of udiapur forthcoming in next blog)

Pushy in Pushkar

2008-07-10T08:38:00.011-04:00

Just had what may have been the worst busride of my backpacking life, on an overstuffed 25 year old Tata bus of easily 70 indians in standing room only in the 100 degree heat through the surprisingly humid Indian desert from Ajmer to Bundi. Stuffed into a worthless bench essentially with little or no padding, crammed in next to various extremely sweaty and staring indians. It rivalled 6 hrs in Nicaragua on an ancient chicken bus, 3 to-a-seat, with my backpack in my lap, which surely must have been worse, but perhaps I'm just getting old and dont have the patience or body of my youth. Anyway, Bundi is charming so far, and a bit less filthy than other spots we've visited. So allow to back up to the end of the last entry...

I believe I'd been writing about the dozens of people taking our photos, yes, this continues unabated, but there is an amusing coda to the "look natural" photo at the top of the Jaipur minaret. We arrived home to our hotel from the Amber Palace on the outskirts of town to find the woman who is perpetually reading the Indian paper and sipping tea on the terrace flagging us down. "Excuse me" she asked us in her high Brit accent, "But is this you?" She pointed to a photo in the Jaipur daily newspaper of the two of us "acting natural" with a caption that reads "Foreign tourists enjoying a day out." Unbelievable! Perhaps that explains all the stares- we're just celebrities! Needless to say, we kept the clipping, and took a photo to hopefully upload here soon.

Preceding this, we visited the Amber Palace (in the "top 5" forts and palaces according to our rough guide), which was pretty impressive. Now, I'm going to totally geek ou t here for a moment, and give you the best possible description I can think of for desribing this place, which is like being in a real live level of say, the old PC game Quake- an old castle with stairways and winding passages, towers than overlook gardens and mazes of yellow corridors that we literally got lost in after only a few minutes. (though the video game had less red betel spit on the walls). The whole place had great views over the valley, though like apparently everything in India was in a state of renovation, which meant it wasnt quite at its full glory. Lots of workers shuttling around carrying bowls of cement on their heads, even lengths of pipe balanced! (horizontally mind you).
Back down to Jaipur to leave, with a brief detour at our fave pseudo-american style coffee shop (Cafe Coffee Day)- coffee is hard to come by in these parts, to down some real live fake frappuccinos (aka Iced Eskimos)- and amuse ourselves with the overly elaborate wording and descriptions on the menu. They also always ask if we want ice cream and chocolate sauce on our coffees.

And then a bus onto Pushkar, where backpackers mix with extremely devout locals at a holy lake with 52 ghats, 400 temples and the only shrine to Brahma in India- very important pilgrimage site. And it is charming and beautiful, but it is also quite filthy. Also, far more cows here than anywhere else we've been, which really are quite adorable. Of course, the whole time we're evading various priests trying to lead us to the ghats to open our wallets, which we eventually succumbed to on the last day (more on that below). But it did feel relatively holy and sacred, watching people bathe in the ghats, pilgrims walking through the streets, tons of holy cows everywhere, bells ringing and holy music constantly in the background along with the smell of incense. The temples were reasonably interesting, though one giant one had some casino-like flashing and dancing lights, which seems a bit... I don't know, culturally different. Though I suppose we in America invented the electric Christmas light. We also found out that we had just missed the Dalai awho'd been visiting pushkar that very morning. Oh well.
Breakfast was witness to a massive monkey battle royale, which the restaurant owners son became heavily involved in, complete with menacing his bamboo stick at them, only to have them running screeching into the kitchen and then out again, pounding like thunder across the metal roof of the restaurant.
So we spent the day wandering the hippie-trail streets, evading priests until we were pulled into the ghats (steps to the lake) by an older gentleman who was very friendly. We went through the whole rigmarole with the holy men, threw the flowers and said the blessing, and made the "donation." We then sat aroudn while this older Indian gentleman (Maharaj Shiva- I'm not making that name up) drinking chai and having an extremely awkward though interesting conversation. He is a biology teacher in Ajmer, and comes to Pushkar once a year which he loves for the serenity it brings, and always on the same day. First year he got a wife, the next year a child, the next, another child... He seemed to know everyone in town, then asked us for our email and birthdays, promising to send birthday greetings every year. Oh, and of course he wanted a picture, which we will be emailing him next download. Though awkward, it was nice to finally have a genuine cultural interaction with a local.
Later that evening after a hike up the hill to a temple of one of Brahma's wives, we heard the sounds of an insanely bad marching band, who we then decided to go watch. Turned out that there was a procession to march the local Raj prince down the street, though if I were him I'd think seriously about investing in lessons for my personal band. (And since then, we've seen many more marching bands- seems that hipster trend has made it all the way to India).

The Revenge of Otm Shank... Fatehpur -> Jaipur

2008-07-07T10:46:00.011-04:00

Okay, so where was I when I left off... Ah, Fatehpur Sikri. Took a local transport from Agra to Fatehpur, which was a relatively bumpy and crowded with Indians. Bought some of the local specialty- candied pumpkin, from a street vendor, which was frankly a little odd, and so sweet I thought my teeth would immediately fall out of my head. Rather like the ubiquitous chai here- very tasty, but very very sweet. Food in general delicious. Usually taken on high-perched verandas above the fray and in the breeze, though not above the sounds of mooing cows, fighting cats and monkeys and some degree of street noise. Still, already growing weary of even the best, largest and cheapest all-you-can eat-Indian buffet. Ready for some western food, though the interpretations are usually about as well done as the spelling (sample breakfast menu choice of eggs: scrumbled, poched or freed). My other favorite misspelling was the sign advertising outside a hotel"1 Badroom." But I digress...

The road between Agra and Fatehpur was scenic enough, though again the typical developing world sights of rural poverty and unfinished cement buildings with metal rebar sticking out the top. All kinds of vehicles on the road, and an equally interesting view through the enormous hole in the bus floor as out the window. Anyway, arrived in Fatehpur in the center of the market chaos, still a town where once mughal emperor Akbar had build a semi-utopian city of all faiths, ethnicities and backgrounds. Its a thrilling piece of architecture- also combining muslim, hindu and jain architectural styles with large square pillars, delicate domes and intricately carved details all in the same red stone as the various other forts around. Sadly, the city was built too far from water, and was abandoned almost immediately following Akbar's death.

After visiting the main palace area, we stopped the the mosque- open to the public, and VERY open to the public- touts were out in full force, relentlessly calling out to offer their guide services, handicrafts (just to look! Yeah, no way Sanjay) After avoiding paying shoe-watching fees, and not avoiding knee-covering cloth offered at the gates, we made it inside. It was quite impressive, and still an operating mosque which was interesting, though mostly full of young men touting tourists and holding hands with each other in the way that only muslim men can do. I did like the smooth line of one tout- "You look like movie star!" "Which one" "Bollywood star! (insert bollywood star name here- Otm Shank perhaps?) Ha-Ha. In general, there is actually very little American pop cultural infiltration- less than almost anywhere I've been in fact. Perhaps because the still semi-centralized government and managed economy only cranks out Indian pop culture- quite refreshing in general. People are still thrilled to meet real live Americans though.

Ah well, on and back to the hotel after a jaunt through the market and a few cool pictures there, though I became violently ill upon return to the hotel. I realized too late that rinsing my mouth with indian tap water post-vomiting probably did little to help the ingestion of germs, which haunted me in a different way the following morning. Which reminds me- I've been to many places in asia, and still dont understand the how exactly one makes use of the water bucket in every bathroom.... But I digress....

A wait in the rain by a muddy roadside to catch the bus to Jaipur, and off we went to the Pink City. Long busride later we arrive in so-called pink city, which is really just a part of the city, which may in fact be dirtier than Delhi. Decided to go to India's largest and most famous bollywood cinema to take in a picture, and it was truly an unforgettable experience. The tackiest place on earth, an enormous cinema with a larger than imax screen, thousands of seats, and an amazing purple and green with lots of mirrors decorating theme. Everyone was dressed in their best and thrilled to see the horrific comedy we were endured, (link forthcoming), which did have some truly unforgettable musical numbers, broken up by some truly forgettable semi-comic plot which the audience LOVED. Back home for early sleep (still jetlagged), and up today to see the pink city.

Ah Jaipur, the Pink City. (Pink City Much filthier and less pink than appears in photoshopped guidebook photos). Saw the Jawa Mahal pictured here, a weird palace that is basically a facade, with vertiginous views of the streetscape below, made more nerve-racking by the ultra thin cement railing that look like they'd snap off if you leaned on them. The city palace was none-too-impressive, and we looked at the observatory from the outside while waiting for the rain to clear up. Still, I don't mean to be a downer, it was pretty cool place, just very different than we expected. Did see a cool actual snake charmer, and touristically broke down and got my picture taken with him. What can I say, cobras are badass. Also wandered through some interesting temples and the flower garland peddlers outside the temples made the filth and stench of the street instantly and overwhelmingly change and become beautiful. Many photo ops- which is to say, people asking us to get in their pictures, my favorite was when people asked us at the top of the minaret to not pose but "look natural" while they took a picture.
The most amusing part of the day was probably when O's flip-flop broke on the street, and a man hustled over to us gesticulating wildly. Of course, it turned out he was a street cobbler, and meticulously cut up some rubber, took new thread and sewed the strap back onto the flip flop rendering it usable again! A minor street miracle. Also enjoyed learning that the bizarre guy at the hotel is some sort of washed up Hindu rock star, who's dreams of making it big were dashed, though he enjoys telling any sympathetic ear about his plight. Well, enough for now, tomorrow is a new day, with hopefully Pushkar as mellow as its made out to be. I have to say, India lives up to its overwhelming reputation. Was thinking when our rickshaw driver got lost that I'm feeling a bit nervous about being on my own for the last three weeks of the trip- so who wants to join me on the 20th?

(As usual, pictures here are not my own, but stolen from google images)

Neon Delhi... and Agra...

2008-07-06T10:52:00.007-04:00

After a lovely night in the Yotel London Heathrow, it was a mostly uneventful flight to Helsinki, and from there connecting to Delhi, where we flew over Russia and watched the sunset over the horizon of Afghanistan before landing late in Delhi. From the moment of stepping off the plane it was oppressively hot, and walking out of the AC airport was like opening an oven door, even at midnight. Got to the hotel okay, though it was much less pleasant than it appeared in the guidebook, oh well.

Up the next morning to see Delhi, every bit as overwhelming as expected. Constant haranguing by people to get in their auto-rickshaw (tuk-tuks), and the roads were terrifying to travel on by such a vehicle- the ride dodging peacocks, camels, cows, dogs, pigs, beggars, bicycles, bottomless potholes, open sewers, swerving around semitrucks and buses by inches, with the horn sounding the entire time. And visibility severely reduced by pollution and oppressive y that smogged up the air seemingly reducing visibility to a matter of feet. The smell is overwhelming- fumes of diesel mixed with burning garbage mixed with disinfectant. Another charming addition to the olfactory overwhelm is the novel addition of street urinals everywhere, just little walls that one can go behind literally built onto the sidewalk. (Though more effective than the "no orinar aqui" signs ubiquitously painted around latin america) Just getting down the street by foot is difficult, with the sheer volume of people making moving difficult, not to mention the heat and various nonhuman obstacles.

But Delhi was not all madness. The Red Fort was extremely impressive old fort in Old Delhi, and the place was crawling with monkeys who were carrying their adorable monkey babies, though we kept our distance having heard about various recent monkey attacks. Also visited the Jema Masjid, or old Mosque,- another impressive feat of mughal architecture made of soaring red stone and intricate carving.

But it was on pretty quickly by train to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. Train ride was decent, but somehow lacked the charm of the Darjeeling Limited- though the sweet lime drinks are quite delicious. Arrived in Agra only to find the Taj Mahal closed on Fridays, so visited the Agra Fort, a rambling half mile long fort along the river, from which there were very cool views of the Taj. We also had lovely views of the Taj from the hotel rooftop at "sunset" (or the hour when the smoggy air becomes even more pronouncedly yellow), while listening to the cry of the muezzins from the local mosques while local kids flew kites from rooftops. There are an enormous number of muslims here in spite of the partition fifty years ago, apparently if not for the partition India would have had the largest muslim population in the world. Its amazing what an incredibly diverse country this is, and that is seems to manage to work. Another surprise is the lack of Western tourists, even at the Taj, the Europeans and Japanese tourists made up less than 5% of the total tourists, who were almost exclusively Indian. And boy, people talked about how Indians have no problem staring- these people are practically leaning into the rickshaw to stare, literally taking pictures of us, and even asking if we would stand in their photos!

Everywhere there are stares, and everywhere there are metal detectors, half-assedly manned (or womanned) by the Indian Army- its the most security conscious country I've ever been to, from the constant inspections to the massive amounts of paperwork and ID needed for hotel check ins and even internet use.

The Taj itself was decidedly amazing, living up to expectations even in the rain. A little expensive, but they also give you little booties so you don't scratch the marble its made of. I don't know what more to say about these fairytale forts and places like the Taj Mahal- they are incredible, but words just cant really capture them. Go- its the only way to really get a sense of how insanely cool they are. Though I have the distinct feeling that fort fatigue may be setting in by the end of Rajasthan.

Thought the rain would have that cleansing effect, washing the streets of their grime and garbage, when in reality it seemed to only slightly break the oppression of the heat, but replace it with freshly re-hydrating all of the odors of cow and goat shit all over the streets, bringing it wafting up. It also seems to stop and then turn immediately into humid vapor again, oh well. The people are charming in the rain- the Sikhs fit shower caps neatly over their turbans, and everyone else has matching dark umbrellas hovering over their bright saris. And the women DO all where saris it seems, almost none where pants or Western clothes. Well, enough ramblings for now, tomorrow I write of Fatehpur and Jaipur, and the nation's most famous bollywood moviehouse.

By the way, street vendor of the trip award goes to the man insisting on selling me a ridiculous fake beard outside the red fort "Fake beard! Good for picture, good for picture! Only twenty rupees! Look very real!" And yes, he was proudly wearing one.

(I'll get these pictures fixed stat)

June Books: Journeys to Tibet and Vietnam

2008-06-30T08:30:00.004-04:00

The Open Road: The Global Journey of the 14th Dalai Lama: Pico Iyer
Fascinating look at the Dalai Lama and the entire Tibetan cause. Decidedly not a hagiography of His Holiness, nor a patronizing romanticizing of Tibet, Iyer offers sketches of who the Dalai Lama is as a human being and also as a symbol projected onto both by the West, and a his own people. He has a unique perspective, perhaps because his father had been friends with the man, perhaps in part because of his own heritage as a Western educated Tamil who resides now in Tokyo, he is able to cut through the orientalism/exoticism/and colonial romance that we here in the Western world project onto Tibet. Offering some history combined with contemporary descriptions of Dharamsala and the pluses and perils of modernity, whiel also delving into the current internal politics of the Tibetan government-in-exile, and overall just creating a more more dimensional and complex portrait than I've encountered anywhere before. Highly recommended for its unique perspective on the issue.

Tree of Smoke: Denis Johnson
At long last, one of my favorite authors has won the National Book Award, now for his swirling psychedelic epic of the Vietnam War. Its hard to know where to begin with describing this doorstop of a novel- the writing is beautiful and poetic as one would expect from Johnson, originally a poet. The storyline itself is complex and difficult to follow, with an extensive cast that utilizes and upends conventions and cliches of Vietnam narratives- the madly obsessed colonel, the innocent childlike private, the inscrutable Vietnamese friend- or is he an enemy? But Johnson brings a fresh take on these, and manages to keep the story moving along, sometimes more efficiently than at other times, with all of these characters. Definitely recommended, but definitely a time commitment.

Springtime Books

2008-06-15T11:49:00.004-04:00

The Jaguar Smile- Salman Rushdie
I just found this on a shelf when I was moving, having started but not finished it when I was travelling through Nicaragua. Its a series of vignettes/ essays about Nicaragua, Rushdie went down after the Sandinista revolution overthrew the Somozas, and just when the Contra war was beginning. He ends up talking to an amazing number of national political figures, poets (and the many that were both), and just local regular people in all parts of the country. An amazing time capsule of the 80's as well- so many people discussing with certainty the coming American invasion that never exactly happened. I'd highly recommend this for anyone interested in cold war era Latin American politics, or just travelling through that region. It can also just about almost be read in one sitting. Very well written, very intimate sketches of people and places during this fascinating time in Nicaraguan history.

Carnet de Voyage - Craig Thompson
A patient of mine actually recommended this to me. Its a graphic novel, or more accurately, graphic memoir of the author travelling through Spain, France and mostly Morocco. Though some parts were kind of dry (the minutae of book signings) the parts about travelling alone, the self-consciousness, boredom and anxiety, as well as the adventure. His sketches also captured Morocco, and many of the same places I've been, perfectly.

Teaching Children to Meditate: David Fontana and Ingrid Slack
So apparently I'm not the first on this bandwagon- someone has already written a book very similar to the one I'm trying to do. First let me say, this book is great, very practical, very well written very accessible. Thats exactly the problem, reading it I was horrified by the likeness to the book I'm trying to do. Well, not entirely, but certain parts are just so similar that it almost freaked me out. I suppose this is partly the nature of writing on the same topic. However, their approach is quite different overall, so I think I'm safe as far as my project goes. Anyway, if you do work with kids, this one is worth checking out- unlike most of the others I've encountered on the topic.

Happiness and Misery

2008-06-09T08:09:00.003-04:00

McMafia - Misha Glenny
Okay, the title is godawful and idiotic- BUT it was written by a BBC reporter for a Euro audience, where the name is maybe a little better. This book tells the tale of international crime syndicates in the the wake of globalization in the post-cold war era. These twin events and a few other unfortunate coincidences and unforeseen policy consequences lead to an enormous boom in organized crime, particularly in post-conflict regions. (El Salvador is cited as the first post-conflict semi-organized crime nation). The book was fascinating: traffic in women, caviar and cigarettes in Eastern Europe by post-Soviet gangs, outfitted with Soviet-era weaponry who exported their brand of crime around the world. Chechen gangs who license the terms "chechen" to unaffiliated gangs, just because it makes them more frightening to rivals. The massive influx of non-assimilating secular Russians into Israel corrupting that society and justice system. Nigerian "419" scams that siphon millions from duped Westerners in the name of anti-colonial payback. Colombian cartels expanding their markets to the EU that outsource manufacturing to the Bolivian and Peruvian peasants to the south and work closely with South African gangs to smuggle cocaine into Spain, only to launder their profits its Emirati and Russian banks. Chinese pirates who make imitation Mercedes, and Japanese Yakuza who operate with impunity, serving as a de facto justice system in Japan, where they legally rent offices and advertise.
The book takes a decidedly European bent, written as it is for that audience. The helplessness of police is quite frightening, with all the changes in technology and new routes opened by "free trade." The author also squarely places blame in part on Western desire for cheap tax-free liquor and smokes, not to mention prostitutes and cocaine. At the same time, the behavior of the criminals is rationalized by anti-colonial and anti-western sentiment, which is fanned by criminal leaders who play the robin hood role. Corrupt leaders particularly play to these sentiments, meanwhile selling off their nation's assets and pocketing the profits as cheaply as their colonial forebearers.

Authentic Happiness- Martin Seligman
Slightly disappointing, and not a whole lot of new ideas in here, though a great introduction I suppose to the world of positive psychology. Seligman is right on with his facts and figures, as one would expect a former APA president to be, and does have some great demonstrative anecdotes, explanations and applications for the research on happiness. However, I finished feeling as if I got a little more of him than I really needed, and he was a fairly narcissistic guy for such a "feel-good" field of positive psychology.

eatmorebooks

Where I've Been

Singapore: A Fine City Indeed

Yangon Redux

Begin Bagan

The Road to Mandalay...

Yangon Day One

Labuanbajo and Back to Bali

Komodo and The Journey East...

Gilis and Beyond...

Bali

April, May Books

February / March Books:

January Books

November/December Books

September/October Books

More Recently Read and Reviewed Books: June Through August

A Few Chengdu's and Chengdon'ts, Pandas and Bamboo

Grumpy Monks, Monkey Attacks and More on China's Holiest Mountain

Hello Dali, Goodbye Kunming, (Hello Chengdu)

Lijiang is Gorges or How I Learned to Love Commie Naxis and Wu-Tang Cola

Confucian Confusion

No Rest 'till Everest

Yakity Yak- Don't Talk Back (especially not to the People's Liberation Army) or You Must be Jokhang

Beijing to Lhasa

I < 3 BJ

More Ice Cream Experiments: (Creamsicle, Dulce)

March / April Books - Pop Sociology and More...

February / March Books: Food and Funnymen

January Books

Resumption of Recipes: Thai Iced Tea Ice Cream

San Gil and Environs

Santa Marta, Minca, Taganga

Islas

Cartagena de las Indias

11/5/08

Autumn Books

Summer Books

Hello Dalai... Goodbye India

Borderline...

Golden Temple Express Mail

No Way Norgay...

Julay Julay.... (or The Baby Lama Drama - Not to be confused with Peruvian entry the Baby Llama Drama)

Better to be Mr. Late than the Late Mr...

Yakity Yak

Udaipur -> Delhi

Walk Softly and Carry a Monkey Stick

Sitar Hero

Pushy in Pushkar

The Revenge of Otm Shank... Fatehpur -> Jaipur

Neon Delhi... and Agra...

June Books: Journeys to Tibet and Vietnam

Springtime Books

Happiness and Misery