Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The Sunderbans
I went looking for a tiger. The Sunderbans - the world's largest mangrove forest - contains the planet's largest concentration of Royal Bengal Tigers and they have a fearsome reputation for eating the locals, so I figured my odds were good. The Royal Bengal Tiger - I just wanted to see one.
I made the journey from Kolkata on Wednesday, January 21st on what would be a two day excursion to the Sunderban Tiger Camp. We - our small band of tiger seekers - were driven two and a half hours to a boat. As we drove, the transformation of the Indian landscape was incredible. The city of Kolkata became fields of brick makers, the brick makers became rice paddies, and then - once on the boat that would take another two and a half hours - the rice paddies became island villages where women in bright saris and men on bicycles traversed the brick lanes that run along the waterfront.
We reached camp around 3:00 - we had left Kolkata at 9:00. Audrey, a Florida born med student, and I were shown to our tent, which was unlike any tent I've ever stayed in. Apart from the canvas walls, it possessed no tentlike attributes. The structure had electricity, ceiling fans, a tin roof, an attached bath with an overhead shower and sit down toilet, and four single beds. Tent?
After settling in and dining buffet style in the camp's dining room - again, someone serving me tea complete with cup and saucer is unlike any "camping" experience I've ever had - we congregated back on the boat for a trip to the Sunderban Tiger Reserve's Visitor's Center. The Center turned out to be pretty hokey - tiger intestines in formaldehyde wasn't exactly what I was expecting - but the night concluded well with a Folk Dance presentation back at camp. Seven women danced to flute, drums, and singing. At one point, a tiger jumped out of the bushes, but we quickly discerned it to be only one of the dancers in a suit. Not all of us could contain a squeal though.
The next morning was an early one. 5:30 am tea and on the boat by 6:30. We slide around mangroved islands all morning, silently looking. The day before, our guide had showed us an article from that morning's newspaper reporting that a tiger had recently wandered into a village not far from camp. We stared hopefully into the bush - but to no avail. The journey, however, did not disappoint. We did manage to see a great number of luminous Kingfishers, a wild boar, several spotted deer, and - most excitingly - an animal our guide called a leopard cat, but which I would describe as an ocelot, sitting quietly on a forested bank. No tiger spotting though. Oh well. As India has a great number of tiger spotting opportunities, I shall continue to hope and look forward to my next excursion.
I made the journey from Kolkata on Wednesday, January 21st on what would be a two day excursion to the Sunderban Tiger Camp. We - our small band of tiger seekers - were driven two and a half hours to a boat. As we drove, the transformation of the Indian landscape was incredible. The city of Kolkata became fields of brick makers, the brick makers became rice paddies, and then - once on the boat that would take another two and a half hours - the rice paddies became island villages where women in bright saris and men on bicycles traversed the brick lanes that run along the waterfront.
We reached camp around 3:00 - we had left Kolkata at 9:00. Audrey, a Florida born med student, and I were shown to our tent, which was unlike any tent I've ever stayed in. Apart from the canvas walls, it possessed no tentlike attributes. The structure had electricity, ceiling fans, a tin roof, an attached bath with an overhead shower and sit down toilet, and four single beds. Tent?
After settling in and dining buffet style in the camp's dining room - again, someone serving me tea complete with cup and saucer is unlike any "camping" experience I've ever had - we congregated back on the boat for a trip to the Sunderban Tiger Reserve's Visitor's Center. The Center turned out to be pretty hokey - tiger intestines in formaldehyde wasn't exactly what I was expecting - but the night concluded well with a Folk Dance presentation back at camp. Seven women danced to flute, drums, and singing. At one point, a tiger jumped out of the bushes, but we quickly discerned it to be only one of the dancers in a suit. Not all of us could contain a squeal though.
The next morning was an early one. 5:30 am tea and on the boat by 6:30. We slide around mangroved islands all morning, silently looking. The day before, our guide had showed us an article from that morning's newspaper reporting that a tiger had recently wandered into a village not far from camp. We stared hopefully into the bush - but to no avail. The journey, however, did not disappoint. We did manage to see a great number of luminous Kingfishers, a wild boar, several spotted deer, and - most excitingly - an animal our guide called a leopard cat, but which I would describe as an ocelot, sitting quietly on a forested bank. No tiger spotting though. Oh well. As India has a great number of tiger spotting opportunities, I shall continue to hope and look forward to my next excursion.
Why I'm Loving India
I stepped off the train in Kolkata after 10:00 pm on Sunday, January 18th and already I knew - I was going to like India.
First and foremost, there were women. Like, out on the street. After dark. Wearing pants and short sleeves. Walking together or - can you believe - by themselves. Freedom! Freeeeeeeedom! I felt like running down the street singing. So very, very cool.
Second, there was Sasha - I'm going to call him Alex because Sasha makes me laugh. We met going through immigration at the border. He's from Germany and had been visiting family in Dhaka. Another traveler! My entire stay in Bangladesh I had seen one. One! And that includes my time at the train station. We shared a cab to Sudder Street where I discovered reason for my liking number three,
A dorm room! A room where men and women sleep - in the same room. A place where one can meet people, share travel experiences, get useful information from people who have been where you plan to go... I didn't even much care that it almost exactly resembled Annie's orphanage. For $1.50 a night, one can overlook aesthetics. Awesome.
OK, so at this point I'm pretty ecstatic - but it only gets better. The next morning, I took a ride on the Metro. I love efficient, coherent systems of public transportation. For less than 10 cents I rode downtown and stepped up and out to find reason for my liking number five,
Neoclassical Imperial Colossal Architecture. Just hanging out. Grandness in all its terracottad, imbedded Corinthian columned, domed glory functioning in such humble employments as post offices, FedExs, and fruit vendors. Interesting - and a little disheartening - but cool to look at, have nearly unrestricted access to, and wander faceup amongst for hours. So I did.
My day concluded just as blissfully. Dinner at a restaurant on Sudder Street with Beth - fellow traveler met in the dorm - and Alex. Paneer Butter Masala, Roti, and Orange Lassis, all for a grand total of under $2.00, accompanied with laughter filled conversation about travel mishaps and hopes. Alex wants to make it all the way back to Germany overland. Good luck in Pakistan was all I could offer. For him - a man who's father is a Muslim - it will be different. Infinitely easier. For me - I plan to continue enjoying India.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Bangladesh - The Glass
There is a glass of my experience. OK - so there isn't, but work with me here. I've never been to a Muslim country before. I've heard a lot about them, I've read about them, I've studied their architectural properties, but I've never been in one - as me - alone. However, in order to maintain optimism, I'd like to propose that my glass - which you are all faithfully imagining - is both half empty and half full.
Take an everyday situation like me going to a restaurant. Though I will be led to the back of the restaurant and seated in a curtained off area labeled "females," I will also get to eat curry dishes for less than a dollar. See, glass half empty and half full.
Just like my choice in wardrobe. As the clothes need to cover everything I get to select so many more of them to wear all at once. Besides, when else have I had an excuse to wear a floor length dress to go to the market?
Also, the exclusivity of the Islamic faith in regards to whom is allowed into places of worship is teaching me to more appreciate the accessibility of Christianity. Everyone and anyone can go into a church. How cool is that? I'm also learning to accept the 5am call to prayer as a free wake up call. Glass half full.
By far though, the biggest drainer of the glass and hardest thing to optimize is the staring. Bangladesh is the most densely populated country on the planet. It's population of 140 million - that's half the population of the United States - live in an area half the size of Oregon. There are people - everywhere. And they are all staring at you. Blatantly, indignantly, turning and pointing, gap-mouthed staring. My guidebook lists the following phrases in English and Bangla on its cover: Hello, Thank you, Yes/No, I don't understand Bangla, and Please stop staring at me. Like saying that will help. The glass half full argument is that I finally get to live out my dream of obtaining celebrity status. On any given day I have the draw of Barack Obama, Oprah, and Angelina Jolie all rolled into one. But really, after about five minutes, all I want to do is hide. I have built up some serious stamina though for that day when I finally do become a star.
Bangladesh is what it is. And to me, even in the face of my optimism, it is overpowering. Glass half full or half empty - I'm leaving.
Take an everyday situation like me going to a restaurant. Though I will be led to the back of the restaurant and seated in a curtained off area labeled "females," I will also get to eat curry dishes for less than a dollar. See, glass half empty and half full.
Just like my choice in wardrobe. As the clothes need to cover everything I get to select so many more of them to wear all at once. Besides, when else have I had an excuse to wear a floor length dress to go to the market?
Also, the exclusivity of the Islamic faith in regards to whom is allowed into places of worship is teaching me to more appreciate the accessibility of Christianity. Everyone and anyone can go into a church. How cool is that? I'm also learning to accept the 5am call to prayer as a free wake up call. Glass half full.
By far though, the biggest drainer of the glass and hardest thing to optimize is the staring. Bangladesh is the most densely populated country on the planet. It's population of 140 million - that's half the population of the United States - live in an area half the size of Oregon. There are people - everywhere. And they are all staring at you. Blatantly, indignantly, turning and pointing, gap-mouthed staring. My guidebook lists the following phrases in English and Bangla on its cover: Hello, Thank you, Yes/No, I don't understand Bangla, and Please stop staring at me. Like saying that will help. The glass half full argument is that I finally get to live out my dream of obtaining celebrity status. On any given day I have the draw of Barack Obama, Oprah, and Angelina Jolie all rolled into one. But really, after about five minutes, all I want to do is hide. I have built up some serious stamina though for that day when I finally do become a star.
Bangladesh is what it is. And to me, even in the face of my optimism, it is overpowering. Glass half full or half empty - I'm leaving.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Dreams
"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ' We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal [that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.]'"
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
[The Writers of the Declaration of Independence]
[The Writers of the Declaration of Independence]
Such great big dreams.
"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ' We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal [that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.]'"
"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ' We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal [that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.]'"
"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ' We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal [that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.]'"
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
[The Writers of the Declaration of Independence]
[The Writers of the Declaration of Independence]
Such great big dreams.
"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ' We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal [that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.]'"
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
[The Writers of the Declaration of Independence]
[The Writers of the Declaration of Independence]
Such
Great
Big
Dreams.
Great
Big
Dreams.
Dhaka
Imagine a plain flat as glass. Make this plain the earth. Cover it with concrete. From this, build up seven stories - concrete plains supported by concrete pillars, brick infill. The building goes as far as you can imagine in all directions.
Now, loose a thousand God-sized children on its roof each armed with a marker. Some draw lines as thick as arteries, others as thin as a pencil scratch. Erase the children, but leave the lines. Plunge them to the floor - these are the roads of Dhaka.
Put yourself in a road. You're small - the buildings stretch upward. Fill every occupiable place with a person. Every single place. Not a big person, a smallish person - rarely much taller than you. They all have brown skin and black hair and are wearing clothes. Lots of clothes. Clothes that stretch to cover their ankles, wrists, and heads.
The language they speak is scrolled on all the buildings. You can't read it - not even the numbers. But, as if in response to your desperation English-speakers were here before you and left their language, scattered like breadcrumbs. You follow. Weave your way through the thousands of rickshaws, the buses, the taxis, to find them - International hotel, bakery...
You collect them, slowly. Picking your way through the gongs on of a place that's something out of the imagination - out of yours.
Welcome to Dhaka.
Now, loose a thousand God-sized children on its roof each armed with a marker. Some draw lines as thick as arteries, others as thin as a pencil scratch. Erase the children, but leave the lines. Plunge them to the floor - these are the roads of Dhaka.
Put yourself in a road. You're small - the buildings stretch upward. Fill every occupiable place with a person. Every single place. Not a big person, a smallish person - rarely much taller than you. They all have brown skin and black hair and are wearing clothes. Lots of clothes. Clothes that stretch to cover their ankles, wrists, and heads.
The language they speak is scrolled on all the buildings. You can't read it - not even the numbers. But, as if in response to your desperation English-speakers were here before you and left their language, scattered like breadcrumbs. You follow. Weave your way through the thousands of rickshaws, the buses, the taxis, to find them - International hotel, bakery...
You collect them, slowly. Picking your way through the gongs on of a place that's something out of the imagination - out of yours.
Welcome to Dhaka.
Snorkeling
Two days ago, I was sitting on Volivoli beach reading a book. I'd been at Volivoli for a few days and quite like its beach. The day was hot, the water bright-blue clear, and the little stripped fish that swim between your legs if you sit just off the sandbar were out in schools.
Like the previous day, one of the diving instructors walked past me, said Hello, and asked if I'd like to join the dive party that afternoon. Can I snorkel, I asked. He nodded. So, unlike the previous day, I agreed.
I have a hearty respect for the sea and all the creatures in it - particularly the ones that can eat me. Sometimes this "respect" borders on fear. I had been confronted with said respect the day before when I decided to kayak out to Nananu Island. You can see the island from Volivoli and it was only supposed to take 45 minutes each way.
It started out fine. I was paddling leisurely and very much enjoying watching the world below, but then - then the bottom dropped out beyond the reef and there was only blue below my kayak. Deep, dark, impenetrable blue. And, then, all alone out there in the vastness, my mind began to wander to all the large and hungry things that might be under my kayak, and I was once again reminded of my very hearty respect for the sea.
But today - or two days ago rather - was a new day, and free snorkeling in the South Pacific is not something one turns down over something silly like a dislike of sharks. So, I said Yes - with a smile - and boarded the boat.
We motored out to deep water - four divers, two instructors, and me. We stopped and anchored. Snorkelers first, he said. I shuffled to the back of the boat feeling rather under-equipped with just my snorkel and fins, took a deep breath - or maybe a couple - and slid feet first into the deep, dark, blue.
It was so worth it. I opened my eyes to a world I had never seen before. Sure I had snorkeled around Mana, but this - this was something else. The coral was alive - the stuff you see footage of in Nature documentaries. It was built up in what appeared to be large rocks - I'm unsure - but each "chunk" of coral was separated by a space that ranged in width from a small channel to meters and meters of open water. I couldn't see the sea floor. The divers too disappeared as they descended, and I was left to my own exploration, though I had been warned not to stray too far from the boat.
I swam from group to group. Whilst peering down into the darkness of a channel I saw movement and from below came a school of my-sized fish with large silver eyes. I bobbed on the surface staring. They changed course to avoid me and continued on - my only scare for the day. That and the jellyfish who turned out to be not at all dangerous and in fact very friendly. I would later learn from the divers that they did encounter a reef shark, but it "wasn't very big."
Like the previous day, one of the diving instructors walked past me, said Hello, and asked if I'd like to join the dive party that afternoon. Can I snorkel, I asked. He nodded. So, unlike the previous day, I agreed.
I have a hearty respect for the sea and all the creatures in it - particularly the ones that can eat me. Sometimes this "respect" borders on fear. I had been confronted with said respect the day before when I decided to kayak out to Nananu Island. You can see the island from Volivoli and it was only supposed to take 45 minutes each way.
It started out fine. I was paddling leisurely and very much enjoying watching the world below, but then - then the bottom dropped out beyond the reef and there was only blue below my kayak. Deep, dark, impenetrable blue. And, then, all alone out there in the vastness, my mind began to wander to all the large and hungry things that might be under my kayak, and I was once again reminded of my very hearty respect for the sea.
But today - or two days ago rather - was a new day, and free snorkeling in the South Pacific is not something one turns down over something silly like a dislike of sharks. So, I said Yes - with a smile - and boarded the boat.
We motored out to deep water - four divers, two instructors, and me. We stopped and anchored. Snorkelers first, he said. I shuffled to the back of the boat feeling rather under-equipped with just my snorkel and fins, took a deep breath - or maybe a couple - and slid feet first into the deep, dark, blue.
It was so worth it. I opened my eyes to a world I had never seen before. Sure I had snorkeled around Mana, but this - this was something else. The coral was alive - the stuff you see footage of in Nature documentaries. It was built up in what appeared to be large rocks - I'm unsure - but each "chunk" of coral was separated by a space that ranged in width from a small channel to meters and meters of open water. I couldn't see the sea floor. The divers too disappeared as they descended, and I was left to my own exploration, though I had been warned not to stray too far from the boat.
I swam from group to group. Whilst peering down into the darkness of a channel I saw movement and from below came a school of my-sized fish with large silver eyes. I bobbed on the surface staring. They changed course to avoid me and continued on - my only scare for the day. That and the jellyfish who turned out to be not at all dangerous and in fact very friendly. I would later learn from the divers that they did encounter a reef shark, but it "wasn't very big."
Kava
I raise the coconut husk to my lips and close my eyes. Swallow, just swallow. I will my body to obey me and the liquid goes down in three dirty gulps. I open my eyes, hand back the shell, clap three times, and try to look thankful as I say Vinaka . Another coconut is filled - a larger one as it is being given to a male - and distributed to a man across the circle from me who says Bula with a wary smile, claps once, and raised his glass. As I sit watching the back of my tongue and throat go numb.
We're drinking kava, a drink made from a pulverized root, which when mixed with water makes a soupy, muddy-colored liquid. The mixture is prepared in a wooden bowl with three legs and is drank to welcome visitors, in celebration of an important event, or just plain for fun. The participants sit around the bowl in a circle, with the chief opposite the server. The server, who prepares the kava, distributes coconut halves full to the participants in order of rank, beginning with the chief.
Thus far, I've participated in two kava ceremonies and in each have drank at least three cups of kava. I am now actively avoiding participation in any others.
We're drinking kava, a drink made from a pulverized root, which when mixed with water makes a soupy, muddy-colored liquid. The mixture is prepared in a wooden bowl with three legs and is drank to welcome visitors, in celebration of an important event, or just plain for fun. The participants sit around the bowl in a circle, with the chief opposite the server. The server, who prepares the kava, distributes coconut halves full to the participants in order of rank, beginning with the chief.
Thus far, I've participated in two kava ceremonies and in each have drank at least three cups of kava. I am now actively avoiding participation in any others.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
I'm OoooooK
Cyclones are fun. Hope my flight gets off the ground tomorrow. Sorry this is short - there's not much power to go around.
Will write from Bangladesh. Hopefully.
Brianna
Made it and - Praise the Lord - found the Internet! The first two new blogs were written, but not posted, in Fiji. Dhaka begins the Bangladesh lot.
Enjoy,
Brianna
Will write from Bangladesh. Hopefully.
Brianna
Made it and - Praise the Lord - found the Internet! The first two new blogs were written, but not posted, in Fiji. Dhaka begins the Bangladesh lot.
Enjoy,
Brianna
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