Whelp, I've been home for a week now and it feels pretty freaking amazing. Favorite experiences have been walking down the breakfast cereal aisle at the Kelso Safeway, showing my knees in public, and using my very own spotless, Western-style bathroom for as long as I pleased.
I've updated the map to show what actually happened, and have uploaded my final batch of pictures. I'd like to thank you for reading, for your thoughts, and for your prayers. I had an amazing trip, but when the road grew weary it meant a lot to me to know you were there supporting me. Thank you.
Yours Sincerely,
Brianna Craft
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
My Last New City
That's right! Can you believe it? My months of adventure are coming to a close. I'm in Beijing and this will be the last place in which I lay my head before I return to the United States of America.
Arrived Thursday, May 21st to this city of monumental attractions. Thus far, I've walked myself to exhaustion trying to see all the secrets of the Forbidden City, the charms of the Summer Palace, the turrets of the Great Wall, and the altars of the Temple of Heaven. I know no other modern city like Beijing. These 1000 year old historic icons are all easily reached by bus or subway. My $3 a night hostel is located in a hutong a ten minute walk from both Tiananmen Square and a glistening shopping center.
So many things converge here/clash here it's almost comical. On my way to the bus stop, I pass a sex shop rather overtly displaying it's products and yet I can't update my blog at an internet cafe - as of mid-May you must be registered with the police to post your opinion online. In the hutong, mothers carry babies with the crotches cut out of their pants past street carts and one-story, gray tile houses on roads too narr ow for cars. When they reach the multilane street of Meishi, they can board a brand new city bus equipped with televisions and handicap capacities that announces stops in both Chinese and English.
Today is Thursday - my last full day. Plane leaves tomorrow afternoon and will land in the US of A the evening of Friday, May 29th. My bag's packed, my money's spent, and I'm ready. I'm ready to come home.
Climate Change Take II
It's time for another installment of Brianna's Climate Change observations. Whereas my last installment addressed conversations I have had concerning the issue, I find that this time around observations are primarily what I have to share.
We begin in Fiji, where the water is hot. At school, we learn that as the atmosphere warms so does the ocean and this warming has all kinds of interesting effects. But off the Washington coast - in Seattle - this is difficult to gauge. The water's still pretty darn cold. It's not in Fiji. It's hot. That's really what struck me most - that's what I remember. The water off Mana was hot - like bath water, like at some points unpleasant to be in - hot. The coral was dead or dying, and I could feel why. And then the cyclone hit, and feed. It needed no further encouragement. Warmer water means more energy. The more energy in the water, the stronger the storm. This particular one grew to become Tropical Depression 04F of the 2008 - 2009 South Pacific cyclone season. I've never experienced a tropical storm before. It kept us up at night, stranded us - people missed buses, missed flights. People died. It wasn't even a "serious" storm. I bet it didn't even make the news back home.
As to the effect of warmer oceans the world is most worried about - rising sea levels - the observations I made on that account where made primarily in Bangladesh. I never did make it to Tuvalu, and the Maldives were just plain out of my price range before this trip even began. But of all places, Bangladesh is the place to witness how many people would be devastated by a rise in sea level. Millions. It makes New Orleans seem trifling - and it wasn't. But if we claim to have learned anything from witnessing the inequality of demographic most affected in our own delta, we should open our eyes and see the people who - on a world stage - shall also be injustly treated. No one has made evacuation preparations for them either, and no one really seems to care, or worse, think any need to be made.
India was different. Bigger, badder, more affluent, more noticable - different. If it hasn't already, India will surpass China as the world's most populous country. In turn, - if it hasn't already - China will surpass the United States in carbon dioxide emissions. I don't expect India will be far behind on that count either. They are both building. China much more noticeably, but both seem to think the more concrete in the air and cars on the ground, the better. When I arrived in China, I marveled at the width of the roads. I only noticed because they were nearly empty. New eight lane roadways with nothing but a few taxis. They've been built for the cars China hopes to have, and soon. One third of the world's concrete is in China. Everywhere you look something is going up. And there's no talk of conservation, the environment, even of eco-tourism.
In Japan, there were posters about carbon dioxide emissions. After signing of the Kyoto Protocol, Japan has taken some major steps toward reduction, but their total is till greater than all of Africa's - I read that on a poster reminding me to turn off the lights in my hostel. I've seen nothing like that in China. India at least gave lip service to a "green" infrastructure - mainly to accommodate eco-friendly tourism, but at least it's there. China just builds on. Another United States of America in carbon emissions. Oh man, does something need to be done.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Xi'an - Land of Buried Warriors
I went to see those famous on Saturday, May 16th. Qin Shi Huang's Army of Terracotta Warriors unearthed after standing guard over his body two thousand years.Each - thousands - of the lifesize soldiers is unique. Their face, hairstyle, armor distinct. I thought the Pharaohs claimed the prize for obsessive preparation for the afterlife - but this guy replicated his entire army. Horses and everything. I wonder what he thought was waiting for him on the other side.
Those not famous I saw on Monday, May 18th. The tomb of Emperor Jingdi. As he buried terracotta replicas of his entire court - livestock and all - the figures stand at only about two feet. The Emperor himself lies under a massive earthen mound in a burial complex also containing the tomb of his favorite empress.I climbed her mound to survey the landscape, trying to imagine what it must have looked like: tens of thousands of workers digging under a midday sun not dulled by pollution; artisans molding, firing, painting, dressing their earthen representations; eunuchs and the women of the court overseeing their progress from shaded places, their silken robes billowing around them.
It just seems too ridiculous a thought to be believed by anyone - that you can take it all with you. They certainly did try though. I left, amazed by their effort.
Those not famous I saw on Monday, May 18th. The tomb of Emperor Jingdi. As he buried terracotta replicas of his entire court - livestock and all - the figures stand at only about two feet. The Emperor himself lies under a massive earthen mound in a burial complex also containing the tomb of his favorite empress.I climbed her mound to survey the landscape, trying to imagine what it must have looked like: tens of thousands of workers digging under a midday sun not dulled by pollution; artisans molding, firing, painting, dressing their earthen representations; eunuchs and the women of the court overseeing their progress from shaded places, their silken robes billowing around them.
It just seems too ridiculous a thought to be believed by anyone - that you can take it all with you. They certainly did try though. I left, amazed by their effort.
Shanghai's Famous Dumplings
I'm standing in a line of about thirty people. It moves relatively fast - about seven people to every cloud of steam that escapes the open windows. The smell this cloud releases is torturous. We're waiting for food.I've yet to write about the food of China. And - as you can imagine - food's on my mind at the moment, so now seems to be a perfect opportunity. I must begin by saying that with the exception of sweet and sour chicken no meal I've consumed in China has even remotely resembled anything we in America call "Chinese" food. It's all been much, much better.
The first meal was one of the best. Met two American girls while checking-in in Chengdu. They were in China studying Chinese and happened to be on their way to dinner. They ordered while I sat still groggy from the flight and watched cups of tea, bowls of rice, and steaming dishes issue forth from the kitchen.Pick up your rice bowl and spin the Lazy Susan to claim your selection. Greens in a tangy sauce, corn, chicken with chili and peanuts, tofu in spicy gravy, sauteed eggplant and green beans - all have passed from my rice bowl to my chopsticks to my mouth with great satisfaction. But restaurant dining is but a small portion of the Chinese school of cuisine. I prefer food served on the street.
I hold this preference for several reasons. First, restaurants for a single, non-Mandarin speaker can be rather awkward. I have "ordered" multiple times by taking a waiter around the restaurant and pointing at whosever's dish looks most appealing. A street cart eliminates this awkwardness. They only serve one or two things, and pointing is the standard ordering practice. Also, you watch them make whatever it is that you're about to eat - which is fun in and of itself - and sometimes you can get them to leave out ingredients that you're pretty sure you could do without. Favorite purchases have been: the spicy meat kabobs of Sichuan; noodles with greens in a sweet and sour soy sauce; and the fried duck egg pancake with red chili. Another bonus to street food is that I've yet to purchase anything that costs more than a dollar.
But now I'm in line to sample xiaolongboa, Shanghai's famous dumpling. Wait - I'm up. 12 yuan (7 yuan = 1 dollar) for one bamboo steamer full. Oh - they're hot. Wow, but good! They're small and stuffed with meat and you dip them - they're still slippery, so it's though with chopsticks - in a tangy brown sauce. Mmmmmmm. Alright, I'll catch you later. These dumplings need my full attention.
The first meal was one of the best. Met two American girls while checking-in in Chengdu. They were in China studying Chinese and happened to be on their way to dinner. They ordered while I sat still groggy from the flight and watched cups of tea, bowls of rice, and steaming dishes issue forth from the kitchen.Pick up your rice bowl and spin the Lazy Susan to claim your selection. Greens in a tangy sauce, corn, chicken with chili and peanuts, tofu in spicy gravy, sauteed eggplant and green beans - all have passed from my rice bowl to my chopsticks to my mouth with great satisfaction. But restaurant dining is but a small portion of the Chinese school of cuisine. I prefer food served on the street.
I hold this preference for several reasons. First, restaurants for a single, non-Mandarin speaker can be rather awkward. I have "ordered" multiple times by taking a waiter around the restaurant and pointing at whosever's dish looks most appealing. A street cart eliminates this awkwardness. They only serve one or two things, and pointing is the standard ordering practice. Also, you watch them make whatever it is that you're about to eat - which is fun in and of itself - and sometimes you can get them to leave out ingredients that you're pretty sure you could do without. Favorite purchases have been: the spicy meat kabobs of Sichuan; noodles with greens in a sweet and sour soy sauce; and the fried duck egg pancake with red chili. Another bonus to street food is that I've yet to purchase anything that costs more than a dollar.
But now I'm in line to sample xiaolongboa, Shanghai's famous dumpling. Wait - I'm up. 12 yuan (7 yuan = 1 dollar) for one bamboo steamer full. Oh - they're hot. Wow, but good! They're small and stuffed with meat and you dip them - they're still slippery, so it's though with chopsticks - in a tangy brown sauce. Mmmmmmm. Alright, I'll catch you later. These dumplings need my full attention.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Swine Flu
I knew we were in trouble when I saw the booties. Anyone can wear a body suit, a face mask, gloves, and goggles - but when you think it necessary to cover your feet, you're taking something pretty seriously.
We'd been docked in Shanghai for over an hour. They wouldn't let us off the boat. I had my temperature taken, was asked whether I'd been in close contact with pigs recently - I had to suppress a rather strong desire to ask whether they considered digestion close contact -, and was made to sign a form stating I had not had any physical symptom of any possible illness for the past two weeks.
But Amy - poor Amy - wasn't feeling well. She'd complained of a headache and dizziness our second day aboard, but I didn't attribute it to anything but the stuffiness of our room and the fact that we were out at sea. She left in an ambulance with the man wearing the booties, a mask over her face. Poor girl.
After she left, we waited. Those quarantined by the Japanese had been all over the news. I really didn't want to spend another week on the boat, so I sat in the lobby with the other foreigners wondering what the heck was going on. Half an hour later, as if by some announcement - probably in Chinese - everyone filed off the boat.
Welcome back to China.
We'd been docked in Shanghai for over an hour. They wouldn't let us off the boat. I had my temperature taken, was asked whether I'd been in close contact with pigs recently - I had to suppress a rather strong desire to ask whether they considered digestion close contact -, and was made to sign a form stating I had not had any physical symptom of any possible illness for the past two weeks.
But Amy - poor Amy - wasn't feeling well. She'd complained of a headache and dizziness our second day aboard, but I didn't attribute it to anything but the stuffiness of our room and the fact that we were out at sea. She left in an ambulance with the man wearing the booties, a mask over her face. Poor girl.
After she left, we waited. Those quarantined by the Japanese had been all over the news. I really didn't want to spend another week on the boat, so I sat in the lobby with the other foreigners wondering what the heck was going on. Half an hour later, as if by some announcement - probably in Chinese - everyone filed off the boat.
Welcome back to China.
Osaka
They drove a van. A dark green member of the family. Toto - a miniature dotson - at the helm. Minako Mizoguchi's family, my guides to Osaka for my final days in Japan.
As a student, she had come to California to learn English. She stayed with a host family. Now - though she says a good deal of her English knowledge is gone - she's opened her home up to students. I really appreciated it.
The things we saw were pretty neat: the Umeda Sky Bridge, Osaka Castle, Shitennoji Temple, the Osaka Aquarium. The things we ate were amazing - all except the Takoyaki (octopus balls), which I did not enjoy. But what I most liked was just being part of a family again before I set off once more to sea.
As a student, she had come to California to learn English. She stayed with a host family. Now - though she says a good deal of her English knowledge is gone - she's opened her home up to students. I really appreciated it.
The things we saw were pretty neat: the Umeda Sky Bridge, Osaka Castle, Shitennoji Temple, the Osaka Aquarium. The things we ate were amazing - all except the Takoyaki (octopus balls), which I did not enjoy. But what I most liked was just being part of a family again before I set off once more to sea.
A Week in Kyoto
Day 1- Setsuko walked me to the station and I was off. Bound for Kyoto, negotiation site of a protocol studied in universities the world over by environmental studies students. I was looking forward to it.
Arrived half an hour later at Kyoto Station, where the architecture student in me ran wild. It's intense, a design studio professor's dream. I spent the better part of that rainy day wandering through, over, and under it. Google image it - it's worth it.
Day 2 - On to Kyoto's historic side, with a tour of the Imperial Palace. Kyoto served as the capital of Japan beginning in the 8th century, and was the home of the Japanese imperial family from 794 to 1868 - so says my guidebook.
I can tell you that the palace is beautiful in it's minimalist perfection. The gravel is combed and the trees obsessively manicured.
Day 3 - Got my first glimpse of Japanese castle architecture at Nijo jo - castle of the first Tokugawa shogun. This guy must have had to watch his back. The floors are designed to squeak and hidden chambers concealed bodyguards prepared to defend their lord at any moment.
I then went to a temple on a hill. It was warm and the walk steep, so I sat on some shaded steps to picnic. As I was finishing, two of the people I had most wanted to see while in Kyoto began to - slowly - descend the stairs opposite me.
Geishas! Painted, kimono clad "artists". This surprise meeting wouldn't be my only on that day. Back at the hostel - over dinner - met two fellow travelers. Together we went to a show at Gion Corner. Among the acts was a Kyomai - traditional Kyoto kimono dance - performance. The English program instructed us to enjoy the elegant movements of the dancers. I did.
Day 4 - Now that I had taken the prep course, I was prepared for advanced Japanese castle architecture: Himeji. Rode the train for an hour and there it was. Oh man - the Japan of fairytales and childhood imaginings still stands on its original stone foundations in this place.
See the pictures - my words can't do it justice.
Day 5 - The day of movie sets. First off to the bamboo groves of Arashiyama. Remember the characters of "Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon" flying through forests of green? I observed from the ground licking green tea ice cream and watching the Japanese school kids give smiling peace signs to their friend's camera phones.
Next to the prayer scene from "Memoirs of a Geisha". A hill full of orange torii (gates) beheld the boisterous meeting of this American and a fro sporting 24 year old Canadian. We had a good time - we toned it done though once we were told to hush. Opps. Nursed our bruised decorums at a conveyor belt sushi place back at Kyoto Station.
Day 6 - Time for a green day. Strolled for hours in Kyoto's impressive Botanical Gardens. Favorite things were the display Bonsai trees and the massive conservatory. Those and the snake I spied by a pond too full of duck eggs to move.
Day 7 - Gold week - a week of public holidays - was upon Japan, and in celebration a Yabusame demonstration was held at the Shimogamo Shrine. Mounted archers dressed in traditional garb struck targets no more than a foot square. The crowd cheered with well-deserved admiration at every successful aim.
Arrived half an hour later at Kyoto Station, where the architecture student in me ran wild. It's intense, a design studio professor's dream. I spent the better part of that rainy day wandering through, over, and under it. Google image it - it's worth it.
Day 2 - On to Kyoto's historic side, with a tour of the Imperial Palace. Kyoto served as the capital of Japan beginning in the 8th century, and was the home of the Japanese imperial family from 794 to 1868 - so says my guidebook.
I can tell you that the palace is beautiful in it's minimalist perfection. The gravel is combed and the trees obsessively manicured.
Day 3 - Got my first glimpse of Japanese castle architecture at Nijo jo - castle of the first Tokugawa shogun. This guy must have had to watch his back. The floors are designed to squeak and hidden chambers concealed bodyguards prepared to defend their lord at any moment.
I then went to a temple on a hill. It was warm and the walk steep, so I sat on some shaded steps to picnic. As I was finishing, two of the people I had most wanted to see while in Kyoto began to - slowly - descend the stairs opposite me.
Geishas! Painted, kimono clad "artists". This surprise meeting wouldn't be my only on that day. Back at the hostel - over dinner - met two fellow travelers. Together we went to a show at Gion Corner. Among the acts was a Kyomai - traditional Kyoto kimono dance - performance. The English program instructed us to enjoy the elegant movements of the dancers. I did.
Day 4 - Now that I had taken the prep course, I was prepared for advanced Japanese castle architecture: Himeji. Rode the train for an hour and there it was. Oh man - the Japan of fairytales and childhood imaginings still stands on its original stone foundations in this place.
See the pictures - my words can't do it justice.
Day 5 - The day of movie sets. First off to the bamboo groves of Arashiyama. Remember the characters of "Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon" flying through forests of green? I observed from the ground licking green tea ice cream and watching the Japanese school kids give smiling peace signs to their friend's camera phones.
Next to the prayer scene from "Memoirs of a Geisha". A hill full of orange torii (gates) beheld the boisterous meeting of this American and a fro sporting 24 year old Canadian. We had a good time - we toned it done though once we were told to hush. Opps. Nursed our bruised decorums at a conveyor belt sushi place back at Kyoto Station.
Day 6 - Time for a green day. Strolled for hours in Kyoto's impressive Botanical Gardens. Favorite things were the display Bonsai trees and the massive conservatory. Those and the snake I spied by a pond too full of duck eggs to move.
Day 7 - Gold week - a week of public holidays - was upon Japan, and in celebration a Yabusame demonstration was held at the Shimogamo Shrine. Mounted archers dressed in traditional garb struck targets no more than a foot square. The crowd cheered with well-deserved admiration at every successful aim.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Nara
We met at ten o'clock in front of the Gakuenmae train station on Saturday, April 25th in Nara, Japan. Her name is Setsuko Okabe and for the next three days, she would be my host mother.
We drove - on the left - through the rain to her flat. I took pictures as she raised her neighbor's car to access her parking space - space efficiency is everything here. And along with it comes buttons and flashing lights. Even her bathroom is automated. The lid raises when you walk in, the seat warms itself when sat upon, and a panel of buttons lets you personalize your bum wash. When you flush the sink built into the toilet's back turns on. Wow.
We ate Japanese food in her dining room and out at restaurants. My favorite - though not an entirely new experience - was our trip to a conveyor belt sushi place. I'm partial to eel, though salmon is always good. I found the octopus overly chewy. We also drank tea, ceremonial style. It was alright. It must be the ceremony that has the appeal.
We went out to see the sights. Todai-ji Daibutsu-den is the world's largest wooden building. It contains a massive Buddha and a column with a hole in its base the same size as his nostril. It's said that if you can squeeze through you're ensured enlightenment. Setsuko thought I could make it. My money was on me making it half way and being stuck forever. I graciously declined - I'll take my chances on obtaining enlightenment.
We talked - or rather she talked. She's 67 and she had a lot more to say about traveling. Lands with different people, different attitudes, different things to see. She said she once met a preacher in an airport who told her she would never travel alone. God is always with you. So see - she's talking to me now - you're never alone. I nod and smile - I know.
Monday, April 27, 2009
You Shy?
I hope not, because this is your introduction to the Japanese bath:
Step 1 - Pay, if necessary.
Step 2 - Step to the hall with the appropriate gender. I've learned that the Japanese character for women kind of looks like a woman. You'll know real fast if you've made a mistake.
Step 3 - Enter the vestibule and remove your shoes.
Step 4 - Locker room, but don't think gym class. There's carpet (you're not wearing shoes) and a wall full of shelves. Put your clothes in a hole. Leave your bath towel too - it's just you and a wash cloth from here on out.
Step 5 - Shower room. Sit down - that's right - sit down at a shower. Mind the playing children, grab a shower head and a bar of soap, and go at it. The Japanese women are at this for at least 10 minutes. Wash everything before
Step 6 - Tub time. The water is 45 degrees C. Sit and soak. Chat - if you're so inclined - or admire the murals till good and pruny.
Step 7 - Work backwards - minus the soap in Step 5 - till out. Done.
Sailing the High Seas
The morning of Tuesday, April 21st, I boarded another vessel. The Sun Zhou Hao - Shanghai, China to Osaka, Japan.
I wasn't expecting much. I'd booked the lowest class available - 2B economy, 16 bed female dorm - and had gotten a student discount. So considering the ferry's 48 hour duration and international destination - Japan is by no means a cheap country to travel in - the fair was pretty minimal.
Man was I pleasantly surprised. On the Yangtze, I remember being happy, but also wet, cold, and hungry. On the Sun Zhou Hao, this would definitely not be the case. The staff wore bow ties and panty hose. Televisions played English films for the enjoyment of reclining patrons. Shower rooms steamed with hot water.
And - the piece de resistance - our room. I opened the door to be confronted with another. Strange, but then I see the slippers and shoe cubbies. I love shoe cubbies, and the slippers even almost fit! The next door is made of wood and slides. Then, the smell of bamboo mats and I see three peculiar piles. I claim one by a window - whose screen I slide open to reveal the cobalt of the sea - and begin working it out. Thick mats on the bottom, sheet, duvet and cover, and - what's this square leather box? Oh... - pillow.
Giddy, I headed to the restaurant for more chopstick practice. We dock Thursday, April 23rd. Until then, I plan to skip through the carpeted halls, dodge ping pong balls and woman practicing T'ai Chi, and watch English action movies with the Chinese tourists who insist on spending the majority of the day lounging in their flannel pajamas.
The Three Gorges of the Yangtze
I've cruised the The Three Gorges of the Yangtze, Chinese style. It began on Friday, April 17th and ended Sunday the 19th. I understood not a word - save those spoken by the three other foreigners aboard - but I saw what there was to see.
It was more interesting than beautiful. China seems to be like that. That's not to say it wasn't beautiful. At the end of three days, I was still saying WOW aloud to the diving slopes of mist and green. I've never seen land meet water like that before.
Interesting though would be my word of choice. I shared a dorm with five people. They seemed to know each other - two couples and a lady. Middle class, late fifties. We had major communication issues. Ni hao (Hello), xie xie (thank you), and America were our only mutual means of understanding.
But they were so friendly. I was given a share of whatever was eaten, and the bilingual tour guide was always asked to translate questions when passing by our room. Your Uncle and Auntie wish to know... she would say.
China is changing fast, and you can tell. At Wushan, the Yangtze is now 75 meters higher than it was three years ago. High rise concrete apartments stand above the now underwater fishing villages. Suspension bridges in flaming orange red span tributaries and construction crews are making ready the hills for super highways.
That responsible for so grand a transformation we toured at cruise's end. The Three Gorges Dam - now the largest dam in the world. 1.4 miles from end to end. Capable of generating 22,500 MW. It's immense - power at a mammoth scale.
Wide-eyed and small, I stood alone at the concourse. Our guide - megaphone and pointer aloft - had moved on surrounded by my fellow cruisers - I couldn't understand her anyway. The words clean energy and at what cost? kept running through my mind. I don't know.
I don't know.
It was more interesting than beautiful. China seems to be like that. That's not to say it wasn't beautiful. At the end of three days, I was still saying WOW aloud to the diving slopes of mist and green. I've never seen land meet water like that before.
Interesting though would be my word of choice. I shared a dorm with five people. They seemed to know each other - two couples and a lady. Middle class, late fifties. We had major communication issues. Ni hao (Hello), xie xie (thank you), and America were our only mutual means of understanding.
But they were so friendly. I was given a share of whatever was eaten, and the bilingual tour guide was always asked to translate questions when passing by our room. Your Uncle and Auntie wish to know... she would say.
China is changing fast, and you can tell. At Wushan, the Yangtze is now 75 meters higher than it was three years ago. High rise concrete apartments stand above the now underwater fishing villages. Suspension bridges in flaming orange red span tributaries and construction crews are making ready the hills for super highways.
That responsible for so grand a transformation we toured at cruise's end. The Three Gorges Dam - now the largest dam in the world. 1.4 miles from end to end. Capable of generating 22,500 MW. It's immense - power at a mammoth scale.
Wide-eyed and small, I stood alone at the concourse. Our guide - megaphone and pointer aloft - had moved on surrounded by my fellow cruisers - I couldn't understand her anyway. The words clean energy and at what cost? kept running through my mind. I don't know.
I don't know.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Pandas
When we arrived at the breeding center, we walked past the line hurrying to keep up with our guide as she clip-clopped ahead at an alarming rate given her three inch heels and short stature. We had come to see pandas - on the panda tour organized through Sim's Cozy Guest Hostel - and our guide would make sure we didn't miss their morning feeding.
Past Swan Lake, behind a holding pin, and out to an adult panda enclosure. There they were - only they weren't the docile, bamboo crunching bears I had expected. They were playing. Climbing, hanging, biting, rolling over each other playing. Cute they were though - unbelievably so. And when their squishy, fluffy bodies were bent or pulled too far they cried out with a meep more befitting a puppy than a bear, showed their pink little tongues, and carried on. Adorable.
Though reluctant to leave - our guide said she had never seen the adults so active - we continued down the age spectrum. The five month olds fulfilled my panda expectations. They relined with bamboo shots going every which way, chomping happily. At three months we found the fluff balls chasing each other around a nursery complete with rocking horse and incubator.
For a fee, you could have your photo taken with a panda. That was a bit too weird for our group so we moved on to the red pandas - which, to be honest, I barely knew existed -, the cinema - where a gaggle of Chinese kindergartners on field trip provided the majority of the entertainment -, the museum, and back to the van for the ride home.
Past Swan Lake, behind a holding pin, and out to an adult panda enclosure. There they were - only they weren't the docile, bamboo crunching bears I had expected. They were playing. Climbing, hanging, biting, rolling over each other playing. Cute they were though - unbelievably so. And when their squishy, fluffy bodies were bent or pulled too far they cried out with a meep more befitting a puppy than a bear, showed their pink little tongues, and carried on. Adorable.
Though reluctant to leave - our guide said she had never seen the adults so active - we continued down the age spectrum. The five month olds fulfilled my panda expectations. They relined with bamboo shots going every which way, chomping happily. At three months we found the fluff balls chasing each other around a nursery complete with rocking horse and incubator.
For a fee, you could have your photo taken with a panda. That was a bit too weird for our group so we moved on to the red pandas - which, to be honest, I barely knew existed -, the cinema - where a gaggle of Chinese kindergartners on field trip provided the majority of the entertainment -, the museum, and back to the van for the ride home.
The Road to China
I had thought my road to China would not lead through Tibet. I had spent over a week in Kathmandu learning that there was no possible way it could be. But then the American couple in front of me in Kathmandu's dreary two story brick faced airport asked whether this would be my first time to Lhasa.
Oh, no. I'm going to Chengdu.
Oh, well the flight stops in Lhasa and then continues to Chengdu. We're actually headed to Beijing.
Are you serious? After all that nonsense, it's now mandatory for me to set foot in Tibet. Incredible. We took this flight into Nepal - they're still talking. On the way in, it flew past Everest. We're hoping to see it again today.
I've seen Mt. Everest!! Everyone made a mad dash to the left side of the plane. I crouched, leaning over someone adjusting the settings of his camera thinking which one is it? Douh. The tallest one Brianna, the tallest one. And there it was. Its top a pyramid above the clouds, window level. The world's highest point. I got my camera in there and snapped a shot of my own before returning to my assigned seat. Mt. Everest!
We landed in Lhasa around two, but the two hour and fifteen minute time difference - I know right - made it after four. Everyone had to file out and through immigration and then, if continuing, get back on the plane. The landscape is surreal - a mountainous, snow-capped desert. It's sad that the most beautiful places of this earth are the most fought over. Logical, but sad.
Onward to Chengdu. If you picture China, Chengdu is the city smack dab in the middle of the country. Two more hours air time, but no time change as the entire country is on Beijing time. Again, I know right. Through security and here we go. China - let the language barrier fun begin.
It started right off the bat. Taxi. I got in line and got out my photocopied guidebook. Ripped out the map and the page with the hostel's address, and started circling: the name in English, the name in characters, the location on the map. I got to the front. My taxi pulled off to the side and driver and attendant mused and smiled at my pointing and waving until satisfied that the driver could find the place.
We drove until he ran out of intuition. He was trying to ask me something. Telephone. No, I don't have a cell phone. His cell phone? Ohhhh. I scan the guidebook once again, and show him the hostel's telephone number. He dials, converses, and gives me the thumbs up. We arrive, I pay, another thumbs up, a smile, and a wave bye-bye. Welcome to China.
Oh, no. I'm going to Chengdu.
Oh, well the flight stops in Lhasa and then continues to Chengdu. We're actually headed to Beijing.
Are you serious? After all that nonsense, it's now mandatory for me to set foot in Tibet. Incredible. We took this flight into Nepal - they're still talking. On the way in, it flew past Everest. We're hoping to see it again today.
I've seen Mt. Everest!! Everyone made a mad dash to the left side of the plane. I crouched, leaning over someone adjusting the settings of his camera thinking which one is it? Douh. The tallest one Brianna, the tallest one. And there it was. Its top a pyramid above the clouds, window level. The world's highest point. I got my camera in there and snapped a shot of my own before returning to my assigned seat. Mt. Everest!
We landed in Lhasa around two, but the two hour and fifteen minute time difference - I know right - made it after four. Everyone had to file out and through immigration and then, if continuing, get back on the plane. The landscape is surreal - a mountainous, snow-capped desert. It's sad that the most beautiful places of this earth are the most fought over. Logical, but sad.
Onward to Chengdu. If you picture China, Chengdu is the city smack dab in the middle of the country. Two more hours air time, but no time change as the entire country is on Beijing time. Again, I know right. Through security and here we go. China - let the language barrier fun begin.
It started right off the bat. Taxi. I got in line and got out my photocopied guidebook. Ripped out the map and the page with the hostel's address, and started circling: the name in English, the name in characters, the location on the map. I got to the front. My taxi pulled off to the side and driver and attendant mused and smiled at my pointing and waving until satisfied that the driver could find the place.
We drove until he ran out of intuition. He was trying to ask me something. Telephone. No, I don't have a cell phone. His cell phone? Ohhhh. I scan the guidebook once again, and show him the hostel's telephone number. He dials, converses, and gives me the thumbs up. We arrive, I pay, another thumbs up, a smile, and a wave bye-bye. Welcome to China.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Chillin in Kathmandu
I'm in Nepal. I've been here awhile.
I crossed the border at Sunauli on April 3rd and braved the ten hour bus ride to the capital on a mission - cross into China through Tibet. It took me four days to ascertain that for me this would not be possible. By night five, I had a plane ticket to Chengdu.
Only, the plane doesn't leave until the 14th. So, for now, I'm chillin in Kathmandu.
I crossed the border at Sunauli on April 3rd and braved the ten hour bus ride to the capital on a mission - cross into China through Tibet. It took me four days to ascertain that for me this would not be possible. By night five, I had a plane ticket to Chengdu.
Only, the plane doesn't leave until the 14th. So, for now, I'm chillin in Kathmandu.
Varanasi
Varanasi is an ancient city on a river. The Ganga - Ganges, as we call it - the River of Life to many in India. Varanasi is built on the western shore of one of the only places where the river flows north, allowing pilgrims to enter the water facing the rising sun. It's said to be a sacred city completely focused on the river. Giant stairs - ghats - lead down to the water's edge and everyday hundreds of people wash, bath, pray or have their ashes sprinkled into the water.
I went out of curiosity - famous last words. I had heard stories, read the bit in the guide book that spelled out how filthy the Ganga actually is, but still I wanted to see it. The best way is to hire a boatman to row you out upon the water. My host mother told me what the hourly rate should be, so I went down to the river and - after the appropriate amount of bargaining - we set off.
I'm enjoying it. It's not Venice, but it's nice. People are swimming, bathing, washing clothes. Boys are playing catch on the ghats and water buffaloes are being lead down to drink. But then - I see something floating in the water up ahead. Must be a cow, I think - it is black and white. Upon closer inspection, however, I am sickened to find that black and white does not necessarily signify bovine.
Now, I'm not a squeamish person. Blood and guts really don't bother me that much. I have issues with large arachnids and things to do with eyeballs, but apart from that, I'm pretty straightforward. I'm one of those people that when getting an injection prefers to watch the needle go into my arm so I can adequately prepare myself for what's coming. But. When that slimy, nasty, long-dead body hit the side of the boat, the only thought running through my mind was Lord, Jesus, please don't let me throw up. Please don't let me throw up.
And, then, there was very little I wanted to do apart from getting off that boat, getting away from that river, and getting the heck out of town.
The Taj Mahal
The morning was cold. Mist hung on grass grayed by the absence of sunlight as I stood huddled in the "Foreign Tourist" line. I was first and I was glad - I hadn't been up before the sun for nothing. As the line grew, the mosquitos gathered to eat it. I wrapped my shawl over my head and from inside my bubble, bowed it trying to remember all the things I know.
I've taken courses on the Taj Mahal - Non Western Architectural History was my favorite. My professor said he has never been more affected by a building. I know that the complex is a perfect exercise in symmetry. I know that the marble used in the mausoluem is so fine it reflects light causing the entire building to glow pink with the setting and the rising of the sun. And I know that - befitting its name, Love's Ultimate Monument - the man responsible for its construction nearly bankrupt his entire empire to see the work completed.
I'm still thinking when the brown clad security guards open the gate and the race begins: through security, into the first courtyard, turn, and - there it sits, a perfectly framed jewel in its Great Gate, step through, and behold.
It's - just - so - perfect
I've taken courses on the Taj Mahal - Non Western Architectural History was my favorite. My professor said he has never been more affected by a building. I know that the complex is a perfect exercise in symmetry. I know that the marble used in the mausoluem is so fine it reflects light causing the entire building to glow pink with the setting and the rising of the sun. And I know that - befitting its name, Love's Ultimate Monument - the man responsible for its construction nearly bankrupt his entire empire to see the work completed.
I'm still thinking when the brown clad security guards open the gate and the race begins: through security, into the first courtyard, turn, and - there it sits, a perfectly framed jewel in its Great Gate, step through, and behold.
It's - just - so - perfect
Monday, March 30, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Raju
They arrived late in the season for their kind. Four of them. Our men - Tarro, Karfur, and the young one, Maman - saw them situated. Mine was the dark one: a female, and heavy. I lead them out across the barren planes that have been my home for fifteen years. We reached the sand by midday - the time when the humans must seek shelter from the heat. They did, leaving us to the sun. I settled near to watch our men prepare food, feed them, and leave them to rest in the shade.
We would bear them for four days. Our men would feed them - toast, eggs, and porridge - every morning and - dhal, rice, and chapati - every evening and afternoon, as they do with every load we've carried across the desert. After the sun sets they sing to them in the human language I understand - Rajasthani: the song about the tortured love of a man trapped behind the wall in Pakistan, silly songs about chickens and chai, and - on their final night - the song that celebrates the passing of another year. They laugh, jump and throw the beetles that roll away our dung, kill scorpions, and look at the sky. When they've gone to sleep on the metal frames that Kaloo carries from the village, our men extinguish the fire and see to us before retiring themselves.
Every day we ride. Our long legs easily covering the distance between the dunes of sand people are so fond of seeing. We stop once a day at the adobe villages that dot the landscape to drink and collect our food. The children of the villages run out to inspect our load. Sometimes the women sing to them or give them chai. These stops are our only contact with people other than our men and those we carry. Of our own kind and our wild relatives we see few. For this reason, I was glad to be ride of this load. Soon we'll be turned loose by our men's village as our desert will enter the season people have difficulty surviving. Those of us that have adopted humans will reunite and look after ours. For now, our men stand by the side of the road waving. Another group of people has looked their last on the land they had come so far to see, and is gone.
Raju
We would bear them for four days. Our men would feed them - toast, eggs, and porridge - every morning and - dhal, rice, and chapati - every evening and afternoon, as they do with every load we've carried across the desert. After the sun sets they sing to them in the human language I understand - Rajasthani: the song about the tortured love of a man trapped behind the wall in Pakistan, silly songs about chickens and chai, and - on their final night - the song that celebrates the passing of another year. They laugh, jump and throw the beetles that roll away our dung, kill scorpions, and look at the sky. When they've gone to sleep on the metal frames that Kaloo carries from the village, our men extinguish the fire and see to us before retiring themselves.
Every day we ride. Our long legs easily covering the distance between the dunes of sand people are so fond of seeing. We stop once a day at the adobe villages that dot the landscape to drink and collect our food. The children of the villages run out to inspect our load. Sometimes the women sing to them or give them chai. These stops are our only contact with people other than our men and those we carry. Of our own kind and our wild relatives we see few. For this reason, I was glad to be ride of this load. Soon we'll be turned loose by our men's village as our desert will enter the season people have difficulty surviving. Those of us that have adopted humans will reunite and look after ours. For now, our men stand by the side of the road waving. Another group of people has looked their last on the land they had come so far to see, and is gone.
Raju
Camel of the Thar
Jodhpur
The train ride had been long and hot. Men had stared and we arrived after dark. Past the hassle and the pushing, I caught a rickshaw to the clock tower. I said I'd walk to my guest house from there. No madam it is very far. No it isn't, but he doesn't get paid a commission there. Walked through the dealings of a closing market and asked directions. First right on the left. Find the guest house and up the stairs. No singles, but you can have a double for the single rate if you change tomorrow. Climb the stairs to register. The restaurant on the roof is still open. Sweaty, dirty, tired I climb once more. Only table in a dark corner. I sit, examine the menu in the dim light, and order. He goes and I breath and - finally - look around.
And, then,
Suddenly I'm a ninja.
I'm dressed in black and my mission is to scale the wall of the impenetrable fortress I now behold. I had been sitting with my back turned to the very thing I had come to see. The Meherangarh. The next day via audio tour I would learn that it has never been taken. Cannon balls scars and gates bared against elephant siege stand in testament to this fact. Today, the stronghold is assailed by tourists as the Maharaja, who still lives in the ginormous palace that can't be missed on the horizon, has opened it to the public.
I wandered dazed that strength in stone could be so beautiful. Listened as the British narrator explained that the hand prints enshrined on one wall are all that remains of the wives that burned themselves - without a sound - alive on their husband's funeral pyre. And - when this chilling image had passed - peered down at the city below and smirked. It would take one tough ninja to scale these walls.
And, then,
Suddenly I'm a ninja.
I'm dressed in black and my mission is to scale the wall of the impenetrable fortress I now behold. I had been sitting with my back turned to the very thing I had come to see. The Meherangarh. The next day via audio tour I would learn that it has never been taken. Cannon balls scars and gates bared against elephant siege stand in testament to this fact. Today, the stronghold is assailed by tourists as the Maharaja, who still lives in the ginormous palace that can't be missed on the horizon, has opened it to the public.
I wandered dazed that strength in stone could be so beautiful. Listened as the British narrator explained that the hand prints enshrined on one wall are all that remains of the wives that burned themselves - without a sound - alive on their husband's funeral pyre. And - when this chilling image had passed - peered down at the city below and smirked. It would take one tough ninja to scale these walls.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Ajanta's Caves
Have you ever had one of those moments where you stand mouth agape, awestruck that the pictures in your architecture book are real places, made by real people? Saturday, March 7th I had one of those moments. Standing barefoot in a room of columns carved into the side of a hill. The caves at Ajanta. The pinnacle of rockcut Buddhist architecture. Unreal.
Slumdog Millionaire
I've been in Mumbai before - and I remember the slums. It was on layover, my groggy face pressed against the quadruple pane of the airplane's oval window. My first glimpse of India in the early morning haze - corrugated metal stacked for living. I continued on to Dhaka. Nadi to Seoul, Seoul to Mumbai, Mumbai to Delhi, Delhi to Dhaka, the day I learned my love of flight has a 36 hour limit. But I remember the slums and their proximity to the airport. I remembered.
In Rio, a tourist was shot on a favela tour while I was there. Why anyone would want to tour an area so obviously ruled by drug lords is beyond me. It was the first time I had ever heard of such a thing - tour operations, in slums - and where I made up my mind. I don't tour slums. The thought made me cringe then as it does now. Remember that question you'd bounce off your sister at the zoo? Who's watching who? It wasn't but 150 years ago when we would be on the other side of the bars. People aren't for display. I don't tour slums.
The same girl told me where I could watch the Slumdog now famous. The Regal - not five minutes from my dorm bed. I went excited and emerged dazed - and there they were. They've been there all along, but Mumbai has far more than anywhere else I've been in India. Blind, maimed, matted, and - most importantly - persistent. What does one do? I contemplate - after walking past the wanting hands - lying in a room whose window overlooks a palace. The Taj Mahal Palace and Tower - freshly painted. Who would have thought the city's cheapest and most expensive accommodation could be found on the same street? It's beautiful - the Taj. Fit for kings. On its street a man who will beg in the morning lies with rats. I remember learning that the health of a country can be measured by the size of the gap between the rich and the poor and the amount of people in it. Here, the gap is everything. It's the difference between a slumdog and a millionaire.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Hampi
The big dipper pours upside down. When the dogs fighting by the river wake me at three in the morning, I open my eyes and marvel at seeing it overturned. Beyond the roofs' low lip, the landscape reaching skyward between the palms is just as alien.
I'm in Hampi and by day the area seems to suggest that God - whilst feeling whimsical during creation - began dropping boulders into the clear blue sky. Here, they landed in precarious piles and long ago emperors came to love them and covered them with buildings ment to make them more sacred. After the emperors died and their cities lay barren, these buildings remained precariously a loft just as the stones from which they came. Then, others - who had probably been there all along - painted the flat areas between the piles green with vegetation and carried on until still other people - people like me - turned up to admire the wonderful peculiarity of both the temples built by the dead emperors and the strange rock piles left by God.
We spend our days climbing them - over, across, and around - Clay, April, and I. Yesterday - February 28th - we undertook what other Hampi guests describe as "the epic quest" to Hanuman Temple. After breakfast, we crossed the rice paddy and began - headed up and over the gigantic smooth surface of the mega boulder that bisects the two rock piles closest to our guest house. Our ascent was being watched. Out they sprang, racing down the rock their black faces surrounded by collars of light fur. What type of monkey they are I do not know, but they have the longest tails I've ever seen on an animal. After the first ascent, we appeared to be traversing the moon but over the next rise a spray painted advertisement reminded us this was not so. Baba's Cafe apparently lay waiting in the next valley.
We would lunch there on the return journey. After crossing the stream, passing the shepherded goats and water buffalo, walking the road dividing the banana plantations, and climbing the stairs. Oh - the stairs. All 500 and some of them leading to the very, very top where a whitewashed temple and a white flowering tree stand serine. There were supposed to be monkeys, but the midday sun apparently sends them into crevasses of hiding. I don't blame them, nor did I much mind their absence. All of Hampi lay below us, its boulders and temples sand brown in the heat.
Tonight, there's a film showing at the Laughing Buddha Restaurant tonight. I was initiated into this nightly ritual last night. We laughed like idiots at the antics of the animated cast of "Open Season 2". Us - an American and a Canadian - finding comforting familiarity in the notion of a comic deer and a gangster Grizzly joking amongst an evergreen forest surrounded by snowcapped mountains in this place - India, a world away from home - where even the big dipper pours upside down.
I'm in Hampi and by day the area seems to suggest that God - whilst feeling whimsical during creation - began dropping boulders into the clear blue sky. Here, they landed in precarious piles and long ago emperors came to love them and covered them with buildings ment to make them more sacred. After the emperors died and their cities lay barren, these buildings remained precariously a loft just as the stones from which they came. Then, others - who had probably been there all along - painted the flat areas between the piles green with vegetation and carried on until still other people - people like me - turned up to admire the wonderful peculiarity of both the temples built by the dead emperors and the strange rock piles left by God.
We spend our days climbing them - over, across, and around - Clay, April, and I. Yesterday - February 28th - we undertook what other Hampi guests describe as "the epic quest" to Hanuman Temple. After breakfast, we crossed the rice paddy and began - headed up and over the gigantic smooth surface of the mega boulder that bisects the two rock piles closest to our guest house. Our ascent was being watched. Out they sprang, racing down the rock their black faces surrounded by collars of light fur. What type of monkey they are I do not know, but they have the longest tails I've ever seen on an animal. After the first ascent, we appeared to be traversing the moon but over the next rise a spray painted advertisement reminded us this was not so. Baba's Cafe apparently lay waiting in the next valley.
We would lunch there on the return journey. After crossing the stream, passing the shepherded goats and water buffalo, walking the road dividing the banana plantations, and climbing the stairs. Oh - the stairs. All 500 and some of them leading to the very, very top where a whitewashed temple and a white flowering tree stand serine. There were supposed to be monkeys, but the midday sun apparently sends them into crevasses of hiding. I don't blame them, nor did I much mind their absence. All of Hampi lay below us, its boulders and temples sand brown in the heat.
Tonight, there's a film showing at the Laughing Buddha Restaurant tonight. I was initiated into this nightly ritual last night. We laughed like idiots at the antics of the animated cast of "Open Season 2". Us - an American and a Canadian - finding comforting familiarity in the notion of a comic deer and a gangster Grizzly joking amongst an evergreen forest surrounded by snowcapped mountains in this place - India, a world away from home - where even the big dipper pours upside down.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Fort Kochi
Fort Kochi is a city on a bay. Ok - as far as I can tell - it's not actually a bay, but a lake. Lake Vembanad on the Lakshadweep Sea on the Arabian Sea. But - for fun and my better understanding - let's say it's on a bay.
The bay is nice, but - again as far as I can tell - it has no cooling effect on the city. It's hot. Like, sweat though you only breath and blink, wake up sticky, thrice a day showering hot. As far as I can tell, the bay is also the sleazy motel of a whole continent of mosquitos. In my hotel room they mass around my mosquito net and quail before me as I rampage to the shower leaving a trail of bloody carnage in my wake.
Outside, the city is beautiful in a crumpling testament of past Dutch influence. Yesterday, I took the ferry that connects the varying parts of town. Fort Kochi is the historic district. Where decaying buildings surround narrow goat-filled streets. Men operating immense Chinese fishing nets line the waterfront. Their graceful counterbalanced rising and falling is watched by ice cream licking tourist - including myself.
I leave tomorrow - February 24th - and will travel via Banglaore to Hampi. The track will take two train treks and end in a - hopefully - short bus trip. Wish me luck!
The bay is nice, but - again as far as I can tell - it has no cooling effect on the city. It's hot. Like, sweat though you only breath and blink, wake up sticky, thrice a day showering hot. As far as I can tell, the bay is also the sleazy motel of a whole continent of mosquitos. In my hotel room they mass around my mosquito net and quail before me as I rampage to the shower leaving a trail of bloody carnage in my wake.
Outside, the city is beautiful in a crumpling testament of past Dutch influence. Yesterday, I took the ferry that connects the varying parts of town. Fort Kochi is the historic district. Where decaying buildings surround narrow goat-filled streets. Men operating immense Chinese fishing nets line the waterfront. Their graceful counterbalanced rising and falling is watched by ice cream licking tourist - including myself.
I leave tomorrow - February 24th - and will travel via Banglaore to Hampi. The track will take two train treks and end in a - hopefully - short bus trip. Wish me luck!
Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary
We walked through the mist of the early morning - the India of storybooks around us. Grass to our shoulders, the sound of birds, and - then, unexpectedly - a very distinctive smell.
Our guide got all excited. He waved us forward with as much caution as his enthusiasm would allow. Come. Come! The elderly Norwegian couple and I still puzzled over his change of pace and bewildered by the majesty of the forest surrounding us picked up our feet and within steps learned the object of our pursuit. Our clue - the source of the smell - lay in a steaming pile amidst plate sized impressions in the soft valley.
They're close. Come. Come! We scrambled up a rise and peered down. For things so large they blend remarkably well and in our excitement and camera fumblings we could barely make out their forms through the vegetation. Until a shift in the wind made her raise her head. She took the air, held it, and shook it until its bones hurt. A sound like something out of Jurassic Park rippled through the forest and left me looking for trees to climb as she began to move.
But then - I understood. She is Mom. The unconquerable, indomitable defender of the dearest prize. Our guide practically skipped as he rushed us to a safe distance. The calf is less than a week old. We spent the rest of the morning trying to get a glimpse. To capture the moments he curled his truck around her tail. Mom and baby joined their family group and we could no longer continue - too many heads to keep downwind of.
Elated we turned and followed our guide back to the entrance of the sanctuary.
Our guide got all excited. He waved us forward with as much caution as his enthusiasm would allow. Come. Come! The elderly Norwegian couple and I still puzzled over his change of pace and bewildered by the majesty of the forest surrounding us picked up our feet and within steps learned the object of our pursuit. Our clue - the source of the smell - lay in a steaming pile amidst plate sized impressions in the soft valley.
They're close. Come. Come! We scrambled up a rise and peered down. For things so large they blend remarkably well and in our excitement and camera fumblings we could barely make out their forms through the vegetation. Until a shift in the wind made her raise her head. She took the air, held it, and shook it until its bones hurt. A sound like something out of Jurassic Park rippled through the forest and left me looking for trees to climb as she began to move.
But then - I understood. She is Mom. The unconquerable, indomitable defender of the dearest prize. Our guide practically skipped as he rushed us to a safe distance. The calf is less than a week old. We spent the rest of the morning trying to get a glimpse. To capture the moments he curled his truck around her tail. Mom and baby joined their family group and we could no longer continue - too many heads to keep downwind of.
Elated we turned and followed our guide back to the entrance of the sanctuary.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Bus
I arrived in Ernakulam before the sun came up on Wednesday, February 18th. I had stayed at Sadhana Forest a bit longer than planned, but was now on the road again and headed to the Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary near the town of Kumily. There is no train to Kumily - one must take the bus. I was pretty excited. As of yet, I hadn't made a long distance bus trip in India. So after the sun came up, I rickshawed it to the bus stand and climbed aboard.
Buses in India are unlike any buses I've ever been on before. Like normal, there are two rows of seats separated by an aisle. But on the left side of the bus the high backed padded seat seats two and on the right side - the driver's side - the seat seats three. Canvassed, accordion like shades drop down to cover the windows. When lifted and clipped into place however, two horizontal bars rather than glass separate you from the outside world. The door reaches the height of these windows, stopping well short of the bus's roof. It opens outward and when pulled swings an effortless 180 degrees as people push forward up the four steps between the road and the aisle. As this happens, the man charged with collecting fares rises in his brown uniform and starts after them. But before he passes the door, he pulls two cords. The fist connects the bus's roof with the handle of the open door and a quick tug closes it with a bang. The second rings a bell and signals the driver to gun it once again.
During the first bit of the six hour journey, this method of driving didn't seem too out of the ordinary. It was the fairly typical got-somewhere-to-go-fast urban driving I've become accustomed to. We overtook cars and trucks alike as the fare collector walked the aisle asking destinations, calculating fares, and handing customers tiny receipts printed from the contraption hung around his neck. But when the roadways changed from straight urban thoroughfares to twisted and winding mountainous lanes and we were still barreling along, I began to worry.
Never in all my travels have I encountered a group of people more reckless behind the wheel. The bus drivers that operate the stretch of tea covered hills from Kottayam to Kumily are either very brave or very stupid men. I sat on both my forward and return journeys torn between fear and reckless abandon as we overtook on blind corners, tilted perilously over non-existent guardrails, and made neck-jerking stops to avoid collision. No amount of banana chips and chai could make such turbulence enjoyable. How the fare collector manages to keep his down while being huddled to and fro in the aisle is beyond me. From now on, I plan to stick to trains as much as possible.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Sadhana Forest
I'm lying on a straw mat and writing on recycled paper. Bamboo supports the thatched roof above my head and through its structure I see green - the idle leaves of trees, blades of grass, fringes of palms. Birds beep and lizards chirp over the chatter of English and the sound of guitars, and - only very far away - do car horns sound. This is Sadhana Forest, an environmental project focused on forestry and sustainable living underway in Auroville, India. What Auroville is is difficult to say. At university, I heard it described as an ecovillage. My guidebook calls it an international community. But the handbook in Sadhana's library defines Auroville as a Universal Township founded in 1968, which has over the years come to operate many programs, some of which focus on sustainability. I've come to volunteer at Sadhana for two weeks. I began on Friday, January 30th and will finish Friday, February 13th. Today is Friday, February 6th and it feels very strange to write that my time here is half way through. Though the project is isolated and appears to support a very simple lifestyle, my days have been busy.
Work starts early here - 6:30 am - and ends around noon, Monday through Friday. Afternoons and weekends are free time, though there is always an abundance of things to do. Meals are vegan - which has been interesting - and prepared by volunteers instructed by rotating volunteer chiefs. The work is work - gardening, brush clearing, and tree planting - but it passes quickly and results are often instantly apparent.
Most days pass quietly, but with some unexpectedly pleasant event. Hummus night is Wednesday, an Eco film is shown on Friday night, and there are daily yogalates classes and workshops. One can also borrow a bicycle or - for those brave and accustomed to driving on the left side of the road - a moped and ride to the beach. Most days I find a way into town with other volunteers and to buy ice cream and grilled cheese - veganism is a bit too intense for me. My fondest surprise source of entertainment though - other than the availability of The Lord of the Rings series in Sadhana's library - was the invitation of all of Sadhana's volunteers to a wedding.
We left this morning at 5:30 am, for in this part of India wedding ceremonies apparently occur early. Yorit and Aviram, the Israeli couple who founded and currently run Sadhana Forest, are fiends of the groom. The drive took over an hour and came to and end at the steps of a temple complex illuminated by the rising sun. All twenty of us removed our shoes and ascended behind guests arrayed in the most beautiful embroidered silk saris. The temple stood a mountain of carved stone adorned with swinging and cackling live monkeys. Its pillared hall was just as abuzz with activity. As this was an auspicious day to be wed, a dozen ceremonies were going on at once. Bejeweled brides in red and white checkered saris and elaborate headdresses sat with their grooms on platforms with a priest. Cameramen and family members packed the hall.
What exactly happens in the ceremony, I still don't really know, but I do know that afterwards meal is served. Ours took place in a back hall, where we sat on benches and ate off banana leaves. Other families dined on the ground around the temple. We left full and happy, still adaze with the happenings of the hall gratefully clutching out parting gifts of coconuts.
The Sadhana Forest project has already proven very successful. When Yorit and Aviram arrived five years ago, they stepped onto a barren parcel of land. Now the residential area of the forest holds 10 dorms and 4 private huts, a great main hut which contains offices, a dining space, a library, a children's play room and a conference area, a kitchen, composting toilet and bucket shower facilities, a tool shed and green house, gardens, and a bike shed. Their intense water conservation measures and reforestry work have already greened the land significantly and raised the water table a remarkable six meters. Over 20,00 trees have already been planted and Yorit and Aviram hope this vital work will continue to replenish India's rapidly disappearing Tropical Dry Evergreen Forest - now the rarest forest type in the world.
For more information about Auroville, visit their website at www.auroville.org
Trains
There are many ways of crossing this wide world. Of them, I prefer the train. Due to this preference, India has been a fabulous place for me to travel in. Trains run nearly everywhere with remarkable frequency.
From Kolkata, I've traveled to India's southernmost state by train. I spent some nights in Bhubaneswar and Chennai, b ut my goal was to reach Puducherry via rail and I succeeded.
The longest stretch was the twenty hour journey from Bhubaneswar to Chennai. I bought a second class sleeper ticket - my preferred class - and boarded the train around midnight. Each second class sleeper car holds 81 people, in groups of nine, three bunks high - two opposite each other and one along the aisle.
I was in bed number 11 - I believe - an upper berth. I found the well marked space without problem, stored my pack, removed my shoes - which is customary in a surprising amount of places: shops, internet cafes... - and shimmied up to my narrow platform before the train sounded its last whistle and rolled out of the city.
As with most of my Indian train trips, this one proved very pleasant. Throughout the day men carrying hot sweet milk chai walked the aisles loudly advertising their product. Lunch and dinner were served on trays and the three occupants of one "buck", fold down the middle man's berth and eat together on the lower, mixing, dipping, and scooping rice and dhal into their mouths with their hands.
My hand eating has vastly improved since my arrival, though I still feel rather sloppy. It is quite fun though. As is the fundamental lack of safety regulations that allows one to lean for hours on end out a moving train's open door. This, though, is also frightening - for a number of reasons. Picturesque none the less - India scrolls by.
As always, downsides do exist. I thought - until my most recent trip - that the roaches aboard the trains was the worst of them. From Chennai to Puducherry, however, I found that mice were - squeamishly - worse. The bathrooms are also not so grand as you can see the railroad ties through the hole below you as you do your business. On some trains a sign "kindly requests" that the facilities not be used while the train is in motion. I think to spare those brave souls that I've seen sometimes pass below train cars the ick of an unwanted shower.
Overall, however, I like the trains and still prefer them. And, as they seem to connect nearly every place in India, I foresee many travels on the rails in my future.
From Kolkata, I've traveled to India's southernmost state by train. I spent some nights in Bhubaneswar and Chennai, b ut my goal was to reach Puducherry via rail and I succeeded.
The longest stretch was the twenty hour journey from Bhubaneswar to Chennai. I bought a second class sleeper ticket - my preferred class - and boarded the train around midnight. Each second class sleeper car holds 81 people, in groups of nine, three bunks high - two opposite each other and one along the aisle.
I was in bed number 11 - I believe - an upper berth. I found the well marked space without problem, stored my pack, removed my shoes - which is customary in a surprising amount of places: shops, internet cafes... - and shimmied up to my narrow platform before the train sounded its last whistle and rolled out of the city.
As with most of my Indian train trips, this one proved very pleasant. Throughout the day men carrying hot sweet milk chai walked the aisles loudly advertising their product. Lunch and dinner were served on trays and the three occupants of one "buck", fold down the middle man's berth and eat together on the lower, mixing, dipping, and scooping rice and dhal into their mouths with their hands.
My hand eating has vastly improved since my arrival, though I still feel rather sloppy. It is quite fun though. As is the fundamental lack of safety regulations that allows one to lean for hours on end out a moving train's open door. This, though, is also frightening - for a number of reasons. Picturesque none the less - India scrolls by.
As always, downsides do exist. I thought - until my most recent trip - that the roaches aboard the trains was the worst of them. From Chennai to Puducherry, however, I found that mice were - squeamishly - worse. The bathrooms are also not so grand as you can see the railroad ties through the hole below you as you do your business. On some trains a sign "kindly requests" that the facilities not be used while the train is in motion. I think to spare those brave souls that I've seen sometimes pass below train cars the ick of an unwanted shower.
Overall, however, I like the trains and still prefer them. And, as they seem to connect nearly every place in India, I foresee many travels on the rails in my future.
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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