We arrived to Bali to find it nearly deserted. There were at least 3 tourist-heckling locals for every traveler. We were perplexed until a waitress explained that tourist numbers have been very low since the Bali bombings, which we hardly even knew about. Luckily everything is very calm and peaceful now, but tourists don't seem to have got the word yet. Having just spent a long time in the tourist-heckling city of Siem Reap, we decided that we would be unable to unwind at all here, for every 30 seconds (literally) a local person came up practically trying to force us to have a manicure, pedicure, massage, buy a batik, buy a this or a that...it was no use explaining that we had already spent everythign we had just getting to Bali! So we consulted our ancient, dusty guidebook to see if it could be of any use.
We decided to head for one of the smaller islands off the coast, where the locals gain their livelihood primarily from seaweed farming, not tourism. This sounded great and led us to tiny Nusa Lembongan, an enchanted tropical paradise filled with Hindu temples, white sand beaches and loads of seaweed. It turns out that the seaweed is a key ingredient exported to Japanese cosmetics companies for face creams, blush, etc. It was a stretch to think about how the stinky green masses drying out on he shore would someday end up on the cheeks of a Tokyo fashion maven! But seaweed farming was fascinating to witness. From sunrise until 10 am, the Lembongans worked in the "field" created by the low morning tide, full of row after row of seaweed of different shapes and colors. But mid-morning, the sea swallowed the weed back up to nourish and grow it until the next day's harvest.
But Nusa Lembongan had more to offer than seaweed farming. Brian and I rented a motorbike and sailed throught he verdant rolling hills of the island from one deserted ebach to the next. We even rode a rickety swaying bridge over to the next island, Nusa Ceningan, where we rode until reaching the end of the road in the backyard of Wayan, a young guy with an amazing cliff-top property overlooking the sea. He showed us the many crags and crevices of his land before encouraging us to buy him one of his own beers (at the tourist rate) and unburden us of most of our cash for the private tour we had unknowingly allowed him to give us. Ah well, the scenery was awesome.
And I experienced a completely new perspective through snorkelling. Brian and I went on a half-day boat trip to four different sites. Each time, we jumped into the uniformly blue, wavy sea to find an underwater rainbow of life exploding with color and diversity. There were countless varieties of fish and coral and anemone, most of which were totally new to me (except some which I remember from that one underwater screen saver). Coral reefs like the one surrounding Nusa Lembongan truly are the rainforest of the sea, vibrant and unique and endangered. This was a breathtaking experience.
Yesterday morning we took a public ferry back to Bali, complete with vomiting children and a huge dead fish under my feet. We took a bus to Ubud, the cultural capital of the island. We are comforted by the abundant art galleries and organic food cafes that remind us of Portland. Excuse me for it is time to explore this new place right now!
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Let donuts be your guiding light
When we mentioned that fate may lead us to Indonesia, our friend Nathan had told us to keep in mind the almighty importance of Dunkin Donuts in that country. We were mystified but heeded the advice - after a rough, mosquito-infused night in Jakarta we arose to explore the city. (*Note: We ended up in Jakarta, then Bali, by arriving to Malaysia and purchasing the next cheap flight available...Yay for Asian discount airlines!) We stumbled upon a Dunkin Donuts and decided we must enter. we sat down with our ice coffees next to the security guards (which apparently all Indonesian DDs must have, so coveted are the round treats) and his friend who was strumming an old guitar. Nether spoke English but they greeted us with smiles. The musician suddenly said to us, "You know wassup far noon blondays?" We said "huh?" He repeated himself several times and I realized he was asking whether we were familiar with the 90s standard "What's Up by Four Non Blondes"..."and I say hey-hey-hey-hey-hey...what's going on?" And so we sang the song passionately, trying to remember the verses as amused locals passed by. Two veil-clad teenage Muslim girls giggled hysterically from behind the adjacent cell phone shop where they were working. We belted out the song three times for a crowd of admirers before heading on.
We didn't know where we were going but didn't have to think hard - we were flagged down by a man sitting on the fateful Dunkin Donuts steps. He called us over, introduced himself as Boody, and told us stories of his childhood as an orphaned shoe shine boy-turned-dreadlocked rasta man. He was now a clean cut tour guide who complained about the corruption in the government, which is allowing the city to become horribly dilapidated and driving away potential tourists. In fact, Boody hadn't had a customer in 2 weeks and was sleeping on the DD steps. Brian and I glanced at each other and knew we had found a friend.
Boody took us to the Jakarta underworld, where he wove tales of the tensions between the Chinese immigrants and the natives, which exploded in 1998 with riots and the arson of many Chinese businesses. He took us to Chinatown on the rough-riding public transport, showing the still-ashy buildings and life in the alleyways. A group of men sat beheading one frog after another, the first step of preparing local frog delicacies. Frog blood mixed with gutter water, washing over the men's feet as they puffed clove cigarettes hands-free. Boody directed us through the alleyways until we were greeted with overwhelming wafts of incense smoke so thick we could barely see.
We waved through the smoke to see a huge temple, the largest Chinese Buddhist temple in Indonesia. Hundreds of Chinese people held bundles of incense a foot thick, acting as torches and offerings to the divine. We entered the temple, a red and gold masterpiece with hundreds of the thick incense bundles adorning every corner and Buddha statue. The Chinese offered these up in devotion, mouthing silent prayers. We choked and sputtered and took pictures. When the smoke had nearly knocked us over we exited and found a similar scenario in the temple courtyard, only slightly less smoky.
Boody led us throughout other parts of Jakarta until night began to fall. We spoke of religion, politics, and all the other sensitive subjects guidebooks warn not to bring up with locals. Like the 100 million or so other Indonesians who get by on less than $2 a day, Boody will keep struggling but we gifted him what he would need to get by for the next few weeks. With only one day in Jakarta, we were so lucky to have found him. He gifted to us an insider's peek at his hectic, polluted, inexplicably charming city.
We didn't know where we were going but didn't have to think hard - we were flagged down by a man sitting on the fateful Dunkin Donuts steps. He called us over, introduced himself as Boody, and told us stories of his childhood as an orphaned shoe shine boy-turned-dreadlocked rasta man. He was now a clean cut tour guide who complained about the corruption in the government, which is allowing the city to become horribly dilapidated and driving away potential tourists. In fact, Boody hadn't had a customer in 2 weeks and was sleeping on the DD steps. Brian and I glanced at each other and knew we had found a friend.
Boody took us to the Jakarta underworld, where he wove tales of the tensions between the Chinese immigrants and the natives, which exploded in 1998 with riots and the arson of many Chinese businesses. He took us to Chinatown on the rough-riding public transport, showing the still-ashy buildings and life in the alleyways. A group of men sat beheading one frog after another, the first step of preparing local frog delicacies. Frog blood mixed with gutter water, washing over the men's feet as they puffed clove cigarettes hands-free. Boody directed us through the alleyways until we were greeted with overwhelming wafts of incense smoke so thick we could barely see.
We waved through the smoke to see a huge temple, the largest Chinese Buddhist temple in Indonesia. Hundreds of Chinese people held bundles of incense a foot thick, acting as torches and offerings to the divine. We entered the temple, a red and gold masterpiece with hundreds of the thick incense bundles adorning every corner and Buddha statue. The Chinese offered these up in devotion, mouthing silent prayers. We choked and sputtered and took pictures. When the smoke had nearly knocked us over we exited and found a similar scenario in the temple courtyard, only slightly less smoky.
Boody led us throughout other parts of Jakarta until night began to fall. We spoke of religion, politics, and all the other sensitive subjects guidebooks warn not to bring up with locals. Like the 100 million or so other Indonesians who get by on less than $2 a day, Boody will keep struggling but we gifted him what he would need to get by for the next few weeks. With only one day in Jakarta, we were so lucky to have found him. He gifted to us an insider's peek at his hectic, polluted, inexplicably charming city.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Trusting the airline gods
The race over, it is time for some relaxation. Brian and I were walking down main street in Siem Reap and saw a sign advertising fares to Malaysia for $35. I said, "Damn, I got 35 bucks." Brian said, "Me too." So off we went. We arrived yesterday in Kuala Lumpur and wondered where to go next. So we went to the ticketing counter and decided to head to Jakarta, abandoning our fleeting dream to explore Malaysia. We arrived last night and it is instantly clear that we were wise in choosing Indonesia.
Within a block of exiting our grimy, endearing guesthouse in search of nourishment, a schelppy-lookin' dude and his slick friend come up to chat with us. We instantly saw him to be a kindred spirit and stood on the curb talking for an hour or two. Their names are Tony and Tommy, two guys our age. Tony was rocking a huge dollar sign, jewel encrusted belt buckle and a giant rock of bling in his ear. Tommy stood next to him in sweatpants, rubbing his belly. Basically, they schooled us.
Tony and Tommy must be two of the wisest souls I have yet encountered. They told us about Indonesian culture, history and religion, shared their view of world politics, love, God, spirituality, ecological destruction and the impending doom, music, sin and mystery. This was all the more fascinating given that Indonesia is a Muslim country and Tommy was rather traditional in his reverence for Islamic teachings. I had mentioned to Brian that this trip could open my eyes to new global understanding, since it is our first time in a Muslim country. Tommy and Tony were set directly in the front of our path, to expose us to the gentle and wise Islam cosmology, not too different from Christianity, I thought. There were differences of opinion, of course, but overall I found them to feel like I do that God resides inside, in our hearts, in the connections between us and all other beings.
This is not the Islam on the news. This is the Islam of the peaceful, devout, joyous and quiet. Brian and I were jolted awake at 5 am by the incredibly loud broadcast of two holy men, chanting passionately to the divine. The first prayer of the day, their voices traveled through the neighborhood to awaken the residents, ensuring that their first conscious thoughts of the day are holy and beautiful. The chant went on and on. We lay awake, taken aback and wondering about the meaning of the mysterious Arabic melody.
Within a block of exiting our grimy, endearing guesthouse in search of nourishment, a schelppy-lookin' dude and his slick friend come up to chat with us. We instantly saw him to be a kindred spirit and stood on the curb talking for an hour or two. Their names are Tony and Tommy, two guys our age. Tony was rocking a huge dollar sign, jewel encrusted belt buckle and a giant rock of bling in his ear. Tommy stood next to him in sweatpants, rubbing his belly. Basically, they schooled us.
Tony and Tommy must be two of the wisest souls I have yet encountered. They told us about Indonesian culture, history and religion, shared their view of world politics, love, God, spirituality, ecological destruction and the impending doom, music, sin and mystery. This was all the more fascinating given that Indonesia is a Muslim country and Tommy was rather traditional in his reverence for Islamic teachings. I had mentioned to Brian that this trip could open my eyes to new global understanding, since it is our first time in a Muslim country. Tommy and Tony were set directly in the front of our path, to expose us to the gentle and wise Islam cosmology, not too different from Christianity, I thought. There were differences of opinion, of course, but overall I found them to feel like I do that God resides inside, in our hearts, in the connections between us and all other beings.
This is not the Islam on the news. This is the Islam of the peaceful, devout, joyous and quiet. Brian and I were jolted awake at 5 am by the incredibly loud broadcast of two holy men, chanting passionately to the divine. The first prayer of the day, their voices traveled through the neighborhood to awaken the residents, ensuring that their first conscious thoughts of the day are holy and beautiful. The chant went on and on. We lay awake, taken aback and wondering about the meaning of the mysterious Arabic melody.
The Afterglow...
It is an incredible feeling to plan, execute and successfully complete an event. Brian and I managed to facilitate the first Angkor International Bike Race, complete the race on ONE bike, then run a half marathon the next day and dance all night in celebration. Let me explain...
23 Cambodian university students arrived on Thursday from Battambang to help us out. They were amazing...so energetic, loving, honest. We were instant friends. They are part of our youth fellowship project which aims to enable young Cambodians to learn about social change in the local context. Now, there are tons of ex-pat NGO workers and not enough Cambodians are in positions of leadership for directing civil society's growth. I really felt that the crew of 23 were among the future thinkers and leaders of Cambodia. They helped survey the race course, set up and prepare.
The participants started to arrive Friday morning. It was a hectic day of planning. My biggest mistake was in not delegating the registration job so I was stuck at the table all day in the schmaltzy, enormous City Angkor Hotel. It was daunting to enter and draining to stay all day. But it finished up and Brian and I raced over to the pre-party at the elegant Cafe Indochine, where many of our guests were already schmoozing. My director Todd was sick so the task of emceeing the party fell on me. I was nervous talking to all these wealthy donors and Cambodian people but it went all right. We were happy that our first event had gone well, went home and crashed.
The next morning we awoke at 4. We were supposed to go straight to Angkor with all the volunteers, but their bus driver never showed. We all made it out to the temples by 5, but as it turns out that was way too late for setting up a 6:30 ride. As the bikers took off, a truck full of volunteers, sign posts and water jugs was racing just ahead of the riders to set up the course! Luckily no one noticed and we pulled it off. However, I missed all this because I was setting up, lost somewhere in the middle of the Angkor complex with the sun rising, dreading the fact that I was missing the glorious start to the event I had helped plan for so many months. I cried on the backseat of a moto as the driver helplessly sped through the jungle, desperately trying to find the starting line. I got their ten minutes after the race started, and I was crushed. Luckily it turned out that Brian and a few other of our people also had to miss the start, which made me feel a lot better. There was a bike waiting for me and I sped off.
About 10k into the course, in the middle of a farmers' village, Brian caught up to me. There was a bike waiting for him up ahead so I waited for him to embark. He pedaled for no more than 10 seconds before his chain snapped in half! We said, to hell with it. He mounted my bike and I hopped up on the handlebars and we completed the entire 25 mile course this way! The whole time, locals cheered and doubled over, hysterical to see two enormous white people in neon yellow lycra jerseys on a single bike.
We were elated to hear the participants say afterward that the race was "magical" "perfect" "the best weekend of my life." Many vowed to return next year. We celebrated afterward and the youth volunteers got to know the riders. It was great to see the beneficiaries and donors of our organization mingling and connecting, forging bonds of common understanding.
The next morning was the run. As we stoof at the starting line with 350 people from 25 countries, I almost panicked. I'm no runner! What the hell? Brian calmed me down, I entered a calmer state, and took off, still unsure. After the first 5 miles I realized that quitting was not an option - not in the middle of Angkor! It didn't really suck until the last 1.5 miles, when traffic started to build and I navigated between elephants, tour buses, monkeys, dogs, children and unchecked exhaust pipes spewing toxins in my winded face. I was amazed to finish - the only downside was the excruciating leg pain for 2 days afterward, which made it difficult to FINALLY explore Angkor Wat after 11 days spent on its outskirts!
The weekend was truly magical. I hope we do it again next year...
23 Cambodian university students arrived on Thursday from Battambang to help us out. They were amazing...so energetic, loving, honest. We were instant friends. They are part of our youth fellowship project which aims to enable young Cambodians to learn about social change in the local context. Now, there are tons of ex-pat NGO workers and not enough Cambodians are in positions of leadership for directing civil society's growth. I really felt that the crew of 23 were among the future thinkers and leaders of Cambodia. They helped survey the race course, set up and prepare.
The participants started to arrive Friday morning. It was a hectic day of planning. My biggest mistake was in not delegating the registration job so I was stuck at the table all day in the schmaltzy, enormous City Angkor Hotel. It was daunting to enter and draining to stay all day. But it finished up and Brian and I raced over to the pre-party at the elegant Cafe Indochine, where many of our guests were already schmoozing. My director Todd was sick so the task of emceeing the party fell on me. I was nervous talking to all these wealthy donors and Cambodian people but it went all right. We were happy that our first event had gone well, went home and crashed.
The next morning we awoke at 4. We were supposed to go straight to Angkor with all the volunteers, but their bus driver never showed. We all made it out to the temples by 5, but as it turns out that was way too late for setting up a 6:30 ride. As the bikers took off, a truck full of volunteers, sign posts and water jugs was racing just ahead of the riders to set up the course! Luckily no one noticed and we pulled it off. However, I missed all this because I was setting up, lost somewhere in the middle of the Angkor complex with the sun rising, dreading the fact that I was missing the glorious start to the event I had helped plan for so many months. I cried on the backseat of a moto as the driver helplessly sped through the jungle, desperately trying to find the starting line. I got their ten minutes after the race started, and I was crushed. Luckily it turned out that Brian and a few other of our people also had to miss the start, which made me feel a lot better. There was a bike waiting for me and I sped off.
About 10k into the course, in the middle of a farmers' village, Brian caught up to me. There was a bike waiting for him up ahead so I waited for him to embark. He pedaled for no more than 10 seconds before his chain snapped in half! We said, to hell with it. He mounted my bike and I hopped up on the handlebars and we completed the entire 25 mile course this way! The whole time, locals cheered and doubled over, hysterical to see two enormous white people in neon yellow lycra jerseys on a single bike.
We were elated to hear the participants say afterward that the race was "magical" "perfect" "the best weekend of my life." Many vowed to return next year. We celebrated afterward and the youth volunteers got to know the riders. It was great to see the beneficiaries and donors of our organization mingling and connecting, forging bonds of common understanding.
The next morning was the run. As we stoof at the starting line with 350 people from 25 countries, I almost panicked. I'm no runner! What the hell? Brian calmed me down, I entered a calmer state, and took off, still unsure. After the first 5 miles I realized that quitting was not an option - not in the middle of Angkor! It didn't really suck until the last 1.5 miles, when traffic started to build and I navigated between elephants, tour buses, monkeys, dogs, children and unchecked exhaust pipes spewing toxins in my winded face. I was amazed to finish - the only downside was the excruciating leg pain for 2 days afterward, which made it difficult to FINALLY explore Angkor Wat after 11 days spent on its outskirts!
The weekend was truly magical. I hope we do it again next year...
Monday, December 11, 2006
Watching change happen...as tourists gawk
Located next to the Angkor temples, Siem Reap is a booming tourist city that is nearly unrecognizable compared to how it looked just three years ago. When I came for the first time in January, there were no ATMs, now there must be 15. It is dizzying to witness the breakneck pace of construction and the international throngs of tourists who come to gawk at and photograph Angkor (the variably Brahma, Hindu and Buddhist capital of the ancient Khmer empire). After spending a week here, one can't help but notice some general trends according to each country's tourist culture. The British and Australians mingle easily with the locals but are quick to flee to the nearest Western-fashioned burger joint. The French also mix and own numerous businesses in town (a relic of the colonial era) but often steer clear of the other Westerners. As in any Southeast Asian tourist town, there are the usual rotund, aging white men gripping the hands of their tiny Thai and Cambodian “girlfriends.”
At the other end of the spectrum are the overwhelmingly huge crowds of Japanese and Koreans, who usually travel in large package tours and instantly take over any restaurant or temple where their minibus lets them out. Westerners, who usually travel solo or in pairs or trios, have few opportunities to mix with their Asian counterparts. And then, my local friend Ly Phy tells me, there are the Chinese businessmen who now arrive to indulge in the free-flowing sex tourism industry, not even bothering to visit the wondrous Angkor Wat, which they refer to derisively as “the rock.”
For all they have been through, the Khmer (Cambodian people) are an impressively laid-back lot who seem to take it all in stride. They are quick to befriend tourists, more often to learn about different cultures and practice English than to extract those precious tourist dollars. My Khmer friends here are hard-working and honest. They toil 10 hour shifts in French-owned bars to earn 3000 riel (75 cents) but strongly believe that it is more honorable to work hard for little pay than to not work at all. We Westerners eye them, lounging for hours in hammocks and tuk tuks (taxi-carts), not knowing if they are bored or just relaxed. We jealously suspect that they are in fact able to “do nothing,” a quality we utterly lack – with often destructive cultural and psychological consequences.
Getting to know a Khmer indeed confirms this tranquil perspective, and I have often been taken aback at the pure kindness locals have shown to me, glad that I am intrigued by not just thei ancient history but their present way of life. Like other ancient societies I have visited, Khmer culture seems both adaptable to and impenetrable by modernity and globalization. On the surface, Siem Reap is being paved over into a cement Westernized mess of opulence and indulgence. But try suggesting to a local that things were better a decade ago, when true starvation was exponentially more widespread and the Khmer Rouge and war still terrorized this country. For now, this seems to be the available alternative, and it looks bright. Yesterday I read an article which quoted a Siem Reap official as saying that the city's goal is to become a green, sustainable city. Cambodia is on the upswing, and it is a very interesting time to visit.
At the other end of the spectrum are the overwhelmingly huge crowds of Japanese and Koreans, who usually travel in large package tours and instantly take over any restaurant or temple where their minibus lets them out. Westerners, who usually travel solo or in pairs or trios, have few opportunities to mix with their Asian counterparts. And then, my local friend Ly Phy tells me, there are the Chinese businessmen who now arrive to indulge in the free-flowing sex tourism industry, not even bothering to visit the wondrous Angkor Wat, which they refer to derisively as “the rock.”
For all they have been through, the Khmer (Cambodian people) are an impressively laid-back lot who seem to take it all in stride. They are quick to befriend tourists, more often to learn about different cultures and practice English than to extract those precious tourist dollars. My Khmer friends here are hard-working and honest. They toil 10 hour shifts in French-owned bars to earn 3000 riel (75 cents) but strongly believe that it is more honorable to work hard for little pay than to not work at all. We Westerners eye them, lounging for hours in hammocks and tuk tuks (taxi-carts), not knowing if they are bored or just relaxed. We jealously suspect that they are in fact able to “do nothing,” a quality we utterly lack – with often destructive cultural and psychological consequences.
Getting to know a Khmer indeed confirms this tranquil perspective, and I have often been taken aback at the pure kindness locals have shown to me, glad that I am intrigued by not just thei ancient history but their present way of life. Like other ancient societies I have visited, Khmer culture seems both adaptable to and impenetrable by modernity and globalization. On the surface, Siem Reap is being paved over into a cement Westernized mess of opulence and indulgence. But try suggesting to a local that things were better a decade ago, when true starvation was exponentially more widespread and the Khmer Rouge and war still terrorized this country. For now, this seems to be the available alternative, and it looks bright. Yesterday I read an article which quoted a Siem Reap official as saying that the city's goal is to become a green, sustainable city. Cambodia is on the upswing, and it is a very interesting time to visit.
Saturday, December 9, 2006
Plagiarizing Brian again
So we are here in Siem Reap making plans for the first ever Angkor Bike Race. We have people coming in from 20 countries to ride around the majestic temples. The funds we are raising from the event are going to support livelihood projects for survivors who have lost limbs in land mine explosions and performance circus youth groups for street children. Everything is going so well, our events and plans are falling right into place. It feels great to organize this event...After all I have found that "action leads to inspiration" and it is powerful for me to live out karma yoga (spirituality via service).
Below, Brian reflects on the trouble with being 6'3" in Asia and our event planning. I will write more of my own reflections soon, just being lazy on a Sunday like I would be anywhere in the world...:)
" There are many hazards in Asia that I hadn't foreseen. There
is no getting around it: the Asians are a short people. At somewhere around 6'3'', walking down the street, through doorways or onto buses can unexpectedly result in disaster. The first such instance was in Bangkok walking home from dinner with a baby elephant. There I was minding my own when my skull was suddenly confronted with the fact that according to the law of averages, I am an out-lier in this land.
"The shop owner whose sign I had busted my head into lost it and went from stoic mug to peals of laughter. She couldn't help herself, despite my quickly leaking dome. Another instance, while less bloody was definitely sharper and more crippling. Moments after introducing myself to the folks at the Village Focus Cambodia office I think to be mindful of my dishes before I left.
"As I headed in a brisk walk to the kitchen to return my half-full (or, depending on your philosophy...) coffee and water glasses I was again reminded that I am a foreigner in this place. My vision went white and I crumpled, alarming the staff and dropping my glassware. These and other lumps remain to be renewed and time to time smacked, bumped, and thumped.
"Travelling to Siem Reap via speed boat is more fun than I imagined. We embarked at 7am up the Tonle Sap River for a 5 hour journey through floating villages and tropical views that make your eyes pop out in wonder. The best part of all is that no one really rides IN the speedboat, but rather sits atop it as it skims at roughly 40 mph up river. After four hours in the sun atop the boat, I found myself a tad more sunkissed than I had planned, but a day later it has already faded into a good base tan.
"Upon our arrival to Siem Reap, the first sight to greet us as we deboarded was the requisite crush of Tuk-Tuk drivers vying for attention. We settled on Thee (I am only guessing at the spelling and it's pronounced "Tea"), who was holding a sign which said "Only 1,000 Riel", about a quarter and far too low anyhow. Our bags piled up on the seat opposite us, we bumped our way through the squatter settlement that had sprung up around the boat "dock". Naked children capered about and adults went about their business in and out of makeshift shelters of bamboo poles and thatch. Many of the dwellers of these temporary settlements had no doubt been displaced from their land for one reason or another and come to Siem Reap in hopes of securing work.
"Along the way, Thee stopped to get some petrol at a gas station (see picture, not what you think) and said in measured, but clear English, "I wait at dock because I hope to be your driver in Siem Reap." For 7 bucks, Thee got his wish. We have spent the past two days visiting all manner of venues and hotels looking for a place to hold several satelite events for the main race and run. Thee spent a lot of time driving us around this morning to Siem Reap's many oversized hotels, many of which dwarf the surrounding architecture.
"Getting basic information to plan an event in another country isn't as simple as it might sound. Luckily, in our efforts to secure a venue we visited a mess of bars (research, you see). At one called Abacus, we met a local bartender. She was quick to laugh and kind enough to show Jess and I several places it would have taken us ages to discover seperately all at once. Led by our expert, this little mad dash tour of Siem Reap's finer dining establishments cut our search in half and sped negotiations by conducting them in Kmer which otherwise would have been half-pantomime, half-pidgin English."
Below, Brian reflects on the trouble with being 6'3" in Asia and our event planning. I will write more of my own reflections soon, just being lazy on a Sunday like I would be anywhere in the world...:)
" There are many hazards in Asia that I hadn't foreseen. There
is no getting around it: the Asians are a short people. At somewhere around 6'3'', walking down the street, through doorways or onto buses can unexpectedly result in disaster. The first such instance was in Bangkok walking home from dinner with a baby elephant. There I was minding my own when my skull was suddenly confronted with the fact that according to the law of averages, I am an out-lier in this land.
"The shop owner whose sign I had busted my head into lost it and went from stoic mug to peals of laughter. She couldn't help herself, despite my quickly leaking dome. Another instance, while less bloody was definitely sharper and more crippling. Moments after introducing myself to the folks at the Village Focus Cambodia office I think to be mindful of my dishes before I left.
"As I headed in a brisk walk to the kitchen to return my half-full (or, depending on your philosophy...) coffee and water glasses I was again reminded that I am a foreigner in this place. My vision went white and I crumpled, alarming the staff and dropping my glassware. These and other lumps remain to be renewed and time to time smacked, bumped, and thumped.
"Travelling to Siem Reap via speed boat is more fun than I imagined. We embarked at 7am up the Tonle Sap River for a 5 hour journey through floating villages and tropical views that make your eyes pop out in wonder. The best part of all is that no one really rides IN the speedboat, but rather sits atop it as it skims at roughly 40 mph up river. After four hours in the sun atop the boat, I found myself a tad more sunkissed than I had planned, but a day later it has already faded into a good base tan.
"Upon our arrival to Siem Reap, the first sight to greet us as we deboarded was the requisite crush of Tuk-Tuk drivers vying for attention. We settled on Thee (I am only guessing at the spelling and it's pronounced "Tea"), who was holding a sign which said "Only 1,000 Riel", about a quarter and far too low anyhow. Our bags piled up on the seat opposite us, we bumped our way through the squatter settlement that had sprung up around the boat "dock". Naked children capered about and adults went about their business in and out of makeshift shelters of bamboo poles and thatch. Many of the dwellers of these temporary settlements had no doubt been displaced from their land for one reason or another and come to Siem Reap in hopes of securing work.
"Along the way, Thee stopped to get some petrol at a gas station (see picture, not what you think) and said in measured, but clear English, "I wait at dock because I hope to be your driver in Siem Reap." For 7 bucks, Thee got his wish. We have spent the past two days visiting all manner of venues and hotels looking for a place to hold several satelite events for the main race and run. Thee spent a lot of time driving us around this morning to Siem Reap's many oversized hotels, many of which dwarf the surrounding architecture.
"Getting basic information to plan an event in another country isn't as simple as it might sound. Luckily, in our efforts to secure a venue we visited a mess of bars (research, you see). At one called Abacus, we met a local bartender. She was quick to laugh and kind enough to show Jess and I several places it would have taken us ages to discover seperately all at once. Led by our expert, this little mad dash tour of Siem Reap's finer dining establishments cut our search in half and sped negotiations by conducting them in Kmer which otherwise would have been half-pantomime, half-pidgin English."
Borrowing Brian's reflections (and photos)
I've been busy and not in the writing mood, but fortunately Brian has been. He and I will be traveling together until mid-January, when he has to go back to school. With permission here are his words:
Off to Cambodia after a brief Thailand tour: The moon was still bright and full when we left for the airport at 5am and it was breath-taking as we broke down through the cloud cover into Cambodia three hours later.Gone were the skyscrapers, highways, lights and mass transit of surprisingly clean and navigable Bangkok. The land below was green, green, green with paddy and palm dotting the expanse. As we stepped off the plane we were immediately wet with humidity that was an order of magnitude greater than Thailand.
Even with the ubiquitous, preposterous, pairings of shlumpy looking Western dudes and stunningly attractive Thai women, Bangkok lulled me into believing I was still someplace familiar. Phnom Penh reminded me that I am a long way from home and that I came here for a reason. Planning for the Angkor International Bike Race has consumed the majority of the two days I have been here. However, this morning I did find time to visit the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum in the center of Phnom Penh. The word "Tuol" in Khmer means a hill or higher place, while "Sleng" is both the name for two local poisonous trees or a descriptive word meaning "bearer of poison" or "supplier of guilt".
Toul Seng was once a school before the Khmer Rouge converted it into the S-21 prison, where thousands of Cambodians were incarcerated, tortured and killed. The mugshot pictures of the inmates occupy an entire floor of one of the buildings, which was once subdivided into tiny, 4'x7' cells. A room housed the various implements of inhumanity employed in practices such as water boarding, which our current
administration is reintroducing in it's rendition of "enemy combatants."
The walk through this literal house of horrors has helped show me the reality of the vicious legacy, the bad dream that present day Cambodia is struggling to awake from. The daily paper here tells tale of Hummer smuggling (how one does this, I do not know) and updates on the latest obstruction to the prosecution of Khmer Rouge leadership.
Off to Cambodia after a brief Thailand tour: The moon was still bright and full when we left for the airport at 5am and it was breath-taking as we broke down through the cloud cover into Cambodia three hours later.Gone were the skyscrapers, highways, lights and mass transit of surprisingly clean and navigable Bangkok. The land below was green, green, green with paddy and palm dotting the expanse. As we stepped off the plane we were immediately wet with humidity that was an order of magnitude greater than Thailand.
Even with the ubiquitous, preposterous, pairings of shlumpy looking Western dudes and stunningly attractive Thai women, Bangkok lulled me into believing I was still someplace familiar. Phnom Penh reminded me that I am a long way from home and that I came here for a reason. Planning for the Angkor International Bike Race has consumed the majority of the two days I have been here. However, this morning I did find time to visit the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum in the center of Phnom Penh. The word "Tuol" in Khmer means a hill or higher place, while "Sleng" is both the name for two local poisonous trees or a descriptive word meaning "bearer of poison" or "supplier of guilt".
Toul Seng was once a school before the Khmer Rouge converted it into the S-21 prison, where thousands of Cambodians were incarcerated, tortured and killed. The mugshot pictures of the inmates occupy an entire floor of one of the buildings, which was once subdivided into tiny, 4'x7' cells. A room housed the various implements of inhumanity employed in practices such as water boarding, which our current
administration is reintroducing in it's rendition of "enemy combatants."
The walk through this literal house of horrors has helped show me the reality of the vicious legacy, the bad dream that present day Cambodia is struggling to awake from. The daily paper here tells tale of Hummer smuggling (how one does this, I do not know) and updates on the latest obstruction to the prosecution of Khmer Rouge leadership.
Friday, December 1, 2006
Final Preparations
12.1 Almost time to swap lives...and set aside stability, habit and familiarity. I love to travel because I have learned to bridge gaps. I connect equally to military men and prostitutes, AIDS patients and backpackers, street children and aristocrats. This is my ability and one of my greatest gifts, and I am blessed with the opportunity to utilize it. Globalization brings images to mind of industrial gloom, war, exploitation. The destroyers of our planet rely on one thing: communication. But communication is now for everyone to use. We peacemakers have the power to use communication in positive ways. War is globalized - how about love? How can I be part of this necessary step forward?
12.3 Take-off...Ali drives me to the airport and we catch a breathtaking glimpse of Mt. Hood and Mt. St. Helens, who is standing half-tall and glowing in the morning sun that is reflecting blindingly off her snowy rim. She blew her damn top off, Ali says. I wonder aloud about her forceful release of potential energy, a dusting of magical mountain dust. It blew right over to Portland and invigorated us with a hot, lava-infused kick. Portland is full of vibrant creativity these days. Like a martyr Mt. St. Helens destroyed herself so that we could marvel at pure geologic power: a reminder from Shiva (Hindu god of destruction) that change is constant and that we are never in full control.
12.3 On the plane: Ali gave me the sweetest gift, a former travel journal filled with her sweetest words. For me, my connections to other beings exist out of time and out of space. When I travel I carry all my relations with me, sharing them with strangers by letting their light shine through me. My ties remain strong even when I am away. And still, leaving gets harder every time as my roots grow deeper.
12.4 Thoughts thought in Bangkok: As the second of my four flights to Cambodia descended towards a tiresome layover in Seoul, I looked out upon a clear gray sky at symmetrical row after row of structures which I could not comprehend. They were clustered into repetitive grids even more precise than those which humans are usually inclined to build. As we fell lower towards the ground, I realized that these were not houses but cinder block high-rise apartments. Their utter lack of color or variety was mysterious and dismaying -- then it suddenly occurred to me that we were flying over North Korea, and that this was likely (hopefully) the closest I would ever come to witnessing this strange, godless place. I checked the flight map to confirm.
I remember a story I once heard about when Laos hosted the Asian Youth Olympics. The opening ceremony was held on an especially rainy Spring day. As the young athletes arrived to Vientiane in tour buses, they passed under a banner showing photographs of the rulers of each of their nations. As the North Korean kids got off the bus, they spontaneously broke down shrieking and sobbing. Everyone else was puzzled by their screams...it turned out that their hysterics were triggered by the way that Kim Jong Il's photo on the dripping banner had begun to sag a few inches below those of the other leaders. This sacrilege abomination, cause for severe punishment, jolted the children's entire worldview.
12.6 Three days later, finally in Cambodia. Cambodia is a land full of lawlessness and outlandish antics that become packaged into epic, fascinating stories. You overhear them everywhere you go. Prostitutes, heroes, hit men, street children, international fugitives, pedophiles, poachers, tribes, peace workers and heroes: these are the characters that paint the legend-scape of a country just emerging from the ashes of genocide and war.
Many of the tales center around the government's corruption: after 30 years of war and violence, this country is rising and remembering its prior greatness, potential and how personal dedication makes these things possible. Until the last few years, basic security and survival were people's main preoccupations...as these slowly become tenable, the Cambodian soul is freed and can dream of more colorful, brighter possibilities. Many Cambodians are finally becoming able to ask more out of life.
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