Thursday, June 30, 2011
India in Four Parts
Having spent an eventful week in the subcontinent, I would have to write a very prolific post indeed to do justice to all my adventures. Thus, hence follows a four-part series on my trip to India, a land of culinary wonders, men wearing bell-bottoms, and very little toilet paper. Enjoy the ride, as it is bumpy, and drivers honk a lot. And watch out for cows.
Fail
For the past four days Pramod, Alex, and I have been staying just outside of Melbourne with Alex's relatives. Alex's aunt Deanne and uncle Tom have been amazing hosts, and it's been great to have a taste of home after a month of traveling in mostly developing countries.
Two days ago we decided that we were going to stay in for the day and maybe watch a movie. I set about starting a fire while Pramod set off to the shower and Alex searched for a movie. Unfortunately it's been a while since I've set up a fire, and the first one was a bust. Alex and I continued working on the fire with no success, until Pramod emerged from the shower half an hour later to discover that the fire was still only smoking. We eventually did get the fire going after the judicious use of kindling, but I'll consider the fire the first fail of the day.
Enervated by our fire-starting efforts, we sat back to enjoy the fire for maybe half an hour, when we realize that we're hungry. Pramod was craving Mexican food that day, so we decided to adventure to Taco Bill to try the local cuisine. Alex grabbed the keys to the Toyota Kluger while I found the directions, and we headed out the door. It was at this point that we completely ran out of luck.
Alex first realized that he had grabbed the wrong keys, that is, the keys to the manual car that it probably wasn't wise to drive on the left side of the road for the first time. "That's no problem," he thought, "I'll just run in to grab the other key." But somehow the doorknob to the front door was locked. We had the key to the deadbolt, but unfortunately the knob required a different key and wouldn't yield to any of us. Realizing the predicament, Alex reached for his cell to ask his aunt or uncle what to do. Sadly, the phone was sitting inside comfortably out of reach. We circled the house for about twenty minutes looking for a door that would yield to our key with no luck: the house was the residential equivalent of fort Knox. Not to be stopped, we decided to walk the 2 miles to taco bill. It was nice outside and we could stand to stretch our limbs.
Forty minutes later, we arrived at Taco Bill. It was awfully dark inside. We peered into the windows hoping to catch a glimpse of delicious "Mexican" food, only to be greeted by a sign saying that the restaurant opened at 5:30. It was 2:00. Our situation was becoming dire. Driven by hunger and shamed by our inability to get anything right, we trudged to the nearest gas station to ask for some directions to the nearest provider of food. After a wonderfully helpful attendant set us straight, we managed to find the Templestowe hotel. Pramod ran over to the bar and asked if there was food. It was 2:25. The kitchen closed at 2:00. Luckily as we were about to leave, the chef popped out to say that he would keep the kitchen open for us. With a sigh of relief we sat down and waited for our food. Pramod was served a chicken parm as big as his face and with enough fries to feed, well, Pramod. Alex and I were greeted by some rather dry bangers and mash. It didn't matter. We were famished. Over the next hour and a half we enjoyed our food and watched a taped match of Aussie rules football. As I sat back and savored my beer that fittingly had a note of uric acid, I realized that it had been a rather enjoyable day.
Two days ago we decided that we were going to stay in for the day and maybe watch a movie. I set about starting a fire while Pramod set off to the shower and Alex searched for a movie. Unfortunately it's been a while since I've set up a fire, and the first one was a bust. Alex and I continued working on the fire with no success, until Pramod emerged from the shower half an hour later to discover that the fire was still only smoking. We eventually did get the fire going after the judicious use of kindling, but I'll consider the fire the first fail of the day.
Enervated by our fire-starting efforts, we sat back to enjoy the fire for maybe half an hour, when we realize that we're hungry. Pramod was craving Mexican food that day, so we decided to adventure to Taco Bill to try the local cuisine. Alex grabbed the keys to the Toyota Kluger while I found the directions, and we headed out the door. It was at this point that we completely ran out of luck.
Alex first realized that he had grabbed the wrong keys, that is, the keys to the manual car that it probably wasn't wise to drive on the left side of the road for the first time. "That's no problem," he thought, "I'll just run in to grab the other key." But somehow the doorknob to the front door was locked. We had the key to the deadbolt, but unfortunately the knob required a different key and wouldn't yield to any of us. Realizing the predicament, Alex reached for his cell to ask his aunt or uncle what to do. Sadly, the phone was sitting inside comfortably out of reach. We circled the house for about twenty minutes looking for a door that would yield to our key with no luck: the house was the residential equivalent of fort Knox. Not to be stopped, we decided to walk the 2 miles to taco bill. It was nice outside and we could stand to stretch our limbs.
Forty minutes later, we arrived at Taco Bill. It was awfully dark inside. We peered into the windows hoping to catch a glimpse of delicious "Mexican" food, only to be greeted by a sign saying that the restaurant opened at 5:30. It was 2:00. Our situation was becoming dire. Driven by hunger and shamed by our inability to get anything right, we trudged to the nearest gas station to ask for some directions to the nearest provider of food. After a wonderfully helpful attendant set us straight, we managed to find the Templestowe hotel. Pramod ran over to the bar and asked if there was food. It was 2:25. The kitchen closed at 2:00. Luckily as we were about to leave, the chef popped out to say that he would keep the kitchen open for us. With a sigh of relief we sat down and waited for our food. Pramod was served a chicken parm as big as his face and with enough fries to feed, well, Pramod. Alex and I were greeted by some rather dry bangers and mash. It didn't matter. We were famished. Over the next hour and a half we enjoyed our food and watched a taped match of Aussie rules football. As I sat back and savored my beer that fittingly had a note of uric acid, I realized that it had been a rather enjoyable day.
Australia!
After our adventures in halong bay, Mark, Rich, Tony, and Mez headed off to the Hanoi airport for a stultifying 72 hours of travel back to new York. I hear that the end of their flight was plagued by more delays that prevented them from landing and diverted them to Canada, but it sounds like they've all made it back safe and sound.
Meanwhile, Aseem headed off to India while Alex, Pramod, and I headed off to the Gold Coast of Australia by way of Kuala Lumpur. Our arrival in Australia can be described as nothing less than blissful. It was in the mid 60s. There was no humidity. Everything was in English! And best of all, we could drink the tap water! Before even clearing customs (which is quite intense and includes food-sniffing dogs) we headed off to the bathroom to brush our teeth and take a good long swig of modern convenience.
We stayed in Surfers Paradise, which has two main attractions: the beach and clubbing. In other words it was perfect, since our main goal was to rest up after quite a bit of traveling. Our first, second, and third days were spent lounging on the beach, watching movies, exploring Australian grocery stores, and generally enjoying being in a thoroughly developed country with a climate much like that of southern California.
Meanwhile, Aseem headed off to India while Alex, Pramod, and I headed off to the Gold Coast of Australia by way of Kuala Lumpur. Our arrival in Australia can be described as nothing less than blissful. It was in the mid 60s. There was no humidity. Everything was in English! And best of all, we could drink the tap water! Before even clearing customs (which is quite intense and includes food-sniffing dogs) we headed off to the bathroom to brush our teeth and take a good long swig of modern convenience.
We stayed in Surfers Paradise, which has two main attractions: the beach and clubbing. In other words it was perfect, since our main goal was to rest up after quite a bit of traveling. Our first, second, and third days were spent lounging on the beach, watching movies, exploring Australian grocery stores, and generally enjoying being in a thoroughly developed country with a climate much like that of southern California.
Halong Bay
Halong bay
As we swerved along the highway to halong bay, I couldn't help but be a little nervous. We were about to embark on a three day, two night tour of halong bay, a distinctly beautiful unesco world heritage site in vietnam. Boat companies that operate in halong bay are known for providing dodgy service. To top that off, I had been a little queasy for the past few days and was not sure if a boat was the best place to be. Nonetheless, our van pulled up at the dock and a short man who went by the name "Jackie, as in Jackie Chan" greeted us. He eagerly explained to us our itinerary, asked us if we liked sea food, and led us down to a pontoon boat. "Oh boy," I thought, "it about time to get onto our leaky, smelly, cramped barge." We pulled up to a large wooden junk. "Not too shabby," I thought, "I wonder how many other people are on this boat?" we threw our bags onto the junk and hopped aboard to discover that we had what I would call a yacht all to ourselves. tHe eight of us would share four double rooms (yes, Jackie, we do want the beds pulled apart), each with it's own bathroom and shower. We were ushered upstairs to a dining room complete with white table clothes, red cloth decorative accents, and wine glasses. Jackie first offered us some delicious peach juice to whet our appetites, and afterward we sat down to our first lunch: a nine-course meal. Let me assure you, I had never had a nine-course meal before, and I very much did not expect to find one on a junk in Vietnam. Despite my trepidation with sea food, I managed to do just fine ripping the heads off of unfortunate but delicious steamed prawns, and the rest of the food was suitably delicious. Accidentally booking a luxury cruise for what we thought was a normal price wasn't so bad.
We cruised into halong bay proper while I watched from our shaded veranda surrounded by potted plants. The verdant cliffs of halong bay rose sharply out of the water all around. We stopped first at a cave to have a look around. Our intrepid guide Jackie led the spelunking party as we traversed what turned out to be a rather large underground complex. He pointed out all sorts of rock formations that looked like bears, dragons, pigs, people, turtles, and more. As we tired, we left the cool underground oasis and headed back to the boat, where we were welcomed by a basket of fresh fruit and moist towels. After a visit to a "beach" (small sandy area crowded with tourists) we retired to the boat for our ten-course dinner complete with more prawns and clams.
The next day was to be "action packed." a Jackie's insistence we awoke at 8 for a delicious breakfast, only to sit around for another hour as our boat chugged to our kayaking location. We set off in our kayaks along the smooth waters, marveling at a floating village, complete with a floating school. We explored a small cave and I wondered at the myriad of black crabs scurrying along the mussel-encrusted rocks as everyone else was contented to ram their kayaks into one another. It turns out that Rich (Mangione) knows a thing or two about rowing and is an absolute beast when it comes to propelling a vitnamese kayak. Later that day we kayaked through a few caves, using our flashlights to discover a multitude if bats above. Emerging from the other side of the cave, we found ourselves surrounded by apparently nasty jelly fish. I felt as though I were floating over a pool full of ghosts as I kayaked on.
The rest of the trip was filled with schwimming, eating, stargazing, and jumping off the top of the junk (an exhilaratingly long fall).
All in all, this part of the trip rivaled Koh Samet in terms of relaxation, and it was simply wonderful.
As we swerved along the highway to halong bay, I couldn't help but be a little nervous. We were about to embark on a three day, two night tour of halong bay, a distinctly beautiful unesco world heritage site in vietnam. Boat companies that operate in halong bay are known for providing dodgy service. To top that off, I had been a little queasy for the past few days and was not sure if a boat was the best place to be. Nonetheless, our van pulled up at the dock and a short man who went by the name "Jackie, as in Jackie Chan" greeted us. He eagerly explained to us our itinerary, asked us if we liked sea food, and led us down to a pontoon boat. "Oh boy," I thought, "it about time to get onto our leaky, smelly, cramped barge." We pulled up to a large wooden junk. "Not too shabby," I thought, "I wonder how many other people are on this boat?" we threw our bags onto the junk and hopped aboard to discover that we had what I would call a yacht all to ourselves. tHe eight of us would share four double rooms (yes, Jackie, we do want the beds pulled apart), each with it's own bathroom and shower. We were ushered upstairs to a dining room complete with white table clothes, red cloth decorative accents, and wine glasses. Jackie first offered us some delicious peach juice to whet our appetites, and afterward we sat down to our first lunch: a nine-course meal. Let me assure you, I had never had a nine-course meal before, and I very much did not expect to find one on a junk in Vietnam. Despite my trepidation with sea food, I managed to do just fine ripping the heads off of unfortunate but delicious steamed prawns, and the rest of the food was suitably delicious. Accidentally booking a luxury cruise for what we thought was a normal price wasn't so bad.
We cruised into halong bay proper while I watched from our shaded veranda surrounded by potted plants. The verdant cliffs of halong bay rose sharply out of the water all around. We stopped first at a cave to have a look around. Our intrepid guide Jackie led the spelunking party as we traversed what turned out to be a rather large underground complex. He pointed out all sorts of rock formations that looked like bears, dragons, pigs, people, turtles, and more. As we tired, we left the cool underground oasis and headed back to the boat, where we were welcomed by a basket of fresh fruit and moist towels. After a visit to a "beach" (small sandy area crowded with tourists) we retired to the boat for our ten-course dinner complete with more prawns and clams.
The next day was to be "action packed." a Jackie's insistence we awoke at 8 for a delicious breakfast, only to sit around for another hour as our boat chugged to our kayaking location. We set off in our kayaks along the smooth waters, marveling at a floating village, complete with a floating school. We explored a small cave and I wondered at the myriad of black crabs scurrying along the mussel-encrusted rocks as everyone else was contented to ram their kayaks into one another. It turns out that Rich (Mangione) knows a thing or two about rowing and is an absolute beast when it comes to propelling a vitnamese kayak. Later that day we kayaked through a few caves, using our flashlights to discover a multitude if bats above. Emerging from the other side of the cave, we found ourselves surrounded by apparently nasty jelly fish. I felt as though I were floating over a pool full of ghosts as I kayaked on.
The rest of the trip was filled with schwimming, eating, stargazing, and jumping off the top of the junk (an exhilaratingly long fall).
All in all, this part of the trip rivaled Koh Samet in terms of relaxation, and it was simply wonderful.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Our Favorite People
Traveling with a group of eight has its distinct drawbacks, the foremost of which is that we rarely get the chance to interact meaningfully with people other than ourselves-- be they fellow travelers or denizens of the places we visit. But two people we have met on our travels have gone above and beyond in demonstrating the hospitality and good-heartedness of their home countries.
The first is The Hostel Man from Bangkok. This receptionist (or concierge) at the hostel did us a service for which we couldn't possibly thank him in words: he led us to food. In the first case, he recommended the restaurant Ao Than to us, an establishment on Khao San Rd. We have reached a consensus that this was the best restaurant at which we ate during the entire trip; we ended up eating there twice. But in that instance, he simply pointed us in the right direction. On another instance, he literally told us to follow him as he led us, in the pouring rain, through myriad back-alleys and the winding stalls of Thai commerce, upstairs to an unmarked establishment serving a Thai-ified version of Vietnamese pho. We knew as soon as we slurped our first noodles from the bowl and drank of our orange Fantas: this was a great man who had led us here.
But believe it or not, Hostel Man's greatness has been eclipsed in our minds by another man: a small, unassuming Cambodian who goes only by the name of Mr. Money.
Needless to say, when we first received the little chit of paper proclaiming that our driver for our three days touring the Angkor temples was named Mr. Money, we had a little laugh to ourselves. But little could we know then that Mr. Money was no laughing matter-- he was an angel incarnate, a living saint, a demi-god perhaps left over from the days of the brilliance of Angkor itself.
This was because Mr. Money was no mere driver. He was so much more than a driver. He was a shepherd, a guide, a balm in times of sickness and want. When it rained, he brought out umbrellas. When we were thirsty, he produced water bottles, cold and inexhaustible. When we were confused, he lent us his Angkor guidebook. When we were done with a temple, he would be cheerfully waiting with the van already started and the A/C fully engaged. He created the perfect temple itinerary for us, and kindly brought us to delicious restaurants for lunch. When we scaled temples and could not muster the courage to come down by ourselves (we meaning Tony), he would ascend and show us the way. And all he asked in return was the total of $65 dollars we paid him for his three days' loyal service, which we supplemented with a $10 tip.
We wondered to ourselves what good, kind Mr. Money must be doing during the long, hot hours that we toured the temples. We concluded that he must be possessed of a brilliant intellect, and that his life away from the steering wheel must be spent as an amateur mathematician. As we climbed ruined structures and pointedly stupidly at big insects, he was, we were sure, writing long and brilliantly formulated proofs in a secret notebook in the glovebox. We sympathized with the setbacks he must face, and sincerely regretted how easily the monsoon winds could break his train of thought and set him back four years. How cruel life must be as an undiscovered genius, a diamond in the rough!
We even formulated a Mr. Money song. It is sung to the tune of Baby Monkey (see Youtube), and goes a little something like this:
Mr. Money
Mr. Money
Driving in a van
Mr. Money
Mr. Money
Mr. Money
Solving Theorems
Mr. Money
We need more lyrics; please send your suggestions to aseem.a.shukla@gmail.com.
The first is The Hostel Man from Bangkok. This receptionist (or concierge) at the hostel did us a service for which we couldn't possibly thank him in words: he led us to food. In the first case, he recommended the restaurant Ao Than to us, an establishment on Khao San Rd. We have reached a consensus that this was the best restaurant at which we ate during the entire trip; we ended up eating there twice. But in that instance, he simply pointed us in the right direction. On another instance, he literally told us to follow him as he led us, in the pouring rain, through myriad back-alleys and the winding stalls of Thai commerce, upstairs to an unmarked establishment serving a Thai-ified version of Vietnamese pho. We knew as soon as we slurped our first noodles from the bowl and drank of our orange Fantas: this was a great man who had led us here.
But believe it or not, Hostel Man's greatness has been eclipsed in our minds by another man: a small, unassuming Cambodian who goes only by the name of Mr. Money.
Needless to say, when we first received the little chit of paper proclaiming that our driver for our three days touring the Angkor temples was named Mr. Money, we had a little laugh to ourselves. But little could we know then that Mr. Money was no laughing matter-- he was an angel incarnate, a living saint, a demi-god perhaps left over from the days of the brilliance of Angkor itself.
This was because Mr. Money was no mere driver. He was so much more than a driver. He was a shepherd, a guide, a balm in times of sickness and want. When it rained, he brought out umbrellas. When we were thirsty, he produced water bottles, cold and inexhaustible. When we were confused, he lent us his Angkor guidebook. When we were done with a temple, he would be cheerfully waiting with the van already started and the A/C fully engaged. He created the perfect temple itinerary for us, and kindly brought us to delicious restaurants for lunch. When we scaled temples and could not muster the courage to come down by ourselves (we meaning Tony), he would ascend and show us the way. And all he asked in return was the total of $65 dollars we paid him for his three days' loyal service, which we supplemented with a $10 tip.
We wondered to ourselves what good, kind Mr. Money must be doing during the long, hot hours that we toured the temples. We concluded that he must be possessed of a brilliant intellect, and that his life away from the steering wheel must be spent as an amateur mathematician. As we climbed ruined structures and pointedly stupidly at big insects, he was, we were sure, writing long and brilliantly formulated proofs in a secret notebook in the glovebox. We sympathized with the setbacks he must face, and sincerely regretted how easily the monsoon winds could break his train of thought and set him back four years. How cruel life must be as an undiscovered genius, a diamond in the rough!
We even formulated a Mr. Money song. It is sung to the tune of Baby Monkey (see Youtube), and goes a little something like this:
Mr. Money
Mr. Money
Driving in a van
Mr. Money
Mr. Money
Mr. Money
Solving Theorems
Mr. Money
We need more lyrics; please send your suggestions to aseem.a.shukla@gmail.com.
I dislike Vietnamese food
Today we sat down to dinner. I wasn't sure what to expect. Our experiences over the past few days have been mixed, and have led to extreme displeasure, sickness, and the utter absence of flavor. Obviously the situation is dire, and we stand at a critical juncture for our gustatory faculties.
Tony's food arrived. Aseem's food arrived. Mark, Mez, and Pramod's food arrived. But where was mine? My stomac gurgled. A faint pang of quesy stirred below as my body protested the diet of at least 2 liters of water per day, combined with food that is, well, also like water.
20 minutes later my food arrived. I was ecstatic. I was overjoyed. I could not contain myself. The world beyond my plate ceased to exist, and for a moment I forgot that I was with seven others, that I was in Vietnam, and lo, even that I was human. All had disappeared, and my basest, most primal instincts took charge.
I grabbed the food and put it to my mouth. The first salvo began with such a satisfying crunch that my eyes bulged and I wasn't sure whether I could continue lest I overwhelm the senses. I tasted tangy. I tasted fatty. Ooohhhhh soooo goood.
The second bite was five times better. A wonderful sense of umami filled my mouth, and lapped gently at the pangs of hunger, slowly washing them away. The very fiber of my being was consumed by the essence of rich beefyness.
I took a third bite, and then another. I could not stop. I munched and munched like a man possessed, diligently ploughing through the dish like a beaver through a log. I wish that I could tell you what was happening around me, but I do not remember.
I finished and surveyed the remnants with utter bliss. My troubled stomach blurbed and glurped as it settled down into into a state of blissful repose.
Oh, I never knew that a hamburger in Vietnam could taste so good.
Tony's food arrived. Aseem's food arrived. Mark, Mez, and Pramod's food arrived. But where was mine? My stomac gurgled. A faint pang of quesy stirred below as my body protested the diet of at least 2 liters of water per day, combined with food that is, well, also like water.
20 minutes later my food arrived. I was ecstatic. I was overjoyed. I could not contain myself. The world beyond my plate ceased to exist, and for a moment I forgot that I was with seven others, that I was in Vietnam, and lo, even that I was human. All had disappeared, and my basest, most primal instincts took charge.
I grabbed the food and put it to my mouth. The first salvo began with such a satisfying crunch that my eyes bulged and I wasn't sure whether I could continue lest I overwhelm the senses. I tasted tangy. I tasted fatty. Ooohhhhh soooo goood.
The second bite was five times better. A wonderful sense of umami filled my mouth, and lapped gently at the pangs of hunger, slowly washing them away. The very fiber of my being was consumed by the essence of rich beefyness.
I took a third bite, and then another. I could not stop. I munched and munched like a man possessed, diligently ploughing through the dish like a beaver through a log. I wish that I could tell you what was happening around me, but I do not remember.
I finished and surveyed the remnants with utter bliss. My troubled stomach blurbed and glurped as it settled down into into a state of blissful repose.
Oh, I never knew that a hamburger in Vietnam could taste so good.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Creation Myths
Today we toured five magnificent temples. Since Aseem has been the one with the guide book, he's played the role of tour guide, and has been giving us the back story for each structure. A creation myth for one of the temples was particularly interesting, so I'll recount it here:
The king Anayanda had a young son, whose name was Ramachandran. A precocious young boy, Ramachandran dreamed of travelling the world to learn about other cultures and to see its great wonders. One day, he approached his father to ask permission to leave the royal compound. Anayanda strictly forbade it. Not only was he worried that the vices of the world would corrupt his son, but he also knew that Ramachandran would likely never return to his provincial kingdom. So Anayanda strictly forbade Ramachandran from ever leaving the temple complex and condemned him to a life of study and religious reflection.
Ramachandran sank into a deep, dark depression. He absolutely hated his cloistered life, and no longer saw any point to living. He neglected his studies, forsook his friends, and stopped loving his father. His days were spent brooding silently in his room, and contemplating whether there was any point to this existence. Anayanda knew that he alone was responsible for his son's dramatic decline, but his personal pride prevented him from changing his decision. He must keep up appearances. Thus, Ramachandran grew up a lonely, glum boy, and his twentieth birthday was the loneliest day of his life.
The night of his birthday, Ramachandran sat in his room thinking about committing suicide. He couldn't continue this existence. Making up his mind, he opened his window and tip-toed out onto the roof.
From afar, a young girl named Suribana spotted Ramachandran's shadowy figure moving along the roof line. Her heart clenched. As a young girl she and Ramachandran had been close friends, and for a while there had even been talk of arranging their marriage. Suribana had heard of Ramachandran's prolonged depression, and she knew that his presence on the roof could mean only one thing. She was suddenly surprised by a strange occurrence. Ramachandran's figure changed. It grew wings, and towered into the air. All of a sudden it stretched its wings and flew into the damp night air.
No one ever saw Ramachandran again. Some thought that he had died, some thought that he had run away. But only Suribana knew the truth. Anayanda never forgave himself. He knew that Ramachandran had run away because of his decision nearly fifteen years ago, and he never could stop blaming himself. The kingdom fell into disrepair, poverty festered, and the population dwindled.
One fateful day, a great rain cloud approached. It loomed over the city as none had ever before. The rain spat down at the cursed kingdom, with drops as large as cashews. The damn upriver of the kingdom swelled, until the damn strained against the mighty pressure of the water. It could no longer hold. With one massive crack, a wall of water raced toward the kingdom. From his seat of power, Anayanda looked out at his wrecked kingdom. He knew that the end was near.
But Suribana knew otherwise. She felt a tingling in her big toe, and at that instant was inspired to call upon Ramachandran for help. Some visceral aspect of her being drove her to make the ancestral bird call, even though she had never heard it before: "Bagaaakaaawwww! Bagaaakaaaaawwwwwww!!! Areeeeeee! Areeeee! Areeeee! Goobblegobblekaw!" From beyond the horizon came a great rush of air. It seemed that all of the air from the region that we know know as Laos had decended on the country. The peasants staggered against the gale. Anayanda squinted and covered his eyes. Maybe one of the gods would kill them before the impending flood?
Then, from out of nowhere, Ramachandran in his bird form swooped o'er the country side. Dogs, chickens, and even geckos cowered under the shadow. Ramachandran pearched on the hut closest to the oncoming flood. He slowly produced a long bamboo rod, which he directed at the torrent of water. Still the water came. But as the frothy waters of the flood reached the hut, Ramachandran sprang into action. He placed the bamboo in his mouth and bent the rest of the rod down to the ground via an articulation. And then he bagan to drink. And drink. And drink and drink and drink. Until the flood waters were all gone. The city was saved.
Ramachandran, now looking more like a large pet rock with wings, struggled to his feet. He slowly turned, and with one wing saluted his father, letting out his signature cry, "Bagakaaaaawww! Bagaaaakaaaaaaaawwwwww! Areeee! Areeee! Areeee! Gobblegobblekaw!" He then stretched his wings and slowly flapped his turgid body away.
The town was shocked. All of them had thought that Ramachandran was dead, and yet they all knew that he alone was responsible for their salvation. Anayanda himself was torn. He did not know whether to be more thankful for the salvation of his people, or for the transformation of his only son into a lesser god. But one thing was clear. He had to thank his son. He set forth with a frenzy only matched by a hamster scampering on its wheel. Within a year the temple Banteay Srei was completed. To this day it remains one of the most visited and cherished temples in the Angkor Wat complex, partly because of it's numerous beautiful reliefs, partly because of its beautiful bird iconography, and partly because of its rich back story.
The king Anayanda had a young son, whose name was Ramachandran. A precocious young boy, Ramachandran dreamed of travelling the world to learn about other cultures and to see its great wonders. One day, he approached his father to ask permission to leave the royal compound. Anayanda strictly forbade it. Not only was he worried that the vices of the world would corrupt his son, but he also knew that Ramachandran would likely never return to his provincial kingdom. So Anayanda strictly forbade Ramachandran from ever leaving the temple complex and condemned him to a life of study and religious reflection.
Ramachandran sank into a deep, dark depression. He absolutely hated his cloistered life, and no longer saw any point to living. He neglected his studies, forsook his friends, and stopped loving his father. His days were spent brooding silently in his room, and contemplating whether there was any point to this existence. Anayanda knew that he alone was responsible for his son's dramatic decline, but his personal pride prevented him from changing his decision. He must keep up appearances. Thus, Ramachandran grew up a lonely, glum boy, and his twentieth birthday was the loneliest day of his life.
The night of his birthday, Ramachandran sat in his room thinking about committing suicide. He couldn't continue this existence. Making up his mind, he opened his window and tip-toed out onto the roof.
From afar, a young girl named Suribana spotted Ramachandran's shadowy figure moving along the roof line. Her heart clenched. As a young girl she and Ramachandran had been close friends, and for a while there had even been talk of arranging their marriage. Suribana had heard of Ramachandran's prolonged depression, and she knew that his presence on the roof could mean only one thing. She was suddenly surprised by a strange occurrence. Ramachandran's figure changed. It grew wings, and towered into the air. All of a sudden it stretched its wings and flew into the damp night air.
No one ever saw Ramachandran again. Some thought that he had died, some thought that he had run away. But only Suribana knew the truth. Anayanda never forgave himself. He knew that Ramachandran had run away because of his decision nearly fifteen years ago, and he never could stop blaming himself. The kingdom fell into disrepair, poverty festered, and the population dwindled.
One fateful day, a great rain cloud approached. It loomed over the city as none had ever before. The rain spat down at the cursed kingdom, with drops as large as cashews. The damn upriver of the kingdom swelled, until the damn strained against the mighty pressure of the water. It could no longer hold. With one massive crack, a wall of water raced toward the kingdom. From his seat of power, Anayanda looked out at his wrecked kingdom. He knew that the end was near.
But Suribana knew otherwise. She felt a tingling in her big toe, and at that instant was inspired to call upon Ramachandran for help. Some visceral aspect of her being drove her to make the ancestral bird call, even though she had never heard it before: "Bagaaakaaawwww! Bagaaakaaaaawwwwwww!!! Areeeeeee! Areeeee! Areeeee! Goobblegobblekaw!" From beyond the horizon came a great rush of air. It seemed that all of the air from the region that we know know as Laos had decended on the country. The peasants staggered against the gale. Anayanda squinted and covered his eyes. Maybe one of the gods would kill them before the impending flood?
Then, from out of nowhere, Ramachandran in his bird form swooped o'er the country side. Dogs, chickens, and even geckos cowered under the shadow. Ramachandran pearched on the hut closest to the oncoming flood. He slowly produced a long bamboo rod, which he directed at the torrent of water. Still the water came. But as the frothy waters of the flood reached the hut, Ramachandran sprang into action. He placed the bamboo in his mouth and bent the rest of the rod down to the ground via an articulation. And then he bagan to drink. And drink. And drink and drink and drink. Until the flood waters were all gone. The city was saved.
Ramachandran, now looking more like a large pet rock with wings, struggled to his feet. He slowly turned, and with one wing saluted his father, letting out his signature cry, "Bagakaaaaawww! Bagaaaakaaaaaaaawwwwww! Areeee! Areeee! Areeee! Gobblegobblekaw!" He then stretched his wings and slowly flapped his turgid body away.
The town was shocked. All of them had thought that Ramachandran was dead, and yet they all knew that he alone was responsible for their salvation. Anayanda himself was torn. He did not know whether to be more thankful for the salvation of his people, or for the transformation of his only son into a lesser god. But one thing was clear. He had to thank his son. He set forth with a frenzy only matched by a hamster scampering on its wheel. Within a year the temple Banteay Srei was completed. To this day it remains one of the most visited and cherished temples in the Angkor Wat complex, partly because of it's numerous beautiful reliefs, partly because of its beautiful bird iconography, and partly because of its rich back story.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Country of Contrasts
Of the many destinations on our itinerary, Cambodia was the one that I was both least unsure of and the one that I was most excited about. Throughout our stays in Singapore and Thailand, many of us responded to the (minor) lack of creature comforts by comparing what we had to deal with at the time to what we expected to deal with in Cambodia. Expectations turned into reality when we left Bangkok on June 10. As we approached Phnom Penh International Airport aboard Air Asia, we eagerly looked out our windows to catch our first glimpses of a World Bank-designated Least Developed Country (LDC) - the poorest of the poor nations. It was through those windows that we saw the first of what would develop into a reoccurring theme: Cambodia is a country of contrasts. In the midst of rice paddies and poorly constructed shelters stood large, multistory homes that seemed to glimmer in the sunlight. Next to open, undeveloped plains towered modern office buildings and next to an international airport lied what appeared to be unattended swamps.
Once we landed on the ground, the contrasts continued. Walking along Sisowath Quay in search for dinner, we witnessed a growing and even booming city. Mopeds flew by at literally every angle possible, attractive restaurants lined the streets, and container ships plowed through the branches of the Mekong River. Yet as we sat down for dinner, we were approached by children no older than ten years of age begging to sell us books so that they can help to pay for their education. While it is unlikely that education was the final destination of any money that they earned (we discovered that apparently all little children selling books in Phnom Penh have a teacher who goes by the name of Popi), conversing with the children enlightened us to their financial struggles. The children's English was spot on (better than most Cambodian adults - indicating to me that Cambodia's education system (home or in school) was gearing up for global trade) and their sales capabilities were remarkable. Still, it was hard to not be discomforted by the fact that even in a bustling city with great potential (the average GDP growth of the Cambodian economy since 2000 years has been 6%), children still beg you to buy their books or little trinkets they've made at home.
For me, the core of the contrasts hit when we toured the Killing Fields and S-21. The latter of the two was a detention center used by the Khmer Rouge to torture and kill the enemies of Pol Pot and the "new" Cambodia. The Killing Fields is what resulted when S-21 fell behind the pace of the genocide. Without going into too much detail, the pain that Cambodia had gone through (beginning only 36 years ago) became immediately clear when we found ourselves staring into a glass cabinet filled with skulls belonging to men, women, and children who did not survive the Khmer Rouge. Walking through Phnom Penh, one could see that in some ways, Cambodia has moved on - its industry is flourishing and its growth rates are decreasing, but in others, the nation has not. This was made apparent to me when a Khmer woman (not to be mistaken for a proponent of the Khmer Rouge) who was holding hands with her children, burst into tears in front of a case of bones and clothes belonging to the victims of the genocide. It's clear that the wounds are too fresh to be forgotten. Aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers are still sorely missed. Yet only a few miles from the Killing Fields, merchants clamor in large markets and tuk-tuks swarm the streets searching for tourists.
Now that we are in Siem Reap, more contrasts have appeared. Grand hotels with flags from nearly every country adorn the roads and large supermarkets loom over the traffic, but only a few minutes from the touristy area exists severe poverty, a poverty that is hidden by smiling faces and enthusiastic hellos. Similarly, the temple remains of what was once a great empire of extensive regional influence puncture the skyline of what is now one of the least influential and most easily forgotten nations. Perhaps these contradictions are only growing pains that will fade as the Cambodia is integrated in the global market, or perhaps these contradictions are the fissions in the national foundation that will persistently prevent Cambodia from once again taking its place as a regional power. As the recent economic crisis has thrust forward many countries of the developing world, the answer to the above question may arise sooner than we expected.
Once we landed on the ground, the contrasts continued. Walking along Sisowath Quay in search for dinner, we witnessed a growing and even booming city. Mopeds flew by at literally every angle possible, attractive restaurants lined the streets, and container ships plowed through the branches of the Mekong River. Yet as we sat down for dinner, we were approached by children no older than ten years of age begging to sell us books so that they can help to pay for their education. While it is unlikely that education was the final destination of any money that they earned (we discovered that apparently all little children selling books in Phnom Penh have a teacher who goes by the name of Popi), conversing with the children enlightened us to their financial struggles. The children's English was spot on (better than most Cambodian adults - indicating to me that Cambodia's education system (home or in school) was gearing up for global trade) and their sales capabilities were remarkable. Still, it was hard to not be discomforted by the fact that even in a bustling city with great potential (the average GDP growth of the Cambodian economy since 2000 years has been 6%), children still beg you to buy their books or little trinkets they've made at home.
For me, the core of the contrasts hit when we toured the Killing Fields and S-21. The latter of the two was a detention center used by the Khmer Rouge to torture and kill the enemies of Pol Pot and the "new" Cambodia. The Killing Fields is what resulted when S-21 fell behind the pace of the genocide. Without going into too much detail, the pain that Cambodia had gone through (beginning only 36 years ago) became immediately clear when we found ourselves staring into a glass cabinet filled with skulls belonging to men, women, and children who did not survive the Khmer Rouge. Walking through Phnom Penh, one could see that in some ways, Cambodia has moved on - its industry is flourishing and its growth rates are decreasing, but in others, the nation has not. This was made apparent to me when a Khmer woman (not to be mistaken for a proponent of the Khmer Rouge) who was holding hands with her children, burst into tears in front of a case of bones and clothes belonging to the victims of the genocide. It's clear that the wounds are too fresh to be forgotten. Aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers are still sorely missed. Yet only a few miles from the Killing Fields, merchants clamor in large markets and tuk-tuks swarm the streets searching for tourists.
Now that we are in Siem Reap, more contrasts have appeared. Grand hotels with flags from nearly every country adorn the roads and large supermarkets loom over the traffic, but only a few minutes from the touristy area exists severe poverty, a poverty that is hidden by smiling faces and enthusiastic hellos. Similarly, the temple remains of what was once a great empire of extensive regional influence puncture the skyline of what is now one of the least influential and most easily forgotten nations. Perhaps these contradictions are only growing pains that will fade as the Cambodia is integrated in the global market, or perhaps these contradictions are the fissions in the national foundation that will persistently prevent Cambodia from once again taking its place as a regional power. As the recent economic crisis has thrust forward many countries of the developing world, the answer to the above question may arise sooner than we expected.
Hello! Hello!
Although we are now enjoying the jaw-dropping experience that is exploring the temples at Angkor, I think I ought to give my impressions of Phnom Penh first, because it is very unlike any of the places we have visited on this trip thus far.
We knew we were in for something else when we received landing cards on the flight from Bangkok to Phnom Penh prominently labeled "Immegration [sic] Card." As we closed in on the city from the air, we saw utter flatness all around. There was nary a high-rise to be seen, and the immediate outskirts of the city seemed to be rice paddies as far as the eye could see.
Upon landing and entering the airport, Alex proclaimed his pleasant surprise that since his previous visit to Cambodia, actual ramps linking the gates to the planes had appeared. Then, we got our on-arrival visas for entry to the country. This involved handing an application and a passport to one heavily-uniformed bureaucrat, then paying $20 in cash to another bureaucrat, who would give you your processed passport back, complete with visa sticker.
Mine was not the only name that they failed to copy letter for letter on the form. Tony's first name became "Ray," and my name, somehow, was "Ahukla Anand Shukla." But life went on.
We were met outside by a van from the hostel where we were staying. The weather was very pleasant-- breezy and reasonably dry, in contrast to the stagnant humidity of Bangkok and the downright oppressiveness of the steam-bath that was Singapore. But as we saw the city unfold before us, we knew that Phnom Penh was not the up-and-coming maelstrom that Bangkok was. Cambodia remains a two-wheeler economy: most traffic on the road consisted of motor scooters, bicyles, and tuk-tuks (Cambodia's tuk-tuks are dodgier than their Thai cousins: they are literally little two-wheel wagons attached by a pivot to a motor scooter). As we had observed earlier, there were next to no high rises, and most buildings were rather run-down. There was more trash on the streets, but not as much as in India. People looked reasonably well-fed, but they were obviously poorer.
Pramod and I, forever comparing our surroundings to India, decided that Phnom Penh was like a mid-sized Indian city, except slightly cleaner and a good deal less crowded. Otherwise, the scene was very familiar to us-- the same sorts of storefronts, people dressed in similar fashion, operating the same sorts of businesses and getting around in similar ways. Dogs run around the streets, trash is gathered in piles on shoddily paved sidewalks, and small children run around half-naked among it all. Begging is common.
Rural Cambodia was also very reminiscent of rural India (or of very rural Mexico, which I have also had the opportunity to see), but more on that later.
The hostel we stayed at appeared to be a restored colonial house with three or four stories. Despite being a beautiful building and an oasis of tourist calm, it was, in sum, not very good compared to the phenomenal accommodations we have had in Bangkok and Siem Reap, which have for me set a new bar for what budget accommodation can be. The staff was very friendly, but frankly somewhat incompetent when it came to suggesting restaurants, travel options, and other diversions. The restaurant there was mediocre and dreadfully overpriced, and the service rather slow. The upshot was that all eight of us had a room to ourselves, which provided for much merriment, but that meant we all shared one bathroom, and the AC was no good to boot.
For this reason, the cheap Indians Pramod and I were eager to hang out, and especially eat, in other places. The first full day we had in the city we went to what is called the Russian Market, so named because Soviet expats used to hang out there in the 1980s. It was paltry compared to the Chatuchak Weekend Market in Bangkok, but one highlight was the lunch that Pramod, Mez, and I managed to find among its crowded, sweltering stalls: fried noodles with vegetables and a fried egg, all prepared in front of us with a number of delicious sauces by an impossibly deft woman. A heaping plate cost just $1.
Speaking of money, Cambodia is notable on this trip for having a rather weak currency. The Cambodian riel suffers from rather toxic inflation, so most locals prefer to use American dollars and Thai baht; the riel is only used for small change. ATMs, as it happens, dispense only American dollars. This has proven to be an incredible convenience.
But back to our adventures: that night we ate pizza, which was a bit shameful, and an extremely persistent hawker boy got me to buy a book about the Pol Pot Regime off of him. Admittedly I enjoy the book, but the experience of trying to shoo this persistent child away was a bit taxing. He even flipped off Richard when he refused to buy a book! The nerve!
That night, in any case, I studied the Pol Pot book carefully, since the next day was occupied with acquainting ourselves with the grisly reminders of his bizarre and extraordinarily brutal regime. Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge controlled Cambodia from 1975-1979, and was not totally rooted out until 20 years after that. During those four short years, it wrought havoc upon Cambodia and killed perhaps a quarter of its citizens.
We woke up early to visit a site known as the Killing Fields in the district of Choeung Ek. The only reasonable comparison is to the Nazi death camps. Let me walk you through the Khmer Rouge's modus operandi for liquidating its "enemies:" anyone who they didn't know personally was immediately suspect, particularly educated people, foreigners, and ethnic minorities. These people would be taken to makeshift prisons, where they would be tortured for weeks to extract fabricated confessions. Then, they would be trucked to a site in the countryside, where a mass grave had already been dug. There, they would be bludgeoned to death (bullets were too precious), one by one, men, women, and children alike, until everyone was dead. The bodies would be piled into a mass grave.
Choeung Ek was one of these killing fields (there were about 150 across the country), and it contained no fewer than 50 mass graves. When they were dug up in the 1980s, something along the lines of 8000 bodies were found. A large shrine now houses all of their skulls. It is a grisly sight. A later visit to Tuol Sleng, a former high school that had been converted into one of the above-mentioned torture prisons, was even more powerful for me-- instruments of torture were simply laid out as they were found, and the walls were covered with pictures of bodies.
But Phnom Penh was not all poverty and horrors. Quite to the contrary, my experience in Phnom Penh turned out to be very pleasant, and I will remember it very fondly. The first night we were there, I felt a bit intimidated by this poor, badly lit city where we stuck out like sore thumbs under a few harsh fluorescent street lamps. But as time went on, it quickly became apparent that there was nothing to be afraid of. Khmer people, let the record show, are extremely sweet and friendly. Because Phnom Penh is not really on the tourist map, our interactions with people were, on the whole, very friendly and genuine, unlike in Bangkok or Siem Reap, where people who want to talk to you probably also want to sell you something.
The prime example of this kind of experience was walking into the little dive cafe next to our hostel, where a huge crowd had assembled to watch boxing. We struck up a conversation with a Khmer dude (did I mention that a lot of Cambodians, even outside the tourism industry, have very decent English?), who made some boxing bets with Pramod (Pramod lost). This guy also fancied Mez to be Michael Jackson's son. Good times.
These kinds of interactions kept occurring, however. Once, when Rich, Pramod, and I were clearly lost, a dude on the street came up to us and very graciously oriented us. I played volleyball for a bit (I sucked, naturally) with one of the waiters at the canteen I mentioned above. Later, when Pramod and I were looking for a place to eat (anything to avoid the profound mediocrity of the hostel restaurant), the same waiter eagerly ushered us into the canteen. The place was badly lit, and it looked decidedly closed. But the entire staff swung into action for us-- laying out chairs, tables, and firing up the stove. We had an extremely delicious meal, then got seconds, ordered drinks, got a free iced tea from them, and left a generous tip-- all for 5 dollars flat. They seemed so happy to have us around. Service like that one does not often see.
A word on food in Cambodia-- I've found that Khmer cooking, at least for the vegetarian, is not as good as in Thailand. There, I never had any shortage of options. In Cambodia, both the variety and flavor of options is somewhat less. Khmer food is somewhat less spicy, less lemongrassy, and less seafoody than Thai food. They do, however, make absolutely masterful use of black pepper-- a somewhat unusual flavor for East or Southeast Asian cuisine.
In sum, I will remember Phnom Penh (and its rural surroundings, where we traveled to the Killing Fields via ATV) as a humble, smiley place, full of little children everywhere who will line up on the street and excitedly call out to you "hello! Hello!" in the cutest little voices. If only people were so earnest everywhere!
We knew we were in for something else when we received landing cards on the flight from Bangkok to Phnom Penh prominently labeled "Immegration [sic] Card." As we closed in on the city from the air, we saw utter flatness all around. There was nary a high-rise to be seen, and the immediate outskirts of the city seemed to be rice paddies as far as the eye could see.
Upon landing and entering the airport, Alex proclaimed his pleasant surprise that since his previous visit to Cambodia, actual ramps linking the gates to the planes had appeared. Then, we got our on-arrival visas for entry to the country. This involved handing an application and a passport to one heavily-uniformed bureaucrat, then paying $20 in cash to another bureaucrat, who would give you your processed passport back, complete with visa sticker.
Mine was not the only name that they failed to copy letter for letter on the form. Tony's first name became "Ray," and my name, somehow, was "Ahukla Anand Shukla." But life went on.
We were met outside by a van from the hostel where we were staying. The weather was very pleasant-- breezy and reasonably dry, in contrast to the stagnant humidity of Bangkok and the downright oppressiveness of the steam-bath that was Singapore. But as we saw the city unfold before us, we knew that Phnom Penh was not the up-and-coming maelstrom that Bangkok was. Cambodia remains a two-wheeler economy: most traffic on the road consisted of motor scooters, bicyles, and tuk-tuks (Cambodia's tuk-tuks are dodgier than their Thai cousins: they are literally little two-wheel wagons attached by a pivot to a motor scooter). As we had observed earlier, there were next to no high rises, and most buildings were rather run-down. There was more trash on the streets, but not as much as in India. People looked reasonably well-fed, but they were obviously poorer.
Pramod and I, forever comparing our surroundings to India, decided that Phnom Penh was like a mid-sized Indian city, except slightly cleaner and a good deal less crowded. Otherwise, the scene was very familiar to us-- the same sorts of storefronts, people dressed in similar fashion, operating the same sorts of businesses and getting around in similar ways. Dogs run around the streets, trash is gathered in piles on shoddily paved sidewalks, and small children run around half-naked among it all. Begging is common.
Rural Cambodia was also very reminiscent of rural India (or of very rural Mexico, which I have also had the opportunity to see), but more on that later.
The hostel we stayed at appeared to be a restored colonial house with three or four stories. Despite being a beautiful building and an oasis of tourist calm, it was, in sum, not very good compared to the phenomenal accommodations we have had in Bangkok and Siem Reap, which have for me set a new bar for what budget accommodation can be. The staff was very friendly, but frankly somewhat incompetent when it came to suggesting restaurants, travel options, and other diversions. The restaurant there was mediocre and dreadfully overpriced, and the service rather slow. The upshot was that all eight of us had a room to ourselves, which provided for much merriment, but that meant we all shared one bathroom, and the AC was no good to boot.
For this reason, the cheap Indians Pramod and I were eager to hang out, and especially eat, in other places. The first full day we had in the city we went to what is called the Russian Market, so named because Soviet expats used to hang out there in the 1980s. It was paltry compared to the Chatuchak Weekend Market in Bangkok, but one highlight was the lunch that Pramod, Mez, and I managed to find among its crowded, sweltering stalls: fried noodles with vegetables and a fried egg, all prepared in front of us with a number of delicious sauces by an impossibly deft woman. A heaping plate cost just $1.
Speaking of money, Cambodia is notable on this trip for having a rather weak currency. The Cambodian riel suffers from rather toxic inflation, so most locals prefer to use American dollars and Thai baht; the riel is only used for small change. ATMs, as it happens, dispense only American dollars. This has proven to be an incredible convenience.
But back to our adventures: that night we ate pizza, which was a bit shameful, and an extremely persistent hawker boy got me to buy a book about the Pol Pot Regime off of him. Admittedly I enjoy the book, but the experience of trying to shoo this persistent child away was a bit taxing. He even flipped off Richard when he refused to buy a book! The nerve!
That night, in any case, I studied the Pol Pot book carefully, since the next day was occupied with acquainting ourselves with the grisly reminders of his bizarre and extraordinarily brutal regime. Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge controlled Cambodia from 1975-1979, and was not totally rooted out until 20 years after that. During those four short years, it wrought havoc upon Cambodia and killed perhaps a quarter of its citizens.
We woke up early to visit a site known as the Killing Fields in the district of Choeung Ek. The only reasonable comparison is to the Nazi death camps. Let me walk you through the Khmer Rouge's modus operandi for liquidating its "enemies:" anyone who they didn't know personally was immediately suspect, particularly educated people, foreigners, and ethnic minorities. These people would be taken to makeshift prisons, where they would be tortured for weeks to extract fabricated confessions. Then, they would be trucked to a site in the countryside, where a mass grave had already been dug. There, they would be bludgeoned to death (bullets were too precious), one by one, men, women, and children alike, until everyone was dead. The bodies would be piled into a mass grave.
Choeung Ek was one of these killing fields (there were about 150 across the country), and it contained no fewer than 50 mass graves. When they were dug up in the 1980s, something along the lines of 8000 bodies were found. A large shrine now houses all of their skulls. It is a grisly sight. A later visit to Tuol Sleng, a former high school that had been converted into one of the above-mentioned torture prisons, was even more powerful for me-- instruments of torture were simply laid out as they were found, and the walls were covered with pictures of bodies.
But Phnom Penh was not all poverty and horrors. Quite to the contrary, my experience in Phnom Penh turned out to be very pleasant, and I will remember it very fondly. The first night we were there, I felt a bit intimidated by this poor, badly lit city where we stuck out like sore thumbs under a few harsh fluorescent street lamps. But as time went on, it quickly became apparent that there was nothing to be afraid of. Khmer people, let the record show, are extremely sweet and friendly. Because Phnom Penh is not really on the tourist map, our interactions with people were, on the whole, very friendly and genuine, unlike in Bangkok or Siem Reap, where people who want to talk to you probably also want to sell you something.
The prime example of this kind of experience was walking into the little dive cafe next to our hostel, where a huge crowd had assembled to watch boxing. We struck up a conversation with a Khmer dude (did I mention that a lot of Cambodians, even outside the tourism industry, have very decent English?), who made some boxing bets with Pramod (Pramod lost). This guy also fancied Mez to be Michael Jackson's son. Good times.
These kinds of interactions kept occurring, however. Once, when Rich, Pramod, and I were clearly lost, a dude on the street came up to us and very graciously oriented us. I played volleyball for a bit (I sucked, naturally) with one of the waiters at the canteen I mentioned above. Later, when Pramod and I were looking for a place to eat (anything to avoid the profound mediocrity of the hostel restaurant), the same waiter eagerly ushered us into the canteen. The place was badly lit, and it looked decidedly closed. But the entire staff swung into action for us-- laying out chairs, tables, and firing up the stove. We had an extremely delicious meal, then got seconds, ordered drinks, got a free iced tea from them, and left a generous tip-- all for 5 dollars flat. They seemed so happy to have us around. Service like that one does not often see.
A word on food in Cambodia-- I've found that Khmer cooking, at least for the vegetarian, is not as good as in Thailand. There, I never had any shortage of options. In Cambodia, both the variety and flavor of options is somewhat less. Khmer food is somewhat less spicy, less lemongrassy, and less seafoody than Thai food. They do, however, make absolutely masterful use of black pepper-- a somewhat unusual flavor for East or Southeast Asian cuisine.
In sum, I will remember Phnom Penh (and its rural surroundings, where we traveled to the Killing Fields via ATV) as a humble, smiley place, full of little children everywhere who will line up on the street and excitedly call out to you "hello! Hello!" in the cutest little voices. If only people were so earnest everywhere!
Some perspective
We took a 6 hour van ride from Cambodia's capital city, Phnom Penh, to the tourist town of Siem Reap (home of the great temple complex). The van ride provided a stark contrast to urban Cambodia that finally made me realize exactly what it means to live here. Our journey took us along National Highway 6, which is presumably one of Cambodia's major thoroughfares since it is clearly visible on a map covering all of Cambodia. Yet Highway 6 has "two" lanes, does not have lane lines or a central divider (hence the quotation marks), and consists in some locations of a dirt road chock-full of potholes. The entire ride we passed slower moving vehicles, which included ox carts, five-axle trucks, many mopeds, vans with at least 20 people in them (and who were sometimes riding on top), pickup trucks with people sticking out at all angles, and cars completely stuffed with fruit. Glancing away from the road, it becomes apparent that most of the Cambodians who live along highway 6 live in what I might call wood huts (or perhaps houses), built on stilts, often with thatched roofs, but also made with more modern materials. It seems that for most of these people, the primary occupation is producing rice. Children run everywhere and often ride bikes, and occasionally mopeds, along the sides of the highway. The van driver often honks to warn that he is passing from behind. Cows and oxen dot the sides of the streets, and sometimes the driver must slow to let them pass as well.
Only after this ride did it really strike me that the average income of a cambodian is a little more than $2000 per year. It's sobering to realize that each of us spent more for this three week trip.
Only after this ride did it really strike me that the average income of a cambodian is a little more than $2000 per year. It's sobering to realize that each of us spent more for this three week trip.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
A Glimpse of Koh Samet
Picture this. You wake up in your super air conditioned room. It's a bit frigid, and you consider going back to sleep for some time. Realizing that it's almost ten, you crawl out of bed and put on your flip flops. Leaving your bungalow, you walk down a few flights of mosquito-infested stairs and sit down to breakfast at a table that is, quite literally, on the beach. You order a banana shake and an "American Breakfast" and lean back to survey the scene. As you sip the frothy, creamy goodness that is a banana shake, the sun illuminates the water ahead, which glows turquoise. Scattered cumulus clouds slowly drift above, and you dig in to your hearty eggs while digging your feet into the fine, white sands. It's not too hot. Maybe 80 degrees and not very humid. As you contemplate whether it would be better to go for a swim, relax on the beach, or perhaps take a shower, you decide that it's better to simply not move. This is a good decision, too, because for the next three hours you have a wonderful conversation with Pramod while Alex and Rich effectively turn themselves into lobsters.
This decision making process basically repeats for the rest of the day. You wonder, when should I eat? should I go swimming? Should I sit on the beach? Or maybe I should go for a walk? Ahhh, life on Koh Samet could be much, much worse :)
This decision making process basically repeats for the rest of the day. You wonder, when should I eat? should I go swimming? Should I sit on the beach? Or maybe I should go for a walk? Ahhh, life on Koh Samet could be much, much worse :)
Friday, June 10, 2011
Markets markets markets
Walking through the myriad of hawker stalls and food stands in the weekend market of Bangkok, it's easy to become overwhelmed. There are so many goods, and each vendor seems determined to make you buy something that you probably neither want nor need. The sweat glistens on nearly everyone's brow while moats of dust swirl in the shafts of light that penetrate the claustrophobic heat. Working here seems unfathomable from my sheltered perspective: nothing is clean, everywhere is crowded.
It seemed to me that in such a busy and free-wheeling city, manners disappeared. On one half-mile stretch of road alone we encountered at least four tuk-tuk men who tried to sell a ride in their motor carriages by sometimes joking, sometimes reasoning, and sometimes yelling. I understand that people will always try to rip you off, but this city seemed particularly determined to flout manners for profit.
A few days ago three of us went on an adventure while the other five toured the royal palace. We meandered through the ever-present stalls until coming to the edge of the river that cuts through town. The fast-moving water churned and carried along unfortunate plants. We boarded a ferry for 10 cents and were across the river in a matter of minutes. We entered a world in which I was a giant. We were the only foreigners in sight.
The market that we entered was perhaps just as crowded as the weekend market, albeit smaller. The real difference manifest itself in how the market-goers acted. None of the vendors actively sought our attention, but instead were more content to relax or talk with their friends while we walked on by. At one point alex stopped to examine some high-end headphones that usually sell for $200. After testing them out on some strange Thai song, he asked the vendor if they were real or fake. The vendor assured him that they were a knock-off, but smiled at us and thanked us as we walked away. After finishing with the market, we bought the most delicious boba tea that I've ever had in my life and found some seats in the middle of a medical complex under construction. The security guard for the complex eventually found us, and, smiling, he told us that we couldn't stay. But as we walked away, he waved us back and explained all of the other things that we could do in the area.
In retrospect, almost everything that I did not like about Bangkok was a result of the tourism industry. Actual Thai people are quite courteous and friendly, and I'm glad that I had the chance to come to this realization.
It seemed to me that in such a busy and free-wheeling city, manners disappeared. On one half-mile stretch of road alone we encountered at least four tuk-tuk men who tried to sell a ride in their motor carriages by sometimes joking, sometimes reasoning, and sometimes yelling. I understand that people will always try to rip you off, but this city seemed particularly determined to flout manners for profit.
A few days ago three of us went on an adventure while the other five toured the royal palace. We meandered through the ever-present stalls until coming to the edge of the river that cuts through town. The fast-moving water churned and carried along unfortunate plants. We boarded a ferry for 10 cents and were across the river in a matter of minutes. We entered a world in which I was a giant. We were the only foreigners in sight.
The market that we entered was perhaps just as crowded as the weekend market, albeit smaller. The real difference manifest itself in how the market-goers acted. None of the vendors actively sought our attention, but instead were more content to relax or talk with their friends while we walked on by. At one point alex stopped to examine some high-end headphones that usually sell for $200. After testing them out on some strange Thai song, he asked the vendor if they were real or fake. The vendor assured him that they were a knock-off, but smiled at us and thanked us as we walked away. After finishing with the market, we bought the most delicious boba tea that I've ever had in my life and found some seats in the middle of a medical complex under construction. The security guard for the complex eventually found us, and, smiling, he told us that we couldn't stay. But as we walked away, he waved us back and explained all of the other things that we could do in the area.
In retrospect, almost everything that I did not like about Bangkok was a result of the tourism industry. Actual Thai people are quite courteous and friendly, and I'm glad that I had the chance to come to this realization.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Tuk Tuk Goose
On our first full day in Bangkok, we were introduced to many of the wonders of the city - pad thai, golden buddhas, and ancient buses that couldn't make it out of second gear. However, one particular component of the city filled our entire day. It was the mode of transportation known as tuk tuks. In the western world, this type of transportation is unheard of, but they are absolutely fantastic. Imagine a motorized tricycle with a back seat and a canopy cover. The backseat can comfortably fit about 2 adult men, but not letting American spatial standards get in our way, we managed to squeeze 4 of us into the seats multiple times throughout the day. Flying through the city and coming within inches of cars, people, and any other objects on the road, these open-air, budget taxis provided us with wonderful tours of the city, some quality bonding time with each other, and a few bumps and bruises (the ceilings were quite low), all for an average price of $5 (150 baht) total.
While the views and exhaust fumes were rather enjoyable, the most interesting part of the tuk tuk culture was the drivers and "travel guides," aiming to acquire our business. Literally at any point when we pulled out our maps, a man would appear from nowhere to provide directions for us. Except the directions we received ended up being inquiries into the sites we've seen and propositions for extremely cheap (10 baht/person ~ $0.33) tours to multiple sites around the city. At one point, we were a street away from our destination, the 50 m tall standing buddha, and a man attempted to convince us to enter his company's tuk tuks to see places halfway across the city, when all we wanted was some help in finding the nearby temple. Thanks to Aseem's conversation with one of these "guides," we learned that these cheap rides would not take us to our destination at first, but instead, would bring us to a tailor where the driver would obtain a gas voucher and where we would be expected to buy suits from the store. After this delay, we would be brought to our real destination. Thankfully, we were savvy enough to avoid any of theses scams and fought off many "guides," including one man who almost became belligerent when we told him that we would rather walk than take his tuk tuk.
Attempting to ignore all these people and navigate our way around a city on foot, we got turned around few times and ended up changing our plans to go to new sites that happened to be along the route that we were walking. This part adds the "goose" portion to my title since at points, it seemed like a wild goose chase trying to find the different temples and palaces on our list. However, we successfully made our way around the city and got a good sense of Bangkok through all our wandering and tuk tuk rides. (Add good closing line here.)
While the views and exhaust fumes were rather enjoyable, the most interesting part of the tuk tuk culture was the drivers and "travel guides," aiming to acquire our business. Literally at any point when we pulled out our maps, a man would appear from nowhere to provide directions for us. Except the directions we received ended up being inquiries into the sites we've seen and propositions for extremely cheap (10 baht/person ~ $0.33) tours to multiple sites around the city. At one point, we were a street away from our destination, the 50 m tall standing buddha, and a man attempted to convince us to enter his company's tuk tuks to see places halfway across the city, when all we wanted was some help in finding the nearby temple. Thanks to Aseem's conversation with one of these "guides," we learned that these cheap rides would not take us to our destination at first, but instead, would bring us to a tailor where the driver would obtain a gas voucher and where we would be expected to buy suits from the store. After this delay, we would be brought to our real destination. Thankfully, we were savvy enough to avoid any of theses scams and fought off many "guides," including one man who almost became belligerent when we told him that we would rather walk than take his tuk tuk.
Attempting to ignore all these people and navigate our way around a city on foot, we got turned around few times and ended up changing our plans to go to new sites that happened to be along the route that we were walking. This part adds the "goose" portion to my title since at points, it seemed like a wild goose chase trying to find the different temples and palaces on our list. However, we successfully made our way around the city and got a good sense of Bangkok through all our wandering and tuk tuk rides. (Add good closing line here.)
I Love Thailand, or, If I had a billion dollars, I would buy a holographic Charizard
Dearest readers-- I realize that you've heard little of our time in Thailand so far, so I'll do my best to fill you in.
I'll start with Bangkok. Now, I am a lucky guy. I've had the privilege of traveling to many of the world's greatest cities. But only two cities have really floored me with what they have to offer. Both are studies in contrasts, and both, understandably, draw tourists like neon lights draw flies. One is Istanbul, and the other is Bangkok.
Others have attested to Bangkok's chaos-- the maddening third-world-ity of the place, with its incorrigible hawkers and crumbling concrete buildings. But bear in mind that for me and Pramod, the baseline is India: Thailand seems to be doing miraculously well. Even the poorest of areas have a minimum of trash and human waste, and the drivers seem to at least grasp the concept of lane lines, as well as the abstract imperative of needing to respect them.
Our first day in Thailand contained two big adventures: the Weekend Market at Chatuchak and a trip to the Golden Mount temple. Chatuchak is the mother of all markets-- it truly defies the imagination. I am sure it occupies a couple of square miles, and, once there, you can buy almost anything you can conceive of, from food to furniture and from Ray-Bans to chihuahuas. It was my second time there, and it made me smile: thousands upon thousands of entrepreneurs, validating capitalism in the developing world, and bringing us goods that we wanted at phenomenally low prices. And there was nary a scrap of trash to be found anywhere! Truly remarkable.
The second stop of the day was the Golden Mount temple, which was the first of four temple complexes we would end up seeing over a two-day period. Each was more spectacular than the last-- the Golden Mount was built high on a hill with wonderful views of the city, the Royal Grand Palace contained a complex of political buildings and beautiful and ornate Buddhist architecture, Wat Pho contained an enormous golden reclining Buddha (the Buddha himself would not have approved of such ostentation!), and Wat Arun contained huge pagodas that you could climb-- once again, with beautiful views of the city and the Chao Phraya river.
Thai art and architecture is breathtaking. A curious blend of Indian and Chinese in form, Thai monuments and murals have all the elaboration and grandeur of similar Western cultural products. In fact, Thailand is especially blessed: never having been colonized, occupied, or bombed by a foreign power, it has never had to deprioritize the upkeep of its traditional artistic heritage. Only in Thailand, among the countries of Eastern religious traditions, do you find such prolific monumental architecture, and in particular religious architecture. More than once, despite being pretty un-religious, I was moved to offer a few Sanskrit prayers in these magnificent houses of worship.
Thai food, let it be known, is also breathtaking. From green and red curries to noodle dishes to sticky rice with coconut milk and mango, our taste buds have been in a perpetual state of euphoria almost since we first arrived in the county. We found an absolutely epic restaurant in Khao San, the backpacker's district of Bangkok, where we have been staying, and which is packed with foreigners of all stripes. We could have visited this restaurant a third time tonight, but instead one of the brilliant hostel staff members led us through all manner of side streets to a Thai-Vietnamese noodle place, where we ate like absolute kings for 80 baht per person (a little under 3 dollars), including our main noodle soup dish, plus salad, pork sausage for the meat eaters, and drinks. Thailand is so cheap and delicious!
But enough of these side details-- there are also our adventures on the island of Koh Samet to discuss. Koh Samet is a good 3-5 hours from Bangkok by a number of means of transport, but it is well worth the long trek. It's a long, skinny little island topped with green hills and absolutely gorgeous beaches. The sand is fine and white, and the water at least 80 degrees Fahrenheit. We stayed at an establishment somewhat sketchily named Jep's Bungalows. I don't know who this Jep fellow is, but I can tell you that his bungalows resemble government rest houses in India, complete with the obligatory mosquitoes, bucket baths, and sometimes only semi-functional toilets (if you want them). But also like India, the cheap little restaurant attached to the bungalows (which were situated amid beautifully manicured tropical gardens) was delicious and featured an impossibly prolific menu featuring food from almost every major world cuisine. Needless to say, we continued to eat well, although this time we sat right on the beach and were comforted by a fine ocean breeze.
We only had two nights in Koh Samet, but we had an absolutely fantastic time there. Our time consisted of little more than eating, wallowing in the warm water, sitting on the excellent beach, and having very long and illuminating conversations. It was a perfect contrast to the sweaty hustle and bustle of the big cities we had been to.
The subtitle of this post is an allusion to one of the more light-hearted discussions that our Koh Samet sojourn occasioned. We were talking about what we would do if we had a billion dollars at our disposal. Pramod and I, ever the megalomaniacs, agreed that, among other things, we would drop a few million to buy out as many highway-side billboards across the world as we could-- depicting ourselves in inspiring positions, bearing the captions "Aseem Shukla: The Way of the Future" or "Pramod Thammaiah: He's Coming." But Mark's ambitions were somewhat more... modest. He said that he would buy a big trampoline. Pramod and I thought this was laughably unambitious, and had an excellent time coming up with other unambitious desires, such as the one above.
Anyway-- my brain is fried, and I realize this post is probably incredibly rambling. But here you go. Thailand has been wonderful to us, as I'm sure you can tell. It uniquely combines an exotic climate, culture, cuisine, and landscape with an openness to tourism, an accepting attitude to Westerners, and very little stress in getting and enjoying what the country has to offer. All in all, it is one of the most interesting, stimulating, and agreeable countries in the world, and I wish it well as its economic and political fortunes improve.
And on we go, tomorrow, to Cambodia, a much poorer country with a much less serendipitous history. I cannot wait to see how it compares to India, which is in fact slightly richer per capita, but far more diverse and chaotic, it seems to me. Cambodia is terra incognita, and I have no idea what to expect from it. I can only dream that it will be as pleasant and magical as Thailand has been, and that we manage to enjoy both the attractions and each other's company as much as we did there.
I'll start with Bangkok. Now, I am a lucky guy. I've had the privilege of traveling to many of the world's greatest cities. But only two cities have really floored me with what they have to offer. Both are studies in contrasts, and both, understandably, draw tourists like neon lights draw flies. One is Istanbul, and the other is Bangkok.
Others have attested to Bangkok's chaos-- the maddening third-world-ity of the place, with its incorrigible hawkers and crumbling concrete buildings. But bear in mind that for me and Pramod, the baseline is India: Thailand seems to be doing miraculously well. Even the poorest of areas have a minimum of trash and human waste, and the drivers seem to at least grasp the concept of lane lines, as well as the abstract imperative of needing to respect them.
Our first day in Thailand contained two big adventures: the Weekend Market at Chatuchak and a trip to the Golden Mount temple. Chatuchak is the mother of all markets-- it truly defies the imagination. I am sure it occupies a couple of square miles, and, once there, you can buy almost anything you can conceive of, from food to furniture and from Ray-Bans to chihuahuas. It was my second time there, and it made me smile: thousands upon thousands of entrepreneurs, validating capitalism in the developing world, and bringing us goods that we wanted at phenomenally low prices. And there was nary a scrap of trash to be found anywhere! Truly remarkable.
The second stop of the day was the Golden Mount temple, which was the first of four temple complexes we would end up seeing over a two-day period. Each was more spectacular than the last-- the Golden Mount was built high on a hill with wonderful views of the city, the Royal Grand Palace contained a complex of political buildings and beautiful and ornate Buddhist architecture, Wat Pho contained an enormous golden reclining Buddha (the Buddha himself would not have approved of such ostentation!), and Wat Arun contained huge pagodas that you could climb-- once again, with beautiful views of the city and the Chao Phraya river.
Thai art and architecture is breathtaking. A curious blend of Indian and Chinese in form, Thai monuments and murals have all the elaboration and grandeur of similar Western cultural products. In fact, Thailand is especially blessed: never having been colonized, occupied, or bombed by a foreign power, it has never had to deprioritize the upkeep of its traditional artistic heritage. Only in Thailand, among the countries of Eastern religious traditions, do you find such prolific monumental architecture, and in particular religious architecture. More than once, despite being pretty un-religious, I was moved to offer a few Sanskrit prayers in these magnificent houses of worship.
Thai food, let it be known, is also breathtaking. From green and red curries to noodle dishes to sticky rice with coconut milk and mango, our taste buds have been in a perpetual state of euphoria almost since we first arrived in the county. We found an absolutely epic restaurant in Khao San, the backpacker's district of Bangkok, where we have been staying, and which is packed with foreigners of all stripes. We could have visited this restaurant a third time tonight, but instead one of the brilliant hostel staff members led us through all manner of side streets to a Thai-Vietnamese noodle place, where we ate like absolute kings for 80 baht per person (a little under 3 dollars), including our main noodle soup dish, plus salad, pork sausage for the meat eaters, and drinks. Thailand is so cheap and delicious!
But enough of these side details-- there are also our adventures on the island of Koh Samet to discuss. Koh Samet is a good 3-5 hours from Bangkok by a number of means of transport, but it is well worth the long trek. It's a long, skinny little island topped with green hills and absolutely gorgeous beaches. The sand is fine and white, and the water at least 80 degrees Fahrenheit. We stayed at an establishment somewhat sketchily named Jep's Bungalows. I don't know who this Jep fellow is, but I can tell you that his bungalows resemble government rest houses in India, complete with the obligatory mosquitoes, bucket baths, and sometimes only semi-functional toilets (if you want them). But also like India, the cheap little restaurant attached to the bungalows (which were situated amid beautifully manicured tropical gardens) was delicious and featured an impossibly prolific menu featuring food from almost every major world cuisine. Needless to say, we continued to eat well, although this time we sat right on the beach and were comforted by a fine ocean breeze.
We only had two nights in Koh Samet, but we had an absolutely fantastic time there. Our time consisted of little more than eating, wallowing in the warm water, sitting on the excellent beach, and having very long and illuminating conversations. It was a perfect contrast to the sweaty hustle and bustle of the big cities we had been to.
The subtitle of this post is an allusion to one of the more light-hearted discussions that our Koh Samet sojourn occasioned. We were talking about what we would do if we had a billion dollars at our disposal. Pramod and I, ever the megalomaniacs, agreed that, among other things, we would drop a few million to buy out as many highway-side billboards across the world as we could-- depicting ourselves in inspiring positions, bearing the captions "Aseem Shukla: The Way of the Future" or "Pramod Thammaiah: He's Coming." But Mark's ambitions were somewhat more... modest. He said that he would buy a big trampoline. Pramod and I thought this was laughably unambitious, and had an excellent time coming up with other unambitious desires, such as the one above.
Anyway-- my brain is fried, and I realize this post is probably incredibly rambling. But here you go. Thailand has been wonderful to us, as I'm sure you can tell. It uniquely combines an exotic climate, culture, cuisine, and landscape with an openness to tourism, an accepting attitude to Westerners, and very little stress in getting and enjoying what the country has to offer. All in all, it is one of the most interesting, stimulating, and agreeable countries in the world, and I wish it well as its economic and political fortunes improve.
And on we go, tomorrow, to Cambodia, a much poorer country with a much less serendipitous history. I cannot wait to see how it compares to India, which is in fact slightly richer per capita, but far more diverse and chaotic, it seems to me. Cambodia is terra incognita, and I have no idea what to expect from it. I can only dream that it will be as pleasant and magical as Thailand has been, and that we manage to enjoy both the attractions and each other's company as much as we did there.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Arrival in Bangkok
Gliding over the suburbs of bangkok on tiger airways flight 2104, it was apparent that Bangkok would be a city entirely different from Singapore. The view from above showed waterways and crowded streets splayed off from larger arteries at odd angles. A massive city of skyscrapers loomed along the horizon, partially hidden by the intervening cloud of smog. A massive mixture of cultures, old and new, this city clearly held many more surprises than the closely regulated island of Singapore.
We disembarked from the plane, and headed toward immigration. As each of us passed through the security checkpoint, the immigration official laughed at us because none of us had been able to correctly write down the address of our hostel. After clearing customs, we went in search of the bus line that would take us to our hostel. We discovered that the bus was closed, but were quickly approached by a man from a rival van service. He didn't know exactly where our hostel was, but nonetheless he said that he could deliver us there for 1500 baht. Being in an adventurous spirit, he haggled the man down to 1200 baht, and all hopped in the '90s decor toyota van.
With "Rock it like a hurricane" playing in the background, we sped through the crowded and frenetic highways of bangkok. Mercedes and Lexus dealerships dotted the street corners, interspaced with burger king, mcdonalds, and the ever-present 7-11. But in between were often slums, shanties with corrugated roofs and unsteady walls, men "hanging out" between freeway ramps, and concrete shells that apparently were buildings. The ride itself took maybe 45 minutes, and by the end of it I was completely disoriented. None of the streets seemed to follow any sort of plan.
The van dropped us in the middle of a street lined with hawkers. To my right I could buy Ray-Ban, and to my left St. Armani. The van driver had done the best that he could, and he couldn't do any more to help us find "5 Tani Street." We picked a direction and went with it. Luckily in Bangkok many of the street corners have maps, and a pushy young man asked us where we were going and pointed out how to get there on the map. We had been going the wrong direction, so we turned around and retraced our steps. Thanks to Pramod, we kept heading in the right direction, passing by stalls with cooked internal organs, more knock-offs, and beggars with adorable kittens. We were a train of giant white men. Somehow we managed to find the hostel, and we all sidled in.
We disembarked from the plane, and headed toward immigration. As each of us passed through the security checkpoint, the immigration official laughed at us because none of us had been able to correctly write down the address of our hostel. After clearing customs, we went in search of the bus line that would take us to our hostel. We discovered that the bus was closed, but were quickly approached by a man from a rival van service. He didn't know exactly where our hostel was, but nonetheless he said that he could deliver us there for 1500 baht. Being in an adventurous spirit, he haggled the man down to 1200 baht, and all hopped in the '90s decor toyota van.
With "Rock it like a hurricane" playing in the background, we sped through the crowded and frenetic highways of bangkok. Mercedes and Lexus dealerships dotted the street corners, interspaced with burger king, mcdonalds, and the ever-present 7-11. But in between were often slums, shanties with corrugated roofs and unsteady walls, men "hanging out" between freeway ramps, and concrete shells that apparently were buildings. The ride itself took maybe 45 minutes, and by the end of it I was completely disoriented. None of the streets seemed to follow any sort of plan.
The van dropped us in the middle of a street lined with hawkers. To my right I could buy Ray-Ban, and to my left St. Armani. The van driver had done the best that he could, and he couldn't do any more to help us find "5 Tani Street." We picked a direction and went with it. Luckily in Bangkok many of the street corners have maps, and a pushy young man asked us where we were going and pointed out how to get there on the map. We had been going the wrong direction, so we turned around and retraced our steps. Thanks to Pramod, we kept heading in the right direction, passing by stalls with cooked internal organs, more knock-offs, and beggars with adorable kittens. We were a train of giant white men. Somehow we managed to find the hostel, and we all sidled in.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Food Addendum
Richard said he didn't know what the desserts were. Allow me to enlighten:
1. Gula Melaka (sp?)-- essentially, tapioca with coconut milk and palm syrup. Epicness.
2. Shaved ice with palm syrup, rose water, and some other flavorings, underlain by red azuki beans and agar and some other stuff. Kind of weird.
3. Coconut panna cotta with yams, sweet potato, and agar.
4. Fresh fruit.
Singapore is a paradise of tropical fruit, by the way. Another omitted detail: we played 3 hours of Botticelli while walking around today.
1. Gula Melaka (sp?)-- essentially, tapioca with coconut milk and palm syrup. Epicness.
2. Shaved ice with palm syrup, rose water, and some other flavorings, underlain by red azuki beans and agar and some other stuff. Kind of weird.
3. Coconut panna cotta with yams, sweet potato, and agar.
4. Fresh fruit.
Singapore is a paradise of tropical fruit, by the way. Another omitted detail: we played 3 hours of Botticelli while walking around today.
FOOOOD!!!!!!!!!
Today can really be summed up in two words: walking and eating. We spent most of the day sweating (i mean wandering) around the city and the botanical gardens. In the sweltering humidity, this walk was really more of a workout, which (thankfully) left us with ravenous appetites.
And if there's anything that Singapore is good at, it's producing delicious food. We were lucky enough to have alex's auntie Agnes take us out to dinner tonight at the Tanglin club, and it was one of the best experiences of of the trip so far. Highlights include multiple kinds of satay, Chinese and Thai fried rice, chicken tikki, noodle goodness, shrimp goodness, chicken bliss, strawberry colada delight, and many other wonderful noms. I wish that I could also relate to you what kinds of desserts we had, but we decided to order only those desserts that we had never had before. The results we delicious, but I really have no idea what we ate. As I write this post my money belt is perched proudly on my massive food baby. Today was a culinary and gustatory win of epic proportions.
And if there's anything that Singapore is good at, it's producing delicious food. We were lucky enough to have alex's auntie Agnes take us out to dinner tonight at the Tanglin club, and it was one of the best experiences of of the trip so far. Highlights include multiple kinds of satay, Chinese and Thai fried rice, chicken tikki, noodle goodness, shrimp goodness, chicken bliss, strawberry colada delight, and many other wonderful noms. I wish that I could also relate to you what kinds of desserts we had, but we decided to order only those desserts that we had never had before. The results we delicious, but I really have no idea what we ate. As I write this post my money belt is perched proudly on my massive food baby. Today was a culinary and gustatory win of epic proportions.
Singapore: Asia's melting pot and Land of a Thousand malls
My impersion of Singapore after two days has been simply put, capitalism works. Even with the all the wikipediaing I did on Singapore before this trip I was quite amazed by the fusion of so many cultures is such a relatively tiny place. The diveersity is reflected in different parts of the society. Singapore has 4 main languages, though they all seem to understand English, (thank you British), the food is quite varied, and the feel of the city depends on where you are. One moment you are in a typical, high end Asian city and the next you are transported to New Delhi. Personally I found this to all be wonderful but I questioned how all this work. How did the cultures come to be together without fighting one another.
I questioned this that is until we explored Orchard St., the high end shopping area of the city-state. Soooo many mall, malls on top of malls. Then it hit me, what makes Singapore work, capitalism. The city runs clock work because everyone knows their place and that place is to sell stuff. Commericialization is the name of the game. People don't have time to argue, when their is stuff to be sold. And if you think otherwise, I am sure the benevolent dictorship will help you find your place quite soon (see the two women figting in the subway). Overall I am quite impressed and love the efficiency and sense of purpose which Singapore seems to exude.
I questioned this that is until we explored Orchard St., the high end shopping area of the city-state. Soooo many mall, malls on top of malls. Then it hit me, what makes Singapore work, capitalism. The city runs clock work because everyone knows their place and that place is to sell stuff. Commericialization is the name of the game. People don't have time to argue, when their is stuff to be sold. And if you think otherwise, I am sure the benevolent dictorship will help you find your place quite soon (see the two women figting in the subway). Overall I am quite impressed and love the efficiency and sense of purpose which Singapore seems to exude.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Don't forget the fight on the subway
Richard forgot to mention the exciting fight we saw between two middle-aged women on the subway. As they yelled at each other, one of them hit the other. Their husbands promptly stepped in between, but for some reason remained silent. The other woman took her shoe and tried to hit the first woman. Everyone on the subway was in shock that in a city where public gum-chewing is illegal that a fight could break out. Sure enough the women and their husbands were escorted off the train on the next stop.
Adventures getting to Singapore
It's been about 26 hours of flying, but we've finally made it into Singapore! Highlights of the trip included a stop-off in Vancouver where we were not allowed to get off the plane and had to leave the bathrooms unoccupied while they were being cleaned. Unfortunate passengers for whom nature called (such as myself) were rather rudely interrupted when the cleaning staff somehow opened the doors from the outside. Upon arriving at Changi international airport and taking the subway to the district of our hostel, we were greeted by a massive thunder storm. For about an hour it rained just about as hard as I've ever seen it rain before, and the thunder sounded like gunshots above us. We finally tired of waiting for the rain to clear. Luckily Rich had the foresight to pack a bunch of trash bags. Schlepping our bags in the trash bags, and also wearing them, which we draped over our bags and ourselves as we slipped and sloshed our way to the hostel.
Since then I've had some excellent pearl milk tea, and I've discovered that almond milk does not satisfy one's thirst.
Since then I've had some excellent pearl milk tea, and I've discovered that almond milk does not satisfy one's thirst.
Far East via Middle East
Well, well! It would appear, unexpectedly, that mine is the first full post on this blog. Right now, I'm on the ground floor of our hostel in Little India, Singapore, exploiting the free wifi for all it's worth. The others have gone to find South Indian style chicken. I am left alone with a lot of kids watching some British TV show. Great. Britons. Real colonialists.
I don't know how the others' trip was, but I do know that THEY didn't see the tallest building in the world-- the Burj Khalifa in Dubai. Ergo, my journey here was better.
It began with a 15-hour flight from San Francisco to Dubai. Before you pity me too much, know that I flew on Emirates, which is perhaps the greatest airline in the world. The amenities are second to none (although the service is probably still better on Singapore). I had a choice of literally hundreds of TV programs and movies to watch, in at least 20 different languages (as much as I was tempted to watch a Hindi film, the fact that I hadn't heard of most of the new movies was not heartening). Between three episodes of 30 Rock, a three-part series on Exploring the Universe with Stephen Hawking, a documentary on the 2008 financial crisis, The Town, and Dr. Strangelove, as well as 200 pages of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, I was well-entertained.
Sleep was harder to come by. I managed about 6 hours on the first 15-hour flight, which was a feat considering the Yemeni chap on my left who kept his arms a good five inches beyond the armrest (huge foul) and smelled strongly of dried roses, and the Madrasi woman on my right who definitely spilled water on my seat while I was in the bathroom and pointedly did not tell me about it.
But I arrived in Dubai reasonably refreshed, and after some difficulties with getting internet access and phone cards (the Dubai Airport staff are not the most well-informed), I was able to meet up with an uncle of mine who lives there. He took me to said Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world-- which at 2,700 feet blows the competition out of the water by a good 50%. It was a sight to see at night-- half a mile of incredibly graceful, spiraling terraces thrusting skyward, adorned with the most exuberant display of blinking lights. My uncle informed me that the building contained 27 swimming pools, and that the top floors were for the Sheikh of Dubai himself.
I won't wax too poetic, but the Burj Khalifa is a thing of real beauty. Similarly beautiful, however, was the food I enjoyed afterward. My uncle wanted to take me to an Awadhi restaurant-- Awadh being a region of India whose cooking is characterized by slow cooking and a very delicate use of spices. Alas, the place was closed (by this time it was half past midnight in Dubai), but we eventually found a place that served us the Indian equivalent of fajitas, served sizzling on a griddle with buttered naan on the side. Dubai, in other words, was pretty great.
The food on the planes was nothing to sneeze at either. Two solid Indian meals on the first flight, as well as a regular supply of tea, and even an unbidden slice of cheese pizza that wafted seemingly out of nowhere in the middle of the night, so common and unassuming, but no doubt a savior of sorts in an hour of need. The food on the next flight was not quite so good, but it was still Emirates!
I have said nothing so far of our day in Singapore as yet, but even as I type, Richard is preparing a missive on that topic. Suffice it to say that we did a good deal of wandering, often aimless and in circles (we forgive you, Alex ;-)), and shared some good old-fashioned bathroom talk over Asian goodies (and some wildly overpriced beverages) in a second-rate mall's food court. A jackfruit tasting was less than successful, although Richard and I found the best pearl tea (or boba tea; call it what you will) of our lives. For those who have not seen Singapore: the main attraction is solid, clean, respectable capitalism, but also admirable multiculturalism and a very steamy climate. More on all this to follow! Stay tuned!
I don't know how the others' trip was, but I do know that THEY didn't see the tallest building in the world-- the Burj Khalifa in Dubai. Ergo, my journey here was better.
It began with a 15-hour flight from San Francisco to Dubai. Before you pity me too much, know that I flew on Emirates, which is perhaps the greatest airline in the world. The amenities are second to none (although the service is probably still better on Singapore). I had a choice of literally hundreds of TV programs and movies to watch, in at least 20 different languages (as much as I was tempted to watch a Hindi film, the fact that I hadn't heard of most of the new movies was not heartening). Between three episodes of 30 Rock, a three-part series on Exploring the Universe with Stephen Hawking, a documentary on the 2008 financial crisis, The Town, and Dr. Strangelove, as well as 200 pages of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, I was well-entertained.
Sleep was harder to come by. I managed about 6 hours on the first 15-hour flight, which was a feat considering the Yemeni chap on my left who kept his arms a good five inches beyond the armrest (huge foul) and smelled strongly of dried roses, and the Madrasi woman on my right who definitely spilled water on my seat while I was in the bathroom and pointedly did not tell me about it.
But I arrived in Dubai reasonably refreshed, and after some difficulties with getting internet access and phone cards (the Dubai Airport staff are not the most well-informed), I was able to meet up with an uncle of mine who lives there. He took me to said Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world-- which at 2,700 feet blows the competition out of the water by a good 50%. It was a sight to see at night-- half a mile of incredibly graceful, spiraling terraces thrusting skyward, adorned with the most exuberant display of blinking lights. My uncle informed me that the building contained 27 swimming pools, and that the top floors were for the Sheikh of Dubai himself.
I won't wax too poetic, but the Burj Khalifa is a thing of real beauty. Similarly beautiful, however, was the food I enjoyed afterward. My uncle wanted to take me to an Awadhi restaurant-- Awadh being a region of India whose cooking is characterized by slow cooking and a very delicate use of spices. Alas, the place was closed (by this time it was half past midnight in Dubai), but we eventually found a place that served us the Indian equivalent of fajitas, served sizzling on a griddle with buttered naan on the side. Dubai, in other words, was pretty great.
The food on the planes was nothing to sneeze at either. Two solid Indian meals on the first flight, as well as a regular supply of tea, and even an unbidden slice of cheese pizza that wafted seemingly out of nowhere in the middle of the night, so common and unassuming, but no doubt a savior of sorts in an hour of need. The food on the next flight was not quite so good, but it was still Emirates!
I have said nothing so far of our day in Singapore as yet, but even as I type, Richard is preparing a missive on that topic. Suffice it to say that we did a good deal of wandering, often aimless and in circles (we forgive you, Alex ;-)), and shared some good old-fashioned bathroom talk over Asian goodies (and some wildly overpriced beverages) in a second-rate mall's food court. A jackfruit tasting was less than successful, although Richard and I found the best pearl tea (or boba tea; call it what you will) of our lives. For those who have not seen Singapore: the main attraction is solid, clean, respectable capitalism, but also admirable multiculturalism and a very steamy climate. More on all this to follow! Stay tuned!
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