TravelStream™ news feed for member sherwoodk on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/sherwoodk en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Sun, 18 May 2008 19:55:54 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1209685800/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1209685800/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1209685800/tpod.html Sun, 18 May 2008 19:55:54 -0400 Adventures in Southeast Asia

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Jaipur, Rajasthan, India

First of all, I must confess: I'm home now as I write this. In fact, I stayed just a week in India: four days in the Himalayas, two in Jaipur, and one traveling between the two. You might think that with only two days in Jaipur, I wouldn't have so much to say. Quite the contrary! This turned out to be the funniest part of my trip -- perhaps because, as a guest of my friend Chintu, I had the best access to the local culture.

Funny incident #1: While I intended to spend most of my time in Jaipur with Chintu, he had to tend to his shop all day, and thus several times I went out on my own. Not far, mind you -- we're talking around the block -- but I knew from experience that foreigners in Jaipur tend to get a lot of attention for doing nothing more interesting than walking down the street. Sometimes I've been poked, maybe to see if my skin feels the same as an Indian person's skin. Sometimes men will deliberately bump into me. Often, people will beg me to look in their shops: "Just look!" So, I felt lucky when the only person to accost me on my first solo walk around the block was a little girl of perhaps eight years old.

The girl clearly wanted some money, and I did feel for her -- she wasn't in school, and appeared to be working by picking up large pieces of garbage and placing them in an enormous bag she carried with her. However, the smallest bill I had was a 500 rupee note (worth about $12). So instead, I tried to buy her breakfast. She wasn't interested in that, but did gladly pick out a couple of chocolates! Not satisfied, she followed me to a store whose owner suggested I buy her an outfit. "Only 450 rupees!" he claimed, holding up a tasteful pink polka-dotted shirt and skirt. Doubtful, I called Chintu.

"How much should a kid's outfit cost?" I asked.

"About 100 rupees, 150 tops," he replied.

I hung up the phone. "My friend said I shouldn't pay more than 150 rupees," I reported. Undaunted by the 300% discount, the man offered a bright orange frilly dress most American children wouldn't be caught dead in for just that price. Yet my young friend smiled broadly, delighted. I paid and the girl stuffed the dress into her bag, where it joined the cardboard boxes and aluminum foil she had picked up from the streets that morning.

Funny incident #2: One of Chintu's friends, or perhaps cousins (he has a lot of cousins!), was hosting a party on Thursday night, to which I was happily invited. It was a large party, with about 700 people, held in a pleasant garden courtyard. The occasion? The hosts' daughter was turning one year old!

Chintu introduced me to about twenty cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, and the like, who offered me crunchy Chinese noodles and spiced ice cream with ginger and coconut so rich you could pick it up with your hands. Among the guests was Chintu's 14-year-old cousin, whom I had met at his shop and who had taken an unusual interest in my birthmarks. Despite our complete lack of a common language, he had carried on several long conversations with me, and from him I had learned my first word of Hindi: "paagal," meaning crazy. Now we had at least one word in common, and we could point at each other and say it until he laughed and ran away.

As usual, the funniest things happened when I wandered off on my own. One young man -- he couldn't have been more than 20 -- walked up to me as I watched a group of cooks sitting cross-legged on tables rolling out chapati with rolling pins or flipping them with their hands. "I have many girlfriends," he reported. "Only for sex. Very normal in my country." I laughed, guessing what he was getting at. "You like me? You want friendship with me?" I replied that sadly, I would be leaving the next night, so a "friendship" with him wasn't likely to get off the ground. "You have husband?" he persisted. "Why not? You don't like marriage? How many boyfriends you have? Only for sex?" I wondered if he talked this way with the Indian girls, too.

Moving on, I took out my camera to take some pictures of the Rajasthani cooks. The men were delighted, eager as children to see their faces on the digital screen. They took me around to take pictures of their friends, some proud, others bashful. The women, on the other hand, looked as if they would like to beat me with their rolling pins if I so much as pointed the camera in their direction. Later, though, they indicated they would be most willing to be photographed in exchange for some rupees.

Funny incident #3: This one is funny in retrospect, though it was a bit scary at the time! I was supposed to fly from Jaipur to Delhi with Jet Lite at 9:00 Friday evening, arriving in plenty of time for my flight to Boston at 2:10 a.m. However, right around 7:00 pm Chintu received a call that the flight had been canceled. I might get on the 7:50 Kingfisher flight, the Jet Lite people said. We promptly jumped in a tuk tuk and hurried to the airport, but to no avail. I'd have to take a taxi -- if we made good time (four hours), I could still arrive in Delhi in time for my flight home. Chintu and his cousin would come with me, so I wouldn't have to be alone.

We did make good time most of the way (only swerving a couple of times for elephants and camels), but about 15 kilometers outside of Delhi, we got stuck in a long line of stationary trucks waiting to go through the tollbooths. Undaunted, the taxi driver swung into the opposite lane -- the one in which enormous trucks were rushing towards us in the other direction! I grasped Chintu's arm so tightly I may have left marks. "Please, I'd rather miss my flight!" I implored him. "Better Mr. Late than Late Mister! Better late than never!" I pulled out whatever sayings I could remember from our drive in the Himalayas.

Chintu said something to the driver and told me we'd move back into our lane when we could. "But look at all the trucks we've passed!" he pointed out.

I did end up missing my flight, but was able to take the next one six hours later. Chintu and his cousin stayed with me for a few hours until I could check in, finally heading back at 4:30 am -- that would get them back to Jaipur around 9:30 am or so, just in time to start work for the day. Could I ever be such a good friend as they were?

P.S. Many of you are probably aware of the terrorist bombings which occurred last week in Jaipur. Thankfully, neither Chintu nor any of his friends or family were hurt in the bombings. It remains to be seen how they may be affected indirectly.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1209112260/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1209112260/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1209112260/tpod.html Thu, 01 May 2008 06:02:41 -0400 Adventures in Southeast Asia

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Chiang Mai, Chiang Mai, Thailand

As I prepare to leave Thailand and move onwards to my next adventure, the question remains: ten years since my year-long stay, is Thailand how I remembered it?

Not surprisingly, yes and no. Here are some unbiased (ha ha) observations.

The People: I remembered the people as being wonderfully friendly, striking up a conversation practically anywhere, eager to practice English and astounded to hear a foreigner speaking Thai.

In actuality, of course, there are wonderfully friendly people and not-so-friendly people, just like anywhere else. Happily, the friendly ones are the ones you tend to remember. For instance, my first taste of Chiang Mai after returning from the Elephant Nature Park was during Songkran, a crazy 3-day holiday consisting of the world's biggest water fight. Really. Anywhere you go, you're sure to have buckets of water tossed, thrown, even forcefully hurled in your direction, no matter if you've actually got errands to run (like applying for your Indian visa, a rather time-sensitive endeavor). In the midst of this craziness, I met a most wonderful woman who, when I asked for directions to a restroom, took me to one at the hospital where she worked, introduced me to her friend, gave me her phone number, and sent me back to my hotel on the back of her son's motorbike (where we were, of course, the victims of very many forcefully-hurled water buckets). Then there was the funny old man who tried to help me find the Indian consulate and, despite the fact that I couldn't understand more than five words of his rambling speech, gave me a bracelet of pretty blue stones. These kindnesses overshadowed the occasional rudeness, like poor drivers (a problem all over the world) and a sign at the buffet of my hotel, priced at 90 baht, warning patrons that if they take more than they can eat, they'll be charged an extra 100 baht!

As for language, I've actually found that many people expect me to speak a bit of Thai, particularly outside the city centers. But it still works wonders when bargaining at the Night Market -- prices drop dramatically when you switch from English to Thai. The message: if coming to Thailand, it pays to learn at least the numbers!

The Places: Thailand was the first developing country I'd been to. I remembered the beauty of the villages, of the elementary school where I used to volunteer, of the mountains and waterfalls and caves. Everything seemed quite magical to me back then. Even the poverty I saw through an idealist's eyes, noticing the charm of bamboo huts without fully comprehending the difficulty of people's lives.

I can't say I'm a complete realist now, although the scorching heat did cloud some of the beauty, and I saw many changes in my old haunts. I was saddened to see the courtyard at the village school paved over, and the new playground came with plenty of corporate advertising (see picture). My old school, Ake Panya, had changed its name and quadrupled the number of buildings, and the road to get there had many new hotels and restaurants. The longer I stayed in Chiang Mai, though, the more its spirit came back to me, and I remembered why this place remained in my dreams years after I returned to the States.

The Activities: Ten years ago, I came to Thailand as a teaching intern, yet I'd had no teacher training and didn't really know what I was doing. This time, during a day of volunteer teaching with the Mirror Foundation (the group that brought me to the Lahu and Akha villages), I found my experience as a teacher in the intervening years helped me to make a contribution to the group despite my limited time: now about 80 hilltribe kids have been introduced to my favorite pattern-practice game of "Hatchi Patchi." It's good to know I've learned something in ten years!

It was in Thailand, also, that I began my martial arts training. The Chiang Mai University Aikido Club, I was happy to learn, still meets at the same time and the same place. The same bugs flutter onto the mat, adding an extra dimension to practice: not only do you need to make sure you don't throw your partner into another person, but it would also be nice not to have them land on a giant beetle! Because of the university holidays, my old instructor wasn't there, but one of the students I remembered. Now a pilot for Thai Airways, he resides in Bangkok but flies regularly to Chiang Mai for practice!

P.S. Before I sign off, I'd like to put in a plug for some new friends of mine, Eric and Som, at whose home I stayed for a night in Chiang Rai. If ever you're in Thailand sometime and want a real village experience, check out their website at http://www.freewebs.com/homestaytravel/ . Even though I was only there a short time, I felt like a welcomed friend, cycling around the village with Som, talking about all manner of things with Eric, meeting their adorable ten-year-old daughter, and feasting on Som's delicious cooking. It was like staying with friends, even though I'd just met them.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1209540780/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1209540780/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1209540780/tpod.html Thu, 01 May 2008 04:25:36 -0400 Adventures in Southeast Asia

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Apa, Chiang Rai, Thailand

I sit in front of a fan on the porch of an Akha home. The floors and walls are solid wood, not bamboo, and the ceiling inside is made of white patterned tiles. Inside the front room I see a small refrigerator, humming gently with the buzz of electricity from wires stretching through the village. Compared to the simplicity of Jafoo, it's a bit of a culture shock, which is funny since most of the houses still have thatched roofs and the roads are packed dirt.

The family has offered me a basket of bananas and a bottle of cold water. They also brought the fan and the chair I'm sitting on. Luxurious though this might be, I'd still be hard-pressed to pick any of my hosts out of a crowd. I miss my friendly Lahu household, with their adorable little daughter. I gave the girl my squirrel Chipper, who, as many of you know, has accompanied me to many parts of the world! But watching the little girl play with him warmed my heart; and so, Chipper has become a Lahu squirrel. I think he'll feel right at home with the chickens and the piglets and the dogs.

I wish I could say I were always that generous. I'm not, though I am trying. It's a good exercise in Buddhist nonattachment. Books are the easiest things to give away, I've found. Once you finish a book, I figure, its value drops for you; but if you can find someone you know will read it and enjoy it, its value is high for them. So by giving someone a book they'll like, you magically transform a low-value item into a high-value item. It also encourages you to go out and talk to other travelers, since its far more satisfying to give the book personally rather than simply leaving it at a guesthouse.

I like this mindset of passing things on when you're finished with them. In the west, we tend to acquire lots of stuff and rarely get rid of it. Here, though, much of the "stuff" was never intended to be kept all that long. For lunch today, for instance, pretty much everything our guide used to cook with could be returned afterwards directly to the forest. The rice he poured with water into a section of bamboo lined with a banana leaf, then placed the bamboo on the fire. He used other bamboo sections for the rest of the food, inserting tomatoes, cucumbers, pork, eggs, fiddlehead ferns, and lemongrass into the tubes, then sealing them up with banana leaves to cook. We ate with newly-carved bamboo chopsticks, and if we wanted tea, we could use our bamboo cups. Our "plates" were a combination of a few particularly large leaves and the now cut-open bamboo sections. Talk about an easy meal to clean up!

Now, this lunch took about three hours to make (including collecting the ingredients), so I highly doubt it's a regular occurence. Still, I like the message: use what you need when you need it, and afterwards, pass it on to someone who needs it more. (In this case that would be the forest, which, I assume, benefits from the decomposed bamboo.) The Thais might prefer that I be a typical Western consumer, but I like this message better.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1209551700/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1209551700/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1209551700/tpod.html Thu, 01 May 2008 03:13:29 -0400 Adventures in Southeast Asia

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Leh, India

I'm sitting in our cozy room of the Oriental Hotel in Leh, Ladakh (part of India). A gas stove hums near the door while the birds, enticed by the budding leaves, twitter outside the window. I can't see the snow-capped mountains from where I sit, but if I opened the drapes a bit more, I would.

I've come with my friend Chintu, a young jewelry-store owner whom I met in Jaipur three years ago. Unfortunately we have to leave today. The good thing is that I'll be able to breathe normally again. At 12,000 feet or so, the air is quite a bit thinner than I'm used to! Yesterday, we went through the world's third highest pass, at 17,800 feet. It was spectacular -- snowy mountains glistening in the sun; cool, fresh air; a drive through scenery so beautiful I felt I had parachuted out of an airplane and landed on the clouds. As we descended on the other side of the pass, the snow receded and left only brown sand and rock. I could have been on the moon, I thought, or maybe Mars. Instead, I was on the "rooftop of the world," the high-altitude cold desert of the Himalayas, close enough to Tibet to see it through the mountain peaks. Along the way, friendly signs warned our driver to take it slow: "On my curve, check your nerve"; "This is a highway, not a runway"; "Don't be a gama in the land of lama"; "Better late than never"; and, my personal favorite, "Darling, I like you, but not so fast."

We've been here for four days and nights, our days full of visits to the nearby monasteries and natural wonders, our nights cozy as we eat home-cooked meals and chat with the other guests sitting on soft brightly-patterned rugs in the hotel's "dining room." Our first night there were just a few other guests, tourist season not having quite begun -- the main road is still closed, making the only entry through Kashmir, some 475 slow and winding kilometers to the west, or by air. The next day, though, a group of older travelers arrived from Vermont for a two-week stay. Impressively, they're leaving this morning for an overnight trek in which they'll climb about 1,500 feet. In Vermont this might not be such a feat, but up here in the thin air, I've gotten breathless just climbing a flight of stairs!

One of the things I've noticed here is the quiet. Standing shoeless inside thousand-year-old monastery temples gazing at the 15-foot-tall bronze statues of Buddha and other gods borrowed from Hinduism, I've experienced something we almost never find anymore: the complete absence of noise. No busy traffic (we're often the only car on the road), no hum from a generator, not even the sound of the wind which is so prevalent outside. I can see why this would be such a good place to be a monk!

Down in the towns and villages, of course, there's plenty more activity. One of our most interesting excursions was a visit to a village oracle, the Himalayan version of a shaman or medicine man. We were just two of many visitors, and while it was interesting to watch the oracle, clad in a long green dress and a red headband which nearly covered her eyes, read our futures from the pattern of seeds she tossed onto a small drum and the way they moved when she sang to them while ringing a large bell, it was what she did with the sick villagers that astounded me. One man had a problem with his throat. The oracle placed a small tube, perhaps nine inches long, on his neck, then sucked in several places. After removing the tube, she held it over a small bowl. Out dripped a red liquid -- blood? She repeated the process several times, until the liquid was clear. The next patient, a middle-aged woman, had recently lost her mother and was having trouble getting over her grief. The oracle took a sword and placed the flat side on the woman's back, shouting as she did so. My translator explained that she was telling the woman that her sadness and crying would prevent her mother's ghost from finding peace. A thin woman then approached, apparently with some sort of stomach problem. The oracle lifted her shirt and sucked hard at her navel. When she finished, she spit out her saliva -- and out came an object, looking like a small stone! (Chintu explained that it was actually a special piece of paper that people sometimes put into someone's food in order to do evil.) Next she used the straw on the woman's head. After several minutes, she spit out a bug, several centimeters long and still alive. Finally, she treated an old woman, again sucking on the straw. Out came a purple liquid, representing the disease that the oracle was taking away from her body.

How did the oracle perform these miracles? Our translator explained that they reflected the power of Buddhism. Perhaps the oracle was very skilled at illusions; but I prefer to see what happened as a beautiful mystery, reflecting the fact that there's so much of life we can't understand. It fits well with the spirit of this place, a land so beautiful it literally leaves you breathless.

P.S. Just in case you find yourself in Leh, here are the services we used.

Hotel: The Oriental. We looked at several other places first and were won over by our room's cleanliness and atmosphere -- simple but with a wooden log ceiling, cozy gas stove, and large windows with breathtaking views. When we met the family who ran the place, we were sold. Since we arrived before tourist season, though, we did have to change our habits a bit. For the first three days there was no running water -- the pipes having frozen all winter -- so we flushed the toilet and washed our hands with water from a large bucket. When we wanted to shower, the friendly and helpful staff brought us large jugs of steaming hot water to mix with the cold water and pour over ourselves. Today, the water miraculously comes out of the taps once more, although since it's heated by solar power, you'll get a much warmer shower if you wait until the afternoon.

Tour company: The Nomadic Way. The people were friendly and kind, and the driver was very skilled. They went out of their way to give us the experiences we wanted, searching all over for an available oracle and making sure we had a good translator.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1208661840/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1208661840/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1208661840/tpod.html Thu, 24 Apr 2008 23:35:14 -0400 Adventures in Southeast Asia

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Yafoo, Chiang Rai, Thailand

If I were a pig, I'd like to live in a Lahu village.

The Lahu, for those of you who don't know, are one of a number of "hilltribes," small ethnic groups found within the mountains of northern Thailand. The Lahu people originated from Tibet, but today are found scattered throughout Thailand, Laos, Burma, China, and Vietnam. They're apparently known for their fine hunting skills and prefer to live in small communities away from other tribes.

I've recently come to Jafoo, a small Lahu village of about 120 people, as part of a cultural homestay program. I'm sitting at the moment on a platform made of bamboo logs, surrounded by clucking chickens, wandering dogs, and grunting pigs, who do, incidentally, have the run of the village. I'm not sure how sanitary this is, but I haven't actually seen too much pig poop lying around. Maybe they're housetrained or something and only go in a certain spot. It's hard to ask questions like these, unfortunately, because our guide speaks only about as much English as I speak Thai. Less, maybe, since Thai has been his language of choice with me. And, while it's been interesting watching words pop into my conscious brain from where they've been buried for ten years (I lived in Thailand ten years ago and at the time could speak quite well), I'm afraid I haven't yet remembered the words for "pig poop" or "housetrained."

Despite the language barrier, though, this is a fascinating place to be. Homes are one-room bamboo huts on stilts; for sleeping, the family pulls out mattresses to lay on the floor. Cooking happens over a fire in the same room. Last night I helped my male host with the meal (there's remarkable gender equity here) and pounded garlic, onion grass, and chilies in a mortar and pestle; then we sat cross-legged on the porch to eat, overlooking the jungly mountains below.

Most of the floorboards are cut bamboo slats resting on top of bamboo logs, although the part where I was sleeping has sturdier boards. For furniture, there's one chest of sorts, along with a couple of bamboo shelves. And, surprisingly, a TV. It hasn't been on, but it's here. Actually, I was surprised to find electricity at all -- there are no wires -- but apparently the government has installed solar panels, one per house, which provide enough electricity for the community's needs.

I watch as my female host uses a giant mortar and pestle to crush the cut-up stalk of a banana tree for the pigs, one of which is squealing quite incessantly. (It's impossible to sleep late around here, incidentally, once the animals wake up!) She puts it in a bucket, mixes it with water, and gives it to the pig, who hungrily slops it down. Then she spreads rice for the equally hungry chickens.

It's cool this morning, which is a most welcome respite. In general, Thailand in April is sweat-dripping hot. Climbing the steep mountainous path to come to the village yesterday was one of those extreme experiences. Skin glistening from perspiration, I appreciated every single puff of wind as I made my way at the speed of a sloth. Even sleeping last night, I had to pour water on my skin so the evaporation would cool me off. What a nice feeling when I finally needed a blanket, an hour or so before sunrise!

Being here is a respite from other things, too. I came to Thailand in part because of my positive memories of living here ten years ago. However, memory is a funny thing, and it had left out all those things I didn't like -- for instance, the rampant commercialism in the cities, the heat, the sense of entitlement of the richer classes. At the Mirror Foundation, the NGO with whom I've come to this village (along with five other volunteers), I've had to share a house and two bathrooms with about 20 other girls, sleeping on a mattress on the floor while my companions chatted into the wee hours of the night. The "Mai pen rai" attitude -- that translates roughly to "No problem; take it easy" -- that is, on the surface, such a good thing, can also be a bit frustrating, when, for example, you receive a huge shock while trying to switch on the computer and are told that's just how the computers are; you should stand on the chair next time you want to turn one on.

But here in the mountains, life is simple and friendly and good. I expect our tour is different than most, since it's run by an NGO that helps these communities rather than by a for-profit company that gives them very little of those profits. Ten years ago, on a trekking tour with my family, I remember little interaction with the local communities and dressed-up women trying to sell us their handicrafts. Here, the few "English-speakers" have sought me out, offering tea and tobacco wrapped in corn leaves and taking me to the top of a hill to see an offering of flowers. Some of the villagers did dress up for us, but they dressed us up, too, and we all danced in a circle around a fire under the moon.

So I am quite happy here, even though I know that life here is most likely harder than I recognize now. And even though I'm not a pig.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1208219220/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1208219220/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1208219220/tpod.html Thu, 24 Apr 2008 23:23:00 -0400 Adventures in Southeast Asia

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Mae Tang, Thailand

It's raining. This makes me inordinately happy, even though you might think I'd gotten enough rain in Bali each day to appreciate not needing to plan my day around the afternoon deluge. But rain means something different in the tropics than it does back home. In Thailand, rain means the end of the season of burning fields, of thick smoky haze, of dried, scorched earth. To me, it marks a period of cleansing, of birth and regrowth as the land soaks up its much-needed nourishment. It also cools things down considerably -- and being as temperatures here routinely stretch into the hundreds during the hot (dry) season, you can perhaps understand why I'm rejoicing at the rain.

As the rain falls, I sit on the porch of my bamboo hut at the Elephant Nature Park, about 60 kilometers outside of Chiang Mai. Ours is not the typical tourist park, with elephants who dance and paint and carry tourists on their backs. Quite the opposite: the elephants at this center have been rescued from abusive owners, adopted after their mothers died, or otherwise saved from a tragic fate.

And the fate of most captive elephants in Thailand is, in fact, tragic. Formerly used for logging until its ban in 1989, most captive Thai elephants earn their living today entertaining tourists: posing for pictures and asking for food on the streets, giving rides, or putting on shows. Yet what tourists don't see are the methods used to make this entertainment possible. Following a centuries-old tradition, the "phaajaan," or training, begins when elephants are just a few years old. Taken from their mothers, they're forced into a small enclosure called a "crush." There they endure many days of beatings (often with nails on the ends of sticks), sleep deprivation, hunger, and thirst, so that their spirit is broken and they'll accept their submissive role. According to the Elephant Nature Park's founder, Lek Chailert, up to 40% of baby elephants die during this procedure, while half of the survivors go mad. Interestingly, while wild elephants are considered endangered and are therefore protected by law, captive elephants in Thailand have the same rights as livestock -- which is to say, in essence, none.

Due to habitat loss, however, the elephants wouldn't survive if they were simply let free. The animals eat about 10% of their body weight every day, and there's too much risk of them encroaching on cropland (and therefore being shot by farmers trying to protect their livelihoods). Besides, with the price of an elephant upwards of $15,000, there would be a high likelihood that the animals would be recaptured and resold. Instead, Lek envisions a different kind of elephant tourism, one in which tourists pay money to watch elephants, well, be elephants. That's what she's done at the Elephant Nature Park, and the fact that they're so often fully booked indicates that it's a model that works. In fact, scores of people pay money not only to feed and bathe the elephants (as I've been doing during my 3-day stay), but also to collect elephant poop and bring it to a nearby organic farm, clean the poop from the buffalo pen (this poop is much smellier than elephant poop, I've been told), make elephant treats out of mushed bananas, flour, tamarind, and salt, and do other odd jobs around the park. In return, volunteers not only get to interact with elephants (and eat vast quantities of fabulous Thai food), but also spend a night at the nearby "Elephant Heaven," a nearby stretch of land in the mountains where the elephants can roam free all night (here they have to be chained after dark). They may even get to accompany the "Jumbo Express" on a visit to a rural hilltribe village to treat an injured elephant.

As a short-term visitor, I haven't actually done all that. I have, however, gotten to accompany some of the elephants on their morning walk, learning about their unique stories. Take Jokia, for instance. A solid female perhaps in her mid-40s, Jokia gave birth while she was chained and her baby rolled down a hill. When she wasn't allowed to go after him, she refused to work and was punished by being hit in the eye with a slingshot; as a result, she went blind. Here at the park, however, she's quite happy -- she's best friends with another elephant named Mae Perm, and she's part of a family group that includes a baby elephant named Hope. Or consider Khum Min, who before coming here suffered from a big infection on his back. Although it was painful for him to carry trekkers (the chair used to give tourists rides here in Thailand isn't particularly good for elephants), his owner simply covered the lump with a cloth so the tourists would never know. After watching the animal suffer, Lek finally decided to kidnap him. When she arrived at the park, however, the owner was waiting for her with a police officer. She ended up paying the owner monthly for the "privilege" of caring for this sick elephant until volunteers finally raised the funds to buy him.

For Jokia, Mae Perm, and the 29 other elephants at the camp, Lek must seem like a saint. Instead of working 12+ hours a day and being chained during their "time off," these elephants get fed huge buckets of bananas, pineapples, watermelons, and cucumbers, get bathed twice a day in the river by eager tourists, and spend the rest of each day muching on grass, playing in the mud, and, well, being elephants. Each has a mahout (mostly Burmese refugees who earn up to twelve times what they had been making back home), but the mahouts are forbidden to use any sort of abusive practice to control their charge.

So, what's it like living among these beautiful giants? Quite peaceful, really -- there's nothing quite like watching the sunset over a field of elephants, or gazing at their reflection in the water at sunrise. Time moves slowly, like the creatures themselves. You have time to appreciate the simple things -- an elephant's kiss, his graceful silhouette against the night sky, the sound of trumpeting in the wind.

And, of course, the rain. The drops are gentle now -- perhaps this was just a teaser -- but I'm grateful for the small reprieve. Time to climb under the mosquito net and fall asleep to the sounds of the jungle.

P.S. If you find yourself in Thailand and want to visit, you can find out more at http://www.thaifocus.com/elephant/ . I recommend spending the night, since the park gets much more personal once the crowd of day visitors leaves and the sunrises and sunsets are so spectacular.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1208045820/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1208045820/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1208045820/tpod.html Mon, 14 Apr 2008 20:24:46 -0400 Adventures in Southeast Asia

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Brunei, Brunei

Before I move onto my next story, I'd like to thank those of you who've been commenting and to respond to a fascinating set of questions that just came in. The questions (and I quote): "Do they drive Chevy trucks down there at all? How much is a gallon of gas?"

This struck me as terribly interesting, because the answer has changed so much in my last few days of traveling. First things first: No, I'm afraid I haven't seen any Chevy trucks down here. In Bali it's mostly motorbikes, which makes sense considering that all but a few main roads are barely wide enough for two cars to pass side by side. Strangely, however, the cars that do exist are almost exclusively huge mini-vans. A friend of mine rented a car for us for the day -- just the TWO of us, mind you -- and that's what he showed up with. When I commented on it, he noted that that's all he could get. (Incidentally, it cost me all of about $16 for the rental.) My only explanation: Balinese families tend to be big, so maybe they figure if they're going to get a car, might as well get one that can fit all the kids, even if it can't fit on the roads! Gas price in Bali: I can't remember, but it cost me about $1.10 to fill my motorbike's tank, which I think was about a liter. (For those of you who have no idea how many liters are in a gallon -- like me -- I looked it up for you. :-) It's 3.79, meaning that if my approximation of my bike's tank is correct, gas costs about $4.17 a gallon.)

On my way from Bali to Thailand (where I am now), I passed through Brunei. Now, let's be honest: how many of you had ever heard of Brunei before I wrote that? Actually, even though I pride myself on my geographical knowledge, I would have guessed it was somewhere in the Middle East if I hadn't transitted there. In fact, it's a tiny nation of 400,000 people on the island of Borneo, which is also shared by Malaysia and Indonesia. It's ruled by a very wealthy sultan, whose palace apparently has somewhere over 1000 rooms. But nobody resents him for it, since there's free education and health care for all, no income tax, and cars cheap enough that the average family owns about four of them. Or so says the guide on our free "transit tour," anyway. Brunei gets its wealth from oil, so gas prices are particularly low: about $0.37 per liter or $1.40 per gallon, if my calculations are correct. But before you all start packing your bags to emigrate to Brunei, be aware that alcohol or gambling of any kind is illegal, and drug dealing carries a mandatory death penalty.

In Thailand, to tell you the truth, I haven't really noticed what people drive. I did happen to notice the gas prices -- about 33 baht per liter, which calculates to roughly the same rate as Bali. I didn't notice the vehicles, though, because for my first three days here I've been living at an elephant park. Strangely, the Thais seem to think that foreigners prefer elephants over Chevy trucks, since there are a plethora of places specializing in elephant riding and not one offering a ride in a Chevy. This is quite odd, being as elephants don't move very fast (unless they're trying to catch another elephant, in which case you probably don't want to be on them) and the ride is particularly bumpy. Unfortunately, it turns out that these rides are even more uncomfortable for the elephant, whose body isn't designed to bear weight on its spine. And while you may think that riding an elephant saves on gas, keep in mind that elephants eat about 10% of their body weight each day!

Any more questions, please send 'em my way.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1207576080/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1207576080/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1207576080/tpod.html Tue, 08 Apr 2008 10:11:23 -0400 Adventures in Southeast Asia

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Ubud, Indonesia

Bali is peace. It feels that way to me, anyway. The magical sky, stars twinkling light-years away, lifts your very soul to the heavens. I can't speak for the cities, but here in the misty mountain village of Pelaga, the only sounds at night are the chirps of crickets and frogs. A few lights twinkle from the neighboring mountain, but they are nowhere as spectacular as the stars above.

I've come to Pelaga with the Village Ecotourism Network, or JED (which stands for the Indonesian equivalent), along with a friendly couple from England. I'll write more about this organization in another entry; for now, suffice it to say that it's the only tourism agency in Bali fully run by the communities it serves. This particular community of about 800 people is known for its coffee plantations. 90% of the villagers are farmers, and tourism has in no way changed that; the point of JED is that villagers can maintain their traditional lifestyles and still benefit from tourist dollars by sharing their culture a few times a month.

For a Westerner, walking through the streets and fields of Pelaga is like traveling back in time. Unlike at the plantation I visited in Guatemala, the coffee here is still processed entirely by hand. In Guatemala, the cherries were depulped by huge machines, then the beans sat fermenting for several days so that the mucus would come off. Here the cherries are dried first for several weeks, then opened by being crushed with a pestle. This process does lower the quality a bit, but as of now the community lacks machinery, and there isn't enough water to ferment the beans. The coffee is sold locally around Bali, but not exported. Apparently Starbucks visited the community once to investigate possibilities for working together, but the community, having heard of the way the company exploits its producers, wanted nothing to do with them!

In contrast to the monoculture farms so prevalent in the West, Pelaga raises a number of other crops as well as coffee. There are the common ones like corn, beans, cassava, and rice, plus a variety of squash that grows high on trees. I tried using a super-long stick to knock one off its branch; finally I succeeded, but the attempt gave me plenty of respect for the farmers who earn a bit under $8.00 for 100 pieces! There are also plants whose leaves will be dried and sold for perfume, small plots of orange trees, and plenty of cows, chickens, and pigs. This diversity means that villagers need only a little money for their meals, relying mostly on the plethora of foods they grow or raise themselves.

The couple I came with had elected to stay overnight, giving us the opportunity to explore the village at our leisure once the daily rainstorm had come and gone. An old man proudly played us a drum he had made; he lived in the only remaining original house from the time of the village's founding, his bed and kitchen cozily clustered in the same dirt-floored structure, his walls tastefully constructed of woven bamboo. The Englishwoman and I became mesmerized watching the man's wife cook dinner; first she fried up something that magically ballooned into rice crackers, then heated vegetables with a variety of spices she had earlier pounded with a mortar and pestle. She seemed to take little notice of the two foreigners fascinated by the activities she had probably been doing every day for more than 50 years, but once finished graciously offered us some tidbits to try.

We had barely left the old couple's home when we were invited by another family to have some coffee in their compound. Four teenage boys with large earrings jostled one another upon our arrival, and soon two of them were brave enough to practice their English with us. Meanwhile, a young girl returned from the village faucet with a large bucket balanced on her head. We were all impressed with such balancing acts; we had seen women on motorbikes carrying firewood on their heads, and even one mother holding her toddler while balancing her full water bucket. As for me, I could barely walk with one even when I held onto it with both of my hands!

Pelaga boasts more than its crops and friendly people; it's also got some spectacular trekking. We were privileged to take two hikes, one along rice terraces and jungle paths, passing mountain temples on the way, and another to a spectacular waterfall. Though the slippery steps (nearly 500 of them -- the Englishwoman counted!) nearly deterred me, the cascade was well worth the challenge of getting there and back. There at the bottom of the valley we were encircled by jungle, the waterfall spraying mist to add to the magic.

If ever you find yourself in Bali, you too can experience this mystical village with JED! You can check out their website at www.jed.or.id, or ask me for more details. I've been privileged to go on all their trips for a discounted rate in exchange for doing some publicity work (e.g., trying to get some of these blog entries published!), so stay tuned for stories from their other villages soon.

Left aligned photo tag:
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1207399860/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1207399860/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1207399860/tpod.html Mon, 07 Apr 2008 09:07:42 -0400 Adventures in Southeast Asia

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Ubud, Indonesia

There's a gas shortage in Bali. I'm not sure of the reason -- I've heard the boat never came in from Java, and also that the government was trying to raise the price -- but the effect is quite profound: long lines at the gas station and, if you don't make it there early enough in the day, no gas at all.

This state of affairs had me a bit worried this evening, after I used nearly my last bit of gas to get to the nearest gas station only to find out I was out of luck. At this point I was contemplating several options: try to pay one of the guys who hang out on the sidewalk trying to get passengers for their motorbike-taxi service to find me some gas at a far-away station, or trade in my motorbike for a bicycle. As it turned out, I didn't have to do either; the guys who had rented the bike to me took me to a nearby family who was selling gasoline in glass jars. I nearly filled my tank for 10,000 rupiah (a little over a dollar), which isn't much more than I normally pay. In the U.S., I thought, they'd likely be charging three times that much in such a shortage! But this isn't the U.S., and it seemed to be more a public service than a business.

Of course, if an analogous situation did happen in the U.S. (and it stands to reason that this is more than a remote possibility), we'd be in plenty more trouble than I was. My worst-case scenario was that I'd have to walk the half-mile back to my bungalow. In a typical suburb, though, lots of people wouldn't be able to get to work, to school, to the grocery store, to the hospital. I thought about a book I'd just read called Deep Economy, arguing for locally-based economies. Surely the effects of a gas shortage would be minimized if, like the majority of Balinese, we focused our home, work, and social lives in more or less the same place!

The Balinese village system is, in fact, one of the things I've come to respect most about this place. Pretty much everyone knows each other, and everyone contributes. When someone gets married, every single person in the village will come by the family's house to deliver a gift of rice or maybe a coconut or chicken. If the village is large -- say, 5000 people -- this gift-giving might be limited to a smaller section of maybe 1,250 people, unless the newlyweds belonged to an important family such as that of a priest. The same thing goes for other important ceremonies, such as those given to children at three months and six months. There's no need for a village police force; upon any perceived threat to the community, someone rings a bell and everyone who can comes out to help. Everyone is expected to contribute to village projects, and those who move out of the village for work give a monetary contribution every six months to make up for their absence. Regular community events such as temple ceremonies (held every 210 days) bring everyone together, and occasionally there are events that are really big: for instance, my friend Gede's village makes a 100-kilometer pilgrimage from the mountains to the sea once every 25 years.

Most Americans will agree that we suffer from a lack of community. It's common not to even know our neighbors -- something quite inconceivable to many Balinese. There are plenty of reasonable explanations, of course. We work too many hours; we're hardly ever at home; we move too much; our neighbors move too much; our neighbors are grouches and don't want to meet us; we're grouches and don't want to meet them. But it wouldn't take that much to add a bit of the "village experience" to our neighborhoods. Why not hold a block party at regular intervals? At the first one, interested neighbors could volunteer to be "neighborhood leaders" and plan other events and improvement projects -- maybe a community garden or a neighborhood-wide yard sale to raise money for a local group. Making a 100-kilometer pilgrimage might be asking a bit much, but participating as a neighborhood in one of the many fund-raising walks that happen each year could be fun and encourage people who wouldn't otherwise go to take part. There wouldn't be the same pressure to participate in neighborhood events as in the centuries-old Balinese village system, of course, but at least the option for community would be there. Or do Balinese villages work only because of their shared history, religion, and culture?
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1207140420/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1207140420/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sherwoodk/5/1207140420/tpod.html Mon, 07 Apr 2008 09:03:36 -0400 Adventures in Southeast Asia

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Ubud, Indonesia

If you've been reading these travel blogs since last November, it should come as no surprise to you that I've been taking every opportunity to seek out medicine men, the Balinese form of shamans. Actually, they're called "Baliyan," and they're found in pretty much every village.

My first experience with a Baliyan came about as a result of my friendship with a painter and Brahmin priest named Ida Bagus in a nearby village. I had met Ida Bagus at the end of a tour of the local rice paddies, and he'd explained how he gave free painting lessons to village boys after school. ("What about the girls?" I'd questioned, but he seemed to think it unusual that girls would want to paint rather than dance.) He was a Brahmana -- a member of the highest caste -- and as such, it was his duty to give back to the community. His grandfather had instructed him never to take money for imparting knowledge, and such it was that Ida Bagus gave painting lessons for free not only to the village boys, but to whomever chose to learn -- including me.

We talk a lot during my visits, sharing cultural stories as well as painting. Once my friend discovered my interest in medicine men, he told me of a powerful experience he had had with one as a child.

"In full moon," he began, "I went to meditate with my father. We came to the rice paddy field, because there is a special place there, a small place but very old. So I was one kilometer away, and I saw something like a moon in the rice field. What's that? I was thinking maybe somebody come to put a lamp, but I was not thinking about magic power, just walking. And then when I was not so far, then it was more big. I was not thinking about magic again, thinking maybe lamp, and then walked again. And then ten meters away, it's very big! More than one meter. I was confused. I wanted to look close, and then I'm five meters away, and it's still big, like a moon. Then I'm close, almost four meters, and it's gone. Gone. But I cannot see anything, very black! I cannot walk, so very black. And then, where is my brother? I can't see. But in fifteen minutes, a little bit I can see.

"So I came to the priest with my brother, and we offered the small offering, and after that we meditated. Then a few minutes we concentrated, and I was very hot. I don't know. Why hot? I felt very hot, like a fire. Then in the morning after that one, my body was a little feverish. Three days later I went to the doctor. The doctor checked me and said no problem, but I felt very ill. He gave me some medicine, a pill, small-small, and said you can use it three days. Okay. But after five days, more fever again. I came there again, and the doctor checked again. He said, 'Why? You are normal inside. What can I do for you? I don't understand. Okay, use this number one medicine. If this one doesn't make you better come to the doctor, but I can't do anything for you.'

"We waited about three days, and then my mouth was more big! Like a pig! I can't eat something! To drink water, I use a straw. And then after I sleep, in the morning my lips are together! Cannot speak! Like glue. And then I came to the special doctor. This is number one doctor in Bali at that time. He checked me, and he said the same as the normal doctor.

"Then my father took me to the paranormal, the shaman. We gave an offering, and she said a mantra. In that place there were two statues, like a woman and a man. The shaman concentrated, and then her face was changing, like the statue. And I looked at her face, and the statue. Same! So same! And then she was in a trance. She cannot recognize everybody. Who is this? Who is this? She doesn't know, because spirit already come in her body. And then she said to me, 'Ida Bagus, you are still young. You went to meditate in a sacred place. In that place, there is very very high black magic. But your ancestor is good with you, your grandfather who is already dead. The black magic in there wanted to kill you, but your grandfather protected you. That spirit could not kill you, because not time for you to die yet. But next time don't go there again before your energy is balanced with that magic. And I can give you something to protect against black magic.' Then she gave me holy water, a little bit. I took it, and my mouth was better. The next morning, I felt better!"

So, how does one balance one's energy with powerful black magic? Ida Bagus explained some of the exercises he now does, such as a martial art native to Bali called bambu kuning. Far from a contact sport, apparently you can knock down multiple opponents from several meters away with only the force of your energy. He also has a tiger's eye ring which he uses as a protective talisman.

I was naturally eager to see such powers myself and was therefore happy to hear that a famous priest lived nearby. "He has very different energy from me," Ida Bagus warned. "His lesson from the sacred book. My lesson from natural energy." This sacred book was apparently written on dried palm leaves and was too dangerous for most people to look at, including Ida Bagus.

Ida Bagus's wife prepared an offering for us to bring, upon which I placed 100,000 rupiah (about $11). Then she dressed me in a sarong, since it's forbidden to enter a temple without one. (It's also forbidden if you're bleeding at all -- including menstruation -- or if a family member died within four days, but luckily neither of those cases applied to me.) At the temple we prayed several times, sometimes empty-handed, sometimes with a flower between our palms; then the priest put water in our hands, which we drank and then used to wash our face. He dripped water over our heads, then gave us some rice which we placed on our forehead and chest. I asked about the sacred book, but was told that we would have to come back for a special ceremony if I wanted anything more than a general blessing. When, I asked? Well, the priest wasn't doing any more special ceremonies this month. He'd let me know if he could do one later on.

Afraid that "later on" might never come along, I decided my best bet would be to seek out another Baliyan. My next opportunity came during a visit to the ancient village of Tenganan. My tour guide introduced me to his uncle, who could apparently cure fevers and set bones. The Baliyan explained how he could tell the mixture of blood, air, and water in someone's body by taking his or her pulse; he felt mine and assured me that these elements were stable, but a little weak. He poured a small amount of water into the cap of my water bottle, whispered a mantra over it, and gave it to me to drink. After a minute, he took my pulse again -- much stronger!

I hoped to be told the secret mantra so I might give myself more energy whenever I needed it, but my guide laughed and said I would never receive it if I asked like that. I would have to meditate beforehand, preferably by concentrating on three sticks of incense until they burned out. His uncle added that I must also do as he had done. I must bathe in a river every night at midnight for one month and seven days. Next I must make offerings and meditate at a temple every day at noon, again for one month and seven days. Finally, I must fast, eating no food except a little rice and salt in the evenings, for, you guessed it, one month and seven days. If I did that, I would see something I had never seen before -- maybe a shadow, a human, or a puff of smoke. That would be my first gift. Of course, this would all be a bit dangerous -- usually on the way to the river, people would attack me with black magic. I could protect myself with a mantra (but wasn't that what I was doing all this to receive?), or with a magical item such as a ring with a stone in it.

Much as I was eager for enlightenment, I figured I wouldn't have three months and 21 days to do all that the medicine man required. Thus, I was pleased when I heard about another Baliyan in a small village south of Ubud. Armed with his name, his village, and a map, I found his home surprisingly easily. A group of tourists were sitting on a mat asking questions about problems in their lives as the Baliyan's son ushered me in. A German couple who appeared far less confused than I was followed me several minutes later.

The Baliyan needed a rest after talking with the group, so the Germans filled me in on his background as I waited. "I met him the first time in the year 2004," the man explained. "I had seen a film about him called 'Man with the Healing Hands.' Somehow I knew that I must find that man. But the problem was, I didn't know his name or his village." The German was often in Bali, he explained, and so he began his search. Finally, after three years, he was successful. "I told [the Baliyan] the story, and he told me, it's the right time, you will find me." Although I hadn't known it, I had come to see a very famous healer. Apparently he is the teacher of many famous healers around the world, including a Brazilian who can do operations with only his hands.

The Baliyan returned and asked me what my problem was. I explained how sometimes I was indecisive, confused, or even depressed. He left us for a moment, wandering his garden in search of medicine, or perhaps meditating so he would know what to do for me. Upon returning, he pressed (hard!) on a number of places on my head. Finding a sore spot, he chuckled and reported that I had a lot of blocked emotion. "Cough!" he instructed, and I did; maybe I was coughing away these old feelings?

Afterwards I lay down, and the Baliyan began pressing points between my toes. Some of these HURT! These represented the organs that needed help, he explained. My liver was fine, as were my lungs and my heart, but my spleen was apparently quite confused, and my memory might be affected by depressing thoughts from the past. "So what should I do?" I wondered aloud. The healer chuckled, then left for a moment to gather a few plants. He gave me a flower to eat, then traced my body with one of the things he had found. Once finished, he pressed the points on my toes again. No pain! Whether or not my spleen has regained its clarity has yet to be determined, but I must admit, I've felt quite good since that day.

Ida Bagus tells me that many more people used to have powers like these, before tourism came to Bali. Back then, people had the time to develop their energy. They could see the other world and were happy. Now, the spiritual teachers have turned to making money with restaurants and hotels. Unfortunately, as he says, "big money, big problems also." In his opinion, at least, more money hasn't brought more happiness.

But even if it's no longer common for people to see their ancestors, at least Baliyan are still easy to find. Whatever the results of their "treatment," I'm honored to glimpse a bit of their world view which sees the spiritual realm as a basic part of life.
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