John Peatman

Friday, May 30, 08 (Pondy, India)
Today, John is returning home to the UK from Bangkok.
Having travelled together for 9 days (April 11-20) through Malaysia, meeting first in Melaka and parting in Tanah Rata, we made plans to reconnect two weeks later in Bangkok, if our paths intersected. He went his way, crisscrossing Thailand, visiting a friend who was ailing, and I took Thailand through a different path. Staying in touch through texting, we found ourselves both in Bangkok on Sunday, May 4. (One of the oddities of such travel is finding those I have met in one location showing up in another. Anna and I crossed paths in Sumatra and found each other again in Brunei, same hostel. Allan and I travelled a short while on a bus to Penang, Malaysia and I passed him on the street in Chiang Mai, Thailand.)
Bangkok is a very large city. Where and how to find each other can only be done through knowing a simple layout of the capital. Having arrived from Lopburi on the train, I call John while riding a tuk tuk from Hualamphong Railway Station to Khao San Rd and find that he is already on his way. Khao San Rd is not long, 2 blocks, but I failed to tell John where on this road to find me. Not wanting to book a room until we can look it over together, I stand on the river side of Khao San. I've been carrying my packs for several hours and am tired. My shoulders and feet are hurting, I'm sweating in the heat, and need to find something to drink - fresh orange juice. Unloading my packs under a small tree for shade, I wait. Ten minutes drift by as I glance through the foot traffic. A kerplunk and I recognize the blue daypack thrown onto my bags. Turning, I see John on my right shoulder. A joyous greeting and a familiar face, the first one in two weeks traveling. Off to look for a room, John also finds an orange juice (These are vendors who squeeze them fresh.) and we catch up on so much. Two weeks apart, when traveling hard, is an enormous amount of time and experiences. The next day, we will retrieve my passport, with my India visa, and the following, with John's son Stewart and his girlfriend Claire, we will travel into Cambodia. Good to see John again!
It is not a rarity to find someone to travel with. But, to find someone compatible is a treasure. I have been fortunate to find good traveling companions from Anna and Shannon, to Paul and Csanad, Iain, Pat, Bill, and the longest, 17 days, with John.
-Sunsets across the Strait of Melaka.
-12 hour train and 10 hour boat rides. Others which were shorter and felt longer.
-The horrors and exquisite sublime of Choeng Ek and Angkor Wat.
-The coolness of the Cameron Highlands and the deadening heat of Ta Prohm.
-A beach to ourselves at Pantai Irama and a swim in the South China Sea.
-The humor, anger, and disgust of Poi Pet.
-Rain drenching days in Penang and dark nights in Gua Museng, with its eerie outcroppings.
-The art of looking for a room.
-Eating the best food ever all over. John knows how to eat.
-Relishing sweet/condensed milk in coffee in Penang, John expressing his pleasure by smacking his lips.
-A steamboat in Tanah Rata.
-Much laughter all along and a fine friendship.
Now, on his way home, Safe Travels!

Benevolent Love

27/05/08 PM
At 6:30, while walking to the ocean front, I turn a corner on a busy street and witness a man lying on the center line pushing himself in circles with his left foot. At first, I think this may be a beggar. Quickly, it becomes apparent this is a man in distress. How do I respond in this culture? I knew how to respond in Kanchanaburi, Thailand, when Mark Thomas was in need of help. All walk past except one. Closing in on the scene, I see him directing traffic around the flailing sufferer. Now a second man has joined the first. While the first still directs traffic, the second kneels and looks at the sufferer. Passersby are collecting, all looking, an oddity, no one responding. From across the street, I stand as a heavy set man stands next to me. I say, He's having a seizure. Yes, he responds, I think so. The man leaning over the sufferer now has decided to pull or help him to the curb. As the seizure lessens, after some long minutes, the heavy set man looks about to leave. I say, He needs medical care. Yes, is the response. Should we possibly solicit the help of the tuk tuk driver? I ask and point to a vehicle only 20 ft away. No, is the reply. There is a clinic around the corner. He can walk there. With that he makes one more comment, Looks like he's better, and leaves. By now the sufferer is at the curb and is beginning to come around. 12-15 lookers on do just that as two men pull him onto the sidewalk. For the next 20 minutes I stand frozen in my flip flops waiting to see if someone will offer help. I don't know what is said. But finally, the crowd has dwindled to one and I leave. Returning 45 minutes later, the sufferer is gone.
This experience will take much time to process...

Going Postal

Tuesday, May 27, 08
Here in India, I've broken a personal travel rule. Possibly, it's because I know this is the last stop, and I don't need to carry what I buy. Or, it's my nature. But, I've picked up books to read, a mug, and other heavy things. Not having the backpack space, I have decided to send a package. Checking at the Post Office, several days ago, I know the limits and will be well within. I approach the Post Office door with my cloth wrapped, 10"X10"X12", addressed box, my mother's address in the to and from spots, feeling fairly confident I can negotiate this process. Milan has forewarned me that the clerks may not speak my English. The lobby is narrow and long with small booths where postal clerks are seated behind short glass dividers. There, a lady frees up at the first booth. Advancing, I ask how I send this package to the US. We stare at each other for a time, then she points behind her. Seeing nothing but packages, I wait. She leads me behind the packages to a floor scale. Package on the scale, she writes 6.39 (kg) in the weight spot of a form and returns to her chair. OK? After half a minute, I walk to the front of the booth and ask what happens now? Waiting a while, computing my confused look, the clerk leads me back to the scale, points to the package, and points to the lobby. Now, I understand that. But, what do I do with the package from this point? Our eyes meet with no communication. Finally, I decide that I should fill out the rest of the form. That done, I return to her window. She points to the form and the front of my package and says "Tape". OK, I understand this, but why? Why would the form go on the front when the address is already on the top in black marker? Looking at the form I see it is a Custom's Declaration. That solved, I look around wondering if this service, tape for a fee, is here or elsewhere. Seeing no tape, or anyone with that inclination, I shrug my shoulders, give her a figure 8 head shake and leave not having accomplished a very simple task. Too much for one day, which was only 10 minutes. Tomorrow!

Move Along

Monday, May 26, 08
Returning from breakfast, I stop for a paper and chai, as is my habit, at the vendor nearest the GH. No words or expressions, except eye contact, and he knows. Two men read the paper seated in a small area between this stall and the next. Handed the paper, I scan and notice movement. A large rat has emerged from under some boards and is walking up the open drainage next to my feet. One of the readers notices and makes a gesture of disgust by muttering and swinging his open palm toward the rat, who appears confused. I swing my paper and the rat retreats. Both readers leave, no other exchanges. Chai is ready!

Evening Out

25/ 05/08 PM
Driving to dinner, I notice flowers on the roadway. Not long after, we pass a large cart with a frame decorated in flowers of all colors - a funeral procession. Death is followed, most often within 24 hours, by cremation. These burning ghats are on the outskirts of town. Mourners follow silently behind and before. An 8 piece band plays behind a cart filled with flowers. This cart leads the procession. Flowers from the cart are thrown onto the roadway. Such a display signals a man of means. He lies on the "hearse" draped in white.
Milan and I do not go directly to the restaurant, Appu. Detouring to the ocean front, north of Pondy, to where there used to be a fishing village, we search for a man named Babu. The tsunami destroyed most of the buildings and what is left is no longer recognizeable as it once was. Even the road, which used to service the area, has been moved. Rocks have been heaped into jetties and breakwaters along what little beach remains. The fishing village, as it existed not many years past, is no more. The inhabitants have moved to other spots along the beach, north and south.

Nehru Street

Sunday , May 25, 08
Having received back my black trousers from the laundry, I notice a shiny look down the leg - ironed. These pants are 100% nylon.
Taking a walk north of the GH, I find three boys retrieving bottles and plastic from an extremely polluted waterway. They want some coins - none given. The giving of coins to those who ask, we call them beggars, is a voluntary act, personal. There is room for some.
Jasmine is strung together and sold for decorating one's hair, an offering at the temple, or any general use.
I pass a shop owner "consecrating" his establishment by walking through every part with incense. He opens drawers, pulls aside curtains, and waves it about liberally. At another shop, the owner lights incense before an altar. His young son looks on. Someday, it will be his good fortune to carry on the tradition and perform this ritual.

Kepis, red hats, a carry over from the French colonizers, policemen stand around waiting for someone or something. A traffic cop, dressed in a brown military uniform, stands center intersection performing hand signals.

In front of many houses and businesses, mandalas are drawn in white chalk leading up steps and into the doorway. Each is different, all represent life.

Two cows pulling a cart make the corner as motorized vehicles speed past. There are times when I find it necessary to step around pies and further around cows. This isn't one of those, however.

There is so much to take in, a hundered things buzzing around my senses - smells of a meat market, passersby standing over a beggar unhappy about something, wind swept chunni of a woman riding past, vendors calling out their location with bells, an open sewer, workmen mixing cement, sand, and gravel and then placing the mixture on large pans carried away on the tops of women's heads, cobblers parked on the sidewalk doing instant duty on torn sandals, juices at a corner cart, colors, whistles, honks, more honks (the unusual catches attention so every type of sound is found for the horn), men arm in arm or arm on shoulder laughing, a rickshaw with too much. By the end of a 2 hour walk, I need a rest.

About Experience

24/05/08 PM
Arriving for dinner at a restaurant, I'm the first in and seated. As I wait two families enter. Three servers surround me as I explain what I want. They switch me to a different choice since there is no gravy with this choice. I had pointed to "Mutton pepper fry". (Gravy is for putting over the rice.) I now am going to receive something I can read but can't understand. Sometimes having a Roman alphabet isn't much help. My lemon juice arrives followed shortly by two servers telling me, What? I catch the word rice and nan. I try to convey to them that I understand and yes, I'll make the switch. They leave unconvinced. That's their body and head language. Thanks to a dinner with a Canadian named Dan, one month ago in Penang, Malaysia, I know what nan is and also know how it's eaten - with your fingers. That is most likely what they were trying to convey. Does this Westerner really understand nan? Yes! Thanks Dan. The meal is delicious, mutton and gravy, and so is a second glass of lemon juice.

Dressing the part

Saturday, May 24, 08
Every culture has its dress. India's dress is more varied and colorful than I've yet experienced.
Women
1. Saree - This is what most people think of when they think India - and it's true.
2. Salwar (bottom) and Kameez (top) - Thin cotton pants with a top which extends to the knees.
Chunni - A light shawl which accessories the outfit.
3. Western clothing - Worn mostly by some of the younger set.
Men
1. Kurta and Pajamas - A long top to just above the knees which most often buttons up the front. Pajamas are a draw string, light weight, cotton trouser.
2. Lungi - A long cloth which is wrapped around the waist and dropped to the ankles. Or, it can be doubled up, pulled up, and tucked in the waist.
3. Western clothing - Anything a Western man would wear can be seen here, including suits (rarely).
A woman can wear any of the above, even men's clothing. But, a man is limited to those assigned to men. Hopefully, in the pictures you can see some of the differences.
Pondicherry pics:http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/PondicherryIndia

New Friends and Re-stocking

Friday, May 23, 08
A robin sized bird has taken a liking to me. Early morning, he greets me with a prolonged and loud call. With his dark colored body, white under wings with a yellow beak and yellow under his eyes, he drinks nectar from the flowers of the frangipani tree near my window. Except for the hottest part of the day, he is there, sometimes joined by his neighbors. Also, a crow has been coming to my open window, open when it isn't the hottest, and brings me flowers. Cawing loudly he beckons me to his gift. Across the way, two men search a large mango tree for today's ripe harvest.
Two assignments: One to be completed today and the other tomorrow.
Having scratched my glasses during the most rowdy parts of the trip, I need new lenses. Yet, to replace the lenses means to part with my glasses - that isn't even a possibility. Milan has been telling me that the Ashram is self-sufficient. He's right. There's an eye clinic. Having my eyes tested, it's been 2 years since my last eye exam, I find that my eyes have slightly changed. With a paper from the examiner, I head to Optical Center, a store on Gandhi street about 5 blocks walking. The paper ensures that I will receive the Ashram price for new frames and lenses and not have to negotiate with them. I choose frames and ask for Verilux lenses with UV protection. Everything is checked, distance between eyes and those sorts of things, and I'll have them one week from now.
The other issue is, putting a package together for mailing, deciding what must stay and what must go. Again, it is the Ashram that will package it and see to the mailing. I will be saying good-bye to some of my clothes which have faithfully served me thus far. But, my lighter shirts are stained beyond cleaning and my rusty red ones are threadbare. The continual wear on fabric from carrying a backpack shows. I know, why send clothes home which are worn out? I can't bear to part with them! Not now. Also, I will send back my long shorts purchased in Bangkok. Four Indian outfits have already been purchased and will take me the rest of the way. Pictures tomorrow, hopefully.

Buddha Moon

21/05/08 PM
It's 6:00, dinner at 8:00, I walk to the ocean front and take notice of the crowd. Children are climbing on the Gandhi statue. All along are ice cream carts, with this heat business is brisk, cooked corn placed in a styrofoam container for on the go eating, balloons and fruit. The surf is high with the the moon rising near 7:00, Families are camped on the sandy walkway eating their dinner. Couples and friends stand near the crashing surf and are soaked. They laugh and wait for the next. Boys scamper after toys which are slingshot into the dark night, and whirl in twirling colored light back to earth. Lightning flashes out past where the lighthouse rotates its beacon. Fun is everywhere, a carnival atmosphere. This is the Buddha moon, full moon in May. It is the moon under which he was born, attained Englightenment, and died. His birth? 2552 years ago.
Dinner is the standard; vegetarian curry, rice and yogurt. Bread and porridge are also available - not this time. I have asked Milan about the utensils, stainless steel. Now that's settled!

The Cobbler and the Insanity bug

Wednesday, May 21, 08
How does it happen that insanity can strike so quickly? Walking Pondy, the government has decided to change the name to Puducherry, but it doesn't appear to have taken hold, I sit a half hour with a cobbler making sandals. These have been ordered by school children and range in sizes from 1 to 9. He cuts out the straps, razor blades each size using a template, glues what needs gluing and now the bottoms. As he works he proudly hands me a plaque issued by the equivalent of the Better Business Bureau commending him on his work ethic. Then the insanity bug strikes. Seated on the sidewalk, he reaches to the side and pours out a few drops from a whiskey bottle and offers me a drink of water. I take several swallows, careful not to touch my lips to the opening. But, the water? What about the water? I shiver thinking about what I've done. 24 hours from now will give me the answer!

Decision making

Tuesday, May 20, 08
How does one know what is right for the moment? In Christian thought we refer to this as "Knowing the Will of God". In me, it usually begins as an unease. Locating the source of the unease leads to then process through and find an answer. Should I leave the calm and restfullness of India to volunteer to help the cyclone victims in Myanmar? (I've most often still heard it called Burma) This is the question. I have proximity, energy, and time. I have opportunity. There is a falsehood which often is accepted, "If I can, I should!" Although I agree that this is sometimes true, it is also as true that this is a heresy. The difficulty of such a decision comes in that this is seldom only a question of capability. This decision is already known. It's the removal of that which covers it so it can be revealed. Sitting with the question for 2 hours, I have found the response to be - No! All decisions have elements of for and against. This decison is for rest, for calm. Each of these decisions are specifically designed for the asker. What others will choose is not relevant. For now, I will remain in India.
There is another question which has been answered. I will not continue to Africa. July 1, I am returning to California. Africa will have to wait.

4 more words

Monday, May 19, 08

I have been generally cautious with taking pictures. But, this morning, I ask the chai maker and the floor lady to allow me.They consent. The floor lady has asked for a copy. That will require some research. I do remember seeing a photo shop down Nehru St.

On the way to see Milan at 10:30, I find myself transfixed at a game of carrom. Carrom, oh, I remember that board game from my youth. It takes some research through my memory archives, however. I believe we played it at Kafumba. These four men are the happiest on earth.

At lunch, I find another series of words to remember while traveling. It happens as I am seated at a foursome table with a man next to me and a woman across from him. Lunch over, having sat there for an extra 15 minutes watching the drama, I say to the couple, "Time for a nap" - an innocent enough statement. Except, only receiving back a bewildered look and finally a response from the woman of a hand to the side of her tilted head, I realize my mistake. Nappies are diapers. Time to leave! Four more words for the traveling notebook, "Keep Your Mouth Shut!"

This is India!

18/05/08 PM
On his motorbike, seated behind Milan, we honk and work our way along streets and through intersections to a bar/restaurant around the corner and down the street from Cottage GH where Milan works. Ordering a beer, we split the not cold beverage with Milan telling the server to please bring a cold one next time. Relationships need time to sprout and grow. Ours is still in its infancy. But, already we have established that no topic is off-limit. Second beer, luke-warm. Milan shrugs and asks if it's OK. Yes. Dinner is some fried rice, fish and chicken curry. We seem to be in a rut with our ordering. Except, each restaurant prepares food differently and the taste, this time, is much hotter. We both are sweating under the heat of the evening and the spice in the food. About sweating, it is accepted as part of life. Everyone carries a cloth to wipe their face and neck.
We talk about the fact that the server is not understanding Milan who is speaking to him in Tamil, the server's mother tongue. I relate that at the internet today I sat next to a Frenchman who did not seem to understand when I said a sentence to him in French. It's curious that when something is not expected, we tend not to hear or see it. Milan is obviously not Tamil and the man can not compute the Tamil, which is fluent, coming from his mouth. I wonder what he would do with me if I were able to speak it? Asking for the bill, the server casually says, "325". Twice more, Milan asks for a bill - only an amount is given. Finally, Milan asks the server the price of each dish as I transcribe it onto a piece of paper and add it up. Taking the paper, Milan shows the server, who looks it over, and gives many figure 8 head shakes. I pay and we leave - 288 rupees. Milan then informs me that this morning, when we stopped for drinks, when the server had said our drinks were 45 rs, he knew it to be 40. How do restaurants keep tabs on their earnings? There are no computer slips to check and no record or copy of sales. Yet, somehow, it works. Who can be sure the money ever arrives at the cashier? I admit, these may be Western questions. There are eateries which don't pay the server knowing rupee are being skimmed. "This is India!" is all Milan says, as he turns his holy hand palm up and cocks his head to the side.
New Angkor Wat pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/AngkorWatCambodia

How and Where?

Sunday, May 18, 08
Milan arrives mid-morning on his motorbike and we are off to look into bus and train schedules. We want to find our way to Kodaikkanal and on to Udagamandalam, let's just call it Ooty. Train is nearly impossible and bus is out of the question. The first part, to Kodai, will be by taxi. Transport from there will be worked out later. We will most likely be out for a week. When we leave will be decided over dinner. Distances are immense with less options than I've yet found anywhere. Then, following our investigating, Milan has a coffee and I have a lemon soda at La Terrasse, just off the ocean walkway. The fact that the French were here for many years is evident everywhere. Many of the streets have French names like Victor Simonel St., Campagnie St. and Rue Dumas.
In an internet cafe owned by Sharda's sister...Oh, I haven't introduced Sharda. Sharda is Milan's girlfriend. In the internet I have an ice coffee waiting for a computer to become free. Bollywood is on the large screen TV. Young people are spread out enjoying the soap opera movie. Being in Hindi, I understand nothing. There, a computer is free.

Lessons in Travel

17/05/08 PM
Not paying attention to a switch in dinner times, I miss my meal. Walking around the block, I find a restaurant advertising Air Con. I am shown to a small table in the corner. Whereas in Indonesia and Malaysia, direction is shown with the thumb. Here direction is shown by a gentle sweep of the hand. I watch as the tables fill, 8:30. In walks a 20-something, colorfully dressed in a sarong, smart looking woman who sits at the next table and plops plastic bags filled with her evening purchases, on the table and floor. She is waiting for someone. The server asks what her wishes are. Water first, which she receives in a 1 1/2 litre bottle and pewter cup (We have already established that it may not be pewter, but tin. I must remember to ask Milan). She pours and drinks from a straw. Having also ordered, her meal of chicken fried rice arrives. No someone! Her cell phone near, she calls, talks, hangs up and spoons rice into her plate. With her holy hand, her right hand, she cups food into her mouth. After 5 minutes in walks a hurried woman, also in her 20s, very well dressed, also in a colorful sarong, smiling and jabbering. Passing to the rear of the restaurant, she washes at a sink and returns. This is a common sight in all areas I've visited - a wash basin, many eat with their fingers. Returning, they order drinks, lemon juice, and catch up, pointing occasionally to the packages. I must admit I found it odd that she drank her water through a straw and ate her food with her fingers. Eating with your fingers is not an issue of poverty, low-caste, or any such thing. It is cultural!
Comment - We are all, in our essence, the same. We do differ, however, in our behaviour. Learning to distinguish those differences, so I don't offend, is important in traveling. I have found too many Westerners who have been upset, confused and stupefied by certain behavior they believe wrong. To take our cultural expectations and believe them to be what all should hold to is arrogant. In traveling, don't be first, step back and watch. Where do the utensils go following my meal at the Ashram? Wait! Watch! How do I negotiate a busy intersection? Watch! Ask! What are the duties of the floor lady in relation to me? Watch! Listen! These four words, WAIT, WATCH, ASK, LISTEN, may be the most important lessons of travel.

Comment and tips

Saturday, May 17, 08
- I have been pressing my luck in drinking chai from a street vendor who I watch washing the glasses, not very thoroughly. Again, drinking orange juice from another vendor. I expect at some point that tempting fate will bring the wrath of the gods down upon me. But, for the moment, I'm well, except for a sinus congestion. Even my feet are adapting to my flip flops and until I do experience an issue, I will continue my planned course of enjoying such small pleasures.
-When removing your shoes/flip flops, sandals, pay strict attention to where you lay them. More than once, I have found myself confused and bewildered by not remembering where they are. Today, an Indian woman, searching for her own, laughed with me as we looked together, heads down, locating them, but only after a walk through all the designated shoe deposit spots.
-The yes/no shake is a curious way of answering with the head. It's not a sideways or up and down shake. Put your head into a figure 8 and that's it. The wider the figure 8 the more the unknown, it would appear. Possibly, that's the point, if there is one. "It is what you wish!"
Phnom Penh pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/PhnomPenh

Manakula Vinayaku/Samadhi

17/05/08 PM
Following dinner, 8:30, I walk north toward the Samadhi of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. These are the names of a famous yogi and his wife. The central courtyard of the main Ashram building has a flower-festooned samadi (memorial) of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother under a frangipani tree. On the way, I pass the Manakula Vinayakau, the famous 18th century shrine of Lord Ganesha - elephant god. An elephant is taking food with his trunk then tapping, or running his trunk, over the heads in blessing. The food is purchased for a donation nearby. At an intersection, 50 ft. away, a holy man is blessing vehicles. I ask a bystander who says that a token is purchased from close to the shrine, 40 rupee for a car, 15 rupee for a motorbike. The holy man keeps a fire burning on a tray and walks around and in the car touching it with blessing. Then, he places a "dot" of red coloring on the drivers concerned and the vehicle is driven over lemons. Walking on, I enter the grounds of the Samadhi. Removing my flip flops, as is customary in virtually every house, I sit against the wall and observe the devotees at the memorial (A white marble rectangular slab app. 6 ftX15 ft). The entire surface is covered in an array of flowers spread in specific order. Devotees touch the memorial with their foreheads. Touching the flowers, they bring their fingers to their head, eyes, hair, chin... Moving around the memorial this may be repeated. A large frangipani tree is on the backside which is also touched and leaned against. Around teh outside, seated in meditation, are 40-50 others. Incense sticks are being placed in the large holder on the opposite side as the tree. The smoke from the incense bathes all around giving it a sense of floating. This is the only spot in town which is quiet.
I return to my room and find it too hot. Next to me is a German woman who returns home in two days. I may ask for her room. Mine has an outside wall which receives sun all day. Hers must be cooler. If I stay it will be because of the 4 inch gecko who has claimed the room. No bothers! He's quite cute and eats mosquitoes.

Pondicherry - Relaxing

Friday, May 16, 08
I am developing a behavioral pattern. My breakfast is 7:00, afterwards with a stop at a local, street-side vendor to watch him boil and work the process of handing me a glass of chai (tea). Then I return to collect my journal and whatever I need for the morning. Pulling up a chair in the hallway, the center of the 4 story building is open, a "courtyard" which extends from bottom to top, open to the sky, I can be in the little breeze which blows through. Here, the floor lady, the lady responsible for my laundry, room clean-up, brings me two cups of chai. These are small cups and are the best tea anywhere. The rest of the morning is most often out walking, talking with Milan, shopping for necessary things.
I have changed my mind. India is every bit as hot as Cambodia, or any place I've been. With my ceiling fan on full, I'm still sweating.
Every morning at 9:00, a tour group of 30 comes through Milan's shop, which is in an open basement under the Cottage Guest House. A long hallway is between the store and the small parking lot. From the hallway descend into the store through steps. Ceiling fans supply cooling. I have asked him for 3 more banians (undershirts) and another shirt with longer sleeves. The group of 30 wanders through picking up clothing, cosmetics, candles, carved trinkets and purses. they are on a tour of the Ashram. One day, I will also participate - not today. Milan leaves to help supervise the sales. I sit at his desk which is to the front of the store.
Correction: I see I have misspelled saree in the previous entry. And the tray and bowls at the Dining Room are not metal but either tin or pewter. I'm not good with such distinctions.
With plenty of time, I have purchased some reading material - Correspondence between Bede Griffiths and Amal Kiram. The 268 pages won't take long with the amount of time I'm spending alone.
Virtually all the clothing I have was washed, ironed and returned - 4 shirts, 2 t-shirts and 4 pairs of underwear. I'm smelling clean again.
Milan and I are working up a preliminary schedule for a trip out into the western part of Tamil Nadu, which is the state in which Pondicherry resides. Kodaikkanal has been chosen as our first stop.

Pondy, the hot spot

Thursday, May 15, 08
Taking a long walk down the main street of Pondi, Nehru Street, I have an orange juice at a corner stand, squeezed while you wait, talk to a policeman, watch an anti-government rally sponsored by an opposition party and talk to a man about US politics. "Who do you want to win the US election" has been asked of me on a regular basis throughout my sojourning. Asia is very aware of our politics and what this means to them.
Returning, I buy a So. India guide book and some 50 sun block.
Where Milan works, we talk of my needing an undershirt. The ladies in his shop decide on my shoulder width and this will be picked up later this afternoon - one to start with to make sure of size.
Then, the two of us are off to lunch - rice, chicken and fish curry.
Today isn't the heat of yesterday. Last evening a storm came close and even though it only sprinkled, it's cooler. I see the difference of heat here as compared with Cambodia. Cambodia has a higher humidity level, India higher degrees. It feels much different.
After sunset, I will climb the extra floor to the 4th and see what's to be seen from that level. These are relaxing days.
I have experienced traffic - lots of it. But, India is MORE. Crossing a street, look both directions, even one way streets. Here's how you drive the wrong way on any street since you need to get someplace in the middle of the block and don't want to go around. Keep your horn finger ready and activated. Drive slowly, or not. India has more noise than anywhere I've ever been - mostly horns, special horns attached for more volume. When a bus blew its horn beside me, I felt every organ jump. My liver still hasn't settled down! Loud and louder!
India has more color than most. A sari is not a splash of color, it is lots of it. The blues and purples are dramatic and brilliant. As the sari is traditional, men also wear lungi, cloth hung from the waist, which can be worn long or tied up in front. Women are the wearers of color. Men are mostly dressed in whites. I am fitting in with my new wardrobe. My clothing from the States may be ditched.

Milan

I have known of Milan for many years. A friend of mine who lives in San Diego, Ca, Robert, used to spend 2-3 months a year, for 20 years, in India. He and Milan met, here in Pondicherry in 1975. Robert and Milan began a friendship which took them throughout India. With the development of my trip, Robert contacted Milan who has graciously accepted to guide me through the intricacies of this land. We are looking forward to visiting some of the hill resorts of Tamil Nadu.
Milan is my age. Bengali, he has lived the majority of his life in Pondy and runs, for the Sri Aurobindo Ashram, the weaving and knitting shop. On the back of his motorbike, we whirl through the streets and I'm thankful not to keep looking for transportation. He has offered to let me use his bicycle. Yet, seeing the fearsome traffic I'm not sure I want that responsibility. Walking may serve me better. A nice gesture, all the same.

Pondicherry, India

Wednesday, May 14, 08
(An Ambassador, which is a vintage car mostly used as taxis)

Up at dawn, I walk to the dining room for my first meal. Again, a system to learn - Drop shoes at the door, pick a line, two of them to choose from, which takes you along a row of tables. Pick up a tray and choose your porridge. More? No thanks! Milk or yogurt, sugar, banana, large slice of brown bread, and a scoop of mints. Find a spot either at a table inside or anywhere in the courtyard. Cleanup is a walk around to the left where organic matter is dumped in a bucket. Silverware is in one area and the pewter tray and bowls go to a waiting attendant who has her hand out and dumps them into a large square cement tub containing water. My end of the process is finished, find my flip flops, and leave.
Breakfast is 6:40-7:30. Lunch is 11:15-12:15. Dinner is as posted. But, most often 8:00-8:30. The food is vegetarian.
Taking a walk along the ocean front, this is the Bay of Bengal, I turn inland after a km and walk to the large boulevard on which the International GH is located. Noticing some painters, I stop to watch. A man is painting a deep yellow up above hanging from the flat roof. Below is a scaffold with a painter trimming in white. Ground floor is a man applying filler to holes and depressions. Two young men hold the scaffold. Suddenly, with a yelp, the top man tips the yellow paint bucket. Below, the middle painter, the filler, and the scaffold holders take the brunt. One of the scaffold boys take a direct hit on his head and right shoulder. His companion scaffold holder gets the same dose. The filler dodges most of the paint. I have yellow paint splattered on my shorts, shirt, hat and arms. Any on my face? No! I laugh. They grin. I remember lessons in younger days of not standing under ladders or paint buckets. Too late! Walking three blocks to where Milan works at Cottage GH, I buy a new shirt, a long white linen shirt, which is worn out and hangs nearly to my knees. Returning home, I change into my long pants and am out looking for an electronics store to ask about purchasing a SIM card. India is paranoid about such things.
SIM card - I will need a passport picture, photo-copy of my passport front page and visa, and proof of residence, a statement or card from the GH. No problem with any of these, I now have a cell phone for India.
Everything closes for the afternoon. The heat is unbearable and no one is shopping, anyway. I nap and listen to music till 3:30, when I again walk around the general area of the GH. This internet spot is half a block away from the GH along Pondicherry's main street running east and west, from the coast and inland.
Pondicherry used to have a beach. Now, it is only rocks till the water. Tomorrow, Milan and I will put some energy into planning our time together.
Pictures: While loading pictures in Chennai, a helpful internet owner may have deleted most of my pictures. I have a few posted, but that may be all I have. Fortunately, the pictures are while I was traveling with John, Stewart and Claire. I have asked them for a copy.
http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/AngkorWat

Chennai to Pondicherry, India

Tuesday, May 13, 08
I have been aware of the fact that I may not like India. The congestion, throngs of people, may get to me. It still may, and most likely at times will. But, I like India. The warmth and genuine friendliness is contagious and enjoyable. Immediately apparent is the lack of women in positions which I have so far seen them and expect them - receptionists, servers, store clerks. Men occupy them. Having only been here for less than 12 hours, I could be making a snap judgment.
It is 7:45 AM and sitting in a restaurant attached to the hotel, a cup of coffee for breakfast, I see that across the narrow street is a sign - Regal Cafe - High Class - Vegetarian restaurant, the sign reads. Then the price; Meals - 25 Rupees.
Milan arrives, as he said he would, at 10:30. He has hired a taxi and we begin that awkward state of entry talk. Stopping for lunch after an hour, we have come fish and chicken curry over rice with a lemon drink. Two hours later, we enter Pondicherry, I retrieve some money from an ATM, and am here at the International Guest House, part of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram complex. My room is on the third floor, #71, which I will occupy for some time at 200 ($5) rupee/night. If I choose to eat at the Ashram, three meals a day will be 20 rupee ($.50). Off to work, Milan will return around 6:00, when the heat has lessened, and we will walk the area around my guest house. I have made the decision to call this home for a space of time. Having traveled hard for the past month, my body and psyche need a rest. This is the place for such. With 2 months, Milan and I are planning some extensive trips exploring South India.

Phnom Penh to Chennai

Monday, May 12, 08

A rookie mistake! I have read the flight # as flight time and am at the Phnom Penh airport much to early. sitting, a couple working with a Lutheran social group begins a conversation. They are flying into Laos for a few days of vacation and work in a village in what they term communications. When they leave, three monks, all in their twenties, come to sit and also begin a conversation. Handing me a stick of gum, the one says they are heading to Myanmar to pay homage to the Buddha. Then, we talk about Cambodia, why I'm traveling, what did I like about Angkor Wat, what colors they may wear... Having never flown, they are nervous and ask about a boarding pass. People stop by, remove their sandals and bow, some kneel and show respect. For my part, they have left too soon.
Cambodia is so funny! It costs me more to leave the country than to enter - another profit center. They must want me to stay. And, whether the US government knows it or not, ATMs spill out USD, not the local Real.

Backtrack - Yesterday's haircut - It's been many decades since I've had my hair this short and longer since it was cut with a hand clipper. First, the barber worked with a comb and scissors. Then, the hand clipper, not as I remember it, left me with memories of my Dad. My Dad must have had a dull clipper because this one never yanked or pulled my hair out, as is my memory. Tensing my shoulders against the pulling, I relaxed to the smooth and silk flow of the current. Following that, he used a straight edge on the sideburns and all around. Removing the covering around me, he gives me brief shoulder squeezes and pounds my back. Ah, that's it! $1, please. He received a hefty tip.

Malaysia Airlines - never have I flown this one. I grab a sickness bag for Garry's collection. It will join the others - Cathay Pacific, Garuda, AirAsia, AirPNG, AirNuigini, Trigana, and Qantas. Does MAF have a bag? Oh, it was a plastic bag. We begin a descent and break through the clouds. I will transit through Kuala Lumpur, the fourth time. Malay sounds familiar. And, I am back to the Roman alphabet, mosques and head scarves. In Malaysia, the spread of 3rd worldness is apparent. This is a modern country compared with Cambodia - not better, easier to negotiate. Or it may be that I was here for an extended period of time. I expected to be where I always have flown into. No, this is the new airport. Asia is building new airports and so divides between budget and regular paying airlines. As I deplane and walk to gate C35, I am pursued by 3 young Khmer women calling, "Mista, Mista". One hands me a piece of paper with Malay and English writing. They came in with me from Phnom Penh. The note asks me to help them to their gate. I gesture for their ticket and find the gate - A2. There is an A + B sign pointing downstairs. Taking them to where the escalator will deposit them at the correct spot, I hold up 2 fingers and say two. We place our hands together in a thank you, and the threesome, happy, step onto the downward motorized stairs. I continue on to C35 via train.
I packed the right shirts and am wearing the wrong one. It's smelling a wee bit ripe. No way to change as the backpack is checked. There is a blue T-shirt I picked up in Katherine, Australia which I will trade with.
Health - I have a sinus congestion which has dogged me for the past 4 days. It hasn't gone either direction and doesn't bother me as such. My new flip flops have rubbed a small sore on the top of each foot. Bandaids work just fine.
Chennai, India, formerly Madras - We left Phnom Penh in rain and arrive in a sprinkle. Traffic is loud, fumes, a constant honk and yet, it works. I'm at the Hotel Pandian, standard room. I booked it on the net and took a prepaid taxi after working through customs and immigration. The room isn't fancy, but adequate. Another system to figure out. None of my wall plugs work here so that's a find and purchase item. The airport taxi was a government prepaid set price. Except, instead of 300 rupees, he charged me only 270. I tipped him 10 and the driver 20. All are happy! (40 rupees=$1USD) Milan comes to collect me tomorrow and we drive to Pondicherry. (Milan will be introduced later.)
Cambodia has left me with many large mosquito welts. Here, there is a mosquito repellent dispenser plugged in over the bed. I'll give it a try. Still, I have plenty of spray if it doesn't. India!

Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Sunday, May 11, 08
I love the French. Breakfast is a baguette with a filling of fried egg, and real coffee. This is going to be a very sobering day. Our first stop is Tuol Seng which was a "Re-education Center" during the years of the Pol Pot reign of terror - 1975-79. This specific spot used to be a school which was converted to hold special prisoners. These were not just killed. They were tortured and were selected for special pain. Also known as S-21, Security Office 21. The camp is a series of three story buildings. Each served a specific purpose - solitary confinement, torture and group confinement. Anyone who came in was destined to death. Of the 20,000 brought here only 7 left alive. As I walk the third floor, where masses of my fellow humans suffered horrid indignity and pain, their pictures in rows, the wind suddenly sweeps through slamming and opening, and slamming, the still hanging shutters along the back wall. I have many angry moments and pray a prayer that all those bastards associated with such atrocities burn in the hell of their own choosing. And then, I realize it is going on today wherever anyone is subjected to barbarism. Yet, it continues! The array of feelings; compassion, anger, sympathy, anger, wanting it to go away..., find me. Following the last 3 story building, I have a better sense of those who had no choice - found themselves caught up with following orders or following to their own deaths. There are old snapshots alongside current ones showing those who are presently still alive and living in the communities. They were caught up in it. And, I feel my compassion extending to them. What lives they must now be living? Both feelings are true!
Off for a walk along the Mekong River. Phnom Penh lies where the Tonle Sap and the Mekong River join forces. Lunch is a BLT in a baguette. Rain delays us from our next tour and catches us walking the river front.
On to Camp Choeung Ek, better known for its role in the movie "The Killing Fields". Only a portion of the area has been searched. Here is where the victims from S-21 and others from the country came marked for death, and found it. A grisly sight starts the walk - skulls, bones and clothing dug up and placed together in piles in a stupa. A trail walks through the killing fields. Suddenly, I realize I am walking on graves. Below my feet are bones and clothing protruding from the earth. To be IN the killing fields, actually walking where these poor souls faced their deaths, brings me to tears. A large tree is identified where babies were dashed. I touch the tree and say, "It wasn't your fault!" Before I can leave this place, I must find some beauty. I will not leave till I have found it! Looking from that spot, I see butterflies, dozens of them, fluttering, poised above and landing on the grass, rising, floating off. Dozens! The symbol of renewal is clear. We have the opportunity to change, to be transformed. Even the worst of us! In a period of several days, I have seen the highest cultural achievement of a people, and witnessed the lowest barbaric fall.
Now for a look at Phnom Penh. This is a bustling, growing, building city jumping as quickly as it can into the modern age. The Khmer people seem embarrassed by their recent past, and want to put a new face on this beautiful spot. A barber shop takes care of getting my hairs cut. In another, I find some sun block. Rows of cell phone shops line a street. Everyone is looking either for a hand out or the chance to earn some cash. The main street through town has a Vegas look with all the glittery lights. Cambodia deserves a second chance and a second look. I will return!

Siem Reap to Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Saturday, May 10, 08
Breakfast is along a side street - toast, bacon and coffee. Siem Reap does not exist except for tourism. Prices are accordingly. Looking for some sun block the prices are inflated, $12-25. I'll wait for Phnom Penh. At the restaurant, we are served by a young man who apologizes for serving us in a towel wrapped around his waist. His pants, apparently, are still drying. No complaints from us.
The heat is intensifying. To stand in the sun is to continue drenched in sweat. Movement is some degree of air movement. We walk the town. Checking some upper end hotels we find that $200-300/night rooms do exist.
At 12:00, we are aboard our Phnom Penh ride which is leaving from a market. The bus has soft seats, Air Con, and a soap opera blaring on the TV up front.
Cambodia appears to be quite flat through this whole section of the country. We are driving parallel with Tonle Sap Lake. The dry season is still here so the rice paddies are fallow. Gas is $4.80/gallon.
1 1/2 hours into the drive we stop for food. This appears to be the same throughout SE Asia. The bus transports have deals with local eateries which give them a commission. For the first time in SE Asia, I am seeing horses being used to pull carts.
Rain begins to fill along the road. No wonder most of the houses are built on stilts. A man is bathing in the rain. A woman collect rain water. Boys run about in fun. Lightning and thunder all around. Motorbikes and regular bikes are being driven with faces bent low. If this continues the area will flood quickly. We have slowed by half. School girls are riding 2 and 3 to a motorbike braving the downpour. Lightning and thunder. The soap opera continues. 2 small children, a boy 3 and a girl 5, have been put on the bus and are wards of the bus crew. They are moved to the front where they can be watched more closely. Cows wander wherever they wish.
Water pours off the side windows. The AC, which previously had been struggling, now is too cold. Lightning/thunder.
Rain lessens and is gone as fast is it comes. Soap opera continues. I am thinking through the possibility of needing to walk in the rain once we arrive. Hopefully, not!
Across from me as three year old boy with with his parents. He is wrist deep into a mango.
Brick factories are a common sight. Kilns are heated with wood. These trucks are a constant sight stacked high above the cab. Rain again, then lessens as we again stop at a road side eatery. Here is a specialty area - crickets, large spiders, baby birds all fried for your pleasure. All, but the Westerners, jump at the chance of such delicacies. Pass! There are also the regular fruits - durian, papaya, coconuts, as well as rice an veggies. We are 72 km from Phnom Penh.
As we enter the outer limits of the city more brick factories appear as well as a bit of traffic jam. Vans are filled with passengers, as well as the rack. The same applies to the trucks.
Once in Phnom Penh, we de-bus in town and hire a tuk tuk to take us to our destination, Narin Guest House. $8/night for the room. That will include a towel, toilet paper, hot shower, and a large room. Cambodia is turning out to be better lodging than Thailand.
(I wish there were some way of posting my pictures. But, with dial-up, that's impossible.)

More Cambodia

-The windows of our room have bars.
-There appears to be a restaurant, or bar, which begins blaring music at 5:00 AM till bedtime. This noise is heard 1/2 mile distant. I heard this first in Battambang. It's a Cambodian phenomenon. What's the point?
-Ceilings are 12 feet.
-Lodging is cheap. Amenities are rare. There is no top sheet or blanket, no soap, no hot water, no towel. Very basic. But, the room is large.
-Mosquitoes are numerous and bite through clothing. I still have my powerful deet lotions from the States. Here, I have only seen lotions with 13% deet.
-Batteries last only 1/3 as long-even top quality Duracell. This must be where the 2nds come. Of course, they may not be Duracell since they only cost $1.00 for 2 AAs.
-Laundry is $1 for 1 kg. of wash.
-Beggars are everywhere, especially children - preparation for India.
-Small geckos are everywhere. And the large ones, 1 ft, make lots of noise with their calling. Now I know why they are called geckos. Their call is geck-O.
-Don't trust a label to be what is says - clothing, sizes, drugs, or any product of any kind. This may tie into the Duracell discussion.
-I have a new camera since Battambang, my third since leaving the States. My Fujifilm, purchased in Sumatra, suddenly developed a leaf looking black spot in the viewing window.
-I'm beginning to get used to my new flip flops as they rub differently than my others.
-Anyone in a wheel chair, or physically challenged in any way, stay out of SE Asia, especially Cambodia.
-Viagra is on the shelf of a small shop.
-A small clinic has a resident "doctor" who sells drugs, takes BP and answers all questions. Watch out!
-I will need to restock my shampoo and sun block. Siem Reap is too tourist minded to find decent prices. Phnom Penh should be more competitive. The asking price, here in SR, is between $14-25. Outrageous!

Cambodia

-Cambodian cities, I'll let you know about Phnom Penh, do not have street lights. Any that there is comes from lights from shops.
-Men and women are often seen in short skirts.
-There are few of the older generation.
-Khmer people are very friendly.
-Amputees are a common sight - landmines being the major culprit.
-Computer access is available but only at dial-up speeds.
-Roads are poor and transportation difficult.
-Angkor Wat is seen as a major source of income for the country.
-I have not found safety to be much of an issue. Or course, I do not stroll around late at night.

Angkor Wat

Friday, May 9, 08
An epic day! Thrilling! Magical...

Battambang to Siem Reap, Cambodia

Thursday, May 8, 08
35 of us start the trip to Siem Reap at 7:00. This boat is long, around 30 ft, but narrow with seats along the sides. We will boat down the Stung Sangker to a large lake, Tonle Sap, and across into Stung Siem Reap. Baguettes and cheese for breakfast and we are off. Life jackets? There are four on the boat. This boat is homemade with a large engine behind. Past a collapsed bridge, we work our way through the cement. Soon after, we snap something and come to an abrupt halt, or float.
We are offloaded to sit on the bank while the crew works out the difficulty. They are working on the propeller assembly as we passengers are learning each other's names and countries. Some wander off looking for a toilet and others search out a drink.
A Khmer walks to the river's edge with a dog, burns and scrapes off the bristles and butchers it in the water. I'm eating vegetarian tonight.
At the 1 hour mark a mutiny is brewing. Two Dutch women want to hire a truck,'there are none around, and find our way back to Battambang with a taxi ride from there. Others are for giving it another hour. At the 1 hr. 10 min. mark the engine is started and the boat is out n a test run. All they have used is hammers and a crow bar - nothing delicate. They disappear upstream with our bags, so there goes the mutiny.
The entrails are now being cleaned. It's an art.
Without the breakdown I wouldn't have noticed the 2 AK47s which are off loaded. They look too rusty to be effective - our guards.
Oh, there it is. The boat has returned - 2 hours of waiting.
On board, we continue. fishermen are throwing nets as women wash clothes. A lady dips a bowl into the river and satisfies a thirst. Two boys have made a slide down the bank splashing into the dirty water. 3 young men are snailing - How else do you catch snails?
Everyone n board is sporting sores, scrapes or bites. One Brit young man has a serious eye infection. He is advised to see a doctor. The foreigners on board are Brits, Dutch, Aussies, French and me. Books are out. Card playing begins. We are settled in for the long ride. Wind is ameliorating the heat. We scrape over a rock but continue.
Coming around a corner, a boat our size is suddenly and instantly on us. the other boat has a man in front, as we, who quickly pushes us with a pole sending us into the brush on the left bank. now, it's our turn to pole ourselves off and on we go. Some of the younger set have been hanging their feet over the edge. Now it becomes apparent why this isn't a good idea.
We pass crocodiles in cages, fishing nets and fish traps. Water hyacinth block the way and we plow through needing then to stop and clear the intake, this engine is water cooled. Around 1:30 we stop for a refreshment break. The toilet is a hole in the floor.
On, through more hyacinth as sprays of water drench those in its path. Angela, an Irish woman, is sitting next to me and nods off. Briggs and Stratton engines are set up to drive smaller craft. Such ingenuity is hard to find except in the third world.
Between 2:30-3:00, we deposit people and load at homes and shops. The congestion eases.
3:15, we leave the river for Tonle Sap Lake. Just prior to entering Stung Siem Reap, the boat again loses the gear, same as the morning. That's it! The crew of three is poling us along. Two girls 8 and 12 arrive in a small boat and sell us beer and cokes for $1-2 each. Jackpot! We ask for a lift from them and others - no deal. Where are our friends with the AK47s when they are needed? Oh, they off loaded back a ways. Drat!
The group is smoking and drinking, the mood is festive. The sun, low in the horizon, is beating fiercely - 4:30.
Cavalry. Rescued by a boat sent from Siem Reap, we are secured and in tow, if they can keep the engine running. A Brit has his IPOD hooked to some speakers and is playing a song - Follow Me!
5:00 - We de-boat. Siem Reap is a 20 minute tuk tuk drive away.
Tomorrow? Angkor Wat!

Battambang, Cambodia

Wednesday, May 7, 08
The heat is intense, even at the start of day. The French, who colonized this region, left some habits which we are benefiting from. Breakfast is a baguette and spread cheese, with a true coffee and fresh milk. Believe it! Baguette. Oh, the taste of that warm, hard crust in my mouth is heavenly.
Waiting for Stewart and Claire, John and I walk to the river and determine that the water level is low. With the rainy season starting, the river will quickly rise to overflow the banks. Then, we walk through an indoor market and I buy a new pair of flip flops. Good-bye to the pair I bought in Katherine, Australia. They have served their tour and now are torn.
With Colonial French architecture around us, we find a tuk tuk which will carry the four of us. Hiring him for the 4 hour drive around the city, we visit ruins older than Angkor Wat, a roadside family making paper thin cakes, the old railway station (Still one train a week on tracks which are separated at places and have a wobble to them. 290 km to Phnom Penh takes 24 hours), the old French colonial section, and to the spot where the citizens of Battambang were subjected to the genocide of the Pol Pot regime. This last spot was heart wrenching. Ponds nearby still contain thousands who will never be found. Arriving at the dock, we find that a boat runs once daily to Siem Reap, the entrance point to Angkor Wat. We reserve and pay for four tickets. The downstream trip should take between 5-7 hours.

Poi Pet, Cambodia

Tuesday, May 6, 08
Taking a charter bus to the Thailand/Cambodia border, we arrive around noon. We arrive near the border. A tuk tuk ride brings us to the Cambodian consulate where we are awarded a visa. On, John and I in one and Stewart and Claire in another, to the Thai border. Clearing that hurdle, we walk the 1/8 no-man's land to the other side of the bridge. There we are greeted with casinos and the haggling begins. It appears there is a man assigned to us. He directs us to where we fill in the arrival/departure card and have our passports and visas stamped. This yellow shirted, young man then directs us to a shuttle bus which he says is to take us to the bus station. All the time, being seriously questioned, he claims to be working for the Cambodian Ministry of Tourism. The shuttle takes us a mile through mud slopped streets, the rain has just passed, and deposits us at a door in a strip of shops. In our book we have read that the mafia controls taxis and bus service into the country. TRUE!! When we are instructed that the ride to Battambang will be $40 US, we walk away. The heat is stifling and the wind non-existent. Stewart says he thinks he remembers where the bus station is. We walk. Appearing before us is the yellow shirt, young man. He tells us that we are headed the wrong way, will not find anything better, and generally laughs at us. We walk past with him in following. Needing something to drink, and time to collect our thoughts, we stop at a small shop and order 4 cokes. As we drink in walks a man who says he will take us to Battambang. How much? $40. We ask him how he knew we were headed to Battambang? He doesn't reply. Understanding that this man, following continued effort at communication, is a visual learner, I pull out a piece of paper and pen and write; 4 people, Battambang, $30. (Here I need to say that although Cambodian money is Real at 4000 R to $1, the preferred currency is US dollars. All store and food prices are in USD) As we are finished, we leave him sitting and continue walking. The heat is building! Sweat is drenching us. The now crested road is swirling red dust. We walk. Ahead, approaching, is the yellow shirt young man. Now I'm pissed. He follows and laughs at us. I ask him not to follow us. Or rather, tell him. He says this is Cambodia and he can go where he likes. He's right, of course! We continue. Suddenly, there in front of a Camry with the hood up, is the taxi driver who we left at the coke shop. He says he will do it for $30. Again, going through the full routine, we all agree. The yellow shirted man gets some money from the driver and he's ready. Sitting in front is John riding shotgun. I'm behind him. As we climb in, I make the mistake of putting my hand in the door and he slams it on my left ring finger. "Open the door, John." He does, the fingernail immediately begins turning red. An appropriate finish to Poi Pet - 1 hour of lessons.

Walking Bangkok

Monday, May 5, 08
Tomorrow, 7:30, we will be picked up along Khao San Road and driven to Aranya Prathet, at the Thailand/Cambodia border. From there, we will need to make our way to Ankor Wat.
Again, finding ourselves in a frat house, John and I have decided to spend a few more Baht and enjoy Air Con and a higher standard of living. After breakfast of a roti and coffee, at a small Indian restaurant, we find a room at Thara House for 5oo B. Oh, we are living it up; hot shower, Air Con, soap, towel, top sheet and shampoo. This will make up for all the low living we can expect in Cambodia, which is known for spartan hostels.
Having yesterday traveled the Chao Phraya River, we attempt to find a boat which will take us through the canals of Thonburi. Thonburi is across the river from Bangkok, to the west, and once served as the capital. Approaching the boat stops, there is a constant attempt to get us into tours or expensive excursions. Our mission, which we accept, is to find that boat the locals use.
Crossing the Chao Phraya on the ferry, we are now on the Thonburi side.
There are markets which spring up around many of the boat landings. Here is no different. Anything can be purchased - clothes, electronics, beauty enhancements and entertainment.
We begin walking, looking for the spot where we can catch the water taxi heading into the canals. Turning left along a canal, we walk, not finding what we want, past the construction of a hospital, on till we happen on the Thonburi Locomotive Depot. Five steam engines are held for special occasions, King's birthday and other special days. In the grease, grime and diesel, we walk through taking time to climb aboard the old engines. This is how the US used to be before safety and liability took hold. Welcomed, we enjoy talking with the mechanics, who are over-joyed to have a distraction.
Deep into the interior of a tight housing complex, we have unintentionally turned into the closeness of Bangkok. Happening upon 3 women and one man, drinking whiskey and having lunch, we are encouraged to join them. Declining, but spending time cooling off next to their fan, we are made to feel part of the family. Coming out of the narrow, twisting passages between homes, we find ourselves underneath a large bridge. On the other side, we again find narrow streets with temples, repair shops, a seamstress, and eateries. Here we stop for a drink, a Pepsi taken in a plastic bag with ice and straw. When the drink if finished, we use the ice to pour over our legs, hold against our arms, and cool off with it pressed against our foreheads. It's hot!
Finding the canal, we can't find the stops. The canals and river are teaming with fish. Literally, every moment there are 2-5 fish popping to the surface. Yet, in this pollution, who will eat them. Periodically, a breeze comes through dropping a degree or two. But, not long enough. Retracing our steps, we again find where the ferry had first brought us across. We return to the Bangkok side, east side, and find our way to our room. Air Con! 3 1/2 hour enjoyable walk.
Chao Phraya pics and walk: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/ChaoPhraya

Lopburi to Bangkok

Sunday, May 4, 08
Up at 7:15, I am sitting in my commuter train seat by 7:40, shower but no shave. This place is known for the monkeys which inhabit the ruins. But, I bypassed them, didn't go past the ruins, did not give them a chance to take my hat, and came straight here.
The train ride leaves the station at 8:00. Across from me is a young Thai woman who really tries hard to practice her English. Curing the 2 1/2 ride to Bangkok, we have many opportunities to laugh, she isn't making herself understood, and neither am I. She exits the train on the outskirts of Bangkok headed to an appointment to have her teeth checked, she is wearing braces.
Calling John, he has been in town since yesterday, we arrange a rendez-vous and find an adequate spot several blocks off of Khao San Rd.
I ask if we could take a river cruise? Sure! It amounts to taking the local "river taxi," a boat which runs through the heart of Bangkok on Chao Phraya, the river through the heart of Bangkok. Up and back, and we are available to meet John's son, Stewart, and girlfriend, Claire, on Khao San. There we arrange our Tuesday bus ride to Cambodia. Tomorrow, hopefully, I will retrieve my passport with an India visa.
I will post the Chao Phraya pictures then.

Chiang Mai to Lopburi, Thailand

Saturday, May 3, 08
8:45 - Good-bye to Chiang Mai.
My new day pack is going to be more functional than my other. Security is always an issue. This one has double zippers which can be locked nicely.
This 3 car train has the appearance of a commuter. I am in the first car and can see into the driving compartments - 2 drivers separated by a walkway and door out the front. Rolling up the aisle comes a hostess pushing a cart with coffee, water and orange juice. Jerk, jerk, sway! Ticket please, I imagine that's what the controller says. The hostess asks and I point to orange juice. A cake and fruit filled pastry come with it. I must be in the rich car. She opens the door to the driver's booths and I see 1/4" of water standing between them in the small walkway - rain water. The windshield wipers aren't helping much. But, a train doesn't need what a car does. The one driver asks for coffee, stands and passes the hostess walking to the rear. The other driver also stands, turns to the hostess and waits for her to pour his drink. Who's driving this thing? Barreling along. Coffee is transferred and the driver returns to his duties. No worries! I must say that he did glance once over his shoulder while the coffee was being poured. I can read the speedometer to the upper right of the driver, 90 km/hr - not for long. Water from the driver's compartment is finding its way down the center aisle of the car. A custodian moves it along. Later, he returns with a mop. This is a wonderful car. I can look out the side window or stand and see what's coming up front. The toilet also comes with a large, open window to the outside. There's a fine view in and out.
Traveling through forested hills, past Doi In, Thailand's highest peak (2565 m) enshrouded in clouds.
The driver's control station has his buttons, levers, and gauges. On the left side are a cup of coffee and a roll of toilet paper - seems right!
It turns out that the man on the left is not a driver. His job is passing or hooking a metal cable, tear shaped with a pouch on the pointed end, into a crook at a station and retrieving a similar one as we pass. All this at 40 km/hr. What is being transferred? I ask but no one can tell me. I also witnessed this on the Malaysia trains. When the hooking man comes through, I ask him. No English! Drat!
The hostess, immediately after serving the snack, has curled up on a double seat and pulled a blanket over herself.
In Lampang, 10:40, we switch driver and hooker. This will happen 2 other times during the ride. Custodian again mops the floor.
I smell food! Yep, our hostess is back on the job, 11:30. OK, now I know I'm in first class, even though my ticket reads 2nd. Lunch is rice, chicken, cucumber, and tapioca.
The landscape is still hills but with dense bamboo forests. No sign of humans except for a grove of bananas, occasionally. Bamboo, bamboo... Fog dips over the hill top creating an eerie ghostness.
Then, habitations, some flamboyant type trees. That fast, we're past, at 40 km/hr. This seems to be the speed through the hills.
At Pha Khan station butterflies dominate the scene; white, white/black, yellow, circling, landing, fluttering overhead, on orange, purple and pink flowers.
Bamboo! Occasionally a red muddy vehicle road parallels us. Gone! No vehicles spotted.
Tethered water buffalo, cattle and rice paddies greet our entrance into a valley and suggest a town. A muddy river flows past as we are again in the forested hills. Rain has long ago left us with only heavy clouds. The sun has been refused so far today.
Flatland and rice paddies. This will be the scenery till Lopburi.
Ah, broken sunshine.
The smell of Tiger Balm, think Vicks, fills the car as someone applies it against sand fleas. Mine is in my big backpack, someplace.
Arriving in Lopburi in darkness, 6:45, ( I dislike arriving when it's dark. It's disorienting.) I walk the one street town and find the hotel I'm looking for - Nett Hotel. I ask the desk manager, a young man in his early 20s, for a look at the room. 211 turns out to be one flight up with private bathroom and 160B/night. The room is agreeable enough till I spot our winged SE Asian friend making a dash for cover under a small table. I take a swipe but the cockroach makes his escape. Yes, I'll take the room on the condition that he sprays it down. He agrees! With hunger eating at me, I walk 4 blocks, back to the main street, for something cooked at one of the stands. Young helper searches for the spray.

Railway Station and back

Friday, May 2, 08
This is a catch-up day. All I have to do is buy a train ticket. I have decided to split the travel back to Bangkok into two days. Tomorrow will be a ride from Chiang Mai to Lopburi. Then, Sunday, I'll continue into Bangkok reconnecting with John Peatman who is coming up from Phuket in the south. With no reason why not, I am walking the distance to the train station - 1 hour each way. At the station I buy the ticket, 8:45 departure, with a 6:03 arrival. My ticket says Car 1, Seat 4. Cost, 566 B. Feeling hot, I sit at a small roadside stall and order a drink. A man sits across from me and engages me in conversation. His name is Nop. He works as a tour consultant and instantly goes into work mode - Where do I want to go? Where am I staying? Do I want a trek? Finally, after he realizes there is nothing to sell, we can start a conversation.
The return home doesn't seem as long as the going, Why is that?
There is a fierce storm, coming in from Myanmar (Burma), which is to hit us late afternoon.
Observations:
-There is an odd custom of serving a bottle of beer with a glass filled with ice. Most Westerners simply pour out the ice and that's that. Seems like a waste of good ice.
-Reverence and respect for the royal family is everywhere. Even passing a picture of the King can cause a tuk tuk driver to bring both hands together, this while driving. It's refreshing to see.
-I have four cuts and scrapes; a cut on my finger, a scrape on my arm, and a scrape and scratch on my right foot. None of them appear to be any problem. I have taken specific care to clean and anoint each of them.
-The zippers on my daypack, purchased in Sentani, have finally given out. I'll find a new one today.
Back in Bangkok, I am hoping to spend an evening with Robert Charter. But, that may not happen due to conflicting schedules.
These pictures were taken as I walked to and from the train station. This is what Chiang Mai looks like as a city.
Walking pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/WalkingChiangMai

Housekeeping

Yesterday, I posted some pictures and forgot to add the link.
Chiang Mai pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/ChiangMaiThailand

Doi Suthep/Bo Sang

Thursday, May 1, 08
Chiang Mai is old. Built in 1296 by Thai king Phaya Mengrai, the old city is enclosed in a moat and was walled. Parts of the walls are still visible. Walking to the edge of the old city, and riding a sawngthaew, a small pickup with a camper shell (see photos) to the zoo, I catch another sawngthaew to Wat Phra Doi Suthep, a temple and monastery at the top of a hill (1676 m), 8 km out of town. First order, some good - it's 10:45. Certainly, I can do such things as getting here much faster. But, this way I can sit in the back with 10 others. One young man is hanging on the back. Across from me, a young girl and her mother are talking. It mostly centers, I can read this through their gestures, around how to clear your ears as we climb through the winding curves. Next to me, a man doesn't like the exhaust fumes. Back at the zoo, I would have missed my ride if a kind man hadn't called and pointed. They must wonder how I ever got this far. Food is vegetables and chicken on rice. An egg tops the mound.
At the top of the 306 steps, is a copper-plated chedi topped by a 5-tiered gold umbrella -one of the holiest chedi in Thailand. I stop at the border rooms and watch ceremonies of blessing. Devotion is being shown by walking around the chedi and then placing the three symbols in their appropriate places - flower, candle and incense stick. On the way out I pay 10B and pick up a packet of three incense sticks and two yellow candles. Retracing my steps down the staircase I find a toilet. Stepping to the urinal, the packet of incense and candles slip out of my grasp toward the porcelain. Grabbing hurriedly, I am successful, but wonder what the meaning of that would have been! A sawngthaew drops me within walking distance of my room.
Following a shower and nap I head out. It's 2:30, I should know better than to start something new mid-afternoon, in the heat of the day. I walk to the flower market - 30 minutes, and wait for a sawngthaew to take me to Bo Sang, about 12 km east of town. I ask a man to show me which one - it's the white one, red this morning. This mode of transportation has a fixed rate, works on the same order as a city bus. Here it comes. It's packed! I'll have to hang on the back with two others. Clinging to the left side, I get a good left foot grip and a toe hold with my right. Wrapping my arm around a ladder and my right digging into a top rack, we are good to go. It's hot as a stocked fire, the sun beating down on us. The tops of my feet, I'm in flip flops, are feeling a burn coming on if this continues. It does! We pull overand insiders are exiting the sauna. 11 are inside, 3 hanging on the back and 3 large containers down the middle, seating is along the sides. Halfway there, I adjust my daypack and it slides off my shoulder. A mad attempt is made, but it kerplops into the street - we're in the slow lane. With hollers and pressing of the buzzer, the driver brings us to a stop. I run back, grab it from the dodging traffic and return to regain my perch. Putting the pack on properly, on my back, with the belly strap fastened, rather than casually over my shoulder, as previously, I have a chagrined look on my face. I had chosen to carry it that way because of the heat. No longer! We're close, 5 km, 2 km, 1 km. I see a sign for the craft fair and press the buzzer. I must be a curious one to my fellow passengers. All wave and smile. Or, maybe, I'm fitting right in. Lord, and to think I'll be riding back!