Travels With Larry

The Return

2008-07-01T08:41:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, July 1, 08
Returning, as leaving, is always a difficult transition. With them come opportunities as well as longing, sadness, excitement... One is never the same, life is not static, and to recognize this, not ignore, bringing forward the energy, is a trick, a process.
There are cultures which understand such shifts and see each doorway as a threshold into something new. This doorway, St. Ives, UK, is such a point. To step out of the past months into the up-coming brings with it an affect on my body and psyche - my skin is dry and a cold sore indicates a chemical change.
To bring what the walk-about continues to teach me, not cling, not abandon, developing a synthesis of the two worlds, is the work of many years, a lifetime. To do otherwise is to be stuck in the netherworld of not in and not out. Beauty, as well as horror, rests in both worlds. As does contentment and struggle, humidity and dryness, fractures and joining... This is the IT of Life - two sides of the same coin.
Quickly, the sharpness of the experience dulls and fades, which is our lot. Yet, I bear all the feelings of vistas, heat, flowers, waiting, illness, friends, hunger, solitude... These are never far away.
So, I close my last entry with portions of a poem by Walt Whitman:

"apart from the pulling and hauling,
amused, complacent, compassionating,
idle, unitary... both in and out of the
game and watching and wondering at it all..."

Edinburgh, Scotland

2008-06-29T02:54:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 28, 08
With some extra time, I have decided to take the 3 3/4 hour train ride, north, to Edinburgh for a day and a half of Scotland. Boarding the train in Peterborough, 8:51, and this train is on time, I work my way through Doncester, York, Durham, Newcastle, along the North Sea to Alnmouth and on into Edinburgh's Waverley Station.
The countryside is mostly flat with trees along roadways, homes and fields of grain.
This is a proper train, quiet, plush, real porta potties. Broken down castles appear here and again with light houses wading into the sea on a spit of land. The clouds are heavy, showers, but no steady rain. The further north we travel, the more the hills roll. Certainly, a civilized look with fence lines and blocks of land. The Sea shimmers in the sunlight. Small towns, churches, long metal and brick bridges and schools, clump along the way.
Across the aisle are 2 very fat Americans overflowing the seats. Also, behind and across are 2 other Americans, a father and daughter from Pennsylvania, here for a fortnight HS graduation present.
Off the train, I walk the several kilometers and eventually, following 4 askings, arrive at the Ascot GH, a three story, 7 bed B&B.
The afternoon and evening are spent at Edinburgh Castle, lunch at The Witchery ( I order a glass of champagne, with my food, to toast the journey), walking the Royal Mile from the Castle to The Palace of Holyroodhouse, flag up indicating a royal present. Hiking up Salisbury Crag to Arthur's Seat, the highest point overlooking Edinburgh, a drizzle starts and then leaves. On the edge of the downpour, which passes to the west, I find my way down the northeast side and back into the city.
One difficulty in walking Edinburgh is that the streets change names - North Bridge becomes South Bridge, Nicolson St, Clerk St... Another example, going east from downtown; Princes St, Waterloo Place, Regent Rd., Montrose Terrace and on.
Dinner is late, and sleep later. The sun sinks, with darkness only fully in place after 11:00.

St. Ives, UK

2008-06-26T11:07:00.000-07:00

Thursday, June 26, 08
Suddenly, the mosquitoes are gone, a smoke detector appears in the room, clean walls, carpeting, order in traffic, manicured lawns, no filthy smells, clean, graffiti, curbs, plenty of power points, and feeling fat from being overfed. Welcome to the 1st world. No longer a gecko in the room to click at me. Streets which are deserted, not a car, pedestrian or dog. I have a knife and fork to feed myself. A spoon certainly allowed for volume bites.
All goes well at the Chennai airport, and throughout the flight - 10 1/2 hours. On the underground to Kings Cross Station, I ask, and find the train for Huntingdon. There, I have purchased the wrong ticket, which is pointed out to me by the Station Master checking tickets at the exit. Saying he needs to charge me for the balance, I agree. Then, walking to the turnstile, he places and turns a key. As the gate opens he says, "In favor of International Cooperation!" and lets me pass with a smile. Two pay phones, one on each side of the station door, are used to call John. Two phones because neither one of them will work properly. A woman, sitting on a bench, asks me which number I'm trying. As I repeat it, she dials and hands me her mobile phone. John's wife, Kay, answers saying John is on his way. St. Ives is only a few miles up the road. My room is upstairs in a three bedroom house on the edge of town.
Sleep comes easy. Yet, I'm up long before anyone else. After breakfast, John and I walk into town for some shopping. He has some insurance issues with a local company. I want to look for several long sleeved shirts. One, found in a thrift store, costs me £3, and I'm feeling in style, again. Riding the train, I felt conspicuously out of place with my travel worn clothes. Dressed in my dark red shirt and Bangkok long shorts, I was woefully 3rd world dressed.
Walking along the Great Ouse, the river which cuts through the town, we cross the bridge and enjoy talk and companionship. How was Vietnam? What about Laos? Pictures follow when we return home. A schedule is being planned for the days ahead, York, Cambridge, London. And lots of relaxing. Rain is beginning to fall, it is 7:30 pm, and the evening is settling in. I'm feeling the effects of jet lag and will need an early bedtime.

Travel Plans?

2008-06-22T06:46:00.000-07:00

Sunday, June 22, 08
Here's a short explanation of my travel plans. It will be difficult to find time for an entry so here's where I'll be. Today, I spent the day in Chidambaram, around 1 1/2 hours south of Pondy.
Monday - Leave at 8:00 for Tiruvannamalai.
Tuesday - Leave at 8:00 for Mamallapuram and on to Chennai (Madras).
Wednesday - British Airways flight at 8:05, arriving London, Heathrow Airport, at 14:20. There, I will board the Piccadilly Line into Kings Cross Station, switch to the above ground line and on to Huntingdon Station, 1+ hour north. John and I will meet and spend the next 8 days looking around the area.

Detente

2008-06-21T04:29:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 21, 08
Two stories:
-Filing through the food line at the Dining Hall, I carry my tray to the 4 person tables which occupy the area closest to the outer courtyard. There, I find a table with 2 people sitting opposite each other, and a tray in the middle of the section which is to their right. Where is this man sitting? As I stand, confused, the tray owner, a short, stocky man in his 60s arrives with water. I ask him where he is seated. He continues through and sits facing the inside of the building. Ok, the only seat left is facing outward. More than 5, but less than 10, minutes later, he suddenly looks at me and begins, "Why did you want my seat?" My reply, "I didn't want your seat! The tray was in the middle and I didn't know where you were sitting." He points to the ceiling fan and seems to be indicating that my seat is the better one. I continue, "I didn't want to sit where you were sitting." He replies, "Thank You," with a blank look.
-Following breakfast, as is my habit, I take 2 small cups of black coffee in the Park GH canteen and read the local paper. The lady seated behind the register is in her 40s with orange highlights in her hair. Since I forgot to purchase a meal ticket for the Dining Hall, this morning's breakfast will be here. I order yogurt with papaya and my usual 2 cups of black coffee. The total is Rs 46. Flipping through my money clip I hand her a Rs 50 note. She holds it up and says it has a small tear on the top middle, and that she won't accept it. My reply is, "It's your money." "Did you get it here?" "It's your country's money!" "It passes through many hands" she finishes and hands it back. Well, then she will need to find change for a Rs 100 note.
There are times when East does not meet West. And ships do pass in the night!

Pondy and North

2008-06-20T05:28:00.000-07:00

Friday, June 20, 08
I forgot to purchase a meal ticket for the Dining Hall, so I am walking out past where I usually turn and continue on to where the Esplande (ocean front walkway) ends - on into the squalor of thatched lean-tos and broken down brick homes. Trash, and filthy water, drains into the sea as women drop white chalk from their fingers creating the designs which front many homes and businesses. Children are making a push for school, their uniforms pressed, the girls in braids. A teenager hikes her younger brother on a bicycle and turns down a narrow connecting street. Washing behind a short wall, a man scrubs as a temple blares sacred music. Fishermen are out, some in. Kneeling over their nets, they sort through their catch pulling off the ones stuck in the netting, mostly sardine size. Women sit on their haunches anticipating the catch - limited when considering how many mouths it must feed. Reaching the end of the pavement, I turn through a dirt path to the ocean front and look north where rocks have been dumped in against erosion. Back along the Esplanade, the exercising crowd is out. Near the GH is a public toilet and shower facility where a gathering of city folk are preparing for the day - brushing of teeth, showers and talk. It's 8:00 AM.

Auroville, India

2008-06-20T05:00:00.000-07:00

Thursday, June 19, 08
Today, I have planned a visit to Auroville.
At the Autocare Department, north 2 streets from Jain Street, then 2 doors west, I find a small room. Pressed against the back wall are 2 desks with the sides of the room lined with benches. Inside, I buy my ticket to Auroville and back, Rs 60. Departure is 2:00. Return around 5:45. One Western woman sits opposite me, I'm seated on the right near the opening, and 15 locals occupy the remaining space, standing and sitting. Outside 4 more, plus the driver, stand under two trees looking looking for shade. Maps of Pondy and Auroville, along with photos of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother cover the walls. A small AC unit attempts to cool the room - not much help. Outside is a 24 passenger blue and white bus with "Contract Carriage" across the front. We wait, sweating!
Auroville is not a tourist attraction. Built, a project in "human unity" it is spread over 20 km. with 2000 residents from 39 countries. At the physical and spiritual center of this community is the Matri Mandir, a golden dome of meditation. Inside is the largest crystal (70cm) in the world surrounded by white marble. Casual visitors, such as I, are not allowed inside except with special permission which I don't have.
Arriving at the information center, the group is shown a video of the origins of Auroville and the creation of the Matri Mandir. Then, walking the 1 km, we stand on a small knoll and glance from a distance. Even from here, the size and stature of such an undertaking is felt.
Someone near me asks what I'm feeling. Feeling? There is a sense in me that the dome should be open so that the light can shine - more like a lotus.
The return trip is to visit a Kali temple - no photos allowed. All men are told to remove their shirts, down to bare chests, and shoes, naturally, and walk down steps into an interior chamber. Cost Rs 1. Here, standing along a railing we gaze at the image of Kali the Destroyer. An attendant walks among us placing red kumkum powder on our foreheads or in our palms. This is my first forehead powder since arriving in India, a very common sight. Retrieving my banian and kurta, flip flops later, we are led to a symbol of Lord Shiva and then to look at the standing image of Kali, 73 m tall.
Back in Pondy, I have a cup of coffee and walk the waterfront home.

Simanta Chatterjee

2008-06-17T05:54:00.000-07:00

It's 4:00, I'm standing at the watchman's small desk just inside the large gate which is the entrance to the Ashram Nursing Home. Waiting, as he pulls on his socks and shoes, a boredness fills the air. Shoes on, he points up the short stairs to the ground floor where I find nothing. No reception desk. No nurse. Where is Simanta? Walking through the hall I find a door open, Library/TV Room, reads the sign. Two women, dressed similarly, my guess is they are orderly, are flopped on a divan. I ask. They point upstairs and say, "1st floor." Through the sanitary halls, white walls and tile floors, I find the stairs and climb the short distance to the empty floor. I wait as a man is being wheeled into an elevator, another buzzes around giving instructions to a man on the stairs. As the instructions are completed, I try to sneak in a word. No good! He's off, not concerned with me. Waiting, looking around, I see a young girl with her arm bandaged, sitting in a large room with partitions. Stepping in, several staff look to be filling trays, offering water, and such things, I ask for help. The little girl brightens when I give the name. Leading me, she steps around the partition and points to a bed against the wall where a man is lying on his side. I approach, he sits up, and I know instantly, from photos, that I have found Simanta. He first, then I, bring our hands together in Namaste, and shake each other's hands with both pressed tightly. Saying that I am a friend of Robert's, and my name, he motions for me to sit next to him. He is frail, dark rings around his eyes, and tells of his bout with some fever. Graciously, as I see is his custom, he makes me feel welcome. We talk of friends, wishes, hopes, and am sent off to find a man named Bob who works in the Ashram Archives. But, not before I promise to return tomorrow. All I know of Bob is that he is tall. Tall Bob is located in Archives. Following a 30 minute search through the library and other such places he is located. A native of Wisconsin, Tall Bob and I sit at a table, drinking water, and become friends. Tomorrow, we will meet for a joint Simanta visit. 4:00!

Where, oh where...

2008-06-17T05:39:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, June 17, 08
Since my arrival, I have searched for Simanta Chatterje. He is of the Brahman caste and a dear friend of a friend. Today, I have been directed to an apartment 30 minutes walk from my Guest House. Arriving at the white 4 story building, I enter the gate and find the watchman. Yes, Simanta lives here. But, he has been in the Ashram Nursing Home (hospital) for the past 13 days. The Nursing Home is back along the waterfront, across the street from Park GH. So, I am told! This should be easy. 30 minutes later I arrive across from Park and find a building being renovated. With no English, a young man, carry a large plate of cement through the open gate, tells me it's 3 something that way. Three what? Streets, buildings... I walk a few buildings, till I find an open gate, and ask this watchman where? He points on down the street. Two blocks further and I ask 2 autorickshaw drivers. Continue on. One more block and I ask a policeman. No, back across from the GH. This time I'm taking no chances. Walking up to the reception desk at Park GH, I ask. Where? 3 buildings from here. Back I walk, slowly, counting, looking for something I had earlier missed. There, at the open gate, where I had earlier asked the watchman, is the sign of the Ashram on the inside wall. How could the watchman misunderstand me. This is how so many inquiries flow. If I spoke Tamil, all of this could be avoided.
Visiting hours are 4:00-7:00. Come back later! It's now past noon, too tired and too late for the Dining Hall, not wanting to walk the 15 minutes both ways, I sit at La Terrassee waiting for some lunch. That's my morning.

Park Guest House, Pondy

2008-06-15T01:56:00.000-07:00

Sunday, June 15, 08
A three and four story complex set 100 ft from the crashing waves of the Bay of Bengal, Park GH is part of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram, as was International GH. It is not set up to make or lose money. It's existence rests in being available to the Ashramites, and travellers like me. Cost? Bottom floor is Rs 200 ($5)/night. The other floors are double this. My room, 42, is on the bottom toward the middle. Out my room, between me and the crashing waves of the ocean, is a small porch, a walkway, a slender garden, a 5 ft fence and another walkway. One special addition, over that of International GH, is a canteen where I can sit with the paper and a cup of coffee. Snacks can also be purchased, as well as a simple breakfast. Out the left side is a large gate, a children's park, a community bathroom and I'm a short walk to the ocean. I would say beach, but there isn't any. 30-40 years ago there was a large beach and one could wade out on a sloping bottom for 1 km. For the past 10 years this has disappeared. All of it! No one quite knows why. The city has brought in large rocks to stop the erosion. That now is the Pondy waterfront.
Laundry is picked up and turned in between 8:30-9:30, and must be paid for upon retrieval. No cleaning of the room is done without the guest's presence. There must have been an incident for such a policy to be enacted.
The room has 2 twin beds, bathroom, cold water, a small closet where I can secure my valuables and sundry shelves, tables and chairs. Tile floors throughout. With no screens, bugs and mosquitoes fly freely. A net, for night, is imperative. As soon as I can stop the Doxycycline, mosquito prophylaxis, I certainly will. The main side effect is light sensitivity. Although I smear 50 SPF sun block every morning, I still am experiencing a redness every now and again.
Guests are only allowed in the meeting room between 3:30-6:00, and the gate closes tightly at 10:30 PM.
The ocean breezes help to lessen the effects of the still warm summer, especially during the evening. Although the temperature isn't what it was 2 weeks ago, it's still warm. A very pleasant GH.
Today is Father's Day. I wouldn't have known it except that I called my son Matt and he wished it on me. And an email from son Andrew. Where, oh where is third son Steven?

New Plans and Health

2008-06-14T04:59:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 14, 08
New Plans - Being scheduled to fly through London early July, I have emailed John and asked if he would be agreeable for a visit. Yes! Cutting my India time by one week, I am now scheduled to fly into London on June 25, with a flight out on July 2, into LAX. The UK is planning a petrol strike as I arrive. So it goes!
Health - I have been in excellent health. The only illness, during this complete period of travel, came during a 24 hour period in Ukarumpa, PNG. This past trip into the hills of India left me with two finger pokes. One became infected, but was quickly dealt with. No sinus problems. No scrapes, bruises, cuts, or sores. I now will quickly find a piece of wood to knock on!
During the hill trip, I left my backpack in Milan's office. Retrieving it today, I walked the 15 minutes to Park GH. It felt familiar!

Prakash, the Driver

2008-06-13T05:04:00.000-07:00

The nine day trip, Pondy, through the hill stations and return, is done, for convenience, in a taxi. I will be depended on for diesel money (advances), and so come prepared. This taxi driver does not own the car. He drives for someone. However, to make sure that the advances do not outstrip the actual costs is very important. That money would be irretrievable. The costs are negotiated and we are off. There is a car charge, a hill charge (extra money for driving in the hills), a set amount for the driver per day, and a kilometer charge. All this comes to $25/day.
From the outset, the driver is conniving, manipulative and difficult. I make the mistake of inviting him in to join us for breakfast, lunch and chai. Big mistake! In his mind I am an easy mark. The first morning in Kodaikanal, he says he has nowhere to bathe. We allow him to use our bathroom. The lodge objects. It turns out they had offered a facility for him but he had refused. He begins free-lancing, taking cash for rides during the times we aren't using him and not knowing that I've written down the odometer reading. This behavior continues. His story changes when it suits him. At one point, he asks Milan to have me advance him Rs 2000 ($50) so he can buy things for the family. That will not happen. On and on, it goes. Thursday, he claims he has no money for food when I have given him Rs 100 just the previous evening. Filling in diesel, with 4 hours to go on our return to Pondy, he wants the change from the fill-up. I refuse, which sends him into a rage. His response is to refuse to start the vehicle. Milan and I talk of collecting our things and taking another taxi, leaving him to drive back passenger empty. He climbs back into the driver's seat and now drives angry. He stops when he wants for chai, 30 minutes, and acts childishly. Glaring at us in the mirror, he drives on. Just get me to Pondy! As he drops us off, he goes into a rage wanting his tip. We have called his boss and will settle all this on Sat. This time Milan doesn't say, "This is India." Instead, he uses a barrage of words which one keeps in reserve for such occasions.

Bandipur to Pondicherry

2008-06-13T04:49:00.000-07:00

Thursday, June 12, 08
Breakfast and then off on the pot-holed road. Driving on the dirt shoulder is faster than staying on the road. After 20 km, we finally hit a respectable road. Well, somewhat respectable. The climb through the Ghats is gentle with a hair-pin descent on the east side. India has little respect for nature and less for the environment. This may be slowly changing. But, the cutting of large old trees, which line the roads, is a painful sight. Trash is thrown out with little regard for the consequences. Piles of everything are everywhere.
We pass old forgotten temples eroding from ages of neglect and fields of sugar cane, bananas, corn and sunflowers. Our driver enters towns at 60 km/hr and may slow to 30 weaving and dodging cows, carts, pedestrians, motorbikes, and grumbles when he is stopped.
Ten hours of this, my fingernail marks are in the seat in front of me, and we arrive back in Pondicherry. I'm in the Park Guest House, bottom floor, room 42. Rate per night is Rs 200 ($5). On the ocean front, this GH is within 100 ft of the crashing waves. The smell of saltwater is obvious. The crash of the surf sounds even over the whirl of the ceiling fan.

Otty to Mudumalai, India

2008-06-12T08:21:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, June 11, 08
We are off for Mudumalai Tiger Reserve. First, we look out over the vallies from
Doddabetta Peak, 2633 m, the highest peak in all of South India, and visit the Govy Botanical Gardens in Otty. Both of these are spectacular. From the peak the view is clouded, poor picture weather through the haze and mist. But the Gardens are 22 acres of manicured lawns and flowers along a hillside in Otty. The monkeys are creating a problem by sorting through the trash bins and leaving a mess. They wouldn't last past dinner in Congo!
I haven't written much about the weather in these hill resorts. Kodaikanal was in the lower 50s at night. Otty seems colder. I did not bring clothes along for such weather. Luckily, I have a wind breaker. In Otty, I use two blankets to stay warm at night. Returning to Pondy will be a system shocker. Asking for a tea, I find I've been drinking Orange Pekoe tea.
At the entrance to the Gardens is a sign, "Hebron School - Lushington Hall." Then below, "Co-educational, boarding school for children aged 5 to 18 years." This is the present home of Hebron School. I don't take the time to walk the hill to the campus.
Mudumalai Tiger Park is not in the hills, so the weather is mild, not cool. The 321 sq. km park is grasslands to semi-evergreen forests. The park actually is split over two Indian States. Mudumalai is in Tamil Nadu and Bandipur National Park is in Karnakata. Odd that they would name the park differently simply because it spreads over two states. But, they have. There are all sorts of promises as to what we will see. Driving slowly we see two large herds of Chitals (spotted deer), together around 80 deer. What a sight!
There is not a room to be had in the simple lodging in Mudumalai, so we continue on into Bandipur. Also, nothing! Exiting the park, we find lodging at MC Resort, a group of 20 rooms in a U with a large yard between the buildings with trees. Their main emphasis is taking groups into the parks on safaris. Tomorrow, rather, we will be returning to Pondy.
As we enter the room, no number on the door, a small gecko moves behind the beds. Oh, I have missed my little friends.
As night sets in electricity is supplied. Here, it is sporadic, on off, as the night progresses. Hot water? Not possible. Back to the cold shower.
Dinner is offered 7:00-9:30. Milan has asked for as table and 2 chairs to be set outside. Here we sit, enjoying the mild evening.
Mosquitoes! I have plenty of lotion. During the night, we will have a mosquito coil lit in the room. It smells like incense but is deadly on the flying creatures. A gecko chirps during dinner but is silent in the room. Dogs bark at passing wild pigs. Hope that doesn't keep up all night!

Hebron

2008-06-10T06:04:00.000-07:00

If there is one part of this trip which stands out for me, it is the visiting of the schools where friends have spent time. These have the unique distinction of being missionary boarding schools. Hebron is one of these, located, so many years ago, in Coonoor, India. Now, it is a boarding spot for orphaned children. Driving through the large, circular, moon gate, we stop at the office. Yes, they will be very happy to let me wander, with a guide. Pictures all around, till my batteries run out. Why don't I remember to bring extras? I can hear the patter of small feet, the games on the courts, the swimmers in the pool and bathers on the cool deck and so much more. Stepping into the dorms brings back especially poignant visions and memories. The bunk bed, thin mattress, little privacy, games, some in fun, others not, house parents, some parent-like, others with a grudge. My own memories inter-mingle with those present. How did so many fit into such small spaces? On a partition are clothes in their appropriate boxes. These could have been placed there for Joan or Pat. This is part of their story, and mine. Time has stopped!
Hebron pics:http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/Hebron

Coonoor and the Miniature Train

2008-06-10T05:45:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, June 10, 08
The day begins cloudy with a wind. The flowers at the front of the two story line of rooms sway in the breeze - chrysanthemum, dahlias, zinnias, snaps, hibiscus, creepers, berries and many more. The lodging is up the slope from the main house where the family resides.
These hill towns are much more Christian. A Christian church is a frequent sight. The houselady has Christian mottos on the wall in the entryway and dining room.
We walk the town, we change hotels and hustle to the train station for the queue at 11:30. Rs 4 buys a ticket Otty to Coonoor - 3rd class. This is the World Heritage Miniature Train. The crowds are too much for Milan and he asks to be excused. The taxi driver will meet me in Coonoor, the best way to get things seen quickly. I find my way, after the unloading frenzy, and find a fine seat at the window across from a family of 4. The young boy and I make friends. This is a meter train and we crawl down the short distance, 1 hour to Coonoor passing stations like Lovedale, Ketti, Aravankadu and Wellington. Over bridges, under bridges, through tunnels, into gum tree groves, sights overlooking valleys and hillsides of tea, past tile, tin, eternite, and thatched roofs, temples, houses of the rich and poor, with soot and whistles all the way. Through trees fallen and trees standing, decidulous, and evergreen, we stop at a station where the family offers me a small portion of Bonda, a spicy hunk of deep fat fried dough. Finally Coonoor, where Milan and the driver greet me. Where next? To find Hebron!
Otty and Miniature Train pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/UdagamandalamOttyIndia

Kodaikanal to Udagamandalam (Otty)

2008-06-10T05:06:00.000-07:00

Monday, June 9, 08
Leaving Kodai at 9:00, we head down the winding, hair pin curves. To go to Otty, we must first re-enter the plains. But, these plains are on the western side of the continent, west side of the Ghats. Palani, where we stop for gas, I see, for the first time, "Elephant Crossing." On a bridge the right lane is closed because a woman is drying some seeds on the cement. All simply move around her as she sweeps the strays which have been blown away by the passing cars. Again a first, just outside of Palani, large windmills generating electrical power.
On to Tirupur, hosiery capital of India. Oh, the pollution being generated. The streams are smelly, discolored from the dyes and strong chemicals. Sweat shops are being used, but not visibly.
We begin the climb back into the Ghats, this part known as the Nilgiris, re known for its teas. These hair-pins make the descent out of Kodai look tame. Driving through Coonoor, I take notice, knowing I will return here tomorrow on the train. The distance now is only around 19 km and that part goes quickly. But, just before entering Otty, we stop for some tea. This tea is orange, rather than milky, and has a unique taste. The chai maker can't speak much English and is just pleased to see us there at his road side shop.
Otty is more of a hill town than Kodai which felt like a hill resort. Otty is in a bowl so the town opens up whereas Kodai is steeper hills which hides the town from itself. An amusement park is at the edge of the lake. The bus station and train station are near each other which is handy. A racecourse is at the bottom of the bowl, near the lake, across from the bus station. Horses, donkeys and cows share the road with the rest of us. The lake is further across than in Kodai, but there aren't the fingers. This is Otty, the Queen of the Hill Resorts, as the sign reads.

New Relationships

2008-06-07T05:20:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 7, 08
With a Poori, puffy donut without the hole, and dips, Milan and I head out for more sight seeing. These include Suicide Point, where again we have a long view of the valley with its towns, agricultural plots, peaks, sholas (forests), lake, clouds and mist, and red dirt clearings. On to Pillar Rocks with a garden of the largest hydrangeas I've ever seen, poppys, chrysanthemums, and others. On to another view of the valley and we are ready for lunch.
Again at the Punjabi restaurant, we have fish and black pepper curry with rice and nan. Milan returns to the room for a nap, it is 3:00. I need to get more exercise. Eat, chai, eat, chai, eat, chai, that has been the theme of the past days.
Walking past the Tibetan stalls which are stretched along the end of one of the four fingers of the lake, I raise my umbrella against the rain. Anticipating the rain, I sport my blue wind breaker, hat (always my hat, which a monkey was seriously eyeing 2 days ago) and my umbrella, which was purchased in Bangkok (it hasn't seen much service since arriving in India). As I round the finger's end and pass the boat house where a variety of paddle boats have been rented, it begins to pour. Five young men from Trichy run whooping over to join me under my small umbrella. It's beyond a tight fit. Our heads are dry. The rest of us is not. We share the usual questions - Where are you from? And you? Do you like India?... They peel off one by one till only 2 remain, then one. I point to the standing room only at the boat house tin roof's edge. He pulls himself close with one hand around my waist and one on my left shoulder. Again, with him whooping, we run for the shelter. Having deposited him, we laugh and say our good-byes. Scrambling, as if they aren't already as wet as they ever will be, the boat renters hurry. Women drape edges of sarees over their heads and the men gallantly paddle.
On I walk, finally stopping under a large tree along the hillside edge of the road. Two men have taken shelter under a cement culvert along the roadside. Two others are leaving the tree, where they have sought shelter, and come to stand with me, again, under my small umbrella. When the two culvert men see this, they come to join us - 5 of us. We laugh, and again share our stories, and they leave. They are from Chennai. Now alone, I cross to the lake side walkway just in time to receive a splash up to my knees from a passing car. Well, I was that wet already.
Continuing on, past two cows, lotus, groups of young men and women bicycling with the usual laughs, heads into the wind and rain and fun written all over their wet outfits. Excitement is contagious.
I press on past the 2nd, 3rd and finally round the 4th, the bridge, and take the bottom road back to the Kodaikanal Boat Club canteen where I have two small cups of coffee - no milk, no sugar - surrounded by talkative youths. Someone says the lake walk is 5 km, not to be believed. It can't be over 3.
It's still raining. It's only the degree which varies. Rain brings out an energy and vitality which is softened in the sunny, calmness of the usual. It's that which catches us unawares which brings with it an opportunity. I now have a new relationship with 9 young men and 2 cows.
Kodaikanal pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/KodaikanalIndia

Lake Kodai

2008-06-06T03:20:00.000-07:00

Friday, June 6, 08
Breakfast is at a vegetarian restaurant - vadai, idli, and coffee. One thing my system is not used to, all the sugar. There is sugar is everything, and lots in the chai and coffee. I love a lemon soda. But, again, sugar.
Milan and I decide that today is a do nothing day. We walk to the lake and bargain with a man in a row boat. How much? He quotes us rs 100 for 30 minutes. Milan gets him to agree to the same amount for one hour. The agreement made, Milan and I step into the row boat. Then begins the moaning. The boatman is angry with us for having bargained him down and says he should be charging over twice the amount. Then, he exits the boat, says he has other things to do, and leaves us in the charge of a 15 year old boy who struggles with the oars. So it goes! Lotus, the mist on the lake, families together in paddle boats fills our hour. At the bank, the boatman holds the boat as we step ashore. Milan hands him the agreed on amount as the boatman asks where the money is for the boy. Milan responds that the rs 100 belongs to him. The boat leaves with an angry, still angry, boatman. Later, as we walk to the Kodai Boat Club canteen, I hand the boy rs 10 without the old man seeing.
Staying at the canteen till 12:30, we lake and people watch - lemon tea. Flies are everywhere.
Lunch is again at the Punjabi restaurant - black pepper chicken and garlic chicken curry, rice, and nan.
The afternoon, I walk to the Kodai International School and ask for a tour. Hurried to the Admissions Office, I find it occupied by one woman who says there isn't anyone to help me. Then, she calls the watchman and asks him to fill in. He does. It turns out that he knew my cousin Paul who worked at the school during the early 70s. What a stroke of luck. Instead of a hurry through, he takes me around, as the rain chases us between buildings and walkways, and shows all I want to see. Unfortunately, my camera batteries run out toward the end. But, it is grand to have found such a knowledgeable guide. The rain has stopped and the sky has cleared. Coolness is in the air. Pictures tomorrow

Kodaikanal, India

2008-06-06T02:42:00.000-07:00

Thursday, June 5, 08
Sleeping in till 7:15, it feels so good to pull covers up and scrunch to the bottom of the bed, what decadence, we decide to see some of the waterfalls around Kodai. Finding our way to Bear Shola Falls, we are enjoying the eucalyptus forests and water cascading off the large rock and through fissures. Hydrangeas and butterflies cover large areas as we return and are off to the next, Fairy Falls, which is on the grounds of a Horticultural Research Center. Lastly, Vattakanal Falls, which splash into a pool where lovers are having their pictures taken. Some one says, Dolphin's Nose is near and a fine sight. This is apparently a rock formation. How far? 2 km one way from Vattakanal Falls. What isn't said is that the path is mostly very steep over roots of gigantic eucalyptus trees and stones. After 1 1/2 km, we arrive at a lookout which shows the valley extending out to Pondy, too far to see, and the Bay. A spectacular view, sitting in a small spot where chai and coffee can be had. We indulge and spend more time than needed, could either be our hesitation of climbing the steep return, or is it the vista holding us? We decide not to go the additional 1/2 km to the rock formation. Returning up the steep climb we return to Kodai for lunch at a Punjabi restaurant on the second floor (Indian 1st floor) looking over a small valley. Later, a walk at the lake and some soup for dinner. This spot of beauty may take several days to absorb. We have the time. The only drawback, again said, is the noise which seems to accompany India.

Pondicherry to Kodaikanal

2008-06-05T03:56:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, May 4, 08
A choir of birds sends me out the door. What a harmony. I have found that the birds which have been singing the loudest are mynah birds.
Milan and driver, we have hired a taxi, pick me up at 7:00, and we are off. Well, first comes gas and a few other details. Off is really 7:20.
Stopping for breakfast in Villappurum, we have a dosai and itly. The first is a pancake with onion and curry. The second is a circular pressed rice patty. These are accompanied by coconut, corriander, sambar, and something else. I would tell you what sambar is, but I don't know!
The going is slow. There is continual road work for 250 km. Trichy, who's real name is Tiruchchirappalli, see why it's called Tricky, on to Dindigul, and a start into the Western Ghats (hills). Driving through hill market towns, we arrive, 5:00, in Kodaikanal.
This hill town is a bustling, noisy vacation spot, cool, having rained earlier, and gives me the feeling of Tanah Rata in the Malaysian Cameron Highlands - On the way we have passed tea plantations.
Our reservation, we booked since rooms are at a premium, is at the Snooze Inn. Glimpses of British architecture is everywhere in the lake area. Kodaikanal International School, which my cousins attended in the early 50s, so long ago, faces the lake and is a grand series of stone and rock buildings. I'll make a visit into that site in the next few days. Kodaikanal, or Kodai, Lake is a finger lake which shimmers in the drizzling rain as Milan and I drink chai at the Kodai Boat Club. Two elderly locals are rowed across the lake, it's too long a walk, as the oars dip into the mist. Walking around the lake edge and up to have dinner, soup and vegetable curry/rice, the air has cooled to such a degree that we need jackets. What a contrast to Pondy!

Rs 10

2008-06-05T03:31:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, June 3, 08
Walking toward the waterfront, it's that time of day again, 6:30 PM, the light is thinning. At the park a conveniently wide two lane street, the sidewalks are not for pedestrians, guides me along the west side. As I approach the SW corner, the street splits, one running ahead to make a square intersection and the other cutting along the park since it is rounded here, I see a woman in her twenties, 2 young children looking on, attempting to keep a camp stove lit. As I slowly pass, the 4 year old girl, with little clothing, stoops watching eagerly her mother's effort. Behind her mother stands little brother, dressed in nature's finest. The mother pumps air into the gas bottle intently working to push the last vapors out the stove. A man from around the corner, these are street, or more correctly, sidewalk dwellers, says something and disappears back to his mat and family. On the cement sits a pot filled with a few vegetables and lots of water - dinner. As I cross the street in front of her, she works the empty bottle as the flame lessens, flickers and dies. Even now, she continues. The little boy stands unconcerned, too young to know. The little girl continues her stooped gaze. Across the street, I stand in the sinking light as the mother's efforts remain known. Reaching into my pocket, I search out Rs 10 and returning across the street, leaning, with my holy hand, extend my offering. As she recognizes what is happening, she takes it, holy to holy, and smiles a "Thank You, Mista" as I point to the empty bottle. Walking the angled street, cut for the rounded park, I want to look back, but don't. Why this time? What touched me, poked me, to respond? Many, everyday, ask for a hand out, and I don't. But this time... Was it the children with dinner waiting uncooked? A mother doing her best, which isn't enough.
We are programmed to return a greeting. Here, it often is to look into palms extended. My usual response to myself is, "Get over it!" Not this time! There is no getting over it. This will not balance the score. But, it balanced something within me!
I searched for my soul
But, my soul I could not see.
I searched for my God
But, my God eluded me.
I searched for my brother
And found all three (Anonymous)

Floor Lady

2008-06-03T04:59:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, June 3, 08
There are 80 rooms on 4 floors of International Guest House. Each floor has several women who divide up the rooms and cover for each other during their scheduled days off. Besides cleaning my room daily, which also includes disinfecting the tile floors of the room, hallway and stairs, she brings me chai, takes my laundry for washing and ironing and watches out so that my stay is comfortable.
Although chai is available throughout the day, I have two cups each morning as I journal and read the paper at the open courtyard.

-Her day off is Saturday.

-In addition to being disinfected, the hallway is swept several times daily with a grass broom.

-Only she has access to my room, I lock all valuables in a closet, or carry them on me.

-No visitors are allowed so she keeps a sharp lookout for strangers.
-This is an Ashram GH so there is no smoking or drinking allowed on the premises. It is also her duty to monitor for such activities.

-I'm not sure of her hours, since she's here when I rise and disappears sometime late afternoon. But,her day is long.
When I first arrived, there was a failure to place a light weight blanket on my bed (I did not think anything was amiss, since not having a blanket has happened before). The next morning she found that I had simply spread and used my sarong. I returned from lunch to find 2 blankets on the second bed. There they remained, the sarong continuing to see service for 5 days. Each morning I would fold up the sarong and place it at the end of the bed. This is common in SE Asia. She corrected me by spreading it across the full bed. One morning, I returned to find the blanket opened with a folded lump underneath it, my sarong. The sarong went into the closet. A gentle nudge from the floor lady.
The same happened with an incense burner I had placed on the small table separating the two twin beds. One afternoon, I found it moved to a proper spot, a small triangular slate piece which is near the door and where bottles of water and the key are dropped.
She takes her job seriously, shaping up the guests who need shaping.

Same ole, Same ole

2008-06-02T04:19:00.000-07:00

Monday, June 2, 08
How lazy can I get? That appears to be the predominant question for the past several days, possibly longer. Take this morning, for instance. I slept in to 6:45, quickly showered and threw on some clothes, and walked the 2 blocks to the Dining Hall. That done, I stop at the chai maker for a tea and paper, walk up the 3 flights of stairs to my room #71, and pull a chair out to the courtyard, this is an open space in the interior of the building all the way through, top to bottom, a palm tree grows out the top. The floor lady brings me my second dose of chai. I journal and scan the paper. On to my room to listen to music and read till 9:30, I take a cooling shower and walk out along Nehru Street for an hour. Milan and I meet at his desk, where one of his employees brings me a coffee, and we talk. The conversation turns to our upcoming trip into the hills. Tomorrow, we will book a room and Wednesday begin what possibly could be a 10 day vacation into Kodaikanal and beyond. Lunch follows, with me again spending the afternoon resting, reading, and listening to music. At 4:00, I return to see Milan, for 10 minutes at his work, and walk on to Coffee.com, an internet cafe several blocks south.
Every late afternoon and into the evening, I take a several hour walk along the waterfront people watching.
With such limited activity, I have been opting to take dinner in my room, several mangoes and several oranges, valencias from California.
So, that's the day. It's a good change.

John Peatman

2008-05-30T03:26:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-28T03:37:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-27T04:45:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-26T04:01:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-26T03:43:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-25T00:48:00.001-07:00

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

2008-05-25T00:36:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-24T05:43:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-23T04:35:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-22T04:21:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-21T05:41:00.001-07:00

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

2008-05-21T05:21:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-19T06:34:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-05-18T22:52:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-05-18T04:25:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-18T03:57:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-17T05:32:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-17T05:10:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-16T04:48:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-15T05:04:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-15T04:54:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-14T04:18:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-13T04:23:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-12T20:34:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-11T03:26:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-10T07:53:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-09T18:49:00.000-07:00

-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

2008-05-09T07:01:00.000-07:00

-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

2008-05-09T06:51:00.000-07:00

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

Battambang to Siem Reap, Cambodia

2008-05-08T07:16:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-07T03:30:00.001-07:00

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

2008-05-07T02:53:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-05T00:29:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-04T06:22:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-03T05:45:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-01T23:38:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-01T18:40:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-01T03:21:00.000-07:00

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!

Chiang Mai, Thailand

2008-04-30T01:37:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, April 30, 08
Waiting for the rain to stop, it doesn't, I hurry to my lodging where I pick up my backpacks, find a tuk tuk and arrive at the train station - 6:59 PM.
7:42 - Train pulls from the station. I am berthed with a family of 5 from Holland - 3 boys ages 17, 15 and 11). The berths are seats turned into sleeping compartments. I have a top berth, somewhat narrower than the bottom. Security is tight. Each coach has a monitor and helper. Lurch, jerk, bump, bump, toot, lurch, lurch, on we go. At first, I'm not sure I'll sleep. But, the rhythm is magical and soon it's 5:45 AM - wake up call. Beds are returned to seating compartments and breakfast is served. I sit with 2 Canadian young men from Halifax and Newfoundland, here for a 1 month Thailand extravaganza. This is their 3rd day and they are still jet lagged. Arriving in Chiang Mai railway station, I take a tuk tuk to a guest house which the Lonely Planet book series has indicated is a good one. Rain has greeted me upon arrival at the train station and continues to follow me as I drop my bags under a covered eating area. Waiting for the desk to open, I notice 11 others flopped about. Now, 5 more have arrived. Time to leave! A German couple and I intersect and walk together for 10 blocks. They continue on to SK House while I back track finding Montra House - D3 for 200 B/night. A shower, cup of coffee and then, across the street is the Dutch family I rode with overnight. I cross, we chat and I leave for some food. Visiting two pharmacies I get the drugs I'm taking, Cardura and Synthroid and am informed that Doxycycline, malaria prophylaxis, is all Thailand offers. I was looking for Malerone. Everyone has heard about the cheap drugs overseas? Here's where such talk begins. In addition, no scripts are needed. I buy a good supply. The problems I've been having with my Synthroid replacement since Ukarumpa, the drug had to be kept cold, is no more. No need for ice packs and looking for frigs. Still needing to take the Doxycycline for malaria prevention, I will switch taking it to the evening on a full stomach.
When caught in a downpour, mercy is shown to all - motorbikes stop as riders hurry for cover and pedestrians, me included, duck under overhangs or wait it out in shops. It's short-lived. Most are over in 15 minutes or less, until the next one.
Walking the city moat and walls, I buy some tangerines and head home, happening again on the Dutch family who has booked their tour for tomorrow and the next.
No tours for me. Rather, I will take a taxi, or tuk tuk to what I want to see.

Ayutthaya, Thailand

2008-04-29T01:19:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, April 29, 08
Last evening, for dinner, I took a seat in a curbside cafe. A large screen TV is blaring British soccer. On the screen are 5 geckos chasing each other around. Plop, onto my table, from somewhere above, their small cousin falls across my menu and scampers off.
Awaking, this morning, I have made up my mind. Instead of staying here for another night, I will take the night train to Chiang Mai. A tuk tuk ride and I'm at the train station. I ask for directions and buy an overnight ticket. Departure is 7:21 PM. Arrival is 7:15 AM - Car 4, Seat 33.
Most often, I have no breakfast. But today, I am sitting at Tony's Place and am enjoying a continental breakfast. It's a large guest house and outdoor restaurant which caters to Westerners - inflated prices. Breakfast is coffee, banana, pineapple, melon, and 2 slices of toast with jam for 80 B ($2.50). I know, I know, it isn't much money. But, for Thailand, it's inflated.
Packed, bags left in the lobby where I'm staying, Baan Lotus, I walk to the one section of ruins I have saved for today- Wat Phra Si Sanphet. Walking to the complex, built in the 1300s, I marvel at the craftsmanship which allows it to stand, as much as it does, after being sacked and burned by the Burmese in 1767. The Ayutthaya Island was home to 400 temples, plus royal residences. The island city is surrounded by three rivers and connecting canals. Wat Si Sanphet was used for important royal ceremonies and once housed a towering 16 meter high standing Buddha covered with 550 lb. of gold, which was melted down and taken by the Burmese conquerors.
Sitting on a raised floor of brick, shaded by a bodhi tree, roots disappearing into the floor, I'm trying to cool off. The three bell-shaped chedi (stupas), in my view, epitomise the quintessential Ayutthaya architectural style. I've been here a good while people watching and listening to the birds. A breeze picks up as clouds hover overhead - heavenly.
I choose a tuk tuk to return me during the afternoon heat. I argue the driver to 40 B from 100. He drops me off half way. I should have paid him half, but don't. When ordering a drink, I get what they have rather than for what I ask. This is all part of the system.
Calling John, the Brit I travelled with in Malaysia, we agree to meet over the weekend in Bangkok and plan our Cambodia time.
Potpourri:
-I hear a sharp and continual whistle blowing and look to see a parking attendant halting traffic for his patron who is backing into traffic. Give a man a whistle...
-My malaria prophylaxis, Doxycycline, is causing a burning stomach, even with eating. Drugs are so cheap, I may switch to a different choice in Chiang Mai.
-Also in Chiang Mai, laundry service will be a must.
-Since landing in Thailand I have a new name - Larry The Illiterate. In Malaysia, PNG, Indonesia, Australia, the alphabet was Roman. Always, I was able to read the sign: Street, city... Not so here! I am uncomfortably illiterate.
-Unlike in the States, there are no rules about walking among the ruins. I am allowed anywhere and everywhere. Also, noticeably, no graffiti.
-Thailand is remarkable in that it has never been colonized. And yet, the infrastructure is solid and maintained. No colonizing nation left it to them. They have built it themselves.
Ayutthaya pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/AyutthayaThailand

Kanchanaburi to Ayutthaya, Thailand

2008-04-28T04:35:00.000-07:00

Monday, April 28, 08
I am sitting on a bus which is going nowhere - not yet. Arriving at the bus station, terminal would be too grand a word for this place, however it is functional, I ask for the bus to Ayutthaya - Platform 4. There it is. I hurry, signal and get a seat as it is moving out of the station. Four blocks later we pull over to the curb, next to a 7/11, these stores are everywhere in Thailand, and the driver gets out. Payment is on the bus. No ticket required or given. A transfer will happen in Suphanburi. That is, if I'm on the right bus. Otherwise, I'll figure it out then! Oh, the driver crawls into the bus, from his special door, and with a 20 minute wait behind us, we leave. An oscillating fan on the ceiling keeps us cooler. It appears I'm on the right bus. The bus monitor took my money.
Suphan Buri, as here it's spelled, 10:20, change buses. After a toilet break, off to bus 703, platform 11, and wait 5 minutes for the driver. I should be in Ayutthaya and have found lodging by 1:00. SE Asian bus drivers are as good as a Disneyland E ride (for those of you who remember such things).
Ayuthaya was the Siamese capital from 1350-1767. Here stand the ruins of the center of an empire. I spend the afternoon walking two extensive ruins: Wat Ratburana and the heart of the old sacred city, Wat Phra Mahathat. Wat Mahathat was a Royal monastery and has been the seat of the Sangaraja, the head of the Buddhist monks of the Kamavasi sect since the building of the temples, 1374 AD. There, wrapped in the roots of a bodhi tree, is the head of a sandstone Buddha. The intertwining of a sacred image with nature is extremely auspicious in Thai Buddhism.
Comment: For all the talk I've heard of Thai women, I haven't been solicited Only along Chulia Street in Georgetown, Malaysia was I encouraged. I'm feeling a bit slighted.
It's presently raining. The cooler night is welcomed.

Kanchanaburi, Thailand

2008-04-26T23:26:00.000-07:00

Sunday, April 27, 08
Taking an early stroll to the Kwae Bridge, before the torrent of tourists arrives, I walk the bridge, stopping on the turnout as the train lumbers past. Returning to the East side, I buy breakfast, some papaya and an iced coffee. This is the warmest day I've had in Thailand.
I return to the guest house for a cool down and catch a taxi to Wat Tham Khao Poon, a limestone cave temple several km from town. I pay him 200 Baht ($6), probably overpaid, to take, wait 1 hour, and return me.
This is a quiet cave temple filled with shrines of the Buddha, Hindu deities, and Thai kings. The cave complex was used by the Japanese, during WWII, to store weapons and equipment, and some smaller chambers are said to have been used to imprison and torture POWs. Bats fly around as I duck and twist through the narrow walkways which connect chambers. I really hope the electricity stays on. Back outside, I sit and write and am driven off by mosquitoes. Retreating to the sunshine, I walk among the complexes housing young Buddhist monks. On to view the river from a vista, we return back to Kanchanaburi through Chung Kai, where I pay my respects at another war cemetery. POW camps dotted the entire railway as 2 "crews" worked from both Burma and Siam. The railway, 415 km, through rugged terrain, was intended to secure a reliable supply route for the Japanese conquest of India. With the Japanese naval defeat at Coral Sea their transports and supply ships were open to continual attack through the Melaka Straits. This made the railway even more important to their design. Pushed beyond their limit, the POWs completed the 1 m-gauge railway in only 16 months. But, the cost was 16,000 Westerner POWs, mostly from Britain and Holland, and 90,000-100,000 conscripted labourers from the Japanese conquests in SE Asia who died in the area. The bridge over the River Kwae was bombed repeated by allied aircraft - mostly ineffectively.
Sitting at a small, curb-side restaurant, I decide I need more food than I've been eating and order a shrimp noodle dish - very tasty. Also, it's time I learn how to use chopsticks, especially since that's what came as utensils. Drink is pineapple juice.
I thought Indonesian and Malaysian food prices were cheap. These prices are even cheaper.
Kanchanaburi pictures: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/KanchanaburiThailand

Mark and Ian Thomas

2008-04-26T00:47:00.000-07:00

Soon after arriving in Kanchanaburi, and locating my lodging, while sitting at an outside counter, drinking my two glasses of iced coffee (check timeline of event with previous post), I notice a happening two tables away. Identified later as Mark and Ian, brothers from UK living in Thailand, Ian is holding Mark's shoulders as Mark's head slumps lower and lower onto the table. Is he chocking, since they are eating? No! Paying quickly, I walk over to offer assistance. Ian is unable to make logical decisions, while the restaurant staff isn't grasping the gravity of what is happening, and takes a lengthy time bringing a wet towel. Bringing Mark's head up, I see that his eyes are fixed. I remember a rapid conversation with myself to keep my head and think. Telling Ian we need medical assistance, hospital, I slap Mark's face, he begins blinking. I must here admit I have no medical training. Ian and Mark live along the coast and have been here for a few days R+R. They have a car. Three of us place Mark in the back seat. Ian drives. A young restaurant worker climbs in beside him to direct us to the hospital, as I sit in the back seat with Mark's head in my lap running the wet towel over his face, head and neck. Hurry, I tell Ian. How far, I ask the young Thai man. Hurry, as Mark twice goes into convulsions. Talking softly to Mark, hoping to keep him conscious, we race on. Why is it that time passes so slowly when you desperately want it to speed along. Hospital, turn left. Here we are! Staff arrives with a wheelchair as Mark regains some of his faculties. With directions of where to find the medication Mark is taking, HP medication, Ian retrieves the pills and the nurse on staff is grateful. Mark is talking to the nurse. Ian offers to take the Thai and me back to the coffee shop. As we part, he shakes my hand and says thank you. That is part of being human, I respond. We part. Homeward bound, to wash my face, I notice the laughter from a cafe and am struck with the fact that life goes on. Something dramatic just happened and virtually no one is aware of it. So it is, we step into the darkness with strangers and create a bond which is life changing. Two days ago, an angel helped me locate lodging in Bangkok. Today, an angel stepped alongside Mark and Ian Thomas.

Bangkok to Kanchanaburi

2008-04-26T00:22:00.000-07:00

Saturday, April 26, 08
7:43 - at platform 13, South Terminal, bus 81, waiting for 7:50,when we will leave for Kanchanaburi. Bus again! Lord, I remember the last time I was on a bus...
Out the window, a little boy has turned his back to his mom, pulled up his shirt and his Mum is giving him a good scratch. He pulls his shirt up higher. He returns satisfied to his seat.
I am wearing a new pair of shorts which I purchased last evening. I have been down to one pair of pants since my motorbike accident 3 weeks ago. This pair is cotton, below the knee, which is very popular around here. In Thailand, I really need to learn how to bargain. I do ok with taxis, but clothing is different. Also, I purchased a new umbrella and a used Lonely Planet guide book for Thailand from a street vendor.
My clothes are smelling clean, or cleaner than they were, anyway.
A woman take the seat next to me, I'm in the very front, right side behind the driver, and offers me a candy. It turns out to have the flavor of a very strong cough drop.
Off and on the bus seems to be at given points. Yet, flagging down the bus, or getting off where you want, is acceptable. This seems to be true for all of SE Asia.
10:50 - We have entered Kanchanaburi bus station where I have left the station on a saamlaw, a pedal tri-cycle driven up up front with a bench seat behind. Destination is Sam's House (Guesthouse). What a gorgeous spot - bungalows on Mae Nam Khwae Yai, or River Kwai, as Westerners will remember it from history and the movies. Bungalow 7 is costing me $20/night. I'm treating myself. What do I get for $20? - AC, top sheet and blanket, TP, private bathroom with a tub. A tub, haven't seen one of those in a guesthouse since I started, 2 towels, no soap. Great fun! I pay for 2 nights and may stay a third.
Here's something I've seen all through SE Asia - buy a coffee or tea to go and it's handed to you in a plastic bag with a straw.
Kanchanaburi feels more like what I'm used to - what I'm comfortable with. Being a history buff, this suits my fancy. My imagination runs wild in such a historic spot. With only three bananas for breakfast, I sit at a street cafe and down 2 glasses of iced coffee. If I weren't awake before, I certainly am now.
I walk to the War Cemetery, which occupies a space adjacent to where the Japanese POW camp was located. Why does a war cemetery evoke such strong feelings? A name carved in marble - immortalized. I know nothing of this man except what is written - name, rank, death, age. Yet, he now is a part of my memory, my living.
From there, I spend time walking through the Museum dedicated to the Death Railway which connected Burma and Siam. There is only so much suffering that one can take. I leave early.

Bangkok

2008-04-25T02:18:00.000-07:00

Friday, April 25, 08
I've seen far more Westerners than Thais. And not backpackers. Not the caliber of tourist I'm accustomed to. I don't know how to describe the difference. Except, there seem to be a lot of visitors who are not here to learn but to take. My lodging has more the feeling of a frat house. But, I am judging all of Bangkok by Khao San Rd area. I must admit, this is the first place which I instinctively didn't like upon arrival. There have been other places which are confusing for a while, but this is my first such experience. Yet, it isn't the Thai people. It's the Westerners.
Today, I have first concentrated on getting my India visa. This is going to change my plans. India requires 7 working days to obtain a visa. That will take me to May 5. I had planned on being in Ankor Wat before the 5th. Yet, "We don't get what we want, but what we need." Originally, planning on an early disappearance from Thailand, I will spend time here which I had planned on spending in Laos and Cambodia. Rethinking my stay, I have decided to leave tomorrow for Kanchanaburi, to the West. If I have some time, I may even take a night train, sleeper, to Chiang Mai. Laos will need to wait for another time.
This morning, walking around, I duck under a bus canopy against the rain, and am approached by a young man. He works for the Ministry of Tourism and offers to get me a Tuk Tuk (motorized tri-wheel, bench seat behind a driver). The driver agrees to take me around till 1:00, 4 hours, for 40 baht ($1.40). Here is part of the system; the drivers get coupons if they take tourists to designated spots. I'm taken to two jewelry stores, two clothing shops, two travel agents, to the Standing Buddha and Sitting Buddha, and last to the Grand Palace. I've lied so many times to get out of those shops, I certainly will need forgiveness from some Deity. The afternoon is spent at the Grand Palace and the Reclining Buddha. I've never seen so much gold. These two last spots have made the day and its the Thai people who have redeemed Bangkok for me. Back on Khao San Rd, I have some lunch from a woman cooking in a small stall and two orange juices.
This evening, I will need to purchase a new umbrella. During this morning's rain, I opened mine, purchased in Sentani, Papua, and found it was broken in many places. This will be my third umbrella.
A conversation on wall plugs: Thailand has the same hookups as the States. In Malaysia, with their large three pronged power points, I found a system of holding down the top point with something wooden, rather, anything not metal, which releases the bottom two points to receive my two point circular plug I used in Indonesia and other places. If that is confusing, try to figure it out in the first place without getting electrocuted.
Health: This morning was my 3rd day on malaria prophylaxis - getting ready for Cambodia and India.
Comment: I haven't found Thailand to be as hot as Malaysia. Not yet!
Oh, got my clothes machine washed. That's the first good washing in 3 weeks.
Langkawi and Bangkok pictures: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/Bangkok

Langkawi to Bangkok

2008-04-24T04:50:00.000-07:00

Thursday, April 24, 08
The BBQ is grilled fish, Satay, chicken, salads and fruit for dessert. Before dinner, as I did this afternoon, I don't swim but am a beach comber. The sun dips behind some clouds and the island just off the coasts, and the lights of restaurants and fires on the beach, in the bright moon, bring me back to my dinner spot. Sitting on the beach, we eat and are serenaded by the cooks. Across from me is Wolfgang here from Germany on vacation. Others sing along and clap.
Here, as in Penang, no sheet or blanket are supplied. I'm happy for my sarong to cover.
Sitting in the open meeting/eating area, 7:26 AM, it finally rains after the threaten of thunder and lightning for the past hour. the percussion section is in full swing. My taxi, for the airport, is schedule for 7:45 - flight is 9:35 to KL and on to Bangkok at 1:30. Windshield wipers on full, they are in need of a change, the taxi man and I make small talk to the Langkawi airport. There, I find I am in the AirAsia system for my flight to KL, but not for my flight to Bangkok. I resolve that when the AirAsia office opens. Check-in, back pack weighs 11kg, belly bag 5.
Back in KL airport, I treat myself to a cappucchino and some lunch.
KL to Bangkok I'm sitting next to a Kiwi, Floyd, who is on a short business trip to KL, Bangkok and Phnom Penh.
Buying a ticket on the airport bus into the center of Bangkok, I step off at the crowded Khao San Road. Not knowing where I am, I watch and see a man I can trust. He is early 20s, and turns out to be an American from Oregon. He leads me to where he is staying, Sawasdee Smile Inn, where I have a room for 240 baht ($1=around 37 baht). My angel disappears before I can thank him. The room is on an interior wall so it is cooler. I have a private room, soap, fan, common bathroom/shower, and toilet paper. Yes, you heard me, TP. Heading out to check into a visa for India, I am informed that it will cost me right at $100 and take 7 working days. That will change my plans, however I will do more day trips out of Bangkok. Or take two days and return. I still hope to get into Laos before my Cambodia jaunt. We'll see! A Thai sim card will help keep in touch with US and John, with whom I traveled Malaysia. Hopefully, we can reconnect and share Cambodia together. It's dark, already a thunderstorm went through the city, and I'm beginning to get a feel of the place. Every country has its system. How will Thailand be? I will attempt to post some pictures tomorrow.

Pantai Cenang, Langkawi, Malaysia

2008-04-23T01:09:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, April 23, 08
Last evening, I found that a group of Western men is staying, and has taken up residence in the 75 Traveller's Lodge, where I am staying. A Canadian, two Brits and an Aussie. They pay 10 ringgit/night and crowd into a 10 bed room. Dan, the Canadian, and I go to Little India where we have a pancake and vegetarian sauces. 2 cups of Chai. Back at the lobby everyone talks of travels and watches one hour of the history channel. Toward 9:00, I mention that I have Indonesian rupiah which I would like to trade into Thai Baht. They direct me several blocks away to a money changer who gives me a very good rate. Now, when I land in Bangkok, I will have some local money.
At 6:15 AM, I rise and am out the door at 6:30. Downstairs I find the lobby again occupied by an internet user and management cleaning up. Walking the distance to the pier, I am the first one here. Boarding an enclosed ferry at 7:30. Across from me is a couple from Holland on a 17 day pre-paid tour of Kuala Lumpur, Penang, and Langkawi. This time, I'm sitting on the lower level - weather is sunny, no high seas. A movie is being shown, Rambo.
8:30 departure - 11:15 arrival in Langkawi, which is an island off the Malaysian coast, just south of Thailand. Kuah has the largest population on this small island. 99 islands are in this group of which only 2-3 are inhabited. Kuah is the port of entry so I need to find a taxi, there is no public transportation, to Pantai Cenang, a 30 minute ride - 20 ringgit. Beach towns dot the area with Cenang being the most sought after by tourists. It's also nearest to the airport, that will be important tomorrow morning. I tell the driver I want the Gecko Guesthouse. Here I am, 30 ringgit a night which buys me a private room, fan, and common bathroom/shower. I'm three rows of houses and one street from the beach.
Malay terms: Pulau = Island, Pantai = Beach.
Checking in at the Guesthouse reception counter, a monkey, Nina, bears watching. She wants my hat, book... She's not picky. She'll take anything. After harassing me, Nina moves on to pick at the black cat.
At the beach, shadows hover then, race over the beach and Sea - Andaman Sea. It looks like rain is approaching. It's not crowded. A para sailing boat is raising a fool into the air while another pulls a banana boat of 5 riders. Cabanas and volleyball nets line the back side of the beach. A juice bar serves me a tasty mango drink. I am conspicuously overdressed - especially considering the speedo clad European men. Three Wave Runners park nearby waiting for customers. A room, on the beach, goes for $20/night. Cheap enough! The green Sea crashes gently. This island is protected by Sumatra directly to the West, so it did not experience the full impact of the tsunami which devastated so much of the area north, and Sumatra itself. The outer islands were hit harder, but no one was killed or much property damaged.
I sign up for a BBQ this evening at 8:00, and order another fruit drink.
Health: I am feeling very fortunate about my skinned knee and shin. The knee healed within 10 days. For the first time today, my shin is no longer infected and appears to be healing, and no more stomach ailments.
Tomorrow is another plane ride - Bangkok.

Back to Penang

2008-04-22T01:02:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, April 22, 08
Death to cockroaches! I again team up with Larry and Darcy for dinner and talk. This evening, a proper shower before retiring.
7:30 AM, I'm at the station to catch a VIP bus to Butterworth. There is no VIP bus. It has been lumped into a regular one leaving at 8:30 - so it goes. 9:00, we leave the station in the close relative to the bus which brought me here. But, this time it's mostly downhill - we're in our element. At 10:00, what I knew would eventually catch up with bus riding, does. There is a monologue, from my bladder, telling me of a growing concern. With an hour to go till Ipoh, I try everything, crossing my legs, humming, attempts at every form of distraction. I think I can! I think I can! Should I ask the driver to pull over? I watch the km markers ticking past on the right side of the road - 28, 22. Is that red plastic bucket, next to the driver, a possible emergency plan? OH, we're in the teens. No bladder should be required to work this amount of overtime. 13! And then, into the station. Thank you Jesus! I've been here before and know the way to the nearest toilet. .20 ringgit are asked for and gladly paid. I thought I could! I thought I could! Hungry for some chocolate, I can only find a Hazelnut Cadbury, but snatch it up. Peanuts, too. NO water!
11:45, Our Kurina Bistari Express leaves Ipoh. I'll de-bus in Butterworth and ferry across, like last time.
Sitting next to me from Ipoh to Butterworth is a young Malay man. We share my peanuts. No conversation is necessary.
A 5 minute rest stop and the driver begins pulling out. Oh, one passenger is forgotten in the women's toilet - thank goodness her husband was paying attention. The driver howls, the delinquent woman hurries over, and we continue on.
Back on Penang, I buy my ferry ticket for tomorrow's ride to Langkawi. After that infamous ride from Brunei to KK, I had sworn off ferries. But, this is the Melaka Straits, that was the South China Sea, with the water much calmer. Hopefully, it stays that way. I have an 18 ringgit room to myself, fan, sink, shared bathroom and shower, one hour free internet, and lots of conversation, if it's wanted. Relaxing is the requirement of the day.

Yesterday, I talked of the Jade Vine - Blue Butterfly flower and didn't even post it on the pictures. Here it is:

Cameron Highlands, Malaysia

2008-04-20T23:31:00.000-07:00

Monday, April 21, 08
Yesterday toward evening, strolling down main street looking for a place to have a cup of tea, who do I run into, Larry and Darcy, the couple from Georgetown who have come in that afternoon. The evening is spent over dinner, tea and scones.
My tiny room has a musty smell. Getting ready for bed, a cockroach crawled out from under the folded blanket and met an early end. Two more cockroaches scurry about. I'll spray the room tomorrow, or re-locate.
Up at 7:00, I can't figure out how to get hot water out of the shower. It has a knob to turn on the water and a metal switch which goes both directions - no temperature variance. I sponge off and will ask later (It turns out, only the metal switch is to bed turned for hot water, no mixing). Sitting at a table at the entrance to the lodge, a black and white bird is attempting to crack open a large seed by smashing it against the concrete. He works under an archway of Honeysuckle and Lady's Slippers. Twin Pine Guest House is owned by an Indian. A Bengla Desi man weeds the short walkway and a young Indian man takes reservations and watches the place, sleeping on the floor of the reception area. He receives 600 ringgit/mo., a place to sleep and food. His employer volunteered that information. This may or may not be true.
I'm on a tour which starts at around 9:00. A butterfly farm is our first stop. With the butterflies, there are snakes, beetles and flowers. Not as many butterflies as I would like to have seen. But, it is cool and they aren't flying, so it's hard to pick them out.
Next, a honey bee farm. We taste the honey which is being produced. Off to the Boh Tea Farm which is 600 acres of tea plants 70 years old. The laborers who are manually picking the tea work for .20 ringgit/kg. Working an entire day, they can earn 24 ringgit ($8 USD). They aren't actually picking by hand, that would be too expensive. A hedge clipper type contraption is used. They make several cuts and scoop it into a sack on their back. There is also a motorized operation which two men work together. Running the machine over the tea beds, they are able to cut more leaves, but it's lesser quality. Our guide says that all these workers are Indonesians or Nepalese.
There are 2000 land rovers in this region, the highest concentration anywhere in the world. We pass many as we head to a market. I buy some Crystal Jambu, strawberries and tangerines. Then, I was bad! I bought, and ate, 8 SMALL, deep fat fried sweet potato balls rolled in sesame seeds. Yuuuum!
A Rose Centre is where I see my first Jade Vine - Blue Butterfly. There are so many roses and other plants, I can't begin to remember names. The beauty of the spot is enough. Parsley is planted through out. Why? I return 45 minutes later to find the driver clipping his toe nails. On to the Sam Poh Temple, Buddhist, and the tour ends with a stop at the Big Red Strawberry Farm. Again, I am bad! A strawberry milkshake. What a day!
Tour pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/CameronHighlandsMalaysia

Tanah Rata, Cameron Highlands, Malaysia

2008-04-20T02:37:00.000-07:00

Sunday, April 20, 08
A steamboat, that's what the Cameron Highlands restaurants are known for. That's what they try to sell, anyway. It consists of a pot, two sections, one chicken broth and the other a tomato base, on a camp stove at the center of the table. Meat, tofu, bean curd, fish, sprouts, lettuce, mushrooms and other things are scooped in and cooked for two minutes. Yes, I said lettuce! We serve ourselves. John and I both agree we would have rather had sweet and sour chicken. But, this will do.
Security - John has his pants secured with a safety pin against pickpockets. That is a smart deterrent. Finding some large safety pins, John and I split them between us. My money is in my cargo pants behind a zipper and Velcro. Through the zipper, I have pinned the safety pin. It would be difficult to get through that without notice. Smaller amounts are kept handy in my shirt pockets.
John leaves at 1:00, and I walk to the Century Plaza Hotel and Resort, taking pictures and talking to the management. Back at my hotel, I attempt to use the internet, but it's too slow.
At the bus station I talk with a Chinese man, who earlier sold me a ticket back to Georgetown, and also buy a tour for tomorrow. Boarding the local rattle trap bus, this is the low end, metal seat version, I ride for .80 ringgit the 3 km to Ye Old Smokehouse Restaurant and Hotel. Again, talking with the management about the history of the hotel, built in 1937, I have free access, except the rooms. This place is built in traditional Tudor style and is considered one of the first permanent buildings erected in the new Cameron Highlands Hill Station. During WWII it was used as an officer's mess by the Japanese Imperial Army. Dalat International School students were boarded upstairs during the several years that the school took up residence here, after evacuating from Vietnam. Presently, Dalat is outside Georgetown, Penang. To the students who boarded here, Mks from many countries, I raise a pint of Tiger beer in the bar area, and sit by the fireplace looking out at the rain beginning to lessen - a grand old building with tremendous atmosphere. Having remembered my umbrella, I decide to walk back rather than wait for the Regal Transport Co. bus. It rains the full distance, but my heart is full of the beauty around me. This has been a relaxing day; cool, nothing pressing, back on my own.

Georgetown to Tanah Rata

2008-04-19T03:18:00.000-07:00

Saturday April, 19, 08
On the ferry for a 7:55 am push off, we leave Georgetown for Butterworh, across the Melaka Straits. The cloudy sky reminds me of the rain last night as John and I met the two couples we had spent the day with, for dinner - Indian restaurant.
8:10 deposits us on the dock, bus station immediately in front, and two seats are secured on a bus heading to Tanah Rata in the Cameron Highlands. A cup of coffee for breakfast, 26 ringgit for the bus fare and we wait for the 10:30 scheduled departure.
Here's how the bus terminal works. There is the national transport bus, Transnational, that's what we rode from Kota Bharu across the peninsula, here to Butterworth. Then, there are Express buses which are a few ringgit more. They offer convenience. Learning the system of each country is a trick. Instead of riding to Ipoh and waiting for another bus to Tanah Rata, we pay the extra 6 ringgit ($2) for a direct ride. We hope to arrive mid-afternoon. The later you wait, the more difficult it becomes to find accommodations. Even before entering the terminal, touts intercept us. They are committed to a private concern and work to get you to buy their ticket. When we board the bus, we are handed a new ticket. The original reads 26 ringgit. The new one reads 23.5. Where did the difference go? Oh, there's always a something.
The 40 passenger bus is filled with 1/3 Westerners and 2/3 locals. Grinding up the long hills on the main highway to KL, we are passed by lorries, possibly the worst bus in the station. What's next, get out and push? Disgust turns to insult as a Moped passes to our left. We are in first gear. An inner cheer sounds as we work past an Esso tanker and enter a tunnel.
After 1 1/2 hours we stop for a rest. John and I share bananas, melon, and mandarins. We are in the very back bouncing and weaving. A barbarous act may be needed to rid us all of a few pesky flies.
Another 25 minute stop in Ipoh and we enter the Highlands. Sitting next to me is a young lad from Paris who is traveling with 3 friends. 5 months are behind him with 3 to go. We are each in our own tailor made walkabout. This is part of the mystery!
Grinding up steep hills we all become part of the same team. It can be done! We mentally push the bus with desire and cooperation. Over the top, this one, ahead is another.
Rain begins, slowly at first. A car is in the ditch as a tow truck works its magic. The driver, a young woman, sits across the road her head hung in her hands.
Now instead of passing on a blind curve, as our driver did on our last bus ride, we are being passed. Rain! Another car in the ditch. Fog.
In the Cameron Highlands, we pass thousands of hot houses featuring strawberries, all kinds of vegetables, flowers and nursery plants. Tea plantations dot the hillsides.
Rain, again, which drips in through a ceiling vent. Workers, who have boarded in Ipoh de-bus and walk home. One sign says "Strawberries - Self Plucking". That makes me grin!
We arrive at the bus terminal in rain, 4:00, and are ushered into a van which takes us to Cameronian Lodge. Here we have a room for 65 ringgit, own bathroom. Tomorrow, when John leaves, I will move to a new location two blocks away which I have already discovered has a single room for 15 ringgit. The air is cool. The town feels like a resort. Beautiful!

Georgetown, Penang, Malaysia

2008-04-18T02:55:00.000-07:00

Friday, April 18, 08
Yesterday, taking a walk around Chinatown, where we are staying, we come upon the historic Eastern and Oriental Hotel, built in 1884. Some of the famous faces who passed through its doors were Rudyard Kipling, Noel Coward and Somerset Maugham. A large food bazaar catches our eye but its too early for dinner. On to Lebuh Chulia, center of Chinatown, we stop for dinner as a tropical storm pounds on the tin roof, accompanied by the usual orchestra of thunder and lightning. Home, during a short lull, we stop for coffee and to bed.
Up at 7:00, shower and coffee follow. This shirt is starting to need a good scrubbing. Maybe tonight.
Kel Lok Si Temple, a series of temples at the base of Penang Hill, is our first stop. Started in 1890, it's the largest Buddhist temple in Malaysia. Walking a few blocks south from our hotel, we watch a group of women flagging a bus - 204. We ask, and are reassured that this will take us to where we want to go. A short distance further on, a couple from Washington D.C. and a couple from the UK, he from Sri Lanka and she from Panang, are seated behind us. Since we are all going to the same spot, we decide to spend the day together. The narrow, enclosed walkway up the steps to the temples, are lined on both sides by vendors calling out their prices and wares. A turtle feeding bridge offers food for money. Declined!
Next, on to the funicular which will transport us to the top of Penang Hill, also called Bukit Bendera. Where is it? The six of us walk, ask directions, walk, are told we are walking wrong, retreat, are told we had it right in the first place, are led by a lady through a residential short cut, and it starts pouring rain. With 3 umbrellas between the 6 of us, we all get soaked. Soaked! Standing under a bus stop cover, we wait for the rain to lessen. No luck. Across the street we see a cover which will lead us with 100 ft of the funicular lobby. Run! Soaked, again! But, now, we are in the lobby and the rest of the way is drip dry. The DC couple are Larry, yes another Larry, and Darcy. The UK couple are Gerard and Judy. We ride halfway, change to another car, each car is sectioned into 4 compartments, and continue to the top, around 2200 ft. What a view, which isn't picture possible due to the rain, clouds, and mist. I'll try anyway. For lunch, vegetable soup and iced tea. I'm feeling comfortable and dry, relatively. Looking for an aviary, which never materializes, we are again racing for cover as another storm comes through - these begin with huge drops which descend into drenching downpours.
2;45 - on the funicular, down the steep slope, the sections are filled with school children, giggling, playing games on cell phones. Judy is Chinese, knows 5 languages, and is carrying on a conversation with another Oriental woman. Darcy strikes up a conversation with the school children who are eager to attempt their English.
With a short wait for bus 204, we make an attempt at figuring out tomorrow's bus, or train, schedules. Sitting over coffee, John and I decide to walk to the ferry landing. That produces nothing, and eats up a lot of energy in the stifling heat. We will cross on the ferry, back to Butterworth, and figure out the bus schedule then. Where are we going? Not yet sure! Possibly Ipoh. Although, we both would rather stop in a small town and not in such a large city.
Panang pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/GeorgetownPanangMalaysia

Kota Bharu to Georgetown (Penang Island)

2008-04-17T02:46:00.000-07:00

Thursday, April 17, 08
9:00, bus 006, heading to Penang (also spelled Pinang) on the west coast of Malaysia. Large mango trees line the road as we pass through Pasir Mas, 30 minutes gone by. An elderly lady, obviously known to the driver and others, boards as we stop a few km later. Not far from the boarding, shaking hands with many, she takes a swipe at the driver who has made a comment, laughs and exits.
In Tenah Merah - 1 1/2 hours on the way - we stop for diesel. I would have thought the bus would have been filled prior to leaving. Not so!
Out of the flatlands, we again enter the forested hills. Next destination, Jeli. Here is a beautiful hill town. It being 11:30, I am hoping we will stop for something to eat, fruit would be good. Won't happen. The highest hills are 5400 ft, these are the Highlands. White and lavender flowers dot the green of the forest, along with red hibiscus, ferns, and vines. Billowy white clouds leave shadow cartoons in the distance. As we climb the curves, vistas open to deep valleys and we cross a gorge where a river rushes on far below. Sheets of rain hide what's behind. Logging trucks pass with trees of 4 ft. diameter. We motor on, our two lane road cresting the summit and descending to the West. Fingers of a massive lake are crossed and recrossed. No marina in sight. Where do I dock my ski boat? If the driver keeps up this craziness, driving like a madman, some passengers will get sick.
Lunch is a 30 minute stop at a road side restaurant. Captive group, we eat what there is - rice, some other things and a piece of chicken - 3.5 ringgit ($1). The "other things" are vegables of unknown origin. Although, I do recognize cabbage in a sauce. I sit with a Dutch man and "his friend" as he introduces her. She is most likely Filipino. He lives in Holland for one month, then 5 months abroad, anywhere. This 5 months he takes to Kuala Lumpur. There seem to be a fair number of Westerners who have friends here. John unwittingly walks into one of the women's stalls looking for the toilet. Men's stalls are to the left in the yard. Behind a short wall, is the women's stalls. It's hard to tell the difference. Look for the sign, Lelaki=Men, Perenpuan=Women.
2:00, onward! A French couple, seasoned tavellers, are going to Penang. Georgetown is the major city on Penang Island. They will de-bus in Butterworth and take a ferry. We are to join them.
Past Gerik, it's back into rolling hills of palm oil, rubber, and banana plantations. We pass a newly built housing development, still empty, in nowhere. An industrial area with factories on both sides of the road, in nowhere. Plantations. Kulim passes by with no stop. We enter a 4 lane toll highway and pick up speed. The plantations have moved aside as the population grows - industrial parks, housing developments, and cities. High rises appear periodically. Still, mosts of the housing is third world. 3rd world is such a broad range from squalor to quite well managed. There is controlled and uncontrolled squalor.
Butterworth - We de-bus and walk 200 ft to a set of steps to a booth which only makes change. Exact change is required at the turnwheel - 1.2 ringgits for the ferry. On to a seating area and wait for the ferry which runs every 10 minutes to Georgetown. 15 minutes later we are put ashore on Penang and now to find lodging. Star Hotel is a newly renovated, paint smell still strong, for 46 ringgit (23 apiece). It has AC and bathroom in the room. We've hit the mother lode, again.

Pantai Irama

2008-04-16T00:53:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, April 16, 08
Leaving Kota Bharu by bus 39, John and I head to the South China Sea 20 km as the egret flies. Our destination is Pantai Irama. 2 1/2 ringgit and I'm swimming in the Sea at a million dollar beach. No one is here - literally. 150 ft out and the water is still waist deep. Fine, light brown sand, shells, rocks along the top end of the beach to stop erosion and its all mine to enjoy. We swim in front of a WWII pill box sunk into the sand. This is where the Japanese came ashore continuing down to Singapore. The British, with all big guns aimed off shore, counting on the Japanese attacking from the sea, were caught with their military intelligence pants down and surrendered. These are the men who built the railway in Burma, and died by the thousands.
Walking along the beach, we find a spot with trees and kiosks serving food. Deep fat fried fish and orange drink for lunch. We continue slowly stopping periodically. A group of girls wearing head scarves want their picture taken - looks like a school uniform. Five boys play in the sea. What a life. If I take a step, and don't move, dozens of hermit crabs pop out of the sand and scurry away.
As we walk along the small walkway which lines the trees and beach, we come upon a group of Malays feasting. A man, later found to be named Ramlee, intercepts us and asks where we're from. This is a standard question and I don't think much of it. After a brief exchange, he invites us to join them for some food. Having eaten 10 minutes previously, we accept. Some rice, a beef dish, fish, chips and a drink. He leads us to a mat where we remove our footwear and sit. His wife joins us as we eat with our fingers. Dessert is a Malay delicacy - rice soaked in sugar and fermented for 3 days. Tasty! After some more talk, he invites us to a cultural event, dance and whatnot, not sure, tonight at 8:30 - 22 km south of Kota Bharu. We accept as Ramlee writes directions on a paper to be given to a taxi driver. Dinner will be served following the event. Some better clothes are suggested. Well, this is all I have. It will have to do.
Only a 10 minute wait, the 39 bus picks us up and we're back in Kota Bharu 50 minutes later. Time to wash my pants and hope they dry and wash the sand off my feet. A shave will also happen.
I have had a bad feeling about this evening's excursion and have decided not to go.
Pantai Irama pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/PantaiIrama

Gua Musang to Kota Bharu

2008-04-15T02:29:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, April 15, 08
Last night, dinner was a bowl of rice, spiced chicken and sauce and vegetable assortment. Two iced teas washed it down. Since we were seated in a Muslim restaurant there was no pork or beer. Looking around, we found a can of beer each in a small market and took it to our room - lukewarm beer. Great!
Morning is early. After a shower, no shower head, no sink, I re-work my shin which has become infected. The large scrape on my knee is virtually healed. Cleaning my shin with hydrogen peroxide, I apply salve and wrapping. This I will do again this evening taking double special notice and care. An inch long gecko keeps wanting to travel with me making numerous attempts at climbing into my day pack. He may have made it. What stories he'll have for his grandchildren.
9:54 (How does this square with the absence of clocks? The one in the station is broken at 6:49) is the scheduled departure of the train heading to Tumpat. It doesn't happen. Sorry, 1 hour late - right on time. We leave the linestone outcroppings and continue north - Bertam Baru, Dabong, Kuala Krai, Tanah Merah, Pasir Mas, Wakaf Bharu, and Tumpat. Puttering along, we stand in the open doorways one hand on the handrail and the other hand holding and clicking the camera. We laugh at the kilometer markers. They must be so the train master knows where to pick up the two Westerners who have fallen off. Not so funny when the train lurches to one side, then the other. Past wide muddy rivers, jungle, plantations, through several tunnels and one lane roads, we sway.
Having been in hills since we left Gemas, yesterday morning, outside of Tanah Merah we enter flat lands. Here are more settlements which dot our way, a bit up scale from what we've been seeing. Birds, looking close to white egrets, are everywhere.
Well, that's disgusting! The toilet looks through onto the tracks. Touch as little as possible.
In the coach, we are the only two passengers. An elderly rail worker kneels on the seats, facing West, Mecca, and says his prayers.
Off the train at 2:30, we sit in the station and have a cup of coffee. A taxi driver sees us as a potential golden cow. Not so! We wait for the bus which will take us to Kota Bharu. Why didn't we get off as we passed nearby? Because, we wanted to ride the train to the end of the line. Tamput is certainly that - 8 km from the Thai border. But, now we must double back 30 km. We are told a bus will come past at 3:00. Cost to Kota Bharu is 2 ringgit (70 cents).
Before leaving Gua Musang, I made some phone calls. But, once on the way, the signal quickly evaporated. Again, I have a signal but now it's too late Stateside to make a call. Tomorrow!
Wait, wait, wait.
John and I have agreed to wait till 3:30 for the bus - 1 hour in the station. After that, we'll take a taxi. 3:30 arrives and no bus. No taxi, either. 3:32, the bus rounds the corner and we're on for a fun 1 hour ride of 30 km. Dropped at the central bus depot, walking through some road work, we enter a square where we find a room, with fan, for 30 ringgit. First, batteries for my camera and then a cold drink. We've been traveling for the past two days. Tomorrow, we'll rest up and see the town.
Jungle Train pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/GuaMusang

Gemas to Gua Musang

2008-04-14T03:34:00.000-07:00

Monday, April 14, 08
Up at 6:00, on the railway platform at 6:30, the computer is down so we wait to buy our tickets. Lightning flashes to the south - we are headed north. Last night, as we exited the internet cafe, huge drops wet us quickly as we hurried to find some food. The lightning flashes struck so close, as we ate in a Chinese restaurant, that I ducked.
7:00, and we're on our way. Gemas, Bahau, Kemayan, Mentakab, Jerantut, Kuala Tembelin, Kuala Lipis, Gua Musang, with a few more no-name stops in between - 18 ringgit. The jungle train, or mail train, has no Air Con. But, it does have occilating fans - 6/coach. Outside a mist blocks the view as we rail north. Many palm oil, rubber, and banana plantations swift past. This train has several empty cars waiting for produce and 5 passenger cars.
A German young man is on the train with us wanting to de-train in Jerantut. We've been bad! We have crossed into the cargo car, large sliding doors opened to the wind. The next one is the engine. Falling out of the swinging car would be easy to do. That's the place to take pictures rather than through the smudged windows. In Mentakab we have a 15 minute wait. On the station platform I look for something to eat. It is 9:30, nothing except drinks, chips, cookies, and snacks to purchase. No thanks! I am wanting fruit.
Here is help with city names: Kuala - convergence of rivers, Gua - caves, Kota - port.
The countryside is hilly with plantations, villages, jungle, and gardens. It has never occurred to me that there would be cockroaches on a train. There are, and why not? It may be SE Asia's national bird.
Stepping onto the platform in Jerantut, waiting for a train carrying rock to pass, the heat has dramatically escalated. Fans aren't much help as I return to the coach. There is only one track so passing is on sidings and waiting.
The jungle reveals a wide river and shortly after we stop with a red light on the track. Tooting his horn, the engineer waits. Could the switch master have gone AWOL? Large ants appear from nowhere, one biting me on the neck, John on the finger. Along the tracks there appear to be a lot of "fixer uppers". Want one? Work a deal for what you find inside! We pass a house flying a Malaysian flat upside down. Is it that they don't know, or don't care? Either way it speaks volumes about these people. They are friendly, non-intrusive, and laid back.
12:15 - Kuala Lipis, a larger town than Gemas or anything else we've seen on the track. We are here for a 2 hour wait. Two blocks from the railway station is main street which we cross and stepping down a food arcade feast on rice, vegetables, marinated pork and iced tea. We walk to where I buy some minutes on my mobile phone and attempt to call B of A. After the run around and computer talk, I'm disgusted and hang up.
Where is a pail of ice water to pour over my head? Kuala Lipis is a quiet spot on the river, good food, as everywhere in Asia.
On to Gua Musang. But first, where is that train? 1 1/2 hours late and counting. Here it is, only 1 3/4 hours late. No longer on the jungle train, this is the Express, seems to stop just as often. What's the difference? Can't tell except there is Air Con. Sitting across the aisle are 2 30 something Brits. They have pulled the curtain and are watching a movie. Halfway around the world and this is it for them. Odd!
Finally, Gua Musang, 5:30, with its limestone hills striking smartly into the sky - trees and shrubs filling the crags and jagged top. De-training, John and I walk down this backwater town looking for a room. 40 ringgit for tonight and 40 for the next. We don't know if there is anything to see. But, we're here for tomorrow. We ARE the only Westerners in town.

Melaka to Gemas

2008-04-13T03:15:00.000-07:00

Sunday, April 13, 08
Up earlier than the establishment, I open the large outer doors and place the newspaper on the teak chair. Walking out, I watch the worshippers entering a Buddhist temple, placing flowers, and lighting incense and candles, bowing and kneeling first to the Deity as they enter. Virtually all shops are closed. I take note of a peanut vendor pushing his cart along the street. I never pass up peanuts. Several doors from my hotel is a spot open for breakfast. The complete front is open with tables and chairs set inside and out. Kopi there later. Thunder pounds in the distance. It's hot and humid.
Melaka has a Chinese graveyard which contains headstones from the Ming dynasty. This is Chinatown and the flavor is that. A mixture of races and people groups live together. Legend has it that while resting under a Melaka tree, a prince fleeing from his enemies witnessed an albino Mousedeer kick a dog into the river. Inspired by the courage of the Mousedeer, the prince Parameswara, a Hindu prince from Sumatra in the late 14th century, decided to stand his ground and face his enemies. He then named his kingdom Melaka, after the tree.
Walking the streets reveals no police. Yet, I feel safe. Is it the harmony of the city that I am sensing?
Deciding on a taxi to Tampin where we will catch the train, $6.50 each, 45 minute ride, rather than the confusion of the bus, we arrive at the railway station in Tampin at 10:30 - 30 minutes too late for the first train. The next one is 4:15. John and I walk into town and see what is of Tampin, have a cold drink banana and orange and return. My bank has again locked my account. I'll need to call again. Not today! A bite to eat - rice, slices of marinated chicken, a soup and drink for 6 ringgit ($2). The Kuala Lumpur to Singapore express arrives on time, YES ON TIME, and we sit in Coach D, seats 13C and 13D. The air conditioner is broken so the two loading doors are left open. No Osha here! Gemas is where we are headed - 50 minutes to the East. The rain pours off the train as a woman slams the doors shut. No! The closeness presses in. With the rain stopped, 15 minutes later, the doors are again opened. The roadside is palm and rubber plantations. John and I stand between the two doors where we attempt to find some breathable air. Sweat is pouring off me. An Indian woman comes to fan herself, talk and stand in the slight breeze. John nearly gets his face slapped by an encroaching tree branch as he leans out the door.
Gemas, a nondescript, rail town. Here is where several rail-lines converge. From this point we will take a slow train north to Gua Musang. The scheduled run is 7:00 to 5:00, with a 3 hour wait in Kuala Limpis for an express train to pass. During the three hours, we will find some lunch, hopefully. Our Gemas room has Air Con, ceiling fan, three beds, squat toilet and cold shower down a long outside walkway. All these goodies for 18 ringgit each (divide by 3 for USD).
Melaka pictures: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/Melaka

Observations

2008-04-13T03:01:00.000-07:00

Backpack Packing - I am carrying two packs - a larger, stable and strongly built, in which I have 12 kg (convert pounds to kilos by multiplying times 2.2). A smaller day pack worn in the front contains 5 kg. That is my load, 17 kg.
Melanie, 19 yr old German girl, who I rode with from Singapore to Melaka, has a large pack, almost identical to mine, with 19 kg. Her day pack weighs 9 kg and a purse packs 4 kg. Her total carrying load is 32 kg. She was complaining.
John Peatman has one pack, slightly smaller than my large pack, in which he is carrying 7 kg. That's it! Yet, his trip is much shorter than mine. I packed differently - more medicines, a jacket, towel ...
New Experience - In Singapore and Melaka there has been a different type of toilet. The outer dimensions are the same as ours back in the States. But, they flush by pumping the handle creating a suction which draws the water out of the tank and into the bowl.
Unnoticed - Unlike PNG where the locals peered and gawked at the White skin, Malaysia doesn't give me a second glance. Also, here I am not a White skin but a Westerner. That's a much different feeling. Story - When Bill Simpson and I stopped for fuel and a bite in the Ramu Valley, we entered a small place where several tables were available for customers. Around 30 PNGians, all ages, crowded around to see what we were doing. Suddenly, the madam in charge yelled at the gawkers, "What, are you primitives? Do you have to stare at these people." The crowd thinned, mostly young children were chased off.

Melaka, Malaysia (also written Malacca)

2008-04-12T00:37:00.000-07:00

Saturday, April 12, 08
Up late, John and I start a walking tour around Melaka. We are staying at Chong Hoe Hotel. Doesn't sound like much, and it isn't. There are areas where lots of small food shops sell their specialty - 20 may occupy the space of a small store. Here we first stop for a coffee. Chinatown, where we are staying, is a tightly packed space of narrow streets where night-time brings out the small stalls on the street's edge. No cars are allowed, couldn't occupy the same space, and the vendors sell everything from old coins to small plastic windmills. Mostly junk! Melaka has an old history. The Portuguese were here in the 1400s, building St. Paul's Church on a small hill near the harbor in 1521. It is now only a shell, but interesting to walk through with old tomb stones propped against the outer walls. Also, with only the remnants remaining, is St. John's fort. They were followed by the Dutch and then the British. Christ Church, built by the Dutch with pink bricks brought from Zeeland in Holland and faced with local red laterite was constructed in 1753. Melaka's historical importance is trade. We stop for an early lunch and have a pancake topped with curry chicken. Oh, but it was good, don't let the curry scare you off. Walking around the wharf, looking out onto the Straits of Melaka, known for its pirates, we buy tickets into a replica of a Dutch trading ship. Back in the room, we wash out clothes and ask the receptionist if we can hang them on her line. Done, we return to the bar where, if you buy a drink, internet access if free. Melaka isn't much, now. But, in its day, it was one of the main stops for trade in the East - spices, sandalwood, resin, rubber, and lots more.
Tomorrow is a travel day. We don't have far to go. But, finding a bus which will take us to Gemas could possibly occupy the day. From Gemas we hope to board a slow train landing us, eventually, in Kota Bharu on the East side of Malaysia, near the Thai border.

Singapore to Melaka

2008-04-11T02:17:00.000-07:00

Friday, April 11, 08
Not knowing how to get out of town, without a map, I find an American businessman, who lives in Singapore, eating breakfast at the McDonald's 2 blocks from the hostel. He gives me directions to a spot where buses run into Malaysia. Collecting my bags, after a fine conversation with a young Brit attending the Uni in Newcastle, AU, my German roomies still asleep, I find my way along a slippery sidewalk. At the designated spot, there are no buses running to Malaysia. They all left at 8:30. It's 10:00. But, if I take a short taxi ride to another spot, there I may find what I want. I take the $2 taxi ride and find myself deposited in the midst of 10 buses. One says, Melaka. Oh, I've struck the mother lode. A German woman is buying her ticket in front of me. She is wanting to travel to Kuala Lumpur and says she is doing a "Couchstay". This a site where you hook up with people who allow you to stay on their couch for up to a week. Her name is Melanie, 19, and traveling till the 17th. Since it's the same bus, Melaka or Kuala Lumpur, I ask her to save me a spot, as I head, once more, to the toilet since there are no facilities on the bus. We talk the 4 1/2 hours, enjoying a rest in between, and say good-bye at the Melaka Central Station. Finding bus 17, I tell the driver to let me know when we arrive at Town Square. He does, and I exit. Asking a taxi driver, I find my way to the Sama Sama Hostel where there is no room. But, continuing up the street, several blocks, I find another hostel, can't remember the name right now, in China town. Walking down a long hall, a woman is playing with her baby. Do you have room? Only a 4 bed room at 60 ringgit - $20. We begin to walk to the street, where she is to point out the next possible hostel. Standing at the receptionist's desk is a Brit, my age, who asks if she has a room. Yes, I say, if you want to share a room. Sure! John Peatman, from Cambridge, UK, is happy to share. We accept! He says he is headed to the middle of the country where he hopes to take a mail train up to the very Eastern point, on the ocean. In between, we will most likely stop at Taman Negara, the oldest forest in the world. This is how IT happens. A plan is established. And then, if you are willing, an opportunity presents itself. With nothing but an airfare out of Langkwai on April 24, I am free to negotiate the interval.

Port Moresby to Singapore

2008-04-11T01:55:00.000-07:00

Thursday, April 10, 08
At 10:45, I take a taxi to the Holiday Inn, one of the few places in town that offers internet access. The gates and fence are impressive. there is a Business Center where I am now writing. Being a white skin does have its privilege, and I'll take it. With 4 1/2 hours till my flight leaves, I have taken up residence pool side. I'll spend 2 hours here, have some lunch, and then taxi to the airport where I'll wait out the remainder. My IPod is coming in handy on such lengthy waits. With adapters for three and two prongs, I can recharge my items which need to be; razor, IPod, Palm Pilot. When asked which room I'm in , I simply reply that I'm already checked out. Works every time! And the longer they see me, the more I belong.
2:30 - Port Moresby International Airport - Having hung around the Holiday Inn for 2 hours, the van drivers asks if I am going to the airport. Yep! Get in. So, I do!
Over the Java Sea, sitting in an aisle, exit seat, my neighbor, Nick, who is a Brit who works logistics in Buka, Bougainville, for the police department, spills a small glass of red wine on my left arm and lap. That will need washing out in Singapore. We land, visa, collect backpack, and pass customs. Any laptop is thoroughly investigated for porn. Penalties are high for porn, drugs, and chewing gum is not permitted. Boy, do they have their priorities straight!
Already 9:30, I'm feeling nervous about the hour and finding lodging. So, I spend taxi money and arrive at a prospective site. Taxi leaves. I walk the 3 flights up and find the place is full. The helpful, sleeping, till I awoke him, receptionist, sends me up the street. Hope may be on Rochor Rd, a few blocks of walking. I have 12 kg on my back and 4 kg on my front day pack. I've down sized and am carrying the minimum. Now after 10:00, I walk, and walk, and notice a sign, Bugis Backpackers Hostel. Not what I am looking for, but I'm not picky. Three flights up, why always 3 and 4 flights, an Oriental woman lets me in the bolted door and says, 38 Singapore Dollars, around $28USD. Happy for a spot, I am bunking with 2 German young men who have been to Thailand. Looking for information, I have a conversation in the sitting room with a German and Japanese woman. They are no help in getting out of town. I return to the room and talk till late with the fine young German gentlemen.

Lae to Port Moresby

2008-04-11T01:44:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, April 9, 08
At the Lae airport, Bill sees me through the gate at 12:45 and will wait for Martha's father and wife to arrive some time late afternoon - back on my own. Outside the airport waiting room window the kites still fly. The plane is 20 minutes late - on time for PNG
Now, in Port Moresby, this city is not visitor friendly - no walking around at night, so there is no eating out after dark, unless you want to brave the rascals. As I walk around the general area of the hotel (Comfort Inn), I step alongside a police Toyota Hi-Lux and ask if they know where I can find an Internet Cafe. No! One reeks of alcohol and the other is chewing betelnut and tells me to unstrap my digital camera from my belt. I place it in my pocket. the population feels tense. I keep a close check on people around me and those intersecting. There aren't many options for lodging and certainly, after dark, unless by taxi or personal car, I am locked into this location. My room, expensive by 3rd world standards, has only a common bathroom. But, I do have cable. No soap. No towel. Bill and I laughed a lot and enjoyed the time together. I don't have any pictures of Port Moresby because I don't want to draw attention.

Return to Lae

2008-04-07T21:21:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, April 8, 08
With warnings of trouble in Kainantu, Bill and I, with a couple in the back seat who are returning home to Rabaul, start out of the SIL compound gate at 5:30 am.
The trouble around the compound has been between two clans which both claim the same land. This dispute has been ongoing for generations. Yesterday, with arrows flying, this can be witnessed from the compound fence, the two clans fought. Two men are shot - one in the ribs and the other in the leg. No one will treat fight wounds, so the wounded were transported elsewhere, probably Goroka 1 1/2 hours distance. The other trouble spot is in Kainantu, 15 kms from the compound, where a group of men has been terrorizing the community. Here is the version I heard. The police caught the men who were carrying some rifles and arrested them. Later, with no one watching, the police dropped them off at their houses. That set the community in an uproar and they stoned the police cars and sent them out of town.
We pass the first point, an area of land over which the clans have been fighting - no one there. Next are two bridges - clear. Then, into Kainantu itself - only several men sweeping the yard and a man carrying some fire - four out of four. Two hours later we at the airport, deposit the outgoing couple and head into Lae for some breakfast and check in at the SIL guesthouse.
Bill has been doing some shopping, looking for a bike tire, paint, drugs, fence posts, flashlight, and such items. I have gone along till now. As I wait for him to complete some errands, I will spend time at an Internet Cafe, get my hairs cut, and see about some non-stick gauze. What I presently have doesn't work very well.
Not knowing when I will be able to next post, I should write about my schedule. Wed, April 9, I have an afternoon flight to Port Moresby. Thursday, April 10, my flight to Singapore leaves around 3:00 pm and arrives late. I would like to get a room in Singapore and head out on the 11th into Malaysia. If I can get to Melaka, that would be good. Otherwise, I will stop someplace and report in from that point. It will be good to get into the familiar surroundings of Malaysia. The next two weeks will be in there.
There is a story which could have taken place in any third world country that Bill and I laugh at. The UN made an effort to bring better hygiene, more batheing, into an area. When the men sat at the fire, the following evening, one of their group, let's call him Joe, walked up and sat down. Oh, replied another man, I'm sorry, I didn't smell you coming.

Ukarumpa, again

2008-04-06T22:28:00.000-07:00

Monday, April 7, 08
Keeping my knee and shin salved and wrapped has been a main concern of mine. Infection is so prevalent. These tropics are unforgiving. My med supply has been restocked - thyroid and bp meds, gauze and adhesive, one added month of malaria prophylaxis, and a malaria cure. There, I'm now supplied till Bangkok, where I will again hope to find additions. Meds and the need of care is one of the reasons I am doing the walkabout now rather than later when such issues may intensify.
The natives have become increasingly restless. There has been fighting, again in the area around the compound, with the small police force in Kainantu being sequestered in its buildings. There is an attempt to run them out of town. Lawlessness is near the surface. Shops have been closed. Tomorrow, I am to leave for Lae and points beyond. Bill and I have decided to start early, 5:30 am. Martha, Paige (7), and Emma (2) Simpson were to join us on this excursion to Lae. But, they will remain. As I leave, Martha's father and his wife are arriving for a visit. Good timing for me!
Bill and I have laughed over the arrow incident. Here I am, a Congo MK who has lived through some dangerous times in that unsettled country, and yet, I have to come to PNG to get shot with an arrow. Jeez!
More from Lae

Madang to Ukarumpa

2008-04-05T23:58:00.000-07:00

Sunday, April 6, 08
With Bill feeling better, we collect our things and head into Madang for some fuel and leave at 9:30. At the Mobil station, we are informed that our riding should be in good weather. However, last night it rained through the section of hills between Madang and the Ramu Valley (I have been calling it the Markham Valley. Markham Valley is toward Lae). That is the area we have been worried about. Rain has made the puddles wider and the mud deeper. All goes well till we descend a steep hill and when turning at the bottom see 10 PMVs bogged on the hill, all stuck where they have tried to climb or descend. Shifting down, best option is simply to stay in the ruts since an attempt to find high ground brings a slippery splat into the ruts anyway, we both spin, sputter, and slosh through. A half km past, Bill asks if I want to return for a photo. Let's just remember it as it is! No rascals, they usually wait at the large and expansive mud holes for a must slow down, we make good time and arrive at the mid-point, in the flat of the Ramu Valley, for fuel and a flour fish and coke - again, yum. Bill calls home and asks about any troubles. He returns to say, "The natives are restless!" There has been trouble with the local two clans which have been fighting - arrows flying last night till the drenching rain sent them home. One clan has blocked the second bridge, there are three, between Kainantu (15km from Ukarumpa) and Ukarumpa. There's not much to do till we arrive and see it for ourselves. We arrive Kainantu and top out the tanks. Now to see about the bridge. First bridge is passed, no worries. Then, the second bridge is approached. No one steps out, and we cross rapidly. I give a whoop on the other side. We're home free! Two kms out of Ukarumpa, I see 6 boys, aged 8-10, on the left side of the road stretching bows equipped with arrows. As Bill passes, they make motions of shooting the arrows, but don't. I approach. The oldest boy suddenly steps forward, from 15 ft, and lets fly an arrow which strikes me in my left calf. Lucky shot! I look down, then back up at the hard, left, downhill curve. Too late, I turn the wheel left and the back tire slides off the road, my knee hitting the edge of the pavement. Bill sees me go down and returns. Surprised by a PMV coming up from behind, he falls in the lane. The PMV asks if we need help? No! With a piercing look, Bill rights his bike, mine also is righted by now, and hurries up to find the boys. Only their backsides can be seen as they disappear down the hill. We continue on to where Sam's village turns off, 1 km further on, and there tell our story of the humbug (PNG for "good for nothing") boys. My knee is scraped and my pants are ripped in two places. Martha is washing everything and will attempt some repairs. After a shower, knee and shin repair, we laugh about the story I will tell when I get home. There must have been 100 painted clansmen. I dodge, I weave, one arrow takes me down. Bill rides to the rescue on "a horse with no name". Well, it could have been worse. Those boys, and the village will know who they are, will most likely be caned. I may ask to administer a few of the swats myself.
Medang pictures: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/MadangPNG

Jais Aben Resort

2008-04-05T23:37:00.000-07:00

Saturday, April 5, 08
I rise around 6:45, Bill still sleepy with the bug but feeling better. I walk to the lobby/eating area. with a cup of tea, I write in my journal. the staff is placing breakfast out for the guests - no one here but me. Canoes full of PNGians paddle past on the way to work, or town, or market... Not far off the beach is a WWII wreck of a supply ship, a plane and a US bomber.
Geography Lesson: The island of New Guinea has two countries, Papua (west side), which is Indonesian, and Papua New Guinea (east side), which is its own country. Papua New Guinea, or PNG, has several islands - Papua New Guinea, New Britain, New Ireland, and Bougainville. The Solomon Islands continue to the south of Bougainville. Rabaul, which figured heavily into Mac Arthur's Pacific Campaign, is a city on New Britain and has recently been heavily damaged by volcanic action.
A kind woman brings me a plate of toast and butter. I must have had a hungry look. Music plays in the background, a mixture of American and who knows what. A PNG man sweeps the pool, mostly used for dive lessons. Why swim in a pool when paradise's coral reefs are at your feet. Bill still isn't feeling well so I have time to wander. Around 11:00, in light rain, Bill and I take the motorbikes to town for money and lunch, again Eden restaurant. I'm wearing my blue lightweight jacket which is splattered with mud by the time we return. bill naps while I snorkel. Never have I seen so many fish. The snorkeling is 20-100 ft from shore, larger fish as I move from shore since the depth is greater. My first clown fish, funny things. Also, the big Angel fish from Finding Nemo. Every color but red. Don't know why? There are spotted, striped, solid, black, navy, azure, fluorescent blue, lime green... Blue star fish are poisonous to other fish so they are everywhere. The coral is expansive and multi-colored with black spiny urchins buried in the crevasses. The prolific population may be this - I'm the only one out here. This coral reef is not commercialized as other spots.
Dinner is fish, vegetables, a small potato and a glass of Aussie, white wine.
We're hoping for no rain tonight so we can ride safely tomorrow.

Madang, PNG

2008-04-04T15:58:00.000-07:00

Friday, April 4, 08
I wish there were a way to record the bird calls and songs. The sounds are so unusual. Each country, and region, has its own. Here, only in Madang are found the Crown Victoria Pigeons.
The manager has several in a large cage. Their headdress is stunning. No pictures till I return to Ukarumpa, which is tomorrow.
We sleep over the rusty pull aside car gate which makes a grating sound till 11:00 PM. Our breakfast has been ordered for 7:00 - 3 eggs, toast, non-salty ham, coffee. We are excited to see a French press placed on the table till we find that it is filled with instant Nescafe - jokers. After a cold shower, we are ready for a tour around town, get tonight's lodging figured out, and swim. Bill and I are both low on cash and need to find an ATM. I'm down to 110 Kina, $35.
Jais Aben is a resort 15 km out of town, on the ocean. Our room, #6, is 15 meters from the ocean where king fishers swoop. Snorkeling and diving are available, a BBQ hut for burgers and the mail building, very open, which has a bar and eating area, as well as reception and offices. This will cost us $30/night - cheap for a room in paradise. A fan, no ac, bathroom with hot shower, mini-frig and 2 beds make the room cozy.
At 10:00, we head to town looking for a phone so I can call the US. My debit/credit card has again been blocked by watchful B of A employees. I can't retrieve any cash without calling them. But tries at several places bring no success. We must be dialing wrong even though we are following instructions from the phone people themselves. After a milkshake at the Madang Resort, best place to stay in town, we head back to Jais Aben and try phoning here. Still no luck! Tomorrow! Lunch is a cheeseburger and fries at the BBQ hut. Oh, we're eating good.
Bill takes a long nap as I make a blog entry and sit watching the ocean, breezes keeping me cool in this high humidity.
There are few restrictions - no speed limit and no "You can't go there". Jump into the ocean where you want and swim where you want. But, with no lifeguards, you're on your own.
Praise Jesus!! At 3:30, I get through to a B of A operator who cleans up the blockage of my account. I'm celebrating with a Schweppes Dry Ginger Ale. From PNG, it appears, there is no connection possible to an 800 number. My connection was made when I called a special number on my card, small bottom left corner, which sent me to a non-800. This number is set up for only overseas calls with this type of restriction. How would I know such a thing?
Napping and swimming round off the day. dinner is soup and garlic bread. PNG cuisine you ask? What determines PNG cuisine answers this question, "Does it fill my stomach?" Sweet potatoes, greens, rice and anything that answers that question is in. Bill orders some fruit but leaves to try and sleep off a bug - a brother but to what I had 2 days ago. But, sleep is what is not allowed. Even though we have a ceiling fan, it isn't used due to Bill's feeling ill. Rain starts around 9:00 and continues till morning. By day break I have pulled a sheet over me. The ocean laps and crashes intermittently as the night continues - nature is gently wrapping its large arms of warmth and communion around us.

Ukarumpa to Madang

2008-04-03T21:16:00.000-07:00

Thursday, April 3, 08
With Dr. Jeff wanting to see me on Monday, 9:45, Bill and I decide to ride to Madang today, returning Sunday. I place my big money bills in my cargo pants pocket and split smaller bills into my two top pockets. This is preventative in case we get waylaid by some rascals. We each are driving a Honda XR 400 (400 cc), 5 speed - lots of power. The first 1/3 of the road is paved but in the highlands so there are lots of problem areas. The second third is on flat land, the Markham Valley, we turn left to Madang instead of right to Lae. But, the last third is hard to describe except as steep, eroded, rutted, dangerous, slow going, and shakes your liver into your toes. The 200 kms take 4 hours of driving, of which the last third devours most of that. My wrist is sore from clutching through the gears, my butt aches from the bounce and slipping, but oh did I have fun. No rascals! I only stalled once, I forgot which gear I was in while coming out of an extended mud puddle, and only fell once, with only a partial back brake I was forced to use more front brake than is safe so at a very slow point my braking turned the front wheel sharply and I fell. Bill gets tagged in the helmet by a Kite (hawk) which is flying too close. Kites are everywhere, not just here. Most often there are 3-5 in the sky at any given time. We stop halfway for fuel and lunch - flour sausage and coke - yum. When yellow lines cross the lane, be ready for a one lane area, usually a bridge. This only applies to paved areas. Once, after a particularly dangerous and difficult section of descending and then hard climbing, we pull off to the side for a water break. A PMV (Public Motorized Van) stop for a chat. The passenger asks for a drink from my bottle - keep it. Sharing is common. But, I don't need his backwash. Bill has a full face shield, I do not. Mine leaves me open to the bugs and dirt. At the Madang Cultural Center, where we stop for help in finding lodging, beautifully placed on the ocean's edge, Bill tells me to wash first in the bathroom. No mirror, but if my face looks like my helmet I could scare someone.
Lae is a commercial town. Madang is set up as a resort town. With an early dinner overlooking the Pacific Ocean at Eden, a Chinese/Thai restaurant, we return to our motel as lightning flashes in front and back of us. My lights keep turning off or dimming at odd times - flip on the blinkers and the headlights go off, on again a minute later. Odd! We are in Mot Guesthouse, and have a 2 bed room , #7, common bathroom and shower down stairs in the carport. Bill decides to go for a walk in the community. The motel refuses to let him go out alone and send a guard. I am tired and elect to catch up on some reading and writing. Our room is 80 Kina ($28) together. Flying fox are everywhere. The clicking of bats is all around as well as the sounds of other birds. How I wish I could record these interesting sounds. Tomorrow, we have reservations on the ocean a few kms out of town.

Down to Full Speed

2008-04-02T17:12:00.000-07:00

Thursday, April 3, 08
All's well. After a 12 hour night sleep, plus 5 hours during yesterday, the "bug-that-bends-you over" has left.
I have availed myself of the excellent doctors and medical facilities, here at the SIL Ukarumpa compound, to get checked out. Getting a resupply of meds has been important. Dr. Jeff want to see me once more on Monday to talk about malaria. Thus far, I have decided not to start any malaria prophylaxis. He is nervous about that. Also, he wants me to have, in possession, 2 malaria cures. I will defer to him. My main reason for not starting the preventative is the side affects. But, I will defer to him
Instead of tomorrow, Bill and I may be taking the trip to Madang today. If there is a brief period of silence, on this blog, you will know that has been the case.

An Old Fashioned Ass Kicking

2008-04-01T22:31:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, April 2, 08
This morning, 4:30, my stomach began acting up. By 8:00, I was hardly able to make a BP check appointment at the clinic. Returning at 10:00, I went back to bed and slept till 3:00. Sam and Bill came to check on me. Now, 3:30, I am still feeling tired. I have picked up some crackers for dinner and will go to bed very early.

Anamonapa, PNG

2008-03-31T23:06:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, April 1, 08
Everyone is up before day break. Pauline and Samia have horrid coughs which will keep Pauline home from school. Roosters are sending their message of the new day. Sam is starting a fire in the house center. To shower or not to shower - quite cool. Maybe, simply more deodorant.
The family is pulling out all the stops. Breakfast is coffee, boiled kau kau (sweet potato), and a fried carrot, egg, noodle, green onion mix and bread. Before placing the pot on the open fire, Sam smears it with wet ashes to keep the outside from becoming dented from continual use. Pauline and Samia play a stone game - somewhat like jacks.
Silion (13) presents Sam with papers indicating he needs to pay 20 kina for his education. I reach into my pocket and pass it to him. Thank you is expressed. Cooked kau kau are wrapped in plastic for lunches.
Eric (Sam's nephew, age 21), Aru (bodyguard) and Babu (word meaning grandfather) will accompany me on a walk. Lynette and Silion hustle off to school. Oldest daughter, Doreen, has returned from school and will remain in the village. School isn't for everyone. Sitting over breakfast, a man describes how he, last night, shot (with an arrow) a flying fox which had stopped to eat in his guava tree. He says it squealed like a dog and woke the family.
Off the four of us go, all but I have a bush knife. Aru has a bow and arrows. This 2 1/2 hour walk will take us to a vista where Yonki Lake can be viewed. Through grassland, forest and bamboo we walk as Birds of Paradise float overhead - they fly more rapidly than I imagined. We pass women working together in gardens and couples cutting grass to repair a roof. Bubu and Aru share home grown tobacco and later betel nuts. Stories of fights with neighboring clans come out of Bubu recalling his youth - which could easily start anytime. These fights can last for a week as they jockey into position, 1/8 mile between them on the grassy hillsides, where they shoot arrows at each other. Some arrows are for close range, others for distance. Bubu's son is working in his garden at the furthest point of our walk. He walks to the edge of the small flat hilltop and calls loudly. Far away the call is returned. the soil is so slick, we all slip at times on the steep slopes. Aru always has his bow and arrows at the ready, his bush knife slung down his back and around his head. As a king fisher flies past he hurries a shot. No king fisher soup tonight, plus a lost arrow.
My shoes were traded in for too small boots. By the time I'm back at the village, I'm glad to rejoin my own sized shoes. With a short rest, bananas and water, Brian (Sam's 18 yr old son), returned from classes, Eric, Bubu and I take a walk around the village.
Lunch follows and we the younger generation and I walk back to the SIL compound.
My guesthouse stay tonight will feel a bit tame.
Anamonapa and walk pictures: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/AnamonapaPNG

Ukarumpa/Village Life

2008-03-31T21:53:00.000-07:00

Monday, March 31, 08
Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, there is a market. The choices of vegetables and fruits, I have not seen till now - cucumbers, lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, all fruits, and more. This area, the Aiyura Valley, used to be a big swamp. When the missionary arrived, he drained the swamp and the fertile soil has grown anything planted. Hostilities can possibly be understood when realizing that the question asked, when someone came to a village or a garden was, "What reason do I have not to kill you?"
One of the important needs, since leaving home, has been to see a doctor somewhere along the way. Dr. Jeff Stout sat with me and we discussed my feeling lightheaded. We will have three BP checks, and cut my meds in half and see if that helps. I'm grateful to have a trustworthy physician to work with and purchase reliable meds.
At 4:30. Sam Baimako and I drive to his village using one of the SIL vehicles. The village, Anamonapa, is 15 minutes drive from the compound. Welcomes and helloes all around, I meet the family: Mama (Simo), Lynette (20), Silion (13), Pauline (10), Samia (3). There are others who are either away in school or not present. Martha Simpson has packed me a bag with mosquito net, sleeping bag, foam pad, and other important items. Traditional houses are round and made of bamboo. Sam's is square made of bamboo. A fire burns in the center with sleeping quarters along the sides and back. Some children are playing jingo jango outside. This consists of two strings held while others jump in and out of the strings keeping to the rules. There is water piped close to the house and two fluorescent bulbs burn inside, one outside. The bamboo walls are woven and have two layers, one on the outside and the other on the inside of the pole framing. Above the fire are seeds drying for next year's crop. These are kept in bamboo. A pit toilet serves the household. Eleven of us are present for dinner. Sam's mother is here working on a bilum (carrying net) and Aru (cousin). Rain sounds outside, not heard under the grass roof, and we settle down to talking of any and all subjects. I am pleased to see a cat prowling the premises.
All the women are in skirts. Women must cover from the midriff to the knees. To allow a thing of belly to be shown is a sign of promiscuity - not tolerated in the village.
By 9:00, the family is tired and we retire. We are 5 sleeping here. The others disappear to sleep elsewhere. Samia and Pauline have deep coughs and are instructed to spit outside. I sleep on the right, Sam next to me, Mama next, then the girls.

Ukarumpa, SIL Compound, PNG

2008-03-30T20:28:00.000-07:00

Sunday, March 30, 08
Up early, I take a walk to the top of the hill and around. This place is large enough to get lost. Services will be from 10:30-12:00. I have plenty of time to roam. This is not a jungle as I experienced in Papua. That is partly because of a higher population density and also because this area was grassland. There are a tremendous number of clans in close proximity which creates an atmosphere of conflict. Bush knives come out at the slightest provocation, as in Papua. Further, toward Papua, the terrain becomes more rugged and the jungle does increase as the population drops dramatically.
Service follows much the same format as Evangelical Fundamentalist services in the US. SIL is non-denominational. One striking sight is all the young children 0-10. A large elementary and high school services various missions with boarding facilities. The schools have around 350 enrollment. On site are many young families, most in translation of highland languages into the Bible. It takes between 10 to 30 years to translate one language with there being 850 languages in PNG. Few have a completed Bible.
Staff can either rent or buy a house. Electricity is constant with either power from the Yonki Dam or an on site generator. Water is split into rain water, which is for drinking and otherwise used as available. Also, grey water is from a source in a stream very nearby. This stream is the problem source with locals who want to be more highly compensated. The Simpson house has a total capacity of 35oo gallons stored from rain water, plus grey water. Roads are gravel, well drained, and well maintained. A high chain link fence with razor wire surrounds the property with armed guards on internal and outer patrol. On site are a Joinery, Auto Shop, Aviation, Store, Clinic, Construction, Finance, Schools, Industrial, Maintenance. Library, Languages and Linguistic Center and Translation Support, Print Shop, and lots more.
Lunch is mid-afternoon following a 15 minute drive to Sam's village. Sam is a PNG local who works at the compound in a department which works with conflict resolution between SIL and locals. He is near 50, I would judge. Without the 4X4 working we get stuck in the mud holes. There is great excitement, high point of the day, as we are pushed out by helpful hands. Sam's house is a mat house with sleeping platforms along 3 sides and a constant fire burning slowly in the center. Bill and he discuss an episode from last Friday which landed an SIL local worker in serious danger. He was beaten and slashed on the head with a bush knife. The SIL vehicle, he was driving, had all its windows and lights broken out. He will most likely be fire since the vehicle usage was unauthorized and he was attempting to gather others to join him in intimidating an adjacent clan. Warfare is never far from the surface. The three of us drive into Kainantu while a horrendous rain drenches the compound. Nothing on Kainantu 15 km away.
Dinner and computer time finish the afternoon. A card game had been scheduled but Bill and I are too tired. At a mile high, I am feeling tired early and will find my comfortable bed.
SIL compound pictures: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/SILCompoundPNG

Lae to Ukarumpa, PNG

2008-03-29T23:51:00.000-07:00

Saturday, March 29, 08
Up at 6:30, we leave at 7:00 to begin the loading process. We will keep collecting till our tires tell us to stop or we hit bottom - 1000 kg. Besides the cargo, we are carrying suitcases left by yesterdays four women and some for the Howard family. One of the stops, Morobe Produce, we collect onions and talk to Barry Feldon, an Aussie in his 70s, who was kidnapped last week and held for 6 days. During the ransom transfer, the local swat team descended on the rascals (name given to lawless element) killing two, capturing one and one escaped. Barry is still very shaken. Bill has been held up once on his Lae-Ukarumpa route. It took place near the compound by a fellow with a knife and a gun. Otherwise, NO WORRIES!
What takes time is that nothing is ready, even though the order was in days ago. Only when we arrive is the order assembled. At no place are ordered complete. Only a portion is available.
Pidgin is the language. Although, English is spoken by many (British colony) Pidgin is English PNGized. PNG men often walk with their shirt on their head. This way, arriving at their destination, it isn't sweated through.
We drive through coastal landscape, then the Markham Valley and climb into the highlands. The road is ready to slide away as we climb to our 5000 ft. Past Yonki Lake, which supplies electrical power, and coffee plantations. PNG coffee locally sells for $1.00/lb. We arrive in Kainantu, at around 1:30, and gas up. We are 10 minutes from Ukarumpa.
In the double gate and fence, we pull up at the Simpson house. there to greet us are Martha, Paige (7) and Emma (2). The rest of the day is spent with unloading the van, checking at the SIL Guesthouse, and dinner at The Simpson's. Sanctuary, a sing along is attended from 6:30-8:00. Bill and I are tired and take turns snoozing in the back. The elevation brings with it a coolness which will make sleeping easy. Rain is making it even easier.
New pictures: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/Lae

Lae, Papua New Guinea

2008-03-29T00:01:00.000-07:00

Friday, March 28, 08
Information - Papua, where I spent a month, is on the west side of the island of New Guinea and is part of Indonesia. This is Papua New Guinea, the eastern side of the island, separated by an arbitrarily drawn line. PNG was colonized by the British. Papua was colonized by the Dutch.
Bill and I start the day by transporting the four women to a spot where PMV (Public Motorized Vehicle), 13 passenger mini-buses, are waiting to leave. Effort is placed in locating one which looks reasonably reliable, when Nigel spots us. Nigel works in Ukarumpa SIL, and hurries the women to a waiting van which will safely transport them the distance. Having completed that, we head to the open market buying peanuts, a watermelon, a papaya, soft drinks, passion fruit, tangerines and a spiny red fruit which is peeled exposing a white interior. It looks like an eye ball to me. Next is the Rabtrad where Bill has earlier left an order to be filled. This type of order has been placed in 4 spots where the orders will be packaged for us.
An internet site is found for a swift update since I haven't been able to add much. Lunch is at he Yacht Club - Yacht Club how about that. Then another surprise - a store where appliances and most things Western can be purchased, at a price. Martha, Bill's wife had called earlier in the day that their microwave has stopped working. Again, a surprise. Microwave! A coffee at the back of the store in a small coffee shop and on to check on more products for tomorrow's pickup. Since only a small portion of what is wanted is available, it takes time to check and recheck. Bill comments that he has come up with a new phrase, "We have most everything you need and a few things you want."
Bill is gone on an errand so I take a swim with the Howard children. They love to stand on my shoulders, have me hold their ankles and jump in. Katie (9) and Samuel (5) take turns.
Dinner is Chinese food, shop talk and life experiences.

Cairns - Port Moresby - Lae

2008-03-28T23:45:00.000-07:00

Thursday, March 27, 08
My first leg, Cairns to Port Moresby, is on AirPNG, a prop plane. The view of the Great Barrier Reef extends in all directions. Unable to find a half day trip to the Reef, I was content to spend the time in Cairns.
Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea, has lots of WWII importance but is a small, mostly non-descript spot. I laugh inside as I walk into the domestic terminal and see that there is no seating. The New Guineans are sitting on the floor. I have a few hours to give so I take a walk around the airport lobby, again, and again. In the gate area, I wait for the plane, 1 1/2 hours late - normal.
Arriving in Lae, Bill Simpson greets me and directs me to the baggage claim which I have walked past - a metal table near an opening facing the tarmac. Riding into Lae, we give a ride to a family from close to Ukarumpa, where we will drive to on Saturday, and stop to drop off an order at a farm where later we will hopefully pick up some butter, cream cheese, and other dairy products. Bill is in town to shop for items which will stock the SIL store in Ukarumpa - 4 hours drive into the highlands. Arriving at the SIL (Summer Institute of Linguistics), also known as Wycliffe, guesthouse we check into a spacious 2 room flat (1 twin, 1 double, 1 bunk) designed for families. The rest of the day is occupied with a swim in the pool, an attempt at finding an internet connection, meeting the family which manages the guesthouse (four lovely children age 3-9), and dinner at the Melanesian Hotel, an upscale facility where most businessmen stay. Present for dinner are Bill, four women who have just returned from vacation near Rabaul, and me. I order broiled reef fish, rice and veggies. Bill, Esther, one of the women, and I share a lime cake and ice cream for dessert.