So, London. Finally back in the English-speaking world. I hadn't been to London for more than 12 hours since 2001, so it was nice to be back. Of course, the last time I was in London for more than 12 hours, I was a practicing lawyer with lots of cash and a rolling suitcase on a one week vacation, not a soon to be grad student finishing up several months of travel possessed only of a very large backpack. Very different vibe.
Initial annoyance: I (foolishly) booked a hotel for my first night in town on Expedia. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. Plus, the photos of the hotel seemed fine, and they had room service, which was key, since I was arriving late with no chance to have dinner beforehand (yes, this will be relevant). Upon check-in, I was immediately taken across the street to overflow housing (what hotel has overflow housing?), where I was given the smallest hotel room I've ever seen (seriously) with the tiniest bathroom to match. Starving, I began searching frantically for the room service menu (no luck). So I called the front desk to ask where the menu was. No menu.
ME: Well, is there room service. Because the website says there's room service. FRONT DESK: Yes.
ME: Well, what do you have?
FRONT DESK: Sandwiches.
ME: What kind of sandwiches?
FRONT DESK: We may have vegetable. I'll have to check.
ME: Forget about it.
When a website indicates that a hotel has room service, I take that to mean a menu, some options, and a guy who comes to the room carrying a tray and expecting a tip. Not maybe we have vegetable sandwiches. (Maybe I'm just like my mother/She's never satisfied.)
My other favorite thing about the hotel: it was situated about 10 feet away from a Tube platform, so my room shook every time the train zoomed by. Good times.
Aside from the first night, London was great. I spent the rest of my stay there with my friend Nina, who is lots and lots of fun. I went to Hampton Court Palace my first full day in town, which was just the right amount of cool historical stuff (fitting in rather nicely with my having just read a historical novel about Lady Jane Grey) and lovely soothing rose gardens. I also finally made it to the London Eye. The views are amazing, it's true, but I don't think I go to London for views of that kind. The things I want to see are all on the ground and not terribly high up.
More fun things in London: drinks with Todd and Carol and Jacqueline Kennedy (and of course Nina). Well, technically, Jacqueline Kennedy wasn't having "drinks" with us, as she is a little dog and a teetotaler, but she was allowed in the pub. Todd also let us see his amazing flat in Notting Hill which features (among other crazy rock star things, like his bathroom, which is considerably bigger than the hotel room I mentioned earlier) a garden AND a small house, the sole purpose of which is to give Todd a place to work on and store his mosaics(!?!) Love it. I also got to see a new friend I met in Tonga (not Tongan) who is now in business school in Spain, and who I think is pretty amazing. And not just because he's going to business school to do socially responsible entrepreneurship (although that helps).
Oh, weird conversation I overheard (so not English). While waiting for Nina to get home from work, I decided to have some Indian. Note: the Indian food I had in London was much tastier (and spicier) than anything I got in India. I'm just saying. The restaurant was empty, with the exception of a couple that came after I'd already been seated. Yes, I know that when there's not the general buzz caused by multiple simultaneous conversations, you can hear your fellow diners more easily. You can also hear them more easily when they shout. Basically, an older white American guy was there with his significantly younger West African companion. And the older guy decided that everyone in the restaurant needed to hear every story of every time he or anyone he knew had been gay-bashed, particularly those stories involving West African women doing the bashing (a former paramour of his had ended up in the hospital in this way). His young companion kept trying to make him lower his voice, but the speaker would have none of it (something to do with not being ashamed, and also wanting more wine). While I completely agree that being bashed is nothing for the victim to be ashamed of, I think it is completely appropriate to be ashamed when every diner and server in a restaurant can hear your conversation so well they'd think you were talking to them. Advice to the West African beau: start eating dinner at home.
So, I confess, I haven't done London justice. Part of this is faulty memory. The rest is the fact that London book-ended my trips to Bath and Oxford, so not only was I not there long, but I wasn't there continuously. Bath and Oxford will be the subject of my next entry.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Finishing Up Before Starting Something New: Verdun Sur Garonne and Toulouse
So, I realize that I've let 3.5 months go by without touching the blog. Despite the fact that I wasn't finished. As I was saying to a friend when describing the blog today, I at least need to write myself home. So, relying on my very good memory, here goes.
Ankle slightly recovered, I took the train from Paris to Toulouse. Amusing fact: on picking me up (very late), my cab-driver (yes, I know it should have been the Metro, but my backpack was heavy and cumbersome and I didn't feel like dealing with the transfers and the trek) bombarded me with questions and comments and observations. Actually, I have no idea what he bombarded me with, because he spoke in French more quickly than I speak in English. Fortunately, he was very good-natured about my not really speaking French and we managed to have a non-conversation (in French) to the station. I could sit in that cab and not talk with him for hours. And still find plenty of things to not talk about.
The train ride: well, again, I splurged a little, in this case getting the first class ticket (really only negligibly more expensive than second class, and such a lovely compartment). Unfortunately, I failed to notice that the seats were assigned, and was forced to relocate. My favorite part of the ride, aside from the lovely countryside: two women sitting across the aisle from me both had cats, which they took out of their carriers for most of the trip. I kept up a bit of a flirtation with the cat nearer to me (shiny and black with big green eyes) and fantasized about getting one just like her when I got back to the US. (More on that later.)
So, a long train ride and a short train ride later, and I arrived in a village (Dieupentale) in the Midi-Pyrenees not too far from my friend's even smaller village. Let me just say that I loved visiting my friend and her family when I came in summer of 2006. She wasn't working at the time, so the only real time limits imposed were for dropping off and picking up her son from school (also for lunch). Granted, this meant that unless her husband took off from work, we couldn't venture far, but there was plenty of time for catching up and sitting around in their lovely old home or the garden. This trip was a little different, as my friend now works. But she likes her job and the people she works with, and the job is pretty flexible, so there was still plenty of time for relaxing.
Highlights of the visit from a tourist perspective: we took a long drive one day, primarily to visit an old castle and some ruins in Bruniquel, where Romy Schneider (aka Princesse Sissi) and Phillippe Noiret filmed in "Le Vieux Fusil" ("The Old Shotgun") [THANK YOU, JUDI], but also just to drive and talk. A lot of the visit centered around talking (with some driving) and it was very satisfying. Judi (the friend I visited) is my oldest friend with whom I'm still in regular contact (we met when we were fourteen), and it's nice to have that kind of history. But I digress. I spent one day of my week there as a real tourist: a nice three-course lunch with wine at a restaurant on the Place du Capitole, a visit to the Basilique St-Sernin, a stroll around town, a stop at the Cathédrale St-Etienne (which, I am ashamed to say, I preferred to the Basilica, possibly because I have never studied architecture and don't properly appreciate these things), and a visit to the Musee des Augustins. A note on the latter: one room is full of nothing but pieces of statuary from the above-mentioned two churches. This may be interesting the first few times, but an entire room? I'd just come from the churches themselves; I felt that it was overkill. Also, I have very little knowledge of fine arts and no knowledge of how to hang art in a museum or gallery, but I am not a fan of the stacking method. The painting galleries at the Musee des Augustins had ridiculously high ceilings which the curators chose to fully utilize by hanging pictures as high as they could, making it impossible to see most of the paintings without craning my neck AND standing on the other side of the room. I suppose it made the experience memorable, but it did not make me long to visit that museum again.
Ankle slightly recovered, I took the train from Paris to Toulouse. Amusing fact: on picking me up (very late), my cab-driver (yes, I know it should have been the Metro, but my backpack was heavy and cumbersome and I didn't feel like dealing with the transfers and the trek) bombarded me with questions and comments and observations. Actually, I have no idea what he bombarded me with, because he spoke in French more quickly than I speak in English. Fortunately, he was very good-natured about my not really speaking French and we managed to have a non-conversation (in French) to the station. I could sit in that cab and not talk with him for hours. And still find plenty of things to not talk about.
The train ride: well, again, I splurged a little, in this case getting the first class ticket (really only negligibly more expensive than second class, and such a lovely compartment). Unfortunately, I failed to notice that the seats were assigned, and was forced to relocate. My favorite part of the ride, aside from the lovely countryside: two women sitting across the aisle from me both had cats, which they took out of their carriers for most of the trip. I kept up a bit of a flirtation with the cat nearer to me (shiny and black with big green eyes) and fantasized about getting one just like her when I got back to the US. (More on that later.)
So, a long train ride and a short train ride later, and I arrived in a village (Dieupentale) in the Midi-Pyrenees not too far from my friend's even smaller village. Let me just say that I loved visiting my friend and her family when I came in summer of 2006. She wasn't working at the time, so the only real time limits imposed were for dropping off and picking up her son from school (also for lunch). Granted, this meant that unless her husband took off from work, we couldn't venture far, but there was plenty of time for catching up and sitting around in their lovely old home or the garden. This trip was a little different, as my friend now works. But she likes her job and the people she works with, and the job is pretty flexible, so there was still plenty of time for relaxing.
Highlights of the visit from a tourist perspective: we took a long drive one day, primarily to visit an old castle and some ruins in Bruniquel, where Romy Schneider (aka Princesse Sissi) and Phillippe Noiret filmed in "Le Vieux Fusil" ("The Old Shotgun") [THANK YOU, JUDI], but also just to drive and talk. A lot of the visit centered around talking (with some driving) and it was very satisfying. Judi (the friend I visited) is my oldest friend with whom I'm still in regular contact (we met when we were fourteen), and it's nice to have that kind of history. But I digress. I spent one day of my week there as a real tourist: a nice three-course lunch with wine at a restaurant on the Place du Capitole, a visit to the Basilique St-Sernin, a stroll around town, a stop at the Cathédrale St-Etienne (which, I am ashamed to say, I preferred to the Basilica, possibly because I have never studied architecture and don't properly appreciate these things), and a visit to the Musee des Augustins. A note on the latter: one room is full of nothing but pieces of statuary from the above-mentioned two churches. This may be interesting the first few times, but an entire room? I'd just come from the churches themselves; I felt that it was overkill. Also, I have very little knowledge of fine arts and no knowledge of how to hang art in a museum or gallery, but I am not a fan of the stacking method. The painting galleries at the Musee des Augustins had ridiculously high ceilings which the curators chose to fully utilize by hanging pictures as high as they could, making it impossible to see most of the paintings without craning my neck AND standing on the other side of the room. I suppose it made the experience memorable, but it did not make me long to visit that museum again.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Travel Reading (Part 2)
With all the exciting travel I've been doing (not to mention the time wasted updating my facebook status), I'm surprised at the amount of time I've had to read. It has been really wonderful. Since I last updated this list in February (when I was still in southeast Asia), I've made quite a dent in the Kindle downloads (I still prefer physical books, but this trip was made possible in part by Kindle, so credit where credit is due). Here we go:
Animal's People (read this in India, and despite the amazing reviews, hated every minute of it)
His Majesty's Dragon, Throne of Jade and Black Powder War, by Naomi Novik (who knew fiction set during the Napeolonic wars featuring aerial squads comprised of dragons, their captains and their crews could be so ridiculously good?)
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (so good, I have no idea why it took me so long to get to this one)
Count of Monte Cristo (which I saved for France and loved every second of, despite -- or perhaps because of -- its length)
Earth Logic, Water Logic and Fire Logic (from the elemental logic series): I'm not normally a sci-fi/fantasy kind of girl, but these were incredibly well-written and awfully good reading
An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination (very sad memoir by author Elizabeth McCracken about her pregnancy with first child, who died in her womb days before she was scheduled to deliver)
Fellow Travelers (why do all of the books I buy have a tendency to make me cry at least once while reading? maybe I should switch to a diet of history and David Sedaris)
Getting Stoned with Savages (saved this for Tonga, although I avoided the kava - this guy is very funny)
Gods Behaving Badly (silly, entertaining enough but not particularly well-written)
Heart Like Water (about New Orleans immediately before Katrina and in the weeks after. This is a subject I care about, written in a way that at times made me not care at all, for which I lay blame at the feet of the author)
In Defense of Food (which has convinced me to join a food co-op, start getting all my vegetables through a CSA, plant a window herb garden, and avoid nearly all packaged foods -- I look forward to getting back to the US and putting these things into practice)
Innocent Traitor (who doesn't love Lady Jane Grey?)
Mistress of the Sun (also a book for France; not great, but historical fiction has its place)
Olive Kitteridge (fine, but nothing special)
Say You're One of Them (more reading for Africa, not one of my favorites)
Shattered Dreams: My Life as a Polygamist's Wife (I don't know if fun is the right word for this, but I learned quite a bit and will never watch Big Love in quite the same way again. Did you know that fundamentalist mormons get to be gods when they die -- provided they get at least 7 wives and 50 kids -- and they each get a planet to populate. Wild stuff.)
Solitaire (sci-fi set in a not too distant future with a weird corporate twist. Interesting.)
Space Between Us (reading for India which definitely helped me understand better what was going on around me, class-wise)
The Sparrow (wow, I really, really loved this book. It's a weird mix of Jesuit politics and sci-fi. The writing was amazing. The story was amazing. Maybe I won't feel this way in a month, but at the moment, I think the book is brilliant.)
Teach Like Your Hair's On Fire (I wish this guy would come teach at the school I'll be starting...)
They Poured Fire on Us from the Sky/What is the What: both about the Sudanese Lost Boys, the first is entirely non-fiction, while the second is called a novel largely because Dave Eggers did the writing and the narrator would have been to young to recall/reconstruct many of the earlier events in the book. The two books are very consistent and totally depressing.
I am currently rereading all of Jane Austen, a fitting way to spend my time in England (especially my visit to Bath, which has forced me to reread Northanger Abbey, something I would not do in other circumstances). I started with Persuasion, went on to Mansfield Park (and was reminded again that Fanny Price is perhaps my least favorite of Jane Austen's heroines), and am now suffering through Northanger Abbey (whose frequent references to Mysteries of Udolpho make me long to be reading that instead).
Animal's People (read this in India, and despite the amazing reviews, hated every minute of it)
His Majesty's Dragon, Throne of Jade and Black Powder War, by Naomi Novik (who knew fiction set during the Napeolonic wars featuring aerial squads comprised of dragons, their captains and their crews could be so ridiculously good?)
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (so good, I have no idea why it took me so long to get to this one)
Count of Monte Cristo (which I saved for France and loved every second of, despite -- or perhaps because of -- its length)
Earth Logic, Water Logic and Fire Logic (from the elemental logic series): I'm not normally a sci-fi/fantasy kind of girl, but these were incredibly well-written and awfully good reading
An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination (very sad memoir by author Elizabeth McCracken about her pregnancy with first child, who died in her womb days before she was scheduled to deliver)
Fellow Travelers (why do all of the books I buy have a tendency to make me cry at least once while reading? maybe I should switch to a diet of history and David Sedaris)
Getting Stoned with Savages (saved this for Tonga, although I avoided the kava - this guy is very funny)
Gods Behaving Badly (silly, entertaining enough but not particularly well-written)
Heart Like Water (about New Orleans immediately before Katrina and in the weeks after. This is a subject I care about, written in a way that at times made me not care at all, for which I lay blame at the feet of the author)
In Defense of Food (which has convinced me to join a food co-op, start getting all my vegetables through a CSA, plant a window herb garden, and avoid nearly all packaged foods -- I look forward to getting back to the US and putting these things into practice)
Innocent Traitor (who doesn't love Lady Jane Grey?)
Mistress of the Sun (also a book for France; not great, but historical fiction has its place)
Olive Kitteridge (fine, but nothing special)
Say You're One of Them (more reading for Africa, not one of my favorites)
Shattered Dreams: My Life as a Polygamist's Wife (I don't know if fun is the right word for this, but I learned quite a bit and will never watch Big Love in quite the same way again. Did you know that fundamentalist mormons get to be gods when they die -- provided they get at least 7 wives and 50 kids -- and they each get a planet to populate. Wild stuff.)
Solitaire (sci-fi set in a not too distant future with a weird corporate twist. Interesting.)
Space Between Us (reading for India which definitely helped me understand better what was going on around me, class-wise)
The Sparrow (wow, I really, really loved this book. It's a weird mix of Jesuit politics and sci-fi. The writing was amazing. The story was amazing. Maybe I won't feel this way in a month, but at the moment, I think the book is brilliant.)
Teach Like Your Hair's On Fire (I wish this guy would come teach at the school I'll be starting...)
They Poured Fire on Us from the Sky/What is the What: both about the Sudanese Lost Boys, the first is entirely non-fiction, while the second is called a novel largely because Dave Eggers did the writing and the narrator would have been to young to recall/reconstruct many of the earlier events in the book. The two books are very consistent and totally depressing.
I am currently rereading all of Jane Austen, a fitting way to spend my time in England (especially my visit to Bath, which has forced me to reread Northanger Abbey, something I would not do in other circumstances). I started with Persuasion, went on to Mansfield Park (and was reminded again that Fanny Price is perhaps my least favorite of Jane Austen's heroines), and am now suffering through Northanger Abbey (whose frequent references to Mysteries of Udolpho make me long to be reading that instead).
Capetown Revisited
The post is so short, I realize that the whole things are still crappy after apartheid thing must have taken a lot out of me. So I'm supplementing.
There were some goof bits. For one thing, I had the chance to hang out with the friend I was staying with (a friend from college I hadn't seen in quite a while and hadn't spent so much time with for 16 years). Being a writer, he spends a lot of time at home, and is fortunate enough to have a lovely apartment with views of Lion's Head and Table Mountain (the two best known mountains in Cape Town). So on the days it wasn't totally misty (and there were quite a few of those days), there were amazing views to be had without ever leaving the apartment.
I think I didn't mention my friend sooner because he has been the first (and so far only) person I've encountered who has thought that my education reform idea (public boarding schools for the poor) is a bad idea. Who knows? Maybe it is a bad idea (I don't think so, but opinions can differ, and I'm sure there are people who think boarding schools in general are a bad idea, or that the poor are simply uneducatable and that the best we can hope is that they will stay out of our neighborhoods and stay out of trouble). But it's a little disheartening to be shot down by a friend, especially about the thing you've decided to dedicate your life to, and it probably made me less likely to love Cape Town. Not that I was faced with any self-doubt, of course: my decision to pursue a doctorate in education and get involved in public education reform is one of the few things in my life of which I've felt completely sure.
So, with the air cleared, I can recall some other highlights of my time in South Africa. The movies: I hadn't been to a movie theatre since March (once, to see Milk), so that was exciting enough on its own. As a bonus, we went to a show I had ridiculously low expectations of (allowing me to be pleasantly surprised): I Love You Man. Really funny.
The aquarium: I should do this more. Looking at random sea creatures is really, really cool. My favorites: the jellyfish, possibly, because they're just so beautiful and creepy. Sadly, because I don't go to the aquarium enough in the US, I have no idea how many of the things I saw don't even exist in North American waters. I see a trip to the aquarium in Boston in my future this summer...
Table Mountain: the ride up (cable car with a rotating floor so that everyone gets a 360 degree view of the ascent and descent) was cool. But the top was totally freezing (at any rate, the outdoor seating area for lunch was). Table Mountain avoided being as amazing as planned for two basic reasons: (1) the cloud cover was so bad (cold front moving in) that the view of the city, the ocean and the surrounding mountains was severely obstructed and (2) it was turning into winter, meaning that all of the amazing flowers were no-shows. There are apparently more varieties of flora on Table Mountain than in all of England. Not that you'd know it, looking around the brush.
Wine touring: amazing. Not only were the wines great, but the wineries and landscape were ridiculously beautiful. And the other people in the group were surprisingly cool. My favorites: two Japanese friends in their 50s (giving me the chance to use my increasingly rusty Japanese) and an older English couple currently living in a tiny mountain town in Spain (the husband is a sculptor). It's funny, this wine tasting thing: I can drink pretty atrocious wine with just a few complaints, but my palate is still managing to become more discerning... which I guess just means that I'm more aware of when I'm drinking really bad stuff.
Cape tour: this had the promise to be the best thing of the trip (better than the wine tour, definitely better than the highly upsetting township tour). Unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate, and most of the beauties of the Cape were seen through sheets of really cold rain. Even so, the penguins (although I have to confess that I liked the penguins at the aquarium with their festive head gear better than the penguins in the wild) and the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens were pretty great. Added bonus: I ran into the Japanese women again on a boat (in terribly choppy water) to see the seals. Freakiest people: a Brazilian couple in their 30s who made out and groped each other the entire trip. At one point, I couldn't help myself, and asked if they were newlyweds. It turned out that, while not married, they'd been together for five years and had a three year old kid back home. I guess they're lucky that the magic hasn't gone out of the relationship. Yet. Or maybe she's just anxious to get a ring on that finger...
There were some goof bits. For one thing, I had the chance to hang out with the friend I was staying with (a friend from college I hadn't seen in quite a while and hadn't spent so much time with for 16 years). Being a writer, he spends a lot of time at home, and is fortunate enough to have a lovely apartment with views of Lion's Head and Table Mountain (the two best known mountains in Cape Town). So on the days it wasn't totally misty (and there were quite a few of those days), there were amazing views to be had without ever leaving the apartment.
I think I didn't mention my friend sooner because he has been the first (and so far only) person I've encountered who has thought that my education reform idea (public boarding schools for the poor) is a bad idea. Who knows? Maybe it is a bad idea (I don't think so, but opinions can differ, and I'm sure there are people who think boarding schools in general are a bad idea, or that the poor are simply uneducatable and that the best we can hope is that they will stay out of our neighborhoods and stay out of trouble). But it's a little disheartening to be shot down by a friend, especially about the thing you've decided to dedicate your life to, and it probably made me less likely to love Cape Town. Not that I was faced with any self-doubt, of course: my decision to pursue a doctorate in education and get involved in public education reform is one of the few things in my life of which I've felt completely sure.
So, with the air cleared, I can recall some other highlights of my time in South Africa. The movies: I hadn't been to a movie theatre since March (once, to see Milk), so that was exciting enough on its own. As a bonus, we went to a show I had ridiculously low expectations of (allowing me to be pleasantly surprised): I Love You Man. Really funny.
The aquarium: I should do this more. Looking at random sea creatures is really, really cool. My favorites: the jellyfish, possibly, because they're just so beautiful and creepy. Sadly, because I don't go to the aquarium enough in the US, I have no idea how many of the things I saw don't even exist in North American waters. I see a trip to the aquarium in Boston in my future this summer...
Table Mountain: the ride up (cable car with a rotating floor so that everyone gets a 360 degree view of the ascent and descent) was cool. But the top was totally freezing (at any rate, the outdoor seating area for lunch was). Table Mountain avoided being as amazing as planned for two basic reasons: (1) the cloud cover was so bad (cold front moving in) that the view of the city, the ocean and the surrounding mountains was severely obstructed and (2) it was turning into winter, meaning that all of the amazing flowers were no-shows. There are apparently more varieties of flora on Table Mountain than in all of England. Not that you'd know it, looking around the brush.
Wine touring: amazing. Not only were the wines great, but the wineries and landscape were ridiculously beautiful. And the other people in the group were surprisingly cool. My favorites: two Japanese friends in their 50s (giving me the chance to use my increasingly rusty Japanese) and an older English couple currently living in a tiny mountain town in Spain (the husband is a sculptor). It's funny, this wine tasting thing: I can drink pretty atrocious wine with just a few complaints, but my palate is still managing to become more discerning... which I guess just means that I'm more aware of when I'm drinking really bad stuff.
Cape tour: this had the promise to be the best thing of the trip (better than the wine tour, definitely better than the highly upsetting township tour). Unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate, and most of the beauties of the Cape were seen through sheets of really cold rain. Even so, the penguins (although I have to confess that I liked the penguins at the aquarium with their festive head gear better than the penguins in the wild) and the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens were pretty great. Added bonus: I ran into the Japanese women again on a boat (in terribly choppy water) to see the seals. Freakiest people: a Brazilian couple in their 30s who made out and groped each other the entire trip. At one point, I couldn't help myself, and asked if they were newlyweds. It turned out that, while not married, they'd been together for five years and had a three year old kid back home. I guess they're lucky that the magic hasn't gone out of the relationship. Yet. Or maybe she's just anxious to get a ring on that finger...
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Paris, Chartres and Versailles: I Re-Enter the Developed World
Let me preface this by saying that I started learning French as a little girl, via my aunt's imparting to me some of the knowledge she gained in her French lessons, and ended the summer I turned 13, in an intensive summer language program (10 hours a week, maybe not all that intensive, but still quite a bit). As a child, I was considered quite good. But, this was nearly a quarter of a century ago, and my memory (although impressive) is not perfect.
So, I arrived in Paris in early May, on a very grey day, having been en route for nearly 24 hours (a long wait at the Cape Town airport, a long flight to Dubai, an even longer wait in the Dubai airport, and finally, CDG). As a result, I was too tired and lazy to take the (cheap) Air France shuttle bus into the city and try to figure out where my hotel was. Instead, I opted for an over-priced cab (the shame).
The hotel: small but beautiful. I kind of loved my little room, with its red doors with black trim. It made me very happy, as did the sparkling clean bathroom which I used for daily bubble baths (yes, I feel guilty for not conserving water, but it rained for at least part of every day -- or threatened to, anyway -- so I think it will be okay).
So, Paris was beautiful but a little lonely. My French (as noted above) is not stellar, and my developing world traveling attire made me feel less than confident with that limited French. I think every server in Paris probably hated me, not because I was a non-French speaker, but because I mumbled the French I did speak because I thought they were going to be mad at me (which they were). I also felt slightly bullied into buying aperitifs I may have otherwise skipped, in an anticipatory move to appease their anger. Either that, or I just really wanted kir royales...
Angry French people aside, I managed fairly well (except at the post office, where I had to send something to the US overnight and think there may have been problems, unfortunate given the expense, and even more unfortunate because the package had forms for reimbursement). I made my way through the Metro (not difficult, I know, with the exception of my being very particular about the exit I used at Charles de Gaulle Etoile) and familiarized myself with some of the train stations (although not the random punching holes in your own ticket thing). And I bought stinky cheese from the supermarket and baguettes from the boulangerie near the hotel. I didn't speak with a soul (with the exception of an education professor from Baltimore that I happened to meet on the train platform from Chartres to Paris), but other than that, everything was great.
Chartres: pretty, as expected. I liked, but did not love, the cathedral. I think I just don't know enough about large church-like structures to be a good judge, because the one I liked best (which I visited in Toulouse) is not nearly as well-known, and isn't even the best of its kind in Toulouse. Oh well. Had a very nice lunch (got the menu du jour, had no idea what it was, and ended up with a surprisingly nice warm potato salad with herring on a bed of bitter salad greens). Note to self: translate words you don't know before placing your order.
Versailles: hmmm. I know everyone goes here, and I figure it's important to have checked it off my list. That said, I could have skipped it without any qualms. The gardens are, admittedly, pretty, but by the time I got to the gardens, I was so sick of all the other tourists, and my feet were killing me, so I took a look and decided to get out. Fortunately, I have pictures to remind me of my happy hours there at Versailles. Also, I don't doubt I'll be back some day, because it seems like the kind of thing you do if you're in Paris with time to kill during the day and don't feel like shopping. Wow, I really seem to hate Versailles, don't I? I think I'm just bitter that I didn't have time to visit Marie Antoinette's house and also ever so slightly annoyed with the French for building all of these ridiculously elaborate palaces while there were plenty of people dying of hunger. Of course, I suppose I wasn't the only person who was "slightly annoyed" with the royals for their conspicuous consumption in the face of mounting poverty, so I should probably just shut up and enjoy being a tourist.
Other tourist activities: the Musee D'Orsay, which is good, obviously, but has far too many people. I don't understand why everyone in the world thought that a cold, rainy week in the beginning of May was the perfect time to come to Paris. Don't these people work or go to school or something? I did make an important discovery there, though: I no longer like Monet nearly as much as when I was a kid. I mean, I'm not saying I could do a better job (although maybe. I used to do a lot of water color painting when I was younger). I'm just saying that if someone asked me if I wanted a Monet or ... just about any other impressionist, and I couldn't sell it, I'd probably go with choice B.
This is fortunate, because my last day in Paris, I realized I couldn't actually walk (all the gravel and cobblestones at Versailles had aggravated my sprained ankle, which had already been screwed up at boot camp). And my last day was supposed to consist of a visit to the Louvre (fortunately, I've been before, and have the same comment re wasteful palace spending) and Giverny. Let's just say that if I'd liked Monet as much as I used to, I would have been really sorry to miss Giverny, but as it is, I have to wonder if the flowers would have even been in bloom: Paris was FREEZING.
Anyway, the next day I took off for Toulouse, which will get its own entry, although not right now.
So, I arrived in Paris in early May, on a very grey day, having been en route for nearly 24 hours (a long wait at the Cape Town airport, a long flight to Dubai, an even longer wait in the Dubai airport, and finally, CDG). As a result, I was too tired and lazy to take the (cheap) Air France shuttle bus into the city and try to figure out where my hotel was. Instead, I opted for an over-priced cab (the shame).
The hotel: small but beautiful. I kind of loved my little room, with its red doors with black trim. It made me very happy, as did the sparkling clean bathroom which I used for daily bubble baths (yes, I feel guilty for not conserving water, but it rained for at least part of every day -- or threatened to, anyway -- so I think it will be okay).
So, Paris was beautiful but a little lonely. My French (as noted above) is not stellar, and my developing world traveling attire made me feel less than confident with that limited French. I think every server in Paris probably hated me, not because I was a non-French speaker, but because I mumbled the French I did speak because I thought they were going to be mad at me (which they were). I also felt slightly bullied into buying aperitifs I may have otherwise skipped, in an anticipatory move to appease their anger. Either that, or I just really wanted kir royales...
Angry French people aside, I managed fairly well (except at the post office, where I had to send something to the US overnight and think there may have been problems, unfortunate given the expense, and even more unfortunate because the package had forms for reimbursement). I made my way through the Metro (not difficult, I know, with the exception of my being very particular about the exit I used at Charles de Gaulle Etoile) and familiarized myself with some of the train stations (although not the random punching holes in your own ticket thing). And I bought stinky cheese from the supermarket and baguettes from the boulangerie near the hotel. I didn't speak with a soul (with the exception of an education professor from Baltimore that I happened to meet on the train platform from Chartres to Paris), but other than that, everything was great.
Chartres: pretty, as expected. I liked, but did not love, the cathedral. I think I just don't know enough about large church-like structures to be a good judge, because the one I liked best (which I visited in Toulouse) is not nearly as well-known, and isn't even the best of its kind in Toulouse. Oh well. Had a very nice lunch (got the menu du jour, had no idea what it was, and ended up with a surprisingly nice warm potato salad with herring on a bed of bitter salad greens). Note to self: translate words you don't know before placing your order.
Versailles: hmmm. I know everyone goes here, and I figure it's important to have checked it off my list. That said, I could have skipped it without any qualms. The gardens are, admittedly, pretty, but by the time I got to the gardens, I was so sick of all the other tourists, and my feet were killing me, so I took a look and decided to get out. Fortunately, I have pictures to remind me of my happy hours there at Versailles. Also, I don't doubt I'll be back some day, because it seems like the kind of thing you do if you're in Paris with time to kill during the day and don't feel like shopping. Wow, I really seem to hate Versailles, don't I? I think I'm just bitter that I didn't have time to visit Marie Antoinette's house and also ever so slightly annoyed with the French for building all of these ridiculously elaborate palaces while there were plenty of people dying of hunger. Of course, I suppose I wasn't the only person who was "slightly annoyed" with the royals for their conspicuous consumption in the face of mounting poverty, so I should probably just shut up and enjoy being a tourist.
Other tourist activities: the Musee D'Orsay, which is good, obviously, but has far too many people. I don't understand why everyone in the world thought that a cold, rainy week in the beginning of May was the perfect time to come to Paris. Don't these people work or go to school or something? I did make an important discovery there, though: I no longer like Monet nearly as much as when I was a kid. I mean, I'm not saying I could do a better job (although maybe. I used to do a lot of water color painting when I was younger). I'm just saying that if someone asked me if I wanted a Monet or ... just about any other impressionist, and I couldn't sell it, I'd probably go with choice B.
This is fortunate, because my last day in Paris, I realized I couldn't actually walk (all the gravel and cobblestones at Versailles had aggravated my sprained ankle, which had already been screwed up at boot camp). And my last day was supposed to consist of a visit to the Louvre (fortunately, I've been before, and have the same comment re wasteful palace spending) and Giverny. Let's just say that if I'd liked Monet as much as I used to, I would have been really sorry to miss Giverny, but as it is, I have to wonder if the flowers would have even been in bloom: Paris was FREEZING.
Anyway, the next day I took off for Toulouse, which will get its own entry, although not right now.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Cape Town: Mixed Feelings
It's been a week since I left Cape Town, but I found it difficult to write about for a number of reasons, and hoped for a little perspective.
The unadulterated good: the city (at least where I was staying) felt totally developed. Drink the tap water, toilet paper in public restrooms developed. Also, it's beautiful, in the same way that northern California and New Zealand are beautiful: green, mountainous, lovely ocean views.
But that isn't enough. I'd been warned by a friend of Pakistani extraction that Cape Town was one of the least diverse places he'd ever been, notable in Africa for its absence of people of color. I did notice some people of color in the upper middle class area where I was staying, but most of them were domestics or street vendors. I am told that furing apartheid, it was one of the most diverse, liberal areas in South Africa. Apparently, this is no longer the case.
While in Cape Town, I did four touristy things. The first was visiting Table Mountain (very cold and windy, but great views where the cloud cover hadn't taken over). The next day, I went for something completely different: a township tour, guided by a township dweller. Here were the blacks and colored that were almost entirely absent on the streets of Cape Town. The majority live in substandard housing ranging from two-room structures with outhouses and access to public showers to shanties made of corrugated metal. But because almost no people of color live in the city proper (many were forced out during the 60s), even the middle class live in these townships, although in signficantly larger houses with satellite TV and fancy imported cars in the driveways.
So, a short post for a whole week spent, but it is difficult to praise the positive without acknowledging (and lamenting) the negative. I hope that Cape Town will see better, more integrated days.
The unadulterated good: the city (at least where I was staying) felt totally developed. Drink the tap water, toilet paper in public restrooms developed. Also, it's beautiful, in the same way that northern California and New Zealand are beautiful: green, mountainous, lovely ocean views.
But that isn't enough. I'd been warned by a friend of Pakistani extraction that Cape Town was one of the least diverse places he'd ever been, notable in Africa for its absence of people of color. I did notice some people of color in the upper middle class area where I was staying, but most of them were domestics or street vendors. I am told that furing apartheid, it was one of the most diverse, liberal areas in South Africa. Apparently, this is no longer the case.
While in Cape Town, I did four touristy things. The first was visiting Table Mountain (very cold and windy, but great views where the cloud cover hadn't taken over). The next day, I went for something completely different: a township tour, guided by a township dweller. Here were the blacks and colored that were almost entirely absent on the streets of Cape Town. The majority live in substandard housing ranging from two-room structures with outhouses and access to public showers to shanties made of corrugated metal. But because almost no people of color live in the city proper (many were forced out during the 60s), even the middle class live in these townships, although in signficantly larger houses with satellite TV and fancy imported cars in the driveways.
So, a short post for a whole week spent, but it is difficult to praise the positive without acknowledging (and lamenting) the negative. I hope that Cape Town will see better, more integrated days.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Escape from India
Afer a ridiculously long (4 1/2 hour) flight from Cochin to Goa, with not one but two stops, we finally arrived, and were greeted by an affiliate of the tour company who would only speak to Derek, the person in our group of Indian extraction. The guy is Canadian, and moved there from Trinidad, so he is NOT Indian. But he was Indian enough for the local guide, who ignored the other seven of us. Actually, it was kind of funny, having him ask Derek how many vehicles he needed, and whether he'd like a minibus, and what time he'd like to do the city tour, with Derek vigorously protesting that he couldn't make the decision for the other seven (non-existent, non-Indian) people in the group.
Dinner was fine, although still not spicy (how could I manage to spend 4 weeks in India and not have a single spicy dish?). Afterwards, as (bad) luck would have it, we stumbled upon a karaoke bar full of down and out western tourists, all with skin like leather from too much sun, booze and smoking, belting out crappy songs I'd never heard before. For reasons unknown, the English kids wanted to stay, so we did. For a while. Until it got too awful even for them (although the girls did want to go out clubbing after). Instead, I found myself in my room by around 11, watching a terrible made for TV movie with Annabeth Gish as a nurse at a group home for adults with brain damage (also starred Ethan Embry as a patient and Ed Begley, Jr. as his overbearing, work-obsessed, overbearing father). I watched the entire thing. I can't believe I'm admitting this, because it was seriously awful. Hallmark Channel awful.
The next day, after seeing no more of Goa than the road to the post office, I headed to the airport. Okay, a word about the road to the post office and cab (and tuk tuk) drivers I've encountered in India and southeast Asia. They suck. I find bargaining over the fare in advance seriously annoying. But what I find even more annoying is their insistence on taking you to their friends' shops, even when you tell them that (1) you need to get to the airport or you will miss your flight (Goa, Bangkok) or (2) you need to get back to the hotel to get medicine because you are desperately ill (Cochin, Hanoi). And it could be worse: the people foolish enough to go to these shops never get taken where they're going. Me, I just get a headache having to scream at the driver for ten minutes as I explain that I don't care whether he gets a free t-shirt and that a 40 cent discount on the fare is not a sufficient motivator for me to miss my flight. Also, why can't they think it through on their own: someone who is flying out of the country in a couple of hours has zero incentive to go to a tailor shop. I'm just saying.
I made it to Mumbai in one piece, but was then confronted with 40 -- okay 5 -- guys who wanted to give me a ride, some of whom wanted to take me to a hotel of their choice. Foolishly, I ended up in a tuk tuk (again) because the price was right. It would have been more righ if he'd turned on the meter (about 50 cents), but I settled for the $4 I'd agreed to pay. Problem was, the guy kept trying to get me to change hotels, telling me that mine was too expensive. Shockingly, he didn't understand why I wouldn't go to the significantly cheaper he got a kickback from, despite my telling him that I'd already paid for my "expensive" hotel, and that it would be even more expensive to pay for two. Please let it be years and years (or at least a year) before I'm in a tuk tuk again.
I loved the hotel. Best hotel I'd been in for a month. Hyatt Regency. Sunken bathroom. Hardwood floors and complimentary slippers and a flat screen TV and room service. Just like any other nice western hotel. I deserved it. It was a hard month. I could have stayed there forever. Sadly, I only stayed until 2:45 a.m., because I had a 5:10 a.m. flight out of India.
The airport was its own kind of hell, but I was expecting that. What I wasn't expecting is what happened in Doha. My flight was already boarding by the time I cleared security. I had to motor. And yet, when I got to the gate, I encountered a huge stumbling block: a moron who didn't think I looked enough like my passport photo, and insisted that it wasn't my passport. He sent me to another area on another floor to have someone confirm my identity, telling me only that I needed to be back in five minutes (with identity confirmation) or I'd miss the flight. So, frantic, I go to the designated desk and explain the situation. Which, like any other half sane person, the guy behind the desk thinks is ludicrous. There are three basic reasons I don't look identical to my passport photo: 1) I cut my hair, 2) I have a tan (the natural result of spending 4 months near the equator) and 3) I've lost some weight (and not even that much. Just possibly enough that my cheekbones are slightly better defined). As for the photo, though, it's a no-brainer: I've got the exact same facial features. No one who saw me last in September (when the photo was taken) is going to fail to recognize me. Also, who else would I be? Some American black woman impersonating some slightly lighter, longer haired, chubbier American black woman in order to fly from Doha to Cape Town? Anyway, I made it onto the flight (a good thing, because otherwise I would have had to kill the guy and get stuck in some crappy prison in Doha awaiting execution).
Apparently men in some parts of the world have a real problem with women having short hair. Although the guys at the airport in Delhi knew that I was the person in my passport photo, they both wanted to know why I'd cut my hair (and made me explain the whole hassle of having to get it blown out straight and how no one in their country, or most of the countries I'd visited, knew how to do hair like mine), which is really none of their business.
I'm in Cape Town now, and things are much better (although much colder).
Dinner was fine, although still not spicy (how could I manage to spend 4 weeks in India and not have a single spicy dish?). Afterwards, as (bad) luck would have it, we stumbled upon a karaoke bar full of down and out western tourists, all with skin like leather from too much sun, booze and smoking, belting out crappy songs I'd never heard before. For reasons unknown, the English kids wanted to stay, so we did. For a while. Until it got too awful even for them (although the girls did want to go out clubbing after). Instead, I found myself in my room by around 11, watching a terrible made for TV movie with Annabeth Gish as a nurse at a group home for adults with brain damage (also starred Ethan Embry as a patient and Ed Begley, Jr. as his overbearing, work-obsessed, overbearing father). I watched the entire thing. I can't believe I'm admitting this, because it was seriously awful. Hallmark Channel awful.
The next day, after seeing no more of Goa than the road to the post office, I headed to the airport. Okay, a word about the road to the post office and cab (and tuk tuk) drivers I've encountered in India and southeast Asia. They suck. I find bargaining over the fare in advance seriously annoying. But what I find even more annoying is their insistence on taking you to their friends' shops, even when you tell them that (1) you need to get to the airport or you will miss your flight (Goa, Bangkok) or (2) you need to get back to the hotel to get medicine because you are desperately ill (Cochin, Hanoi). And it could be worse: the people foolish enough to go to these shops never get taken where they're going. Me, I just get a headache having to scream at the driver for ten minutes as I explain that I don't care whether he gets a free t-shirt and that a 40 cent discount on the fare is not a sufficient motivator for me to miss my flight. Also, why can't they think it through on their own: someone who is flying out of the country in a couple of hours has zero incentive to go to a tailor shop. I'm just saying.
I made it to Mumbai in one piece, but was then confronted with 40 -- okay 5 -- guys who wanted to give me a ride, some of whom wanted to take me to a hotel of their choice. Foolishly, I ended up in a tuk tuk (again) because the price was right. It would have been more righ if he'd turned on the meter (about 50 cents), but I settled for the $4 I'd agreed to pay. Problem was, the guy kept trying to get me to change hotels, telling me that mine was too expensive. Shockingly, he didn't understand why I wouldn't go to the significantly cheaper he got a kickback from, despite my telling him that I'd already paid for my "expensive" hotel, and that it would be even more expensive to pay for two. Please let it be years and years (or at least a year) before I'm in a tuk tuk again.
I loved the hotel. Best hotel I'd been in for a month. Hyatt Regency. Sunken bathroom. Hardwood floors and complimentary slippers and a flat screen TV and room service. Just like any other nice western hotel. I deserved it. It was a hard month. I could have stayed there forever. Sadly, I only stayed until 2:45 a.m., because I had a 5:10 a.m. flight out of India.
The airport was its own kind of hell, but I was expecting that. What I wasn't expecting is what happened in Doha. My flight was already boarding by the time I cleared security. I had to motor. And yet, when I got to the gate, I encountered a huge stumbling block: a moron who didn't think I looked enough like my passport photo, and insisted that it wasn't my passport. He sent me to another area on another floor to have someone confirm my identity, telling me only that I needed to be back in five minutes (with identity confirmation) or I'd miss the flight. So, frantic, I go to the designated desk and explain the situation. Which, like any other half sane person, the guy behind the desk thinks is ludicrous. There are three basic reasons I don't look identical to my passport photo: 1) I cut my hair, 2) I have a tan (the natural result of spending 4 months near the equator) and 3) I've lost some weight (and not even that much. Just possibly enough that my cheekbones are slightly better defined). As for the photo, though, it's a no-brainer: I've got the exact same facial features. No one who saw me last in September (when the photo was taken) is going to fail to recognize me. Also, who else would I be? Some American black woman impersonating some slightly lighter, longer haired, chubbier American black woman in order to fly from Doha to Cape Town? Anyway, I made it onto the flight (a good thing, because otherwise I would have had to kill the guy and get stuck in some crappy prison in Doha awaiting execution).
Apparently men in some parts of the world have a real problem with women having short hair. Although the guys at the airport in Delhi knew that I was the person in my passport photo, they both wanted to know why I'd cut my hair (and made me explain the whole hassle of having to get it blown out straight and how no one in their country, or most of the countries I'd visited, knew how to do hair like mine), which is really none of their business.
I'm in Cape Town now, and things are much better (although much colder).
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Cochin (the Final Countdown)
So, Cochin. After days of pretty bleak/dull travel, I was prepared to love it. (Okay, not love it. I was no longer prepared to love anything in South India. But like it, sort of, maybe.) Unfortunately, given the circumstances, such love would have been misplaced.
First, the "hotel." The room could have been much worse (with the exception of the facts that there was no television remote and because some weird fan mechanism in the bathroom ensure that the toilet paper all ended up in some bizarre wet corner), but its location was not ideal: it opened out onto the hotel restaurant, which frequently had patrons. What's wrong with a hallway, can someone please tell me? Also, there was a strange, lurch-like staff member in charge of (ruining) laundry and coming into one's room at odd hours. When I left, they said "see you next time" and I actually turned to one of them and said "Are you kidding?" So, no love.
But maybe Cochin proper was lovable? Maybe not. Our tour leader took us to his favorite place in town, a mediocre kind of seafood place which didn't serve beer, and where he tried to stiff the check (I guess the reason it's his favorite place is that they normally comp his food if he brings people, but since they didn't, he thought he'd make the rest of us pay for him. As if).
I think there may have been lots of interesting things in the city. We just didn't see them. Instead, we went to two incredibly disappointing sites (a not particularly old church and a not particularly regal Dutch palace), before making our way to Jew Town (yes, you read correctly). We strolled down Jew Street (again, not joking) to the (oldish) synagogue, which now accommodates the six Jewish families remaining in Cochin (apparently, Jewish people first arrived in Cochin more than 2000 years ago, but have in recent years moved on). It could have been an interesting story, except that our tour leader knew nothing about it, and couldn't have communicated in English even if he had. Instead, I heard him telling someone how once upon a time, there were black Jews and brown Jews and white Jews, and the black Jews worked for the white Jews. Full stop. That was his entire explanation of the Jewish community in Cochin and their 2300 year history in the area. Wow.
But Cochin was not entirely bad. The English kids and I had a great meal at a very nice restaurant near our (crappy) hotel. So nice (i.e., expensive), in fact, that after looking at the menu, one of them wanted to leave without ordering anything. My one problem was that some (or all) of the kids forgot about VAT, meaning that even though I'd overpaid, we were still stiffing the server several dollars on the tip. Not pleasant.
Also not so bad (but way too long): a traditional dance featuring heavily made-up men (one of whom played a woman) in something bordering on theatre, but communicated only through facial expressions and hand gestures. I'm not describing it well, but think Noh drama or something. And guess where we went after the performance? Back to the tour leader's favorite restaurant. When asked why we couldn't go somewhere else, he responded that it was the only nice restaurant in town. A) It wasn't nice. B) There certainly were better restaurants all around, but maybe ones where his chances of getting a free meal were even lower. And of course the place still didn't serve alcohol (much more of an inconvenience at dinner than at lunch).
But, like all bad things, our time in Cochin drew to a close, just in time for us to find out that our flight to Goa had not one but two stops, and that despite having left the hotel at 8 am, we wouldn't be arriving in Goa until 3 (and wouldn't see the inside of a hotel room until after 4). But Goa is another (mercifully brief) story that will get its own entry. Maybe tomorrow.
First, the "hotel." The room could have been much worse (with the exception of the facts that there was no television remote and because some weird fan mechanism in the bathroom ensure that the toilet paper all ended up in some bizarre wet corner), but its location was not ideal: it opened out onto the hotel restaurant, which frequently had patrons. What's wrong with a hallway, can someone please tell me? Also, there was a strange, lurch-like staff member in charge of (ruining) laundry and coming into one's room at odd hours. When I left, they said "see you next time" and I actually turned to one of them and said "Are you kidding?" So, no love.
But maybe Cochin proper was lovable? Maybe not. Our tour leader took us to his favorite place in town, a mediocre kind of seafood place which didn't serve beer, and where he tried to stiff the check (I guess the reason it's his favorite place is that they normally comp his food if he brings people, but since they didn't, he thought he'd make the rest of us pay for him. As if).
I think there may have been lots of interesting things in the city. We just didn't see them. Instead, we went to two incredibly disappointing sites (a not particularly old church and a not particularly regal Dutch palace), before making our way to Jew Town (yes, you read correctly). We strolled down Jew Street (again, not joking) to the (oldish) synagogue, which now accommodates the six Jewish families remaining in Cochin (apparently, Jewish people first arrived in Cochin more than 2000 years ago, but have in recent years moved on). It could have been an interesting story, except that our tour leader knew nothing about it, and couldn't have communicated in English even if he had. Instead, I heard him telling someone how once upon a time, there were black Jews and brown Jews and white Jews, and the black Jews worked for the white Jews. Full stop. That was his entire explanation of the Jewish community in Cochin and their 2300 year history in the area. Wow.
But Cochin was not entirely bad. The English kids and I had a great meal at a very nice restaurant near our (crappy) hotel. So nice (i.e., expensive), in fact, that after looking at the menu, one of them wanted to leave without ordering anything. My one problem was that some (or all) of the kids forgot about VAT, meaning that even though I'd overpaid, we were still stiffing the server several dollars on the tip. Not pleasant.
Also not so bad (but way too long): a traditional dance featuring heavily made-up men (one of whom played a woman) in something bordering on theatre, but communicated only through facial expressions and hand gestures. I'm not describing it well, but think Noh drama or something. And guess where we went after the performance? Back to the tour leader's favorite restaurant. When asked why we couldn't go somewhere else, he responded that it was the only nice restaurant in town. A) It wasn't nice. B) There certainly were better restaurants all around, but maybe ones where his chances of getting a free meal were even lower. And of course the place still didn't serve alcohol (much more of an inconvenience at dinner than at lunch).
But, like all bad things, our time in Cochin drew to a close, just in time for us to find out that our flight to Goa had not one but two stops, and that despite having left the hotel at 8 am, we wouldn't be arriving in Goa until 3 (and wouldn't see the inside of a hotel room until after 4). But Goa is another (mercifully brief) story that will get its own entry. Maybe tomorrow.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Of Houseboats, Homestays, and Tigerless Safaris: Kerala
After the hell of Elephant Valley, I was thrilled for a night in a regular hotel/inn/B&B, where you get to your room by climbing a set of stairs and get to breakfast by climbing back down. Bliss. Unfortunately, on arriving at said B&B (in Kerala), I learned that the advertised nature walk was more of a nature mountain trek (and, as I mentioned back in Ethiopia, I can't do high altitude trekking). Combined with the knowledge that people normally didn't see tigers (if there was a good chance of seeing tigers, they wouldn't allow tourists to walk around in the forest), I decided to sit out the trek. Very fortunate, because not only were there no tigers, but there were torrential rains AND leeches (4 out of 8 people found at least one leech busily sucking their blood).
The next day, it was off to the houseboat (actually two), to see a little bit of Kerala by water. What can I say? The staff was nice enough, the food wasn't bad, the rooms (especially the bathrooms) were a little scary but basically fine, and all we really did was play cards, read, and try desperately not to get bitten by the millions of mosquitoes hanging out with us. The most exciting thing that happened in the 24 or so hours on board was having a cat run onto the boat, freak out, jump into the water to avoid all of us, manage to scale back up the boat and run off. Like I said, not too exciting.
From the houseboat, we moved on to a homestay, the idea of which I found terrifying (and with good reason). While the house itself was large and (kind of) modern, something crucial was missing from my room: a bathroom. Yes, gentle reader, I was forced to share a not particularly clean, non-air conditioned, spider-infested hall bathroom with my (much loathed) male tour leader and the male single traveler. Not at all good.
Also pretty rough: watching TV. We assumed (reasonably, I think) that the television in the living room was for the use of guests (since the only other entertainment provided was waiting for the air conditioning to come on in the bedrooms). Apparently not. For nearly an hour, as several of us sat in the living room watching Juno, the daughter of the house and her cousin (both under 6) sobbed loudly from a bedroom next to the living room. As I pieced together later that evening, they'd come home in the hopes of seeing some children's show, and had those hopes dashed by Juno. (Life can be cruel, though, so I suppose that it's better that they learn sooner rather than later.) Last difficult thing about the homestay: the home-cooking, which seemed to necessitate getting at least one long, straight, black hair into every dish. Yum!
The accommodations aside, the village was interesting enough. Our host (and local guide) spoke lovely English, so for the first time in more than a week, we could actually understand the explanations being provided. His one misstep: taking us to a local bar to sample the local brew, a disgusting smelling (and not much better tasting) concoction made of fermented coconut water. Even that visit had a bright spot, though: we got to witness a (fairly polite) bar brawl between two inebriated patrons.
All in all, the time spent in Kerala didn't give me that great a picture of what life is like in the area, although I did come away with the sense that people were a lot better educated, better dressed, better fed, and better off than in many other parts of India. Now, had there only been something to see, that would have been something.
The next day, it was off to the houseboat (actually two), to see a little bit of Kerala by water. What can I say? The staff was nice enough, the food wasn't bad, the rooms (especially the bathrooms) were a little scary but basically fine, and all we really did was play cards, read, and try desperately not to get bitten by the millions of mosquitoes hanging out with us. The most exciting thing that happened in the 24 or so hours on board was having a cat run onto the boat, freak out, jump into the water to avoid all of us, manage to scale back up the boat and run off. Like I said, not too exciting.
From the houseboat, we moved on to a homestay, the idea of which I found terrifying (and with good reason). While the house itself was large and (kind of) modern, something crucial was missing from my room: a bathroom. Yes, gentle reader, I was forced to share a not particularly clean, non-air conditioned, spider-infested hall bathroom with my (much loathed) male tour leader and the male single traveler. Not at all good.
Also pretty rough: watching TV. We assumed (reasonably, I think) that the television in the living room was for the use of guests (since the only other entertainment provided was waiting for the air conditioning to come on in the bedrooms). Apparently not. For nearly an hour, as several of us sat in the living room watching Juno, the daughter of the house and her cousin (both under 6) sobbed loudly from a bedroom next to the living room. As I pieced together later that evening, they'd come home in the hopes of seeing some children's show, and had those hopes dashed by Juno. (Life can be cruel, though, so I suppose that it's better that they learn sooner rather than later.) Last difficult thing about the homestay: the home-cooking, which seemed to necessitate getting at least one long, straight, black hair into every dish. Yum!
The accommodations aside, the village was interesting enough. Our host (and local guide) spoke lovely English, so for the first time in more than a week, we could actually understand the explanations being provided. His one misstep: taking us to a local bar to sample the local brew, a disgusting smelling (and not much better tasting) concoction made of fermented coconut water. Even that visit had a bright spot, though: we got to witness a (fairly polite) bar brawl between two inebriated patrons.
All in all, the time spent in Kerala didn't give me that great a picture of what life is like in the area, although I did come away with the sense that people were a lot better educated, better dressed, better fed, and better off than in many other parts of India. Now, had there only been something to see, that would have been something.
Elephant Valley
So, Elephant Valley... What can I say? To begin with, our itinerary indicated that we'd be staying at a hill station (Kodaikanal, if memory serves) for two nights. Well, a valley is the exact opposite of a hill, so we were off to a bad beginning before we ever began. It would get much, much worse.
Moments after arriving and downing our "welcome" drinks (which I have come to detest, I have to confess. Welcome cocktails, okay. Welcome wine, sure. Welcome unidentified, artificially colored juice drinks, not so much), our guide told me that I'd be staying in one of the cabins "across the river" with him and the other solo traveler (a nice guy, but extra goofy). I immediately protested on the grounds that I didn't want to be alone over there without my pals (the gay English guys in their 20s). The non-English-speaking guide's solution: I could switch rooms with said English guys. Right. After explaining that I wanted to be on the same side of the river, that bit was worked out. Still had no idea where these cabins were. Unfortunately, we would soon find out. (As a reminder, this was a "comfort" level trip.)
After a five minute walk down a hill, past the horse stables and the cabins lucky enough to be on the same side of the river as the restaurant, we came to a river, maybe 40-50 feet wide (however many meters that is, I neither know nor particularly care. I am not metric, and learning the kilogram and celsius conversions is the best I'm going to do this trip). No bridge in sight, nor a friendly boatman to take us to the other side. Instead, just some stepping stones, and sand bags that were already under water when we arrived. End result: no way to get to the other side without having to wade through in water up to or past your ankles. And the journey was made considerable worse at night (no path lighting, just flash lights, and after the rain, which completely submerged the sandbags, making the plunge a bit more mid-calf).
Ten minutes after starting out on this little journey, we arrived at our cabins. No air conditioning. No fans. No window screens. And no mosquito nets. Instead, there was a little note stating that "of course" there will be animals in the rooms, it is an eco lodge, after all. The management told us that the mice, spiders, insects, squirrels and monkeys that we would likely find in our rooms were harmless and wouldn't bother us as long as we didn't bother them. How reassuring, I thought later that night, as a smashed the 8th bug I found crawling on me under the sheets. The other people (the English contingent) joining me in exile on that side of the river refused to shower the entire time we were there because of the overabundance of spiders in the bathrooms.
The one bright spot from the stay in Elephant Valley: impromptu singing around the campfire the first night. It turned out it was the other solo traveler's birthday (and can I say how awful I felt for the guy to be spending his birthday on such a crappy trip with a bunch of strangers?), so we ended up taking a lot of requests. Oddly, those requests were for Celine Dion, Bananarama, Barbara Streisand, Cher and Peter Cetera. Hmmm. Sadly, an evening of song does not make up for 2 days in hell.
Moments after arriving and downing our "welcome" drinks (which I have come to detest, I have to confess. Welcome cocktails, okay. Welcome wine, sure. Welcome unidentified, artificially colored juice drinks, not so much), our guide told me that I'd be staying in one of the cabins "across the river" with him and the other solo traveler (a nice guy, but extra goofy). I immediately protested on the grounds that I didn't want to be alone over there without my pals (the gay English guys in their 20s). The non-English-speaking guide's solution: I could switch rooms with said English guys. Right. After explaining that I wanted to be on the same side of the river, that bit was worked out. Still had no idea where these cabins were. Unfortunately, we would soon find out. (As a reminder, this was a "comfort" level trip.)
After a five minute walk down a hill, past the horse stables and the cabins lucky enough to be on the same side of the river as the restaurant, we came to a river, maybe 40-50 feet wide (however many meters that is, I neither know nor particularly care. I am not metric, and learning the kilogram and celsius conversions is the best I'm going to do this trip). No bridge in sight, nor a friendly boatman to take us to the other side. Instead, just some stepping stones, and sand bags that were already under water when we arrived. End result: no way to get to the other side without having to wade through in water up to or past your ankles. And the journey was made considerable worse at night (no path lighting, just flash lights, and after the rain, which completely submerged the sandbags, making the plunge a bit more mid-calf).
Ten minutes after starting out on this little journey, we arrived at our cabins. No air conditioning. No fans. No window screens. And no mosquito nets. Instead, there was a little note stating that "of course" there will be animals in the rooms, it is an eco lodge, after all. The management told us that the mice, spiders, insects, squirrels and monkeys that we would likely find in our rooms were harmless and wouldn't bother us as long as we didn't bother them. How reassuring, I thought later that night, as a smashed the 8th bug I found crawling on me under the sheets. The other people (the English contingent) joining me in exile on that side of the river refused to shower the entire time we were there because of the overabundance of spiders in the bathrooms.
The one bright spot from the stay in Elephant Valley: impromptu singing around the campfire the first night. It turned out it was the other solo traveler's birthday (and can I say how awful I felt for the guy to be spending his birthday on such a crappy trip with a bunch of strangers?), so we ended up taking a lot of requests. Oddly, those requests were for Celine Dion, Bananarama, Barbara Streisand, Cher and Peter Cetera. Hmmm. Sadly, an evening of song does not make up for 2 days in hell.
Monday, April 20, 2009
How Much of My Hating South India Can I Blame On My Tour Leader?
I confess: I couldn't have told you the name of one can't miss site in South India before I got here. (Honestly, I still can't, but that's the point of doing your homework before you cough up the cash.) So, maybe I should have spent two weeks in the south and called it a day. But I didn't, so instead you just have me, getting in a progressively worse mood since about April 11 (when I arrived in Chennai).
Before delving into the horrors of it all, a few (well, more than a few) words on my tour leader. First and foremost, he can't speak or understand English. I mean, he speaks it a little, but not well enough to communicate with native speakers. Also, he can't read people. So, for instance, when he has totally pissed me off, he doesn't understand that he's supposed to back off and give me some space. Instead, he continues to needle me until I have to be meaner than I would normally like to be (with other people around, at least). Another problem (of many): he's apparently certified to act as a local guide, which means that we haven't had an English-speaking guide at ANY of the sites we've visited (fortunately, they've been generally lackluster, so we probably haven't missed much).
So, on with the show. We started in Chennai, and I knew we were off to a bad start when I made a joke about hiring people to fan us for our night on the houseboat with no air conditioning, and he asked me to repeat myself three times and still didn't get it. (And it wasn't funny enough to be repeated three times in a room full of people who got it the first time.) Anyway, the first place he took us was a catholic church with a wax statue of St. Thomas in glass (kind of creepy and not particularly exciting). From there, we went to the beach (apparently the second longest in the world, although he had no clue what the longest one was). The beach was filthy, crowded and dark (we didn't arrive until after sunset), so it seemed an odd stop for our orientation tour. Already, concerns were brewing about the quality of the tour.
Our next stop: Pondicherry. On the way, we passed a few not particularly exciting shrines that we stopped at for photo ops, as well as a salt factory (again, not quite on par with the Taj Mahal). We also passed by a pretty amazing looking temple of Parvati (or was it Lakshmi?) in Auroville, which the guide assured us we'd visit the next day. Oddly, it's the only place we didn't go. Instead, we spent some time at an ashram (no explanations given), a Ganesh Temple, and a weird, huge, Epcott-like golden orb (apparently, it had some spiritual significance, but your guess is as good as mine, because we sat there looking at the thing in total silence before getting back on the bus).
The accommodations in Pondicherry were nice, but a little weird. The place (a b&b) is also a gallery, so there's art everywhere and the hosts were totally charming, well-traveled, and multi-lingual. However, it felt a little like being in someone's house (my room was right off the kitchen). If I'd known what was coming next, though, I would have stayed in that place for the next week.
From Pondicherry, we headed to Madurai, known primarily for its Gandhi museum (which the English people were offended by, as the Indian history presented there did not put the British in the best light--afterwards, they made lots of remarks about all the civilization which they brought to India (trains! schools!) and how much worse off India is since they left. Which I guess is how most colonialists tend to view the colonized, because how would they sleep otherwise?) and the Meenakshi Temple, which is actually pretty impressive (the south Indian temples are so much brighter and more festive than their north Indian counterparts). So, Madurai could have been better, but (awful chemical fumes in my hotel room aside) it could have been a lot worse. That honor goes to Elephant Valley, an eco lodge outside of the hill station Kodaikanal, where we spent the next two days. Elephant Valley requires an entry all its own, since it was there that I snapped.
Before delving into the horrors of it all, a few (well, more than a few) words on my tour leader. First and foremost, he can't speak or understand English. I mean, he speaks it a little, but not well enough to communicate with native speakers. Also, he can't read people. So, for instance, when he has totally pissed me off, he doesn't understand that he's supposed to back off and give me some space. Instead, he continues to needle me until I have to be meaner than I would normally like to be (with other people around, at least). Another problem (of many): he's apparently certified to act as a local guide, which means that we haven't had an English-speaking guide at ANY of the sites we've visited (fortunately, they've been generally lackluster, so we probably haven't missed much).
So, on with the show. We started in Chennai, and I knew we were off to a bad start when I made a joke about hiring people to fan us for our night on the houseboat with no air conditioning, and he asked me to repeat myself three times and still didn't get it. (And it wasn't funny enough to be repeated three times in a room full of people who got it the first time.) Anyway, the first place he took us was a catholic church with a wax statue of St. Thomas in glass (kind of creepy and not particularly exciting). From there, we went to the beach (apparently the second longest in the world, although he had no clue what the longest one was). The beach was filthy, crowded and dark (we didn't arrive until after sunset), so it seemed an odd stop for our orientation tour. Already, concerns were brewing about the quality of the tour.
Our next stop: Pondicherry. On the way, we passed a few not particularly exciting shrines that we stopped at for photo ops, as well as a salt factory (again, not quite on par with the Taj Mahal). We also passed by a pretty amazing looking temple of Parvati (or was it Lakshmi?) in Auroville, which the guide assured us we'd visit the next day. Oddly, it's the only place we didn't go. Instead, we spent some time at an ashram (no explanations given), a Ganesh Temple, and a weird, huge, Epcott-like golden orb (apparently, it had some spiritual significance, but your guess is as good as mine, because we sat there looking at the thing in total silence before getting back on the bus).
The accommodations in Pondicherry were nice, but a little weird. The place (a b&b) is also a gallery, so there's art everywhere and the hosts were totally charming, well-traveled, and multi-lingual. However, it felt a little like being in someone's house (my room was right off the kitchen). If I'd known what was coming next, though, I would have stayed in that place for the next week.
From Pondicherry, we headed to Madurai, known primarily for its Gandhi museum (which the English people were offended by, as the Indian history presented there did not put the British in the best light--afterwards, they made lots of remarks about all the civilization which they brought to India (trains! schools!) and how much worse off India is since they left. Which I guess is how most colonialists tend to view the colonized, because how would they sleep otherwise?) and the Meenakshi Temple, which is actually pretty impressive (the south Indian temples are so much brighter and more festive than their north Indian counterparts). So, Madurai could have been better, but (awful chemical fumes in my hotel room aside) it could have been a lot worse. That honor goes to Elephant Valley, an eco lodge outside of the hill station Kodaikanal, where we spent the next two days. Elephant Valley requires an entry all its own, since it was there that I snapped.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Leaving North India
The last couple of days in the north were underwhelming, but even less impressive was the behavior of my awful fellow travelers (awful making up 42% of the group). First, I learned that the two Iranian sisters had been cheating as many local people as they could, ordering saris without paying in advance, then declaring they wouldn't pay a penny when they arrived. Also accusing the busdriver's assistant of attmepting to cheat them out of a dollar when they didn't want to pay full price for a video camera tape they'd wanted (but had not brought the money to pay for). It ended with my being so disgusted by the two of them that I couldn't look at them. Next, the smokers, who continued to be themselves, only why simultaneously short-changing our tour guide (and, at the final dinner, disappearing altogether in an effort to avoid giving her a tip). It was a relief to see the last of them, and I may be signing them up for unpleasant spam some time in the near future. Sadly, Nick never fulfilled his part of the bargain by shaving evil, sun-worshipping Bettina's head, and so was ineligible to have his South India trip paid for by Joan (my fellow American).
Airport transport is incredibly cheap. I paid around $7 for my trip from my (really appallingly bad) hotel not too far from Marine Drive to the Mumbai International airport, which took about an hour. Sadly, the cab wasn't air-conditioned. Also, midway through the ride, I discovered I had a fellow passenger: a roach crawling up my arm. Pretty awful. But it gets better: a kid hawking DVDs asked me for a lift when we were stopped at a red light. I politely declined. So he asked the cabbie, who let him in, after which point he immediately started trying to sell me the aforementioned DVDs. Hawkers on the street are bad enough, but hawkers in your cab?
And I know I've said almost nothing about Mumbai, but what is there to say? I was there for less than 24 hours, stayed at a total dump (I didn't pick the hotel), had a farewell dinner at a dry restaurant (I liked my tour leader in the north, but what was she thinking?) and saw very little other than India Gate, Marine Drive and the Elephanta Caves. I would say maybe another time, but I think not. The south (which I will be addressing in my next few posts) has me thinking a return trip may not be in the cards.
Airport transport is incredibly cheap. I paid around $7 for my trip from my (really appallingly bad) hotel not too far from Marine Drive to the Mumbai International airport, which took about an hour. Sadly, the cab wasn't air-conditioned. Also, midway through the ride, I discovered I had a fellow passenger: a roach crawling up my arm. Pretty awful. But it gets better: a kid hawking DVDs asked me for a lift when we were stopped at a red light. I politely declined. So he asked the cabbie, who let him in, after which point he immediately started trying to sell me the aforementioned DVDs. Hawkers on the street are bad enough, but hawkers in your cab?
And I know I've said almost nothing about Mumbai, but what is there to say? I was there for less than 24 hours, stayed at a total dump (I didn't pick the hotel), had a farewell dinner at a dry restaurant (I liked my tour leader in the north, but what was she thinking?) and saw very little other than India Gate, Marine Drive and the Elephanta Caves. I would say maybe another time, but I think not. The south (which I will be addressing in my next few posts) has me thinking a return trip may not be in the cards.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
So Much to Say, So Little Time
India has been an experience. One not soon to be repeated (I hope). While I am glad I came, I have not connected with the country the way I thought I would.
Agra was good: the Taj Mahal was as beautiful as it is in every movie and photo we've all seen before. The Baby Taj was also good (although skippable). But Agra had other things going for it: nice hand-woven rugs at (relatively) low prices, McDonald's(!), and somewhere for me to get my haircut. Sadly, Thai people (no matter how remote their villages and lack of English) seem far more talented than Indians when it comes to cutting non-straight hair. 10 days after my haircut in Agra, it already looks messy and needs fixing.
After a while, things started to blend together: Jaipur and Udaipur and Agra (although not the crazy Bhandrej village with the terrible heritage hotel). So many temples and forts, and very little else. So much Indian food, but none of it even remotely spicy, despite my pleas. And everywhere, I received slightly worse service than everyone else (which I am chalking up to disapproval of my haircut, because I can think of no other reason why every waiter and airport worker in north India hates me so much). Like I said, not connecting.
But, I'm in the south now, with a much smaller group and a much lamer tour leader. Before I begin blogging about the south so far (Chennai and Pondicherry), I'll wrap up the north with Mumbai, more on the horrible people in the north tour (shocking stuff) and the crazy things that happened on the way to the airport.
Agra was good: the Taj Mahal was as beautiful as it is in every movie and photo we've all seen before. The Baby Taj was also good (although skippable). But Agra had other things going for it: nice hand-woven rugs at (relatively) low prices, McDonald's(!), and somewhere for me to get my haircut. Sadly, Thai people (no matter how remote their villages and lack of English) seem far more talented than Indians when it comes to cutting non-straight hair. 10 days after my haircut in Agra, it already looks messy and needs fixing.
After a while, things started to blend together: Jaipur and Udaipur and Agra (although not the crazy Bhandrej village with the terrible heritage hotel). So many temples and forts, and very little else. So much Indian food, but none of it even remotely spicy, despite my pleas. And everywhere, I received slightly worse service than everyone else (which I am chalking up to disapproval of my haircut, because I can think of no other reason why every waiter and airport worker in north India hates me so much). Like I said, not connecting.
But, I'm in the south now, with a much smaller group and a much lamer tour leader. Before I begin blogging about the south so far (Chennai and Pondicherry), I'll wrap up the north with Mumbai, more on the horrible people in the north tour (shocking stuff) and the crazy things that happened on the way to the airport.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Erotic Sculpture, et al.
I apologize for my failure to post any photos, but I haven't seen a computer up close since New Zealand. I'm hoping to get online while here in Udaipur. In the meantime, the blackberry will have to do.
My companions are still killing me, but it's only 2 1/2 more days now. There'd been some discussion of my new friend Nick sneaking into the room of the annoying Danish woman Bettina and shaving off her 3-foot long mane, but so far it's come to nothing, despite the fact that her roommate (the funny American) offered to pay Nick's way on the upcoming south India trip if he did it. Oh well.
So, Khajuraho. It reminded me a tiny bit of Angkor Wat, but likely just because that was my first experience with Hindu temples. The ones in Khajuraho are around 1000 years old and incredibly beautiful. The outsides are covered in sculpture, some of it G-rated (e.g. Ganesha), others a bit more blue. For instance, there are several Kama Sutra poses, one with the couple flanked by 2 shame-faced individuals masturbating (apparently, these pictures were meant to be instructional). Another don't illustrated: sex with horses (although the artist was at least honest enough to admit onlookers' interest in watching that sort of thing, depicted by a woman peeking through her fingers at the scene). Strangely, male sexual relations with elephants' ears was also worth a few feet on one of the temples. I'm assuming that's another don't, although I missed the explanation. Of course, elephants watching copulating couples is A-OK, so maybe there's some grey area when it comes to elephants...
My companions are still killing me, but it's only 2 1/2 more days now. There'd been some discussion of my new friend Nick sneaking into the room of the annoying Danish woman Bettina and shaving off her 3-foot long mane, but so far it's come to nothing, despite the fact that her roommate (the funny American) offered to pay Nick's way on the upcoming south India trip if he did it. Oh well.
So, Khajuraho. It reminded me a tiny bit of Angkor Wat, but likely just because that was my first experience with Hindu temples. The ones in Khajuraho are around 1000 years old and incredibly beautiful. The outsides are covered in sculpture, some of it G-rated (e.g. Ganesha), others a bit more blue. For instance, there are several Kama Sutra poses, one with the couple flanked by 2 shame-faced individuals masturbating (apparently, these pictures were meant to be instructional). Another don't illustrated: sex with horses (although the artist was at least honest enough to admit onlookers' interest in watching that sort of thing, depicted by a woman peeking through her fingers at the scene). Strangely, male sexual relations with elephants' ears was also worth a few feet on one of the temples. I'm assuming that's another don't, although I missed the explanation. Of course, elephants watching copulating couples is A-OK, so maybe there's some grey area when it comes to elephants...
Monday, April 6, 2009
Varanasi (or, a funny thing happened on the way to the crematorium)
Call me crazy, but I don't think an active crematorium should be a popular tourist attraction. Which is why I found it so unsettling that (1) people had to be repeatedly be reminded to stop taking pictures of the burning bodies and (2) some people regarded the experience with so little sense of gravity that they actually threw cigarette butts inches from where the bodies were being burned. Taking a boat down the Ganges and watching people perform ritual cleansing: cool. Turning the handling of the dead into a circus attraction, not so much.
But, as I said, something funny did happen. In the afternoon, I got an ayurvedic massage. Having spent 6 weeks at boot camp, I've gotten used to massages. But this was something completely new. First, the masseuse didn't leave the room so that I could disrobe. Instead, she helped me out of my clothes. Second: no sheet. A towel underneath, but other than that, nothing. So, as you can imagine, I was already feeling a little out of my element. So you can imagine my surprise when the massage started with my boobs! I'd say that a good 20% of the massage was boob-centered, possibly more. And since there's not a lot of muscle there, it mainly entailed having massage oil rubbed into them while the masseuse proceeded to ask me if I was married and to express horror when I told her how old I was. She also (while massaging my stomach, a singularly uncomfortable experience) told me that a cup of hot water every morning was all I needed to turn myself pixie-thin in less than a year. And to think I've wasted all this time and money working out...
Another special thing about Varanasi: the rickshaws. Terrifying. The city appears to have no traffic laws, and I'm convinced I survived the interminable rides to and from the Ganges through dumb luck, as my driver/cyclist made every possible effort to run into tuk tuks, motorbikes, cars, pedestrians, and other rickshaws (all of whom share a single road). The only group immune from his cycle of terror: cows. Fortunately, many of them had taken the evening off to hang out in various shops on the main road (seriously).
But, as I said, something funny did happen. In the afternoon, I got an ayurvedic massage. Having spent 6 weeks at boot camp, I've gotten used to massages. But this was something completely new. First, the masseuse didn't leave the room so that I could disrobe. Instead, she helped me out of my clothes. Second: no sheet. A towel underneath, but other than that, nothing. So, as you can imagine, I was already feeling a little out of my element. So you can imagine my surprise when the massage started with my boobs! I'd say that a good 20% of the massage was boob-centered, possibly more. And since there's not a lot of muscle there, it mainly entailed having massage oil rubbed into them while the masseuse proceeded to ask me if I was married and to express horror when I told her how old I was. She also (while massaging my stomach, a singularly uncomfortable experience) told me that a cup of hot water every morning was all I needed to turn myself pixie-thin in less than a year. And to think I've wasted all this time and money working out...
Another special thing about Varanasi: the rickshaws. Terrifying. The city appears to have no traffic laws, and I'm convinced I survived the interminable rides to and from the Ganges through dumb luck, as my driver/cyclist made every possible effort to run into tuk tuks, motorbikes, cars, pedestrians, and other rickshaws (all of whom share a single road). The only group immune from his cycle of terror: cows. Fortunately, many of them had taken the evening off to hang out in various shops on the main road (seriously).
Sunday, April 5, 2009
From Delhi to Varanasi
After a horrific 28 hour travel "day" (Christchurch to Auckland to Hong Kong to Bangkok), I finally arrived in Delhi. I was immediately conned by the airport transfer guy, who told me the (inflated) "recommended" tips for both him and the driver. Very awkward. The hotel was great: super-clean and modern with a plasma tv and a marble bathroom. The only drawback: blackouts (which I am now getting used to, since we've had them almost every night I've been in India). But hotels aren't everything. There was also a little sightseeing: Gurdwara SisGanj (a Sikh temple), Jama Masjid (large, apparently famous mosque where all the women were forced to put on crazy colored smocks over their clothes in the 80something degree heat), the disappointing and over-crowded spice market, and the park where Gandhi was cremated (and where a flame continues to burn).
Transportation issues: a few terrifying rickshaw rides (one almost resulting in a spill), before getting on a nightmarish overnight train ride to Varanasi. I thought the ride from Hanoi to Hue was the worst ever, but I've changed my mind. The rock hard upper berth with no privacy and the chai wallahs coming through every five minutes beats the relative privacy and comfort of the Vietnamese train hands down. (On the other hand, the Delhi subway was nicer than most of the subways I've ridden in the US, although I did find the pat downs (divided by gender, naturally) a little unsettling.
Transportation issues: a few terrifying rickshaw rides (one almost resulting in a spill), before getting on a nightmarish overnight train ride to Varanasi. I thought the ride from Hanoi to Hue was the worst ever, but I've changed my mind. The rock hard upper berth with no privacy and the chai wallahs coming through every five minutes beats the relative privacy and comfort of the Vietnamese train hands down. (On the other hand, the Delhi subway was nicer than most of the subways I've ridden in the US, although I did find the pat downs (divided by gender, naturally) a little unsettling.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
India!
Wow. I've been wanting to come here for years. Really. Top of my list. And now I'm here. It's been interesting so far (will get to that in my next post). But I also happen to be in with the crappiest traveling companions ever.
Main offenders: a chain-smoking Danish couple who (1) light up in the middle of the group in enclosed spaces and (2) even lit up on a boat on the Ganges, after which they threw their butts in the river (ditto at the crematorium). These are bad, bad people. To make matters worse, the husband even went so far as to pick a fight with a rickshaw driver, asking him if he was a "homo.". Please send them back to Denmark and never, ever let them leave their town again.
While they are the worst of the worst, honorable mentions are due to (1) a pair of Iranian-Canadian sisters who appear to be mildly retarded, criminally cheap (they skip both lunch and dinner because they aren't included in the price of the tour) and horrifyingly tactless, e.g., all but forcing a local guide to "confess" to being lower caste, (2) a younger Canadian with a bad habit of screaming at locals (and the friend she's traveling with) whenever things don't go her way and (3) a humorless middle-aged Danish woman whose only passions appears to be for waking before dawn, and who shuns anyone who criticizes the chain smokers (I am pleased to say that she has developed a well-deserved case of Delhi belly).
Mercifully, all is not terrible. I immediately struck up a friendship with a 20 year old boy from London who loves Buffy, America's Next Top Model, Project Runway and Veronica Mars. We have a great time making fun of all of the awful people on the trip. Also quite good: a British couple originally from the Caribbean (a sculptor and a retired professor) who are at once intelligent, personable and good for a laugh (with, not at). Finally, and American psychologist in her early 60s has proved fun (likes gossip and America's Next Top Model) and interesting (not just because of her insights, but because she has 3 adopted children: one black, one white and one Korean). With the four of them to talk with, things could be much worse.
Next (much-delayed) post: my first week in India.
Main offenders: a chain-smoking Danish couple who (1) light up in the middle of the group in enclosed spaces and (2) even lit up on a boat on the Ganges, after which they threw their butts in the river (ditto at the crematorium). These are bad, bad people. To make matters worse, the husband even went so far as to pick a fight with a rickshaw driver, asking him if he was a "homo.". Please send them back to Denmark and never, ever let them leave their town again.
While they are the worst of the worst, honorable mentions are due to (1) a pair of Iranian-Canadian sisters who appear to be mildly retarded, criminally cheap (they skip both lunch and dinner because they aren't included in the price of the tour) and horrifyingly tactless, e.g., all but forcing a local guide to "confess" to being lower caste, (2) a younger Canadian with a bad habit of screaming at locals (and the friend she's traveling with) whenever things don't go her way and (3) a humorless middle-aged Danish woman whose only passions appears to be for waking before dawn, and who shuns anyone who criticizes the chain smokers (I am pleased to say that she has developed a well-deserved case of Delhi belly).
Mercifully, all is not terrible. I immediately struck up a friendship with a 20 year old boy from London who loves Buffy, America's Next Top Model, Project Runway and Veronica Mars. We have a great time making fun of all of the awful people on the trip. Also quite good: a British couple originally from the Caribbean (a sculptor and a retired professor) who are at once intelligent, personable and good for a laugh (with, not at). Finally, and American psychologist in her early 60s has proved fun (likes gossip and America's Next Top Model) and interesting (not just because of her insights, but because she has 3 adopted children: one black, one white and one Korean). With the four of them to talk with, things could be much worse.
Next (much-delayed) post: my first week in India.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Even More on How Much American Express Sucks
I think I mentioned how, after two months of humiliating card rejections, major inconvenience and lies from Amex staff, I finally canceled my card and requested a refund of my (pretty large) credit balance (particularly large since I canceled my 7 1/2 week southern Africa trip). Well, a month later, American Express still hasn't sent the check. I called while in the US to find out why. Which led to an email from American Express informing me that they've "opened an inquiry" into the "disputed" funds, and that in the interim, I'm not required to make a payment of these funds to Amex. The inquiry is expected to be resolved within the next 10-12 weeks. Something tells me I may need to sue if I'm going to see that money again, and I'm fairly certain I'll be tacking on claims for the hell they've put me through since December. Good thing my bar membership hasn't lapsed yet.
Grad School Update
Because it happened in the US, it didn't occur to me to post this (kind of) crucial bit of information: I accepted my offer from Harvard and will be moving back up to Cambridge (or somewhere nearby but a little less spendy) when I return to the country.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
New Zealand: Initial Impressions of the South Island
I'd planned on a day or two in Auckland, a day in Wellington, and a day or two in Christchurch as my pleasant pitstop between Tonga and India. However, every Kiwi I met on my travels in Africa advised that I spend my short time here entirely on the South Island, so a new itinerary was born, featuring time in Christchurch, overnight stays in/near Kaikoura and Picton, and two scenic train rides (one along the coast, the other from the east to west, going through the mountains).
The good: New Zealand is insanely clean and green and beautiful, so scenic train rides and gondola rides up a mountain have been a good use of my time, as have my jaunts onto the water (whether for whale and dolphin-watching, or simply to get from the town of Picton to my hotel on one of the bays). Also, Hapuku Lodge (oddly enough, discussed below). Wine touring: I've never done it before (seriously), and going to three good (and one crappy) wineries in one afternoon was great. If I weren't traveling for so long, I would have bought a case of something.
The bad: mostly the food. I have had two good meals since I've been here, both at the amazingly beautiful Hapuku Lodge, which was designed by a family or architects and which features a chef and general manager imported from Northern California. The rest has ranged from mediocre to appallingly bad. Last night, for instance, I ordered a steak medium rare. It arrived medium well, with no steak knife, forcing me to saw through using a utensil about as sharp as a butter knife. The sides (including the greens) were inedible. And I'd had such high hopes for New Zealand beef... This morning's breakfast was not much better: eggs benedict featuring partially cooked spinach, overcooked eggs, and far too much hollandaise. The true crime, though, was the pint of balsamic vinegar reduction poured over the entire thing. No wonder I'm having more stomach trouble in New Zealand than I did in Ethiopia.
The weird: the entire country feels like an episode of Cheers. Could be that tourist season is winding to a close, but there's still something strange about being greeted by name by hotel staff, tour staff, train staff, etc. the second I appear. Seriously, how many times have you had a train conductor hop off a train and say "you must be (surname") before handing you your boarding pass? I'm guessing never, unless you were boarding the Tranzcoastal from Kaikoura to Picton.
Another weird thing: the almost complete lack of racial and ethnic diversity. With the exception of a few Japanese tourists, virtulally everyone on the south island (present company excluded, of course) is white. I keep on hearing about the Maoris, and I've even spent a few minutes watching the Maori TV station. But with the exception of one cleaning lady, I haven't seen any, or anyone else even mildly ethnic (unless the Israeli backpackers on my water taxi last night count). Definitely strange. Makes me stand out. But until this morning, I hadn't encountered any problems because of it. And maybe this morning was just a misunderstanding, but it didn't feel that way. On the water taxi, people were being checked in by last name. When the guy got around to me, I said my last name. I repeated it, in case he hadn't understood. Then, he turned to the guy sitting next to me and said "Is she staff?" The guy (who I assume was staff) seemed a little embarrassed when he replied that I was a guest. And I felt like I'd been slapped, but didn't feel like causing a scene, since it was the last water taxi I could take to get back in time for the train to Christchurch. I don't know what bugged me more, though: that he thought I was hotel staff, or the fact he didn't even speak to me directly to ask me.
So, I'm looking forward to seeing snow-capped mountains on the Tranzalpine tomorrow, but I'm also kind of looking forward to getting out of New Zealand. Not that I wouldn't come back: it's beautiful, and there's a lot more to see. But, easy as it is for a solo travel, it strikes me that this is a better place to travel with someone else.
The good: New Zealand is insanely clean and green and beautiful, so scenic train rides and gondola rides up a mountain have been a good use of my time, as have my jaunts onto the water (whether for whale and dolphin-watching, or simply to get from the town of Picton to my hotel on one of the bays). Also, Hapuku Lodge (oddly enough, discussed below). Wine touring: I've never done it before (seriously), and going to three good (and one crappy) wineries in one afternoon was great. If I weren't traveling for so long, I would have bought a case of something.
The bad: mostly the food. I have had two good meals since I've been here, both at the amazingly beautiful Hapuku Lodge, which was designed by a family or architects and which features a chef and general manager imported from Northern California. The rest has ranged from mediocre to appallingly bad. Last night, for instance, I ordered a steak medium rare. It arrived medium well, with no steak knife, forcing me to saw through using a utensil about as sharp as a butter knife. The sides (including the greens) were inedible. And I'd had such high hopes for New Zealand beef... This morning's breakfast was not much better: eggs benedict featuring partially cooked spinach, overcooked eggs, and far too much hollandaise. The true crime, though, was the pint of balsamic vinegar reduction poured over the entire thing. No wonder I'm having more stomach trouble in New Zealand than I did in Ethiopia.
The weird: the entire country feels like an episode of Cheers. Could be that tourist season is winding to a close, but there's still something strange about being greeted by name by hotel staff, tour staff, train staff, etc. the second I appear. Seriously, how many times have you had a train conductor hop off a train and say "you must be (surname") before handing you your boarding pass? I'm guessing never, unless you were boarding the Tranzcoastal from Kaikoura to Picton.
Another weird thing: the almost complete lack of racial and ethnic diversity. With the exception of a few Japanese tourists, virtulally everyone on the south island (present company excluded, of course) is white. I keep on hearing about the Maoris, and I've even spent a few minutes watching the Maori TV station. But with the exception of one cleaning lady, I haven't seen any, or anyone else even mildly ethnic (unless the Israeli backpackers on my water taxi last night count). Definitely strange. Makes me stand out. But until this morning, I hadn't encountered any problems because of it. And maybe this morning was just a misunderstanding, but it didn't feel that way. On the water taxi, people were being checked in by last name. When the guy got around to me, I said my last name. I repeated it, in case he hadn't understood. Then, he turned to the guy sitting next to me and said "Is she staff?" The guy (who I assume was staff) seemed a little embarrassed when he replied that I was a guest. And I felt like I'd been slapped, but didn't feel like causing a scene, since it was the last water taxi I could take to get back in time for the train to Christchurch. I don't know what bugged me more, though: that he thought I was hotel staff, or the fact he didn't even speak to me directly to ask me.
So, I'm looking forward to seeing snow-capped mountains on the Tranzalpine tomorrow, but I'm also kind of looking forward to getting out of New Zealand. Not that I wouldn't come back: it's beautiful, and there's a lot more to see. But, easy as it is for a solo travel, it strikes me that this is a better place to travel with someone else.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Todd & Emil's Wedding: Best Beach Holiday Ever
I don't really like the beach. It might not be a stretch to say that I hate the beach. Which is why when I was in Zanzibar in January, I had a pretty awful time the two days I spent on the beach. (Granted, the problem was aggravated by all of the signs saying Danger: don't walk on the beach alone, don't go in the water alone, etc. When you're a solo traveler, these signs can be a bit of a buzz kill.) So, I was really looking forward to the wedding, and loved the idea of telling people that I was going to a wedding in Tonga, I was not looking forward to Tonga.
But, even before landing in Tonga, I was already starting to have a pretty great time. Twelve other attendees of this tiny wedding (32 guests) were on my plane, two right across the aisle from me (Emil's grandmother and godmother). On the ground in Samoa, I reconnected with a college friend (Rudy Reyes) and met two more soon to be new friends. And then, after a couple more hours of flying, some pretty tasty food and wine courtesy of Air New Zealand, and a bus and boat ride, I found myself on Fafa Island.
What can I say? I'll start with the fales (the shelters where we stayed): all fales come equipped with decks, slightly enclosed bathrooms with lovely outdoor showers, and hammocks on a little stretch of private beach. For deluxe fales, the decks are twice as big, and there are two bedrooms. Ours (I was sharing with collge friends Robby Scalise and Dave Bunker, as well as Emil's youngest brother) was deluxe.
Also great: the bar/restaurant on the island (okay, the drinks were a little weak and the beer got warm way too quickly, but the food was good). It was all ours (Todd and Emil reserved the entire island from March 19 through the 23), and the staff quickly memorized all our names so that we could be billed separately, not by fale. Which meant that every server, bartender, cleaning person, and manager greeted us by name whenever we met. I don't know why I liked this so much, but I did.
So, back to why I love Fafa Island even though I hate beaches. It was just kind of perfect. An entire seriously beautiful island reserved for my friends getting married, and their friends and family. Nothing to do except hang out. No shoes. No rule against having a cocktail at 11 a.m. and (thanks to the weakness of the drinks) no risk of hangovers. And, with the exception of some slightly Rachel Getting Married-type family drama (and even that can be entertaining, as long as you're on the outside looking in), not a hitch. (I do not count the formation of a new volcano, the couple of earthquakes, or the torrential rain that found us on the boat back from a snorkeling/brunch expedition as hitches, just part of the adventure.)
I could go on and on about how great Fafa Island is, but I'd rather talk about how great the wedding was. For one thing, it was relaxed. Day of, Todd and Emil still hadn't decided what time the ceremony would take place (it ended up being shortly after 6). There was also a question about clothing, the answer to which ended up being shorts (Tonga is seriously hot). Another great thing: it was short. As in even though Todd and Emil were about 7 minutes late, the wedding was still over before 6:15. The vows were sweet and the friend officiating did a nice job, and then it was done. No mass and prayers and kneeling/sitting/standing, no seven recitations and glass breaking, just a simple ceremony. I loved it.
As soon as the ceremony was over, Todd told everyone other than "family and alumni" that they could go away, i.e., go to the reception. Of course, there was almost no one there who didn't fit into one of those categories (esp. once alumni was expanded to include choir), so pretty much everyone stayed put for a low pressure 10-15 minutes of photos. The rest of the evening: cocktails, a traditional Tongan feast (complete with three roasted suckling pigs), kava, and dancing. (I'm going to have to post some pictures, not just of the ceremony, but of the dancing, because it was crazy. The staff put on some great numbers from Tonga, Fiji and Samoa (the best ones done by the bartender and one of the cooks who did it all in drag). Plus, Robby Scalise and Karl Cluck donned native Tongan attire (complete with black grease pen creating six-packs) for a celebratory dance they choreographed themselves. Good times.
Photos to follow (I hope) very soon.
But, even before landing in Tonga, I was already starting to have a pretty great time. Twelve other attendees of this tiny wedding (32 guests) were on my plane, two right across the aisle from me (Emil's grandmother and godmother). On the ground in Samoa, I reconnected with a college friend (Rudy Reyes) and met two more soon to be new friends. And then, after a couple more hours of flying, some pretty tasty food and wine courtesy of Air New Zealand, and a bus and boat ride, I found myself on Fafa Island.
What can I say? I'll start with the fales (the shelters where we stayed): all fales come equipped with decks, slightly enclosed bathrooms with lovely outdoor showers, and hammocks on a little stretch of private beach. For deluxe fales, the decks are twice as big, and there are two bedrooms. Ours (I was sharing with collge friends Robby Scalise and Dave Bunker, as well as Emil's youngest brother) was deluxe.
Also great: the bar/restaurant on the island (okay, the drinks were a little weak and the beer got warm way too quickly, but the food was good). It was all ours (Todd and Emil reserved the entire island from March 19 through the 23), and the staff quickly memorized all our names so that we could be billed separately, not by fale. Which meant that every server, bartender, cleaning person, and manager greeted us by name whenever we met. I don't know why I liked this so much, but I did.
So, back to why I love Fafa Island even though I hate beaches. It was just kind of perfect. An entire seriously beautiful island reserved for my friends getting married, and their friends and family. Nothing to do except hang out. No shoes. No rule against having a cocktail at 11 a.m. and (thanks to the weakness of the drinks) no risk of hangovers. And, with the exception of some slightly Rachel Getting Married-type family drama (and even that can be entertaining, as long as you're on the outside looking in), not a hitch. (I do not count the formation of a new volcano, the couple of earthquakes, or the torrential rain that found us on the boat back from a snorkeling/brunch expedition as hitches, just part of the adventure.)
I could go on and on about how great Fafa Island is, but I'd rather talk about how great the wedding was. For one thing, it was relaxed. Day of, Todd and Emil still hadn't decided what time the ceremony would take place (it ended up being shortly after 6). There was also a question about clothing, the answer to which ended up being shorts (Tonga is seriously hot). Another great thing: it was short. As in even though Todd and Emil were about 7 minutes late, the wedding was still over before 6:15. The vows were sweet and the friend officiating did a nice job, and then it was done. No mass and prayers and kneeling/sitting/standing, no seven recitations and glass breaking, just a simple ceremony. I loved it.
As soon as the ceremony was over, Todd told everyone other than "family and alumni" that they could go away, i.e., go to the reception. Of course, there was almost no one there who didn't fit into one of those categories (esp. once alumni was expanded to include choir), so pretty much everyone stayed put for a low pressure 10-15 minutes of photos. The rest of the evening: cocktails, a traditional Tongan feast (complete with three roasted suckling pigs), kava, and dancing. (I'm going to have to post some pictures, not just of the ceremony, but of the dancing, because it was crazy. The staff put on some great numbers from Tonga, Fiji and Samoa (the best ones done by the bartender and one of the cooks who did it all in drag). Plus, Robby Scalise and Karl Cluck donned native Tongan attire (complete with black grease pen creating six-packs) for a celebratory dance they choreographed themselves. Good times.
Photos to follow (I hope) very soon.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
luggage has probably made it
I won't know for sure until the day after tomorrow (int'l dateline) but I have my fingers crossed.
Bad Beginnings to the Second Leg of My Trip
I'm hoping things look up, but it's not promising. I should have known something was wrong the second I got in the cab to JFK. After all, the cab driver was a Nigerian guy (and many of you know my views on Nigerian men). And maybe I should have gotten out of the cab immediately. Instead, I said I needed to go to JFK and to take the tri-borough bridge to avoid the St. Patrick's Day parade. He insisted it would be better to take the 59th Street Bridge and that I'd be at the airport in plenty of time. Again, I told him to turn around and go north, but he refused. (And I really don't understand why: fares to JFK aren't metered, so he wasn't getting more money by getting me stuck in traffic. And the longer we were stuck, the less likely it was that he'd be getting a tip.). I suppose, being Nigerian, he figured that you don't have to listen to women, even when that woman is the person paying you. The asshole had the nerve to tell me to smile for only getting me to the airport 30 minutes late.
So, I got to the airport 47 minutes before my flight was scheduled to depart. Which of course meant that I was cutting it a little close in terms of baggage check. Despite telling the Delta staff that I had a flight that night out of LA and wouldn't be back in the country for months, I was told only that my luggage would "probably" make it.
Naturally, it didn't make it. It's on the next flight from JFK, which still hasn't landed. I've checked myself in on the flight to Tonga, but I'm now hanging out at Delta baggage claim. The nice ladies at Air New Zealand have informed me that my luggage "may" make it if I can bring it over in time (have I mentioned that I think LAX has the worst/slowest baggage claim in the world?), but reminded me that since there's only one Air New Zealand flight to Tonga out of LAX every week, if it doesn't make it, I'll be gone by the time my luggage arrives.
There were a lot of things I was planning on doing with my 4 hour layover: making some calls, buying an iPod charger, having dinner. Instead, I've been stuck hanging out at baggage claim and shuttling between terminals.
If my luggage arrives in time, this will all just be an irritating blip in my travels (and a formal complaint to the taxi and limousine commission--i took down that jerk's info). If not, I'm either going to be traveling around Tonga, New Zealand and India with nothing but the clothes on my back, or canceling my entire trip and moving up to Cambridge sooner than anticipated. Since there's no internet in Tonga (according to Todd), I'll be sure to post an update later tonight.
So, I got to the airport 47 minutes before my flight was scheduled to depart. Which of course meant that I was cutting it a little close in terms of baggage check. Despite telling the Delta staff that I had a flight that night out of LA and wouldn't be back in the country for months, I was told only that my luggage would "probably" make it.
Naturally, it didn't make it. It's on the next flight from JFK, which still hasn't landed. I've checked myself in on the flight to Tonga, but I'm now hanging out at Delta baggage claim. The nice ladies at Air New Zealand have informed me that my luggage "may" make it if I can bring it over in time (have I mentioned that I think LAX has the worst/slowest baggage claim in the world?), but reminded me that since there's only one Air New Zealand flight to Tonga out of LAX every week, if it doesn't make it, I'll be gone by the time my luggage arrives.
There were a lot of things I was planning on doing with my 4 hour layover: making some calls, buying an iPod charger, having dinner. Instead, I've been stuck hanging out at baggage claim and shuttling between terminals.
If my luggage arrives in time, this will all just be an irritating blip in my travels (and a formal complaint to the taxi and limousine commission--i took down that jerk's info). If not, I'm either going to be traveling around Tonga, New Zealand and India with nothing but the clothes on my back, or canceling my entire trip and moving up to Cambridge sooner than anticipated. Since there's no internet in Tonga (according to Todd), I'll be sure to post an update later tonight.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Confession: I May Have Judged My Fellow Travelers a Bit Too Harshly
I am pleased to report that my fellow travelers weren't nearly as awful as I initially made them out to be (with the exceptions of the food-sniffer and the Swiss girl). I suppose everyone has a story, if you're willing to listen and/or drag it out of them.
For instance, the not so secret racist is actually not racist, just a little clueless (and neurotic). She and her husband also get sympathy points for having an 18 year old daughter with the mental ability of a 2 year old, with bonus points for being so upbeat.
Some of the younger people are making good, brave decisions. One recent college grad decided not to return to England, given the economy, and will be taking a course in order to teach English in Thailand. Another is thinking of looking for internships in DC (presumably Capitol Hill).
And one of the most recent additions to our now finished tour is a banker who is working on becoming a screenwriter. (Also: he's related to Sir Walter Scott and Rob Roy--pretty cool, although not an actual accomplishment.)
I could say something good about everyone, but that would be tedious. It will have to suffice that I think well of all of them, for different reasons, and that they are all very kind, sometimes funny, and often fun. I'll try to judge less harshly in the future. Of course, not doing 10 1/2 solid weeks of organized tours will make that considerably easier.
For instance, the not so secret racist is actually not racist, just a little clueless (and neurotic). She and her husband also get sympathy points for having an 18 year old daughter with the mental ability of a 2 year old, with bonus points for being so upbeat.
Some of the younger people are making good, brave decisions. One recent college grad decided not to return to England, given the economy, and will be taking a course in order to teach English in Thailand. Another is thinking of looking for internships in DC (presumably Capitol Hill).
And one of the most recent additions to our now finished tour is a banker who is working on becoming a screenwriter. (Also: he's related to Sir Walter Scott and Rob Roy--pretty cool, although not an actual accomplishment.)
I could say something good about everyone, but that would be tedious. It will have to suffice that I think well of all of them, for different reasons, and that they are all very kind, sometimes funny, and often fun. I'll try to judge less harshly in the future. Of course, not doing 10 1/2 solid weeks of organized tours will make that considerably easier.
In Which I Find that Angkor Wat Exceeds Expectations (and Siem Reap Needs Improvement)
The last (new) city on my itinerary for southeast Asia was Siem Reap. And the temples did not disappoint (although, thanks to the 100 degree temperature and the high humidity, by 4 I'd had enough sightseeing for the day). After visiting the main temple (Angkor Wat), we headed to the "Tomb Raider" temple, which was entirely unfamiliar, as I tend to repress all action movie-related memories. Real name: Ta Phrom. The highlight (in part because it was not as familiar an image as the maon Angkor Wat temple) Bayon, which has 54 towers, each displaying 4 faces of Buddha. We also managed to get to Angkor Wat at 5:45 the next morning (painful) to catch sunrise. Totally touristy experience, but also really great. Expect photos in the next couple of days.
Unfortunately, lots of people come to Siem Reap. And many of them are young westerners that seem overly focused on getting drunk as quickly as possible. Their destination: Pub Street, which is full of (you guessed it) pubs (also restaurants catering to tourists). In fact, Angkor What? Bar (one of the oldest in Siem Reap, at 10 years and change) has a special: buy two pitchers of cocktails (not beer) at the same time and get a free t-shirt. Since people generally don't share t-shirts, this means that everyone (too cheap to spend $5 for a t-shirt) has to get two pitchers EACH. Good times. Basically, a Vang Vieng situation, but with an amazing historical site 15 minutes away.
And poverty was/is still a huge problem in Siem Reap. Lots of street kids selling things, lots of landmine victims begging. Plus, there's a great children's hospital that provides free service, but because its main source of revenue is charitable contributions made by tourists and tourism is down 70% in Cambodia, it looks like life for Siem Reap's poor children will be getting even tougher.
Unfortunately, lots of people come to Siem Reap. And many of them are young westerners that seem overly focused on getting drunk as quickly as possible. Their destination: Pub Street, which is full of (you guessed it) pubs (also restaurants catering to tourists). In fact, Angkor What? Bar (one of the oldest in Siem Reap, at 10 years and change) has a special: buy two pitchers of cocktails (not beer) at the same time and get a free t-shirt. Since people generally don't share t-shirts, this means that everyone (too cheap to spend $5 for a t-shirt) has to get two pitchers EACH. Good times. Basically, a Vang Vieng situation, but with an amazing historical site 15 minutes away.
And poverty was/is still a huge problem in Siem Reap. Lots of street kids selling things, lots of landmine victims begging. Plus, there's a great children's hospital that provides free service, but because its main source of revenue is charitable contributions made by tourists and tourism is down 70% in Cambodia, it looks like life for Siem Reap's poor children will be getting even tougher.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
In Which I Begin to Understand Why Angelina Jolie Adopted a Child from Cambodia
I've seen a lot in the past couple of days. Some of it good (like hundreds of ladies aerobicizing in front of the Royal Palace and the amazingly beautiful Phnom Wat), but a lot of it depressing. And not just the records of what happened 30 years ago.
Issue one: landmines. There are so many people begging (or trying to sell books so they can earn an honest living) that are missing arms and legs thanks to the landmines that are still all over the place. This is sad.
Issue two: street kids. There are over 20,000 kids in Phnom Penh that live and work on the streets. Yesterday we had lunch and dinner at two different non-profit restaurants whose proceeds go to housing and educating street kids. The fact is that there are a ton of these restaurants because there are so many kids that need help. Really young kids. (Child sex tourism is also a major problem here, which makes you wonder what kind of monsters could come to a country whose people have endured so much and make things even worse.)
We got to talk to some slightly better off street kids yesterday, as they tried to sell us postcards and books on the genocide. They were very sweet and incredibly bright, considering (when the woman next to me said she was from Australia, one of the kids promptly said "A dingo ate my baby"). They're also way more desperate than any child should have to be. I keep on hearing that it will take generations to heal the wounds inflicted on the country by Pol Pot, but I wonder what's going to happen to all these children in the meantime.
Issue one: landmines. There are so many people begging (or trying to sell books so they can earn an honest living) that are missing arms and legs thanks to the landmines that are still all over the place. This is sad.
Issue two: street kids. There are over 20,000 kids in Phnom Penh that live and work on the streets. Yesterday we had lunch and dinner at two different non-profit restaurants whose proceeds go to housing and educating street kids. The fact is that there are a ton of these restaurants because there are so many kids that need help. Really young kids. (Child sex tourism is also a major problem here, which makes you wonder what kind of monsters could come to a country whose people have endured so much and make things even worse.)
We got to talk to some slightly better off street kids yesterday, as they tried to sell us postcards and books on the genocide. They were very sweet and incredibly bright, considering (when the woman next to me said she was from Australia, one of the kids promptly said "A dingo ate my baby"). They're also way more desperate than any child should have to be. I keep on hearing that it will take generations to heal the wounds inflicted on the country by Pol Pot, but I wonder what's going to happen to all these children in the meantime.
Phnom Penh: Much Harder to Handle than Anticipated
I don't know what I was expecting, really. Even having seen The Killing Fields years back, I think I viewed Phnom Penh mainly as a jumping off point for getting to Siem Reap. So I wasn't prepared for S-21, the high school turned detention center turned genocide museum where the Khmer Rouge tortured and killed thousands of people (including children) between 1975 and 1979. I wasn't prepared for the photographic documentation of the prisoners being tortured or the photographs of corpses. None of it makes any sense.
Afterwards, we headed to the Killing Fields, to the stupa which houses 9000 skulls found in mass graves, through the paths strewn with the bones and clothing of some of the victims of the genocide, to separate mass graves. According to our guide, Khmer Rouge soldiers killed the children whose bones were found in the mass graves by throwing them against a tree until they were dead. Bombs thrown into the mass graves ensured that there were no survivors.
I can't begin to process the things I've seen here.
Afterwards, we headed to the Killing Fields, to the stupa which houses 9000 skulls found in mass graves, through the paths strewn with the bones and clothing of some of the victims of the genocide, to separate mass graves. According to our guide, Khmer Rouge soldiers killed the children whose bones were found in the mass graves by throwing them against a tree until they were dead. Bombs thrown into the mass graves ensured that there were no survivors.
I can't begin to process the things I've seen here.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Travel Reading
As it turns out, I've been doing more over the past 2 months than just seeing the world, struggling with squat toilets and being equal parts annoyed and amused by my fellow travelers. I've also been reading. A lot, considering I spent much of the first 6 1/2 weeks without electricity, traveling on unpaved roads which did NOT inspire me to read in the car. So, in the list of things I'm thankful for, the Amazon Kindle ranks pretty high. So now, in no particular order, my reading list since leaving LA for Addis:
The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears (finding books for Kindle by Ethiopians or about Ethiopia is not easy)
Infidel
Dreams from My Father
Boomsday (no, really, I like Christopher Buckley)
Gulliver's Travels (an appropriate reread, I think)
I'm Looking Through You
Soon I Will Be Invincible (fun) and From the Notebooks of Dr. Brain (sadly, not quite as much fun)
My Sister's Keeper and Nineteen Minutes (I'm ashamed to admit this. She needs a better editor and/or to stop writing. But her books ARE page turners)
Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier
The Alchemyst and The Magician (these two look like a promising start to a new Y/A series)
Assassination Vacation
Lost on Planet China
The Bonesetter's Daughter
Journey from the Land of No
Septembers of Shiraz (I read these 2 back to back, on the recommendation of a friend from the firm)
The Year of Living Biblically (very funny and it made me want to read the bible)
The Glass Castle
A Thousand Splendid Suns
Dear American Airlines
The Blue Place, Stay and Always (Nicola Griffith, and not my type of books at all. I prefer her sci-fi, but didn't read the synopses before downloading).
Trying to pick up more non-fiction, and succeeding, although travel writing, memoirs and autobiogrpahies are not quite the "serious" non-fiction I had in mind. I do love that I have enough time to see the world and read three books a week (trying to pick up the pace a bit, but I fear I'll be seeing less of the world if I do).
The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears (finding books for Kindle by Ethiopians or about Ethiopia is not easy)
Infidel
Dreams from My Father
Boomsday (no, really, I like Christopher Buckley)
Gulliver's Travels (an appropriate reread, I think)
I'm Looking Through You
Soon I Will Be Invincible (fun) and From the Notebooks of Dr. Brain (sadly, not quite as much fun)
My Sister's Keeper and Nineteen Minutes (I'm ashamed to admit this. She needs a better editor and/or to stop writing. But her books ARE page turners)
Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier
The Alchemyst and The Magician (these two look like a promising start to a new Y/A series)
Assassination Vacation
Lost on Planet China
The Bonesetter's Daughter
Journey from the Land of No
Septembers of Shiraz (I read these 2 back to back, on the recommendation of a friend from the firm)
The Year of Living Biblically (very funny and it made me want to read the bible)
The Glass Castle
A Thousand Splendid Suns
Dear American Airlines
The Blue Place, Stay and Always (Nicola Griffith, and not my type of books at all. I prefer her sci-fi, but didn't read the synopses before downloading).
Trying to pick up more non-fiction, and succeeding, although travel writing, memoirs and autobiogrpahies are not quite the "serious" non-fiction I had in mind. I do love that I have enough time to see the world and read three books a week (trying to pick up the pace a bit, but I fear I'll be seeing less of the world if I do).
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Cu Chi Tunnel: Not Recommended
After yesterday's visit to one of the big markets, cocktails with the weird food-smelling Canadian at the Rex Hotel (where foreign journalists hung out during the war, and where one can now get some of the most expensive drinks in Vietnam) and dinner with the group (cute place, terrible food), I was not thrilled to have to wake up at 6:30 to visit the Cu Chi Tunnel. I should have slept in.
What should have been a war memorial was handled more like a war amusement park, complete with a high-priced shooting gallery for people itching to try their luck with an AK-47. To start, we watched a short film about the American devils who indiscriminately killed women and children in a war fought several thousand miles from their country. It also introduced us to the tunnels, where heroic Vietnamese guerrillas hung out while awaiting their chance to kill Americans. I think there were prizes given for those who killed 100 or more. Not really feeling the love, but who can blame them?
After that super-fun film, we started our tour of the area. First, there was a guy in army uniform demonstrating lowering the lid of the tunnel after covering it with leaves. Many of my fellow travelers thought this would be a good photo op. Other good photo opportunities: sitting on a captured tank, in a crater made by a B-52 bomb, and with mannequins dressed as North Vietnamese Army soldiers and guerrillas. All very weird and unsettling. So off-putting, in fact, that I suffered from nausea for a good hour after we left. My question: what's wrong with a tasteful memorial to those who lost their lives, and to the heroes of the war?
Back in Saigon now, having just walked around a little (very little. It's around 100 degrees and humid). Looking forward to touring the Mekong Delta tomorrow, and to Cambodia (day after tomorrow, after a 7 hour public bus ride that I am NOT looking forward to).
What should have been a war memorial was handled more like a war amusement park, complete with a high-priced shooting gallery for people itching to try their luck with an AK-47. To start, we watched a short film about the American devils who indiscriminately killed women and children in a war fought several thousand miles from their country. It also introduced us to the tunnels, where heroic Vietnamese guerrillas hung out while awaiting their chance to kill Americans. I think there were prizes given for those who killed 100 or more. Not really feeling the love, but who can blame them?
After that super-fun film, we started our tour of the area. First, there was a guy in army uniform demonstrating lowering the lid of the tunnel after covering it with leaves. Many of my fellow travelers thought this would be a good photo op. Other good photo opportunities: sitting on a captured tank, in a crater made by a B-52 bomb, and with mannequins dressed as North Vietnamese Army soldiers and guerrillas. All very weird and unsettling. So off-putting, in fact, that I suffered from nausea for a good hour after we left. My question: what's wrong with a tasteful memorial to those who lost their lives, and to the heroes of the war?
Back in Saigon now, having just walked around a little (very little. It's around 100 degrees and humid). Looking forward to touring the Mekong Delta tomorrow, and to Cambodia (day after tomorrow, after a 7 hour public bus ride that I am NOT looking forward to).
Saturday, February 21, 2009
In Which I Arrive in Ho Chi Minh City (still generally known as Saigon)
So, I just got to the hotel a few minutes ago. Apparently to punish me for a series of excellent rooms (my favorite being Hanoi), I've now got a windowless room which will never have the smoke fully aired out. Also: dirty. In both senses of the word. One of the tiles in the shower is actually a photo of Cindy Crawford, circa 1990, in a tiny bikini, looking "seductive."
Hoi An ended up being a bit of a bust. My cooking class was more of an experience in helping to cook dishes, along with the two other people in the course. Do I feel like I could make the dishes on my own? Probably not without carefully studying the recipes. Do I want to? Possibly no. We "made" a stuffed mackerel wrapped in banana leaves (really disgusting: the fish completely overpowered the herbs used to stuff it), a nicely seasoned calamari dish (which the other two pronounced "too spicy," despite the fact that no chilies or peppers were used in preparation, vegetarian spring rolls (fried, sadly, although the technique of frying long ones and then cutting them into handheld versions is one I might replicate), and wontons with sweet and sour sauce. A word about the wontons: we didn't make them! We just made the sauce. The recipe given to us actually calls for 6 pre-prepared wontons. So, a cooking class like no other.
Oh, and I am forced to report that there is another tourist in the group that I find intolerable. It seems irrational, because she is largely harmless. Yes, she's kept us all waiting three times this week, while she's done extra shopping or decided to change clothes when we're on a schedule, and she's not particularly bright (which makes her fit right in), but those things normally wouldn't awaken this level of distaste. The real problem: she persists in asking to smell things. Like my food. Or the food that we're preparing in the cooking class. And not at a safe distance. More like, before I've had a spoonful of soup, she's asked permission to smell it, which entails her picking it up and lifting it a couple of inches below her nose. Disgusting. And, frankly, freakish. I would trade her for the 25 year old hedge fund guy we parted ways with in Hanoi in a heartbeat. Among his many good qualities: snarkiness. Fortunately, he and another one of our fellow travelers (charming, but not quite as bright) have been stalking us all through Vietnam.
Hoi An ended up being a bit of a bust. My cooking class was more of an experience in helping to cook dishes, along with the two other people in the course. Do I feel like I could make the dishes on my own? Probably not without carefully studying the recipes. Do I want to? Possibly no. We "made" a stuffed mackerel wrapped in banana leaves (really disgusting: the fish completely overpowered the herbs used to stuff it), a nicely seasoned calamari dish (which the other two pronounced "too spicy," despite the fact that no chilies or peppers were used in preparation, vegetarian spring rolls (fried, sadly, although the technique of frying long ones and then cutting them into handheld versions is one I might replicate), and wontons with sweet and sour sauce. A word about the wontons: we didn't make them! We just made the sauce. The recipe given to us actually calls for 6 pre-prepared wontons. So, a cooking class like no other.
Oh, and I am forced to report that there is another tourist in the group that I find intolerable. It seems irrational, because she is largely harmless. Yes, she's kept us all waiting three times this week, while she's done extra shopping or decided to change clothes when we're on a schedule, and she's not particularly bright (which makes her fit right in), but those things normally wouldn't awaken this level of distaste. The real problem: she persists in asking to smell things. Like my food. Or the food that we're preparing in the cooking class. And not at a safe distance. More like, before I've had a spoonful of soup, she's asked permission to smell it, which entails her picking it up and lifting it a couple of inches below her nose. Disgusting. And, frankly, freakish. I would trade her for the 25 year old hedge fund guy we parted ways with in Hanoi in a heartbeat. Among his many good qualities: snarkiness. Fortunately, he and another one of our fellow travelers (charming, but not quite as bright) have been stalking us all through Vietnam.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Weekend Grad School Update
First off, it seems that I wasn't jinxing myself. Not only did I get into Harvard, but they've awarded me their highest honor: a Presidential Fellowship, which covers all five years of tuition, plus a generous spending stipend. Yay.
Even more good news: I heard from Michigan, and they've also accepted me (no word yet on whether they're also courting me with prestigious fellowships and/or scholarships).
It seems that every grad school has an open house sometime between March 5 and March 16. I'll have some decisions to make, because I can't go to all of them, and I don't want to cut in too much to the (incredibly limited) amount of time I have to spend visiting people in LA and New York. Still, very exciting.
Expect more updates next week, since I have a feeling this will all be done this month.
Even more good news: I heard from Michigan, and they've also accepted me (no word yet on whether they're also courting me with prestigious fellowships and/or scholarships).
It seems that every grad school has an open house sometime between March 5 and March 16. I'll have some decisions to make, because I can't go to all of them, and I don't want to cut in too much to the (incredibly limited) amount of time I have to spend visiting people in LA and New York. Still, very exciting.
Expect more updates next week, since I have a feeling this will all be done this month.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Even More (Good) Grad School News
It's not official, so I may be jinxing myself by writing this, but this morning I received two emails from the admissions office at Harvard, one entitled "Good News." It seems that they've been trying to reach me by phone, but I suspended my phone service when I left the country. I hope I'm not being presumptuous in assuming that this means that I've gotten into Harvard. More details after the call.
Hoi An: I Grow Conflicted
I am still very pleased with my tailor-made acquisitions (I went in at 12:30 for a fitting and the alterations should be done by 4:30. Fast, plus the clothes look pretty great). However, I'm beginning to be a little lukewarm about Hoi An generally. The main problem: EVERYONE is selling something. And they really want you to buy it. Enough to interrupt your lunch to ask 50 times if you want salted peanuts or crystallized ginger. Enough to ride past you on a bicycle, stop to say hello, then drag you to their tailor shop. Enough to ask you where you're staying so that they can find you to drag you on a boat ride down the river, even as you protest that you suffer from motion sickness (I don't, but I do suffer from pushy sales person sickness). Even the laundry services are competitive, with people calling you from across the street to remind you to use their service. The losing bidders then scold you for having gone with a competitor. At a dollar a kilo, I can't see how it's worth the extra energy required to scold.
On the bright side, I should be able to find a smallish piece of luggage to accommodate my new purchases for $10 max. And the food, while priced for tourists, is still pretty reasonable.
Tomorrow: cooking class, a self-guided city tour, a boat ride (yes, I'm going to cave), and shopping avoidance (unless I find something really irresistible, or cave in and have some shoes hand-made).
A word on the hotel: cute, nice service, a gym (first time there's been one of these in the 2 months I've been traveling). Sadly, the sheets seem to have not been washed (extreme measures are being taken to save energy, apparently) and there are a host of tiny bugs (and bigger spiders) everywhere. I'm hoping they tiny bugs are the kind that stay put, and not lice or bed bugs, because I'd like to leave Hoi An solo.
On the bright side, I should be able to find a smallish piece of luggage to accommodate my new purchases for $10 max. And the food, while priced for tourists, is still pretty reasonable.
Tomorrow: cooking class, a self-guided city tour, a boat ride (yes, I'm going to cave), and shopping avoidance (unless I find something really irresistible, or cave in and have some shoes hand-made).
A word on the hotel: cute, nice service, a gym (first time there's been one of these in the 2 months I've been traveling). Sadly, the sheets seem to have not been washed (extreme measures are being taken to save energy, apparently) and there are a host of tiny bugs (and bigger spiders) everywhere. I'm hoping they tiny bugs are the kind that stay put, and not lice or bed bugs, because I'd like to leave Hoi An solo.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Graduate School Update
It is the start of the season for grad school news, and the first school reporting is the University of Wisconsin at Madison (its school of education is ranked number 2in the country by US News and World Report). They've offered me a spot in their Department of Educational Policy Studies, nominated me for a University Fellowship (apparently very competitive) and guaranteed me a different fellowship with the same funding (first and dissertator year) if I don't get the University Fellowship. So, very good news. I'll be updating my blog with grad school information (both good news and bad, if any) in the weeks to come (all decisions should be in within the next few weeks).
In Which I Make an Acquisition
Actually, I've done more than just shop in the last day and a half. That's just the most exciting thing.
This afternoon, we arrived in Hoi An (cute, relatively small, too many tourists and 300 tailor shops). After a very late lunch and a brief stroll around the old quarter, I wandered into a tailor shop. Okay, that makes it sound casual. Our tour leader took us to her preferred shop and explained that they normally gave her a kickback, but that she'd be giving it back to us. I kind of believe her.
Anyway, in about an hour or so, I got measured and photographed (clothed) and picked out fabric for a suit (Italian wool cashmere blend), coat and two shirts (Egyptian cotton, because I was too cheap to spring for Italian cotton). All of these tailor made clothes will set me back less than $300 and will be ready for fitting tomorrow at noon. If only I still had a life that required suits...
Morning in Hue was good. A little bittersweet, maybe. We took a tour of the royal compound, complete with Vietnam's Forbidden City. Unfortunately, 90% of the buildings were bombed during the war, so the Forbidden City exists only as a scale model.
We're staying in Hoi An a bit longer than necessary (3 nights in Hoi An, compared to 2 in Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City). I'm not complaining, though: not only do I want to give the tailor sufficient time, but this is apparently a great place for cooking classes, and I'd love to learn how to make pho and fresh spring rolls. I imagine that in my new life as a graduate student living on a fixed income, I will actually spend some time cooking something other than cocktail party fare...
This afternoon, we arrived in Hoi An (cute, relatively small, too many tourists and 300 tailor shops). After a very late lunch and a brief stroll around the old quarter, I wandered into a tailor shop. Okay, that makes it sound casual. Our tour leader took us to her preferred shop and explained that they normally gave her a kickback, but that she'd be giving it back to us. I kind of believe her.
Anyway, in about an hour or so, I got measured and photographed (clothed) and picked out fabric for a suit (Italian wool cashmere blend), coat and two shirts (Egyptian cotton, because I was too cheap to spring for Italian cotton). All of these tailor made clothes will set me back less than $300 and will be ready for fitting tomorrow at noon. If only I still had a life that required suits...
Morning in Hue was good. A little bittersweet, maybe. We took a tour of the royal compound, complete with Vietnam's Forbidden City. Unfortunately, 90% of the buildings were bombed during the war, so the Forbidden City exists only as a scale model.
We're staying in Hoi An a bit longer than necessary (3 nights in Hoi An, compared to 2 in Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City). I'm not complaining, though: not only do I want to give the tailor sufficient time, but this is apparently a great place for cooking classes, and I'd love to learn how to make pho and fresh spring rolls. I imagine that in my new life as a graduate student living on a fixed income, I will actually spend some time cooking something other than cocktail party fare...
Monday, February 16, 2009
Overnight Train to Hue: My Worst Nightmare (Literally)
Last night, we boarded an overnight train from Hanoi to Hue. We'd been warned that there were two types of trains: new ones, with clean sheets and TV, and old ones, with filthy sheets, possibly lice, and no TV. Guess which kind we ended up on?
Think that lice and dirty sheets are as bad as it gets? Think again. My cabin (which I shared with three of my tourmates), was next door to the party cabin: 4 strapping Australian boys who invited every girl under 25 with an urge to drink to come on over. Naturally, there was not enough room in their tiny cabin for them to shut the door, so they spilled out into the corridor into the wee hours of the morning, being progressively louder, more obnoxious, and unabashedly racist. Examples include one girl telling a boy that he looked a little "woggy" (if you don't know what that means, look it up, but my understanding is that it's a bit like telling someone that they look kind of black and using the N word), and several of them doing "impressions" of Vietnamese people, i.e., speaking gibberish. Needless to say, sleep did not come easily. And when it came, it was nightmares.
I won't recount them all (dreams always suffer in the retelling), but here's a snapshot of one: I get into a cab to visit a friend who lives in the French countryside, am let out of the cab in the middle of nowhere, promptly discover that the driver has taken all of my money, ID and my phone, and stumble upon an accident scene in which many people that I know have been severely injured (blindness, loss of limbs, etc.) I blame this entirely on the rowdy Australians, as I have not had a nightmare in years.
Worst overnight train ever!
Think that lice and dirty sheets are as bad as it gets? Think again. My cabin (which I shared with three of my tourmates), was next door to the party cabin: 4 strapping Australian boys who invited every girl under 25 with an urge to drink to come on over. Naturally, there was not enough room in their tiny cabin for them to shut the door, so they spilled out into the corridor into the wee hours of the morning, being progressively louder, more obnoxious, and unabashedly racist. Examples include one girl telling a boy that he looked a little "woggy" (if you don't know what that means, look it up, but my understanding is that it's a bit like telling someone that they look kind of black and using the N word), and several of them doing "impressions" of Vietnamese people, i.e., speaking gibberish. Needless to say, sleep did not come easily. And when it came, it was nightmares.
I won't recount them all (dreams always suffer in the retelling), but here's a snapshot of one: I get into a cab to visit a friend who lives in the French countryside, am let out of the cab in the middle of nowhere, promptly discover that the driver has taken all of my money, ID and my phone, and stumble upon an accident scene in which many people that I know have been severely injured (blindness, loss of limbs, etc.) I blame this entirely on the rowdy Australians, as I have not had a nightmare in years.
Worst overnight train ever!
Good Times in Halong Bay
After a chaotic time in Hanoi (those motorbikes are really frightening), we headed off to Halong Bay yesterday morning for an overnight cruise on a small junk. I had no idea what to expect, especially after our quaint but kind of sketchy slow boat to Luang Prabang. I was therefore totally unprepared for the amazing little boat that awaited us. For starters, the dining room was the nicest one we've had so far on the tour (with the exception of one of the nights I went out on my own). Really. Complete with bowls of lime and flower water for rinsing fingers between courses (there were several at each meal). Service so good that the waiters appeared to peel fruit, crack crabs, and generally anticipate our every move. Bonus: cute (although necessarily small) cabins, totally done in teak, with lovely, modern showers en suite and plush guest robes.
As for the bay itself, while the fog and mist were a little disappointing (obstructing the view), it was pretty great: crazy rock formations covered with trees (and occasionally buildings) jutting out of the water, some with caves and lagoons. This morning, before departing the bay, we took a ride out to a lagoon full of monkeys (I may be exaggerating when I say full of, but there were more than a dozen).
Back in Hanoi now, where I've walked around the Old Quarter while managing not to get hit by motorcycles. I'm awaiting the overnight train to Hue, hoping that we're on a new train (clean sheets).
As for the bay itself, while the fog and mist were a little disappointing (obstructing the view), it was pretty great: crazy rock formations covered with trees (and occasionally buildings) jutting out of the water, some with caves and lagoons. This morning, before departing the bay, we took a ride out to a lagoon full of monkeys (I may be exaggerating when I say full of, but there were more than a dozen).
Back in Hanoi now, where I've walked around the Old Quarter while managing not to get hit by motorcycles. I'm awaiting the overnight train to Hue, hoping that we're on a new train (clean sheets).
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Water Puppet Theatre Is Cool
Much better than without water. In 45 minutes, we managed to see a 17 scene show, complete with singers, musicians, and some very talented puppeteers (no, seriously). At times, it verged on Avenue Q-esque (that would be when the topless lady puppet came out to flirt with the guy fishing in a loin cloth, although purportedly they were trying to "catch a fox").
Another good thing: taxis in Hanoi. So cheap. The most I've paid is about $2.20 with tip (and that's when I had a sketchy driver who drove me a bit out of the way).
My congestion is clearing up nicely, thanks to some lovely Vietnamese meds I got for the low low price of $3.75.
Another good thing: taxis in Hanoi. So cheap. The most I've paid is about $2.20 with tip (and that's when I had a sketchy driver who drove me a bit out of the way).
My congestion is clearing up nicely, thanks to some lovely Vietnamese meds I got for the low low price of $3.75.
Hanoi: First Impressions
My initial assessment:
1 1/2 thumbs way up. I know, I know: this may not exactly be a ringing endorsement. The hotel is good: I'm finally in my own room, and other than the facts that the tub doesn't drain and the shower's cold, it's the best hotel I've stayed at on this trip (the Sheraton in Addis excepted, obviously).
First meal: special pho. According to our guide, this meant beef, pork and chicken. In reality, it meant beef flank, cow stomach and cow intestines. Either our guide hates me or she has no idea what she's doing.
Second meal (breakfast): pho bo (plain old beef). Third meal: same. I think I may have committed to a pho bo only diet for the next 11 days.
After a race walk to the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum this morning (our guide fails to grasp that we may actually want to stroll through Hanoi and take pictures, and has the bad habit of never looking behind her to see if someone's fallen behind, so stopping for photos, or the toilet, or because of having been hit by a motorbike, is not an option). As for the mausoleum, I don't know what's freakier: that Uncle Ho is available for viewing, or that so many thousands of people line up every day to see him. He WAS glowing, but I assume that's just the lighting.
Other highlights: visiting all of uncle Ho's houses (conveniently located in a park next to his final resting place), followed by a visit to the 1000ish year old Temple of Literature (no great shakes, but I'm glad I went).
My plans for the rest of the day: find a pharmacy (I seem to have a cold, or bird flu or something), go to the Water Puppet Theatre, and bid farewell to 3 of my fellow tourists (sadly, not the racist one). Tomorrow morning, we're off to Halong Bay, where we'll be spending the night on a houseboat...
1 1/2 thumbs way up. I know, I know: this may not exactly be a ringing endorsement. The hotel is good: I'm finally in my own room, and other than the facts that the tub doesn't drain and the shower's cold, it's the best hotel I've stayed at on this trip (the Sheraton in Addis excepted, obviously).
First meal: special pho. According to our guide, this meant beef, pork and chicken. In reality, it meant beef flank, cow stomach and cow intestines. Either our guide hates me or she has no idea what she's doing.
Second meal (breakfast): pho bo (plain old beef). Third meal: same. I think I may have committed to a pho bo only diet for the next 11 days.
After a race walk to the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum this morning (our guide fails to grasp that we may actually want to stroll through Hanoi and take pictures, and has the bad habit of never looking behind her to see if someone's fallen behind, so stopping for photos, or the toilet, or because of having been hit by a motorbike, is not an option). As for the mausoleum, I don't know what's freakier: that Uncle Ho is available for viewing, or that so many thousands of people line up every day to see him. He WAS glowing, but I assume that's just the lighting.
Other highlights: visiting all of uncle Ho's houses (conveniently located in a park next to his final resting place), followed by a visit to the 1000ish year old Temple of Literature (no great shakes, but I'm glad I went).
My plans for the rest of the day: find a pharmacy (I seem to have a cold, or bird flu or something), go to the Water Puppet Theatre, and bid farewell to 3 of my fellow tourists (sadly, not the racist one). Tomorrow morning, we're off to Halong Bay, where we'll be spending the night on a houseboat...
Thursday, February 12, 2009
More on the Annoying Kids in Vang Vieng
I was underestimating the number of western tourists. It seems that in the town of Vang Vieng, there are almost no Lao people. Just kids from the US, Europe, Canada, and Australia that have dropped out of society for an indefinite period of time and decided to drink themselves silly with other kids from the US, Europe, Canada and Australia. The scenery is beautiful, but if I wanted to see a bunch of slacker western kids (none of whom are ethnic, by the way), I'm sure there are plenty of dive bars I could visit in the US. I met some people on a bike tour of Laos (grownups who were on vacation), and one of them told me that 2 years ago, none of those kids were there. All I can say is that I wish I'd visited then.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
In Which I Encounter Far Too Many Western Tourists in Vang Vieng
I understand that I am a western tourist and have no right to judge, but when you can't throw a rock without hitting 10 hungover 20somethings with too many tats in a town of 25,000, well, I think I can judge. I'm not entirely sure what they do here, other than drinking at the bars on the river, or drinking while tubing down the river (then passing out and having to be taken by boat back to the town). All I can say is that I wish I had more time in Vientiane and less time in what appears to be spring break in Cancun with an opium chaser.
Interesting Times in Luang Prabang
My action-packed day in Luang Prabang continued for nearly 12 hours after I updated my blog mid-afternoon. The highlights: discovering authentic Lao nightlife. First, we went to a nearby Lao club, at which we were the only westerners, for some line dancing, bad slow dancing, and entertainment courtesy of a senior citizen drag queen. The club was a random mix of people (gay and straight, teens and seniors), all with two things in common: an inability to dance and a love of cheesiness. Good times.
Next stop: the hipper club in Luang Prabang, featuring hip hop, remixed Gloria Gaynor, and a younger crowd. Also, I made a discovery: in southeast Asia, the lady-boys (boys who wear makeup and carry purses) use the women's room. And no one thinks it's a big deal. Refreshing, but it does tend to make the lines longer.
Final stop: the bowling alley, the only place in Luang Prabang that sells alcohol after 12:30. Apparently, this is the entire party circuit in LP, and some people do it every night. Me: I'm getting too old.
Next stop: the hipper club in Luang Prabang, featuring hip hop, remixed Gloria Gaynor, and a younger crowd. Also, I made a discovery: in southeast Asia, the lady-boys (boys who wear makeup and carry purses) use the women's room. And no one thinks it's a big deal. Refreshing, but it does tend to make the lines longer.
Final stop: the bowling alley, the only place in Luang Prabang that sells alcohol after 12:30. Apparently, this is the entire party circuit in LP, and some people do it every night. Me: I'm getting too old.
In Which I Discover that a Fellow Traveler is a Not So Secret Racist
After a few days of additional consideration, I have decided that while my fellow travelers are pretty stupid, they are not altogether harmless. The worst offender: a middle-aged Australian woman who refers to blacks as "Negroes" and who had the gall to tell me that "we" always assume that Africans are so much more backwards than Asians, because "countries" like Africa, Ethiopia and Kenya are so poor. I couldn't let it go, so I had to give her a lecture about history (colonialism) and geography (the difference between a country and a continent). Not good. My goal for the next 3 weeks: avoiding said Australian.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
A Word on My Fellow Tourists in Southeast Asia
Okay, more than a word. But if I were to pick just one, it would be dim (it would be better if I could pick three: not too bright). Actually, some of them are fine, but a few of them (including the one I was stuck rooming with the first couple of days) just seem a little slow. Like asking if Kosovo is a city slow (maybe she should get points for having heard of it) or using a calculator to figure out what 20% of 10 is slow. Or (and for some reason, this REALLY got to me) asking me the definition of "random." Okay, let me stop whining. The real trouble is that 6 of the people in the group are married couples in their 50s/60s (nice, but kind of wanting to hang out with their spouses or each other), 5 of the people are between the ages of 19-25 (they are less strict about just hanging out with each other, but are very much into being kids), and one of them doesn't really speak English but still wants to engage me in conversation. So, that leaves me with our tour guide and one relatively smart, interesting person who works with special needs kids. It could be worse: none of these people are actually unpleasant or crazy , just possibly not the people I'm going to be feeling nostalgic about a month or two from now. If that's the worst that I can say about them, I think the trip will be fine.
Laos: Even Better Than Thailand
As I mentioned, my short time in Thailand (I'll be back at the end of the month, and probably again in the not too distant future) was pretty great. So far, though, Laos has been even better.
First, there's the wackiness of the transport. Random tuk tuks and little boats aside, the main mode of transport from Thailand the Luang Prabang (where I've been since last night) was slow boat. Which is an incredibly relaxing way to get from A to B, and would have been perfect if mornings on the water hadn't been so cold.
Then, there's the food, which is really good (a lot like Thai, really, but maybe just a little better, thanks to the French influence). Plus, the shopping has been good (and for a non-shopper, that's saying something). Who can resist beautiful (although possibly not handmade) scarves being sold for about $3? Not I.
Today (my first full day in Luang Prabang) has been great, although I'm amazed that I'm still standing. I woke up at 4:50 a.m. (earlier than for a morning game drive) to go feed the monks (which sounded great in theory but was a little too tourist-heavy). After that, we went to the morning market: excellent. Not only did we get to sample some pretty amazing food that was made as we waited, but we got to see some of the pretty insane food that the locals eat (bats, tadpoles, moles, parakeets). I am really looking forward to posting those photos. Following that, a few of us went with our guide to hang out at a local favorite that serves Lao coffee (crazy strong with a shot of condensed milk, like my great grandmother used to drink). Then breakfast, a tour of the Royal Palace (with some sketchy info as to whether the entire royal family was killed in 1975), a walk around town, an amazing lunch at a kind of posh restaurant (posh = $5-7 entrees), and a 90 minute massage. And I still have HOURS to go (we're going out at 10 to experience the Luang Prabang club scene). Excellent day.
First, there's the wackiness of the transport. Random tuk tuks and little boats aside, the main mode of transport from Thailand the Luang Prabang (where I've been since last night) was slow boat. Which is an incredibly relaxing way to get from A to B, and would have been perfect if mornings on the water hadn't been so cold.
Then, there's the food, which is really good (a lot like Thai, really, but maybe just a little better, thanks to the French influence). Plus, the shopping has been good (and for a non-shopper, that's saying something). Who can resist beautiful (although possibly not handmade) scarves being sold for about $3? Not I.
Today (my first full day in Luang Prabang) has been great, although I'm amazed that I'm still standing. I woke up at 4:50 a.m. (earlier than for a morning game drive) to go feed the monks (which sounded great in theory but was a little too tourist-heavy). After that, we went to the morning market: excellent. Not only did we get to sample some pretty amazing food that was made as we waited, but we got to see some of the pretty insane food that the locals eat (bats, tadpoles, moles, parakeets). I am really looking forward to posting those photos. Following that, a few of us went with our guide to hang out at a local favorite that serves Lao coffee (crazy strong with a shot of condensed milk, like my great grandmother used to drink). Then breakfast, a tour of the Royal Palace (with some sketchy info as to whether the entire royal family was killed in 1975), a walk around town, an amazing lunch at a kind of posh restaurant (posh = $5-7 entrees), and a 90 minute massage. And I still have HOURS to go (we're going out at 10 to experience the Luang Prabang club scene). Excellent day.
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