Into the Heart of Darkness: Rampant Road Rage in Phnom Penh

Close your eyes and imagine a city with no traffic laws, where might is right on the road and the bigger vehicle always has the right of way. No wait, you won't be able to read. Maybe just squint your eyes a little and imagine. Or better yet, just come to Phnom Penh and sit on my balcony for a few hours. While not the most exciting point in Phnom Penh, it affords one a pretty good overview of the traffic here.

I'm situated on St. 51, a street best known for the popular Heart of Darkness club, or just Haat to the locals. In the past it was known as a gangster hangout where the offspring of the military brass and other upper crust Khmers came to let off steam and shoot off a few rounds once in a while. When I first came to Phnom Penh the place had been shut for a month after a fatal shooting, but these days it doesn't feel that dangerous, thanks in large part to the thorough weapons search on entry.

It's an average road, not too big and not too small. It's got a lot of traffic in the daytime, but transforms into an eerie ghost street at night, like so much of Phnom Penh. Past 11, no one walks down the road, and the only souls to be found are the ever present security guards, faces buried beneath caps casting ghoulish stares.

It's a huge difference from Bangkok, the Asian city which I'll forever use as a reference point. In Bangkok the only dangers I felt at night were the packs of mangy street dogs which take over the alleys and bully humans after being abused and kicked around during the day.

Here in Cambodia though, there are no street dogs to be found. I was told that's because a healthy dog can fetch upwards of $20 at the market, a handsome sum. For those Khmers who turn their noses up at the idea of eating dog, this is one of the many evils Vietnamese brought to Cambodia during their 10 year occupation of the country.

The Vietnamese are used as the butt of many jokes. While Khmer's have a general disdain for the Thais, they harbor a special kind of distrust for the Vietnamese. When explaining to my students that they had to write a letter inviting a foreign friend to come and experience Cambodia, I offered a few suggestions for the nationality of the friend: French (nod), American (nod), or Vietnamese (laughter). The thought that you'd call a Vietnamese person a friend!

Due to the lack of domestic expertise, infrastructure, investment and whatever else, many manufactured goods in Cambodia come from neighboring Thailand or Vietnam. A few days ago I stopped to chat with my downstairs neighbors as I was coming home with a fresh supply of bottled water. "What's that for?", they enquired. I explained that because of my lack of exposure, I require a certain level of hygiene in my drinking water, while their bodies were accustomed to a higher level of impurities. "My stomach made in Thailand, your stomach made in Vietnam", one quipped. Laughs all around.

The corruption and lawlessness here, however, I'm afraid is home-grown. When I went to Vietnam it looked the picture of a communist-turned-capitalist success story: orderly, modern, and prosperous. The first thing I noticed as my bus sped towards Saigon on a perfectly sealed road was the impressive signage: crosswalks, speed limits, and other warnings. I suppose those things are pretty far down on the Cambodian government's list of improvements for the road from Phnom Penh to the Vietnam border; better to remedy the Mekong river ferry crossing which can back up and make for 5 hour waits at peak times. Therefore, a bridge first, paving the road second, and then perhaps we can think about signs. But wait, there are signs in Phnom Penh, but does anyone notice? I did, until a Lexus SUV almost flattened me while attempting to utilize a "pedestrian crossing". Then the signs became background noise, just another piece of sensory input to mix with the hollers, motorbikes, ice cream truck tunes, bells, crashes, and laughs that litter the air.A Lexus is just an overpriced Toyota, douchebag.

Is it Christmas yet?

A holiday in Cambodia isn't quite as bad as Jello would have us believe. Things have improved enough that, 2500 US soldiers from a big-arse ship just enjoyed one a few weeks ago during their R&R beach stay in Sihanoukville, and they certainly were indulging in more than a bowl of rice a day.

I decided on a whim to jet down to the beach on Christmas eve in a shared taxi. The Toyota Camry managed to seat 8: 4 in the front and 4 in the back. Now how, I can hear you asking, do you seat 4 people in the front seat when one of them is presumably driving? Very carefully. With 2 people in the driver's seat, it looked like 1 of them was steering and the other on the pedals. There's never a dull moment in Cambodian transport, I tell you.

I wanted to do a personal recreation of the baby Jesus' birth scene by arriving late at night with no hotel reservation, all of the rooms being booked up, but finding a kind soul to provide me with humble but sufficient lodging. The plan worked perfectly! All of the rooms were in fact booked, and I spend the night having my feet feasted on by mosquitos. I've been performing regular puja's involving incense and fruit offerings to keep out the bad spirits, known to some western scientists as "malaria".

So here I am on the beach, soaking in rays, not a snowflake in sight, but there are a few shabby plastic Christmas trees and some battery lit Santa hats. It seems Santa couldn't sort out the thatched roof of my bungalow because my socks are full of the same lint and sand that they were on the 24th.

Today I return to Phnom Penh, then on to Thailand and the big Bangeroos. Enjoy your final days of 2007 and don't be afraid to COMMENT.

It was supposed to be so easy...

I thought I'd like to get out of the malaria infested woods of Ratanakiri for Christmas and booked a minivan trip back to Phnom Penh. Ratanakiri is in the northeastern corner of Cambodia, and the journey should take 11 hours under normal conditions.

I was pleasantly surprised to find the driver starting off down the road before full capacity of the van had been pushed to the limit; my pleasure turned to pain when he began slowing down and desperately honking his horn for any possible fare holding passenger along the road. Before long, the van had been properly filled to Cambodian standards, and without any cargo in my footspace (it had been giant vats of honey on the trip in).

After a couple of hours we hit the paved road near Stung Treng - from there it's a straight shot on good roads all the way back to Phnom Penh! After an hour there was a noise and the driver lost control, but managed to bring the vehicle to a stop before plunging us into a ditch. After some consultation with the other passengers, I figured out what had happened: The suspension over the front left wheel had broken. The driver managed to do a pretty impressive impromptu repair job on it, and we all got back in and cruised at a leisurly 15 mph for another hour or two to the next city (Kratie. Never did see the dolphins...), where it was properly repaired.

To my surprise, we were soon back on a dirt road! I was sure the road was good and sealed all the way back to Phnom Penh! Ah, but this is a shortcut, I was informed. Have to make up for lost time, after all.

Total time of the trip: 14 hours. Could have been worse.

Beneath the Surface

Living in Phnom Penh, I've been at a loss as to what to post here. I've even written a few articles about life in the capitol, about the traffic, the corruption, the lawlessness - but somehow I felt that posting them would detract from the travel focus of the blog.

Lucky for the readers here, my stay in Phnom Penh is coming to an end along with the year, and there are some new and exciting trips on the horizon.

Now, I'm staying in the provincial capitol of Kampong Cham, a hundred or so miles up the Mekong river from Phnom Penh. The town itself is nothing special, but the rural villages surrounding it are traditional Cambodia at it's finest.

As I rode along the dusty path on my Chinese bicycle, all the children waved and practiced and words of English they knew (mainly "hello"). Most adults in the village were busy with some task: collecting palm oil from the trees, laying bamboo water pipes from the Mekong into the village, chopping wood, planting rice, making huts and houses - but a few seemed to be dangerously unoccupied, drinking whiskey and waving merrily (but a bit aggressively) at 9:00 A.M... I didn't stop to chat.

After a while the houses dwindled but the dirt road pressed on. I started having thoughts of highwaymen - surely they exist around here... But decided to go a bit further. After all, there might be a magnificent sight just around the next bend. Finally, I came across a young boy driving an ox cart. We chatted amiably in my extremely broken Khmer for a bit, then I asked how to get back to the town, and he pointed me in the right direction. When I asked what was down the other way (the way I had been going) he ran his finger along his neck, the universal throat slitting sign. I swallowed hard, thanked him, and went back the way I had come.

Cambodia looks fairly safe to the visitor, but I we have to remember that the country is growing out of the ashes of a 30 year civil war and the people have experienced horrors that no one reading this blog is likely to know. Take care of your safety in Cambodia! Now I know why anyone with money buys the biggest, most heavily armored vehicle they can afford.

Tomorrow it's off to Kratie, home to the famed Irrawaddy river dolphin. I read an article on a website a while back that the species had gone extinct years ago and the whole thing was a sham perpetrated by men with dolphin fins, swimming at a safe distance from the boats. A scheme, the article reported, to keep the tourist business in Kratie alive. I have since heard from numerous eye-witnesses that the article has to be rubbish because they went there, and there were definitely dolphins. Stay tuned for the final word.

The Year of Kampot

The first things you'll notice coming into Kampot, a lovely little town in the south of Cambodia, are the bizarre memorial statues gracing the roadways and roundabouts. In addition to "2000", there's "rice farmers", "white horse", and most curiously "rhinoceros".

On Friday morning a few friends and I hopped on our motorbikes and headed there for the long weekend. My little 100cc bike handled the trip admirabley, but my friend's much older bike kept overheating, so he bought an IV drip at a pharmacy and rigged it to feed a water drip onto the motor. He made it in the end, an hour or so after me.

On the following day we went to the nearby Kep beach and feasted on fresh shrimp and crabs. Afterwards we swam and relaxed in the sun. In the evening we went to a restaurant specializing in wild meats and feasted once again, this time on hog and deer. The unfortunate vegetarian in the group was surely annoyed, but didn't complain.

On the way back it rained, but we didn't care.

Live from Vietnam

This week Cambodia is celebrating Phchum Ben, a holiday of some sort, so I've taken advantage of the time off work to make a jaunt over to Ho Chi Minh city to see what all the rage is.

I am pleasantly surprised. I heard so many travelers in Cambodia bitching and moaning about how they hate the Vietnamese, what a pain in the ass the country is, etc etc, so I was bracing myself for intensity, but so far it's nowhere to be found. People are remarkably friendly and, yes, a bit more business-oriented than their Theravada Buddhist neighbors to the west (Vietnam, apart from the large Catholic minority, practices Mahayana Buddhism, like China)

My impression is that HCMC is a mix between Bangkok and Phnom Penh, though closer to the former than the latter. It's a bit like Bangkok, but better managed and without all the horribly ugly expressways, fly-overs, and the skytrain which obscure so much of the Bangkok sky with rain stained concrete. It's a city of motorbikes, though it seems that the cars are starting to chip away at the 2 wheel monopoly on the roads. For a coffee lover like myself, it's a dream. Cheap, good, domestically grown coffee is served everywhere. The food is also a dream... a lot more variety than the gnarly strips of pork on a pile of rice that I've been imbibing in Cambodia.

I'd better stop there or I might just convince myself not to go back on Sunday!

Home Sweet Home

A glimpse into my first week in Phnom Penh...

Phnom Penh: the first week

I arrived only 2 days before starting my new job, so my time has mostly been spent getting adjusted to the job rather than really exploring the city. Or take many photos, so patience on that front, dear friends.

The city feels more modern than my first trip to Phnom Penh a couple of years ago. Being outside in the streets at night, I don't feel the sense of danger (or at least noticeably less) that I did back in 2005. Admittedly, I'm staying in a fairly western part of town with heaps of western restaurants and bars catering to tourists and and ex-pats (I'll be looking for a more Khmer area to reside in soon).

Been trying to learn Khmer from the get-go, but damn are these SE Asian languages tricky to wrap your head around. In the initial stages it doesn't feel like my knowlege of Thai is helping much, but I think it will as I begin to understand Khmer better.. Thai is tonal and Khmer is not, but they do share a fair bit of vocabulary, and have similar grammar.

More soon.

Coup Anniversary

September 19th is the first anniversary of the coup that sent telecom mogul turned prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra packing to England and looks to have restored the pattern of weak governments interspersed with coups that Thailand has known since becoming a constitutional monarchy in 1932. While Thaksin was away, the tanks were rolled into the streets and a television broadcast plainly announced the coup. The next day, life went on as normal. When there's been 17 coups in the last 60 years, there's not much to do but sigh or roll your eyes and get on with the day.

There's no question that Thaksin was a bit of an asshole. He abused his unprecedented power to benefit his business interests, probably more blatantly and unabashedly than some other nation's leaders do. The fact remains that he had a clear recent mandate to rule the country. In 2005 he became the first prime minister to be re-elected EVER in Thai history. He was immensely popular in Issan, the poor north-eastern part of the country, and other rural areas. He started a number of projects to help alleviate poverty in Thailand, with mixed success.

There was his dirty little "war on drugs" which involved the extra-judicial killings of accused "drug dealers" (who in reality could have been simply political enemies, as there was never any investigation in the killings), hard to excuse. His mishandling of the insurgency in the deep south was unfortunate, particularly the Tak Bai incident in which 85 demonstrators were killed, having suffocated in the back of a truck transporting them to a detention center some ways away.

Was it right to kick the thug out? It depends on how much value you place on democracy. The military government has fumbled through a year, the Thai people have half-heartedly accepted a new, weaker constitution to replace the 1997 one. There are elections slated for the end of the year. In the meantime, Thailand has showed weak economic growth brought on by the political instability. While nearby Vietnam is raging along with China, Thailand is poking along. It seems to me the country would have been better off with a political solution to it's Thaksin problem, but hell, what do I know, I'm just a stupid farang.

Disaster Strikes!

No sooner than I arrive back in Thailand than 88 die in a Phuket plane crash on landing. Yowch. Watch out for those budget airlines.

Speaking of budget airlines, I'll be taking one to Phnom Penh in the next week or so. I've secured a teaching job there through mid-december. The pay is good, the hours not too long, and I'll be able to move forward with my film projects while I'm there.

I have to say though, the heat here is not that easy to get used to. I've come to understand why the Thais and Cambodians are so chilled out - It's too damn hot to be perky all the time. I feel like time moves at about half speed as back home, and that still seems a tad too fast. I'm sure I'll adapt, but I wish it would happen sooner.

And then there's the import/export business I'm hoping to start up. I've met heaps of people on holiday in Thailand who fund their travels buying suits, knock-off goods, etc etc. More on that later.

By the way, the blog really is back this time :)

Music Review: Radio Phnom Penh

Sublime Frequencies, a Seattle-based record label specializing in radio and field recording collages from around the globe, has kindly saved you the trouble and pain of digging through the mines of mediocre Khmer Pop and ripped-off Tata Young melodies and delivered some of the catchiest, melt-in-you-ear sweet Khmer sounds ever to grace the streets of Phnom Penh (or your living room).

Being back home in the sane lands of the eternal toothless-winter (it's August, so why am I sleeping with a down comforter?) has left me with plenty of time to get re-acquainted with my old friend music, and RPP is topping the playlist. When the quiet predictability of Olympia underwhelms my stimulant-starved, metropolis-acclimated mind, I only need strap on my sennheiser teleportation device to be whisked away to that mystic land steeped in war, history, and re-birth.

Farewell, Japan

As a neat little wrap-up to my time in Japan I set out with my friend David to ascend mighty Fujisan. Our climb began at around 10 PM, with the aim to reach the summit by sunrise at around 4 AM. Armed with torches, winter clothes for the brutal conditions at the top, and a few rice balls each, we began our climb.

The ascent is divided into 10 stations, with the 1st being the base and the 10th the summit. The bus from Tokyo plunked us out at the 5th station, and after a few minutes of meandering about we found an expert-looking climber who seemed to know where to go. We followed.


We reached the 6th station in record time and had a short break before powering on to the next.

By the time we reached the 7th station is was becoming apparent that this wasn't going to be a stroll in the park. The path was steep and dark, but our flashlights were true, and David's could even be powered by a hand crank. There would be no failure for us this night.

Here we are at the 7th Station.


Between the 8th station and the summit, conversation drops to a minimum and a kind of mountaineer's comradely kicks in. The air becomes thin, and breaks become short and frequent. We were making record time and were set to be at the summit around 2, so we slowed our pace in an effort not to be stuck on the chilly peak waiting for the sun to rise.

For climbers who bought a Fuji walking stick, a man burns a station stamp onto the side.


We reached the summit at around 3, leaving an hour to shiver and huddle anywhere we could find out of reach of the biting winds before the sun rose. There were salty men serving up slop ramen in a summit shack, so we indulged, more for the steamy broth than the food itself.


The view at the top was breathtaking. Otherworldly. Stunning. An hour trotting around the rocks of that lifeless environment was enough. We set out, with pride in our hearts, for the return journey.

for more photos, check the flickr page

Sushi

This is too funny for me to keep to myself.

Rainy Sunday

Here are a couple of clips from a stroll through one of Tokyo's entertainment districts, Kabukicho, last weekend:

Another cop-out video post

One day I'll write about life in Tokyo, but until then....

VIDEOS FROM MY INDIA ADVENTURES
Bizarre happenings in Varanasi
Gujarati Sword Dancing

Metal boxes packed with suits and bodies

The top 5 most crowded train lines in Tokyo, according to my students:

1) JR Saikyo line. Popular hunting grounds for chikan (groping perverts).
2) Keio Inokashira line. In western Tokyo.
3) JR Yamanote line. The circular loop line of central Tokyo.
4) Odakyu line. Another one in western Tokyo.
5) Tokyu Den-en-toshi line: Yet another one in the west.
Honorable Mention: JR Chuo line. Cuts through the center of Tokyo

This week I started commuting to Shibuya from my home in Seijogakuen-mae. The journey takes around 40 minutes door to door, with about 20 of those being inside a train car. I use the Odakyu line (#4) and the Inokashira line (#2).

Not for the weak.

Sardines.

Go to a happy place.

Hmmmm, no thanks.

Train staff lend a helping hand.

Sure wish there was a ladies only carriage.

Relief.

Coffee and cigerettes.

Getting on an Inokashira line in Shimo-kitazawa.

Doggy!

Doggy!
Originally uploaded by Sven Mook.

Walking dogs is such a bother.

Tokyo Again

I've landed in Tokyo, and in my very own brand spankin' new apartment. It even has a new apartment smell. And guess what else? Screaming fast broadband internet. Goodbye to posts from backwater malaria infested towns... Don't expect the writing to improve with the hygiene though.

There are a few things that need to be mentioned before I go further into the details of my existence here in Tokyo. First off, why does United Airlines blow? My complaint here has substance, and goes beyond the appalling lack of beautiful Asian stewardesses on it's Bangkok-Tokyo route. One word: Water. Why do I have to flag down the flight attendants repeatedly to beg for water? Shouldn't they be coming around with the stuff of life as we cruise along at that parching altitude? On any decent airline they would be coming around with trays of the stuff every 20 minutes. I could go on and on about the food, but what would be the point. It's typical American slop: low quality, flavorless, processed, and unhealthy. Finally, I don't mind that I don't have my own personal television screen. I really don't. But for the love of God, if I have to see Happy Feet playing on that big blurry screen one more time I'm gonna spew all over the damn duty free catalog AND the safety card... Seriously, every flight I seem to take has that as the feature friggin' movie of the moment.

For those interested in good cinema, see The Last King of Scotland.

Before I stray too far from the topic of airlines and flying in general, allow me to redeem this rant-fest of a post by sharing some tips for getting budget tickets. First of all, check out the Hobo Traveler's tips on gate hopping. The formatting of the page leaves something to be desired, but if you're looking for cheap tickets involving unknown/unconventional travel plans, this guy knows his shit. Also try throwing your travel plans into these search engines which search hundreds of other airlines and travel sites at once:
Kayak
SideStep

More once I've unpacked...

อะไรวะ?

Once again I find myself in Bangkok, the City of Angels... and internet speeds are smokin'! I can't visit YouTube though, as the Thai government has blocked it since a video poking fun at the monarch was spotted a few weeks ago.

After 4 months in India and Cambodia, Bangkok seems uber-developed and hyper-westernized. On Tuesday I go to Tokyo... my brain will surely explode then.

Today I took care of business: went to the tailor, had my teeth cleaned, and got a foot massage. I'm very comfortable in the city after having lived here for a year and a half, and it's always good to come back for a visit. Good fruit and pretty girls... what more could you ask for?

I mentioned Japan earlier. I'll be working near Shibuya through July, so the "travel" part of the travelogue might be a strech, but I intend to keep the updates coming to give my readers a peak into the life of an ex-pat in Japan. And of course, expect more travels and adventures when summertime hits!

Indian boys ham it up

I was trying to videotape this guy practicing kung-fu, and this group of Indian boys kept trying to push way their way into the shot. Hilarious...

India Videos!

At long last, here's some of the footage I shot in India. I'll start with this short clip of some girls playing music on a train from Mumbai to Ahmedabad. The clip goes on quite a bit longer than what I uploaded here, but I'll start with this as a test:

Check the Flickr page for newly uploaded snaps - some of my favorites are in this bunch...

Cambodian New Year starts tomorrow so I'm off work until Tuesday. I may head down to the coast and Sihanoukville for the holiday. Happy Khmer New Year!

Teaching in a Khmer language school

I've taken a job 2 hours per day teaching in a language school in Phnom Penh. The name of the school is ELT. Here's a quote from their introductory information for teachers:

ELT popularly stands for English Language Training. It, however, can be interpreted as Enriching Life for Tomorrow as its Motto. We also attempt to translate ELT as Excellent Learning Torch...

Ouch. Yes, it's that bad. OK so the school is crap, but Khmer students are outgoing and eager to speak (compared with my experiences teaching in Thailand and Japan). The level of English in Phnom Penh is, on average, higher than in Bangkok or Tokyo.

My schedule leaves something to be desired: one hour from 6:30 AM to 7:30 AM and another hour in the evening, 5:30 to 6:30. I did this to force myself to wake up early. Teaching 2 or 3 hours per day is about right, really. One has time to adequeately prepare for classes and not feel like a zombie at the end of the day. Mostly I've taken the job for a laugh and to see what it's like in a Cambodian language school, and also to cover most of my expenses during my stay here. It is cheap, I tell ya. One strange thing in Cambodia: The U.S. dollar is the de-facto currency here. They do have riel, the local currency, but it is used interchangably with the dollar at a rate of 4000 riel to one dollar. This means riel are used for small amounts(there's no US coins) and dollars for larger ones.

What's it like in Cambodia? HOT!!! Now is the peak of summer and the new year is this weekend. I'm planning to get out of town for the holiday and see a bit of the Cambodian countryside.

Stay tuned in the next week or two for some videos from India, new photos from Cambodia, and of course my continuing impressions of Phnom Penh.

Cambodia

I'm posting from Siem Reap, Cambodia, which is best known as home of the temples of Angkor. The Angkor empire dominated South-East asia about a thousand years ago, then fell into obscurity. For centuries these giant stone temples were lost to the jungles and known only to the local villagers. Now that the prospect of war has lifted from Cambodian life, the site is seeing unprecedented numbers of visitors, increasing rapidly each year.

I spent the last 3 days touring the temples. It's my second time here, but this time I explored many more of the temples. They cover a wide area at the north eastern corner of the Tonle Sap lake, the massive lake dominating the Cambodian heartland. This unique lake receives an influx of water from the Mekong each year, when the water journeying towards the sea overwhelms the Mekong Delta in Southern Vietnam and backs up into the lake, multiplying it's size four fold. As the water recedes from the lake throughout the year, rice is planted continuously on the newly exposed, highly fertile land.

The Khmer Empire, which had it's capitol at Angkor, dominated south-east Asia at it's height, encompassing large swaths on land in modern day Thailand, Laos, Malaysia, and Vietnam. Much of today's cultural and religious life is rooted in heritage of this vast empire.

Look at my Flickr photos to get an idea what it's like at Angkor.

From India I spent 10 days in intensive Vipassana meditation at a center outside of Bangkok. There, I put my strength of will to the test. Wake up bell was at 4:00 AM. The days were filled with meditation (about 11 hours each day). We were also forbidden from speaking with our fellow meditators. A difficult but worthwhile experience. This organization has meditation centers worldwide, but Vipassana meditation centers with varying methodologies and degrees of strictness are to be found throughout S.E. Asia.

We are now in the peak of the Cambodian summer. This means a kind of heat that I thought only existed in the lower hells. I can feel the sun cooking my exposed skin like rotisserie chicken. From the 13th to 15th of this month the Khmer's celebrate the Cambodian New Year. I'll most likely be in Phnom Penh for this. This is known as Songkran (or Thai New Year) in Thailand and is also celebrated in Laos and Myanmar. I've been in Laos and Thailand for it in past years.... always an excellent time! I'm looking forward to seeing the Cambodian take on it.

More from the Capitol (Phnom Penh)...

Where it all started

Well I'm back in Chennai, where the women wear fresh flowers in their hair and the men throw burning hot tea from glass to glass. Ah, Tamil Nadu, how I wish I had more than a mere 24 hours to enjoy your charms. There may not be much for the average traveler to do in Chennai, but the wonderful people make it worth the visit (and they speak English!).
I've just come from Puri, a lovely town on the Bay of Bengal. The most famous site is in nearby Konark, which features the sun temple, containing many erotic sculptures and bass reliefs. Puri is such a peaceful place to relax, really off the main tourist trail but that's part of the charm and gives it an extraordinarily laid back feel. The area was devastated in 1999 by a massive cyclone.

And with that, part one of the travelogue (The Indian Odyssey, let's call it) comes to a close as I prepare for tomorrow's midnight flight to Bangkok. If you're worried that the blog will end, don't, because I'm much more worried about the prospect of getting a full-time job. After a brief stop-over in the land of smiles (are we still calling it that?) I'll be heading to the land of landmines (and smiles), Cambodia.

City of Joy?

Kolkata musings
The first thing one notices when stumbling out of Kolkata's Howrah train station at some too-early hour is the abundance of charming, old-fashioned yellow taxi cabs, and the corresponding lack of bicycle-rickshaws and auto-rickshaws (3 wheeled bats from hell). After crossing the magnificent bridge seperating the station from Kolkata proper, one also notices the abundance of that mythical contraption dreamed up in Japan in the 1800's, the human-pulled rickshaw. Kolkata is the last city in the world to hang on to these slow and outdated contraptions, but it seems to be incapable or unwilling to do away with them. In the guesthouse where I stay there is a book filled with facts and figures from early 1996, and one of the boxed texts proclaims that the government has abolished the rickshaw and they'll be off the streets by the end of 1996. Hmmm...

Trains
To my memory, I never rode a train until I was 18 years old (which must seem bizarre to my Japanese and European readers), but ever since that maiden voyage from Rome's Leonardo da Vinci airport to the city I've had a fascination with them, especially subways. Kolkata sports India's only subway system (with a modest single line) though according to reports Delhi is soon to unveil another. It's quick, frequent, and above all extremely cheap, costing between 4 and 8 rupees per journey (9-18 US cents). It's aesthetic is reminiscent of the NYC subway: grimy but functional. And which city's subway is the most beautiful, you ask? Strikingly, it's Bangkok's elegant contribution (though the safety record leaves something to be desired). But I digress...

Wasting Away?
On the side of the road sat a poor Indian woman with a scale and a metal bowl containing a few rupees. I hadn't checked my weight since I left Japan nearly 3 months ago, so I put my bag down, slipped off my sandals and climbed aboard. Much to my surprise, the scale read "56.5 kg" (For those stragglers who haven't climbed aboard the metric train yet, that's 124.3 pounds). This means I've either shed 7 or 8 kg's (about 16 pounds), or this woman's scale is spinning lies.

Assuming the scale is mechanically sound, I attribute this mainly to a period of about 3 weeks when I was having gut issues, or as some dear friends back home used to say after eating several taco bell chilli cheese burritos, "watery shits". During this period I couldn't stomach Indian food and was subsisting mainly on bananas and yoghurt.

Happily, this ailment is but a distant memory, and I'm once again eating whatever slop I can scrounge up for 8 rupees on the street, being sure to chew carefully (gotta watch out for those rocks).

From Street Food to Street Everything
Who can resist it: piping hot chicken rolls, chow mein, egg sandwiches, teas, sugar cane juice, coconuts, and everything else your greedy little taste buds crave is being hocked on the streets in India. But did you know it's equally easy to get a shave on the road? Or have your ears cleaned? Or a tooth pulled? Almost anything offered in shops can be found a little cheaper out in the elements.

Holi: The full story

Varanasi is one of those places people flock to for the rambunctious celebration of Holi. The main day for celebration was March 4th, and was divided into 2 distinct methods of celebration, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. I was warned continuously from many days before not to go outside the guesthouse during the morning. On the streets during this time the men cut completely loose - no woman would dare to step outside her house until after 2 PM, when all is declared safe, and people take to the streets with their finest threads.

If you've never seen a large group of Indian men at a festival, many of whom are drunk or otherwise intoxicated, it's difficult to convey the enthusiasm. It all starts with water fights, but these waters are infused with industrial strength dye. No part of the body is off limits, and in fact the face is the first target.
When water stops being fun, some groups took to using the piles of trash (which can be found every 20 feet in any Indian town) and tossing them into the air, each other's faces, and down each other's shirts/pants. When the novely of discarded plastic and food wears off, it's on to cow shit, which is no less plentiful. I'm afraid I can't tell you what comes after cow shit, as I don't know any eye-witnesses who dared to stay within the line of sight once the shit storm started. I did hear rumors of water balloons spiked with rocks, and there have been cases in the past of acid being mixed with the water.

As for me, I enjoyed the revelry from the safety of my guesthouse rooftop and ventured out only in the afternoon. I must be loosing my sense of fun. I'll take a good clean S.E. Asian "water only" Songkran over this orgy of madness anyday.

Took the night train to Kolkata and arrived at 8:30 AM today. It's novel and refreshing to be in a major metropolis again. More on my activities here as they develop.

Holi

Varanasi is simmering in anticipation of Holi, the annual festival which celebrates the end of winter. All the corner shops are well stocked with water guns of all shapes and sizes. Mounds of colored powder line the streets. Only the children are wearing clothes stained with the colors of the rainbow today, but come March 4th it will be everyone. Shops will close and the general mayhem will consume the streets.
Hey, wasn't I in varansi in the last post? And the post before? Isn't this supposed to be a travelogue? Oh sorry! Silly me! I bought a ticket to Calcutta for March 6, so fear not.

Hello, Hash?

The touts of the Varanasi ghats don't beat around the bush. I thought no place could ever top Vancouver, B.C. for most-drug-offers-per-city-block, but it seems I was oh-so wrong. Sorry friend, I'm already tripping balls from the living carnival that is Varanasi.

Now is the time to be in Varanasi. The saddhu's or babas as they are affectionately called, have set up camps along the ghats lining the Ganga. They'll stay here until after the Holi festival on March 3rd, after which most will drift to the next holy site, though some, like the naga-baba (naked saddhu) who always seems to draw a massive crowd by twisting his penis around a metal trident while periodically taking long and much-needed draws off his chillum, may well stay.

Belly Aches, the Kumbh Mela, and Love in the Time of Cholera

I don't like seeing doctors, and I know I'm not the only one, yes I'm looking at you Mr. Willoughby, but after a few stabs at self-diagnosis and treatment of my chronically loose bowels I swallowed my pride and visited what passes for a modern medical facility in Varanasi. The diagnosis was simple - my initial self-treatment with antibiotics had destroyed the good bacteria in my system, causing my continuing and worrisome digestive ills. A few days treatment with a pro-biotic was all it took to set me straight and put the brick factory back in business. Cost for the consultation: a mere 10 rupees, about the price of a frothy lassi. The pro-biotics: 65 rupees, or the price of a tikka butter masala and naan at a mid-priced restaurant. The main expense was the 150 rupees I paid to the auto-rickshaw driver to take me there and back, an expense I justified by imagining it was an ambulance.

One significant advantage I reap by living outside the United States is that I can visit the doctor without sacraficing my savings. A simple visit to an ER in the U.S. would cost, say, minimum $200, and any sort of lab work or medication could easily send the bill to between $500-$1000. Being without insurance, it's risky for me to return home for a visit. In most cases it would be cheaper to fly to Bangkok and get treatment there.

Rest assured I'm fine and fit now in my beautiful airy room overlooking the Ganga ghats where the children fly kites and play cricket with no shoes. The only danger I face is the army of monkeys that live on the rooftops, and will snatch up anything I leave on the table near the window by reaching their little arms through the metal grates. It's a fine environment for reading, writing, and relaxation. In the mornings and evenings I grab my camera and take photos along the ghats. I rarely go without a siesta, and I have the feeling that I've stayed here a month.

The truth is I came here on the night of Shiva, February 16th. Varanasi is the city of Shiva, and I don't have to remind you that Indians love a good celebration, and what more appropriate occasion could one imagine. It was the most lively and boisterous parade of night life I've seen for some time, with floats, fireworks, dancing, dozens of brass bands, and enough loudspeakers to fill every narrow alleyway in the city with the vibrations of Hindu techno.

That same day I had been in Allahabad soaking up the atmosphere of the Ardh Kumbh Mela, where thousands of pilgrims come; not only the babas and saddhus but family upon family who had come from all across India to bathe in the water where 3 holy Indian rivers come together, on the day which the vedic astrologers had pinpointed as the most auspicious.

Just 2 days and a 12 hour train ride before, I had been in Agra, more famous for it's being home to the Taj than for it's general unpleasantness. And before Agra it was Jaipur.

Thanks to those who played "make a story from the pictures", I'll have to do that again. I've also put some more photos up on flickr (find the link on the right).

Photo Special

J-J-J-Jaipur!!!

Having spent 2 weeks in simple and salty Dwarka, it was time for a major shift. It turns out there's no starker contrast to dreamy Dwarka than smelly and desperate Jaipur, capitol of the tourist trap state of India, Rajasthan. After a surprisingly bearable 20 hour train ride without an assigned seat, I was besieged by vulture-like auto-rickshaw (tuk-tuk) drivers upon my arrival at 4 AM. These guys must feed on green travelers like a cow on cardboard. My chosen vulture tried every trick in the book to steer me to "his" hotel, from which he would recieve a hefty commission, with me, of course, footing that bill. Uncharacteristally, I had made a hotel reservation (the first of this trip), which I was mighty thankful for during this battle of wits with the driver.

It's unfortunate that 95% of the people in a country can be wonderful, genuine, honest people, but 95% of the people who approach you while walking down the street are blood-sucking touts or rickshaw drivers, just dying to rip you off. Many visitors get defensive after dealing with these unscrupulous vagabonds, and cease to trust any local with a friendly smile and welcoming tone. This is a mistake, but one that's taken me years to realize, and something which I have to constantly strive to correct. Of the utmost importance on the sub-continent is keeping a good attitude because if you loose it, you're on a downward spiral my friend.

To be honest, I'd have left Jaipur by now, but I have to stick around until Monday when the Air India office is opened to take care of some ticket-changing business. I had one satisfying day here, and it's best to quit while one's ahead.

Yesterday was spent, among other things, researching pashmina shawls: their price, quality, etc., not because I plan to buy one, just out of curiosity. Basically, a real pashmina shawl comes from the wool of the Himalaya-dwelling goat. There's heaps of imitators: shawls made from sheeps wool, synthetic fibers, or a combination, costing US$5-150 but the real deal will cost about US$300 for a full-sized one. The quality only goes up from there. A pashmina made from only the neck and back fur of the baby goat will run into the thousands of dollars. I'll stick to my $7 imitation, but place any orders in the comments section of this post, or mail me personally.

There's not a lot more to say about Jaipur. It's a good place for shopping if you like getting ripped off, or can bargain harder than a concrete wall. Jaipur is known far and wide as the "pink city" as all the building in the old city are painted "pink, actually more of a fading rusty-orange color. For sightseeing, there's the impressive Amber Fort, a massive palace and former home of the Maharaj (prince), perched overlooking the surrounding hills, 8 km from Jaipur. You can explore all the hidden passageways, take in the extraordinary view from intricately latticed windows, and prance about in the large courtyards.

From here it's on to Agra or Delhi.

Dhaval, the pan chewing priest

One of the interesting things about staying in a small town for a long time is the colourful characters that crop up and reappear day to day. There's certainly no shortage here in Dwarka.

But first, allow me to explain "pan". It's a concoction of betel nut, herbs, and often tobacco all rolled into a leaf and stuffed into the mouth. It's users are distinctive for their red and black stained teeth and inability to annunciate. All over India, you'll see bright red splotches on the walls, asphalt, pavement - the byproduct from the mouths of pan users.

This brings us to Dhaval, the pan-addict Hindu priest of Dwarka. Dhaval is a young man, 23 years of age, and a Brahmin priest working in the main temple here. He speaks passable English and is eager to speak with foreigners.

Being a pan-hound priest must present some difficulties. When you have a mass of leaf, betel nut, and tobacco the size of a mini-snickers bar (like the ones you get at Halloween) it becomes difficult to speak. Being a priest involves reciting a lot of phrases during the daily blessings and puja (special prayers, usually payed for, to help with some specific problem). Lucky for him it's all in sanskrit which nobody (including him) will understand anyway., so he can memble his way through them. The only remaining danger is that someone will notice the red juices he's been spraying all over Shiva's phallus as he speaks.

Well, time's up here at Dwarka's only internet cafe, which brutally exploits it's monopoly on internet access.

Milking the Buffalo

Today I realized another of my dreams: To milk a buffalo. OK, mostly I watched the professionals, but I got my virgin hands on those rubbery utters for a little while.
Here in India the drinking of cow and buffalo milk is widespread. Milk goes into many an Indian specialty and, sorry vegans, here a "pure veg" restaurant means they don't use eggs. Most people in the west are familiar with lassi, the refreshing yoghurt drink (and if you ever want to try and introduce your kids to it, I recommend starting with the sweet variety), but the full range of uses is astonishing. Naturally butter is one popular derivative, but also ghee (purified butter, often spread on chapatis for eating, but also used during cremation and other rituals), and the leftover buttermilk, served with the meal at many restaurants.

There is another precious mana which the cow and buffalo provide. The poo, when formed into a pancake and dried, makes for an excellent fuel for cooking over a fire (and makes excellent fertilizer).

And so, my day with the illiterate buffalo milk family was a truly memorable and enjoyable one.

On the literary front, yesterday I finished reading City of Joy about the slum in Calcutta (now Kolkata) of the same name, on which the movie is based. It's great fun to read, and I recommend it whether you've seen the movie or not. Quite gruesome in parts, it manages to be both ecstatically happy and miserably sad all at the same time.

I've slowed the pace of travel and dug in here in the ancient city of Dwarka on the coast in the far west of Gujarat state. Krishna is the main man around these parts. As the story goes, he was born in north of India by the Ganges, but later came here to work and established the city of Dwarka. It's extremely hard to seperate the truths preached by the local stories and the truths preached by the archaeologists, and from what I can gather it's not exactly known how old some of the important temples here are. The locals will usually say 5000 years old.

The place has a special atmosphere. It's very traditional and almost untouched by tourism, except for the pilgrims who flock here for auspicious days. There always seems to be a festival happenning, both day and night. Yesterday was an important holiday for the Sunni Muslims, and was the cause of great celebration. To my great surprise, loudspeakers and drums came alive in the darkest depths of the night last night, directly outside my guesthouse. The main celebration for this festival just finished an hour ago.

A few days before was January 26th, India's independance day, which was the cause of a massive celebration. To fill the gaps there is always a wedding or anniversary party dancing in the streets and filling the air with the sounds of a casio synthesizer and a raging drum line.

Don't know when I'll be able to pull myself away...

Brahmins and Dalits

A couple of friendly chaps in Mumbai sparked up a conversation with me in the street. Turns out they work for an NGO which is struggling to provide equality for the minority "untouchable" caste, the dalits. They were dalits themselves, and were very passionate about the subject. Though the caste system has been officially abolished in the Indian constitution, according to these gentleman it is still very much alive, especially in the rural areas that stick to tradition and which the politicians ignore.
I won't go into all the ins and outs of the caste system here, but they did throw a few shocking bits of information my way. On the night of a marriage between a dalit man dalit woman, the woman will go home not with her new husband, but with the brahmin landowner of their property.
There are seperate glasses and plates at the restaurants for Dalits, seperate parts of the town (like a "ghetto" they explained) for the dalits, and everything else that goes along with extreme segregation.
I asked how one knows the caste of another person, since there is no physical distinction between a brahmin and a dalit, or any other caste. According to them "it's all in the name", that is, your surname would give away which caste you belong to. I was grateful for their infomative conversation. Traveling about as I do, I don't see the discrimination with my eyes, but it is very much alive under the surface. Best of luck to you gentlemen on your mission!
In stark contrast to it's northern neighbor Rajasthan (which I will be heading to next), Gujarat state is utterly devoid of foreign tourists. In addition I'm noticing a steep deterioration of English ability as I plunge into the western depths of the state. I just may have to break down and learn some words in Hindi. Well I know a few, but "namaskar sardarji" (good evening sir) only gets me so far though "bas" (enough) comes it quite handy with the aggressive hordes of begging children. Really it's an exciting and long overdue proposition. I've grown lazy because of the brilliant English spoken here thus far.
Today marks me first camel sighting in India. Can't wait to ride one of those suckers around the deserts of Rajasthan.

Ahmedabad: Day One

After a mildly grueling 9 hour train ride in 3rd class without a seat reservation I've arrived in the bustling, polluted, but incredibly welcoming city of Ahmedabad, in Gujarat state. The train ride provided a sneak peak into the people of Gujarat: friendly, outgoing, and hospitable. You're never in want of food on an Indian train, even in a decked out 3rd class compartment. Vendors hawking samosas, rice, chai, and fruit board the compartment at every station, even if that means they have to jump in and out of the emergency window because the entry ways are inaccessible. On top of that, the family that "took me in" and offered my a little space on their upstairs loft bench seat had come well prepared with chapatis, curd, and a potato and vegetable masala.
Arriving at 2 AM in an unknown city is never my first choice, but sometimes that's the way the cookie crumbles, so I put myself in the hands of an autorickshaw driver to whisk me off to the promised "cheap and good" hotel. After a few tries I found a suitable room with the only downside being the gang of pigeons that live directly above the room and march around from early morning to dusk, periodically shitting on the windows and losing feathers through the small hole in the roof where the fan is mounted.
With remarkably few foreign tourists here, the people are friendly and genuine. In the space of a few hours I've been invited into several homes, had a free of charge "heritage tour" of the old city, and learned quite a bit about the history of the place. One striking thing is how divided the Muslim and Hindu parts of the city are, though they are both warm and welcoming (to me anyway, though not to each other).
I've also had a good run-down of the other places to visit in the state. It's a significant place for Hindus as it is [supposedly] Krishna's old stomping grounds. On the far western end of the state which borders the Arabian Sea, several successively older cities are submerged underwater, flooded and abandoned as the oceans levels have risen over the centuries. There's also a handful of wildlife sanctuaries, including Sasan Gir, which is the main home in India of the Asian lion.
Wild lion anyone?

Coming from which country?

I managed to pull myself out of sandy tropical Goa yesterday on a train bound for Mumbai. The train is far better than the bus in India, especially for long distance travel, but it conflicts with my general aversion to planning because you generally have to make a reservation a few days in advance to have a guaranteed seat. It's worth the effort though, because it's cheaper, smoother, faster, and funner than bus travel. This time I got lucky and secured a seat having bought my ticket a half hour before the train was to depart.
Mumbai! Bombay! Whatever you want to call it, it's a magnificent place teeming with life and excitement around every corner. Grand architecture, brilliant cuisine from around India (and the world) and a shopper's paradise (I bought a trumpet today...), it's the kind of place I can see myself living. Today I aquainted myself with just one small area of the city. Imagine all the hidden secrets, gems and horrors that dwell in this sprawling megalopolis of 16 million people (give or take).
The winds have turned and from here I'm drifting north through the states of Gujarat and Rajisthan before hitting Delhi around the beginning of February. This means I'll be staying in India a fair bit longer than the initial 6 weeks I'd planned for, and I'll be able to hit Kashmir and Pujabi to the north of Delhi, and later Varanesi before going back to Chennai at the end of the trip.
Here's some of the highlights from the last week or so:
I saw the biggest rat ever.
Saw more cows eating more cardboard.
Took a therapeutic mud-bath in Goa.
Perfected my clothes hand-washing technique.
The train ride along the Konkan coast of India.
The magnificent sunsets over the sea in Goa every night.
Saw a really dated American horror movie called The Body Counters in the cinema (ok not really a highlight but I thought you should know) Tonight I'll correct that blunder by seeing a quality flick here in the film capitol of India.

Next stop - somewhere in Gujarat state

wobble wobble

Indians have a very direct way of communicating that I find so refreshing. Their speech is very polite, but many of the tiring extra goodbyes and thank yous have been cleanly snipped away.
My favorite element of communication with Indians is non-verbal. It's the side to side bobbing of the head that is so uniquely Indian. I was completely baffled as to it's meaning for the first couple of days here. Is it no? yes? maybe?
It has a range of subtle meanings. One clear bob to the side is a definite "yes", while a gentle back and forth bobbing could mean, "yeah", "perhaps", "This is possible", "it remains to be seen", etc.
I'm only beginning to decipher the subtleties. It can also mean "thanks" (as when you are served something at a restaurant), or "you're welcome" and "no problem".
These last few days have been spent indulging in a tropical beachside lifestyle. This beach (Arambol) is the northernmost developed beach in Goa, and doesn't have the burned out, washed up feel of Anjuna and the British expat beaches to the south.
There is fierce competition among the new age health programs and courses here, with possibilities to take reiki, yoga, capoeira, tai chi, thai massage, and meditation. Somehow, the proliferation of options turns me off to the whole idea. I did take a tabla lesson from a guy named "raj", and if I can get my hands on some to practice with, I'll continue the studies.
Gotta run, time for a Chai.

Hello Sir Banana Pineapple Papaya

Disclaimer: The formatting of this post is at the mercy of the "Zenith PC" brand computer I'm currently using, and any irregularities should be disregarded.

First to address the questions:
Tea
Tea is extremely popular, but it's a very different animal from back home. The popular and most commonly available tea is chai tea mixed with generous amounts
of sugar and milk. It's delicious and cheap, somewhere between 1 and 10
rupees (www.xe.com)
depending on where you are and how big the glass is. Coffee is almost
as popular, at least in the south. It is powdered but you won't know
the difference after all the milk and sugar is added. In touristy
places, you'll usually be served tea and coffee without sugar, to the
annoyance of those who have developed a taste for the local concoction.
Alcohol
The
availability and price of alcohol varies widely from state to state
within India. In a small town you'll typically have one or two "Wine
Shops", the local
term for liquor store, presumably because wine sounds classier. I
strongly suspect the beer, whiskey, rum, gin, and vodka outsell the
wine by far. The beer is decent. Local brews include the popular Kingfischer
as well as Cobra, Knock Out, and a half dozen others. On the cheap side
you'll pay RS 35-40 in a wine shop (So far I've only found this in Pondicherry, which has an autonomous government outside the reach of the Tamil Nadu alcohol tax) while in most other areas it's RS 60-80, which could be the cost of your hotel room.
Of course if you're really daring and not too attached to your sense of sight, you could content yourself with some uber-dodgy local spirits, probably brewed from cow's piss and coconuts, and save yourself a few dozen rupees.
In some places alcohol is forbidden (Hampi),
while in other places it is frowned upon. Going to the wine shop
sometimes feels like going to the methadone distribution place, with
passersby casting disapproving looks as choose your brew. In contrast,
here in Goa wine shops are abundant and the stigma around alcohol is
all but non-existent. Still, you won't find people drinking outside
publicly in parks or on the street (with the exception of foreigner
tourists), though I presume it is legal.
3) Religion Just being inside the inner sanctum of a hindu temple certainly feels like being a part of an intense ritual. I haven't cast aside all possessions and gone to live with the sidhu's
just yet, but religion is such an integral part of Indian life that
it's really impossible to be here and not have contact with it and feel
the people's devotion.

After one night on Anjuna beach in Goa,
where the prices are double to triple what you would pay a few
kilometers away, and tourists outnumber locals 3 to 1, I've moved
inland to the capitol city of Panaji . I feel I've returned to the real
India now, though Goa has a very different character. The Portuguese
certainly left their mark in the religion and architecture. It's
cleaner here than other cities, and more people dress in the western
style. People speak English very well, and there is more of an
indifference to foreigners rather than the fascination with them (us) in other regions.

Recently
I've been thinking about the influence of tourism on India. In places
with a heavy concentration of tourists, the people have adjusted to a
new economy based almost exclusively around extracting money from them.
This makes sense given the difference in purchasing power between the
rupee and euro, pound, dollar or yen. Something which is nothing to us
could represent a few days of hard work in the rice fields. The locals
in these places can embrace the lifestyle, open a restaurant serving
lasagna, or be left in the dust, and probably be driven out of their
now-prime property by someone with more ambition.
A
few people have confided to me their nostalgia for the way of life in
their village 20 years ago (more in some places), and I suspect whether
consciously or
not, most people led richer, more joyful lives before the arrival of
the white man.

That's ludicrous! The dollars flowing in
could be saving people from starving, providing much needed income for
education,
and health care, and giving people who would otherwise have no
opportunity to travel the chance to interact with people from vastly
different cultures and even
learn their languages.

Well
I can't really argue with that, but when I look at the smiles on the
dirty faces of the poor families in the rural villages and compare them
with the scowls of the
restaurant owners in tourist centers, unhappy because they have no
customers with so much competition, I can't help but think that some of
our obsession with commerce and our greed has rubbed off on the people
there.

Well
if you're such a fanatic about preserving the people's way of life how
can you yourself travel and exacerbate the so-called
problem?

oops.

The long awaited update

Here in Hampi, one can see many temples and ruins dating from the 16th century. It seems the internet connection was installed around the same time, judging from the speed and reliability of the connection. On top of that, the internet shops have a sweet little business going, charging double the rate of a good connection in any other place.
That said, it's been a relaxing period of isolation from the modern world. I've learned how to wash my clothes in the river.
I think I'm giving a rather skewed impression of the place. It's a kind of tourist retreat. I have access to a plethora of banana pancake flavors here, and Israeli food to satisfy even the most oppressive falafel craving.
My weakness for tea and relaxation have gotten the best of my travel ambitions, and I'm peacefully wiling the days away by the river, reading, staring at magnificent boulders and exploring the otherworldly landscapes here. I'm also taking ungodly amounts of photos, which I will upload once I've returned to the land of broadband internet.