Tales from Thailand- Part VIII Meditation Complications

Saying goodbye to my dad when leaving China to catch my flight back to Bangkok was incredibly difficult for me. I missed my family and friends terribly, and getting to spend time with him had renewed the ache of not seeing them. When I was looking to leave India, I had convinced myself that it was ok to go back to Thailand because I would be looking for jobs; it was ok to not go home yet because I had a legitimate reason to stay. I still hadn’t come to terms with what exactly I was doing going to all these places. Traveling just for the sake of traveling? In my world this was unheard of; I had never known anyone who had done this. At least you must be going to school, at least you must be working, at least you must be volunteering, doing a program, visiting friends, something, anything! Otherwise it starts to seem like a long-term vacation, which is idleness, which is condemnable. What place can this have in our culture where what you produce defines who you are? Except I was being productive… in my own personal growth. But I had not yet come to value this as a justifiable way to invest my time.

So I lied to myself. I went to back to Chiang Mai, the city I had stayed in for my course, and found a comfortable room to rent in a Thai woman’s quaint teak home-converted-guest house. I met several nice people there and started to get to know the town by bicycle. For almost an entire month, I struggled with whether I would feel ok to postpone my return to the US by one year! I had thus far been successful in casting off the burden of unalterable plans, but this seemed like too much of a stretch from my original plan of returning to the US in mid-September after volunteering in India for a few weeks. I never thought it would be so soon that I would take such a long leave from seeing my family and friends. If I had already planned on settling I would have most certainly packed more than three shirts and three pairs of pants! So my heart wasn’t really in it when I sent emails inquiring about teaching jobs; I knew that the real way to get a job in Thailand is to show up in person and apply.

Anxiety continued to build until I felt ready to explode. Wasn’t I wasting time? Didn’t I just spend money on TWO flights back to this country on the premise of searching for jobs? If I left already, wouldn’t I regret not looking? I needed some peace of mind. That’s when I thought of something that had actually been on my mind since arriving in Asia: a meditation retreat. A 10-day foray into my own consciousness, foregoing communication with the outside world and postponing my progress in the job hunt… It seemed the epitome of selfishness, and was therefore very freeing. I finally was able to make the decision to take care of my own personal well-being without worrying about what else and who else I was taking care of.

I called the meditation center a friend had recommended to ask for information on retreats and the monk on the other end exclaimed “Hurry! One starts in 3 hours!” Nervous as all hell, but committed to the philosophy of “go with the flow” that I had recently begun pushing myself to use for the first time in my life, I agreed and hung up the phone. Swiftly, I packed and caught a taxi to the mall so that I could purchase the white clothes (even underwear!) that would be required from the moment of my initiation and onward until the end. I arrived at the temple grounds during the lunch hour and was met by the voice I had heard on the phone. A young Thai man wearing an orange robe and a huge smile greeted me in this serene setting of chedis, bells, and statues of the Buddha, all surrounded by lush greenery. He told me to eat and change into the white clothes and meet him at his office in two hours.

Two other foreigners around my age, a woman and a man, were waiting in the office. After introducing ourselves, the woman immediately mentioned that she felt she wouldn’t make it through the 10 days. “Well you definitely won’t if you think like that,” I thought to myself. Our monk returned and explained the procedure of the opening ceremony. We would enter the teacher’s room on our knees and bow in a certain way three times to the Buddha and then greet the teacher. We would then give offerings of flowers and incense. We would also need to smile visibly during the entire ritual. We practiced all of this several times, and then we were taught the meditation techniques we would be using. I was prepared for the retreat to be intense; however, I was not prepared for the actual form of the meditation to be intense. Although I still consider myself a beginner, I have had an introduction to meditation before, enough to use as a foundation for my current irregular practice. Having become accustomed to this way of meditating, the differences between the methods were clear. Where my familiar technique used some visualization, the Vipassana taught at the center mandated acknowledging feelings that arose and then again concentrating on sitting or walking. The differences, though small, were great enough that I struggled to try the new one, having to actively pull myself away from slipping into my default method; after all, the purpose of being there was to learn Vipassana meditation.

By the time of our initiation, I had had just about as much as I could take. I felt foolish that I had rushed into this; even though I had entertained the thought for a long period prior to actually going there, I thought it would have been more practical if my mind was not going through such an emotional turmoil in terms of determining my immediate future. I decided to go to the initiation anyway, because I hate quitting things and thought that somehow I would start feeling better about the retreat after the ceremony. The teacher was very nice and encouraged us afterwards to keep fighting, because he knew that the prospect of not eating dinner and getting only 6 hours of sleep would be hard for us. I was more concerned about the sitting, sitting, sitting, and walking, walking, walking that I would still have to do in my room until 10pm! When it became apparent that I was just as miserable in the retreat as I had been back at my room in the city with my thoughts, I decided that I had indeed been too rash jumping in as quickly as I did. I decided it was time to leave.

The next morning I woke up to the sound of a gong at 4am. I got out of bed and tried again to do the meditations, but my mind had ultimately been made up the night before. I knew I would not be able to find transport until later in the morning, and I also knew I would not like to eat breakfast at 6 (the food is collected every morning during alms rounds as donations from Buddhist followers outside the monastic community, and I felt that it would be wrong of me to benefit from this because I already intended to leave). I went back to sleep and woke up again at 7 to pack. I attended a closing ceremony of many others who were finishing a 20+ day retreat. I was able to converse with a friendly American female monk who suggested the name of a less intense form of meditation that I could look into before undertaking Vipassana again.

Heading back to town, I felt good about my decision to leave because I was finally hearing my own voice and making decisions that felt good for me. I could do things without worrying about what others would think. By the time I arrived back in town, it was 11am and I hadn’t eaten for the last 23 hours! I immediately went to seek out some chocolate pancakes. I settled back in at my rented room. Within two days I started a yoga class that would provide me 3 hours of practice every morning for a week. This was the perfect answer to my need for means to calm and center myself and organize my thoughts.

So good things did result from the short time I had spent in the meditation retreat. Most importantly, I decided that I felt confident to return home to the US and begin my internet search for year-long contracts to teach abroad, as I had originally planned. I had been away three and a half months, and I was satisfied with the experiences I had had thus far. There was only one other thing left that I had been really wanting to witness: the Festival of Light, Loy Krathong. As it would be taking place on the second of November, I would have to wait almost another two weeks, putting the length of my journey in over four months. I was sure it would be well worth it and I was thrilled that I wouldn’t be missing out. The only problem this created was with my Thai visa because my legal allotment of 30 days would soon be up. This was easily solved however, as all I would have to do to extend it would be to make a border run…

Channeling China

My flight was delayed, so it was night when I arrived at my destination: Hangzhou, China! Even more exciting was who greeted me at the airport... my dad! I hadn't seen in him in almost 3 months (or anyone from home, for that matter). It was the longest I’ve ever gone in my life without seeing my family. In the car he re-introduced me to his colleague John, and John's wife, Cheryl. They had been living in China for nearly two years. John manages a factory in Hangzhou that is a joint venture with the US company and my dad was on his first of many visits to work on a project there. Because he already knew about some of the crazier things that had happened to me thus far on my journey, he immediately began eliciting me to relate these stories. Cheryl promised she would show me around the city the next day.

I was ecstatically looking forward to our first stop: a tea house! As you probably understand, I am a tea fanatic and was overjoyed at the prospect of going to a country that shares a high appreciation for this wonderful beverage, particularly in terms of its having such a prevalent place in the history and culture of the local area as well: Hangzhou is famous for producing Long Jing green tea, one of the 5 Famous China teas and sometimes referred to as the national drink. As it turned out, the tea house was practically a tea mansion- there was space to accommodate a few hundred tea drinkers! At the same time, the intimate atmosphere was not compromised as the trickling of water in small decorative pools could be heard all around and little rooms offered privacy and calm. I also got my first taste of Chinese cuisine from the huge buffet that came free with the tea. Overall it was exactly my kind of place!

Hangzhou was a nice city, although if it wasn't for signs being written in Chinese and the fact that almost everyone I laid eyes on was Chinese, I might have thought I was in some city in America that I hadn't been to yet. Compared to the other cities I had by now visited in Asia, Hangzhou was incredibly "modern" and "developed" (of course, these terms are both relative and loaded). Indeed, I had actually had a bizarre kind of reverse culture-shock upon entering the four-star hotel with my giant backpack and travel clothes! Cheryl and I walked around near the famous West Lake, and watched large groups of people exercising and listening to karaoke. We visited a vast silk market which exposed me to more of this fabric than I had ever seen in my life (even in Thailand). We also quickly walked through the wet market to see what kinds of live swimming, scuttling, and crawling things were on offer; it was interesting to see that many more creatures than I could have imagined are apparently edible.

The next day we took off for Shanghai. I had expected to see long stretches of countryside, but what I got were more like glimpses. All along the highway, houses and apartments and stores and gas stations and factories clumped together; the presence of the green mountainous terrain in the background was one of the only reminders that I was not driving through the Flatlander suburbs of Chicago. When we arrived, we unloaded our luggage at the nicest hotel I’ve ever seen! In fact, it is ranked on a list of the top 100 hotels in the world (quite a big difference from staying in window-less concrete quarters with shared bathrooms in Bangkok). We woke up early the next morning to meet my dad’s other colleagues and got on the subway to go to the Science and Technology Museum. Only we weren’t going to the museum at all; we were going to the underground knock-off market. All of the fab designer items I never wanted in America were available here! Coach, Prada, Dolce and Gabana- I hardly knew the difference between the brands, but within two hours I would become an expert in haggling- under the tutelage of my dad’s colleague, Neil.

Neil was familiar with all of the different shopkeepers, the newest fashions, and the best deals. Even though he is not able to enjoy the purses for himself (he buys them for family members), the thrill of the bargain is enough to draw him back over and over again! Even more impressive were the saleswomen’s skills; each spoke 3 or 4 languages besides Chinese- I even overheard Spanish! The fact that these women were younger than me and didn’t have the same access to education I had had renewed my hope that I could still achieve my goal of learning 3 more languages before I’m 30. At night, we ate in a fancy rooftop restaurant overlooking the river and the Bund district (again, a far cry from my recent culinary habits, ie. eating food with my hands in the Himalayan foothills). I marveled at the skyline, which combined European-style architecture with Asian technology- traditional yellow city lights were intermingled with giant techno-color screens broadcasting serene shots of butterflies and flowers. On our walk back to our hotel, we were able to make out its glowing peak in the shape of a lotus flower crown- of course, we stopped to take an obligatory tourist photo with it framed on my head =)

Shanghai is a vast and sprawling metropolitan city; luckily, my dad knew his way around by metro, so I got to see many beautiful things in the city. We went to the Pudong area on the east side of the river, where many famous buildings are located, including the Shanghai World Financial Center, the Oriental Pearl Tower, and the Jin Mao Tower. We walked through the massive decorative gardens at the People’s Square, where citizens were glimpsing super-imposed photos in a walk-through display of personal ads. We ate in Xin Tian Di, an area with upscale restaurants situated on cobbled pedestrian streets. We took a round through a district filled with art galleries and restaurants serving many different types of cuisine from around the world (there was even an American 1950’s diner!)

Sunday was John’s birthday, so we joined him and Cheryl and headed to the Old City. We reached an area that looked like a scene from an epic martial arts movie, yet another of the many different faces of China. Red buildings with sloping roofs surrounded a square where hundreds of pedestrians milled about visiting ceramics shops, waiting in long lines for dumplings, or even getting their fix at Starbucks. We meandered over into the YuYuan Gardens. We roamed around the peaceful grounds, pausing to take pictures of the scenic koi-filled ponds intermingled with reproductions of old Chinese buildings, bridges, and stone archways from dynasties past. Crowds pressed in all around, but the tranquility was maintained as the beauty of the surroundings sent breezy vibrations of calmness to the passersby.

Suddenly, it happened. We all had been eyeing the path nervously the entire time, footholds worn well into the rocks, shiny as if water flowed regularly past. Once or twice I had slipped already. But unfortunately it was Cheryl who would feel the full impact of our dubious shuffle over such well-trodden trails. Her foot slid off one of the steps and her ankle immediately popped out of the socket (we all thought it had actually broken!) She was in a great deal of pain and we tried to make her comfortable as we considered how to transport her to a nearby hospital. First things first, I went on several hurried excursions to find a few items- the ice necessitated an explanation to a guard who didn’t speak English about why I should be allowed to exit and re-enter the garden; the Ibuprofen required reassurance to a Dutch woman that I was not using the drugs recreationally. After a short time, my dad and John were able to support Cheryl out of the garden and out to the street to hail a cab.

It turned out that Cheryl’s foot was sprained, so she would only have to use crutches for a short time. Ever the good hostess, she insisted that we all still carry out our plan of having a Packer Party at her house. So, the next day, we dutifully watched our team’s defeat more than 12 hours after it had aired back home.

Tales from Thailand- Bus Journey Backfire Part II

...There's been another police officer here the whole time?!?! Warily, I followed him across the divided highway at a safe distance. There was indeed another outpost for that direction of traffic, and he called out to whoever was there. First another policeman came out, soon followed by a woman. A woman! I'm saved! She was his wife, a few months pregnant, and behind her was another woman, who I somehow deduced was her sister. All of them spoke less English than Officer Creepy, but I tried to communicate primarily to them instead of having to rely on him as a translator because I still didn't trust him.

They invited me to sit down to dinner with them; a traditional "hot pot" meal was being served, made by adding different ingredients to a boiling soup. The family made sure to serve me the "best" ingredients first, which happened to be my least favorite foods- pork, sausage, and squid. I swallowed them down, hating every bite, but also thanking them profusely and sincerely- I understood that this family was honoring me greatly as a guest by making sure I got enough of what was probably not easy for them to afford.

I then got down to the business of trying to figure out how I would get out of there and where I would stay. Officer Creepy was still there, drinking whiskey (and offering some to me) and asking me exceedingly unnerving questions: "You like dance? You like date Thai man?" I opened my guidebook again, and called the first Nong Khai hostel on the list. A friendly Australian woman answered. I tried to explain my situation to her, but when she heard "police" she turned the call over to her manager, a Thai woman. I described as best I could where I was located and asked whether she could send transport for me. She answered that that would be impossible because taxis didn't go that far outside of the city. She asked to speak to one of the police officers. I offered the phone to the kind police officer, but Creepy passed in front of me and grabbed it. He walked around, speaking and nodding for a few minutes. Then he handed the phone back to me. The call was already ended. I told the family I would like to go to the guest house and asked how I could get there. The husband and wife discussed the directions between themselves in Thai (I could determine this based on their gestures) and then smiled and pointed to Creepy: "he'll take you."

I was seriously concerned at this point. Not only did this guy freak me out, he had been drinking a bit as well; I did not want to get in the car with him. However, given that my only other option would be hitchhiking (still too dangerous) and that this family, the guest house owner, and my friend in Chiang Mai all had an idea of where I was... I conceded. I threw my bag in the back seat of the police car and got into the front passenger seat.

I knew things were very wrong when, as soon as the highway post faded into the distance, he slowed the car waaaaaay down, until it was nearly crawling along the road. Then the officer asked "You need money? ATM is there"... and he pointed to deserted field! I lost it. I grabbed my phone and dialed my friend in Chiang Mai who spoke Spanish. I started explaining to her what was happening, and she advised me to stay on the line with her and escape the car once I could find a populated area. Since the officer didn't know who I was talking to or what I was saying, he kept driving... right into Nong Khai. I told him "Take me to my hotel please," he said "No, we go dance. We go Udon Thani (now 60k away!) I know good hotel."

I began to see people around, and we were going slowly around a corner, so I unlocked the door myself and started to get out of the car. He hit the brakes- I started shouting loudly "THANK YOU! GIVE ME MY BAG!" This was incredibly effective, as one of the worst things you can do in Thailand is to cause a scene- people there avoid conflict on principle. He unlocked the door and I grabbed my backpack out of the back of the car and hurried away. I walked to the nearest tuk-tuk I saw, told the driver the name of my lodging, and still had the sense to negotiate a price with him.

When I arrived at the guest house, several people were waiting around, including the two owners. They had kept the reception open because they knew I was coming and they were worried. Why? Because the officer had hung up on them and they also had no way to call the number back! Luckily I was safe now- I put my stuff in a room and went down to their bar on the river to have a drink and listen to live music. I felt nearly joyful to be sitting there with those folks- later the adrenaline wore off and I did have a breakdown, but I never once let myself think I wouldn't continue enjoying my travels =)
...

I ended up spending several more days in Nong Khai, having been extremely shaken up by the whole experience. The town was quite small and charming, but what really made my whole experience there was the hostel whose staff had really come through for me that night, Mut Mee Guest House. The room I stayed in was one of the nicest ones I had seen in my budget travels, with the cleanest and classiest shared-bathroom ever (stone tiled floor with river stone accents). I met some travelers in the garden/dining area and went on a bike ride with them around the town and the promenade along the river. We also went to the town's quirkiest treasure, an eclectic sculpture park even bigger than the Lao one, done by the same artist and combining the same influences of Buddhism and Hinduism. They were even almost directly across from each other on opposite sides of the river (the Lao one is actually visible from the Thai side of the Mekong).

The cement sculptures were extremely impressive, one of which was a 7-headed snake rising an indeterminable distance into the sky. Another area called the "Wheel of Life" depicted different stages of the human life cycle from conception to death, including such pivotal moments as "you as a fetus," "love," and "death of love". In the middle stood a tower of faces in the following order: Your Best Face- Your Most Evil Face- Again Your Best Face- Your Strange Face- Even Stranger Face- The Snake- Good Face- Zero. It always fascinates me the way that different cultures and religions think about different aspects of life; the strange stylization of these events somehow made sense to me, a way to present sensitive topics like death and divorce as just another thing that happens during life. Rather than feeling at all disturbed, I felt peaceful.

On my last night in Nong Khai, I was trying to figure out what to do. The guest house had its own dinner cruise, a boat that traveled west on the Mekong to follow the setting sun- quite the romantic activity. I hesitated slightly; it didn't seem like the kind of thing for a single person to do. But then I decided that that was all the more reason to do it! I boarded the boat- yep, definitely the only single person there- and had a very nice, relaxing time with my book, the BEST massaman curry I've ever had (slightly spicy), and the beautiful sunset =)

When I returned to Chiang Mai (12 hours by bus!), the Loi Krathong Festival was getting under way, something I had specifically stayed this long to see. This was also time to say goodbye to the good friends I had made at my guest house, as I had recently decided that since I would no longer be looking for a job in the area, it was time to move on from my beautiful adopted city and proceed to meet up with some other friends... in Indonesia!

Did you miss Part I? Click here!

"The Curse of the Emerald Buddha" - A Short Story

Once upon a time, a girl named Nicole traveled to Thailand. She had never traveled alone before, and never for so long. Thus she was very ignorant of many things. Many times over, she was made aware of this. On one such occasion she was touring the Grand Palace in Bangkok. The palace included many Buddhist shrines. She had learned enough at this point to know that her shoulders and ankles must be covered, and so she went to rent a sarong at the palace office. She met some friendly Spanish backpackers and decided to walk around with them. They viewed several shrines and commented on their loveliness. However, the naive girl was about to make a grave mistake. She and her companions entered the shrine of the Emerald Buddha. She bent down and crawled forward on her knees, taking care to sit with her feet pointing behind her, away from the Buddha (as is the custom). But then she picked up her camera... and snapped a photo! Someone near her simultaneously did the same, and received a thorough tongue-lashing from the guard. Nicole immediately put her camera away, realizing the impropriety. But she failed to delete the photograph. Then she made the worst mistake of all: she shrugged off the incident, and laughingly promised to email her new friends a copy of the photo! All agreed that this was a brilliant idea and left the palace to share a meal of delicious Thai food at a nearby cafe.
...Several days later, after arriving in New Delhi, this silly girl went to retrieve her camera in order to bring it with her on a visit to a monument. In a swiftness that could only have been preordained, the camera slipped from her hands, fulfilling its destiny by falling a mere foot and clattering to the floor. Upon examining the camera, she decided it must be fine- surely it had endured worse! She proceeded to her destination and spent several minutes admiring the beauty of the scenery. She then decided it was time for a photo. She pulled out her camera... and discovered the camera was broken! She sadly shook her head, knowing that she had only herself to blame.
...Years later (or so it seemed), she was able to send her camera to the gods of technology, who took pity on her and set their space-age robot servants (or so it seemed) to fix her camera. In the meantime, she had extracted the memory card and was able to upload the photos to a CD... all but one. She was tempted, but knew that she must delete the photo lest her karma catch up with her yet again. She had learned her lesson though, and so... she erased the photo.

Or did she?

Contemplating Cambodia

Now we must back-track a bit...
The first day I got back to Thailand, I had made contact with two people from my recently finished teaching course who were still in the country. They let me know that they would be in Bangkok soon and that they were then going to head out to visit another guy from our course... so I invited myself along as well! I left the beach and arrived back in Bangkok to meet them, and we left on a train to the Cambodian border at 5am. My first time crossing a land border went smoothly (I wouldn't always be able to say this later). We arrived at Siem Reap in time to see the sunset. We started up an inclined path that wrapped around a tree-covered hill. At the top was a stone temple, the steps of which were so steep that we had to use our hands to steady ourselves in our ascent. Once we reached, we could see for miles. Thankfully, my friend had loaned me her camera (mine was still out of commission; see the forthcoming "Curse of the Emerald Buddha"). I mainly took interest in the interesting cloud formations played across the dazzling face of the sun, although from this distance we could vaguely make out the most famous temple in this World Heritage Site...
The next morning we again woke up at the crack of dawn and met our very sleepy tuk-tuk driver from the previous evening to arrive at our destination before sun-up. The sky was starting to lighten, but the golden orb had not yet made its appearance. A crowd was gathering, quite a few hundred in number. We wandered around to scope out photo ops, then the edge of the temple's outline began to glow. Slowly the sun climbed over this ancient Hindu structure, a shimmering reflection mirrored in the lily ponds on either side of the stone causeway. Angkor Wat was stunning! This too went on my list of most amazing things I've seen in my life (I have a list!)
This sentiment only filled-out as the day went on. Our next stop was a temple that featured over 200 gigantic stone faces of the Buddha. By 3pm, I was feeling exhausted and all the temples were starting to look the same. But I received relief when our driver dropped us off at a path leading into the forest. The shade provided by the trees was immediately refreshing. I wound through the jungle, my expectations building... and then fulfilled! Moss-covered blocks crumbled all around due to the weight of the massive trees growing on top of them, thick roots choking the stone edifice, snaking reptilian into cracks and mutilating the masonry, before shooting skyward. The afternoon sun shot arrows through the foliage of the canopy, light bursting from the spots where they struck stone and cascading down the facade in a waterfall of luminescence. Of all the temples, this was my favorite. I was ready to pitch a tent and live there!
On Sunday, I took a 6-hour bus ride (short, for a bus journey in Southeast Asia) to Phnom Penh. I didn't have as much time as my companions, and I needed to go see our friend there. "Uncle" Rusty, as I now call him, was a great host to me during my short time in the capital, showing me around and giving me lots of information I would rather have remained blissfully ignorant of (ie. the fact that there are no police on duty at night; they are under-paid and so everyone opts for the day-shift!) He took me to the two genocide museums in the city- it was hard to stomach. Confronting past atrocities that I previously had no knowledge of was a shocking and moving experience. Walking through a school that was converted into a prison and viewing photos of torture victims in which the orange and white tiles I stood on presently were clearly visible, it was impossible not to seethe inwardly with anger- anger at the inhumanity, but also anger that this had been kept out of my ne'er-do-wrong-country's educational curriculum. For an event that was so integrally tied with the United States' role there, I was ashamed that this information had not been taught to me. A memorial pagoda enclosing a tower full of skulls, a tree with bones for roots, endless grass-covered depressions where mass graves had been excavated, and the most haunting- mugshots of prisoners, giving way to photos of their deceased bodies- scrawny in death, the life having been previously extracted and drained from them. The images will stay with me for a long time.
Visiting the national palace was a welcome reprieve from an emotionally difficult experience. I was immediately caught in yet another Southeast Asian monsoon-season downpour and ran to take shelter at the nearest building (not before climbing its many small and uncovered steps). I sat down and peered out at the rain which was coming down in curtains, waves of it sweeping across the pavement into manicured lawns. It reminded me of watching thunderstorms in the garage with my dad, albeit from significantly more exquisite surroundings. The multi-tiered rooftops in the palace compound may have been deprived of sunlight, but the tiles still glowed like a chalk painting on wet blacktop, green, blue, and gold. I watched as more people climbed the stairs to escape the rain, already completely drenched but smiling and laughing.
When the rain let up, I hurried to get back to my hotel to pack for my early flight the next morning, to go to...

Tales from Thailand- Part VII "Bests" from THE Beach

Time to make good use of my beach paradise! With only one and a half days left, I needed to really make my time there count. So, early in the morning, I got up and went to my appointment for rock-climbing. After finding the office closed and locked, I wandered into a nearby shop where the proprietor explained, through creative gestures, that the young Thai guy with the long hair had been out drinking very late last night... my guide. For a few seconds I pondered whether I should be upset about this; I decided instead to return later and tease him about it. I spent a leisurely few hours strolling on the beach, eating fried rice cooked in a pineapple (yum!) and reading. When I showed up back at the rock shop, my guide was there but not in a great condition; I advised coffee, but he smiled and shook his head and we boarded a long tail boat to take us around the bend. To his credit, the waves seemed to have no effect on his stomach and he introduced me to another guide on the next beach before taking off in the boat again.

My climbing experience was very enjoyable. I have rarely done anything so physically challenging, so I felt the full effect of the euphoria that apparently arises after having focused the mind and coordinated the body enough to accomplish so strenuous a task; in this case, a formidable stone summit. I had done two climbs and was halfway up the third when my strength suddenly gave out, the combined effect of my lack of fitness and experience and a very depleted level of energy owing to "Bangkok Belly" =/ I definitely intend to do some climbing again once I return home.

The next morning I was awakened abruptly to the sound of my bungalow being broken into... or so I thought. When I started to come to my senses more, I realized that some kind of animals were frolicking (or rather, lumbering!) on the tin roof and creating a tremendous banging sound. They sounded too heavy for squirrels, and cats would undoubtedly be more graceful. So I rolled out from under my mosquito net and opened my door. A monkey was staring me in the face! I recognized it as a Dusky Leaf Monkey, the white markings around the lips making it appear to have a milk mustache! (thank you Psych 402- Primate Behavior, lol).It was very cute! As I was getting ready to leave, I noticed the sky darkening. Thanks to previous experience with Thailand's monsoon rains, I knew I still had a bit of time.

As I walked across the beach with my backpack, I felt a gust of wind rush past me. That was the signal! I started to run, heading right towards the wall of water I could now clearly see in front of me. I reached my intended shelter, but not before getting thoroughly soaked. I was joined by several other people waiting for a boat. It took me several minutes before I realized that the Thai guy had a baby monkey sleeping on his lap! He explained that it had been injured and a troop of these primates had moved in to kill it. It was rescued, but sadly would grow up as a pet, never to return to his native wild habitat. (At least the monkey could look forward to having a steady supply of a certain "substance" on hand... although while I was present, he refused, even if only to keep up appearances, hahaha).

Tales from Thailand- Part VI Paradise Found!

I finally found my beach paradise! It was certainly an adventure to get there...
When I got back to Bangkok I decided to book a bus ticket right away. I planned to go to two different places in the south, but I couldn't decide where to go first. Because one involved a plan of rigorous inactivity, I decided to go there =) I got on the night bus, relatively comfortable considering that the seats reclined and were not too cramped, but still not very conducive to sleeping. Around 2:30am the driver announced my stop- surely we'd arrived too early though? I knew that the boat didn't leave until 5:30, which could only mean one thing... waiting. As I hadn't been informed of this by the agent in Bangkok, I was naturally concerned with these new details. Luckily, several others had gotten out with me, and one informed me that indeed, this had been the plan all along. We walked into... an office? It was a large tiled room with a desk and some posters, but clearly it was either not used regularly or no one cared to clean it properly. I watched some cockroaches scuttle around on the floor next to a straw mat... on which I was expected to sleep for the next few hours before getting picked up to go to the pier. I laughed- it's all I could do. After India, I think I was forced out of necessity into developing a better sense of humor. I balled up my fleece sweatshirt as a pillow and covered myself with my puny towel, sending mental notes to my buggy bedmates "Just try it, see what happens!"
Two and a half hours later I arose groggily and boarded the sawng-thaew (covered truck with benches) which would ferry us to the ferry! We had to hop across several boats to board the one which would bring us to the island (I'm surprised I didn't mis-step in my zombie-like state). I handed over my backpack to be put into a pile, and I promptly laid across several benches, bumpy where the lips of the seats curved up. I fell into a deep sleep on my ridged mattress, unaware of the gentle rocking of the boat.
I woke up and realized we were pulling into port. I went above deck to get a good view. I hadn't had the chance to witness our approach, so the sight of the island didn't really impress me. I could see the dark palms covering the hill inland, but the shore was scarred with development, dirty harbor with dingy boats and restaurants and hotels that didn't even pretend to blend into the natural scenery. Was this really the 'jewel' someone had reccommended I seek out? My exhaustion and the impending rain surely contributed to my general lack of enthusiasm, but I still felt glad to be off the boat, off the bus, done with transportation for awhile. The rain (as it does in the south, I found out) had gotten sick of our petulant refusal to seek shelter after a long presage of dark skies and suddenly starting pelting our bodies with sharp slaps. I sought shelter with several others from my boat in a restaurant, which led to a conversation, which led to me setting out with a German girl to find a cheap room to share. We found a decent place, and free of the rain's assault and our heavy bags (we had carried them over 1K) we happily ambled down to the beach. To our dismay, there barely was one. You could only wade in the water up to your knees before encountering large stones, a dead coral field. After walking to other parts of the island and realizing that it was mostly good for diving (which I didn't have enough money for), it didn't take me long to make plans to island-hop to Koh Pha-ngan the next day.
The sea was not so calm as it had been the previous morning. A storm was moving through (perhaps angry it had not soaked me thoroughly enough the day before) and before long our boat was being heaved and tossed around, stirring us in a stew. I again occupied 4 seats in a lounging position, trying to sleep so I wouldn't be sick (crew had already passed around barf bags), at one point sliding down towards the opposite window, the horizon tilted dramatically beneath me. I managed though, and woke up once again having missed the entire ride (although it was in my best interest this time). I succumbed to a tout offering a "resort" with a private beach, plus free transportation for only 300 baht per night (about $8.50). The grounds and room were nice enough, a pool as a substitute for rocks that constituted the "beach" and plenty of hammocks to relax in, but the service was awful, including being nickled-and-dimed at the restaurant (my only alimentary option in a mile) AND getting sick from its food! I was ready to leave the next day to investigate another part of the island with better beaches, sure that two days was enough time for Full Moon Party revelers to have cleared out from Hat Rin. Unfortunately, I was not well-informed on the budget accomodations, and neither was my motorbike-taxi driver, so I wasn't able to find any vacanies within my means. Instead, I went to a travel office and booked a boat/bus combo that would leave the island within the hour.
I should have been a bit more wary about this kind of transport by now, but I was so anxious to leave I took the first thing available from the first office I went to. MIS-TAKE! The "boat" was a massive car ferry, which hundreds of people poured on to and jockeyed for seats (lucky I got one). At least we couldn't feel the waves' movement. We got off at the pier and I looked for the bus with the name on my card and was directed to... a joke. Compared to the two-tiered "VIP" buses with plush seats, this looked like an oversized aluminum can and easily as able to be crunched. The seats were technically separate, but you were definitely very snug up against the person sitting next to you. Luckily mine was a friendly Norwegian, and we chatted about how we might be in for more surprises, as we learned this bus was only taking us 1 hour to Suratthani (the place I thought the boat was supposed to have landed at). When we got out there, we waited for a truck to take us to the bus! Squeezed into the truck almost as an after-thought (I was sitting on the floor between scrambled limbs- at least I wasn't hanging off the back like some others, although I would have been able to breathe better), I wasn't looking foward to what could possibly be coming next. Unfortunately, my intuition was correct- another packed bus with uncomfortable seats (and no seats at all, for a few people!) This misfortune would be more prolonged however, as our destination was still 3 hours away.
When we finally pulled in around 10pm, I had to laugh again. We were several kilometers outside the town at a rest stop (no chances of the bus going further), so we would have to take the only transportation that just-so-happened to be available on site. We also had the option of getting free transport if we selected one of the hotels that they were advertising. As one girl not so inaccurately stated, "This is a MAFIA!" I just smiled calmly and agreed to share a room with a Scottish girl at one of the "recommended" hotes; there are many things worse that could have happened.
The next morning, I boarded a long-tail boat to set off for Ton Sai beach. It soon became apparent why the boat was necessary- large limestone formations loomed ahead, sealing the coast-line away from any over-land transport. This was one boat ride I wasn't going to miss! The jungle-cloaked cliffs towered protectively over topaz waters, which sparkled just like the gem of the same name. Caves yawned open at the water-line, waves scouring the rocky tonsils: salt-water gargle. Just for fun, the boatman maneuvered us through a bridge-like structure. As we came around the last stone guardian, I saw the beach. It was perfect! Dwellings were hidden back in the palms, water inhaling whole stretches of sand for several long seconds at a time; colorful boats bobbed up and down in the swell. Limestone cliffs closed in on three sides, isolating this quiet cove.
That night, I went to one side of the beach in order to get an unobscured view of the sunset (massive rocks are quite the obstruction!) Only a few woolly clouds lingered on the horizon, wrapping themselves around a distant island like a shawl. The sky began to darken from cerulean to cobalt, and the skyline combusted, brilliant reds and oranges burning flameless. Slowly, and yet swiftly, the sun tucked itself away. I believe I sat there, mouth agape, for a few minutes afterwards before I rose from my place on the moist sand and leisurely floated over exposed seabed back to my side of the beach- jagged rocks and sluggish sea cucumbers, ageless coral and scampering crabs- their universe revealed by the wonder that is the tides, which still leaves me in awe, after all these years of traveling to the ocean. It seems limiting to say that I found this to be one of the most beautiful and peaceful places I've ever been to- definitely augmented by the fact that it was such a trial to get there.

Insights from India- Part V The Silver Lining

More "snapshots" from my time in India, continuing where I left off at my friend's home in Punjab...

-Drove three hours in a packed car with my friend's whole family to go to Amritsar to see the Golden Temple, the most holy shrine of the Sikhs. This was a pilgrimage for them, and I felt very honored that my involvement was welcome. We covered our heads and walked across a long marble dais flanked on both sides by gardens. In front of a gate, we came to a depression in the floor that contained water, which we used to wash our hands and our feet. We each approached the opening in the wall, touching our right hand to our forehead and then the threshold, careful to step over it, a customary acknowledgment of the sanctity of the place. The sun shone on the white marble walkway and buildings, drenching the entire complex in light. A reverent aura permeated the atmosphere, making the absence of ambient noise seem louder than the quiet voices singing in the distance. Sounds of water also occasionally slipped in, adding to the false silence, lapping against the marble steps and swishing over devotees’ bodies. I was surprised that humans had managed to contain so much water, as the lake was much bigger than I would have expected to be in the interior of a plaza. The gilded temple rose out of the water, appearing to float on top. Indeed it even seemed like we had to walk across the water to go inside- volunteers did their spiritual duty by perpetually pouring the sacred water over the marble on the bridge. We touched the threshold once again and stepped over into the core of the temple. Prayers were being sung, accompanied by gentle instruments, the music echoing upwards over the ornate paintings on the walls.

-Piled back in the car and drove another 40 minutes to the border... of India and Pakistan. Watched a bizarre ceremony between the border guards of the two countries. Seats rose high in the air to accommodate the many guests who came to contribute to the patriotic cheering. A trumpet sounded; the soldiers marched and threw swords in the air on either side of the gate. Then slowly the flags were lowered and taken down on each respective side, a symbol of the "closing" of the border for the evening (the gates actually remained closed almost the entire time). Some day, I hope to be able to sit and watch the same ceremony again... from the other side in Pakistan.

-A few days later, woke up at the crack of dawn (actually earlier) in order to start our 5-hour drive to McLeod Ganj, the current residence of the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan Government in exile. We drove a few hours over the plains, then abruptly the mountains began to rise up. At a certain point in our ascent, troops of monkeys suddenly began to materialize. The children were thrilled to be able to throw bread to them as they casually approached our car, completely certain that we would slow down and not hit them. We had almost reached our destination when we were pulled over by the police (and by this, I mean we were waved over in a way that almost seemed like a mere suggestion). Apparently, the police routinely stop cars with out-of-state license plates- not as a matter of protocol, but a matter of lining their wallets. Our driver came back saying that we had to pay 500 rupees because they had decided our registration papers were fake. Our disappointment intensified when the officer approached our car; after taking note that there were two white foreigners present in the vehicle, he declared that the fine was actually 2,000 rupees! No one was in a good mood as we disembarked and trailed into the temple complex. I was able to push the experience out of my mind so as not to ruin that which was at hand. I wandered around, watching the maroon-robed monks debate Buddhist teachings, a very lively scene, the young monks winding up dramatically and sealing each point of argument with an expressive stamp of their foot and a fist in their hand, but in a good-natured way, smiling the entire time. I followed practitioners clockwise around the temple, listening to my heart and spinning the prayer wheels which contain the Mantra of Chenrezig (Tibetan name for Avalokiteshvara, the Buddha of Compassion)- “Om Mani Padme Hum”, written on hundreds of tiny pieces of paper.
-The thing I was most anticipating (and the primary reason for why I extended my ticket), almost didn't happen. Originally I was supposed to go to Agra with Jyotsana on an AC bus after arriving back in Delhi. However, the bus was booked and she ended up having to see patients that day anyway, but I didn't find out until the day before I left Punjab and by the time I was able to check into train tickets there was already a wait-list. I was very distraught thinking that I would miss out on this opportunity, so I decided I would try to figure something out when I got to Delhi, even if it meant going over my budget (although I was hoping fervently this would not be the case). I left on an early-morning train out of Ludhiana, waking up my friend to say goodbye. She accompanied me to the train station to see me off. I felt sad saying goodbye, she and her family had helped me out so much by taking me in and making sure I had good memories of India.

On the train ride, I sat next to a gentleman who happened to mention that there is a foreigner quota for all trains (another miracle!) We got off the train and he directed me to the International Tourist Bureau, where I sat in a chair and had a leisurely conversation with someone to make my reservation, instead of the push-or-be-pushed of a completely non-linear 'queue' around the counter, and I received a round-trip ticket for the next day! I proceeded back to Jyotsana's house in Delhi, deftly maneuvering through the metro system once more. Again, the family gave me a warm welcome. Jyotsana's mother explained how she had worried about me the whole time. I've probably said this before, but it needs to be said again: I feel so blessed to keep meeting and spending time with great people while I've been away. It helps a lot to ease the homesickness I feel for my family and friends. I'm still very glad that I've come, even though it's been challenging. Every day I learn something new about myself. I learn to focus on what I CAN do as opposed to what I can't, and I've already had plenty of surprises in this area. Things I've never thought about before, like the confidence to strike up a conversation with a stranger, are now all-important- not only for survival, but for sanity!

This again came in handy on the way to Agra, as I was able to share an auto-rickshaw around the city with another traveler I met on the train. We went straight to the monument we were most looking forward to see. We were dropped off and walked down a long winding path through gardens (more monkeys!), bought our tickets at a red wall and walked through the gate. We had to get to the middle of the square before we could see anything. A large elaborate gate obscured our view. We then walked through and it slowly materialized in front of us. The Taj Mahal! It really was amazing. A guide took us on a tour and elaborated on the purpose, construction, and art of the edifice. I'll save that for when you go there =)

After seeing Akbar's tomb (I liked this as much as the Taj Mahal, due to the large grounds where the deer and antelope play, literally), we boarded the train to head back to Delhi. We happened to have the same seats again, so we were able to share a laugh at the fact that 15 people were crowded into the space where 8 should have been. We parted ways and I headed back to stay with my host family one more day. I was able to take a bicycle rickshaw by myself (not my favorite means of transportation- it feels inhumane to have another person use their body to pull your weight) and I went to the District Central shopping center to get a few parting gifts for my gracious host family. It was very sad to leave them once again, but we promised to keep in touch.

Even though there were some lows in India, including the one the dissolved my confidence and made me unable to stay for as long as planned, I mostly remember the highs. I know I will definitely go back. I will do some things differently, but if I had done those this time around, I wouldn't have had the experience I did, which was very important to teach me that I have the power to deal with changes (no matter how abrupt or uncomfortable) and that I will continue to develop myself in this way. India really pushed me, and I'm glad I found how to push back.

Insights from India- Part IV Miracles!

From being stranded in the mountains and wishing desperately to go home, to deciding to extend my stay in India by one week- arguably a large leap, an event that could only have transpired through the aid of nothing less than miracles (and not only one, but several!)

The first was that the rain, which the forecast predicted would persist for 6-7 days, let up for a significant enough amount of time that we were able to leave on Tuesday morning after all. The second was that my host was still able to take me with her, so I was saved the tribulation of having to hitch-hike down the mountain using the very informal "taxi" system alone. The third was that we were able to have our train tickets booked back to Delhi the same day, a very unusual occurence indeed. And the fourth, the one for which I am most grateful, was that I had a place to stay in Delhi. I had emailed a friend from India, asking for suggestions on hotels there and instead she wrote back that her niece would be expecting a call from me and I would stay in her house. I could not even believe it! I arrived at 5 in the morning on the overnight train (yes I had to take the awful sleeper car again, but this time I was prepared, having brought a towel to sleep on), was able to contract a safe government auto to take me to my destination (the fifth miracle- the government autos were actually in the middle of a strike, thus I was the only person to leave the train station in one that day), and was received into my new host's home with open arms! I was so overjoyed to be treated so warmly and to have made it through my ordeal that I broke down and cried.

Aftering calming down and resting a bit (and taking chai), my host's daughter promptly spirited me away for some shopping therapy. Jyotsana was immediately likeable: sweet, pretty, smart (a doctor at 23!), she treated me as if I were her best friend or long lost sister- genuine warmth and hospitality clearly runs in her family. She assumed the duty of getting me ready for my train journey the following day (another miracle, as I was able to obtain the tickets to see my other friend in Punjab- including the return journey- also at the last minute when I left the mountians). She helped me pick out wrist bangles, anklets, earrings, and sandals, as well as a salwar kameez- a long shirt, flowing pants and a scarf- the traditional dress of Punjab. She also insisted I have my hands painted with mendhi; I was surprised to learn that this indulgence of women is usually executed by men. The artist worked swiftly, flawlessly adorning my hands with the dark burnt umber paste in designs varying from paisleys to peacocks. We returned to the house and waited for the mendhi to dry, the herbal scent envigorating the air as we flipped through their family albums. I also shared photos of my family and friends, and then we enjoyed a delicious meal prepared by Jyotsana (an amazing cook too!) This family made me feel so much like I belonged.

The next afternoon I perpared to travel on my own for the first time since I landed (unless you count taking autos a short-distance in transit to accomodation). Before leaving, the family packed me a lunch of pokora and fruit for the journey. Jyotsana also surprised me by giving me two more curtis (the shirts), yellow and pink, that she had picked out to go with my blue pants. I was again stunned and humbled by this show of affection from someone who barely knew me. Then, I was off. I first had to navigate the metro system, even swapping trains at the interchange station, made much easier by the precise directions given to me by my host. I exited at the train station, found my platform, and soon boarded my coach. This was the second occasion I was shocked upon viewing a train in India, but this time it was a pleasant surprise. I was sure I was viewing the interior of a plane, only this was even more spacious. My seat was large, reclinable, and set in front of a table! I soon understood its necessity as attendants came past with mineral water, and then tea, and then a snack, and then more tea, and then a meal, and then more tea! I couldn't believe it. I was fit to burst when I arrived in Ludhiana, and I hadn't even touched my packed lunch yet!

On the platform, a small entourage greeted me. My friend stood there with her brother, her sister, her sister's two children, her friend from Madison, and her sister's husband's best friend's brother, who was staying with them for the month as their driver. Again, I received a warm welcome and felt immediately assured that I would be content during my stay with them. At the house, I was introduced to her family and ate (again!) Punjabi food is truly wonderful; up until now, I had been enjoying the food I've been having, but it grew to be a little monotonous after awhile- daal (lentil soup), sabjee (stewed vegetables), and roti (flat bread)- and completely vegetarian. I am definitely not a big meat-eater, but chicken is nice every once in awhile. I first tasted Punjabi food when I got back to New Delhi and fortunately I've been eating it ever since... because I am hooked. The colors, varying hues of red, green, and yellow, are a nice change from the standard shade of turmeric. And the taste is amazing- creative combinations of garlic, ginger, chilis, and even cinnamon! Within only two days, my mood was drastically lifted and I felt enthusiastic about carrying on...

Insights from India- Part III Stranded in the Mountains Part II or Happy Birthday Krishna!

Nature does not want us to leave. We found out that our train tickets that were supposed to be booked for Tuesday accidentally got booked for September! However, this problem was soon trumped by the fact that it's been raining for an entire day and the 7-day forecast doesn't show signs of it stopping anytime soon. The issue here is that heavy rain produces conditions that will increase the chance for landslides up to 80% (and we found out later that there indeed had been one, closing the road for at least a day). Winding through the mountains on slick roads where rocks and mud are extremely likely to fall on or in front of our car is not all that appealing to me, even in my desperation to leave behind a situation over which I have no control (I'm realizing more and more though that control is an illusion, or rather a DElusion). I never thought I could be so grateful for having my basic needs met- we have adequate food, shelter, personal hygiene, and clothing (although the last is not so clean anymore; I did wash on the second day I was here and the climate has prevented it from drying for a week!). It's like getting stuck on a camping trip but having endless supplies and thus minimal concern over survival (although if I was so avid a camper that I would camp in the Himalayan foothills, I would know not to camp in the Himalayan foothills during the rainy season!) Now I am completely at the whim of the weather; I won't even be able to get down to the valley where the train station is (4 hours away) until it stops raining for a few hours. Then I will have to find a way to get back to Delhi, either by train or by the dreaded bus, and all on my own, as I am no longer travelling with my host.
The good news is that I am headed back to Thailand in a week! I've decided to go back to look for teaching jobs there. The natural beauty, ease of travel, and friendly people have really endeared themselves to me, as they have to many others, which will make finding a job there difficult. I am considered to be a low-qualified candidate, fresh off a TEFL course and with no experience, so if others are vying for the same jobs I may not be in luck. However, this way I will not regret having failed to look in my dream location for my dream job; if I don't find one, at least I'll have tried. I need to take a vacation from my "vacation" to India anyway. I'll make a beeline for the beach once I land and spend a few days recovering before I start the search.
Thursday was a very special day for the spiritual school here- it was the Lord Krishna's birthday. From what I gathered prior to the celebration, Krishna is an incarnation of Vishnu. He is blue, but I don't have any clue why. He also plays the flute and has many "girlfriends" (consorts). The ashram students put on a rendition of the story of his birth, in Hindi, complete with music and dancing! (All of the students had to learn Hindi to come to the school, as not one of them speaks it as a "mother tongue"). The play was very good; they were very creative with props and made the entire "stage" themselves, hanging saris for curtains. They even painted one of the children blue! The story goes like this: an evil king heard a prophecy that his sister's child would kill him. He then put his sister and her husband in jail (together?) and killed each child that they subsequently had. By divine intervention, the father was able to escape from prison and exchange his child (Krishna) for the newborn daughter of his friend in town. The king then killed that child mistakenly (not before the child shouted out "you have killed me mistakenly"). When Krishna was old enough, he fulfilled the prophecy and killed his uncle. The students depicted the family reunited as well (including the 7th child which was thought to be a miscarriage but was really transferred to the womb of the wife's husbands other wife). All the neighbors scattered around the hill were also in attendance and the play was well-received. The students even did an unrelated comic skit at the end that I could not understand (the play had only required minimal explanation), but which everyone was in hysterics about!
Up until now, I thought I had fully perceived the Himalayan view within my sights. Just beyond the hills is a higher layer of rough-hewn rock, like the edge of a chipped knife, the beginnings (or rather ends) of the Himalayas. Clouds roll over, sometimes obstructing the view of everything but our hill, making it seem like we are on a floating island in the sky. But I had clearly been missing something. One day, I couldn't resist going outside to walk after being cooped up nearly the entire day because of the rain. "Today I am going to find those tree-dwelling anteaters I heard about" I said to myself. I kept my gaze focused between the foliage and the slippery path, trying not to fall, which I did about every 10 feet anyway, splashing myself with mud every time. After one such spill I regain my balance and look up... and nearly fall back down again. Above a flat layer of clouds, I traced veins of white on a blue-gray slate upward through the wisps until they burst high up- snow caps! The periphery of my vision widened and my heart skipped a few beats as I began to comprehend the enormity of what I was seeing- the jagged outline of shapes, thousands of feet high, and dominating the entire panorama. They've been right there all along, the grand Himalayan mountains, to which neither words nor pictures can do justice. "So this is what holds up the sky." This is probably the most awesome thing I've seen in my entire life, the grandeur of the scenery divinely appropriate for the place where heaven touches earth.

Insights from India- Part II Culture Shock! or Stranded in the Mountains

India has invariably chewed me up and spit me out. I've discovered that even being reasonably adventurous and adaptable- along with my Midwest compulsion to acquiesce despite my true feelings of discomfort- was not enough to keep me from my breaking point. I reached my limit when my friend's mother and I arrived at the train station in the middle of the night. I had no idea how we got to the platform, which didn't appear to be marked in any obvious way aside from signs in Hindi and English proclaiming "No Spitting" (this went completely ignored). We then boarded the 2nd class sleeper, and my last bit of nerves quickly fizzled away. In the space where maybe 4 people could have comfortably slept, there were not 6, not 7, but 8 bunks! We would be sleeping three deep, with only about two feet of space in between each "bed", (if it could be called that) which is not even enough space to turn around- this is accomplished only by leaning your entire torso over the compartment, hunching and swinging back in, careful not to scrape off half your scalp on the bunk above you. I spent the night turning over and over, trying to peel my sweaty skin off the dirt-smudged 2'x6' plastic pad, as well as prevent my spine from contorting too much in one direction (I was sleeping ON my backpack to prevent my belongings from being stolen).

Needless to say, I looked pretty haphazard stepping off the train at 7am in a small town in the valley below the rolling green foothills of the Himalayas. We hired a share-taxi to go up the mountain to Nainital- a 1-hour drive made torturous by the fact that the "seat" I
had paid for was really only two-thirds of one. Clouds swiftly moved in and rain started to fall as we wound up the hill at breakneck speed, 6 people in a small compact car, the driver disinclined to slow down for neither the wet road conditions nor signs reminding “If you die your family will cry”. I tried in vain to keep my sights fixed on the road ahead to suppress my nausea, which was impossible as my head was whipping around and I was constantly opening and closing the
window every 5 minutes due to the changing weather; still I was drenched by the end because my companions insisted that the window stay ajar lest they would “suffocate”. I could not wait to get out and lay my eyes on the peaceful lake on top of the mountain.

Much to my dismay, some not-so-thoughtful urban planners had arrived long before me- there was a CITY at the top of this remote mountain, complete with high rise apartments and traffic jams! Half a dozen touts converged on us as we stepped out of the cab, and I sat with my head bowed in resignation while my host negotiated our accommodation. On our way walking to the hotel, a langur (monkey the size of a 10-year-old child) leaped out of a tree, landing with a thud in a dumpster, and scared away the little remaining wits I had left about me. I sat awake
at night listening to horns honking, sirens blaring,and dogs fighting, wondering (and hoping) that I was really just experiencing a bad dream.
The next day, we were to make our way to the ashram of my host’s friend from Switzlerland, which was even farther out in the mountains. She decided that the best way (by that I mean the cheapest way) would be for us to join onto a tour bus that was heading that way. I hopped
in the van and selfishly grabbed one seat all to myself and refused to relinquish it even at the behest of the driver who wanted to maximize his fares (He didn’t realize that I was teetering dangerously on the verge of a nervous breakdown and having my own seat was keeping me
from going over the edge). 21 more people (not including the driver) proceeded to file into the 15 passenger vehicle and I was thankful that my early cleverness would now allow me to keep my sanity- adolescents had to sit on adults laps! I felt guilty for most of the journey, which stopped and started very frequently as many local temples were stops on the tour, but this was a trivial sentiment as my actions were actually to everyone’s benefit to not have to witness me
lose my mind.
We finally arrived at the ashram, which could only be reached by foot. We hiked downhill and came upon the beautiful mountain view. The ashram sprawled down the hillside, wooden buildings and vegetable patches, flowers and tea gardens. Cows, mules, dogs, and even macaques roamed around. Young boys in yellow robes milled about (they are sent here by their parents from all over India to study the Veds and become priests). An old man with red hair and laughing blue eyes approached us, dressed all in white robes. The Swami has been living in India for over 30 years, studying under Maharishi until his death (who I believe is the same Indian saint who hosted the Beatles during their time here). He felt called to preserve the Vedic studies and went on pilgrimages around India to locate the best teachers to start his ashram. This venture is built completely on foreign donations of Maharishi’s followers, as well as by exhausted European businessmen seeking a place to come to gain back the peace of mind they had lost. So it seems I’ve come to the right place for this as well; breathing in the mountain air and eating the organic food grown completely on-site has already started to bring me back from my harrowing ordeal. Upon hearing about our travels, Swami-ji shook his head and said that foreigners should always travel in luxury for at least the first two weeks while they are integrating into the lifestyle in India; most Westerners can’t even dream of how different the conditions can be here (me!). His diagnosis on my then-precarious mental stability: I had succumbed to culture shock.
He read my star chart for me on the first evening we arrived, and everything was incredibly spot-on. There was also helpful advice for me to take into account. Every night we eat with the students; it reminds me of being a kid at camp, sitting in a line, waiting for those whose turn it is to serve to ladle stew onto our steel plates. I can’t imagine being so dedicated to spiritual studies at such a young age. The atmosphere is extremely peaceful (only broken once when I was made aware of the fact that there are leopards and even tigers in the area).

The only problem is that we are stranded here, albeit temporarily. We thought it would be easy to book a return train ticket once we got here, but there is nothing available because the 15th is India’s Independence Day and everyone is taking advantage of the long weekend and traveling (to awful, pseudo-peaceful places like Nainital). We had wanted to leave Thursday, but it appears we will be stuck here until Tuesday. But for this I am counting my blessings- there could be many worse places to be stuck than at a self-sustaining ashram on a hill overlooking the Himalayas.

Insights from India- Part I A New Chapter

I’ve arrived safely in New Delhi after only a bit of hassle. I arrived 4 hours later than scheduled because I missed my connecting flight in Mumbai after the plane waited for two men to finish their duty-free liquor shopping spree. But now I am here, in my friend’s house. I’m very glad to be staying in a home after more than a month spent in hotels. There is so much more warmth in a home (and I mean besides the searing August heat). I have not been alone since I arrived, and I love it. Everyone is referred to not by name, but by relation- auntie, mother, brother, uncle, little sister, big sister- everyone is greeted and treated as family. We sit down to meals together, tasty vegetarian food that has been cooked with great affection. If the only thing I came to India for was great conversation, then it has already been worth the journey. I sit and talk with my friend or her mother for hours on end, drinking sweet chai and eating "biscuits" (aka cookies- another leftover from the "Britishers"). In speaking with others, especially with those who have different beliefs, customs, and worldviews, we are able to learn the most about ourselves. In giving explanations to “What do you like about India?” (I’ve been here two days?) “Why do people do/act like ____ in America?” “What’s so good about traveling the way you are doing?”, I find words coming out that I have never thought about, concepts I’ve never entertained in my mind let alone spoken aloud. It seems I am being put to the test right away; I was not even able to rest before being pushed to think about how and why I live my life the way I do. This is something I rarely wonder about, my everyday behaviors. I actually had to ask how to do things like bathe and use the toilet (buckets of water are the only things involved in both), and my friend explained very kindly.

I attended a puja the morning after my arrival- my friend's grandparents were moving back into their newly renovated house and thus a ceremony was required and a priest was brought to their home. Flames roared in a pan in the middle of the room. Flowers were passed in a plate and seeds were thrown into the fire as everyone chanted “swaha”, thanking the gods for the blessings they had bestowed upon the family. In the afternoon I walked around with my friend. We went to a market where I bought clothes (much needed). Then we went to an emporium of finely crafted marble boxes, lacquered furniture, and woven materials- beautiful things that were being sold at a fraction of the price that would be asked in the countries they would be imported to. We arrived at a lawn and took off our shoes and walked through the grass towards the Presidential Palace, a truly massive structure. Much of the city is very green, which is not what I expected. When we got back, the downstairs neighbors, a 90-year-old woman and her son who my friend and her mom consider family, had invited me to dinner and tracked down special bread and sweets for me from the market, something which normally wouldn’t be included in the meal.

This weekend my friend’s mother and I will most likely be going to a hill station called Nainital in the state of Uttarankhand. She has a school near there and needs to meet up with some lawyers about the property it is on. Then we will go to stay in an ashram which is owned by her friend from Switzerland. She says she is very keen on showing me the different spiritual traditions of India. She’s mentioned that so many foreigners come to India on spiritual journeys (evidence of which is screen-printed onto many t-shirts in the market). I wonder how any journey could not be at least in part spiritual. Going on an unplanned voyage is very freeing- I recognize that it is good to have goals and to plan for the future, but to attempt to make plans so concrete to the extent to which you expect everything will go according to exactly how you envisioned it will at some point prove disastrous, and leave you feeling hurt and lost, because the control you convinced yourself you had never really existed. Again I am reminded of the extreme privilege I have to be able to take this time for myself and reflect on my role in the world. How lucky I am that my only mission for now is just to BE.

Tales from Thailand- Part V Bittersweet Departure

I leave Thailand tomorrow morning to fly to New Delhi. I am sad to leave such a beautiful country where I met so many great people, but I'm really looking forward to going to India and continuing my travels. I'm looking forward to being in more beautiful places and spending more time with wonderful people. In this regard, I've been so fortunate up until the very last, even meeting and hanging out with some Spanish backpackers today as I went to tour the Grand Palace in Bangkok.

The good news is... I passed my course! I'm now certified to teach English as a foreign language and the qualification is internationally valid, thus the world is literally my oyster as I'll be able to search for jobs anywhere. I was not let down in my hope that I would love teaching. I’m really glad that this certification will allow me to continue. I will miss the students very much. On the last day, they threw a party for us. They brought food that they had made and small gifts as well. We gave them certificates for their accomplishments, but what was more enjoyable for them was that we had to read their many-syllable names (up until now they had only told us their nicknames- one girl is Thaninwattaphong but in class we are accustomed to calling her Dao. Regardless of where I look for work, I definitely plan to come back to Thailand in the future.

In the last few weeks, I've been very busy, first finishing up the course and then making my way back to Bangkok by train. The previous weekend, we had gone to see a Muay Thai (kick-boxing) match. I’ve never been very into boxing, but I was told it’s a good experience. The fights open with ritual- the fighters kneel down, stand up, pat their fists on the floor and flail their feet in a rhythmic prayer to the spirits to keep them safe and bring them good luck. Then it begins. Live music is played on the sideline, three musicians playing a drum, cymbals, and some kind of woodwind. The boxers hold their gloved fists in the air, elbows bent, ready to jab or block. The punches are not dealt in fast sequence; rather they are carefully timed and precisely aimed. No energy is wasted. It is conserved for kicking. When the other fighter comes within the exact distance, they strike. The feet fly out with the force of a catapult, launching kicks at the opponent’s vulnerable torso. In close quarters, it is not possible to fully outstretch the legs to great effect; instead, knees are thrust sharply upward into the ribs. Skin reddens, spit and sweat are flung in all directions, and competitors try to catch their breath. A bell rings and trainers pull their fighters into opposite corners of the ring, sit them down, pour water on them and rub their arm and leg muscles vigorously. Individual raters have awarded points for hits (and kicks) and one fighter is declared the winner of the round. Then it starts over. Fighters are clearly exhausted by the fourth round. In the fifth round, if no one has been knocked out, the wins for each round are added and one boxer emerges victorious.

On Saturday we left the beautiful place that had been our home for a month. We said goodbye to the staff and fed the catfish one last time (they've grown enormous). When we got to town, we had to say goodbye to our driver, Neng, who was also our student and someone we had all spent a lot of time with and had helped us immensely. This was sad as well. As for my fellow trainees, we've become like a little family. We'd all grown very close through the ups and downs of the course, and we decided to stay at the same guest house to postpone our parting as long as possible. That night we celebrated as the last time we would be all together and went out for a night on the town, discussing our future plans and promising to meet up with each other as we wander through Asia. We stayed up until 5 in the morning... and then Sumra woke me up at 7 to paint beautiful flowing patterns and flowers on my hands with henna. She is the person I became closest with on the course and I will miss her very much as my friend and sister (and I have now come to be called little Naqia's "khala," Urdu for aunt). I know I'll be seeing her in the future. One by one, I said goodbye to each of my friends. I can only describe it as bittersweet, knowing that each of us was on our way to do great things, but not knowing when and if we would see each other again.

When we had checked into our guest house, some of us had been talking about going to Doi Suthep, the temple on the mountain. However we realized we were all exhausted and nobody really had it in them to go anymore. But it being my last opportunity, I decided to forget my fatigue and go by myself. The ride up took about half an hour, by which point I had almost no energy left. A light rain started to fall and I fought to stay awake. When we arrived, I seriously considered asking the driver to turn around and go back. I didn't feel any better once I saw the 306 steps guarded by colorful dragons that I needed to summit in order to even see the temple. But I put one foot in front of the other and started my ascent. Once at the top, I walked around the back of the temple to see the view from above and I got a spectacular reward for my perseverance- a rainbow stretched out over the entire city!

Tales from Thailand- Part IV Barefoot Teacher

I haven't worn shoes for a week and half. The woman who owns the training facility is a nurse and she gave me some iodine and forbid me to wear shoes after she saw the cut on the top of my foot that hadn't healed since my encounter with coral the first weekend I was here (although I count my blessings, because I was luckier than the guy who stepped on a sea urchin!) Resigned to my fate, I have learned to cope with the agony of having to walk through the garden everyday without protection from the horribly wonderful sensations of soft, dewey grass, cool, smooth stepping stones, and warm, well-worn wood against the bare soles of my feet.

I am also teaching my classes barefoot... but so are all my fellow trainees as it is customary in Thailand to not wear shoes indoors. Anyone leaving during a class will encounter an obstacle course of at least 30 pairs of shoes right outside the door. After only one day of training we were given a lesson to plan and teach the next day. My lack of experience was clearly visible as my lesson tanked during the first ten minutes, and things kept going wrong until the end. I spent the night thinking about whether I should bail out and wondering why I needed to come all the way to Thailand just to find out I was a horrible teacher... But the next lesson was much better, as I steeled myself to teach the past tense. Finally, success! My fears eased, I could now stick out the course knowing that while there would be ups and downs, I did have the ability to keep improving with practice.

We're learning a lot! Everyday we have several hours of instruction on teaching methods and several hours on English grammar, vocab, and pronunciation (I'm still grateful that I'll never have to learn English as a second language). I am very confused about phonetics as my teachers are both from the UK. I'm supposed to be learning that "arm" is pronounced "ahm" (no r) and the word "saw" is pronounced "sore" (r added?!) Then we write words and sentences in phonetic symbols and share with the person next to us- I wrote /gWt mi: aˆt ‚v höWr/

I am enjoying myself though actually. Classes run from 11am to 5 pm, with teaching practice from 6-8, when our students get out of work and school. We eat wonderful food everyday, and watch movies and play cards at night. It's a good way to relax from the hard work, but the hard work can't be put off forever- lesson plans and evaluations are due every few days, and there are four 1000-word essays to finish by the end of the course. The build-up to teaching practice is very stressful: leading a class for an hour can be quite nerve-wrecking if you've never taught before. I always feel under-prepared beforehand, even when the lessons turn out well.

The students make it so much easier. Thai culture is very much based on respect and saving face, so everyone is incredibly polite and even the teenage students are well-behaved (!) Teachers also hold a position of reverance in Thai society, and activities that I would find boring or awkward, such as quizzing the teacher on her life story, are the peak of entertainment for them. They love games or anything fun; I did karaoke with them to a Madonna song in one of my lessons!

The person I spend the most time with here is actually not a fellow trainee- she is the wife of one of my colleagues and their 8-month-old daughter is also along. The baby is so cute! We went to the Chiang Mai zoo on the weekend, and little Nakia was screaming with glee at the deer in the petting zoo. We also saw the pandas! Only one was out, because the other was a mother with a newborn baby, but they were visible on a TV screen =) Sumra is teaching me a bit of Urdu for when I go to India- it's almost exactly the same as Hindi so it should be helpful. Overall, I am having a great time...

and my foot is healing nicely =)

Tales from Thailand- Part III "Oh My Buddha!"

I've now been in Chiang Mai for a full week. The city is very green and beautiful. It has a medieval feel, owing to the fact that its old historic center is surrounded by a moat, as well as the remains of red stone walls with castle-like battlements. I checked out a bicycle from my guest house and rode from the west moat to the east moat in about 10 minutes (I congratulated myself on not dying, seeing as I haven't ridden a bike in 5 years and the traffic goes the opposite way than it does in the US!) The city sprawls beyond the walls but I haven't had enough time to explore it yet beyond going to the "night market," where vendors hold camp all night selling clothes, jewelry, art, and even designer handbags.

The day after we got to the city, we went on a trek into the jungle! The Londoners and myself were joined by others from Spain and Scotland. Our guide first cut us bamboo walking sticks- I was very glad we had these because we immediately charged straight up a mountain! The trails were so choked with vegetation in some areas he had to pull out a machete. It's also monsoon season right now, so the mountains get rain multiple times a day and the trails are perpetually muddy. It didn't take long before my pants were covered in red mud and I could no longer determine the original color of my socks and shoes.

We reached an area where the forest had been cleared to make a rice field. A man and a boy made an offering of chicken on a bamboo shrine to ask the spirits to bring a good harvest (the man then also offered us a bamboo cup of homemade moonshine brewed from rice- I had to pass). Our guide explained that farming used to be the sole livelihood of his people, the Karen hill tribe. Because the rice paddies are usually only fertile for a few years and too small to feed many mouths, the people used to live in family groups and move and resettle often, rebuilding their bamboo homes. Now much of the forests have been claimed by the government as national parks and the people are no longer allowed to move or clear land when they want. They now have to live in large villages and come up with food and crafts to sell at market to get money, which they used to have no need for. In compensation for changing the traditions of hundreds of years, the government gave them solar panels for electricity...

We spent the night in a bamboo lodge next to a family's home on the mountainside. We attempted to watch the sunset, but the clouds rolled in. It was still beautiful regardless. I was reminded of how much I mistakenly equate "comfort" with "necessity;" people are clearly capable of surviving without electricity and toilet paper, and I've been preoccupied about not having TV in my apartment.

In the morning we hiked downhill (mercifully), and swam in a gorgeous waterfall! When we went to ride elephants, the teenager who was "steering" it decided we should trade places and I rode on its neck, grimacing as it walked nearly straight up a cliff. In exchange for my safety, I fed the greedy thing about 20 bananas which he demolished in 20 seconds!

Our last stop was bamboo rafting. I was very concerned because the rafts looked rather flimsy. Hopping aboard, I found out they were actually strong enough to stand on, and joyously committed myself to the recreation. Our group was separated onto two rafts and the guides were both hilarious, picking up floating fruit to try to pelt each other and shouting "Oh My Buddha!" as we went down the rapids. We ended up jumping in the water and swimming to the end, detouring to swing over the river on a tire swing and cannonball back in. I never wanted to leave!

But we had to. The next day, I had to split with my backpacker friends, Tanya and Jason, who I'd been with since day one. If I hadn't met them, I surely wouldn't have had nearly as much fun or felt so content on my first time traveling alone. They went on to Laos to continue their 5 week excursion in Southeast Asia and I moved on to do my teacher training course. Thank you both so much and I hope you're doing great =)

As soon as I arrived at the training facility, it immediately started pouring rain... and didn't stop for 30 hours straight! But even that couldn't obstruct the gorgeous scenery at the site. Upon walking in the gate, I felt like I had entered paradise! The entire place is a garden: bamboo, trees, orchids, and earthy sculptures of elephants everywhere... buildings seemingly added as an afterthought (which is misleading, because they were actually built with great care and love by the owner Clarence, who has a real passion for wood). The dwellings are rugged and charming, all opening outdoors to incorporate nature, and situated around a lake full of large, restless catfish. It will be very good to live in such a beautiful, relaxing place for a month while I deal with the intensity of the course. Wish me luck (and sanity) and as always please keep in touch!

Love,

Niki

Tales from Thailand- Part II Snapshots

I woke up this morning to find myself in the jungle! I peered from my bed in the overnight train through dense emerald foliage to see a mahogany river below and cloud-covered mountains above. It was absolutely breath-taking!

I just arrived in Chiang Mai today after a busy, fun-filled weekend. Here are a couple of snapshots: (tried to make them as sensory-oriented as possible!)

-The day after I landed I went with my new backpacker friends on a looong 4-hour bus journey and was rewarded with the sight of a beautiful island! I checked in to my own bungalow/hut and spent a peaceful night before going down to the beach to see the sunrise, as well as a procession of monks in bright orange robes making their way along the white sand...

-Went snorkeling the next day. Boat pulled up to a smaller island and we swam into the coral beds, careful to avoid the foot-wide spiny sea urchins! Lunch looked and tasted amazing- fried rice with fresh watermelon, pineapple, and mangos on the beach!

-Back in Bangkok, their friend took us to markets in non-tourist areas, where we sampled meats, veggies, fried treats and confectioneries! Also went to Wat Pho, the temple of the reclining Buddha, which takes up the entire temple, top-to-bottom, side-to-side and painted completely gold except for footprints which were mother of pearl sceneries of elephants, birds, and fish.

-Went to the former capital of Thailand, Ayutthaya, about 1.5 hours away from Bangkok and explored ancient temples so quiet and serene they seemed to be in the middle of the jungle, when really the city was all around. The stone stupas and Buddha statues were draped in giant swathes of marigold-colored silk. Outran an impending thunderstorm in the tuk-tuk, only to be soaked in the unending downpour on our arrival back in Bangkok.

And here are the photos! Just the way you pictured them?




my bungalow on the beach at Koh Samet

 

 

the Reclining Buddha at Wat Pho- Bangkok



ancient temple in Ayutthaya

  

dawn at the white sand beach- Koh Samet






view of impending storm from temple in Ayutthaya





view from the train to Chiang Mai