Numb.
Void of any real feelings of connection, attachment or semblance of love. It is strange for both of us. We have debated, unpacked, repacked and discussed how to tangibly quantify how we feel so far about our time here. We realize that rushing to judgement, putting that generalized stamp is the last thing we want to do- but we still feel there is a void to describe what it is like to be here after a week. Currently we are in Khajuraho- the place famous for temples that would make any nudist blush. Here sexual positions, sensual men and women etched into the stonework call lustily from the walls. This place, it seems, is also famous for this saying- What is there to do in Khajuraho besides exploring the temples?-
Zero- Nothing
Yet we have remained for three days. I think, for me, it is good to step out from the rush. In Varanasi, we watched bodies burning before the mighty Ganga, we floated in that water's blackened sludge and witnessed men, women, kids of all shapes sizes dip themselves, immerse themselves, melt into the water to receive the power and the cleansing of that mighty river. The city itself is a labyrinth of small stone walkways- not unlike the streets of a medieval city in Italy- populated by vendors, colorful stores selling silk, cafes and travel agencies. Pedestrian traffic is dense, but it is not totally over populated by people. There are dogs, monkeys, and the king of all space-Cows. The amble by you on the main street, on the cramped walkways aware of their space or completely aloof of their power. The stop in front of stores to munch on plastic, their hairless, leathery bodies flinching at the swarm of flies above them. You have to slither by them in order to proceed. They are everywhere and it seems impossible, but they have melted into the scenery. I remember sipping on Chai in a stall as people walked by, motos tooted and sped by- at speeds that would have any mother gasp at- and then the cows came. It wasn't that 15 walked by, black, bony, leathery within an alleyway- it was my reaction that was indicative of being in Varanasi. I watched for the briefest of moments then turned back to enjoying Chai. They are the city as much as the sadus, the worshipers and the river. The city is filled with noise: moos, bells clanging around cow's necks, the slap of clothes being washed in the river, the harrowing cry of prayer from a scratchy loud speaker reverberating throughout old Varanasi, the cries of Hello!Hello! just look, no price for looking! You walk along the river, moving up and over stone stairs some painted like a candy canes or cotton candy. You stumble to avoid the poop, urine, cricket games, typical hippies and paan juice that stains every free spot untouched by the other obstacles.
The city, from the river, looks like a walled fort- it purpose is not to safeguard the people within, but to warn the people to stay out and keep praying along the Ganga- a strong walled arm pushing you to the river. The places oozes of religion and it is here that many foreigners find their essence, their purpose to coming here.
The sights were great. However Sam and I feel like an alien. Moving through towns like a ghost. We can't explain it. Connection has not been attained with India. The overriding aspect is poverty- the constant reminder that we should give money. Every turn we feel someone is out to fleece us. There is no trust: we have yet to construct that foundation. We are not angry at it, no, yet it is confronting and frustrating to be frank. We just don't know who to trust or what their motives are. Do they see us as us? or do they see us as just an endless pot of cash. We have yet to achieve the enchantment that so many fellow travelers have spoken about.
As for now we are grappling with our feelings, but we have seen a lot. We have talked to people and in some effercent flashes, we have seen why people return. There is hope for that void to be filled: it just remains to be seen.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
Where is Wiley E. Coyote
Noise.
Lots of noise.
We were awoken at 8 am with the one man show of mucus draining somewhere within the depths of our hotel.
Hoooooooowrggggggh- then spit- repeat 7980080808 times.
I guess I should have taken this an omen of things to come. As I wrote, the city is everything you have heard about Kolkata. There is no escape, no respite, no chance to sequester any serenity; the beeps of the cars will no doubt penetrate even the thickest of steel walls. People teem everywhere on the streets: selling goods, repairing roads and sidewalks, hawking bits and bobs. The streets are a colorful palette of dirt. It meshes within your toes, and cakes your exposed skin. The roads, some no more than 6 meters wide, are filled with every type of transportation- along with a multitude of people crossing the street. There are no rules and Sam and I believed that Cambodia would be a good precursor to coming here- crossing the street in Cambodia is like what happened in land of the dead compared to here. You are constantly tripping over holes, uneven bricks in the sidewalk, people strewn on the streets calling you with Hello or pulling at your shirt for money. I would pay a king's ransom for space and tranquility. That is the most unique aspect to being here: there is no escape from the city. Most cities Sam and I have traveled to have some sort of oasis to get away when things get too hectic. Here, they throw you into the pot and keep on stirring.
It makes you more aware of your faculties, it makes you more aware of your senses. Sam and I went to the downtown bazaar away from the usual beaten path. As we slithered through the small alley ways- a lot of times seeking refuge in some shops from a car trying to pass through an area 4 times too small for it- we were hit with the technicolor shops that would make Joseph feel a little sheepish. Sam and I have been through markets before in various places, but this was indescribable. The place formed a symbiosis with its vendors, and other people. It pulsated with life. Men powered through seemingly tiny gaps, carrying hug loads of materials atop their head. No faces showed the strain, just the desire to get to point B.
The city is rundown, yet with the old style yellow cabs rushing through the streets and colonial buildings interspersed between rubble and dilapidation, it has a sense of antiquity that gives it some charm- not unlike a bowling shoe
We have been lucky enough to meet some locals who have shared their thoughts on Kolkata. One man, the phone attendant, a man who needed absolute perfection from his staff and if perfection was not attained, staff members ducked from the incoming phone box sent at their head. He was gruff, but honest; cynical, but helpful. He told us places to go , but strongly warned of being fleeced.
Our waiter later that day also echoed these sentiments. He told us of places to go and was more than eager to engage into a conversation with Sam and I. A portly young man, he took it upon himself to help us acclimatize better at lunch by placing his mobile on the table and allowing The Eagles "Hotel California" complete the bizarre ambiance.
We are leaving today for Varanasi on our first train experience and we both are excited. Kolkata has been a great starting point, but the decibel level here is almost unbearable- mixed with the pollution, it is an all out assault on your well being.
As I mentioned before, dead time has reared its ugly head again, this time with more ferocity and avengeance. As we were in the phone shop, what should have taken 20 minutes drew out to two hours. It seems work gets completed like a crab moves across sand- sideways for a long time, but in the end, I guess the crab goes straight. It is frustrating as you sit down and you aren't noticed until 20 minutes later even though you are the only customer. Even better when engaged, more people come in and your attendant's attention is taken to the intruder. It is a process, to which my only example is how you feel when you deal with an airline attendant at the departure check-in. They do their business, hit buttons, tell you remotely what's going on, but most of the time you are left in the lurch for a solid chuc of time.
We are happy to be here, but we believe that we still have not fully come to grips here. I believe that India is too farcical, almost a swirl of sensations and emotions. I think getting out will do the trick. Hopefully, the train is less liberal with its whistle as we chug towards Varanasi
Lots of noise.
We were awoken at 8 am with the one man show of mucus draining somewhere within the depths of our hotel.
Hoooooooowrggggggh- then spit- repeat 7980080808 times.
I guess I should have taken this an omen of things to come. As I wrote, the city is everything you have heard about Kolkata. There is no escape, no respite, no chance to sequester any serenity; the beeps of the cars will no doubt penetrate even the thickest of steel walls. People teem everywhere on the streets: selling goods, repairing roads and sidewalks, hawking bits and bobs. The streets are a colorful palette of dirt. It meshes within your toes, and cakes your exposed skin. The roads, some no more than 6 meters wide, are filled with every type of transportation- along with a multitude of people crossing the street. There are no rules and Sam and I believed that Cambodia would be a good precursor to coming here- crossing the street in Cambodia is like what happened in land of the dead compared to here. You are constantly tripping over holes, uneven bricks in the sidewalk, people strewn on the streets calling you with Hello or pulling at your shirt for money. I would pay a king's ransom for space and tranquility. That is the most unique aspect to being here: there is no escape from the city. Most cities Sam and I have traveled to have some sort of oasis to get away when things get too hectic. Here, they throw you into the pot and keep on stirring.
It makes you more aware of your faculties, it makes you more aware of your senses. Sam and I went to the downtown bazaar away from the usual beaten path. As we slithered through the small alley ways- a lot of times seeking refuge in some shops from a car trying to pass through an area 4 times too small for it- we were hit with the technicolor shops that would make Joseph feel a little sheepish. Sam and I have been through markets before in various places, but this was indescribable. The place formed a symbiosis with its vendors, and other people. It pulsated with life. Men powered through seemingly tiny gaps, carrying hug loads of materials atop their head. No faces showed the strain, just the desire to get to point B.
The city is rundown, yet with the old style yellow cabs rushing through the streets and colonial buildings interspersed between rubble and dilapidation, it has a sense of antiquity that gives it some charm- not unlike a bowling shoe
We have been lucky enough to meet some locals who have shared their thoughts on Kolkata. One man, the phone attendant, a man who needed absolute perfection from his staff and if perfection was not attained, staff members ducked from the incoming phone box sent at their head. He was gruff, but honest; cynical, but helpful. He told us places to go , but strongly warned of being fleeced.
Our waiter later that day also echoed these sentiments. He told us of places to go and was more than eager to engage into a conversation with Sam and I. A portly young man, he took it upon himself to help us acclimatize better at lunch by placing his mobile on the table and allowing The Eagles "Hotel California" complete the bizarre ambiance.
We are leaving today for Varanasi on our first train experience and we both are excited. Kolkata has been a great starting point, but the decibel level here is almost unbearable- mixed with the pollution, it is an all out assault on your well being.
As I mentioned before, dead time has reared its ugly head again, this time with more ferocity and avengeance. As we were in the phone shop, what should have taken 20 minutes drew out to two hours. It seems work gets completed like a crab moves across sand- sideways for a long time, but in the end, I guess the crab goes straight. It is frustrating as you sit down and you aren't noticed until 20 minutes later even though you are the only customer. Even better when engaged, more people come in and your attendant's attention is taken to the intruder. It is a process, to which my only example is how you feel when you deal with an airline attendant at the departure check-in. They do their business, hit buttons, tell you remotely what's going on, but most of the time you are left in the lurch for a solid chuc of time.
We are happy to be here, but we believe that we still have not fully come to grips here. I believe that India is too farcical, almost a swirl of sensations and emotions. I think getting out will do the trick. Hopefully, the train is less liberal with its whistle as we chug towards Varanasi
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
London circa 1880
Here.
Our first indoctrination to India was the car service to our hostel. He must have gone through 12 red lights (as well as the other traffic) The one time he stopped was in front of a police kiosk; the police, two of them, couldn't have cared less as three other cars screamed by us as we slowly inched through the intersection. First overall impression, as Sam remarked, "London circa 1880." They have all the antiquated cabs here and most of the area is dilapidated buildings with the colors moving from dark grey to really grey. The streets are what you would expect: Bustling, teeming with shops that seem to have stuff from 1974. Cars and motos whizz by announcing their presence with a piercing beep then continuing to stamp their departure with continuing their beeping. People speaking loudly about everything and nothing. Women in their electrifying saris stroll .
I was told the smell be the most over powering aspect, yet my nostrils have not been tickled by anything while walking around. It will take some time to settle in, but we have decided to be in Kolkata for at least two days to hopefully melt into this country; do as the Romans do, so to speak. Haven't had much time to really form an opinion so this explains the brevity of the post; never fear though, I have a feeling more in depth tales will come.
Our first indoctrination to India was the car service to our hostel. He must have gone through 12 red lights (as well as the other traffic) The one time he stopped was in front of a police kiosk; the police, two of them, couldn't have cared less as three other cars screamed by us as we slowly inched through the intersection. First overall impression, as Sam remarked, "London circa 1880." They have all the antiquated cabs here and most of the area is dilapidated buildings with the colors moving from dark grey to really grey. The streets are what you would expect: Bustling, teeming with shops that seem to have stuff from 1974. Cars and motos whizz by announcing their presence with a piercing beep then continuing to stamp their departure with continuing their beeping. People speaking loudly about everything and nothing. Women in their electrifying saris stroll .
I was told the smell be the most over powering aspect, yet my nostrils have not been tickled by anything while walking around. It will take some time to settle in, but we have decided to be in Kolkata for at least two days to hopefully melt into this country; do as the Romans do, so to speak. Haven't had much time to really form an opinion so this explains the brevity of the post; never fear though, I have a feeling more in depth tales will come.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
"Why did the chicken cross the road...?"
It is with great excitement and a pinch of trepidation that Sam and I leave Cambodia and embark on the great journey to India. Cambodia has been a great warm up for things to come and I am sad that I did not fully get to experience all that the country had to offer. The last few days on Otres beach played out not unlike a typical dog's day. Wake up eat; sleep; read; swim; nap; eat; read, go to bed. In all of that activity, I worked up quite a voracious appetite oddly enough. I fear that inactivity is the recipe for gluttony and Sam and I stamped our names on that sin. The sunsets, the people we met, an aussie couple and the owners, two eccentric souls with an even greater propensity top laze around than us, the beach and the quiet restful nights, proved to be chicken soup for all facets of our being. Otres beach is the much less populated area of Shiuonkville and while still harassed by hawkers, it proved to be more secluded and generally free of distractions. Otres beach, however, is over run by ex-pats of all walks of nationalities (that being of the white, appearing more like a roasted tomato or baseball glove variety.) Most have set up shop here along the beaches. While I surmise, most have come under good intentions, I saw way too many older men with conspicuously younger Cambodian females. I was not sure what to make of it except for that fact that, as in Sam and my words, it's "kinda gross."
Aside from passing judgment high atop our beach beds, Otres beach was a great getaway, especially from the normal backpacker trail. We just happened to stumble upon this place and like many before us- the aussie couple, Steve and Nastasia came for 5 days and are now entering their 18th day at Sunshine Cafe- never wanted to leave.
Cambodia has had its practical purposes as well outside of mending souls and seeing new sights and learning about culture. I can safely cross a street here, to which I believe street crossing in Asia should be an Olympic event. Our normal reaction are to wait for cars, bikes to stop, but here that is how you can be hit. Moto, Tuk Tuks, cars, trucks does as they please. Red lights are mere obstacles or for some, a chance to beep louder and with more gusto at the unfortunate soul who actually obeyed the rules of traffic. For pedestrians, I have employed some useful techniques to conquering the road.
1) Best to look in every direction 5 times, because the trick for most transportation is when a vehicle wants to take a left it will enter the left lane- of the oncoming traffic side. So in every way traffic is coming at you.
2) Many times, motos too fed up with trying to get across will drive in the opposite direction for awhile to find an opening. Therefore step onto the street with extreme caution
3) The best time to cross this myriad or organized chaos of traffic is when fear boils up- the salient response to your environment- now this is perfect time to go. Rational judgement can only get you hurt
4) Just walk, don't embody the spirit of the game Frogger and try to duck an weave and by all means dont turn back
5) Make sure that you have your traveler's insurance policy number handy
The old adage and joke, "Why did the chicken cross the road....?" does not apply here at all.
There are many other areas that can conjure up fear- getting mystery beef in our vegetable soup- but for the most part Cambodia has been exactly what I needed. I am still unsure of how to feel about leaving Sydney and coming here and even more uncertain about India. One one hand, I have not come to grips that I have left Sydney for the foreseeable future, nor am I able to coherently dissemble and unpack my feelings.
Unfortunately our time was too short here. For much of it, it was a regimented trip. We had to get to areas and the first four days were a blur of temples, buses, boats, and people telling me I could have 5 books for 1 dollar. I feel I have yet to scratch the surface of Cambodia. Sam's feelings parallel mine in that we wanted to do more. India hopefully will allows the ultimate chance to interface. This trip, on its surface, was like so many: Little deviance from the trodden trail and too much among the bright flashes of expensive cameras. I felt like this when I traveled to New Zealand. I was overcome by the differences, but had no time to plunge into dissecting those differences and forming coherent thoughts with indepth exploration.
Nastasia- from Sunshine- cracked an egg of knowledge about India. She had given us practical tips on what to expect- more on the dangers and annoyances really. To be short, Tom Ridge would call for security level Red for India. As I write, Sam is out gathering the necessary materials for guerrilla traveling warfare. Here is the list Sam has been armed with as she shops at the market:
padlock for our door;
chains for our bags;
a money belt that goes around my waist;
a little Italian dude named Chino for added security;
milk.
Dont get the wrong impression, Nastasia, as well as all of you who have come to lend information about India, spoke volumes of India. From all of you, we are excited. We just needed to be better prepared. It seems so unknown, so big, so fully India and those alone provoke the greatest gamut of emotions that I or Sam have ever felt. The adrenaline is pumping. Our plan is so wide open and I think that this is beneficial as well as a cause for some early jitters. This leg of the trip has been designed for maximum cultural interfacing. If we like an area we will stay. We have no specific itinerary, no sight we need to see, no area we need to go . We will march with the ebb and flow of this vast country and see where it leads us. We feel after all our investigations, this approach is the greatest for us.
We leave you now with eager anticipation mixed with trepidation, but this is not unlike crossing the road here: You just step out and don't look back.
Aside from passing judgment high atop our beach beds, Otres beach was a great getaway, especially from the normal backpacker trail. We just happened to stumble upon this place and like many before us- the aussie couple, Steve and Nastasia came for 5 days and are now entering their 18th day at Sunshine Cafe- never wanted to leave.
Cambodia has had its practical purposes as well outside of mending souls and seeing new sights and learning about culture. I can safely cross a street here, to which I believe street crossing in Asia should be an Olympic event. Our normal reaction are to wait for cars, bikes to stop, but here that is how you can be hit. Moto, Tuk Tuks, cars, trucks does as they please. Red lights are mere obstacles or for some, a chance to beep louder and with more gusto at the unfortunate soul who actually obeyed the rules of traffic. For pedestrians, I have employed some useful techniques to conquering the road.
1) Best to look in every direction 5 times, because the trick for most transportation is when a vehicle wants to take a left it will enter the left lane- of the oncoming traffic side. So in every way traffic is coming at you.
2) Many times, motos too fed up with trying to get across will drive in the opposite direction for awhile to find an opening. Therefore step onto the street with extreme caution
3) The best time to cross this myriad or organized chaos of traffic is when fear boils up- the salient response to your environment- now this is perfect time to go. Rational judgement can only get you hurt
4) Just walk, don't embody the spirit of the game Frogger and try to duck an weave and by all means dont turn back
5) Make sure that you have your traveler's insurance policy number handy
The old adage and joke, "Why did the chicken cross the road....?" does not apply here at all.
There are many other areas that can conjure up fear- getting mystery beef in our vegetable soup- but for the most part Cambodia has been exactly what I needed. I am still unsure of how to feel about leaving Sydney and coming here and even more uncertain about India. One one hand, I have not come to grips that I have left Sydney for the foreseeable future, nor am I able to coherently dissemble and unpack my feelings.
Unfortunately our time was too short here. For much of it, it was a regimented trip. We had to get to areas and the first four days were a blur of temples, buses, boats, and people telling me I could have 5 books for 1 dollar. I feel I have yet to scratch the surface of Cambodia. Sam's feelings parallel mine in that we wanted to do more. India hopefully will allows the ultimate chance to interface. This trip, on its surface, was like so many: Little deviance from the trodden trail and too much among the bright flashes of expensive cameras. I felt like this when I traveled to New Zealand. I was overcome by the differences, but had no time to plunge into dissecting those differences and forming coherent thoughts with indepth exploration.
Nastasia- from Sunshine- cracked an egg of knowledge about India. She had given us practical tips on what to expect- more on the dangers and annoyances really. To be short, Tom Ridge would call for security level Red for India. As I write, Sam is out gathering the necessary materials for guerrilla traveling warfare. Here is the list Sam has been armed with as she shops at the market:
padlock for our door;
chains for our bags;
a money belt that goes around my waist;
a little Italian dude named Chino for added security;
milk.
Dont get the wrong impression, Nastasia, as well as all of you who have come to lend information about India, spoke volumes of India. From all of you, we are excited. We just needed to be better prepared. It seems so unknown, so big, so fully India and those alone provoke the greatest gamut of emotions that I or Sam have ever felt. The adrenaline is pumping. Our plan is so wide open and I think that this is beneficial as well as a cause for some early jitters. This leg of the trip has been designed for maximum cultural interfacing. If we like an area we will stay. We have no specific itinerary, no sight we need to see, no area we need to go . We will march with the ebb and flow of this vast country and see where it leads us. We feel after all our investigations, this approach is the greatest for us.
We leave you now with eager anticipation mixed with trepidation, but this is not unlike crossing the road here: You just step out and don't look back.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Ladies and Gentlemen, Cambodia!
So sorry, I whole heartedly apologize for the absolute lateness in my blog. Sam and I have been on a whirlwind, albeit eye opening, trip through the eastern half of Cambodia. Without going into the gory details of where we went, where we stayed and what we ate, and the sights- Angkor Wat, The prison on Street 21- just pull out your Cambodian map and look up Siem Reap, Battambang, Phonh Penh and now, Sihounkville. We planned this final stop to recharge the batteries and are currently shacked up in a small attic room with a Thoth roof, a bed on the ground and mosquito net. We are overlooking Otres beach and plan to read as much as possible. We couldn't be happier. It is the simplicity, the comfy circular deck chairs, the hammocks that gently sway with the soft breeze and the absolute call of the crystal blue water that that melts all the worries of the past 5 days, or in some cases- for Sam at least- the last two years of strenuous work.
My impressions of Cambodia are probably not unlike the multitude of people and some cases-yourselves who have visited this fine country. The people are genuine and every time I smile on the street, on a motorbike, or at shop, the smile back is ten folds greater that what I had dolled out. It seems odd, after so much brutality in their recent history, that smiles would be a muscular response, but my absolute attraction to this place starts with the people and their smiles.
This is a developing country in every sense and connotation of that phrase and it has taken both of us to remember certain aspects that come with a developing country. For one, things that normally should work, usually do, but take another 5 minutes to get started. Pictures of vehicular transportation usually are iconic or imaginative creations of what we are really traveling in and the amount of dead time is unimaginable.
Dead time can be explained by our fearless transportation driver from Phenom Phenh to the bus station who took us 10 meters from the place we were standing to another area and the told us to wait here for " a second. " He then proceeded to sit, more like sprawled out on a chair, sporadically talking to others within the shop while we stood there sheepishly, unsure what our next move would be. Conversation ceased after another 5 minutes and was replaced by the dogged hot look a person gets from sitting in a chair in the hot sun. Yet, in spite of the heat, the driver continued to stare blanky as his walkie talkie chattered away, no doubt someone telling him that we should get the people to the station soon. It was not until Sam went over and asked what the deal was that he sprang to attention and told us with a huge smile "yes." Not sure if this was the answer we wanted but considering "yes" pretty much is the holy grail of responses here. We took this as a positive step.
For example:
We need to send our clothes home, what happens if they are lost?
yes,- combined with that illuminating Cambodian smile
Thanks, you have quelled any worries about losing our stuff.
Dead time. Where the itinerary says that the trip will take four hours when in reality plan for seven. I think this is where traveling comes to life. Everything, every minute detail is different and inexorably frustrating, but in the end, glorious to triumph in getting your task- procuring an extra towel- completed. How great is that feeling, one that is definitely lost back at home.
So far, every mode of transport whether it was the harrowing glide through the river country side in our- not sure this is up to any regulations- boat.
Side story this boat to Siem Reap to Battambang was the highlight thus far. Seeing the country was spectacular, although the trip got off to an inauspicious start. The picture of the boat on our ticket looked like the QE2, yet when we arrived the actual description could more resemble planks of wood held together but what can only be described as a hope and a prayer. As for resassurance, the life vest above our heads were wet, sparking my ultimate confidence that at least the life vests worked- as we were later found out, it was so shallow in some parts of the river, that wearing a life vest would be more than ostentatious. As for the engine, I feel any construction worker would have felt right at home as the engine sounded like a 25 motorcycle salute. It came to no one's surprise when the engine broke down, not once, not twice, not three times, but a grand total of 5 times.
I am not here to bemoan the lethal precision of utter inefficiency, because that is expected here and most cases the problem is fixed- India will be much more I suspect.
What is more important about Cambodia is the children aspect. They are everywhere. On our boat ride, it was incredible to see such squalor, such absolute poverty. Garbage looked as if it were seaweed washed up after a terrifying storm or just part of the natural vegetation. Yet within this destitued, came a cry of happiness as our boat passed their thatch, rickety huts on the banks of this hot, scorched river. They came by ones, twos and sometimes whole troops to wave at us. They boogied and danced on the shores, flipped into the water, blew us kisses. It seemed that we were in some perverse rendition of "its a small world after all," and these kids were the robots. What struck me was the genuine smiles, waves and pure happiness that came from the kids. This was juxtaposed to their parents or adults who, rightfully, looked through us as some transparent entity not worth the time. It was incredible, waving for 9 solid hours-although Sam and I must admit that it almost got to regal, the waving aspect that is- to these kids.
When you move into the tourist areas, it becomes a much bleaker scene. Scores of kids 5-14 work the streets begging for money, hawking books, bracelets, and other junk. The hard truth is that they are products of some seedier game run by some money grubbing adult behind the scenes. Their English is impeccable, but it is contextual. They learn the language to make sales. They rattle of random facts regrading your country of origin- for Aussies, it is always G'day mate and your prime minster is Kevin Rudd. Many beat you to the punch in your excuse not to buy. You have no chance to get in a word edgewise:
you want to buy this dangling thing for 1 dollar
no...
you can hang it on you xmas tree; if you don't have an xmas tree, you can hang it on your bed; if you don't have a bed, you can hang it on your window; if you dont have a window you can hang it on your ear.
At times, it is overwhelming and truthfully quite depressing. I try to engage in conversation, but it is forced and the pull for them to haggle another foreign tourist is much to great to avoid for an extended periods of time.
We really are enjoying our time. Sam has already professed that her worries have disappeared and she can finally relax. That was the main attraction to coming here first and I think as the great clairvoyant statesman W stated "Mission Accomplished."
Now I must return to the bungalow, dead time awaits.
My impressions of Cambodia are probably not unlike the multitude of people and some cases-yourselves who have visited this fine country. The people are genuine and every time I smile on the street, on a motorbike, or at shop, the smile back is ten folds greater that what I had dolled out. It seems odd, after so much brutality in their recent history, that smiles would be a muscular response, but my absolute attraction to this place starts with the people and their smiles.
This is a developing country in every sense and connotation of that phrase and it has taken both of us to remember certain aspects that come with a developing country. For one, things that normally should work, usually do, but take another 5 minutes to get started. Pictures of vehicular transportation usually are iconic or imaginative creations of what we are really traveling in and the amount of dead time is unimaginable.
Dead time can be explained by our fearless transportation driver from Phenom Phenh to the bus station who took us 10 meters from the place we were standing to another area and the told us to wait here for " a second. " He then proceeded to sit, more like sprawled out on a chair, sporadically talking to others within the shop while we stood there sheepishly, unsure what our next move would be. Conversation ceased after another 5 minutes and was replaced by the dogged hot look a person gets from sitting in a chair in the hot sun. Yet, in spite of the heat, the driver continued to stare blanky as his walkie talkie chattered away, no doubt someone telling him that we should get the people to the station soon. It was not until Sam went over and asked what the deal was that he sprang to attention and told us with a huge smile "yes." Not sure if this was the answer we wanted but considering "yes" pretty much is the holy grail of responses here. We took this as a positive step.
For example:
We need to send our clothes home, what happens if they are lost?
yes,- combined with that illuminating Cambodian smile
Thanks, you have quelled any worries about losing our stuff.
Dead time. Where the itinerary says that the trip will take four hours when in reality plan for seven. I think this is where traveling comes to life. Everything, every minute detail is different and inexorably frustrating, but in the end, glorious to triumph in getting your task- procuring an extra towel- completed. How great is that feeling, one that is definitely lost back at home.
So far, every mode of transport whether it was the harrowing glide through the river country side in our- not sure this is up to any regulations- boat.
Side story this boat to Siem Reap to Battambang was the highlight thus far. Seeing the country was spectacular, although the trip got off to an inauspicious start. The picture of the boat on our ticket looked like the QE2, yet when we arrived the actual description could more resemble planks of wood held together but what can only be described as a hope and a prayer. As for resassurance, the life vest above our heads were wet, sparking my ultimate confidence that at least the life vests worked- as we were later found out, it was so shallow in some parts of the river, that wearing a life vest would be more than ostentatious. As for the engine, I feel any construction worker would have felt right at home as the engine sounded like a 25 motorcycle salute. It came to no one's surprise when the engine broke down, not once, not twice, not three times, but a grand total of 5 times.
I am not here to bemoan the lethal precision of utter inefficiency, because that is expected here and most cases the problem is fixed- India will be much more I suspect.
What is more important about Cambodia is the children aspect. They are everywhere. On our boat ride, it was incredible to see such squalor, such absolute poverty. Garbage looked as if it were seaweed washed up after a terrifying storm or just part of the natural vegetation. Yet within this destitued, came a cry of happiness as our boat passed their thatch, rickety huts on the banks of this hot, scorched river. They came by ones, twos and sometimes whole troops to wave at us. They boogied and danced on the shores, flipped into the water, blew us kisses. It seemed that we were in some perverse rendition of "its a small world after all," and these kids were the robots. What struck me was the genuine smiles, waves and pure happiness that came from the kids. This was juxtaposed to their parents or adults who, rightfully, looked through us as some transparent entity not worth the time. It was incredible, waving for 9 solid hours-although Sam and I must admit that it almost got to regal, the waving aspect that is- to these kids.
When you move into the tourist areas, it becomes a much bleaker scene. Scores of kids 5-14 work the streets begging for money, hawking books, bracelets, and other junk. The hard truth is that they are products of some seedier game run by some money grubbing adult behind the scenes. Their English is impeccable, but it is contextual. They learn the language to make sales. They rattle of random facts regrading your country of origin- for Aussies, it is always G'day mate and your prime minster is Kevin Rudd. Many beat you to the punch in your excuse not to buy. You have no chance to get in a word edgewise:
you want to buy this dangling thing for 1 dollar
no...
you can hang it on you xmas tree; if you don't have an xmas tree, you can hang it on your bed; if you don't have a bed, you can hang it on your window; if you dont have a window you can hang it on your ear.
At times, it is overwhelming and truthfully quite depressing. I try to engage in conversation, but it is forced and the pull for them to haggle another foreign tourist is much to great to avoid for an extended periods of time.
We really are enjoying our time. Sam has already professed that her worries have disappeared and she can finally relax. That was the main attraction to coming here first and I think as the great clairvoyant statesman W stated "Mission Accomplished."
Now I must return to the bungalow, dead time awaits.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Pass me the the goverment red tape please
Man, the amount of things to do before an actual life move is absolutely collasal. Sam and I have completed about half of our tasks, but there is so much more to get through- we got a huge yard sale coming up on the 7th of February. If any of you need a fridge, just let me know, we are selling it cheap. As I said, we got our visas all set, as in we went to the consulate. Now, the difference between Sam's experience and my experience is so drastic it is unbelievable. Our meat deli number was called after an hour and we both went to our Indian visa representative. He asked for our passports and pertinent pre-organized documents. Lets us break down Sam's experience now:
The representative asked for her application and passport. Stamped it and asked for 90 dollars as a fee for processing the visa. He then proceeded to tell her that it would be ready in three days. Sam done.
Alex's experience: I will break it down in monetary segments
Representative looks at Alex: 10 dollars
Representative touches Alex's US passport: 15 dollars
Alex speaks with US accent: 10 dollars
Application ok, but need to fill out three other applications which essentially reiterate all information on first application: 15 dollars
Representative informs Alex that it will take 15-1000000 days to process application and other superfluous papers: 15 dollars
Visa: 120 dollars
Alex fined for objecting to extra costs: 20 dollars
Alex leaves, bewildered and unhappy, exiting the Indian consulate: 30 dollars
I realize that we impose hard measures against tourists and immigrants coming into our country, but geez, the this seems like taking a step beyond reciprocity. This happened when I tried to get into China. I don't understand, the Euro is so much stronger than our dollar. Why wouldn't they extort the money from these countries rather than from us.
All in all, I am waiting for my visa to be processed and given the green light while absolutely fuming I only have 100 dollars to my name now. In the meantime, Sam and I are continuing to cross off "things to-do"on out checklist. Only two weeks to go.
The representative asked for her application and passport. Stamped it and asked for 90 dollars as a fee for processing the visa. He then proceeded to tell her that it would be ready in three days. Sam done.
Alex's experience: I will break it down in monetary segments
Representative looks at Alex: 10 dollars
Representative touches Alex's US passport: 15 dollars
Alex speaks with US accent: 10 dollars
Application ok, but need to fill out three other applications which essentially reiterate all information on first application: 15 dollars
Representative informs Alex that it will take 15-1000000 days to process application and other superfluous papers: 15 dollars
Visa: 120 dollars
Alex fined for objecting to extra costs: 20 dollars
Alex leaves, bewildered and unhappy, exiting the Indian consulate: 30 dollars
I realize that we impose hard measures against tourists and immigrants coming into our country, but geez, the this seems like taking a step beyond reciprocity. This happened when I tried to get into China. I don't understand, the Euro is so much stronger than our dollar. Why wouldn't they extort the money from these countries rather than from us.
All in all, I am waiting for my visa to be processed and given the green light while absolutely fuming I only have 100 dollars to my name now. In the meantime, Sam and I are continuing to cross off "things to-do"on out checklist. Only two weeks to go.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Countdown to India
Whew! It has been a long time since I have written. Happy New Year to everyone. Since my last blog, I have been putting in major hours at the club, understanding the intricacies of cricket (which coincidentally is not that mind numbing, soul crushing), parading around Sydney with my sister and finally spending time with Sam, who has quit her job. Sam's resignation has signalled the final countdown to India. We have booked our tickets and are leaving on the 15th of February. Even though, we have little over a month, we are now scrambling around to complete odds and ends that seem to pile up increasingly so. There is so much to be done: packing, selling of furniture and unwanted clothes, visas, good byes, inoculations, rent, cleaning. It feels as though every aspect of life, we must complete in a short month before we leave. I have already gone to the doctor for my shots, but I decided that enough is enough with my eyes. For the past two years, my sight has been deteriorating where now Sam has got read subtitles on the TV screen for me. I knew it was time to go to the doctor when I tried to watch Mongol by myself on the couch during the night time. Usually, I would hunker down and enjoy this historical fictitious movie, but it is hard to get comfortable when you are constantly leaning forward like a turtle coming out its shell once the danger has passes and simultaneously squinting like Mr. Magoo. One thing I am sure of the Mongol language is nice, whatever they said is a whole different matter.
I went in to the optometrist and she administered the eye examine. Let's say I was less than stellar- at one point she asked me to read a line, to which I respond O,W, Z, E. I felt less than confident and this was echoed by the optometrist when she waited about two seconds after I had spoken and said "close.' Long story short, I have an astigmatism and short sighted. New changes in life, honestly. I have glasses now.
The weather has been great and I have been going to the beach a lot. However there has been a recent malaise of utterly terrifying shark attacks lately in Australia. A couple of fatalities and some horrendous bites. Last week, they cleared out three beaches in my area to shark sightings. Most of the time, as Bill Bryson points out, Australians just brush off these incidents like a fly over a cooper's pale ale. This is such an endearing yet utterly maniacal aspect to this culture. I read that 50 percent of the sharks in the net are coming in from the beach. This time around however, there seems to be a little more hysteria lately. The latest was an attack in Tasmania, where a 13 year old got attacked by a great white. She fought it along with her cousin and it released her. They were about 200 feet off shore, when it circled again and stopped in front. Luckily a wave came and the cousin and girl rode the wave closer to the beach. Most of the time sharks don't follow for long distance, but when the duo looked left the same shark was riding the same wave about 9 feet to their left. Just terrifying. The duo did escape further harm. Why tell you this? well, going into the water here sometimes requires a whole cheer leading squad willing you into the water. I will be going into the water over the month, but along with sunblock, I'll be wearing medieval style chain mail.
I went in to the optometrist and she administered the eye examine. Let's say I was less than stellar- at one point she asked me to read a line, to which I respond O,W, Z, E. I felt less than confident and this was echoed by the optometrist when she waited about two seconds after I had spoken and said "close.' Long story short, I have an astigmatism and short sighted. New changes in life, honestly. I have glasses now.
The weather has been great and I have been going to the beach a lot. However there has been a recent malaise of utterly terrifying shark attacks lately in Australia. A couple of fatalities and some horrendous bites. Last week, they cleared out three beaches in my area to shark sightings. Most of the time, as Bill Bryson points out, Australians just brush off these incidents like a fly over a cooper's pale ale. This is such an endearing yet utterly maniacal aspect to this culture. I read that 50 percent of the sharks in the net are coming in from the beach. This time around however, there seems to be a little more hysteria lately. The latest was an attack in Tasmania, where a 13 year old got attacked by a great white. She fought it along with her cousin and it released her. They were about 200 feet off shore, when it circled again and stopped in front. Luckily a wave came and the cousin and girl rode the wave closer to the beach. Most of the time sharks don't follow for long distance, but when the duo looked left the same shark was riding the same wave about 9 feet to their left. Just terrifying. The duo did escape further harm. Why tell you this? well, going into the water here sometimes requires a whole cheer leading squad willing you into the water. I will be going into the water over the month, but along with sunblock, I'll be wearing medieval style chain mail.
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