Two hours from Melbourne to Sydney, thirteen hours from Sydney to San Francisco, and then.... five hours from San Francisco to D.C. We're finally home.
Nine countries and 184 days later we have arrived home during the coldest cold spell that D.C. has seen in seven years. Coming back was like jumping from the frying pan into the freezer.
I've been doing a lot of contemplation about the trip these last few weeks. It's been one of those trips of a lifetime full of every imaginable extreme emotion. My memory is a photo album full of places and things whose beauty will stay with me forever and I saw some scenes that will always haunt me. I scraped the surface of getting to know and understand some countries that I had only read or dreamt about. I learned a lot of geography.
People often come back from long trips with a horror story or two about their health or being robbed or something. But despite the places we were and the ubiquitous travel advisories we both stayed very healthy except for the odd sour stomach and my bout with Typhoid. We were never robbed (though we were humourously duped more than once) and never harmed in any way (though we weren't expecting to be).
On the last flight home we took some time separately to write out ten highlights of our trip. Though we did it independantly the lists are very similar. I thought I'd share them with you.
*Neither list is in any particular order
Magi's Highlights
1. May Kaidees red curry in Bangkok
2. Shopping for textiles in Luang Prabang, Laos
3. The Phuket Vegetarian Festival food in Thailand
4. Meeting the animals at the Healesville Sanctuary outside of Melbourne, Australia
5. Renting scooters in Pai, Thailand and taking them to the hot springs
6. The beaches of Ko Tao, Thailand
7. Bungee Jumping in Phuket, Thailand
8. All of the beach dogs we met
9. Indian food in India
10. DVD shopping in Manila
Krishna's Highlights
1. Diving in Ko Tao, Thailand
2. The Healesville Sanctuary outside of Melbourne
3. The Vegetarian Festival in Phuket, Thailand
4. Markets in Luang Prabang, Laos
5. Going to my great uncle Harry's grave in Manila
6. Riding a scooter in Pai's misty mountains
7. Indian food in India
8. The Cu Chi Tunnels outside of Saigon
9. Bungee Jumping (my first and last)
10. Jeepneys in Manila
I couldn't stop at ten so I gave an honourable mention to: May Kaidee's Restaurant (Bangkok), the smiling faces carved in Angkor Thom (Cambodia), South Indian schoolkids, The Taj Mahal (India), Ao Dais (Vietnamese national dress), Singapore Airlines (they give you free socks and their vegan meals are the best!), driving in a "backwards" car in Australia, meeting Palden and having him show me how to cook Tibetan soup (India), and visiting the place where Buddha gave his first sermon (Sarnath, India).
Looking back, I'm feeling very nostalgic and I'm sad that I won't be updating ToTheSea anymore. Oh, maybe I will anyway to prevent the inevitable post-trip depression.
Thank you to everyone who tuned in regularly (or once in a while) to see what we were up. An extra special thanks to those who worked to keep our guestbook alive (I'm looking at you Emerson!).
Until next time.
Love from us both.
Thursday, January 23, 2003
Sunday, January 19, 2003
Wombats and Dingoes and Kookaburras
It's a very smoky and grey day here in Melbourne. The fires in the surrounding forests have left city-dwellers with some heavy smoke to breathe. However, this is nothing compared to the fire devastation that has occured in Canberra. Many people have been left homeless.
We rented a car and drove out to Healesville Sanctuary, about an hour outside of town. Healesville is a place where rescued animals are rehabilitated and where rare species enter into a breeding program that will help perpetuate their species. It was the highlight of our trip to Australia because we got up close and personal with some of the most adorable animals on earth. Kangaroos and wallabies bounced by us or slept under a tree nearby, koalas nuzzled up against their trees and slept (we didn't catch them in any of their 15 minutes of daily activity), and we met a 60 lb. wombat named Velga who napped in the afternoon heat and didn't mind our hands petting her bum. The variety of birds at the sanctuary were impressive, and some had dayglo feathers whose colours I never before saw in nature.
We're going to head home to our little apartment now. We are staying a little ways out of town because we foolishly didn't plan our accomodation far enough in advance and if you didn't know, the Australian Open is on. Town is full. But that's okay, we're just a tram ride away and as a reward we have a full one-bedroom serviced apartment at a good rate.
Did you know Australians call papaya "paw-paw'? They're so quirky.
tothesea,
k~*
We rented a car and drove out to Healesville Sanctuary, about an hour outside of town. Healesville is a place where rescued animals are rehabilitated and where rare species enter into a breeding program that will help perpetuate their species. It was the highlight of our trip to Australia because we got up close and personal with some of the most adorable animals on earth. Kangaroos and wallabies bounced by us or slept under a tree nearby, koalas nuzzled up against their trees and slept (we didn't catch them in any of their 15 minutes of daily activity), and we met a 60 lb. wombat named Velga who napped in the afternoon heat and didn't mind our hands petting her bum. The variety of birds at the sanctuary were impressive, and some had dayglo feathers whose colours I never before saw in nature.
We're going to head home to our little apartment now. We are staying a little ways out of town because we foolishly didn't plan our accomodation far enough in advance and if you didn't know, the Australian Open is on. Town is full. But that's okay, we're just a tram ride away and as a reward we have a full one-bedroom serviced apartment at a good rate.
Did you know Australians call papaya "paw-paw'? They're so quirky.
tothesea,
k~*
Thursday, January 16, 2003
She's tried it and Magi can now say she doesn't like Vegemite
We're in the Immigration Museum right now in Melbourne. We're on the computer doing some supposed research on our family lineages. There isn't a line or even much demand for the computers so we don't mind using them for our own internet purposes. The museum delves into all aspects of immigration and I was quite excited by how much I have learned about Australia in the last few hours. I find the policies regarding Asian immigrants most fascinating probably because I find their recent immigration stories to be full of drama in their initial loss and desperation that leads, in many cases, to glorious and triumphant endings.
But let me take you back a few days.
On Monday, the day we left Sydney to fly here, we were waiting outside a used bookstore waiting for it to open. Our eyes were sweeping across large piles of books that we couldn't wait to take a closer look at. Across the street from us was a cafe and I noticed a head of dusty brown hair that looked awfully familiar. Upon further scrutiny I realized it was Jimmy E. Wyld! Our diving instructor from Thailand! He seemed pretty engaged in his coffee, chain-smoking, and usual running of hands through hair routine (plus he was with someone) so we didn't approach him. But it was a very strange moment indeed.
In the end the book we settled on is called Holy Cow!, and is about an Australian gal's journeys through India. Reading it has taken me back some months to the filth of Delhi and the gorgeous schoolkids riding buses in Kerala. It also reminds me of my current state of invisibility that I'm enjoying. At first not feeling like the moviestar in town was a little disappointing for the ego but now I'm enjoying not being the spectacle everywhere I go. I blend in and have come to see the effects that blending in has on a psyche. After this trip I feel like I have a little more understanding of what it feels like to be a minority (or a movie star!).
In that tune, I'd have to say I'm surprised at how diverse Australia is, at least in the two largest cities here (Sydney and Melbourne). The Asian population here is booming and you're just as likely to come across a Vietnamese or Thai restaurant as you are to see a Hungry Jack's (Australia's Burger King). Consequently I love it here... despite most restaurant's opening hours that were obviously created by numbskulls or waifs.
We have also discovered this raunchy and delightful sense of humour that Australians have. It is definitely unique despite the similarities to British and Canadian bum humour. We went to a play last night called Cloud Nine which was this incredibly raw and creative story of two generations living in the colonies. More than a few times during the performance it seemed like we were privy to an inside joke that flew over our heads. It's alright though, when I wasn't laughing at the jokes (because I didn't get it), I was laughing at the crowd of pensioners who were getting more than a giggle out of jokes most in America would see as overly perverse. This is Australian mainstream theatre and yet I couldn't help but feel that if we were watching the same play in the U.S. it would be in a small theatre with stacking chairs.
Another testimony to Australia's strange breed of people is a young man we met on the street the other day while we were waiting for the same tram as him. After asking me the time (this is a very common icebreaker here), he asked where the accent was from and proceeded to chat with us. At the end of the conversation, nearing his exit from the tram, he passed us his disposable camera and told us to use up the remaining few photos ("There's a few snaps left") and enjoy his art once we developed the film. He fancies himself an amateur photographer and told us his muse of choice is the grand ole public toilet. I snapped a goofy picture of him and then he was gone. We talked excitedly about the Aussie's love of chatting (with whomever) and then wondered aloud if the photos we are going to develop would reveal him to be a fan of kiddy porn or perhaps our stalker!
Hopefully neither.
tothesea and almost home again,
k~*
But let me take you back a few days.
On Monday, the day we left Sydney to fly here, we were waiting outside a used bookstore waiting for it to open. Our eyes were sweeping across large piles of books that we couldn't wait to take a closer look at. Across the street from us was a cafe and I noticed a head of dusty brown hair that looked awfully familiar. Upon further scrutiny I realized it was Jimmy E. Wyld! Our diving instructor from Thailand! He seemed pretty engaged in his coffee, chain-smoking, and usual running of hands through hair routine (plus he was with someone) so we didn't approach him. But it was a very strange moment indeed.
In the end the book we settled on is called Holy Cow!, and is about an Australian gal's journeys through India. Reading it has taken me back some months to the filth of Delhi and the gorgeous schoolkids riding buses in Kerala. It also reminds me of my current state of invisibility that I'm enjoying. At first not feeling like the moviestar in town was a little disappointing for the ego but now I'm enjoying not being the spectacle everywhere I go. I blend in and have come to see the effects that blending in has on a psyche. After this trip I feel like I have a little more understanding of what it feels like to be a minority (or a movie star!).
In that tune, I'd have to say I'm surprised at how diverse Australia is, at least in the two largest cities here (Sydney and Melbourne). The Asian population here is booming and you're just as likely to come across a Vietnamese or Thai restaurant as you are to see a Hungry Jack's (Australia's Burger King). Consequently I love it here... despite most restaurant's opening hours that were obviously created by numbskulls or waifs.
We have also discovered this raunchy and delightful sense of humour that Australians have. It is definitely unique despite the similarities to British and Canadian bum humour. We went to a play last night called Cloud Nine which was this incredibly raw and creative story of two generations living in the colonies. More than a few times during the performance it seemed like we were privy to an inside joke that flew over our heads. It's alright though, when I wasn't laughing at the jokes (because I didn't get it), I was laughing at the crowd of pensioners who were getting more than a giggle out of jokes most in America would see as overly perverse. This is Australian mainstream theatre and yet I couldn't help but feel that if we were watching the same play in the U.S. it would be in a small theatre with stacking chairs.
Another testimony to Australia's strange breed of people is a young man we met on the street the other day while we were waiting for the same tram as him. After asking me the time (this is a very common icebreaker here), he asked where the accent was from and proceeded to chat with us. At the end of the conversation, nearing his exit from the tram, he passed us his disposable camera and told us to use up the remaining few photos ("There's a few snaps left") and enjoy his art once we developed the film. He fancies himself an amateur photographer and told us his muse of choice is the grand ole public toilet. I snapped a goofy picture of him and then he was gone. We talked excitedly about the Aussie's love of chatting (with whomever) and then wondered aloud if the photos we are going to develop would reveal him to be a fan of kiddy porn or perhaps our stalker!
Hopefully neither.
tothesea and almost home again,
k~*
Friday, January 10, 2003
Didgeridoos and Fruits
It's confirmed, we are back in the West. On our first full day here we drank soy lattes, bought the latest edition of Adbusters, and went to the theatre to see Bowling for Columbine. If you haven't already seen this film, you really must. It's an intelligent, cynically clever, and thought-provoking look at gun culture in the USA. It also has a whole segment devoted to how Canada's gun culture is similar but radically different to that of our southern neighbours.
Today consisted of watching an Aboriginal "Didgeridoo" performance at the Art Gallery of NSW, indulging in Indian curries and Chinese desserts at the mall's food court, a couple of monorail trips, and a lot of walking in this exquisitely beautiful and green city. We also saw an exhibitions on 20th Century Design and "Fruits" (a colourful youth subculture in Japan) at the Powerhouse Museum.
I am so relieved to finally be walking around again, and especially in air that is fresh and clean. In Asia, you really don't walk either because of the fact that there are just no sidewalks or because the pollution is so toxic. I can't overstate how lucky people are to live in countries that have such clean air to breathe, air that doesn't make your throat rough and phlegmy at the end of the day. If you're in one of those countries, go outside and take a deep breath and enjoy.
Australia actually reminds me a lot of Canada. I think it goes a little further than the Commonwealth, friendly people, green cities, and socialized governments that we share. I feel like it is most similar to Canada in that it holds most interest for the people living here. Just like Canada, I think the biggest cheerleaders of Australia are Australians. Perhaps you could say that of other countries too, but it seems like Canada and Australia don't have the international fame (or infamy) that the US or UK have.
Young travellers seem to come here for the sun, beach culture, and the beer... and I'm sure a huge bonus is that it's a very far away place but still a country where people speak English. So, it's going far away and not at the same time. I guess after being in Asia for so long, Australia is a lot like being home. Don't get me wrong, home is wonderful... but it's not really that new or interesting and aside from learning about things that are unique to Australia (like the Aboriginal culture) there doesn't seem to be much learning to be had here.
Having said that, we've decided to leave a little earlier than planned. We knew it would be hard to come here in the first place, especially at the end of our trip on this budget of ours. We're now paying over ten times the amount for a hotel room than what we paid in all of the other places we've been. It's not all about money though, another part of us is just telling us it's time to get home. Since deciding to go home a little early, we are now finding ourselves rejuvenated and enjoying every moment of our time here. We hope to continue in this vein until we board our flight home in a couple of weeks.
Brrrr! Now it's time to head out and look for a jacket because Sydney is so chilly... I thought Australian summers were supposed to be HOT!?
tothesea,
k~*
Today consisted of watching an Aboriginal "Didgeridoo" performance at the Art Gallery of NSW, indulging in Indian curries and Chinese desserts at the mall's food court, a couple of monorail trips, and a lot of walking in this exquisitely beautiful and green city. We also saw an exhibitions on 20th Century Design and "Fruits" (a colourful youth subculture in Japan) at the Powerhouse Museum.
I am so relieved to finally be walking around again, and especially in air that is fresh and clean. In Asia, you really don't walk either because of the fact that there are just no sidewalks or because the pollution is so toxic. I can't overstate how lucky people are to live in countries that have such clean air to breathe, air that doesn't make your throat rough and phlegmy at the end of the day. If you're in one of those countries, go outside and take a deep breath and enjoy.
Australia actually reminds me a lot of Canada. I think it goes a little further than the Commonwealth, friendly people, green cities, and socialized governments that we share. I feel like it is most similar to Canada in that it holds most interest for the people living here. Just like Canada, I think the biggest cheerleaders of Australia are Australians. Perhaps you could say that of other countries too, but it seems like Canada and Australia don't have the international fame (or infamy) that the US or UK have.
Young travellers seem to come here for the sun, beach culture, and the beer... and I'm sure a huge bonus is that it's a very far away place but still a country where people speak English. So, it's going far away and not at the same time. I guess after being in Asia for so long, Australia is a lot like being home. Don't get me wrong, home is wonderful... but it's not really that new or interesting and aside from learning about things that are unique to Australia (like the Aboriginal culture) there doesn't seem to be much learning to be had here.
Having said that, we've decided to leave a little earlier than planned. We knew it would be hard to come here in the first place, especially at the end of our trip on this budget of ours. We're now paying over ten times the amount for a hotel room than what we paid in all of the other places we've been. It's not all about money though, another part of us is just telling us it's time to get home. Since deciding to go home a little early, we are now finding ourselves rejuvenated and enjoying every moment of our time here. We hope to continue in this vein until we board our flight home in a couple of weeks.
Brrrr! Now it's time to head out and look for a jacket because Sydney is so chilly... I thought Australian summers were supposed to be HOT!?
tothesea,
k~*
Monday, January 06, 2003
"Where Women Glow and Men Plunder"
We’re leaving Manila tomorrow but more significantly, we’re leaving Asia. My first trip to this always exhilarating (and sometimes overwhelming) continent has left me with a changed perspective on the world. And while I know this is the case, I’m still processing the details of just what an impact this trip has made on me.
And now it’s back to the west, if you consider Australia being part of the west. We fly to Sydney via Singapore tomorrow evening. Growing up with Crocodile Dundee and Men at Work, I have a quite ordinary group of stereotypes associated with Australia. It’s such a precise stereotype that I can sum it up in one sentence: The men are goofy crocodile wranglers who sit on lawn chairs in the outback where they drink beer, throw shrimp on the “barbee”, and complain about the kangaroos while their wives loudly scream something about a dingo running off the kids who she last saw snacking on Vegemite sandwiches. All that and they have a vocabulary that’s English and foreign at the same time. In the news today, the country seems to be at the height of its popularity when they have another wild, uncontrollable bush fire or when their conservative government yet again bares its hard-line attitude towards brown immigrants. (I say that because the government is also famous for ignoring the hoards of pasty English tourists that make their way there every month with working visas and then tend to forget about the visa deadline once their year is up.)
Overall, it doesn’t sound like I’m that interested in Australia. And it’s true. To be honest, we wanted to go to New Zealand instead but were not able to change our ticket. Therefore, I’m heading to Australia in hopes of bursting some of those stereotypes I’m bringing with me. I’d also love to talk to a few Aussies and find out what they think of Canada and Canadians. Before it’s all said and done I’ll probably be wishing I had another month to spend exploring the huge country/continent. If that’s true, you might find us shacked up in the outback with some Vegemite and dingoes of our own.
tothesea,
k~*
And now it’s back to the west, if you consider Australia being part of the west. We fly to Sydney via Singapore tomorrow evening. Growing up with Crocodile Dundee and Men at Work, I have a quite ordinary group of stereotypes associated with Australia. It’s such a precise stereotype that I can sum it up in one sentence: The men are goofy crocodile wranglers who sit on lawn chairs in the outback where they drink beer, throw shrimp on the “barbee”, and complain about the kangaroos while their wives loudly scream something about a dingo running off the kids who she last saw snacking on Vegemite sandwiches. All that and they have a vocabulary that’s English and foreign at the same time. In the news today, the country seems to be at the height of its popularity when they have another wild, uncontrollable bush fire or when their conservative government yet again bares its hard-line attitude towards brown immigrants. (I say that because the government is also famous for ignoring the hoards of pasty English tourists that make their way there every month with working visas and then tend to forget about the visa deadline once their year is up.)
Overall, it doesn’t sound like I’m that interested in Australia. And it’s true. To be honest, we wanted to go to New Zealand instead but were not able to change our ticket. Therefore, I’m heading to Australia in hopes of bursting some of those stereotypes I’m bringing with me. I’d also love to talk to a few Aussies and find out what they think of Canada and Canadians. Before it’s all said and done I’ll probably be wishing I had another month to spend exploring the huge country/continent. If that’s true, you might find us shacked up in the outback with some Vegemite and dingoes of our own.
tothesea,
k~*
Saturday, January 04, 2003
Biboy, Boboy, Buboy, Baboy, and Honey Pie
Quite accidentally, I stumbled upon this article online and it gave us a good chuckle so thought I'd share it with you.
When I arrived in the Philippines from the UK six years ago, one of the cultural differences to strike me was peoples’ names. The first unusual thing, from an English perspective, is that everyone here has a nickname. In the staid and boring United Kingdom, we have nicknames in kindergarten, but when we move into adulthood we tend, I am glad to say, to lose them. The second thing that struck me is that Philippine names for both girls and boys tend to be what we in the UK would regard as overbearingly cutesy for anyone over five years old. Where I come from, a boy with a nickname like Boy Blue or Honey Boy would probably be harassed at school by pre-adolescent bullies. So would girls with names like Babes, Lovely, Precious, Peachy, or Apples. Here, however, no one bats an eye.
Repeating names was another novelty to me, having never before encountered people with names like Len-Len, Let-Let, Mai-Mai, or Ning-Ning. Such names are then frequently further refined by using the "squared" symbol, as in Len2 or Mai2. This had me very confused for a while.
Then there is the trend for parents to stick to a theme when naming their children. This can be as simple as making them start with the same letter, as in Jun, Jimmy, Janice, and Joy. More imaginative parents shoot for more sophisticated forms of assonance or rhyme, as in Biboy, Boboy, Buboy, Baboy (notice the names get worse the more kids there are -- best to be born early or you could end up being a Baboy). Even better, parents can create whole families of, say, desserts (Apple Pie, Cherry Pie, Honey Pie) or flowers (Rose, Daffodil, Tulip). The main advantage of such combinations is that they look great painted across your trunk if you're a cab driver. (That's another thing I'd never seen before coming to Manila - taxis with the driver's kids' names on the trunk.)
Another whole eye-opening field for the foreign visitor is the phenomenon of the "composite" name. This includes names like Jejomar (for Jesus, Joseph and Mary), and the remarkable Luzviminda (for Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao- the three island groups of the Philippines).
There is also a whole separate field of name games -- those where the parents have exhibited a creative sense of humor on purpose. I once had my house in London painted by a Czech decorator by the name of Peter Peter. I could never figure out if his parents had a fantastic sense of humour or no imagination at all -- it had to be one or the other. But here in the Philippines, wonderful imagination and humour is often applied to the naming process. My favourites include Edgar Allan Pe, Jonathan Livingston Sy, Magic Chiongson, Chica Go, and my girlfriend's very own sister, Van Go.
How wonderful to come from a country where imagination and exoticism rule the world of names. Where else in the world could the head of the Church really be called Cardinal Sin? Where else in the world could Angel, Gigi, and Mandy be grown-up men? Where else could you go through adult life unembarrassed and unscathed with a name like Mosquito, or Pepper, or Honey Boy? Where else but the Philippines?!
by Matthew Sunderland
When I arrived in the Philippines from the UK six years ago, one of the cultural differences to strike me was peoples’ names. The first unusual thing, from an English perspective, is that everyone here has a nickname. In the staid and boring United Kingdom, we have nicknames in kindergarten, but when we move into adulthood we tend, I am glad to say, to lose them. The second thing that struck me is that Philippine names for both girls and boys tend to be what we in the UK would regard as overbearingly cutesy for anyone over five years old. Where I come from, a boy with a nickname like Boy Blue or Honey Boy would probably be harassed at school by pre-adolescent bullies. So would girls with names like Babes, Lovely, Precious, Peachy, or Apples. Here, however, no one bats an eye.
Repeating names was another novelty to me, having never before encountered people with names like Len-Len, Let-Let, Mai-Mai, or Ning-Ning. Such names are then frequently further refined by using the "squared" symbol, as in Len2 or Mai2. This had me very confused for a while.
Then there is the trend for parents to stick to a theme when naming their children. This can be as simple as making them start with the same letter, as in Jun, Jimmy, Janice, and Joy. More imaginative parents shoot for more sophisticated forms of assonance or rhyme, as in Biboy, Boboy, Buboy, Baboy (notice the names get worse the more kids there are -- best to be born early or you could end up being a Baboy). Even better, parents can create whole families of, say, desserts (Apple Pie, Cherry Pie, Honey Pie) or flowers (Rose, Daffodil, Tulip). The main advantage of such combinations is that they look great painted across your trunk if you're a cab driver. (That's another thing I'd never seen before coming to Manila - taxis with the driver's kids' names on the trunk.)
Another whole eye-opening field for the foreign visitor is the phenomenon of the "composite" name. This includes names like Jejomar (for Jesus, Joseph and Mary), and the remarkable Luzviminda (for Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao- the three island groups of the Philippines).
There is also a whole separate field of name games -- those where the parents have exhibited a creative sense of humor on purpose. I once had my house in London painted by a Czech decorator by the name of Peter Peter. I could never figure out if his parents had a fantastic sense of humour or no imagination at all -- it had to be one or the other. But here in the Philippines, wonderful imagination and humour is often applied to the naming process. My favourites include Edgar Allan Pe, Jonathan Livingston Sy, Magic Chiongson, Chica Go, and my girlfriend's very own sister, Van Go.
How wonderful to come from a country where imagination and exoticism rule the world of names. Where else in the world could the head of the Church really be called Cardinal Sin? Where else in the world could Angel, Gigi, and Mandy be grown-up men? Where else could you go through adult life unembarrassed and unscathed with a name like Mosquito, or Pepper, or Honey Boy? Where else but the Philippines?!
by Matthew Sunderland
Tuesday, December 31, 2002
The Extravagant and Eccentric Jeepney
Some of you have already stumbled upon our tribute to jeepneys in the photograph section of this website. Normally, I’m not at all interested in vehicles. I can barely distinguish a Jaguar from a Hyundai without first looking at the symbol on the steering wheel. But since jeepneys have been a daily source of visual entertainment and amusement while we’ve been here in Philippines, I couldn’t very well leave them unmentioned in this journal.
Jeepneys were originally built by modifying left over American army surplus military jeeps after WWII. The war had destroyed almost all engine-driven vehicles, and people were in dire need of transportation. The Americans had a dilemma about how to dispose of the surplus jeeps rusting away at various depots. A mutually convenient solution materialized.
The war vehicles were sold to Filipinos who then transformed them into commercial transportation units. The jeepney became a permanent solution to the postwar transportation problem. And everywhere in the Philippines, jeepney owners enthusiastically shouted, “Let the decorating begin!”
Ornamentation is what makes the jeepneys unique, not only from other forms of transport but also from one another. Jeepneys are like Filipino snowflakes, in that no two are alike.
Indeed, it seems every aspect of the jeepney is designed for function and more importantly, embellishment. First and foremost, the long, smooth side of the jeepney is the ultimate painter's canvas and is often decorated with anything from Disney collages to astrological tributes to vistas of American cities. The bumper is not just to ward off bumps, but to hold more artwork. Even the mud flaps are prettified with a sun motif, or five stars surrounding the title of a popular or sentimental song such as "Love Me Tender” or “You're My Everything.” The ceiling is another lovely space for assorted designs such as the names of the operator's family members, the titles of some popular songs, or comic strips with Garfield being a clear favourite.
Painting aside, there are many other aspects of the decoration that rely on a more homey style of ornament. One cannot help but notice the jeepney’s wide side windows with the red and yellow cloth or crocheted curtains, the jalousies, and when it rains, the plastic awning that is let down.
By looking at the photos I’ve posted, you might wonder how the driver is able to see the road through all that hood ornamentation. Useless antennas, countless headlights, beaded curtains, and hubcaps block the already narrow view out the front window. The truth is, the driver’s can’t see. And you only need to attempt to cross the street in this city to discover that jeepneys, and every other Manila driver for that matter, see pedestrians as blobs of air that can simply be blown aside with a gentle swipe of the front bumper.
Since traffic lights here are mere suggestions, pedestrians do not have the right of way and fervently skirt across the street quickly to avoid bodily harm. Manila has been voted the worst city in the world for motorists and many have exclaimed that there are people who pay much more money to drive under less challenging conditions in videogames. But I think drivers in this city who complain about this have never tried crossing the street!
In recent history, there have been many attempts to eliminate the jeepney from the transportation scheme with good reason. Compared to buses, jeepneys are more wasteful since they sit fewer people, uses up almost as much gasoline, and spend almost as much on tires and spare parts. Numbering 27,000 in Manila alone, they aggravate the energy crisis, perpetuate dependence on multi-national corporations, and crowd the streets.
Crowding of streets is what Manila needs least. Traffic here is in such a crisis that the days you are allowed to drive your car depends on the number of your license plate. And demonstrative of traffic woes, in Tagalog, “traffic” is not just a mere noun, but also an adjective, “matrapik”, and the most widely used excuse for just about anything.
All the attempts however, have failed seemingly because the jeepney is now part of the Filipino cultural identity and the overwhelming favoured mode of transport. And so this joyous vehicle that is literature, pop art, ambulant home, statement of belief and personality, and, at the moment, King of the Road, will remain.
Happy New Year everyone! We're celebrating by listening to our new favourite band Die Moulinettes, a 50 ml. bottle of amaretto, and a Crazy Eights championship. Woohoo!
tothesea,
k~*
P.S. FYI, we "borrowed" the Jeepney poem...
Jeepneys were originally built by modifying left over American army surplus military jeeps after WWII. The war had destroyed almost all engine-driven vehicles, and people were in dire need of transportation. The Americans had a dilemma about how to dispose of the surplus jeeps rusting away at various depots. A mutually convenient solution materialized.
The war vehicles were sold to Filipinos who then transformed them into commercial transportation units. The jeepney became a permanent solution to the postwar transportation problem. And everywhere in the Philippines, jeepney owners enthusiastically shouted, “Let the decorating begin!”
Ornamentation is what makes the jeepneys unique, not only from other forms of transport but also from one another. Jeepneys are like Filipino snowflakes, in that no two are alike.
Indeed, it seems every aspect of the jeepney is designed for function and more importantly, embellishment. First and foremost, the long, smooth side of the jeepney is the ultimate painter's canvas and is often decorated with anything from Disney collages to astrological tributes to vistas of American cities. The bumper is not just to ward off bumps, but to hold more artwork. Even the mud flaps are prettified with a sun motif, or five stars surrounding the title of a popular or sentimental song such as "Love Me Tender” or “You're My Everything.” The ceiling is another lovely space for assorted designs such as the names of the operator's family members, the titles of some popular songs, or comic strips with Garfield being a clear favourite.
Painting aside, there are many other aspects of the decoration that rely on a more homey style of ornament. One cannot help but notice the jeepney’s wide side windows with the red and yellow cloth or crocheted curtains, the jalousies, and when it rains, the plastic awning that is let down.
By looking at the photos I’ve posted, you might wonder how the driver is able to see the road through all that hood ornamentation. Useless antennas, countless headlights, beaded curtains, and hubcaps block the already narrow view out the front window. The truth is, the driver’s can’t see. And you only need to attempt to cross the street in this city to discover that jeepneys, and every other Manila driver for that matter, see pedestrians as blobs of air that can simply be blown aside with a gentle swipe of the front bumper.
Since traffic lights here are mere suggestions, pedestrians do not have the right of way and fervently skirt across the street quickly to avoid bodily harm. Manila has been voted the worst city in the world for motorists and many have exclaimed that there are people who pay much more money to drive under less challenging conditions in videogames. But I think drivers in this city who complain about this have never tried crossing the street!
In recent history, there have been many attempts to eliminate the jeepney from the transportation scheme with good reason. Compared to buses, jeepneys are more wasteful since they sit fewer people, uses up almost as much gasoline, and spend almost as much on tires and spare parts. Numbering 27,000 in Manila alone, they aggravate the energy crisis, perpetuate dependence on multi-national corporations, and crowd the streets.
Crowding of streets is what Manila needs least. Traffic here is in such a crisis that the days you are allowed to drive your car depends on the number of your license plate. And demonstrative of traffic woes, in Tagalog, “traffic” is not just a mere noun, but also an adjective, “matrapik”, and the most widely used excuse for just about anything.
All the attempts however, have failed seemingly because the jeepney is now part of the Filipino cultural identity and the overwhelming favoured mode of transport. And so this joyous vehicle that is literature, pop art, ambulant home, statement of belief and personality, and, at the moment, King of the Road, will remain.
Happy New Year everyone! We're celebrating by listening to our new favourite band Die Moulinettes, a 50 ml. bottle of amaretto, and a Crazy Eights championship. Woohoo!
tothesea,
k~*
P.S. FYI, we "borrowed" the Jeepney poem...
Saturday, December 28, 2002
Visiting Great Uncle Harry
Today we woke up with an extraordinary mission. We were quite surprised to find out yesterday that my paternal great uncle, Harry Mercer, died during WWII in the second wave of the Battle of Leyte and is buried in Manila. He died in combat on January 11, 1945, just less than two months after the troops in his division had landed in this country. Sadly, he never lived to realize the allied troops’ victory against the Japanese and the subsequent liberation of the Philippines.
To beat the midday sun, we headed out the door first thing in the morning. We walked for about an hour through a relatively quiet area of Manila, asking machine-gun toting guards for directions along the way, until we found the American Manila War Cemetery. Harry was buried in the U.S. Army cemetery because for a short time he was a faux-yankee. Since he was too young to enlist with the Canadian troops, he went south across the border, lied about his age and residence and went to war with the Americans after a single year of training. Harry’s gleaming white marble cross headstone has forever etched him as a resident of Massachusetts. He now rests beside by Americans on all sides except to his right, where a Filipino soldier lies.
After taking a few photos to show family back home, Magi walked off to look at a large memorial nearby. I sat by the grave and was awestruck by the serene setting that was to be found in such a bustling and overcrowded city such as this. Magi returned with two handfuls of white and yellow flowers that had fallen from a nearby tree. We scattered them around Harry’s grave and rested the most beautiful one on an arm of the white marble cross.
It was quite a poignant morning because I am the first family member to ever visit Harry’s grave. My aunt Cheryl commented on how wonderful it would have been for my poppy to know that someone in the family had visited his brother after all these years. I went there and returned home carrying that precise emotion.
tothesea,
k~*
To beat the midday sun, we headed out the door first thing in the morning. We walked for about an hour through a relatively quiet area of Manila, asking machine-gun toting guards for directions along the way, until we found the American Manila War Cemetery. Harry was buried in the U.S. Army cemetery because for a short time he was a faux-yankee. Since he was too young to enlist with the Canadian troops, he went south across the border, lied about his age and residence and went to war with the Americans after a single year of training. Harry’s gleaming white marble cross headstone has forever etched him as a resident of Massachusetts. He now rests beside by Americans on all sides except to his right, where a Filipino soldier lies.
After taking a few photos to show family back home, Magi walked off to look at a large memorial nearby. I sat by the grave and was awestruck by the serene setting that was to be found in such a bustling and overcrowded city such as this. Magi returned with two handfuls of white and yellow flowers that had fallen from a nearby tree. We scattered them around Harry’s grave and rested the most beautiful one on an arm of the white marble cross.
It was quite a poignant morning because I am the first family member to ever visit Harry’s grave. My aunt Cheryl commented on how wonderful it would have been for my poppy to know that someone in the family had visited his brother after all these years. I went there and returned home carrying that precise emotion.
tothesea,
k~*
Wednesday, December 25, 2002
Thirteen Lessons You Learn from a Dog
1. When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
2. Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joy ride.
3. Let others know when they've invaded your territory.
4. Take naps and always stretch before rising.
5. Run, romp, and play daily.
6. Eat with gusto and enthusiasm.
7. Never pretend to be something you're not.
8. If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
9. When someone is having a bad day, sit close by and nuzzle them gently.
10. Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
11. Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
12. When you are happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
13. Never miss your chance to have a treat.
Happy Holidays everyone! Maligayang Pasko!
Love,
Krishna & Magi
2. Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joy ride.
3. Let others know when they've invaded your territory.
4. Take naps and always stretch before rising.
5. Run, romp, and play daily.
6. Eat with gusto and enthusiasm.
7. Never pretend to be something you're not.
8. If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
9. When someone is having a bad day, sit close by and nuzzle them gently.
10. Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
11. Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
12. When you are happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
13. Never miss your chance to have a treat.
Happy Holidays everyone! Maligayang Pasko!
Love,
Krishna & Magi
Thursday, December 12, 2002
Paki Balot Ito
Normally around this time of year I’d be dreaming of sipping tea by the hearth and romping in the snow with some fun-loving dogs. Snow gives the holidays a magical quality that is only matched by the colours of autumn. Even the Filipinas we’ve talked to long for a bit of the white stuff. Fat chance of ever seeing snow in Manila. December is as cold as it gets and the temperature rarely dips below 25 C (80 F). Here, the holiday season for us is marked by escaping the heat in an A/C apartment and taking daily dips in the pool (we have become excellent lap swimmers!). Pumpkin pies and sugar cookies are replaced by mangoes and sapin-sapin, a delicious coconut milk-based dessert.
In our guidebook, Filipino cuisine has humourously been described as “short on greens and long on intestines.” Ironically, dessert is often flavoured with or made of vegetables and even ice-cream comes in flavours such as corn, avocado, and purple yam (we even saw cheese-flavoured ice cream). The sapin-sapin that we are so fond of usually has a purple yam (ube) swirl in it, and I must say it is delicious. If there is one aspect of cuisine that Filipinos have mastered, it’s dessert.
I’ve been immersing myself in Filipino history. Their dramatic past (and present) makes for a captivating read. This irresistible 7,107 island archipelago whose total land mass is comparable to Arizona, has been colonized by all of these countries in this order: Spain (who held on for 400 years after the explorer Magellan first landed on its shores; and who named the country after King Philip II), Portugal (only a partial takeover until the Spanish overtook them), Britain (just a brief colonizing stint), Japan (for a ruthless four-year period during WWII), and finally, the US (who bought the nation for US$20,000 in a package deal that also gave them Guam and Puerto Rico). Finally, a long-awaited Independence came in 1946. Strangely enough, Filipinos (or Pinoys as they call themselves) annually celebrate their Independence from Spain in 1898 instead of the date of their actual independence. Maybe this is because the revolt against the Spanish brought forward the most popular national heroes or because the Spanish held the Philippines for so many more years than their other colonizers. This staunchly independent nation is now home to 84.5 million people, 1/8 of which live in metropolitan Manila.
Enduring an onslaught of typhoons, flash-floods, volcanoes, and earthquakes, the U.N. has named the Philippines the most disaster-prone country on earth. Notably, it is also home to the largest robbery in history (by ex-president Ferdinand Marcos and his shoe-loving wife Imelda) who stole an estimated US$5-10 billion from the people of the Philippines. Fitting their fun-loving nature despite such natural and man-made adversity, those in Manila can proudly say that their city has the world’s largest nightclub.
According to a recent language survey in Canada, Pilipino is in the top five spoken languages of Manitoba, Nunavut, and the Northwest Territories!! (Are you gasping with surprise? We are.) With Magi’s help, I’ve learned a few phrases though neither of them will get me very far in Manila (or Iqaluit for that matter). In a strange, and now laughable, dream the other night I was abducted by guerillas in Manila and spent the entire dream saying my two best phrases in Pilipino which are, “My name is Krishna” and “Can you put this in a doggy-bag?” My aim was to try and convince my captors that I was Filipina so they would let me go. It didn’t work.
Life is calm right now despite a slew of very eventful dreams. Aside from doing some initial planning for our trip around Australia, it seems we are taking a brief vacation from our holiday. Though we haven’t done much exploring or traveling within the Philippines, I must say that so far, this is some of the best quality time I’ve had on our trip. It’s nice to be able to sit back and watch the world happen, especially at this time of year when things usually seem to feel a little more hectic. We decided to stay here so that we wouldn’t find ourselves celebrating the holidays in a guesthouse somewhere in the outback. So, we are not only looking forward to Christmas and New Years, but Magi's 26th birthday next Wednesday as well.
tothesea,
k~*
In our guidebook, Filipino cuisine has humourously been described as “short on greens and long on intestines.” Ironically, dessert is often flavoured with or made of vegetables and even ice-cream comes in flavours such as corn, avocado, and purple yam (we even saw cheese-flavoured ice cream). The sapin-sapin that we are so fond of usually has a purple yam (ube) swirl in it, and I must say it is delicious. If there is one aspect of cuisine that Filipinos have mastered, it’s dessert.
I’ve been immersing myself in Filipino history. Their dramatic past (and present) makes for a captivating read. This irresistible 7,107 island archipelago whose total land mass is comparable to Arizona, has been colonized by all of these countries in this order: Spain (who held on for 400 years after the explorer Magellan first landed on its shores; and who named the country after King Philip II), Portugal (only a partial takeover until the Spanish overtook them), Britain (just a brief colonizing stint), Japan (for a ruthless four-year period during WWII), and finally, the US (who bought the nation for US$20,000 in a package deal that also gave them Guam and Puerto Rico). Finally, a long-awaited Independence came in 1946. Strangely enough, Filipinos (or Pinoys as they call themselves) annually celebrate their Independence from Spain in 1898 instead of the date of their actual independence. Maybe this is because the revolt against the Spanish brought forward the most popular national heroes or because the Spanish held the Philippines for so many more years than their other colonizers. This staunchly independent nation is now home to 84.5 million people, 1/8 of which live in metropolitan Manila.
Enduring an onslaught of typhoons, flash-floods, volcanoes, and earthquakes, the U.N. has named the Philippines the most disaster-prone country on earth. Notably, it is also home to the largest robbery in history (by ex-president Ferdinand Marcos and his shoe-loving wife Imelda) who stole an estimated US$5-10 billion from the people of the Philippines. Fitting their fun-loving nature despite such natural and man-made adversity, those in Manila can proudly say that their city has the world’s largest nightclub.
According to a recent language survey in Canada, Pilipino is in the top five spoken languages of Manitoba, Nunavut, and the Northwest Territories!! (Are you gasping with surprise? We are.) With Magi’s help, I’ve learned a few phrases though neither of them will get me very far in Manila (or Iqaluit for that matter). In a strange, and now laughable, dream the other night I was abducted by guerillas in Manila and spent the entire dream saying my two best phrases in Pilipino which are, “My name is Krishna” and “Can you put this in a doggy-bag?” My aim was to try and convince my captors that I was Filipina so they would let me go. It didn’t work.
Life is calm right now despite a slew of very eventful dreams. Aside from doing some initial planning for our trip around Australia, it seems we are taking a brief vacation from our holiday. Though we haven’t done much exploring or traveling within the Philippines, I must say that so far, this is some of the best quality time I’ve had on our trip. It’s nice to be able to sit back and watch the world happen, especially at this time of year when things usually seem to feel a little more hectic. We decided to stay here so that we wouldn’t find ourselves celebrating the holidays in a guesthouse somewhere in the outback. So, we are not only looking forward to Christmas and New Years, but Magi's 26th birthday next Wednesday as well.
tothesea,
k~*
Monday, December 02, 2002
photography
Finally we have made some changes to the photography page! Aaron had some film developed and scanned and I've posted a few of those pictures on the photography page of this site. Unfortunately we didn't have any editing tools or we would have done some cropping and zooming. They are also a little dense so they may take some time to load. Enjoy them here as they are.
tothesea,
k&m
tothesea,
k&m
Friday, November 29, 2002
tour of terrorism
A month before we left, Canada and the US warned its citizens to postpone trips to India indefinitely due to their ongoing and escalating problems with Pakistan. We were warned against travelling in Nepal because of bloody attacks by Maoist rebels in the countryside. Heavily-touristed Thailand is an easy target for terrorist attacks, especially around the beach resorts and a red flag has been raised on travel there. We were warned against going to Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia because “extremist groups present in Southeast Asia have transnational capabilities to carry out attacks against locations where Westerners congregate.” It was announced sometime last week that a travel alert has been issued for Australia because it is seen as a target for terrorism.
So I can’t say that we were that surprised when the Canadian and Australian embassies closed in Manila yesterday due to “credible” bomb threats. Furthermore, we have been warned that “Canadians should not travel to the Philippines until further notice. Threats against Canadians and Canadian interests in the Philippines have heightened and there has been an upsurge in bombings.”
It’s easy to feel vulnerable when you are an obvious foreigner so I’ve become a little wary of being in public. Moreover, if you’re like me and have an active imagination, then things like going to the mall or eating dinner out involve imagined bomb attacks. Last night I registered with the consulate here in order not to be left out of an evacuation plan.
I am definitely suffering from an ounce of “Mean World Syndrome”. It’s a cultural phenomenon whereby people subjected to a heavy dose of media adopt the overly-violent television world in place of the real world and misjudge the amount of violence in society. I would argue that in today’s world, a “heavy dose” of television is not even necessary. With CNN and BBC almost constantly talking about terrorism, it’s difficult to remember that these incidents are few and far between, however devastating. I know that life goes on pretty much as normal here despite the threats and deep down I know that there is only a very slight chance that anything remotely terrorist will happen, and an even lower chance that it will affect me personally. I’ll just knock on wood anyway though.
We’re here and we plan on spending the holidays here. So we’ll just lay low and continue to do what we have been doing; swimming laps, eating mangoes, reading books, and watching bootlegged DVDs that we buy for a hundred pesos a pop.
tothesea,
k~*
So I can’t say that we were that surprised when the Canadian and Australian embassies closed in Manila yesterday due to “credible” bomb threats. Furthermore, we have been warned that “Canadians should not travel to the Philippines until further notice. Threats against Canadians and Canadian interests in the Philippines have heightened and there has been an upsurge in bombings.”
It’s easy to feel vulnerable when you are an obvious foreigner so I’ve become a little wary of being in public. Moreover, if you’re like me and have an active imagination, then things like going to the mall or eating dinner out involve imagined bomb attacks. Last night I registered with the consulate here in order not to be left out of an evacuation plan.
I am definitely suffering from an ounce of “Mean World Syndrome”. It’s a cultural phenomenon whereby people subjected to a heavy dose of media adopt the overly-violent television world in place of the real world and misjudge the amount of violence in society. I would argue that in today’s world, a “heavy dose” of television is not even necessary. With CNN and BBC almost constantly talking about terrorism, it’s difficult to remember that these incidents are few and far between, however devastating. I know that life goes on pretty much as normal here despite the threats and deep down I know that there is only a very slight chance that anything remotely terrorist will happen, and an even lower chance that it will affect me personally. I’ll just knock on wood anyway though.
We’re here and we plan on spending the holidays here. So we’ll just lay low and continue to do what we have been doing; swimming laps, eating mangoes, reading books, and watching bootlegged DVDs that we buy for a hundred pesos a pop.
tothesea,
k~*
Sunday, November 17, 2002
is that a bomb component in your pocketbook or are you just happy to see me?
Magi and I had pancakes for breakfast and we made them ourselves! This news might not be that exciting to most people but for us it is. The joy of reaching into a fridge or a cupboard and then making something to eat is a luxury wasted on the non-travellers of the world. Sure to some eating out is the most fun; you don't have to cook or clean up. But when you have gone for months hunting down your next meal it's a relief to be able to cook what you want, when you want it and to not have to explain to a trying-to-be-helpful waiter that vegetarians don't eat squid or shrimp.
We've been here for a week now and are so travel-weary that we haven't really left the neighbourhood. Keep in mind that we have been sans maison since May and that the perfect guesthouse we've been looking for has materialized as Magi's parents' condo. Plus it's hard to get inspired to go out when the heat and humidity is so super-oppressive and adjusting to the heat is made more difficult by the sub-zero temperatures you always encounter when entering any indoor space.
It's my first Christmas without cold weather (I am not counting A/C as cold weather) and it's a little surreal to walk around and have speakers popping out of manicured shopping mall gardens like sprinklers singing Jingle Bells and These Three Kings. This being a devoutly Catholic country, Christmas is like, well, Christmas around here. I was concerned, up until yesterday, that I was missing out on Filipino culture because we are completely surrounded by malls and lured by their cool temperatures whenever we walk outside. Magi told me that this obsession with shopping and eating out IS Filipino culture (albeit modern) and I'm really beginning to believe her. Though I am unsure as to whether the hoards of shoppers are merely there to stock up on gifts for under the tree, I feel like it's much more controlled and ordinary than that. People aren't shopping with the unique enthusiasm of finding the right shirt or soap on a rope for grandpa, they are shopping with an everyday enthusiasm of finding a good deal. The crowds or women holding up tanktops and underwear at the bargain bins are calm about it, like they are just there to see if anything has been added since their previous visit the last week or a few days ago.
My favourite part of the mall (a phrase I didn't think I'd ever use) is the product demonstrations. Sometimes it's for a vacuum packing machine that makes those ever-annoying bags of stuffed animals shrink down to half their size or the super cloths that soak up all the water in your bathtub and still have room for more. The announcers up on their pedestals never fail to interrupt themselves to greet the people walking by with "Hello ma'am" or "Hello sir". Their promo speeches, like most conversation in the Philippines, is spoken in Taglish- a mix between English and the national language of Tagalog. So to me, it sounds something like this, “blah blah blah very absorbent blah blah blah today only blah blah blah plastic handle blah blah.” It’s a little thing but it makes me giggle whenever I hear it, not just in the malls.
My least favourite part of shopping here are the constant reminders of terrorism. In every mall entrance and in most store entrances within the mall, you get into the female or male line and proceed through the guard who swipes you and your bag with a sensor or pokes a stick into your bag to look for bomb components (or both). Their table has a print out of common bomb parts to make identifying them easy for the guard. Even restaurants ask their patrons to keep their weapons at the door with security personnel (is this Texas?) This kind of security might make some people feel safer but for me it just reminds me of the potential threat of terrorism and makes me wish the guard would take a extra second or two looking in bags since it most often feels like just a formality and not a real search.
Let me just say that we are not in an unsafe neighbourhood. There are practically no tourists in this area and we are far away from the violent separatists in the south. Nevertheless this constant reminder of a threat looms and living in NYC has probably made us a little more sensitive to these things.
One final note before I head off into the heat of this mid-morning Monday. I am taken aback by the level of hospitality Filipinos have shown towards us. I found most people in Thailand to be very cheerful also (at least those that weren't totally jaded by tourism) but theirs was a quieter and more gentle friendliness. Everyone here is very friendly in an outgoing way. People in stores and restaurants are sincerely eager to make you happy and even guards greet you with a smile and “welcome”. Based in no way on scientific measures, I would say that in my experience, this is the friendliest country I have been to in Asia.
tothesea,
k~*
We've been here for a week now and are so travel-weary that we haven't really left the neighbourhood. Keep in mind that we have been sans maison since May and that the perfect guesthouse we've been looking for has materialized as Magi's parents' condo. Plus it's hard to get inspired to go out when the heat and humidity is so super-oppressive and adjusting to the heat is made more difficult by the sub-zero temperatures you always encounter when entering any indoor space.
It's my first Christmas without cold weather (I am not counting A/C as cold weather) and it's a little surreal to walk around and have speakers popping out of manicured shopping mall gardens like sprinklers singing Jingle Bells and These Three Kings. This being a devoutly Catholic country, Christmas is like, well, Christmas around here. I was concerned, up until yesterday, that I was missing out on Filipino culture because we are completely surrounded by malls and lured by their cool temperatures whenever we walk outside. Magi told me that this obsession with shopping and eating out IS Filipino culture (albeit modern) and I'm really beginning to believe her. Though I am unsure as to whether the hoards of shoppers are merely there to stock up on gifts for under the tree, I feel like it's much more controlled and ordinary than that. People aren't shopping with the unique enthusiasm of finding the right shirt or soap on a rope for grandpa, they are shopping with an everyday enthusiasm of finding a good deal. The crowds or women holding up tanktops and underwear at the bargain bins are calm about it, like they are just there to see if anything has been added since their previous visit the last week or a few days ago.
My favourite part of the mall (a phrase I didn't think I'd ever use) is the product demonstrations. Sometimes it's for a vacuum packing machine that makes those ever-annoying bags of stuffed animals shrink down to half their size or the super cloths that soak up all the water in your bathtub and still have room for more. The announcers up on their pedestals never fail to interrupt themselves to greet the people walking by with "Hello ma'am" or "Hello sir". Their promo speeches, like most conversation in the Philippines, is spoken in Taglish- a mix between English and the national language of Tagalog. So to me, it sounds something like this, “blah blah blah very absorbent blah blah blah today only blah blah blah plastic handle blah blah.” It’s a little thing but it makes me giggle whenever I hear it, not just in the malls.
My least favourite part of shopping here are the constant reminders of terrorism. In every mall entrance and in most store entrances within the mall, you get into the female or male line and proceed through the guard who swipes you and your bag with a sensor or pokes a stick into your bag to look for bomb components (or both). Their table has a print out of common bomb parts to make identifying them easy for the guard. Even restaurants ask their patrons to keep their weapons at the door with security personnel (is this Texas?) This kind of security might make some people feel safer but for me it just reminds me of the potential threat of terrorism and makes me wish the guard would take a extra second or two looking in bags since it most often feels like just a formality and not a real search.
Let me just say that we are not in an unsafe neighbourhood. There are practically no tourists in this area and we are far away from the violent separatists in the south. Nevertheless this constant reminder of a threat looms and living in NYC has probably made us a little more sensitive to these things.
One final note before I head off into the heat of this mid-morning Monday. I am taken aback by the level of hospitality Filipinos have shown towards us. I found most people in Thailand to be very cheerful also (at least those that weren't totally jaded by tourism) but theirs was a quieter and more gentle friendliness. Everyone here is very friendly in an outgoing way. People in stores and restaurants are sincerely eager to make you happy and even guards greet you with a smile and “welcome”. Based in no way on scientific measures, I would say that in my experience, this is the friendliest country I have been to in Asia.
tothesea,
k~*
Sunday, November 10, 2002
manila folder
It's difficult to focus on a post under these circumstances. Gun shots, men shouting "Go, Go, Go" and sounds of people falling to their death are all around me. But this is no battlefield in Vietnam in the 60's or field around Phnom Penh in the 70's.. this is an internet cafe in a large Manila shopping mall in the year 2002. Young men around me, presumably here together, are yelling and laughing to one another over the loud barrage of gunshots. They are playing Max Payne, a brutal and bloody shoot-em-up game that I have come to know from my brothers who eat this kind of stuff up. Personally, the game gives me motion sickness and other kinds of sicknesses that I won't go into here.
There is only one other girl in the room and she is on the internet like me. She has headphones on and is singing some Top 40 hit at the top of her lungs. I also have headphones on in a futile attempt to block the noise but I have landed on an online classical music station and it's really hard to sing along with Bach.
We arrived here in Manila yesterday. We had a one day layover in Bangkok which we whiled away at the weekend "Chatuchak" market. We had made one previous visit with Aaron months ago but reserved all our buying for Saturday since we knew we would have that day in Bangkok and a better grasp at how fast the travel funds are dwindling. Our shopping limit was US$200 and although we tried, we didn't go anywhere near spending that amount. It wasn't at all difficult to find things to buy and we
stocked up on some beautifully crafted ceramic bowls and chopsticks sets along with other housewares and gifts for you back home... but it's really difficult to spend a large amount of money when you're bargaining for everything with the help of Magi's mom (who won't take "that's my final price" for an answer) and getting great deals left and right! It was a blast, especially knowing that we would only have to carry the purchases as far as Manila from where Magi's parents will bring them back to the US.
I have never been to L.A. but Manila is what I would imagine it to look like (complete with the thick layer of smog that you can see in the distance). After we settled in Magi's parents condo and they arrived a few hours later on a different flight, they took us for a walk around the neighbourhood. This area, Makati City, is full of new, very nice restaurants with trendy names and stores for the ultra-chic consumer. I could hardly believe my eyes, I felt like I had been transported to somewhere other than the Asia I have come to know and love. We had a delicious meal at an Italian restaurant where our waiter continued to fill the plate in the middle of the table with warm, fresh rosemary foccacia (complete with balsamic vinegar and olive oil I might add).
Magi's parents are in the process of moving to another condo so we're helping them move their things down the street today. Tonight Magi and I will stay in the new place while her parents remain in the current condo. We have two weeks to explore this 7,100 island nation but I'm sure we'll be back many, many times for more.
I wish I had a poppy to wear for Remembrance Day... but the day is on my mind nevertheless.
tothesea,
k~*
There is only one other girl in the room and she is on the internet like me. She has headphones on and is singing some Top 40 hit at the top of her lungs. I also have headphones on in a futile attempt to block the noise but I have landed on an online classical music station and it's really hard to sing along with Bach.
We arrived here in Manila yesterday. We had a one day layover in Bangkok which we whiled away at the weekend "Chatuchak" market. We had made one previous visit with Aaron months ago but reserved all our buying for Saturday since we knew we would have that day in Bangkok and a better grasp at how fast the travel funds are dwindling. Our shopping limit was US$200 and although we tried, we didn't go anywhere near spending that amount. It wasn't at all difficult to find things to buy and we
stocked up on some beautifully crafted ceramic bowls and chopsticks sets along with other housewares and gifts for you back home... but it's really difficult to spend a large amount of money when you're bargaining for everything with the help of Magi's mom (who won't take "that's my final price" for an answer) and getting great deals left and right! It was a blast, especially knowing that we would only have to carry the purchases as far as Manila from where Magi's parents will bring them back to the US.
I have never been to L.A. but Manila is what I would imagine it to look like (complete with the thick layer of smog that you can see in the distance). After we settled in Magi's parents condo and they arrived a few hours later on a different flight, they took us for a walk around the neighbourhood. This area, Makati City, is full of new, very nice restaurants with trendy names and stores for the ultra-chic consumer. I could hardly believe my eyes, I felt like I had been transported to somewhere other than the Asia I have come to know and love. We had a delicious meal at an Italian restaurant where our waiter continued to fill the plate in the middle of the table with warm, fresh rosemary foccacia (complete with balsamic vinegar and olive oil I might add).
Magi's parents are in the process of moving to another condo so we're helping them move their things down the street today. Tonight Magi and I will stay in the new place while her parents remain in the current condo. We have two weeks to explore this 7,100 island nation but I'm sure we'll be back many, many times for more.
I wish I had a poppy to wear for Remembrance Day... but the day is on my mind nevertheless.
tothesea,
k~*
Thursday, November 07, 2002
a few days in Cambodia
We've spent a few days in Seam Riep, Cambodia, which is not enough time to get a real grasp of what the country is like but enough to get a feeling for it. Our time here has been centred around seeing Angkor Wat which some of you may know as the ancient Hindu ruins of Cambodia and others of you may know it as the shooting location for Tomb Raider. As far as piles of rocks go, they are pretty incredible and being highly dedicated to no sleep at times, we were witness to both the sunrise and the sunset at ruins yesterday. Our favorite temple was overgrown with ancient mile-high trees and it made you feel as though you were discovering something for the first time (minus the tour buses and foot paths).
However, I tend towards modern history when it comes to where my interests lie, and Cambodia does not disappoint. The legacy of the Vietnam war in Cambodia and the subsequent terror of the Pol Pot regime in the 1970's are the kind of things history book authors lust after and that make humanitarians ache.
For those of you who don't know, the Khmer Rouge and their leader Pol Pot took control of Phnom Penh (the capital) two weeks before the Vietnamese Communists took Saigon. They quickly instituted their leader's harsh idealism of reverting the country back to a agrarian utopia. People were pushed from the cities into the countryside to work on farms and everyone considered an intellectual (ie. those who wore glasses or spoke a foreign language) was jailed and most were later brutally murdered and put into the mass graves now known as the Killing Fields.
The so-called Killing Fields are near Phnom Penh (about five hours away) but there is a small memorial set up outside Siem Reap and we went to visit it yesterday. It is situated in a Buddhist temple complex and consists of a medium sized stupa whose middle has been hollowed and left with tall windows. In the windows you can see a waist-high pile of skulls, bones, and clothing fragments that were retreived from the killing fields and brought to Siem Reap as a reminder of the atrocity. A nearby sign pleads for a donation asking you, the tourist, to help them build a proper monument memorializing the atrocity that the world stood by and did nothing about.
It was a little surreal to step out of the car at the monument and be surrounded by a hoard of small school children peddling postcards and bamboo flutes, these poor children are the legacy of Pol Pot's regime. We were uncertain as to whether they understood what the monument stood for but certainly it will be clear to them one day.
Not surprisingly, the great majority of people here are young. The same was true for Vietnam but you couldn't say in all honesty that to see an older person was rare. Here I think you can say that. Another legacy of this countries modern history is that Cambodia still suffers 100-300 injuries from landmines every month. They are literally everywhere and so are the injured. I think the statistic is something like one in 236 people in this county have lost a limb due to landmines, most of whom are children who mistake the mines for toys (and in some cases, stuffed animals or dolls were placed on top of the mines so that children would grab them and be hurt).
It's not an easy country to be in. But there are faint glimmers of hope that make you feel that Cambodia's future will be brighter. I'm off to look for some of those now.
tothesea,
k~*
However, I tend towards modern history when it comes to where my interests lie, and Cambodia does not disappoint. The legacy of the Vietnam war in Cambodia and the subsequent terror of the Pol Pot regime in the 1970's are the kind of things history book authors lust after and that make humanitarians ache.
For those of you who don't know, the Khmer Rouge and their leader Pol Pot took control of Phnom Penh (the capital) two weeks before the Vietnamese Communists took Saigon. They quickly instituted their leader's harsh idealism of reverting the country back to a agrarian utopia. People were pushed from the cities into the countryside to work on farms and everyone considered an intellectual (ie. those who wore glasses or spoke a foreign language) was jailed and most were later brutally murdered and put into the mass graves now known as the Killing Fields.
The so-called Killing Fields are near Phnom Penh (about five hours away) but there is a small memorial set up outside Siem Reap and we went to visit it yesterday. It is situated in a Buddhist temple complex and consists of a medium sized stupa whose middle has been hollowed and left with tall windows. In the windows you can see a waist-high pile of skulls, bones, and clothing fragments that were retreived from the killing fields and brought to Siem Reap as a reminder of the atrocity. A nearby sign pleads for a donation asking you, the tourist, to help them build a proper monument memorializing the atrocity that the world stood by and did nothing about.
It was a little surreal to step out of the car at the monument and be surrounded by a hoard of small school children peddling postcards and bamboo flutes, these poor children are the legacy of Pol Pot's regime. We were uncertain as to whether they understood what the monument stood for but certainly it will be clear to them one day.
Not surprisingly, the great majority of people here are young. The same was true for Vietnam but you couldn't say in all honesty that to see an older person was rare. Here I think you can say that. Another legacy of this countries modern history is that Cambodia still suffers 100-300 injuries from landmines every month. They are literally everywhere and so are the injured. I think the statistic is something like one in 236 people in this county have lost a limb due to landmines, most of whom are children who mistake the mines for toys (and in some cases, stuffed animals or dolls were placed on top of the mines so that children would grab them and be hurt).
It's not an easy country to be in. But there are faint glimmers of hope that make you feel that Cambodia's future will be brighter. I'm off to look for some of those now.
tothesea,
k~*
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
saigon kick
“Like a bunch of evil devils, the American enemies killed women and children….”
So began our tour of the Cu Chi Tunnels. We were seated in a small outside auditorium where we watched a very old and rudimentary black and white documentary on the significance of the people in the Cu Chi area before, during, and after the war. The quote from above is directly from the film, I couldn’t make this stuff up. Using a lot of this very strong language the film detailed the “heroic struggles of the peaceful villagers” as they took up arms and went underground to fight the US.
The Cu Chi tunnels are a 250 km network of underground tunnels used by the Viet Cong during the war. The clear highlight of our group tour to the tunnels this morning was having the opportunity to crawl in the tunnels for about 50 metres. I went first of the tourists but second behind the tunnel guide who quickly squatted down and shuffeled his way through the narrow passages. He did take the time to stop before turning another corner to signify to me the direction he was going. I must have looked ridiculous behind him, slowly crawling on my hands and knees. When I first entered the tunnels I was intrigued but soon I felt a great sense of claustrophobia when one turn turned into another passage into another turn and again and again. It was probably the longest fifty metres of my life. The tunnels are hot, dark, filthy and, depending on your size, practicually hug you while you are in the crawling position (as is evidenced by the number of dirty backs you saw when you climbed out of the tunnel and looked at your fellow tourists). I can hardly imagine spending ten minutes down there, let alone ten years. It gave me a new appreciation for the brillance and cunning of the Viet Cong and the absolute determination they had in winning the war. A more grisly part of the tour was the showcase of booby traps fixed with spikes that were used. It seems they had one made for the intent of harming each part of the body and some were given names such as the “hamburger trap” and the “souvenir trap” (the latter one because you had to have it surgically removed, I won’t detail why). Lunch consisted of tapioca cane with sugar to dip it in and tea and is a meal the guide says the Viet Cong lived on for ten years.
Though the tour reeked of propoganda it was no surprise to us because it seems most of the museums, art galleries, and monuments In Vietnam are designed to demonstrate what champions of war the Vietnamese Communists are. Of course, it is true that they fought and defeated the French in the first Indochinese war and the Americans in the second and that both of these feats are quite amazing. However, the horror shown is so biased and they never mention the pain that they themselves inflicted on their own people and the people of the Southern armies. But then again, why would they?
Considering the hard feelings that the government still seems to hold against the U.S., I think it’s ironic that the American dollar is just as common a currency in Vietnam as the dong. Prices are most often given in both and the choice is yours to spend as you wish. You could travel all you want in Vietnam and never lay hands on the Vietnamese currency. It has nothing to do with the war, the US dollar is simply more stable… but still it seems strange. Something that I can’t figure out is how a free market society works under a Communist regime.. can anyone explain this to me?
So let me take you back a few days. Prior to our stop in Saigon, we spent some time in the central part of the country and specifically in Hue and Danang. Because Danang was the initial landing spot for both the French and the Americans (remember the show China Beach?), it was completely devastated by the effects of war. What’s left is a charmless city of deteriorating concrete building and crumbling sidewalks with a generation of people missing (2/3 of Vietnam’s people are under 25 so the latter part is very much the case all over the country). People don’t smile much, at least at foreigners (who can blame them?) and the overall feeling of the rainy region is depressing. Hue is an ancient city, once the centre of life during the Nguyen Dynasty. The old town has an expansive Imperial City that was designed after the Forbidden City in Beijing. Of course, this too was heavily showered with bombs during the wars and what’s left now is a walled-in section of crumbling ruins. On the outskirts of town there are several tombs from the Nguyen Dynasty and we went to visit a few of them on a particularly rainy day. When you walk in and around the huge tomb complexes you feel temporarily as though you have stepped back into another time… but then you round the corner and see yet another crummy showcase of dusty trinkets and warm Coca-Cola for sale and all you can do is sigh. The central area of the country is altogether in ruins, understandably, and it provides you with a tremendous contrast and perhaps a greater appreciation of the wonderful cities of Hanoi and Saigon.
One word on Saigon. When the war ended in April of 1975 and the Communists gained control of Saigon, they changed the name of the city to Ho Chi Minh City after their communist hero and comrade. “Uncle Ho” (as he is often sentimentally referred as) is a story in and of himself so I won’t go into him much only so say that his name was self-bestowed and means “He Who Enlightens”. Saigon or Sai Gon (in Vietnamese language each syllable is a new word) is still what the city is commonally referred to as, at least in the south. In the north they proudly call it by its full name or HCMC. There seems to be a distinct rivalry between the north and the south that you pick up on when you talk to people about the most mundane things, such as weather. In Hanoi (or Ha Noi) I was asked by a woman working at our hotel if I was going to HCMC and when I answered yes, she said with negativity, “Oh, it is very, very hot there.” I replied with “We have had very nice and cool weather in Hanoi” and she smiled, looked at me and said, “Thank you.”
I feel the same way here as I did when I was in Berlin. I have this overwhelming awe about the place. Finally travelling in a place that I have only read about and seen in (countless) movies gives me tremendous satisfaction because I have a sense now of the real Vietnam and how it has survived (and not) in the aftermath of such a triumphant and tragic history.
Sigh.
tothesea,
k~* (I shall remove Magi's initial from posts from now on because it's silly to write "I" and "me" in the post and then have it be signed by us both.. it's no secret that I'm the author of these posts since Magi is overcome with shyness when it comes to these things. But have it be known that though she refuses to write any posts she does edit them all and claims that they also reflect her thoughts of her time here... at least most of the time.)
p.s. Does anyone remember the band Saigon Kick from the 80's? What was with Hanoi Rocks and Saigon Kick? Were they rival bands or something? Were either of them not American? Oh, strange decade. (It must be pretty evident that I have been waiting this whole trip to use these band names as post titles.. have it be known that they are the only reason I came to either of these cities. HeeHee.)
So began our tour of the Cu Chi Tunnels. We were seated in a small outside auditorium where we watched a very old and rudimentary black and white documentary on the significance of the people in the Cu Chi area before, during, and after the war. The quote from above is directly from the film, I couldn’t make this stuff up. Using a lot of this very strong language the film detailed the “heroic struggles of the peaceful villagers” as they took up arms and went underground to fight the US.
The Cu Chi tunnels are a 250 km network of underground tunnels used by the Viet Cong during the war. The clear highlight of our group tour to the tunnels this morning was having the opportunity to crawl in the tunnels for about 50 metres. I went first of the tourists but second behind the tunnel guide who quickly squatted down and shuffeled his way through the narrow passages. He did take the time to stop before turning another corner to signify to me the direction he was going. I must have looked ridiculous behind him, slowly crawling on my hands and knees. When I first entered the tunnels I was intrigued but soon I felt a great sense of claustrophobia when one turn turned into another passage into another turn and again and again. It was probably the longest fifty metres of my life. The tunnels are hot, dark, filthy and, depending on your size, practicually hug you while you are in the crawling position (as is evidenced by the number of dirty backs you saw when you climbed out of the tunnel and looked at your fellow tourists). I can hardly imagine spending ten minutes down there, let alone ten years. It gave me a new appreciation for the brillance and cunning of the Viet Cong and the absolute determination they had in winning the war. A more grisly part of the tour was the showcase of booby traps fixed with spikes that were used. It seems they had one made for the intent of harming each part of the body and some were given names such as the “hamburger trap” and the “souvenir trap” (the latter one because you had to have it surgically removed, I won’t detail why). Lunch consisted of tapioca cane with sugar to dip it in and tea and is a meal the guide says the Viet Cong lived on for ten years.
Though the tour reeked of propoganda it was no surprise to us because it seems most of the museums, art galleries, and monuments In Vietnam are designed to demonstrate what champions of war the Vietnamese Communists are. Of course, it is true that they fought and defeated the French in the first Indochinese war and the Americans in the second and that both of these feats are quite amazing. However, the horror shown is so biased and they never mention the pain that they themselves inflicted on their own people and the people of the Southern armies. But then again, why would they?
Considering the hard feelings that the government still seems to hold against the U.S., I think it’s ironic that the American dollar is just as common a currency in Vietnam as the dong. Prices are most often given in both and the choice is yours to spend as you wish. You could travel all you want in Vietnam and never lay hands on the Vietnamese currency. It has nothing to do with the war, the US dollar is simply more stable… but still it seems strange. Something that I can’t figure out is how a free market society works under a Communist regime.. can anyone explain this to me?
So let me take you back a few days. Prior to our stop in Saigon, we spent some time in the central part of the country and specifically in Hue and Danang. Because Danang was the initial landing spot for both the French and the Americans (remember the show China Beach?), it was completely devastated by the effects of war. What’s left is a charmless city of deteriorating concrete building and crumbling sidewalks with a generation of people missing (2/3 of Vietnam’s people are under 25 so the latter part is very much the case all over the country). People don’t smile much, at least at foreigners (who can blame them?) and the overall feeling of the rainy region is depressing. Hue is an ancient city, once the centre of life during the Nguyen Dynasty. The old town has an expansive Imperial City that was designed after the Forbidden City in Beijing. Of course, this too was heavily showered with bombs during the wars and what’s left now is a walled-in section of crumbling ruins. On the outskirts of town there are several tombs from the Nguyen Dynasty and we went to visit a few of them on a particularly rainy day. When you walk in and around the huge tomb complexes you feel temporarily as though you have stepped back into another time… but then you round the corner and see yet another crummy showcase of dusty trinkets and warm Coca-Cola for sale and all you can do is sigh. The central area of the country is altogether in ruins, understandably, and it provides you with a tremendous contrast and perhaps a greater appreciation of the wonderful cities of Hanoi and Saigon.
One word on Saigon. When the war ended in April of 1975 and the Communists gained control of Saigon, they changed the name of the city to Ho Chi Minh City after their communist hero and comrade. “Uncle Ho” (as he is often sentimentally referred as) is a story in and of himself so I won’t go into him much only so say that his name was self-bestowed and means “He Who Enlightens”. Saigon or Sai Gon (in Vietnamese language each syllable is a new word) is still what the city is commonally referred to as, at least in the south. In the north they proudly call it by its full name or HCMC. There seems to be a distinct rivalry between the north and the south that you pick up on when you talk to people about the most mundane things, such as weather. In Hanoi (or Ha Noi) I was asked by a woman working at our hotel if I was going to HCMC and when I answered yes, she said with negativity, “Oh, it is very, very hot there.” I replied with “We have had very nice and cool weather in Hanoi” and she smiled, looked at me and said, “Thank you.”
I feel the same way here as I did when I was in Berlin. I have this overwhelming awe about the place. Finally travelling in a place that I have only read about and seen in (countless) movies gives me tremendous satisfaction because I have a sense now of the real Vietnam and how it has survived (and not) in the aftermath of such a triumphant and tragic history.
Sigh.
tothesea,
k~* (I shall remove Magi's initial from posts from now on because it's silly to write "I" and "me" in the post and then have it be signed by us both.. it's no secret that I'm the author of these posts since Magi is overcome with shyness when it comes to these things. But have it be known that though she refuses to write any posts she does edit them all and claims that they also reflect her thoughts of her time here... at least most of the time.)
p.s. Does anyone remember the band Saigon Kick from the 80's? What was with Hanoi Rocks and Saigon Kick? Were they rival bands or something? Were either of them not American? Oh, strange decade. (It must be pretty evident that I have been waiting this whole trip to use these band names as post titles.. have it be known that they are the only reason I came to either of these cities. HeeHee.)
Thursday, October 31, 2002
hanoi rocks
We left a package in the Bangkok airport of things we didn't want to carry through Indochina. In the bag I put a book I have been devouring ever since opening it and reading the first page. The book is called The Girl in the Picture by Denise Chong and is about Kim Phuc, a young villager in South Vietnam who was hit by a burning ball of napalm during the "American War" (as the Vietnamese call it) and photographed shortly afterwards as she was running away. The photograph was instrumental in increasing the protest against American involvement in the war. I left the book in Bangkok because I was nervous that the Vietnamese officials would take it away from me, or worse- that I would get in trouble for carrying it. Though the bomb was dropped by the South Vietnamese army in a freak accident, the book details the struggles that many South Vietnamese endured at the hands of the Viet Cong. Moreover, Kim Phuc has defected and now lives in Toronto (the author of the book is from Ottawa) and defectors from Communist countries are not usually celebrated in their native land (no kidding). To see the famous photograph that won a Pulitzer Prize and read a good, short article about Kim Phuc by the photographer Nick Ut click here. (I highly recommend the book to anyone who is interested in learning much more, not only about Kim Phuc but about life in Vietnam before, during, and after the war.)
When we landed at the airport I was expecting something a little more...um... soviet. Instead we were greeted by a huge, modern airport and an array of smiling (gasp!) immigration officials. Our bags were not searched and I groaned to myself because I could have kept the book with me. The taxi driver sang and honked his way into the city along a road we shared with cows and their whipping masters, bicycles, motorcycles, and some huge trucks whose drivers were completely ignoring the fact that there were others on the road. The (mostly) paved road was surrounded on both sides with wide expanses of green fields and people with broad conical hats tilled the soil and plucked vegetables from the ground to put in large wicker baskets.
I'm surprised to find we have CNN, MTV, and BBC in our hotel. Excuse my ignorance but aren't Communist countries cold, totalitarian, and closed to outside influence? I really began to forget we were in a Communist country until we went to a couple of museums today. First we went to "The Women's Museum" which is Vietnamese "herstory" told in a series of exhibitions and photographs. The museum was surprisingly well put together and the displays were explained well and wonderful to look at (by comparison the Laos National Museum in Vientiane was a pitiful and dusty array of artifacts in cases without explanations). The second museum we went to used to be the Hoa Lo prison and was built by the French to house Vietnamese rebels during their occupation and was later used in the American War to keep American POWs and consequently dubbed "The Hanoi Hilton". Propagandistic phrases such as "the American aggressors and their lackeys" and referring to the Communist revolution as "the struggle" were commonplace in both museums. In the Women's Museum, a lot of time was given to the heroic roles women played in "the struggle"- everything from cooking meals for soldiers to bearing arms themselves. The Hoa Lo Prison museum was quite moving as you were able to walk in and out of the cells where the walls were lined with wooden slabs as beds and fixed with shackles for each male prisoner (but in contrast, the women's cells were just concrete rooms with nowhere to sleep). The text on the walls in the prison museum detailed where the national heroes were housed and referred to them in passionately brave terms but the Americans were described as "the enemy" (which they were but the language seemed too harsh and biased). The propaganda here is quite striking but I can't say that it feels much different than watching Bush give pep talks about bombing Saddam on CNN.
Tonight we went to a performance at the Water Puppet Theatre. It was quite bizarre but interesting. The puppets are manipulated by poles held by people who stand in thigh-deep water behind a screen. The music that accompanied the performance was wonderful though we had no idea what was going on in the story that was played out with puppets as people, fish, dragons, and a tortoise.
Hanoi is hectic, colourful, and unique. Crossing the streets is cause enough for an ulcer. In the first 24 hours of being here, we've already witnessed three accidents. We leave tomorrow for Hue and that's probably a good thing because chances are we'll be struck by a scooter if we linger in this town any longer.
tothesea,
k&m
p.s. Does anyone remember the band Hanoi Rocks from the 80s? Nah, didn't think so.
p.p.s. Happy Halloween!
When we landed at the airport I was expecting something a little more...um... soviet. Instead we were greeted by a huge, modern airport and an array of smiling (gasp!) immigration officials. Our bags were not searched and I groaned to myself because I could have kept the book with me. The taxi driver sang and honked his way into the city along a road we shared with cows and their whipping masters, bicycles, motorcycles, and some huge trucks whose drivers were completely ignoring the fact that there were others on the road. The (mostly) paved road was surrounded on both sides with wide expanses of green fields and people with broad conical hats tilled the soil and plucked vegetables from the ground to put in large wicker baskets.
I'm surprised to find we have CNN, MTV, and BBC in our hotel. Excuse my ignorance but aren't Communist countries cold, totalitarian, and closed to outside influence? I really began to forget we were in a Communist country until we went to a couple of museums today. First we went to "The Women's Museum" which is Vietnamese "herstory" told in a series of exhibitions and photographs. The museum was surprisingly well put together and the displays were explained well and wonderful to look at (by comparison the Laos National Museum in Vientiane was a pitiful and dusty array of artifacts in cases without explanations). The second museum we went to used to be the Hoa Lo prison and was built by the French to house Vietnamese rebels during their occupation and was later used in the American War to keep American POWs and consequently dubbed "The Hanoi Hilton". Propagandistic phrases such as "the American aggressors and their lackeys" and referring to the Communist revolution as "the struggle" were commonplace in both museums. In the Women's Museum, a lot of time was given to the heroic roles women played in "the struggle"- everything from cooking meals for soldiers to bearing arms themselves. The Hoa Lo Prison museum was quite moving as you were able to walk in and out of the cells where the walls were lined with wooden slabs as beds and fixed with shackles for each male prisoner (but in contrast, the women's cells were just concrete rooms with nowhere to sleep). The text on the walls in the prison museum detailed where the national heroes were housed and referred to them in passionately brave terms but the Americans were described as "the enemy" (which they were but the language seemed too harsh and biased). The propaganda here is quite striking but I can't say that it feels much different than watching Bush give pep talks about bombing Saddam on CNN.
Tonight we went to a performance at the Water Puppet Theatre. It was quite bizarre but interesting. The puppets are manipulated by poles held by people who stand in thigh-deep water behind a screen. The music that accompanied the performance was wonderful though we had no idea what was going on in the story that was played out with puppets as people, fish, dragons, and a tortoise.
Hanoi is hectic, colourful, and unique. Crossing the streets is cause enough for an ulcer. In the first 24 hours of being here, we've already witnessed three accidents. We leave tomorrow for Hue and that's probably a good thing because chances are we'll be struck by a scooter if we linger in this town any longer.
tothesea,
k&m
p.s. Does anyone remember the band Hanoi Rocks from the 80s? Nah, didn't think so.
p.p.s. Happy Halloween!
Monday, October 28, 2002
watching women weave
Laos is a country I knew practically nothing about a few days ago. I knew it was a small, land-locked country with five neighbours: China, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, and Myanmar. Of course, all you need is a basic atlas for that. We learned from Trish that the “s” in the country’s name is not pronounced. And our friend Zsolt told us it was his favourite stop in South-East Asia (despite the bedbugs) and his descriptions of it made it the most highly anticipated stop on our trip for Magi. Aside from that, I was pretty much clueless.
In a matter of a few days, I have come to learn a lot about Laos. Much of it I learned from reading the Laos history book that the hotel provided us and the guidebooks that Magi’s parents brought. Much of the Laos history provokes deep sympathy because these people have endured so much suffering at the hands of both their neighbours and foreign countries. Their recent history is the most disturbing but maybe because it is so tangible.
Here’s a very brief briefing of the history as I understand it: The French colonization in the late 1880’s did little to economically help a country who was already one of the poorest in the world. At the time, only a small percent of the country engaged in work where money changed hands and it is even said that many people in the villages did not even know of the existance of Laos, the country.
The country reluctantly gained Independence in 1945 and struggled to rebuild itself. They didn’t have much time to grow before the war in Vietnam began. During those years, the U.S. was waging a secret war in Laos and dropped, on average, one bomb every eight minutes for eight years (much of these explosives are still live and they litter the countryside making it very dangerous for residents). As a consquence of the war, Laos has the distinction of being the most heavily bombed country in the world. At the time, the U.S. claimed it was to protect Laos from the Communist threat of Northern Vietnam. It is widely known now that they were really fighting the already-present leftist government that was becoming increasingly popular in Laos. The U.S. even went so far as to arm and pay hilltribe people who were historic rivals of the ruling people to fight against them as it was easier to keep the war in Laos secret if Americans were not losing their lives. Since the war, Laos has been in turmoil. The book in the hotel was quite old and bragged that the government had managed to keep the kip balanced at an exchange rate of 720 against the U.S. dollar in 1992 and 1993. The value of the kip has since fallen to 10,780 kip to one dollar. One can only imagine how the economy has suffered as a result.
Today, the socialist country called Laos People’s Democratic Republic (or Lao P.D.R.) is home to nearly six million people, 60% of whom are Buddhist. The average person makes US$385 a year and most people speak Lao and/or French.
To walk along the charming and dusty streets of Luang Prabang today, one could completely ignore history and see only the broad smiles and cheerful manner of the people here who seem to have come from a long line of ancestors who have endured no hardships. Women sit on the sidewalks, roasting small, fat bananas in the sun and children in school uniforms laugh and shout as they play another game of badminton. Foreigners crowd the cafes who devour the French legacy of crepes and french bread while in nearby villages, women sit at their looms creating intricately designed textiles for use as wall-hangings and clothing (by government decree, Lao women must wear local textiles which keeps the industry alive).
Yesterday we visited a number of villages near Luang Prabang. We watched in awe as women worked at their looms and saw how other villagers make homemade paper from saa (mulberry) pulp, flowers, and leaves. We visited a town whose inhabitants are famous for making rice whiskey (but we ended up watching the women at the looms again). We also took a small wooden boat across the Mekong river to a series of caves that are filled with hundreds of glittering Buddha statues in all poses. There we made some wishes for auspiciousness by making a small donation and then taking a piece of paper with your desire on it. Though tourism is starting to rear its (sometimes) ugly head in Laos, it is nowhere near as touched as Thailand. When you go outside the towns you watch as villagers with round straw hats work in the fields and you feel like you are witnessing an authentic Laos. Can you tell I am in love with this place?
We took a rather nail-biting ride on a Lao Aviation plane this morning and arrived in Vientiane (the capital) at lunch time. The U.S. warns travellers against using this airline because of their safety record but despite our better judgment we took the plunge and lived to tell about it. The plane was definitely shop-worn and when the a/c was turned on in the plane, it appeared through the vents and cracks of the plane in the form of thick, white mist. I wondered if it wasn’t actually clouds coming in! Thank goodness it was only a half-hour ride and I shouldn’t grumble because it saved us from having to take an even more ancient bus for ten hours.
tothesea,
k&m
In a matter of a few days, I have come to learn a lot about Laos. Much of it I learned from reading the Laos history book that the hotel provided us and the guidebooks that Magi’s parents brought. Much of the Laos history provokes deep sympathy because these people have endured so much suffering at the hands of both their neighbours and foreign countries. Their recent history is the most disturbing but maybe because it is so tangible.
Here’s a very brief briefing of the history as I understand it: The French colonization in the late 1880’s did little to economically help a country who was already one of the poorest in the world. At the time, only a small percent of the country engaged in work where money changed hands and it is even said that many people in the villages did not even know of the existance of Laos, the country.
The country reluctantly gained Independence in 1945 and struggled to rebuild itself. They didn’t have much time to grow before the war in Vietnam began. During those years, the U.S. was waging a secret war in Laos and dropped, on average, one bomb every eight minutes for eight years (much of these explosives are still live and they litter the countryside making it very dangerous for residents). As a consquence of the war, Laos has the distinction of being the most heavily bombed country in the world. At the time, the U.S. claimed it was to protect Laos from the Communist threat of Northern Vietnam. It is widely known now that they were really fighting the already-present leftist government that was becoming increasingly popular in Laos. The U.S. even went so far as to arm and pay hilltribe people who were historic rivals of the ruling people to fight against them as it was easier to keep the war in Laos secret if Americans were not losing their lives. Since the war, Laos has been in turmoil. The book in the hotel was quite old and bragged that the government had managed to keep the kip balanced at an exchange rate of 720 against the U.S. dollar in 1992 and 1993. The value of the kip has since fallen to 10,780 kip to one dollar. One can only imagine how the economy has suffered as a result.
Today, the socialist country called Laos People’s Democratic Republic (or Lao P.D.R.) is home to nearly six million people, 60% of whom are Buddhist. The average person makes US$385 a year and most people speak Lao and/or French.
To walk along the charming and dusty streets of Luang Prabang today, one could completely ignore history and see only the broad smiles and cheerful manner of the people here who seem to have come from a long line of ancestors who have endured no hardships. Women sit on the sidewalks, roasting small, fat bananas in the sun and children in school uniforms laugh and shout as they play another game of badminton. Foreigners crowd the cafes who devour the French legacy of crepes and french bread while in nearby villages, women sit at their looms creating intricately designed textiles for use as wall-hangings and clothing (by government decree, Lao women must wear local textiles which keeps the industry alive).
Yesterday we visited a number of villages near Luang Prabang. We watched in awe as women worked at their looms and saw how other villagers make homemade paper from saa (mulberry) pulp, flowers, and leaves. We visited a town whose inhabitants are famous for making rice whiskey (but we ended up watching the women at the looms again). We also took a small wooden boat across the Mekong river to a series of caves that are filled with hundreds of glittering Buddha statues in all poses. There we made some wishes for auspiciousness by making a small donation and then taking a piece of paper with your desire on it. Though tourism is starting to rear its (sometimes) ugly head in Laos, it is nowhere near as touched as Thailand. When you go outside the towns you watch as villagers with round straw hats work in the fields and you feel like you are witnessing an authentic Laos. Can you tell I am in love with this place?
We took a rather nail-biting ride on a Lao Aviation plane this morning and arrived in Vientiane (the capital) at lunch time. The U.S. warns travellers against using this airline because of their safety record but despite our better judgment we took the plunge and lived to tell about it. The plane was definitely shop-worn and when the a/c was turned on in the plane, it appeared through the vents and cracks of the plane in the form of thick, white mist. I wondered if it wasn’t actually clouds coming in! Thank goodness it was only a half-hour ride and I shouldn’t grumble because it saved us from having to take an even more ancient bus for ten hours.
tothesea,
k&m
Friday, October 25, 2002
your rubber dollars
This is my last post from Thailand. We are flying out tomorrow to begin our very short trek through Indochina- Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. I'll do my best to keep you posted throughout Indochina but it's going to be a whirlwind of a trip and I may not have much free time.
We've already been talking about our next trip to Thailand. As far as I'm concerned it's one of the best countries in the world to travel to. It has everything from the most luxuriously decorated temples to the most remote white sandy beaches... terrific cuisine and wonderful, friendly people. Best of all, for a young traveller, it is so inexpensive that almost everything you could want to see or do is within your financial means.
I have been asked by a few people about costs in Asia and just how far a dollar can stretch. So let me explain it this way: in Thailand for $500 Canadian (or about $375 US) you can buy yourself ALL of the following:
- 10 Thai massages
- 10 Meals at May Kaidees
- 25 cups of brewed coffee (Nescafe is more popular and inexpensive.. but it's nasty)
- 10 bags of chopped, fresh fruit (pineapple, guava, mango, papaya.. your choice)
- 100 bottles of mineral water
- 6 bootlegged CDs
- 1 henna tattoo
- 4 movie theatre tickets
- 1 scooter rental for one day
- 1 day of scuba diving (2 dives)
- 1 bungy jump
- and.. as you can go to as many temples as you wish (most are free or by donation only)
So what are you waiting for?
tothesea,
k&m
We've already been talking about our next trip to Thailand. As far as I'm concerned it's one of the best countries in the world to travel to. It has everything from the most luxuriously decorated temples to the most remote white sandy beaches... terrific cuisine and wonderful, friendly people. Best of all, for a young traveller, it is so inexpensive that almost everything you could want to see or do is within your financial means.
I have been asked by a few people about costs in Asia and just how far a dollar can stretch. So let me explain it this way: in Thailand for $500 Canadian (or about $375 US) you can buy yourself ALL of the following:
- 10 Thai massages
- 10 Meals at May Kaidees
- 25 cups of brewed coffee (Nescafe is more popular and inexpensive.. but it's nasty)
- 10 bags of chopped, fresh fruit (pineapple, guava, mango, papaya.. your choice)
- 100 bottles of mineral water
- 6 bootlegged CDs
- 1 henna tattoo
- 4 movie theatre tickets
- 1 scooter rental for one day
- 1 day of scuba diving (2 dives)
- 1 bungy jump
- and.. as you can go to as many temples as you wish (most are free or by donation only)
So what are you waiting for?
tothesea,
k&m
Wednesday, October 23, 2002
thanks for the memories
We are now two.
Aaron sat down to chat with a neat-o Finnish lass as our songthaew pulled away from Chan-Cha-Lay guesthouse in Krabi. I cried all the way to the bus depot! It was sad to leave him behind. My emotional state wasn't helped by my brain which was doing this mean thing to me where it would display vignettes of our time together with Aaron in slow motion as sappy music played... something you would see done on a soap opera or sit-com. It was the beginning of a pretty blue day in Krishnaland.
Overnight bus rides may be my least favourite part of travelling. Of course, some are better than others and others are made worse by having a seat that is broken and does not recline. Others are also made worse by a seven-year-old child in the seat ahead of you who needs her seat reclined to it's fullest, chopping you in half somewhere around the mid-torso. Fourteen hours later at 6 in the morning, Bangkok greets you with a whack as you step off the bus into a crowd of tuk-tuk drivers competing for your fare even after you've told them you're walking.
I swore last night it was going to be my last overnight bus ride, EVER. I can't say I'll be able to live up to that promise to myself and even now I'm beginning to forget the misery I was wallowing in last night. We treated ourselves today to a cleaning of laundry, facials, various waxing jobs, and a bowl of May's cooking that made us feel a little happy to be back in familiar territory... at least for a little while.
One thing I thought about on the bus last night as I watched those around me doze in relative comfort is the three things from home I miss most. Many things popped in my head but I narrowed it down to the three things I miss the absolute most. So, aside from the dogs and people I love and autumn in Canada, I miss the following terribly:
- Soy Delicious brand ice cream
- The prospect to paint on canvas
- The Simpsons
I was thinking of my ideal first evening back home. I would eat the Soy Delicious while watching The Simpsons for a few hours. Then I would switch on the stereo (another thing I miss) and begin the most inspired painting of my life. I would end the day with some Tofutti Cuties, a hot bubble bath, and then hours and hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Something to dream about tonight...
tothesea,
k&m
P.S. Aaron! We miss you....
Aaron sat down to chat with a neat-o Finnish lass as our songthaew pulled away from Chan-Cha-Lay guesthouse in Krabi. I cried all the way to the bus depot! It was sad to leave him behind. My emotional state wasn't helped by my brain which was doing this mean thing to me where it would display vignettes of our time together with Aaron in slow motion as sappy music played... something you would see done on a soap opera or sit-com. It was the beginning of a pretty blue day in Krishnaland.
Overnight bus rides may be my least favourite part of travelling. Of course, some are better than others and others are made worse by having a seat that is broken and does not recline. Others are also made worse by a seven-year-old child in the seat ahead of you who needs her seat reclined to it's fullest, chopping you in half somewhere around the mid-torso. Fourteen hours later at 6 in the morning, Bangkok greets you with a whack as you step off the bus into a crowd of tuk-tuk drivers competing for your fare even after you've told them you're walking.
I swore last night it was going to be my last overnight bus ride, EVER. I can't say I'll be able to live up to that promise to myself and even now I'm beginning to forget the misery I was wallowing in last night. We treated ourselves today to a cleaning of laundry, facials, various waxing jobs, and a bowl of May's cooking that made us feel a little happy to be back in familiar territory... at least for a little while.
One thing I thought about on the bus last night as I watched those around me doze in relative comfort is the three things from home I miss most. Many things popped in my head but I narrowed it down to the three things I miss the absolute most. So, aside from the dogs and people I love and autumn in Canada, I miss the following terribly:
- Soy Delicious brand ice cream
- The prospect to paint on canvas
- The Simpsons
I was thinking of my ideal first evening back home. I would eat the Soy Delicious while watching The Simpsons for a few hours. Then I would switch on the stereo (another thing I miss) and begin the most inspired painting of my life. I would end the day with some Tofutti Cuties, a hot bubble bath, and then hours and hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Something to dream about tonight...
tothesea,
k&m
P.S. Aaron! We miss you....