Seeing green

On my last visit to the US in March, the trans-Atlantic leg of my flight was particularly empty. I had a full row to myself, and bodies dotted the section.

Today the flight is full, and I’m crammed into the back corner. At least it’s a window seat. More families flying than I’m used to – families out for summer jaunts in Europe, defying all my lofty predictions of Americans avoiding a too-expensive Europe this summer. London has swelled noticeably in the last month, both in numbers and in waistline. Summer, and America, has arrived.

My knees have been carefully hitting the back of a (junior?) high school girl sitting in front of me. During the flight she has been passing a crisp three-ring binder back and forth to her sister in the row ahead. A sudden nostalgic rush for the easy-to-organise days of high school swept over me.

As I stood up to stretch, I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at her black notebook as she was dutifully scribbling. ‘Then we went to Rome, which wasn’t as green as…’, I glimpsed the bubble letters to my delight.

What I wouldn’t give to be back on a school trip, where my careful assignment was to record observations and experiences. The beautiful simplicity found in a dusty Rome seemed a lavish break from The Economist’s woeful prognostications on the future of Zimbabwe that had so enthralled me just one seat, one step, behind.

As we whisk our way past Nunavut, I can only hope that Seattle and Colorado offer a paradoxical fresh start. A chance to disengage with global debates. A chance to revel at the majestic Rockies (no, not the baseball team, though I’m looking particularly forward to the game on Monday). A chance to see green…or possibly brown. It is Colorado after all!

Istanbul: Hardly "Nobody's Business but the Turks"

Arriving at the uber-modern Ataturk airport in Istanbul last night, any preconceptions I had about the place were shattered.

I suppose that I didn't really know what to expect. Probably something along the lines of Marrakesh or Casablanca (though Istanbul is significantly bigger than either), but my visit to Delhi (with the international airport shielded by a corrugated tin roof!) has taught me not to set my expectations too high.

If anything, upon arriving I felt a strange mixture of China (with recently developed infrastructure such as the lovely airport and the light rail train that I took into the centre of the city) and France, of which the old town (Constantinople proper) is highly reminiscent. Really, Istanbul feels like it could just be any other city in Europe with ubiquitous mosques substituting for churches. Perhaps the Ikea adverts add to this ambiance.

In any case, I spent most of yesterday and today exploring. Last night, after finding a place to stay the night, I wandered down to the Galata bridge to see the sea. I have never in my life seen such a bridge though, with restaurants tucked neatly underneath,presumably floating or somehow attached to the undergirdings of the bridge. I was fascinated, so decided to eat there.

I found a place playing almost haunting (but very enjoyable!) live music, and sat outside to enjoy the view despite the chill. I supped on a rather plain (and worryingly chewy) steak baguette chased down with a beer as I was transported by the music and the scenery. Occasionally, one of the fisherpeople (who were fishing from on top of the bridge, so their lines basically went down into the water right in front of me) would haul up their catch: fish the size of an adult finger. Seemed to me a rather fruitless (or at least highly labour intensive!) task for a Saturday night, but they didn't seem to mind and the fish were plentiful if small.

Today I made it to the Hagia Sofia church/mosque/museum and saw the underground cistern. Tomorrow we'll try crossing the bridge and making a triumphant return to Asia before I head off to Cairo! Three continents in one day wouldn't be too bad for a day's non-work, would it?

Now let's see if I can get out of here before the Turkish Prime Minister, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, returns from the US and decides it's time to invade Iraq... Last night as I was wandering around Istanbul I stumbled across a rail yard and saw lines of army trucks sitting as cargo on a train. Don't know where it was headed for sure, but it doesn't take much of an imagination to guess!

Paris or Bust

I don't think I've ever been more exhausted. I spent Monday-Wednesday moving flats and then was up again early the next day for a train to Paris. It's been worth it, and I'm recovering well, but I really don't remember being so physically exhausted in ages! Maybe I'm just getting old...

The really exciting news is that I moved to a great new place in London just one neighbourhood over in Vauxhall. For those of you who don't know London, it's actually only 2 bridges south of parliament on the other side of the river, so really a great location. And the flat is beautiful. It's in an old Victorian apartment building on the top floor with original wooden floors, a huge kitchen, and a view of a park on one side and Victorian chimneys on the other. It's much too expensive, but I don't think I could be more excited...which is good, because I think I'm done moving.

Naively, I thought that I would be able move everything in two trips of two large suitcases and a backpack. It, of course, ended up taking double that. Because it was a close move, I decided to move by actually walking my bags between the flats--what is normally at 10-15-minute walk became 30 minutes at best. And the looks, my god the looks. At least it only started raining on my second to last trip just after I had arrived at my new place. Of course, once there I had to lug everything up four flights of stairs to the top floor. I guess it's better than when I lived in a seventh-floor walk-up in China, but at least then I could pay people to help me move!

All this was on top of cleaning at my old place (which, it turns out, it desperately needed). Under the close guidance of one of my old flatmates we got it spick and span for inspection though. If I never have to clean an oven again in my life, it will be too soon. :o)

And if I didn't have enough to do settling in, I decided to take advantage of the fact that a friend is in Paris for the next couple of days to go and visit. That meant a 5:20AM departure on the Eurostar and the ensuing sleep deprivation.

But it's been worth it really. Yesterday was the Fête de la Musique in downtown Paris, and there were performers of all sorts in every square and on every corner. It was like one giant block party and was really enjoyable. I even stopped to watch some capoeira which made me realise how much I missed participating! Now I'm going to have to find a new club in London, assuming my foot gets better.

Today it was crepes and the Musée D'Orsay (I had never been before! It's a great museum that certainly is worth a stop on any visit to Paris!!) and the monument that was constructed in honour of the deportation of the French Jews during WWII. It's a discrete stone structure that sits on the Isle de la Cité just behind Notre Dame de Paris and is also worth a quick look. The architecture is imposing and the quotes carved on the wall moving.

If all goes well, tomorrow it's off to Giverny, Monet's gardens, which I think is appropriate since we just saw some of the water lily paintings at the Musée D'Orsay today. Then it's back to London on Sunday.

All in all, a busy week. It's been well worth it, but I'm actually quite looking forward to just settling back into a normal rhythm back in London. That and sleeeeeeep!

Jaipur in the News

Last year at this time, I was in India. I might be in dreary ole' London (which actually hasn't been that dreary of late), but that doesn't mean that I've stopped thinking about India. Indeed, I was just talking about a movie I saw there, Rang de Basanti, the other week.

Which is why, when I saw a combination of 'India', 'art', and 'festival' in a headline in the IHT that I immediately thought of Jaipur, the capital of Rajhistan. Chesa and I went there last year to see another friend, Bethani, who was participating in a festival there (you can read about it in my post One Week Down, Almost).

For a review of the festival this year, and its importance for Rajhistan, check out the IHT article Entre'acte.

Kites over Kashgar

I was sitting in a semi-public bath house in LiTang, China (follow link for my previous blog entry about LiTang) when the book first enthralled me. At a mere (ha!) 5,000 meters (16,500 around feet), despite it being the middle of summer, my childhood friend, Robin, and I needed to find some way to warm ourselves up. Hot springs sounded like the perfect solution. We hopped a taxi that took us the 10km outside the city through open skies and windswept fields sparsely populated with yak and yurt.

The hot springs turned out to be a newly developed bathing complex, complete with white tiles but with fairly large 'windows' (well, holes in the wall at least) that let the light shine in. The assistant opened a large valve and steaming, sulfur-laced water poured into the tub.

Desperate for warmth, I sank into the tub, and picked up the book Robin had brought from the US: The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. Poor Robin was reading a physiology text book if I'm not mistaken, and so it was with a little guilt that I lost myself in the story of Afghanistan for several hours before I noticed my raisin toes.

Such a vivid and enticing epic, my mind kept wandering to the closest I'd ever been to Afghanistan--Kashgar, XinJiang, China (follow link for blog entries from my time there, or see some of my photos here.).

Kashgar is a city of traders, and is considered to be the city the furthest west in China (and there is a big Mao statue to prove it, of course). It's roughly north of Delhi and lies next to China's borders with India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Kyrgyzstan (and not too far from Kazakhstan, thank you Borat). It also used to be the capital of Chinese Turkmenistan (from before XinJiang was an actual part of China) and so I stayed in the former Russian Embassy which has since been turned into a fairly decrepit hotel. The city actually played a large role during the Russian invasion of Afghanistan, and as Hosseini was walking through Afghan history, I felt connected to it through my experiences in Kashgar.

What prompted this post, actually, was an IHT article (what else) entitled Gambling on China for an Afghan Epic. Turns out they are now filming the movie version of the book in Kashgar, which creates yet another link between Kashgar and the novel for me. I must admit that I'm really excited to see the movie now, not just because they've filmed it in Kashgar, but also because it is a good book AND they are actually filming it in appropriate languages, with for example, and Iranian-born actor who has even bothered to learn Afghan dialect. The waiting begins!!

Marrakech Vid

And since I'm having so much fun playing with iMovie, here's another short excerpt of my trip to Morocco.

Essaouria Vid

Best Laid Plans

Arriving in Essaouira (as-suira, or 'the well drawn/designed') one can't help but feel the presence of antiquity. That's not to say it's not a modern town--indeed, the beach is lit at night with acerbic floodlights that flicker in the harsh sea wind. But standing on the flushed white ramparts that encircle the medina watching the waves crash up against the rocks, one gets the impression that it's a city past its prime. Rising from the sea-mist it sits regally, like a queen who has lost her kingdom but retains her dignity.

And so it is a welcome change from England, or even St. Malo, France, of which it is vaguely reminiscent. In the medina, motorized vehicles are not allowed, making it a real breath of fresh air. It's a UNESCO world heritage site, and in that sense could just as easily be Lijiang or Luang Prabang, but I'm here during the winter, at the nadir or tourist season, and so it's doable. The beach is mostly empty with the exception of small groups of boys playing football.

But it's the history that's interesting here. Essaouira is situated just on the NW coast of Africa (see map above) facing out to the Atlantic ocean and the Canary Islands. There are small islands just off the coast (just like St. Malo), but the port is more like Marseille, with an island housing not the famous Chateau D'If (of The Count of Monte Christo fame) but a prison just the same. Ironically though, the prison sits next to a mosque, whose minaret stands proud as a monument to ancient Arabic expansion into the west through North Africa.

These islands are known as the "Iles Purpres," or the Purple Islands, and it's here that we can begin to see the links to antiquity. During the time of Caesar, it was on these isles that the mollusks used to make the purple dye for the royal robes were collected. But the "height" of Essouira came much later, as an important port along the slave trade.

And walking along the port, now used to support a fairly minor fishing economy, I couldn't help but think about the trade that used to take place here. And suddenly the ramparts became opressive.

But beyond its history, Essaouira is a beautiful city. Today, as I was walking down the beach, a man approached me with the idea of taking a horse over to "Jimi Hendrix's Castle" (note, Jimi Hendrix, and many other hippies, stationed out here in Essaouira during the 70s apparently). I thought, why not, and we were off with me riding Che Guevara (what a name for a horse!).

We did go over to the little village of Diabat, after fording a river whose stone bridge had collapsed long ago. After a ride through the brush, we came upon Hendrix's "chateau," again, long since in disrepair. The best part was trotting over to the dunes and then over to the beach, where we set out in a full gallop through the shallows. I felt like I was either in Hidalgo, with the sea appearing from behind the dunes, or some Bond film, racing down the beach on a horse. In any case, it was the best experience I've had all trip, and is one I'd recommend highly.

If you have the time, Ranch Mogador even does 6-day horse treks from Essaouira to Agadir, following the coast. It's something I'll definitely have to keep in mind for next time, as riding horses is soooo much nicer than riding camels!

Spice Facts

I realized last night during our train ride to Bangalore (the city of beans, there is apparently a long story about how it was given this name), I realized that I forgot to post my promised trivia about spice that we learned during our visit to an organic spice farm in Goa. Well, let me rectify that now!

The top five most expensive spices by weight are (in order of most expensive)
1. Saffron (the "gold" of spices)
2. Vanilla (the "silver" of spices)
3. Green cardamom
4. Cloves
5. Cinnamon (yeah, that one surprised me too!)

Almost all vanilla beans are exported to either the United States or the United Kingdom as they have refined methods of extracting the vanilla oil from the been. They have maximized it to about 90% of the oil, whereas developing industries in India can still only get about 10% (or less, can't remember exactly).

30% of the vanilla exported to the US goes directly to the Coca Cola company, as vanilla is a key ingredient in their secret formula!

Green, red, white, and black pepper actually all come from the same pepper--it all depends on how the pepper is dried and cured.

Bananas are the second largest grass (after bamboo) in the world. They are not trees.

There are both male and female pineapples. The juicy delicious yellow ones tend to be female, whereas the whiter and and not so succulent ones are male.

Now you know!

Goin' Goan

Well, I'm now officially a beach bum! I realized while I was with Chesa that I had never had a proper beach vacation before (don't get me wrong, I have been to the beach before in France, but only once or twice, and never in a place with warm water), so she took it upon herself to drag me (let me assure you, I was kicking and screaming) to some lovely Goan beaches where we have lounged for the past couple of days. Goa is actually pretty much paradise though (apart from the constant, and rather aggressive, sarong and jewellery sellers), so I can't complain too much. I did manage to get a sun burn (whoops), but that's just because I'm not accustomed to actually being in the sun it seems. We really just sat there and read, and laid in the sand, and went into the Arabian Sea (which was surprisingly clear). I think I made the mistake of actually doing a few laps, but other than that, Chesa has certified me as a beach bum!

Besides lazing on the beach though, we took the opportunity of being in Goa to rent a motor scooter and go scooting about all of yesterday. As Chesa had a somewhat traumatic experience with motor bikes last year in Thailand, we opted for only one bike, and I drove us around most of the day. I was, however, impressed as Chesa did get some practice in on some deserted roads. I'm sure she'll be a moped expert any day now...of course this was an automatic, so it was cheating a bit, but baby steps, baby steps. We had fun taking random roads, getting lost, and seeing the beautiful scenery, but we also saw a Portuguese-style Hindu temple and an organic spice farm where I learned lots about spices. Not that I'm obsessed with food, but it was one of my favorite parts of the day. We even got to (try to) climb a betel tree (looks a bit like a palm). Of course, since I have like zero upper body strength, I didn't get very high, but it was fun trying. Look below for fun spice facts!

Now, this was Goa (which we're leaving tonight due to a shortage of trains to our next destination, Bangalore), but I have yet to talk about Mumbai (AKA Bombay. For all of you not in the know, the name was changed back in 1997 during an anti-anglo push there at that time). Whereas Delhi can't hold a candle to Beijing, Mumbai was at least in the same league as Shanghai (though Shanghai is still MUCH more developed). Of course, the first images we got of Mumbai were the never-ending slums that border the railroad tracks coming into town. Having just read A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry (a book I would highly recommend for those of you looking for a new book to add to the reading list), I was prepared for the contrast between the British-style architecture of Colaba (the central district of Mumbai) and the corrugated tin shanties of the suburbs. The image that will forever remain in my head though, is the sight of a group of young boys who used a small clearing next to the train tracks to play cricket with cheap little plastic bats and balls. Sometimes it's easy to forget that no matter one's situation, life still goes on. These boys were living in stark poverty, but that didn't stop them from enjoying themselves!

Besides being astonished by the British-style architecture in Mumbai, and how different of a city it was from Delhi, there were three significant events that took place there: visiting McDonald's (no I'm not kidding), going to a barbershop, and seeing a Bollywood movie.

First, McDonald's. Now, I know that some of you are saying right now "I can't believe he went to McDo's while he was in the land of epicurean delight that India is." But, in my defense, McDo's is so different in each country, I like going in once during my trip just to see, and in this case, it was particularly interesting. As the cow is sacred in India, McDo's had to give up on most of its staple dishes and opt for chicken or vegetarian versions so as not to offend the Hindus. So, no, you can't get a Big Mac, but there was the Chicken Maharajah Mac which was basically the same idea. I opted for the McAloo Tikka (a potato patty with a spicy tikka sauce), which was surprisingly good. They also had such delights as Paneer Shahi (a flat bread filled with the local "cottage cheese" and sauce, and a Crispy Chinese (no, I have no idea what that was, but it was vegetarian, and thus decidedly not Chinese. They were also playing MTV which I enjoyed to no end.

As for the barbershop, I'm not sure that I can do the experience justice, but I will try. As the long-haired hippie look doesn't particularly suit either Chesa or me, we decided that our time in the uber-trendy Mumbai should be taken advantage of, and that we should get haircuts. We had seen plenty of pavement barbers, but nothing that looked much like a salon. After taking a walking tour of one of the neighborhoods though, we stumbled across a salon. We checked it out, and it seemed nice, but it was only for "ladies." Chesa went in for her coconut oil scalp massage and trim, and I was sent across the street to a barber's. India is just into gender segregation like that, something that has really surprised me actually!

Stepping into the barbershop was like stepping into fifty years ago. It had the art-deco decor, the faded leather chairs, and the smell of old men. I ordered a cut, a shave (as I had been told that it was an experience men should not miss in Mumbai), and a face and head massage. The cut started with a fifties-style automatic razor (something to which I was somewhat accustomed having gotten haircuts in China) and was pretty standard for a barbershop. I couldn't convince him that I liked my hair up, so he oiled it and slicked it down for the "nice boy" look.

Then it was onto the shave. It was my first shave with a straight-edge razor like that, but that's why I opted for the experience. It seemed fairly standard for fifty years ago, but two things surprised me: the fact that the shaving cream was indeed just that, cream. I had only ever used foam or foaming gel before, so I wasn't quite sure what was going to happen with this lotion-type cream. He rubbed it on my face, dipped a shaving brush in warm water and worked the cream into a lather. Who knew that's what those brushes were actually for! The other slightly bizarre thing was that he rubbed my face with a wet stone (or was it a whet stone...maybe he wanted me to look sharp. Apologies for bad pun, but I had to do it) after having applied the after shave. I'm not quite sure what that was about, but it didn't hurt or anything, so I was okay with it.

Then it came time for the massages. The barber's hands were a bit rough as he started in on the face, but it wasn't until he strapped a strange device onto his hands that I began to worry. Now, I usually try to make my blog PGish, but I can't find any other way to describe this contraption. For those of you who have ever seen a vibrator, you know that what makes them vibrate is a thumb-sized metallic pellet. Well, imagine an ostrich-egg sized one of those strapped to the back of his hand, and you start to get the idea! There were also two plastic pads that capped his index and middle fingers.

Let's just say that the massage was more invigorating than relaxing, especially when he focused on putting as much vibrating pressure on my sinuses as he could, and when he stuck his fingers in my ears to give my brain a good little giggle. I do not understand why anybody would want this kind of a massage, but I guess it must work for some people, or they wouldn't have it. A little frazzled, I walked back across the street and recovered Chesa (who had been burned twice) and mossied across another street to the Eros movie theatre.

We went in to see our first Bollywood epic (with an average of like three hours each, they're all epic), Rang de Basanthi (note, the 'h' is aspiration, not a 'th' sound). From what we could tell (most of it was in Hindi), it was a story about a British woman who came to India to make a documentary about one of the revolts against her British grandfather. She gets to India only to find that the college students she tries to recruit for her film are indifferent to her film and Indian politics in general. Of course, she gets the rag-a-muffin group to change their ways and the filming of the documentary inspires them to fight a fight of their own against corrupt Indian-government officials.

Though I didn't understand a few key things about the movie, I thought it was fascinating for the messages it seemed to espouse. It was generally jingoistic, touting Indian pride and a uniting belief in democracy. At the same time, it seemed to encourage violence (though the end seems to counterdict that), which would not be typical of an American "anybody can make changes happen" film. Anyway, it's a new film, but if you see it in your local blockbuster, it'd be worth seeing (especially if you have the English subtitles).

But now I gotta run catch my train to Bangalore! Woot, 14 hours this time!

Photos!

I've made it to Mumbai and her fast Internet connections, so I wanted to share a few photos of our trip so far. Mostly they are just buildings, but we've got a nice one of me and Chesa at the Taj Mahal. Check it out at Fun FoToS for wHeNeVeR!

Pa-fect!

Having just rolled out of a four-hour cooking class here in Udaipur appropriately sated, I now have the energy to go for the much promised (and overdue) post.

One of the things that Chesa noticed as we started getting deeper into Rajasthan, was that the further we got from the so-called “Golden Triangle” (the standard tourist route of Delhi, Agra (where the Taj Mahal is), and Jaipur), the touts seemed to get less pushy. I don’t know if I can really agree with that, but I have been enjoying myself more the further we get from the area. Maybe it’s because the tonsillitis has gone away for the time being. :o)

But also, I just think that the experiences have been better. I have already raved about Jaisalmer, but left just before my camel excursion. After a day exploring the city, and after having our car fall in a hole (yes, we had to be pushed out, and the car has made a weird clanking sound ever since), we headed out into the Thar Desert. We arrived at a small “resort” in a small village just as the other tourists were headed out on their camels. We had hardly a chance to stretch our legs from the 50km car ride before mounting our camels. I think that I ultimately preferred my camel excursion in the Moroccan Sahara better, but this one was still fun.

The desert where we were was mostly flat, and full of scrubs. India being India, the diversity of wildlife didn’t fail to impress. Right from the outset, we saw peacocks (don’t know what they were doing out there), and later came across some deer and antelope, and many other birds. We did make it to some smallish dunes by sunset, and enjoyed watching the sun go down over Pakistan. The camel then returned us to our “resort” for dinner. There were traditional Rajashtani musicians, and the drivers (ours included) started dancing. It was okay, but the evening seemed a little forced.

Luckily, Chesa insisted on a night in the desert proper. They packed a camel cart full of blankets, and we set off with a lovely Swiss couple into the desert at about ten at night with a drunk guide to boot. We made a little fire, and the Swiss collected shrubbery while we broke it down to feed it to the fire. We stayed up chatting with our “guide” who seemed to only know, “everything ok?,” to which the Suisse would reply, “Pa-fect!” with a slightly British intonation. We then spread out our bedding, and crawled into the remarkably small sleeping bags. I fit, but just barely, the bag pushing at my shoulders.

It was all worth it though. Despite the cold, and wearing basically all of my clothes, and being crunched in a sleeping bag, and getting sand down my pants, the stars were beautiful. In China seeing stars is frankly a gift, and seeing so many that evening was amazing. I could really see a depth in the heavens that I hadn’t noticed before—or at least that I couldn’t see before! Upon reflection, I realized that it was the first time I had slept out completely under the stars. Don’t get me wrong, I have gone camping many a time, but I always had slept in a tent. Yay for new experiences!

From the desert, it was on to Ranakpur. When we arrived in the verdant valley surrounded by mountains I felt at home. It was so peaceful there, and the hotel we stayed in was quite delightful. We had our own balcony, and all you could hear were the birds. Unfortunately, it was a little too much like home, as I succumbed to an allergic reaction and was stuffed up for the rest of the evening. Boo pollen!

The reason for the stop in Ranakpur was the largest Jain temple in India. Supported by 1,044 pillars, the unique architecture was so intricate and impressive that I was truly awed. But before we made it there, we took a jaunt across the road from our hotel to a nearby lake. An ornithologist’s wet dream, the lake was filled with ducks, cormorants, herons, egrets, and I many other birds. I was delighted to see a grey heron, as the stately bird is one of my favorite, but mostly I just enjoyed being in the countryside away from the hectic daily life that seems to permeate Indian (not to mention Chinese) cities.

But then it was time to go to Udaipur, where we still are. We did see Octopussy last night, and so we enjoyed the day seeing things like the Floating Palace (Octopussy’s abode in the film), and going through the City Palace Museum (which was frankly a bit lackluster to say the least). We also had a wonderful cooking lesson in the evening, and now I can do basic Indian food, so hopefully I can treat some of my trusted readers to a feast at some point.

Meanwhile, we’re off to Mumbai tomorrow in what should be an epic journey—almost 24 hours of train. Meh. Luckily I have come prepared with an epic journey of my own—The Ramayana (one of the fundamental Hindu texts, the story of Rama, an avatar of Vishnu). Hopefully I can make it through!

Happy New Year from Udaipur!

新年快乐！祝您新的一年身体健康！工作顺利！生活美满!

This will have to be a quick post, as Chesa and I have an appointment in half an hour to see Octopussy, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to wish all you Chinese folk a very happy new year! I know I've missed it for a second year in a row being in India, but Chesa and I did our best to celebrate anyway: we ate a "spring roll," some sweet and sour vegetables, and "chili chicken." It was generally ok, but Chinese food outside of China doesn't hold a torch.

As for those of you wondering why we're going to go see Octopussy, it's because we're now in Udaipur. There is apparently a scene filmed at the Lake Palace here in the infamous Bond movie, so, since I haven't seen it yet, what better time? It's not exactly like watching "The Killing Fields" in Siem Riep, but it passes the night, ay?

Tomorrow when we've got more time, I'll be sure to update everyone on our camel adventure and sleeping under the stars in the Thar (not Thal, I stand corrected. Also note that the 'h' only indicates aspiration in Hindi, so it's pronounced 't-ha-r' and is not a 'th' sound.) Desert. Good times!

Riding Thal

First, a rundown of events since last I have posted. :o)

Chesa and I have made it to our westernmost destination here in India: Jaisalmer. Situated on the edge of the Thal desert a mere 100 kilometers from the Pakistani border, I’ve fallen in love. As Chesa likes to keep pointing out, each of the cities we visit in Rajasthan is distinguished by its own special color. Jaipur is known as the pink city as one of the local Maharaja ordered the entire old city be painted that rusty hue to welcome the future (at the time) King Edward. Jodhpur (where we were yesterday) is the blue city as many of the houses are painted blue, a color originally reserved for the Brahmin (one of the higher castes) of which the capital of the Rajput kingdom had a plethora. Jaisalmer though, is known as the city of gold. We discovered the reason first hand this evening while touring the fort: at sunset, the color of the sand and stone all the buildings are made of shines a brilliant gold. It was exquisite.

I’m not exactly sure what it is about this city that I like so much, but it is truly the first one in India that I wouldn’t hesitate to stay in longer. I think part of it is the fact that it’s smaller than some of the places we’ve been, but also that the old part of town is still mostly pedestrian and quite quaint. We also discovered an excellent Italian restaurant for dinner with real tiramisu, so that might also have something to do with it. :o) Tomorrow we head out for a short camel excursion in the desert, something to which I have been looking forward for quite a while.

As for Jodhpur, where we were yesterday, the most impressive part was the fort. As I mentioned before, Jodhpur was the capital of the Rajput kingdom, and so the fort on a mesa overlooking the rest of the town is as ornate as it is solid. It dominates the town. I also quite enjoyed the tour, as it was the first place that actually had an audio tour guide—we even got to hear audio clips from the Maharaja himself. Now, since I know that most of you are avid polo fans, you won’t be surprised to hear that, indeed, jodhpur did originate in this town, as the former Maharaja was an avid polo enthusiast. For those of you have never seen polo in your life (which I hadn’t until last year in Manila), jodhpur are riding pants.

The story I found interesting is that the former Maharaja built a new palace (where his current highness continues to reside) as a drought relief program of Rooseveltian proportion. He employed over 15,000 workers in its building. But that’s an aside. The interesting story is that while touring said palace, we noted that he quite enjoyed planes, as they displayed a model collection of his actual one. Jodjpur actually even had the first international airport in India because of him. The thing we didn’t find out until on the audio tour at the fort, several kilometers away, is that his life was tragically cut short in a plane accident…guess they forgot to mention that!

Other than that, I didn’t find Jodhpur all that exciting. It was obvious that the city had a bit more money than some of the other cities we’ve been in, and the architecture was distinctly influenced by the Europeans, but it lacked a soul nevertheless.

And jumping back to Pushkar, there are a couple of stories I forgot to mention. First is related to the animals: about 3km outside of town, we followed the curve of a road right into the oncoming stampede of oxen. We were able to brake almost immediately, and the animals maneuvered around us, but it was still quite intimidating. I’m telling you, the animals in India freak me out in size and ubiquity!

Also, I mentioned that Pushkar was a holy city. What I failed to mention, however, was that it was so holy that the entire city is strictly vegetarian. Actually, I’ve been eating almost entirely veg (with the exception of mutton on two occasions) since my arrival in India, so I didn’t mind. I just found it interesting that an entire city could be veg. The other thing that happened there that assured us it was indeed a holy city happened at 3:45AM each morning.

The first night there, I awoke from strange dreams to the heavy thud of a drum. Not knowing what was happening, and still heavy with slumber, I could only assume the world was ending. After a minute of pounding though, bells chimed in and I was assuaged. The bells continued for almost five minutes, and were joined by a trumpet calling in the night. Chants of ‘om’ could be heard floating through the air. While the interruption in sleep was annoying at first, I couldn’t help but feel moved. I think it was the ‘om’ that did it for me. Chesa had explained earlier that it is believed to be the sound of the universe, and that night, hearing distant chants carried on the wind, it seemed like nothing less.

One Week Down (almost)

Well, we have not quite made it one week in India, but already we are starting to get accustomed to it. We currently find ourselves in the backpacker (read hippie) haven of Rajasthan: Pushkar. It reminds me very much of Dali in Yunnan in that sense, but Dali has a nicer old town. On the other hand, it’s a bit holier, as this is the place where Brahma (one of the four main Hindu gods) was said to have dropped a lotus, creating a holy lake. He later went here for some important ceremony, but his wife, Saraswati failed to attend. In revenge he married another woman. To get back at him, Saraswati swore that he would never be worshipped anywhere but here, and so one of the only temples dedicated to Brahma is located here in Pushkar.

In any case it has been nice today to relax a bit and reflect upon our experiences so far instead of being ferried from one tourist spot to the next!

Where to start? Perhaps the tourist Mecca of the Taj Mahal. We went there three days ago, and I can’t really stop thinking about it. I know that the building gets a lot of press in the world, and so I thought that it couldn’t possibly live up to all the hype, but it really did. It captured my gaze from the rooftop of our hotel in Agra, and it held my attention until our departure. It’s not as big as I was imagining, but the building itself is just splendid, the sleek curves and the shining marble and mother of pearl entrancing!

The city of Agra, on the other hand, is nothing to write home about. I had expressed concern back in Delhi to some Indian friends of Chesa’s family that Agra would just be a tourist hole. It pretty much was, but who can blame them? In order to stop the erosion of the white marble of the Taj, the Indian government banned industry in the area. What other option do the locals have then to join the tourist bandwagon?

After a morning of sight-seeing, both Chesa and I were happy to head off to Jaipur. Upon arrival in the town, I felt more comfortable at once. Here we saw the aforementioned doctors, but also participated in events held during a local heritage festival. Probably the best part of our time there was meeting up with a Kiwi friend, Bethani, who was studying in Kunming for a bit last semester. She was performing a Maori (indigenous New Zealanders) fire dance while another couple of friends did Rajasthani dancing. It was quite a spectacle, and I just love those small world moments where paths cross in the strangest of places! It reminds me of the universe’s inherent connectedness, and for that, I am appreciative.

As for basic impressions so far: the animals in India amaze me. At one point we were on the road in Jaipur and saw a man riding a horse on one side of street, while an ox was pulling a cart on the other, followed by a camel! All we were missing was an elephant to round out the work animals here! Streets are also filled with goats and boars, and buildings with flocks of birds. Chesa seems to think there was a Maoist campaign to rid Chinese cities of the pestering birds, which I can neither confirm nor deny, but the lack of birds in Chinese cities is quite shocking when compared to their domination here in India!

And as for cultural experiences, our dinner last night here in Pushkar would have to top the list. We sat down for dinner at a little restaurant a bit outside the normal tourist strip. After we sat down, a cow moseyed over to gawk. We gawked back, and even took pictures, not being used to eating in the presence of cows. As we were snapping the photos, a group of what turned out to be farmers from Hariyana (a nearby state) turned to gawking. They eventually got bold, and even sat down with us. We chatted and had a lively conversation for over an hour. The group continued to grow, as there were 40 or so farmers travelling with the Forestry Department to learn new methods of farming here in Rajasthan, and we became the evening’s entertainment. It was fun, though their English was, not surprisingly, stilted, and the restaurant manager didn’t seem to like the crowd. The farmers were clearly more interested in Chesa (I wonder why), and I was worried that I was going to have to deal with that, but when we decided to go, there was no brouhaha.

My favorite quote from the evening came when I was explaining the term half-sister (a term I’ve had to explain to the Chinese just as often). When I said I had one, the man with the best English said: “You mean she’s lame?”

“No, no,” I insisted, and I gave a chortle.

“You mean she’s small?”

Again, “No,” and I smiled and delved into as simple an explanation I could. I think they got it in the end.

HIS/HERS

Well, I think that Chesa and I were mistakenly married (or at least treated as a married couple, but saying we were mistakenly married makes the story sound more interesting) yesterday in a small temple of Krishna’s older brother in one of the seven holy cities in India—Mathura. Upon entering the temple we were instructed to sit down before a deity of sorts, hold a flag together, offer some prayer in Hindi (I was repeating after the priest, hope I didn’t say anything offensive), and were painted with red dots. My understanding is that the red dots are usually reserved for married women...

In any case, it seems fitting. From day one, Chesa and I have taken the his/hers approach to this trip. I ran down from my apartment running a little late (we’re surprised) to head off to the airport in Kunming wearing a black shirt, a blue jacket, with a blue backpack, and with a “messenger bag.” Chesa was the same except in red. Coincidence, you’d think, but then we keep on matching it seems.

It came to a head today when we had matching his/hers doctors visits. Last night in Agra (the city of the Taj Mahal) Chesa and I stopped for sweets after dinner. She got milk-based sweets, I got some other spicier sweets. She woke up in the middle of the night vomiting and with bowels arunning. We were a bit skeptical of medical treatment in Agra, as a scheme was (is?) prominent whereby restaurants intentionally give food poisoning to clients in order to send them to doctors who in turn charge exorbitant prices to their insurance agencies. Chesa, thus, sucked it up and went out for a tour of the Taj this morning (managed not to puke on the actual thing, though did do it right outside) because, hey, it’s not every morning you have one of the seven wonders of the world right in your backyard! And really, that building was just inspiring enough to make the vomit stay down.

After a few more bouts, including a nasty one on the way to Jaipur (the capital of Rajhistan where we are now) leaning out of the car window and having it splatter back in her hair, we decided a trip to the doctor was necessary. I, although not suffering from food poisoning, was starting to get an ear ache. I was sick for the last week and a half I was in Kunming, fighting with a nasty bug my friend had kindly imported from the US for me. My lymph nodes were totally swollen, but after a round of antibiotics, I seemed in good enough condition to fly. But now, I’m swelling back up, and it’s headed in the direction of my ears. Not wanting an ear infection, we decided we’d make a trip to the doctor together.

Let me tell you, everything that you’ve heard about Indian healthcare is true. It’s cheap and above par. No IVs for me, so take that all you stuck in Chinese hospitals! A quick check revealed that I indeed have tonsillitis, and am now on round two of antibiotics, stronger than the first. Hopefully this will go away, and Chesa’s new medicine will get her back on track, and we’ll get to enjoying this beautiful place!

And now, since I’m long overdue for something like this, India by the numbers:

4- Number of times I was offered drugs in the seedy area of Delhi (NOTE: this seemed surprisingly low)

7- Number of times Chesa threw up today (maybe eight as I’ve been at the Internet Café for a while now).

3.94- The level (in PPM) of sulfur dioxide in the air around the Taj Mahal today.

14- The number of children that Mumtaz Mahal, the Persian queen for whom the Taj was built as a mausoleum, had. (NOTE: She died while having the fourteenth)

3- The number of weddings going on within view of our hotel this evening.

60- The cost (in Rupees, equivalent to about US$1.50) of my visit to the doctor (take that all you stuck in American hospitals!) this evening.

Doing Delhi

Well, I’ve finally made it. After an indulgent couple of days in Hong Kong, we (my friend Chesa and I) have arrived in Delhi, India.

Last time I was in Hong Kong, I was unimpressed. I had been living in Taibei for the summer, and Hong Kong only seemed to offer less. There was less space, less integration with Japanese culture, less language I could understand (well, with the exception of all the English). But this time I was in awe. This time it was more, more, more! I had come to the realization the other month that I had not left Kunming or its environs since I arrived in late August. I hadn’t even been out in the countryside until just a few weeks ago. And so, coming from a familiar Kunming with its RELATIVELY sparse amenities (ok, so we still have a Pizza Hut and a McDonalds or two) to abundant Hong Kong was liberating. I sat in Starbucks reading the International Herald Tribune (my God, a REAL newspaper!). I nibbled on a Ben and Jerry’s ice cream cone as I raced down to the MRT to be shuttled off the island and over to Kowloon. I went to an art museum full of contemporary art. I went to conveyor-belt sushi!

Unfortunately, the respite built my hopes of for India. I’m afraid my overly simplistic logic went something like: Hong Kong belonged to the British, India belonged to the British, so same same but different. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I’ve only been here for nine hours, so I can’t say I have really had a chance to make solid inquiries yet, but I do have first impressions. From what I can tell, Delhi is roughly on par with Kunming in terms of development—I was taken aback. I was expecting Beijing, Delhi being the capital and all, but I got Kunming. But that’s only in terms of development. I didn’t think that it was possible to get crazier than China in terms of crowds, and yet the Indians seem to have managed it. I’m used to having a personal bubble of roughly 5 cm in China…I think the Indians give about 2 cm at best! We shall see though, perhaps I will get accustomed quickly.

I’m frankly already looking forward to getting out of Delhi (sometimes you just have vibes), but we still have some exploring to do. But first, we must recover from the ever-so-minor jet lag!

I’ll probably mention this again later, but for those of you interested in what will likely be a more detailed account of our travels here in India, I highly recommend checking out Chesa’s blog!

I'm Impulsive

Okay, so, if buying Maurice wasn't a strong enough sign of this to begin with, it has now been 100% proven that I am an impulse buyer. Bad Jeff, bad Jeff. What got me this time? Well, a set of three two-and-a-half feet tall terra cotta soldier replicas. I think they weight about 6 pounds each (about 3 kilos was the exact guestimate) and are made of clay. They look cool, but I'm not sure what I was thinking buying them, except that they were less than US$2 each...at least I drive a hard bargain, right? I mean, most tourists pay about US$20 for one from what I can establish...Now it's just a question of getting them all the way back to Colorado.

Actually, we're on the last leg of our journey, so it shouldn't be TOO big of a problem. In case you haven't yet been able to determine my current location, my friend Robin and I are in the capital of the Sha'anxi province, Xi'an--the ancient Tang Dynasty capital and pretty much the furthest west you can get in China that "people" still consider "civilised." Note, Xi'an is in pretty much the center of the country, so that should tell you something.

It's a pretty interesting, bustling city. It's definitely a big shock from Litang in more ways than one. First, it's freaking hot! I keep reminiscing to just a few days ago in Litang when I was freezing my pants, all three layers, off. But also, it's just crazy how developed it is here. It is also a fairly compact city with a population of over 6 million, so it just feels crowded.

It's probably a good transition point though, for we are leaving for Beijing tonight, which is bigger, more polluted, more populated, and hotter. I blame Robin for making me go there--I generally avoid it like the plague. Of course, I hear many people like it, so I suppose that I should give it another chance. I was there about three years ago at about the same time of year and spent my time rushing from air conditioned hotel to air conditioned car to air conditioned anything I could get my hands on. We'll see how it is this time.

Now we're off to explore the city wall. Hopefully we won't pass out from heat exhaustion!

Higher than Ever

Well, I know it's been a good long while since I last updated, but I've been busy...and in remote places. As we speak, actually, I'm at the highest elevation I think I've ever been outside of an airplane. My friend from the US, Robin, and I are currently sitting in LiTang in the Western half of the SiChuan province right near Tibet. How high are we? Well the high mountain park (which is mountain terminology for a high valley in the mountains, aka South Park, which does NOT refer to a public park!!!) is situated at about 4680m, or roughly 15,354ft! And this is just cruising altitude. If we want to go up into the mountains (the Himalayas) it's only up from here!

But I'm getting ahead of myself. :o) I guess it's been like a month since I last updated. That's because getting out of town was just crazy! Between judging an English competition that lasted 3 rounds (four nights total!), grading homework, making finals, giving finals, grading finals, finding a new apartment, moving apartments, and planning my summer, it's been busy!

As some of you know, or may have guessed from that last paragraph, I've decided to stay in Kunming next year. It was a tough decision between staying and going to Taiwan, but the university suddenly caved to my requests, so I decided to stay. One of them was the ability to move off campus with a living stipend. The university was quite generous, so I went off apartment hunting the next day.

In China, and I didn't realize this when I started, the real estate agencies charge a full month's rent to the renter for their help in finding a new place. I didn't have any other idea about how to go about it, so I used them, and when I found a place (which is really cool!) I had to bargain them down a lot! The negotiations for the apartment were lots of fun too. The rent started at 1800Y, but we got it down to 1508Y per month. Why fifteen hundred and EIGHT? Because the landlord kept insisting that 8 is a lucky number (which it is in China), so she wanted that in there. She wouldn't go down in either the 12 or 14 hundreds though because both 13 and 4 are unlucky numbers (four in Chinese sounds like the word death). Granted the apartment number is 804...guess having the eight cancels out the four or something. It's a walkup, which will be trecherous, but it's worth it for the view. Overall, I'm really happy about the place!!

To celebrate the new place, and also to bid farewell to some of the teachers, I had a big house-warming party on the 29th of June. I just barely pulled it off, as it was on that day that I moved into the house, and I was delayed by the fact that I couldn't get a bike/cart guy to help me move for a couple hours, and when I finally managed to find one, it started POURING (I'm not talking just rain here, I mean it was just gushing water!). But with the help of my friends Jean and Chesa, and the fact that nobody was very punctual, it all came together.

On the 3rd of July, my friend from both Fort Collins and Whitman, Robin, arrived in town. I wasn't quite done grading or moving, but with her help, we took care of it fairly quickly. On Wednesday I barely managed to get all the grading finished, and then we headed out of town on the night train to Dali. Our basic plan is to go from Kunming NW through Yunnan to Dali, Lijiang, and Zhongdian, then pass up north into Sichuan to XiangCheng, Litang (where we currently are), Yagong Grasslands, Kangding, and back to the capital of Sichuan, Chengdu. From there, it's trains to Xi'an in the center of the country, then on to Beijing.

It's a crazy long trip, but it's been fun so far. I've been to Dali, Lijiang, and Zhongdian several times, but this is my first time up into this part of Sichuan. We had good times there, including a great hike down Tiger Leaping Gorge, and connecting with a group of two Frenchies, to Japanese and a Chinese to go see Emerald Pagoda Lake outside of Zhongdian (where we walked the 8km's out trough beautiful scenery, though I got REALLY muddy). But, it's good to see something new, though I must admit that the bus ride between Zhongdian and XiangCheng was downright scary. We were on a cobbled/dirt road climbing through mountain passes in the fog and rain. Once we arrived and found a hotel, we grabbed some noodles and wontons for dinner, then hiked up the mountain a bit to go to a newly constructed Tibetan Buddhist temple. It was just awe-inspiring--I actually had to hold back tears at one point. The craftsmanship is excellent, and since it's new, it still in great condition. It was great. Then today, we made the 5 hour trek to Litang. In the Lonely Planet, they described it as the Wild West of Sichuan...it really is. We were walking down the street this afternoon and were just astonished at how much it felt like we were walking down the street in a set of a Western movie...though the architecture is a bit different. It's really cold up here (I'm wearing like 5 layers and I'm still cold), but it's worth it.

And now that I'm caught up, I'm going to go explore!

Time Warp Baby

As you might recall, since I did mention it on this site a while back, my mother and two of her friends (who also happen to be colleagues) came and visited here in China. My mom was here for almost three full weeks. One of her friends, Sherry, for two, and her other, Ever, for just under one. It was a good trip, of course, and I really enjoyed introducing different parts of China to them.

Much to my mother's chagrin, the only thing that I really posted about the trip on my blog was that I was relieved it was over. Now, I know that she took it in the way I meant it, that I was relieved to be able to relax after being "on" for three weeks, and not that I was either a) happy she was gone, or b) didn't enjoy the trip. But nevertheless, I felt it is only right to add some more about our trip on my blog.

Rather conveniently, at about the same time I decided this, Sherry e-mailed me a great PowerPoint presentation of her/our (we weren't together the whole time) trip to Asia. I think it's well worth sharing, and I think it's particularly interesting to have "fresh eyes" on China (actually, that was one of my favorite parts about having my mom and friends here, is that I got to see China for the first time again). And so, I'm happy to invite a "guest blogger" to my blog to help me describe my mom's China trip. I hope you enjoy!

I have linked to the presentation here for a download. Note that it's a fairly large file, and will therefore take a while to download. You might not want to risk it if you're not on high speed, unless it's really worth it to ya!

Vignettes a la Haiku

Okay, so the last post was less of a vignette, and more of a, well, diatribe I guess. So, in order to make it shorter and more vignette-like, and also because I'm currently teaching poetry to my students, I thought I would share some Kahsgari haikus for your reading pleasure.

Vignette #2: Outside Kashgar

Poplars line dirt roads
A dry wind rustles the leaves
The mosque stands empty

Vignette #3: On the Abakh Hoja Mauseleum

Hojas of the past
Engulfed in the cool marble
Holy sepulcher

Sun beats green tiled domes
Seventy-eight rest in peace
Dryness permeates

Vignette #4: On the People's Square

The packed square surges
With vigor of vibrant youth
Happy Children’s Day

Vignette #5: At a Restaurant

My Lonely Planet
Held by a Uighur waitress
New understanding

Vignette #6: The Bazaar

Grabbed by forceful hands
A vendor peddles his wares
Chotchkies overwhelm

Vignette #1: The Plane

Well, I’m back in one piece…amazing, I know. And an interesting journey it has been! It’s really unfortunate that I was not able to connect to the internet again during my time in the “Wild West of the Orient” (okay, so I just made that up, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?) because there is just sooooo much to talk about. So, since I can’t keep a train of thought for more than, say, two minutes, I thought I would take a vignette approach to this post. They’re not in any particular order (especially not chronological), but I think you’ll appreciate them anyway. We’ll see how it goes.

Vignette #1- The Plane from Kashgar back to Urumqi

It’s 8:20AM in the morning. Well, rather, it’s 6:20AM in the morning XinJiang Time, 8:30AM Beijing Time. The sun is already high in the sky, but the air has not yet absorbed any of its warming rays. After having checked out from my hotel in the former Russian Embassy, I decide that I have some time before my flight, so I go searching in vein for XinJiang-style bagels, but not before I check on how to get to the airport via public bus. After walking for twenty minutes without finding bagels (it was still too early really), I hop the bus to the airport. It being China, the bus didn’t go quite all the way to the airport (too logical), so I had to trek in the last little bit to the terminal. Of course, nothing was clearly marked there, so I couldn’t tell which door to go in, and once inside I couldn’t find the check-in counter. Eventually though, I found it, though I was running late. They had already closed the computer for my flight (of course there were still like ten people to follow after me, so it was a good thing they closed the computer down so early!), so they issued me a ticket by hand, and told me to rush up the stairs for the security screening.

There, the guard, afraid to talk to the foreigner (probably because he doesn’t think he can speak English), grunts at me to get me to finish my security screening (I had already passed through the metal detector, he was wanding me). Wand. Grunt. I give him a weird look. Grunt. I turn around. Meaner grunt—apparently that wasn’t what he wanted. I turn back around. Grunt and nod of head. I fish the Peptol Bismol chew tabs out of my pocket and wonder to myself if he’s happy now. Approving grunt. Hand pushes me. I figure that means turn around. Wand, wand, grunt. Assuming that means I’m done, I step down from the platform and collect my things.

It frustrates me so much here how often Chinese people refuse to even try speaking with me!! Am I really that intimidating?!

In any case, I make through security and am ushered out the door. I run down the steps and across the tarmac, wind ruffling my hair, to the waiting plane that is already mostly full. Upon boarding, I find I am seated in the same row (though across the aisle) of a family travelling with two small children. The balding, slightly comical father is having an argument with the stewardess about having to stow one of his bags in the overhead compartment instead of in front of him. “It’s convenient for you, miss, but it’s not convenient for us. Isn’t that so?” he inquires to the overhead compartment while stuffing in his bag.

A few minutes later as the stewardesses are walking by, one of the kids decides that she wants to be held by one of them. The stewardess picks her up and the kid seems happy. The father asks the stewardess if she would like to be their new nanny (note that the old nanny is sitting next to the mother in the same row holding the other child), and the whole back half of the plane has a laugh.

Directly in front of this family is another foreigner, a tall blonde who looks like a young Allison Janning (C.J. on “The West Wing” if that helps.)

I peer out the window to see a group of about five people running across the tarmac. Bringing up the rear is a somewhat portly Uighur/Pakistani/Ethnically Arabic woman in full head gear and high heels carrying a fake Gucci. I must add that this hijab isn’t just the wrap around kind where the eyes are open to the environment. No, this was a thick brown mesh (I’m assuming, I mean, how else could she see through it?) cloth just draped over her head. She looked like a brown ghost flittering over the tarmac towards the plane, the wind trying its best to blow her scarf off. She finally made it.

Among that group, one woman sits next to the other foreign woman in the row in front of me. With henna-died, red hair, glittery nails, and a fake leopard print shirt on, she looks like she’s trying to hard. Suddenly, she starts sobbing uncontrollably and rambling in Uighur. The foreign woman tries to comfort her, but doesn’t really know what to do, especially since she doesn’t speak Uighur. She tries coaxing her to speak Mandarin, but she’s too far gone.

Again, I look across the tarmac to see more passengers arriving. This time it’s special though. They’re not coming from the same security checkpoint as everybody else did. Rather, it’s an older man pushing a middle-aged man in pajamas on a wheel chair. The man on the wheel chair is clearly unconscious, or at least his head is lolling to the side in a way I’ve never seen a conscious person’s do. They hurry across the tarmac as best they can, but when they arrive at the plane, they face a new problem: stairs. Armed guards run out from the airport to assist, and a group of about five men carry him up the stairs on board the airplane. I tear up. The next I see of them, the old man is carrying the sick one on his back to his seat, where he promptly lays down.

He is not the only person in hospital garb aboard the plane, there is also an elderly man who is also in a bad way wrapped in blankets a few rows behind the new arrival. Even though he’s sick, he’s still wearing his white embroidered cap that marks him as a Uighur.

We take off, flying right over downtown Kashgar. I got some GREAT pictures (see my other blog Fun Fotos for wHeNeVeR to see some.). As we level off, the guy next to me, who has been in what I would refer to as my personal space for the entire take off procedure turns to me and asks me to trade seats. As I want to take pictures out the window, I try to find an excuse not to. “It’s too troublesome,” I tell him.

He tries to start up a conversation. He has a thick accent so I have a lot of difficulty understanding him. He clearly starts mocking me for it to the person sitting to his other side. He keeps trying though, obviously adhering to the belief that the louder he speaks, the better I will be able to understand him. All the while his elbow in my arm. “In China, the personal space bubble is smaller than in the US,” I say to myself, trying to ignore it. As he’s talking, spittle slips out between the gap of his front teeth. I try not to cringe as it lands on my arm.

I politely fall asleep. Tap tap tap. “What’s the temperature in Urumqi?” he asks.

I ask him how I’m supposed to know if he doesn’t? Again, I feign sleep, thinking it probably a bit too impolite to simply stick my earphones in. He starts up a conversation with the woman on his other side. We both notice as he pulls out his cell phone to check the time. The lady to his right gasps “Shouldn’t that be turned off during the flight?”

“Oh no, it’s fine to leave it on, you just can’t make calls during the flight,” he assures her.

“Well, the stewardess said to turn off all cell phones,” she replies.

“No really, it’s okay, isn’t it.” He turns to me for back up.

I roll my eyes and don’t really say anything. I once again try feigning sleep.

Tap tap tap. “Where’s that foreigner from across the aisle?”

“I do not know. I don’t know her,” I assure him. He persists.

“She’s from America like you.”

“Oh, how do you know that?”

“Because she’s a foreigner.”

到了! (I'm Here!)

Well, after a full 24 hours of travelling, I have finally reached my final destination for this week's journey: Kashgar, Xinjiang, PRC. Kashgar is the westernmost city (I emphasize city here, for there are other smaller towns and villages) in China. To put it in perspective, if I decided to walk directly south from here, I would end up in Delhi, India. And so, it has been a long trip.

I left last night from Kunming at 10:45PM, a mere forty-five minutes late. Upon arriving in Xi'an at about 12:30AM, I took the bus from the airport into town (a 37 kilometer distance!) and then a taxi to Northwest Polytechnical Institute to meet my friend Aftron, another Whittie, who is currently teaching there. We stayed up till like 4 in the morning chatting, and we had to be back up at 8AM so I could get back to the airport for my noon o'clock flight to Urumqi, a three-and-a-half-hour flight. Arriving in Urumqi gave me my first record for the day (the second being at the furthest west city in China): at 2,250km, it is the city the furthest away from the ocean in the entire world. Good thing I'm a mountain person.

And actually, it's high plains, so I was feeling right at home. It was hot (over 30 degrees), but at least it was as dry as Colorado, a welcome change. I had a four hour layover there, so I wandered around the "neighborhood" the airport was in trying to avoid the taxis who were desperately honking at me (apparently they were convinced I needed a ride to somewhere and couldn't just be exploring around the airport). I actually stumbled across a cute little park, so I parked myself there in the shade enjoying the dry air.

Then it was on to Kashgar. I arrived at about 9:45PM, but since this area should technically be like five time zones behind Beijing, it was essentially only treated like 7:45PM. I guess I'm going to have to get used to it for the time I'm here, but it's very Chinese that officially they all run on Beijing time, but actually that's just a facade. From what I understand, businesses don't open til like 10AM Bejing time, lunch isn't served until 2PM Beijing time, etc.

As for first impressions, in Urumqi, I was not able to see much of the actual city, but from what I could tell, the Uighur influence, at least in terms of architecture, is not very big. Whereas here, it does really feel like a whole 'nother country (Texas watch out). At the same time, it's typically Chinese, which just confuses my head.

I had an amazingly delicious bagel (first one in who knows how long) while exploring the streets this evening. The vendor didn't speak any Chinese, which meant we resulted to the pointing to different bills game. I was expecting that since we are technically in China that people would speak more Chinese than they seem to. Looks like I'll need to learn Arabic next (after Spanish of course).

And so far, I've only had "Hey, you American war monger" shouted at me once, so I consider that a good day. And now I'm ready for bed!

China Map

Here's a map that shows essentially my proposed routes for next week's trip. I still haven't decided between going to Kashgar (Kashi or Gashi in Chinese) or Turpan yet, so I decided to mark both.

The Best and Worst

One day while on our trip (I'm pretty sure we were in Phnom Penh, Cambodia) we decided that it would be fun to compare the five countries that we went to (Vietnam, Laos, Thailand, Cambodia, and the Philippines) by creating a list of the "best" and the "worst" things of each country. There are really some things that needed superlatives other than best or worst, but because I wanted to use a nifty table like the one you see below to display them I tried to stick to only best and worst. Sometimes form just has to win over function! So, if there are a few of them that seem weird, it's probably because I was trying to find some way to twist "craziest," or "most creative" into best and worst. Enjoy!

PS- I'm not sure why Blogger feels the need to so seriously screw up the formatting of tables and leave an enormous blank space before it, but there does not seem to be anything that I can do about it, so sorry!

BEST	WORST
VIETNAM
Baguettes Balconies Hats Cute tour guides Seafood Traffic/circulation Internet Elbow massages	Scammers Taxis Wine
LAOS
Coffee Beer Monks Hotel SERVICE Smiles Cookies BBQ Dining experience Hotel welcome gift (bag of pot for Chesa) Cave Setting Pharmacist Hikes Waterfall	Tourist traps Hotel Transport! Bridges General infrastructure Roosters crowing at 4AM Trash burning
THAILAND
Richest cultural sites Overall prices Cooking class Creative massage Uniforms Political ads Luxurious hotel (not that we stayed in!) Taxis Blong bling supa tuk Transport!	Border crossing Motorcycle experience Dogs Bus films!
CAMBODIA
Ancient ruins Bas-reliefs Trees Toilets Beds Signs (such as ones instructing Cambodians not to stand on top of a western-style commode) Lips Baguette fillings Breton Festivals	Tuk-tuk drivers! Pollution Beggars "Roads" Corrupt Passport Control Toilet town Leaky toilets Prices
PHILIPPINES
American-style food Grandma Alcohol selection Meals with important people Cinemas (going to a newly released movie only costs less than US$2!) Polo match Accomadations Original public transport (jeepnies, which are essentially elongated American WWII jeeps) Christians--Catholics if we want to be specific Former American Colony Fruit, especially the mangos!! Laundry! Banyan tree Chocolate (especially "wet dreams chocolate cake")	Public safety Class differences Japanese gardern! Destroyed in WWII

Homeward Bound

Well, it's hard for me to believe, but Marie-Liesse and I are actually leaving the Philippines tomorrow to head back home. Due to a snafu that I think I already explained, I think we have to spend one more night in Bangkok tomorrow, but then we'll be off to Kunming the next evening. After six weeks of travel it's somewhat of a relief (to the pocket book at the very least!), but I'll miss the excitement of seeing new things every day and being in a new environment. At the very least it should be a bit cooler out, and that I will appreciate!

Things have been going well here in the Philippines though for the most part. I must admit that I indulged last night and went to the ritzy downtown super-developed business part of town known as Makati (where the bomb went off) last night to enjoy a sushi dinner with a martini and later off to a place for a heavenly chocolate cake (called, and I'm not making this up, a wet dreams chocolate cake. I was a little shocked and even a touch embarrased to say the name to the lady working behind the counter, but it just looked so delicious I had to go for it!).

We've mainly stayed around Manila while here, and there has been much to occupy us. Between parties and polo matches and lunches with important people, there hasn't been a need to go much farther. Marie-Liesse and I did manage to make two excursions however out to Corregidor Island in Manila Bay (the last place to fall to the Japanese back in WWII), and down to the Taal Volcano. The Taal Volcano was interesting because it is, as Ripley's Believe it or Not describes, "a lake within a volcano within a lake within a volcano," which indeed is what it was. It was actually very cloudy there and it even spat at us at one point but it was a generally enjoyable excursion.

It has really been a different experience here than all the rest of our travels. We've been staying with Chesa's grandmother who is a simply amazing woman with lots of good stories. She likes to describe herself as a "relic of the Spanish-American War" as she grew up in Cuba and the US then married a Filipino and moved to the Philippines. She was here during the war, moving through eight houses before she landed at the house where she remains at today, and at which she has been welcoming numerous guests since. It's really quite an honour to be on the list and I can only hope to go on and accomplish things like some of the other guests she has been telling me about (like the owner of the Atalantic Monthly for example).

But for now, I guess I'll just have to go back to Kunming and go forward from there!