Home away from home. The word ¡Èhome¡É sounds to me like people have only one home at a time. ¡ÈHome away from home¡É, then, would mean some place other than one¡Çs home that is as comfortable, relaxing, and familiar as one¡Çs own. In the particular case of Japan, this also would mean, to me personally, that it is my homeland away from my current residence in Northern California. These first two weeks, since we arrived at Kyoto, my hometown, on September 15, have shown us that neither of the above meanings of ¡Èhome¡É is true; at least for now.

We are also adjusting our diet. The communities in Northern California, where organic fresh vegetables are grown and sold in abundance, are difficult to find here. On one hand I can cook Japanese food (and I am not a bad book either), but my repertoire is limited. Eating out can be quite difficult for vegetarians, even if fish is okay; not to mention the expense. The Cost of living is another thing. While we are all for using Japan¡Çs excellent public transportation, doing so costs a fortune every time we travel to downtown Kyoto or Osaka; a casual half-day wandering or taking care of errands in town costs about 20 USD in transportation costs for both of us.

The building we live in has more than 50 apartments and it is only one of tens of similar building all around us. There is a train station within a 3-minute walk. On the east side of the station are condo and apartment buildings standing like dominos. Highways with off-ramps, shopping centers, restaurants, a gym, and the other usual suspects of suburban living (including a busy MacDonald¡Çs and KFC) are all within walking distance. Mixed in the view from our thirteenth floor balcony are the rice paddies to the west of the station. The green and yellow paddie patches stretch out to the Ujigawa River and are a refreshing sight to our eyes.

We are still figuring out what to make of our life in Japan. We keep telling ourselves that we are experienced travelers. We have been there. Yet, Japan is also my home. Have I not reaffirmed my identity as a Japanese man during the Global Fusion project? Yet, where does this lingering uncertainty, unfamiliarity, and sense of alienation come from? My aim during our time here is to begin to overcome the absence I¡Çve felt since 1978, and to be able to see Japan in a fresh light, just as we have done during our past travels, while at the same time, enjoying this time at home.

Bali has a special place in our hearts. We came here for the first time on our honeymoon in October 1994, and it was the first time that we traveled together outside the US. Denpasar was a mid-sized town back then, and Ubud still had the feeling of a small village. So much has changed since our first visit that we hardly recognize it. Ubud still remains the center of Bali¡Çs cultural community, and holds a significant place in the minds of every Balinese. Even with all the changes over the past 10 years, Ubud is still surrounded by gorgeous rice paddies that remind us of our first visit.

We¡Çve rented a small house for the month, located in the village of Lodtunduh, just outside the now busy town of Ubud. Where Ubud bustles with traffic, people, restaurants and shops, Lodtunduh sits quietly in the famous city¡Çs shadow. Our house faces directly west; overlooking the paddy fields lined with coconut palms and in the distance the mountains of Batakau and Pohon, soar skywards. The paddies have been irrigated, and are waiting for another round of planting, one of the three cycles per year.

The setting sun and clouds play with the colors of dusk and cast dark silhouettes from the coconut palms, reflecting on the still, watery surface of the paddy field. It is a dramatic, panoramic view to behold every evening. At the center of the paddy floats an emerald green island that houses the rice temple and enshrines the Balinese Rice God. Bats, auspicious animals in Asian lore, fly about and are almost indistinguishable from a group of swallows each swooping low over the muddy field, feasting on insects as the dark of night settles in. The variety of different bugs is astounding: giant bees, tiny ants, colorful beetles, brown moths, iridescent butterflies, a rainbow of dragonflies and the delightful fireflies we remember from our childhood. The Southern constellations spread out into the dark sky, looking unfamiliar and mysteriously beautiful.

Bali is just coming out of its annual rainy season. It is hot and humid during the day, with cooling, welcoming showers that come briefly in the afternoons or evenings. The rain and clouds enhance the gorgeous scenery, causing the tropical colors to sparkle through the lingering raindrops. The weather pattern is a refreshing change for us, considering the sky has been mostly a whitish-blue haze that has shimmered in a hot, dry heat during our travels through Southeast Asia. Here, we are reminded by how much clouds add to the mood of the surrounding views.

Because Ubud is a cultural center, various forms of traditional performance art are concentrated here. Tourists can enjoy many staged performances throughout town, often in beautiful gardens set against traditional architecture. However, it¡Çs important to realize that the Balinese also conduct these performances more privately, in their temples, as part of their Hindu ceremonies and most dances are considered quite sacred. The themes for the theater, dance and music are often found in the many Hindu myths that are adopted from the epic Ramayana story. These are intermixed with other traditional religious beliefs that reflect the Hindu-influenced animism that is the basis of the Balinese spiritual life.

In addition to traditional arts, contemporary arts are also flourishing, especially painting, sculpture and jewelry design. Many artists, both Bali natives and foreigners, live, create, and display their work in Ubud. There are a few notable art museums in town. The Asian art scene notices artwork coming from Bali, and is avidly followed by collectors in, but not limited to, Asia.

The main roads of Ubud have been polished up drastically since our last visit. The streets themselves were dusty roads dotted with souvenir shops and currency exchange booths back then. Now stylish restaurants, cafÈs, boutiques, jewelry showrooms and art galleries dominate the sidewalks. We will spend a little time exploring this new face of Ubud.

Mostly, though, we are happy to spend our last month of Global Fusion here among the rice paddies of Lodtunduh. It¡Çs a peaceful, scenic place where we can contemplate the incredible journey that is now nearing its completion, or just sit and watch the rice grow.

April means summer and with it comes a new year here in Thailand. ¡ÈSongkran¡É, as it¡Çs called, is the Thai New Year celebration that lasts for three days. During this time, people visit their temple to pray for health and prosperity, spend time with family and friends, and then wash away their sins in a nationwide water fight. The custom is to splash water and smear a paste of talcum powder on each other. If you venture out on the streets you¡Çre bound to be drenched, and it¡Çs a welcomed way of cooling off in the hottest season of the year.

Squirt guns began appearing in shops weeks before April 13, the first day of Songkran. Children, especially, have been waiting for the ¡Èfirst soak¡É for days on end. Adults are not exempt from the fun, and are often the masterminds behind the large buckets of ice-cold water lining the streets. They have stocked up on food and drink, anticipating the celebration with friends and neighbors.

At the Democracy Monument in the center of Bangalumpu, the city erected a beautiful fountain display, lit up at night to create a spectacle of lights, color and music. The theme is the Naga, a sacred snake god and the protector of water, surrounded by a garden of lotus flowers. With fanfare music blasting, colorful lights beaming and the fountains spewing water all in the center of a major intersection, traffic slows down as everyone wants to have a look at the festive sight. Bangkokers gather on the streets and a general feeling of excitement fills the air. Other events are organized city wide, promoting traditional thai culture, including culinary delights, dance and music.

April 13th dawned quietly, but by noon our neighborhood street was filled with the excited screams and laughter of citizens in the midst of full on water attack. Karaoke machines were set up and adults in various stages of drunkenness sang their hearts out to Thai and Western pop songs. Others had their boom boxes at full volume blasting heavy metal, folk, or top 10 hit tunes. The street vibrated with every imaginable sound. Water hoses at the ready, the liquid ammunition flowed freely into large containers that were constantly being refilled. Tables set up in front of residences overflowed with an abundance of food and drink.

Everyone was soaked, and I thought, at first, that nobody would be spared. We braced ourselves for an ice cold shower from every direction. Initially we thought that things could easily get out of control, but the Thais knew better, and were very respectful in their celebration. From the safety of the guesthouse dining room, we watched the mayhem unfold, and to our surprise people were much more courteous that we had expected. They bowed and wei¡Çed (hands in prayer position) to elders and monks and asked their permission before splashing them with a tiny amount of water upon their hands. Often the victims thanked their attackers for offering them the traditional New Year greeting. Travelers who arrived carrying backpacks were also spared until they settled in. The water and talcum paste were strictly an outdoor affair and the insides of the residences and food stalls were respected.

Throughout the neighborhood, most everyone got into the spirit. Truckloads of assailants from other neighborhood slowly made their way down our street, and launched bucketfuls of water from their moving position. These friendly attacks prompted laughter and cheerful screams from all. At first, we were hesitant to dive in, but we simply couldn¡Çt resist. We found ourselves fully soaked, and launched our own attacks on those who came within splashing distance. Our neighborhood friends ambushed us, gently smearing the cool and fragrant talcum paste on our face and skin. Other pedestrians walked the street completely drenched, and in the end, we all looked liked rain-soaked tribal warriors.

It¡Çs April in Siem Reap, and the dry heat is unbearable. The streets are dusty and dirty, like the children that make them their home. Mothers, holding babies, sit outside the many restaurants begging for change. The people here have certain edginess about them; perhaps a reminder of their countries troubled past and the persistent poverty that continues to haunt them. April is the tail end of high season, and many windows in the up-market hotels remain dark. There are scores of services geared to the tourist market, attached with Western style prices. The local food stalls can be reasonable, but still come with special tourist pricing that we¡Çve not experienced elsewhere. We have just arrived, yet, we feel at odds with the town already.

We¡Çre here to visit Angkor Wat, one of the Seven Wonders of the World. With our many visits to Bangkok, we never took the time to visit Thailand¡Çs neighbor, Cambodia. On this leg of our journey, we made it a priority. It¡Çs not easy getting here, unless you fly (we recommend that you do!), and we¡Çre not looking forward to the ride back to Bangkok after the hellish trip we¡Çve just experienced.

While it¡Çs not a pleasant journey overland, it is inexpensive. From Bangkok to Siem Reap the cost was a mere 170 Baht (less than 5 US dollars) compared to about $200 US roundtrip for a flight. The real cost, however, is in the time and the discomfort of the trip. The drive to the Thai border is easy enough, as Thailand has a modern highway with smooth roads. The A/C bus was comfortable and our driver made good time despite being pulled over for a traffic violation. It took just under 5 hours to reach the Cambodian border, having left Bangkok at 8AM.

From there it took about an hour at the border for us to exit Thailand and enter Cambodia. We said goodbye to our friendly Thai bus driver and were herded down the main street by an angry Khmer man who obviously hated his job. After waiting around some more at his office, we were crammed into a dilapidated mini van for the drive to Siem Reap. Thankfully the headlights and brakes worked, and we started off on the half-paved, pothole-ridden road. The jarring bumps and overwhelming dust brought back memories of the dirt tracks we traveled on in Mongolia. The landscape on both sides of the road consists of flat farmland with scattered houses and only a few lonely looking trees.

The driver, intent on getting us to Siem Reap well after dark, made the first stop only an hour into the drive, and we all waited around until he had a good long rest. The second stop, two hours later, was in a small, dusty village where everything facing the road was covered with thick red dirt. Young girls swarmed the van selling postcards, friendship bracelets, cold drinks and other trinkets. They practiced their English with us, laughing and showing us their big smiles that quickly turned into frowns when they found that sales were lacking.

We were exhausted when the van finally pulled into Siem Reap. After 14 hours of hellish travel, the driver drops us at a guesthouse of his choice; intent on making a nice commission from anyone who chooses to stay here. We checked the room, and then politely declined the overpriced offer. It¡Çs after 9PM, hungry and tired as we headed out into the dark, unfamiliar town in search of bed for the night. Lucky for us, Siem Reap is a bit over-developed and has loads of rooms to choose from.

There is a positive part in all this, however. There is a community that provides housing and education to orphans and their children of the Khmer Rouge massacre. Killing Field Memorial Park and Buddhist temples huddle in the outskirts of Siem Reap, where the community is tucked quietly as if to receive healing from them. They live in simple huts and are trying to make the best out of what they can, in the nation where still thousands of land mines are being disarmed, one at a time. Monks and foreign volunteers teach children foreign languages like English, Japanese and French, hoping that such skills would help them to make living in the future. Annoyances of the town aside, Cambodia has been trying hard to come out of deep-rooted trauma; and this is one example we have observed.

In fact, we¡Çve been hearing such great things about Cambodia from fellow travelers. They say it¡Çs an un-mined gem in Southeast Asia. It¡Çs a pity we don¡Çt have the time to explore the country properly, as the whole tourist scene in Siem Reap has left us with a bit of a sour taste in our mouth. We had to ask ourselves if all the backaches and frustrations were really worth it in the end? Our answer: Angkor Wat is incredible! But that¡Çs another story.

We find ourselves at yet another World Heritage site. The entire town of Luang Prabang, in northern Laos, is the UNESCO site. The promotion of the town as "the foremost tourist showplace in Laos" had us worried. We prayed that the quiet beauty found throughout Laos wouldn't be overrun by the town¡Çs UNESCO status. To our relief, it has kept its culture and charm intact.

The town is located at a point where the Nam Kahn River merges into the Mekong and is surrounded by a calming mountainous setting. Traces of ancient Buddhist worship remain in the region, not only in the form of over 80 temples, but also inside several caves along the rivers that are mysteriously filled with idols and images of Buddha. The presence of the many different minority tribes living in Northern Laos infuses the town with a rich culture and artistry as their livelihood is made from producing their traditional crafts for the (mainly) tourist market: silk and cotton dying, weaving, needlework, hand woven baskets, handmade saa (mulberry bark) paper and many more.

As such, this is a shopping paradise. Stylish boutiques and craft shops line the main street, sitting along side of sophisticated restaurants, clubs and galleries. The night market comes to life just before sunset, and is filled with stall after stall of handicrafts ranging from paper products to appliqué blankets. We see how much each and every purchase means to these tribeswomen, especially the first sale of the day, which they consider "lucky, lucky".

The sound of monks chanting begins soon after the temples close their doors for the evenings, echoing through the streets of the quiet neighborhoods as if the chants are the official theme song of this ancient town. The young monks we meet during the daytime are eager to practice their English and learn about western cultures. Their friendly conversations and quick smiles are in contrast to their solemn expressions displayed on their faces during morning alms throughout the neighborhoods.

Looking back over the past month in Laos, we reflect on a series of positive discoveries, similar to our impressions of Myanmar. It is interesting to observe that rather "difficult" governments lead both nations. Be it militaristic junta or socialist leadership, these governments have done their best to keep their countrymen out of the loop and often in dire poverty. Amazingly, the people and their cultures remain resilient and able to attract both tourist and investor alike. In Luang Prabang, the quiet, slumbering gracefulness and its historic surroundings continue to enchant just about everyone who visits here.

Once in a while, I get fixated with a view that might not mean much to anyone else. This time, I find my eyes captivated by a simple daily scene. I look at it every day for a week, and never grow tired of its beauty. We are staying on an organic farm in a small village about 4 kilometers outside the town of Vang Vieng, Laos. The farm sits serenely on the banks of the Nam Song River, flowing clean and fresh into the larger Mekong. Across the river to the west soars a scenic cliff, rugged and rocky, with dense foliage tangling into its nooks and crannies.

As I sit silently in the wooden hut at the farm, sipping a cold glass of refreshing organic mulberry tea, I can't take my eyes from the view. I continue to stare across the river at the tall, majestic tree that spreads its healthy boughs outwards, catching the light on its bright green leaves, and casting a welcome shadow in the scorching sun. Its roots grow wild over and under the soil, firmly grasping the riverbank, drinking in the clean water that nourishes its every fiber.

A well-worn dirt path leads from the steep riverbank and disappears behind the tree. From where I sit, the evening sun shines from the west, blinding my sight with the twinkling reflections of its bright light against the waves of the river. I have decided to call this path "the inviting path" despite the fact that it leads only a short distance to a small patch of farmland that lay between the river and the towering cliff.

From the same spot, I can watch the villagers bathe in the river. They come twice a day, once in the morning and again in the evening. The days are hot, and by mid-afternoon, before the unofficial bath time, village children come and play in the river, riding the quick current, their giggles and laughter escaping in their innocent pleasure. Farmers with hoes on their shoulder commute between their village and the farmland, crossing the river on foot. In the evenings, just before sunset, the pebble-filled sand banks become crowded with villagers who employ the water for their daily needs. Mothers wash their laundry; wash their babies; older children wash up through play; young women wash themselves with graceful modesty, careful to cover themselves with their sarongs.

Travelers pass through the guesthouse, stopping for a cold drink or an organic meal, and are mesmerized by the view as well. They quietly observe the daily ritual as if in a meditative state. Some join the villagers in washing and play. The sun sets early behind the rocky cliff, and we appreciate the cool afterglow it leaves behind.

There is no need to go to town. Tubing down the Nam Song can be an attractive option, but instead we stay on the farm, and cool ourselves in the shallow spots of the river, as it washes its cooling water over us. Once sun has set, a grand chorus of crickets and frogs begins their song, and we settle into an evening of conversation with other travelers.

Time passes in a dreamlike manner, and before long days flow into a week. Not even books are necessary, as long as we have the "inviting path" within our view, laughing children, the sound of the river and the clean, fresh energy of the organic farm where the plants speak through the beams of the waxing moon. It's no surprise that we stay longer than expected.

There is one thing for certain: Vientiane is unlike any other capitol of any country we have visited. A Lao woman fluent in English asked us, "What's the word to describe this town?" 'Sleepy' is what came to mind. If the capitol is a sleepy town of half a million people, then the rest of Laos with a total of 6 million must be half asleep (as we experienced in southern Laos) in a pleasantly comfortable sort of way. Laos has had its share of destructive and chaotic events during the past few decades, but today the capitol is deceivingly peaceful and in order. We can find no trace of tension anywhere in our observations so far.

While there are limited attractions for tourists in Vientiane, the city has its own charm. It's a relaxing place set amongst tree-lined boulevards with dozens of temples tucked in between a mixture of architectural styles ranging from Lao, Thai, Chinese, Vietnamese, French, US and Soviet influences. To the southwest the city hugs the Mekong River that creates the natural border with Thailand.

Vientiane lacks the hassles we've found elsewhere. I normally have a fit with the endless touting of aggressive taxi or tuk tuk drivers, but not here. When I say no, smiling and shaking my head, they smile back and ask "Something?" I didn't know what this "something" was at first, but soon learned that it's their way of saying, "Do you want some ganja?" They take our "no, thanks" very well; they smile, without forcing the issue, and just go back to laying around in the back of their tuk tuk.

The availability of good food sets Vientiane apart from southern Laos. Thanks, in part, to the fact that the locals have retained the bakery skills imported during the colonial era, you can find excellent breads and baguettes here. A large sandwich with a distinctly Lao flavor – fresh vegetables with French dressing or soy sauce, cheese and patÈ – is delicious and cheap. Add to the mix the full-bodied Lao coffee, the chocolate croissants, the Chinese dumplings and the sophisticated European foods and you can see why we were in heaven.

Spas with herbal steam bath and massage are popping up in the city center alongside upscale shops selling the best of Lao crafts: weaving, embroidery, baskets and other traditional arts. Many of these products are produced by Hmong and other minority tribes in the north and the popularity of these products to the tourist market offer them an opportunity for increased income. The products are crafted with skill into gorgeous pieces that exhibit various geometric patterns, textures and vibrant colors.

The unique qualities of this city can be marked by other elements as well. The sheer lack of vehicles around the city gives it a casual and laid back air. Even on the major roads in the city center, the ease of crossing the street or intersection is a pleasure. We laugh about the lack of traffic jams at rush hour.

There is a sense of relaxed vacancy and the sleepiness of a small town in some other country at the center of Vientiane. Pha That Luang is the heart of Lao spirituality and the symbol of their national identity. Despite the fact that it's most visited site by tourists, there were only a handful there when we visited.

It's a small city compared to other capitols in the world, but Vientiane, too, is on its way to changing and modernizing. As Laos continues to open to the outside world, Vientiane is an interesting place to watch it struggle with its communist past coming face to face with the capitalist future. I think back to what a traveler once told me, "Laos is what Thailand might have been a few decades ago." Indeed, a Thai executive at a major bank said to me, "Laos is so nice that I would love to travel in a place like that."

Floating on a tube in Mekong while soaking up the sun is one of the outrageously relaxing things you can do around Si Phan Don (meaning "Four Thousand Islands") in southern Laos. The current can be tricky at some spots, but the flow of water is mostly slow, providing a perfect place to space out and relax your brain. This island, Don Det, is composed of traditional stilted houses and bungalow guesthouses along the waterfront, with the accompanying few huts of restaurants. That's about all there is here, and that's the beauty of this area, if you know what to do with the time at hand.

The Mekong River supports wildlife and the lives of countless Lao people (one third of Lao population lives along the river) in many ways. Locals benefit from fishing and irrigation for farm use. In recent years the river and the islands have become a popular destination for Western and Japanese backpackers and travelers. Billed as a care-free, relaxing spot, tourism has started to bring in foreign currency, though still minor compared to already developed places in the northern region. Visitors are mostly young backpackers in their 20's and 30's, who enjoy an environment without electricity and where no souvenir shops can be seen.

Visiting foreigners lay around sandy riverside beaches, float on inner tubes upon gentle streams, ride bicycles around the islands, read books, sit back and enjoy the sunset while sipping Beer Lao, or find themselves wrapped up in hammocks and dozing off. Some bungalow and restaurant businesses have petrol-driven generators, which operate from sunset to as late as 10PM. We found in-room lighting to be of nuisance, though, as tiny insects came in through the screens and flew around incessantly. Dim candlelight would have worked better.

A red ball of fire fades away into the far haze of dust and smoke of burning forest undergrowth and harvested farmland. The setting sun itself is not dramatic, without any bright colors or golden reflections. But the afterglow of sunset lingers on the sky in pinkish gray with the reflections of grass and the silhouette of locals gliding by on wooden boats, on the river's dark surface reflecting the sky.

The locals who provide bungalows and food services are also relaxed to say the least. An order of a dinner dish can take as long as two hours to arrive during busy dinnertime. With only few women in the kitchen struggling to cook everything from scratch over a charcoal fire, just three or four customers can cause panicky havoc in the kitchen. In some cases, your order might never arrive. Once we sat down in a family-run restaurant for dinner, ordering drinks and two dishes. Drinks came shortly, and we played a dice game for an hour or so. When the food didn't come, we asked them about our order. Our question met their blank expressions as they completely forgot our orders. And we were the only customers there.

Because of, not necessarily despite of, all the lack of conveniences of the modern world, we are finding the area charming and relaxing. Life is basic, simple and plentiful of time. While we feel a bit out of synch with how time passes here, this is not a bad place to just be. It doesn't take long to ease into the pace of Si Phan Don, where time flows like the flow of Mekong.

There isn't much going on in Champasak, Laos. This sleepy town sits quietly by the composed yet mighty Mekong River. Its one main street runs parallel to the river and is dotted with stilted traditional wooden houses, few French colonial villas, a handful of restaurants, guesthouses and shops for the locals. The World Heritage site, Wat Phu Champasak, is located about 8 kilometers (5 miles) from the center of town. The temple was built during the Angkor period with a road from it leading south to the grand temple Angkor Wat; but unlike the Cambodian temple, few tourists visit, and when they do, they don't stay long.

When we first arrived the children of the neighborhood looked at us and giggled, without any uncomfortable stares or demand for attention. Our eyes met in a playful dance and we immediately became friends. They were busy chasing the bugs that feed on the large mango tree growing in the middle of the backyard, overlooking the Mekong. As they slap the hanging branches with the bamboo pole small green insects fly from the tree. The kids all run around laughing and catching the small beetles that fly about. At first, I thought the kids were collecting them to keep in the plastic water bottles they carried with them. Instead, they tore off the hard outer-shell wings and popped them in their mouth, chewing with delight as if they were M&M's.

Other travelers have warned us before we visited Laos that the country was living a slow life and that the food was not tasty. We found that out first hand in Champasak, and eased into the place by playing with the children and settling into a good book. The food, as one Japanese backpacker put it, "tastes bad," and wasn't too inspired. Come to think of it, how many Lao restaurants do we know and frequent back home? I can't remember any off hand.

Bicycles and motorbikes pass occasionally, automobile less frequently. Other audible sounds are limited to crying babies, kids laughter, chickens and ducks, cicadas calling, long-tail boats' motors, and the sounds of rain and wind. The only sense of urgency we've felt since crossing the border into Laos was in the city of Pakse, when a young man rushed us into a sawngthaew (pickup truck where the back is covered and converted to two rows of bench seating, common transportation). Carrying our backpacks to his vehicle, he asked, "Where do you go?" Even that seems days ago.

Riding a rented motorbike to Wat Phu was a breeze, as there wasn't much traffic to look out for. To the west of the Mekong River harvested rice fields cover the valley in a landscape of golden yellow. The gradual slopes of the hills rise up into the blue and gray silhouette of mountains shimmering on hot hazy air. The temple sits on one of these slopes, mostly in ruin. Although predominantly a Buddhist temple, there are Hindu deities and symbols interwoven into the overall architecture. Carved in fading sandstone, the expressions on some deity figures are crafted in the Angkor style, with slightly smiling thick lips and cast down eyes. The Buddha statues are similar in face to those in Thailand. Where the site may lack in spectacular objects and views when compared to the awesome Angkor Wat, it offers a quiet introduction to the Angkor tradition.

Less than half a day was enough to visit Wat Phu and enjoy a leisurely ride back to town, leaving us more time to kill. "So what would we do now? Uh, I guess we can play with children, take a nap, or read" was what came to our minds. As I spend a few days here I am reminded that I am a "product of modern society", and that I lack in the skills of doing nothing, resting and totally relaxing. It's as if we are being tested on that capacity in a place where locals are known to think, "too much work is bad for your brain" and feel sorry for people who work too much and don't have fun. One point of advice on visiting Laos: bring many good books to read, and a yoga mat will help.

We wish we could stay longer. That's how we're feeling with only a few days left before departure. Our travels in Myanmar have been quite busy, and, as a result of limited time, we've found ourselves on the well trodden tourist trail: a 15-hour overnight bus from Yangon to Mandalay, a boat trip on the Ayeyarwady River from Mandalay to Bagan, and then on to Inle Lake in the western Shan State. Two weeks in this country is not enough to fully appreciate what it has to offer. The biggest reason for our desire to stay longer, however, is the people of Myanmar.

Tourism in Myanmar has not fully developed like it has in China, Thailand and even India, therefore the people have not yet been tainted by it. Those who want our business approach us with friendly calls, and leave us be when we decline their offers. The many men in the market who offer to change money just smile and fade away after hearing us utter "no, thanks." Taxi drivers reply yes or no to our requests and the following negotiations are quick and straightforward. The shopkeepers are not aggressive, and don't curse or frown when we don't buy from them like they did in China. And the people, in general, don't stare at us as they did in India. Instead, the people in Myanmar look upon us with friendly eyes, and when our eyes meet, warm smiles spread over all of our faces. Their shy, yet, kind personalities mix together to create an environment of curiosity and, as a result, they are open to conversation and cultural exchange.

An unexpected number of people are fluent in English (Myanmar was once a British colony) and this allows us to communicate with many of them. Several of the local people we met while traveling independently happened to be professional tour guides. Our casual conversations with them turned out to be a great source of information. They must pass examinations for foreign language skills and knowledge of Burmese history, tourism sites and local culture before they are granted their professional license. And it seems that this profession is an attractive job prospect among young adults.

One of the guides that I met amazed me in more than one way. He was a bright man, fluent in English, with the capacity to articulate his motherland's history and culture in a rich vocabulary and with deep knowledge of the subject. I asked him if he had lived abroad, and when he replied that he had not, I inquired about how he gained his great language skills. He replied, "When I'm not working, I watch hours and hours of CNN and BBC. At first, I had to use the dictionary a lot, but there isn't much need for that now. I watch many Hollywood movies on DVD. They are great for learning conversational English. And I read English newspapers, whenever I can get hold of them." It's no wonder that the man was on top of recent world events and could ask intelligent questions about America and Japan.

He went on to tell me more about his country, that the government doesn't censor foreign news and Hollywood movies are widely available on an as-is basis. He joked, "The same for music. American Hip-hop with bad language is okay here, too." He also said that the government has been working on issues that are directly connected with people's lives, and that the standard of living is slowly on the rise; there is a widening gap between rich and poor, but it's not a major issue at the moment; that the nation has been slowly opening its doors to the world; and that there is a good deal of corruption, but that's politics. "Isn't that the same in America?" he asked.

Inle Lake is well known for the vibrant village life in stilted houses that sit on the lake. Nyaungshwe, the lakeside town that hosts most of the visiting tourists, is still a rather quiet and sleepy town. As we walk around the residential area it's easy to observe the life happening around us. We see that people are maintaining their age-old fundamental values. They support each other within the community and hold on to a true sense of "family values." Their sense of family as the core unit of daily life can be seen everywhere: older children look after younger brothers and sisters, children support parents with house chores, the older generations pass on their knowledge to the young, working closely with them, and rewarding them with love and a gentle touch. These basic gestures are natural and given with ease. Similar behavior extends to neighbors and local community members, all with a peaceful undertone that is often accompanied with laughter and song.

And do these people love to sing! Whether it be traditional folk songs, recent love ballads, rocking tunes, or American pop, they sing while going about their daily activities; while they walk or ride their bicycles, relax under the cool shade of a tree, or look after their shops. Their singing voices express to us an inner happiness, even if their lives might be hard. Why else would a man sing a happy-sounding song, while walking home from work, well after dusk, under the rising full moon?

In our short travel to Myanmar, we made many contacts and could communicate directly with the locals, thanks to their friendly and curious personalities and their ability to speak English. The aforementioned guide said, "The future of Myanmar is bright. It will become a nation that the world would notice someday, even if it would take another 100 years." The world should take note of the way these people are today, whatever their future might be. And because of that we already want to visit again, hopefully very soon.

Myanmar is a confusing, if not controversial, country to travel to. The media goes on about the "military regime" with their dictatorship and tight control, about Aung San Suu Kyi's heroic struggle for democracy that earned her the Nobel Peace Prize, about human rights abuses, and endless corruption. Discussion boards on the Internet and analysis in brand-name guidebooks are full of pros and cons regarding "should you visit Myanmar or not?" Our stance on this is, "We don't know. But we'd like to find out for ourselves with our own eyes, so that we can construct our own opinion on it." So here we are, gaining our own first hand impressions.

The biggest hassle right off the bat was dealing with money. The local currency, called Kyat (pronounced "chat") and US dollars are both accepted, which causes some confusion about which is better to use when. Exchange rates from dollar into kyat vary widely from those offered by the banks and on the free market. The official rate at the banks is currently around 450 kyat to one US dollar; while on the free market it's more than double – 900 kyat to the dollar. Once exchanged, it's quite difficult to have kyat converted back to dollar, as the currency is basically worthless outside of Myanmar. To make matters more complicated, crisp new $100 bills command the top exchange rate, with $50 bills getting a slightly lower rate. Twenties, tens, fives and ones bring still lower exchange rates than the larger denomination bills. On top of that, if the bill is not perfect in all respects, it will be flat out rejected. They should be newly issued (as an older style bill will bring a lower exchange rate than a new style bill), without ANY fading, rips, tears or disfigurations of any kind. We had bills rejected because Washington's face was slightly faded!

Hotels, upscale restaurants and tourist shops all list their prices in USD. While most hotels and shops will translate the dollar price into kyats (at an unfavorable exchange rate, of course) airlines and bus companies only accept USD. As a result, we find ourselves in a silly and somewhat frustrating game of currency exchange, worrying about how much to change, and not wanting to be stuck with too many kyats in our pocket upon departure.

Despite this crazy game, we have found Yangon, the nation's capitol, charming, with its rich mix of traditional values, diverse culture, colonial architecture, and modern, sophisticated elements, blended together to make a pleasant city with an easygoing feel about it. The atmosphere is exotic; women wear yellow sandalwood-like thanakha paste painted in large ovals upon their cheeks, purple and orange orchids blooming from the trunks of banyan trees, men in checked patterned sarongs, called longyi, chew betel nut or smoke thin long cigars called cheroots.

In the height of the afternoon the sun is fierce and casts its glittering yellow reflection from golden domed zedis (monuments that contain Buddha's relics) that rise high into the cloudless blue sky from squat, square foundations. The Shwedagon Paya, the largest and most sacred of these mystical stupas is visible from many angles around town, standing impressive, contemplative, and enchanting. At dusk, the last fading rays in the soft orange sky outline its bell shaped silhouette. The majority of Burmese are devoted Buddhists, and to my surprise we encountered several mosques within the city. The call to prayer echoed melodically through the nearby streets, though not nearly at the volume heard in India. We also found Hindu temples and Christian churches scattered throughout the different neighborhoods.

Teashops are on every street corner, and people stop by at all hours of the day and night. Some are morning shops, while others remain open late into the evening. Customers come to socialize or for a quick bite, sitting at low wooden or plastic tables, sipping tea from chipped ceramic cups and eating an assortment of snacks that range from Chinese buns, to spring rolls, jam sandwiches, noodles, sticky coconut rice wrapped in banana leaf and so on. The Burmese enjoy strong black tea (and some coffee) sweetened with condensed milk. Weak Chinese tea is served free from large thermos jugs that sit on every table. For less than 50 cents (USD) we easily enjoyed two cups of tea plus a few snacks, and we left with our bellies full.

There are several modern, tall buildings in the center of Yangon, with business offices, high-end hotels, boutiques selling brand name items and trendy cafès filling their multi-storied floors. These gleaming high-rises sit along side potholed sidewalks where we must always watch our step for fear of falling into a gaping whole. The streets are dusty in the dry season, however, after India, it's refreshing to observe that they are mostly free of trash and are relatively clean. The majority of vehicles on the streets are imported Japanese used cars, trucks and buses, which for me, personally, hold a certain comical, yet, nostalgic charm. Tiny Mazda's that had been new when I was growing up are still rolling on the streets of Yangon. Because they don't repaint these old, imported vehicles, I can see what they had been used for in their previous life in Japan. To my surprise, several of the busses plying the city streets had their beginnings in my hometown of Kyoto!

We feel quite safe in Myanmar, so much so that we don't have our defenses up while walking around Yangon. On a visible level, we don't see any violence, or, even heated arguments on the streets like we have witnessed in other countries. We feel that in general, the city exhibits certain peacefulness among its residents. The government encourages the locals to treat foreigners kindly in an effort to keep their international image up. Needless to say, they want to do everything possible to keep the all mighty tourist dollars (and I do mean dollars $) flowing. Yet the sense of sweetness that they express isn't just because of what their government might have set up for its benefit. Their smiles exude from within, not just skin deep, have not yet been tainted by tourism money, but are of their nature.

Like many foreign travelers here, we are aware of Myanmar's deep and troubled history – through the colonial period, Japanese invasion during World War II, post-war internal turmoil and unrest, and well-documented denial of the movement toward democracy. We are also aware of the country's horrible human rights record, widespread corruption, and poor and struggling population. Life in Myanmar is difficult; yet, the people have a surprisingly upbeat attitude. In just a few short days of walking around and observing life from the streets, we feel comfortable and welcomed. While we have expected the general atmosphere to be rigid and hard, we are finding soft smiles and innocent laughter instead. Feeling the eyes of the international community upon its shoulders, Myanmar is opening to the world at its own slow pace. We hope that our small contribution to the individuals we do business with will help to bring them a greater level of economic independence, which in tern can become a stepping stone to greater political independence. We think we made the right choice in visiting this unique land of contradiction.

"The Greatest King Ever," reads the huge banner that spans the whole width of the large office building along busy Phayathai Road in the heart of Bangkok. Along side the huge letterforms sits a handsome photo of King Rama IX, gazing down upon his subjects with his eyes full of pride for his Kingdom's bright future. In fact, all around town huge portraits of the King and Queen are situated at major roads and busy intersections. In some, he is dressed in a crisp white uniform – indicating his service to the country, in others; he appears in polo shirt and casual trousers, with his beloved camera hanging from his neck – appealing to the common citizen. With each visit to Bangkok, we can't help but notice how much the Thai people love their King.

And it's not just here in Thailand; Thais living abroad continue to hold deep affection for their King. Anyone who has ever visited a Thai restaurant, anywhere in the world, has most likely noticed the honored photos of the King and his Queen hanging upon the wall. With his genuine concern and love for his people, it's easy to understand the love they hold for him.

The King no longer holds political power, as Thailand became a democratic society slowly, after two decades of unstable political situations. The King handed his governmental power over to Thai citizens, in order to avoid further turmoil and bloodshed. This sincere gesture to serve the will of the people is one of the many reasons his is so respected.

Along the outer walls of his palace complex are buildings, stables and greenhouses, all strangely out of place within in the midst of a royal estate. It is here that the King invests in research, studying new technologies ranging from agriculture to modern industry. When a new development is found to have a positive impact for the people of Thailand, he then makes a recommendation to the government and Thai citizens through royal administrative groups. The King has been quite successful in many such projects. For example, his research in irrigation and land use (one field that the King is an expert) suggested construction of reservoirs and canals in outskirts of Bangkok. This project resulted in better control of water running through Bangkok, where people had suffered numerous floods due to reclamation of canals that used to run through the city. He promoted profitable plantation of fruits and vegetables among minority tribes in northern Thailand, so that tribe people would not have to earn their livelihood from opium. Another example of his suggestion that has been put to practice among citizens is aerobics exercise conducted at parks around the country at 6PM everyday.

The Royal Family is held in such high esteem, that Thais have little reason to speak ill of them. Gossip of the likes of Britain or Japan does not exist; instead, the King and Queen are worshiped almost as gods. While there is a formal law prohibiting any disrespectful act against the Royal Family, it would be difficult to find a Thai willfully breaking these rules. All objects bearing the Kings likeness are considered to be enshrinements, including printed materials and money. The Thais would never think to treat their money like we witnessed in India, with bills ripped, tattered, and stained beyond recognition. Instead, Thai money is treated with a special respect, as each coin or bill bears the likeness of the King or Queen. I once asked a Thai man who the female image was on the 10 Bhat coin, he affectionately exclaimed, "She is my Queen!"

With each visit to the Kingdom of Thailand, we continue to be reminded of, and to gain further insights into, the complexities of the Thai culture. In a recent week, we had the pleasure of meeting two researchers staying in the same neighborhood, both of them studying Thai language, culture and history. Their wealth of knowledge on the customs and traditions of the country made for fascinating conversations over drinks late into the hot and humid evening.

We learned, for example, that you would never want to give a gift of cutlery to a Thai friend, as it would signify the cutting or ending of the friendship, unless, of course, that was the intention of the gift to begin with. Equally troublesome would be to write a letter in red ink, as writing in red is reserved only for the dead. Greetings have their own set of unobvious rules. For instance, the common Wei greeting (hands in prayer position) could be uncomfortable for the recipient when used in the wrong situation. To avoid possible embarrassment, perhaps it's best to follow their lead and Wei only in response to their greeting.

One afternoon, as I skirted through the thick crowd, a young boy veered into my path. I gently put my hand to his head to let him know I was behind him. Looking up at me with a puzzled expression on his face, I was reminded that this was taboo. A person's head is the highest part of their spiritual body and life force, and, therefore, is sacred. Days later, when the young Michigan man, on his first visit to Asia, sat cross-legged at a restaurant table, pointing his big, bare feet towards the Thai hostess, I saw her expression stiffen as she got up to move out of his foots' direction. I was reminded again that pointing your feet (the lowest part of the spiritual body) at another person, or, worse yet, a monk or Buddha statue is considered ill form.

There are other unique cultural insights found in Thailand. One, for example, is the tolerance and lack of discrimination for alternative sexuality among young men. The young students from the technical collage nearby our guesthouse crowd the streets during their lunch breaks. They sit in groups at tables lining the sidewalk eating pad-thai noodles, grilled meat on a stick, and drinking fresh juice. As we sit and watch the mixed groups of men and women, it becomes apparent that several of the young guys are cross-dressing as girls; their slim tall Thai bodies fitting convincingly into female uniforms, with nothing but their large feet in high heals or the size of their hands to give them away. The tradition of cross-dressing, or Katoy, is well-established and acceptable form of entertainment in Thailand, therefore, creating an open and tolerant environment for these young men to freely express themselves.

Thailand is one of the few countries in the world where we have made repeated visits, this being our fifth. With each journey we continue to seek out new knowledge about the country and its culture. Each new nugget of information is a reminder to us that there is always more to learn about this culture, and in fact, each of the cultures throughout the world. This also means, in turn, that we must keep our eyes and minds open in getting to know any culture. There is no such thing as "I got it all figured out."

I don't know his real name. Someday I will find out. But for now, I call him "Mr. Sit-Down". His beat-up black truck pulls in and parks on the street corner in front of Seven-Eleven, his spot, around 6pm every single day. After few minutes of organizing and preparations, he starts making bowls of noodle soup, one after another, from the back of his truck, feeding the hungry mouths of the Thai neighborhood. This is our neighborhood when we come to Bangkok. When he sees me walking towards his stall, or walking into Seven-Eleven, he smiles and says in his sweet Thai laced English, "Sit Daaoowwwn." That's how I have come to call this loveable old man "Mr. Sit-Down" and to learn of his incredible Thai Noodle Soup.

The cooking starts by boiling some noodles and wontons. Most of the food stalls serving noodle soup in Bangkok offer a choice of noodles; vermicelli rice noodle, wider rice noodle, egg noodle and (for some reason) instant noodle. Mr. Sit-Down uses only egg noodles. His wontons have pork-based meat balls inside. He lays out some condiments at the bottom of a bowl; fresh Thai spinach, chopped green onions, cloves of roasted, crunchy garlic still covered with skins, a small amount of pickled vegetable with salty flavor, some deep-fried pork fat, and loads of roasted pork meat chopped into bite-sized pieces. Then he adds some fish sauce and vinegar. When the noodles and wantons are ready, he drains the water and adds them to fill the bowl. On top of this he adds his incredible pork flavored soup and the finishing touch of some deep-fried wanton skins. Customers add additional condiments to their liking; crushed red peppers, fish sauce, hot pepper vinegar, and sugar.

It was love at first bite for me. And, as I keep asking around, others exclaim that Mr. Sit Down has the best noodles in town. The key is the soup. And, he is proud to point out that he doesn't use MSG to get the full-bodied, satisfying flavor. This pork extravaganza in a bowl is was what I missed most in India, where I hardly ate (and really didn't want to eat) meat for three months. The noodles are good for dinner, or a mid-night snack, or even some days, both for me.

I happened to meet a Westerner who has been visiting Thailand for the last 16 years, doing research in Thai language and Southeast Asian study. The man asked Mr. Sit-Down, on my behalf, how long he has been in the business. His reply was that he has been making the same noodle soup at exactly the same spot for 30 years. The neighborhood hardly had any houses when he started, only a local market and few huts. No cars or motorbikes were running then. Seven-Eleven wasn't here of course. And the price for his bowl of noodles was 2 Baht. Times have changed, and now a bowl of his mouth-watering soup is 30 Baht (75 cents in US dollar), and his grown daughter is now helping him on busy nights. But the noodle soup has not changed, and he has a steady flow of satisfied clients everyday.

There are usually a few late night hours when there are no customers at Mr. Sit-Down's stall. He takes a break and sips a beer, sometimes resulting in sleepy eyes. Truck drivers arrive at the market early in the pre-dawn hours to make deliveries, and they are hungry when they get here. There are definitely a few foreigners who stop by after a night of partying. I've met few who come here just to eat Mr. Sit-Down's noodles. Some even choose a bowl of his noodles as their last meal in Thailand before they move on or head back home, and that says a lot for how delicious his noodle soup is. A few more late-night customers stop by before he closes up shop at 3 a.m. to get some rest before coming back to serve us again tomorrow.

When we left home last May the trend in Americas high-tech industry was to outsource any possible job overseas. The manufacturing of hardware products was being sent to China, while software related projects were being moved to India, especially to the city of Bangalore. I had read the name Bangalore so often in the San Jose Mercury newspaper, and overheard it spoken during endless hallway conversations at work, that I was intrigued to find out what the buzz was all about.

Arriving in the city, we found the absence of holy cows on the streets allowed our attention to shift to other things besides that of avoiding their excrement with each step. Bangalore, nicknamed the Garden City, has more greenery and parks than we've seen anywhere in India and the presence of so many trees helps serve as the city's lungs. As a result, pollution, while still present, is less overwhelming than the other large cities we visited. We spent a Sunday afternoon observing locals at Lalbagh Botanical Garden. Families picnicked while lovers strolled hand and hand amongst a riot of flowers in full bloom.

On two occasions, we were invited to dine with locals in their home. Their professions were varied; software engineer, real estate developer, art professor and manufacturing businessman. Our casual conversations shed light on the current state of Bangalore. Each couple was leading a modern existence similar to that of someone living in the west. The sophistication of the city offered these working professionals a comfortable lifestyle full of modern convenience.

As a result of the high-tech boom, these people were living in contemporary surroundings; however, the heart of Bangalore did not seem to reflect the new modernization as a whole. It was surprising to witness power outages and spikes in a place we'd expect to find a stable power supply. Internet cafes were still using beta versions of Windows 98 and evaluation releases of Windows 2000. The software installed on these machines would crash often and the net connection was slower than in the backwaters of Kerala. "Is this really the Silicon Valley of India," I thought. "After all that I've heard about Bangalore, this can't be true!"

Trying to get any business done in central Bangalore was as inefficient and time-consuming as anywhere in India, if not worse. Shipping a parcel in the district with all the trendy Western brand name shops and posh establishments was the worst experience that we had in all of India. Small towns like Kochi, and big cities like Ahmedabad were smooth going compared to the additional logistics and hoops we had to jump through in Bangalore. An international shipment that would routinely take not more than 30 minutes elsewhere turned into a two and a half hour nightmare here.

We noticed that a lot of people in Bangalore were left out of the new economic boom, and that the gap between rich and poor was widening quickly. The poor still line the streets begging for anything while the wealthy walk by in their latest fashions with barely a glance. As our expectations quickly wore thin, Bangalore began to look just like any other dirty, polluted Indian city. The high-tech tech firms have, for the most part, sheltered themselves from Bangalore proper, establishing their offices about 20 kilometers away in a new technology zone called Electronics City. These companies are building a new village of their own far away from the inner-city challenges of Bangalore.

Bangalore is a testimony to what so many have said about India: "It's not a poor country, but it's a country where many poor people live." The news media would have us believe that India will soon become one of the world's leading economic powers, and perhaps that will be not the case for this nation as a whole. With the economic prosperity that comes with the high tech boom as well as rapid growth in other industries, India may well reach her own glory, but only within a strictly limited population of people. Everything we hear about India's economy, modernization, and success is something that only a small percentage of her one billion strong populations will have an opportunity to experience.

While traveling throughout India over the past three months, we continue to find it difficult to describe the country in a word or a sentence. She shows us many faces and moods that change just as soon as we think we've figured her out. As to where she is headed in the future, we'll just have to wait and see. Somehow we know that Bangalore will experience drastic change, yet at the same time, it will not change at all. I believe this to be true with India as a whole.

Hampi, a small but touristy town, sits in the middle of the Vijayanagar ruins, the ancient capitol of the largest Hindu empire in India's history. The town cuddles in between Hampi Bazaar and the Tungabhadra River. Hampi Bazaar is the main thoroughfare that leads to the ever-present Virupaksha Temple. Pilgrims visit the town to take in the holy sites or to dip themselves in the Tungabhadra during the annual Sankaranti festival. Indian tourists and foreign travelers crowd the town, feeling at home in the many guesthouses and dharmasalas that provide low cost accommodations. Time passes slowly in Hampi and its visitors are left to explore its vast surroundings at a leisurely pace. In my case, it was the perfect place to rest and recover after my Malaria illness.

The surrounding environment is a combination of both natural and man-made wonders. Boulder-strewn landscape and ancient stone-carved ruins provide the overall tone. The huge rocks look as though they have been cast out of some giant's hand, and lay in precarious arrangements, balancing gracefully on top one another. The landscape reminds us of Sedona, Arizona, or sections of Utah in its color and form. The river flows ever-slowly, flanked to the west by emerald green rice paddies, banana plantations and rows of coconut palms. To the south, the rocks are skillfully carved into pillars and temples, all with early Hindu deities carefully cut into their sides. In a cloudless sky, a bright blue hue contrasts with the vivid green and red-brown of the earth. The sun is sharp and strong and the days are hot and dry. In the afternoons our motivation evaporates like a drop of water. Because of the afternoon heat, we find ourselves rising before sunrise to make early morning explorations to the ruins scattered throughout the area. Our afternoons are reserved for sitting under large mango trees sipping chai.

Our lodging is more a room in a family home than an official guesthouse or hostel. The house is located a few streets in from Hampi Bazaar, on a quiet lane lined with other family homes and only few businesses. From the rooftop terrace we enjoy the soaring view of the 50 meter high gopuram (tower) of the Virupaksha Temple. Our room is bare and basic, with tiny windows and a hard iron bed. The short street makes up a friendly little community where everyone knows each other and all their associated gossip. Because these are family homes, most tourists and touts hardly step into the neighborhood, leaving us in a quiet, cozy atmosphere, which we found delightful.

Our landlords are gentle people who go about their day according to their own schedule. Each morning and evening, the wife draws fresh Rangavalli, or sacred patterns, in white sand at the front gate of the home. These patterns are both simple and complex in their design, and offer a pleasant distraction from the dusty streets. In the mornings, after the daily Rangavalli is drawn, she lights incense and gathers her bowl of tikka powers, in red, saffron and white. She stops to clean each doorway entrance, offering cleansing smoke, and fresh adornments to each threshold. Her husband, a bank manager in town, dedicates one hour each morning for his daily puja (prayer), chanting and meditating before eating a late breakfast and heading to the office around 11am. The wife fills her day with a never-ending assortment of daily chores, washing clothes, dishes, endless sweeping and looking after her guests. Her son is a businessman who works at a trading company in Hospet, a larger town located 13 kilometers from Hampi. We became quite friendly with this family, and as a result, our relationship deepened beyond that of a mere paying guests.

Chandra, the eldest son, suggested we climb Matanga Hill to watch the sunrise. The next morning, he woke early and guided us to the hilltop before returning home to shower and commute to work. We were invited to join the family for dinner, a mouth-watering meal of chapattis, banana shicarani (like a chunky lassi), sambar, and two other vegetables dishes, commonly called subji. The home cooked food was a welcome change to months of restaurant cuisine, cooked with love and intention along with fresh ingredients. They offered us their dining table in their own home to use as a desk while we worked, concerned about our comfort in the small and sparse room we were renting. We spent Lyn's birthday in Hampi, and that morning the wife treated us to steaming hot idli and chai for breakfast – Lyn's favorite breakfast food. All of their kind and friendly gestures didn't come close to justifying the nightly rent of 250 Rupees (about 6 USD).

It's been a rare opportunity to have such intimate exchanges with locals while we have been traveling within India. Most of the time there are assumptions about money and business associated with such dialog. Often the warm smiles disappear, replaced by an indifferent gaze, once they realize that we are not interested in their offerings. How many times did I witness this in the shops around Hampi Bazaar alone? An innocent conversation turned to blank stare when we made it clear we weren't shopping. The families' honest interest in making us feel at home was a key reason why we stayed in Hampi longer than anticipated, resting, relaxing and exploring the mind-boggling, sublime landscape that surrounds it. Hampi is well known on the tourist trail in India, but even here we were able to move away the well-trodden center and crowds by staying in this lovely families home as well as by exploring the vast ruins before mid-day. Hampi is indeed one of the most fascinating places we visited in India.