Home Away From Home

Home away from home. The word “home” sounds to me like people have only one home at a time. “Home away from home”, then, would mean some place other than one’s home that is as comfortable, relaxing, and familiar as one’s 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 “home” is true; at least for now.

During the past 28 years, I have only visited my homeland for a week or two at a time. Now, we are staying for four months, and that means we need to actually set up some kind of life here. There are logistics in establishing a temporary life in Japan, just like anywhere else. The difference between Japan and any other country, however, is it is where I was born and raised. I have no language barrier, yet I still can be clueless. How would I get a phone line? Who do I need to contact for Internet connection? At which station do I need change trains to get to downtown Kyoto? What is the definition of “Burnable” and “Non-burnable” trash? And of great importance, how do I choose a mobile phone service?

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’s 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’s 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’ve 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.

In and Around Ubud

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’s 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’ve 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’s 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’s 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’s 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.

New Years With A Splash

April means summer and with it comes a new year here in Thailand. “Songkran”, as it’s 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’re bound to be drenched, and it’s a welcomed way of cooling off in the hottest season of the year.

The custom of celebrating New Year’s by splashing water on this grand scale is not only observed in Thailand, but also in the other primarily Buddhist countries of Laos, Myanmar and Cambodia. After visiting the temple, and spending quiet time with the family, the merry making begins in earnest. The neighborhood that we have called “home” here in Bangkok is no exception.

Squirt guns began appearing in shops weeks before April 13, the first day of Songkran. Children, especially, have been waiting for the “first soak” 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’ed (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’t 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.

Along the Dusty Road

It’s 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’ve not experienced elsewhere. We have just arrived, yet, we feel at odds with the town already.

We’re 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’s neighbor, Cambodia. On this leg of our journey, we made it a priority. It’s not easy getting here, unless you fly (we recommend that you do!), and we’re not looking forward to the ride back to Bangkok after the hellish trip we’ve just experienced.

While it’s 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’s 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’ve been hearing such great things about Cambodia from fellow travelers. They say it’s an un-mined gem in Southeast Asia. It’s a pity we don’t 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’s another story.

Million Elephants, White Parasol

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’s UNESCO status. To our relief, it has kept its culture and charm intact.

Luang Prabang was established as the central city of the Thai-Lao tribe as early as the 8th century. The location witnessed the birth of the first Lao kingdom, called Lan Xang Hom Khao, which translates to "Million Elephants, White Parasol," in 1353. The royal palace and its status as the central city remained through several kingdoms, until the socialist revolution in 1975. The old temples that had been built in the 14th century were thankfully spared and allowed to exist under the socialist rule. Foreign support and investment, mostly French, began promoting tourism here in the 80's, and the World Heritage seal of approval was given to the entire city in 1995. Today Luang Prabang is a peaceful, prosperous town, locked in a time warp of its ancient and colonial past.

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.

The Inviting Path

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.

The Capitol Town

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.

In the mornings, citizens gather at Talat Sao, the central sprawling market that provides a kaleidoscope of goods for sale. They chat together on neighborhood street corners and balconies of their houses later in the day. They love to watch TV, catching up on Thai and Chinese dramas and Thai pop music programs. At night, teens hang out drinking fruit shakes, while adults eat and drink at the many food stalls, playing checkers on homemade game boards with soda and beer caps as the game pieces.

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."

Flow Of The River

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.

It was nearly five months ago when we first saw this same river upstream, in the mountains of Yunnan Province in China. The surging rapids cut and rush through deep mountains, including Tiger Leaping Gorge near Lijian. Its flow becomes a jade green hue by the time it reaches the plains of Laos. The Mekong River is wide, even during this dry season and flows ever so slowly in the eyes of a beholder. Here in Si Phan Don, there are countless islands scattered about the vast width of the river, and converge in dramatic waterfalls where fishermen cast nets into the frothy depths.

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.

Friendly Faces of Myanmar

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.

Glad We Made It

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 entry into Myanmar at the Yangon International Airport was smooth enough; immigration officers checked our visas then gladly stamped our passports. The customs officers didn't even open our luggage; instead they smiled and welcomed us into their country. Friends had warned us not to bring our computer, but this advice was out of date, as the ban on computers, video cameras and other electronics had been lifted some time ago.

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.

Cultural Insights

"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."

"Mr. Sit-Down"

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.

Electronics City

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.

Bangalore, like other big cities in India, has its share of posh restaurants, trendy pubs, genuine Western brand name shops, stylish nightclubs and large shopping malls. Shiny European cars cruse the streets while local shoppers crowd the sophisticated lifestyle shops on MG Road.

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.

At Home in Hampi

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.

Burning Santa Claus

The new year of 2005 began for us in Kochi (or Cochin) in the southern state of Kerala. The fort city on an island was founded as a result of European colonialism in the 16th century. The town, two bridges away from the mainland, is made up of a diverse mix of Portuguese, Dutch and British architecture. Chinese fishing nets line the western shore. Jew Town, with its small population of Jewish Indians is famous for it's operating synagogue and spice markets. Hindu temples and mosques dot the island. Each of these different neighborhoods co-exists next to each other within an area of nine square kilometer that makes up the island. This town is a melting pot, a microcosm of interwoven cultures created over the course of history.

We arrived in Kochi two days after the Sumatra earthquake and tsunami. The damages in Ernakulam (the mainland town) and Kochi were minimal, though the island of Vypeen just north saw several people swept away by killer waves. Everywhere, people were mourning the tragedy that was still unfolding. While hotels and shops were operating normally, ferries connecting the island to the mainland were halted and no fishing boats took to the seas. People were taking all precautions where the ocean was concerned, afraid of recurring high waves. The annual New Years carnival was cancelled in an act of respect for the recent events. As a result, Kochi became a quiet town with only a handful of tourists. The local community tried to keep a cheerful attitude, laughing off the possibility of a "second tsunami," saying, "We're safe here. Don't worry, just relax and enjoy Kochi!"

The sea breeze doesn't blow through town much, and the air hangs thick, hot and humid. The mosquitoes begin buzzing around our lower limbs as dusk falls away to night. But the multicultural atmosphere and creative environment that promote various art forms contribute in making Kochi a vibrant place to visit. Several cafes promote local artists in their attached gallery space, showing a range of paintings, prints and sculpture. The traditional Kathakali Dance of Kerala is performed nightly at locations around town, one of the best being the Kerala Kathakali Center, which also stages Indian classical music and other traditional dance forms.

We rang in the New Year by attending a Kathakali performance, with all proceeds donated to tsunami relief efforts. Kathakali is a dance-drama, with possible beginnings as early as the 2nd century AD. The path leading to the theater has been swept and cleansed with water. Rangavalli patterns have been drawn with white powder on the damp earth and adorned with flowers. Incense wafts through the air and takes over our sense of smell as we arrive. Oil lamps sit on the right, left and center of the stage while more incense streams into the air, intensifying the sacred feeling all around us. The oil lamps are set alight and the performance begins as dancers and musicians enter the stage. The performace radiates with trance-like heated and tense energy and we soon find ourselves engulfed in a state of enthusiastic appreciation.

After the performance, we wait for midnight. The town is quiet, almost deserted when local Christians start to gather at Saint Francis Church with bibles in hand. The cathedral was established in 1503, when a Portuguese expedition led by Pedro Alvarez Cabral landed here. It's said to be the oldest church built by Europeans in India. We enter and choose a pew at the back of the lofty room, sitting quietly, absorbing the quiet, peaceful atmosphere and saying our own silent prayers for the New Year.

One of the common ways of celebrating the New Year in Kerala is to burn an effigy of Santa Claus. The day before the straw man is made, dressed in red and white with a Santa mask and hat completing the ensemble. As midnight approaches, neighbors gather around the Santas scattered around the town. We join a group gathering behind Saint Francis Church while the sounds of hymns echo from inside the cathedral. At the stroke of midnight, instead of a giant ball dropping from Times Square, the locals took flame to Santa's beard. Santa soon went up in smoke. Firecrackers and Atom Bombs exploded from within his belly while a crowd of neighbors, men passing on motorbikes, and western tourists surrounded the madness, all yelling joyous wishes for the New Year ahead.

After Santa exploded and burned, everyone exchanged Happy New Year greetings, hugs and kisses among each other, happy and smiling, just like any New Year's Eve party we would have attended back home. The mysteriously rising energy of the Kathakali Dance, the solemn hymns flowing out of Saint Francis Cathedral, and the comical display of Santa Burning Man found their way into our unique New Year celebration in Kochi and lead us into 2005 in high spirits.

Tropical Christmas

"Where would you go for the holidays, Goa or Kerala?" We asked this question to many people in Ahmedabad. Their answers overwhelmingly pointed us to the state of Kerala, located on the southwestern side of the southern most tip of India. They described Kerala as being a tropical paradise that vibrates in hues of thick green vegetation and blue sky and sea.

Traders and sailors began visiting Kerala at least 3000 years ago, sailing the Arabian Sea in search of spices and ivory. In the 16th century, an era of European colonialism began, as Portuguese, Dutch and English fought for control of the spice trade. These influences resulted in a fascinating mix of Indian and European cultures that can still be seen throughout the state today. Keralas' climate, food and culture are totally different from the India we found in the north. Its attention to art and education make it one of the most progressive states in India.

Our first stop in Kerala was the well-known beach town of Kovalam. From the airport, we took a prepaid taxi and then a rickshaw into town. A small Ganesha shrine on the dashboard protected the taxi, while the auto rickshaw had stickers of Mary and Jesus adorning its windshield. This was our first indication of the religious diversity we were to find throughout the south.

Kovalam was a famous hippie haven back in the 60's. Things have changed since then (they always do) and now the once quiet fishing village has taken on larger scale developments and upmarket prices. Still, we found it to be a relatively quiet, small town well suited for a winter holiday. The main drag, known as Lighthouse Beach, stretches north for about 2 kilometers from the lighthouse to the rocky headlands that separates it from the next beach, called Hawah. Hotels, restaurants and shops line the beach; with Ayurvedic massage spas and yoga retreats tucked in behind. Coconut palms cover the hilly terrain that lead away from the beach, hiding small hotels, restaurants and shops that are around every corner.

While Lighthouse Beach itself can get a little crowded during the high season holidays, the fine white sands and the clean, warm turquoise blue ocean pull us away from any cares and worries we may have. Riding the waves is exhilarating here, as the surf is strong and fast. Past the breakers, we would float mindlessly on the ocean surface, lost in our own liquid meditation. Complete relaxation was impossible, though, because we constantly had to check our positioning as the currents quickly moved us into deeper water. With the equator being just south of here, the air hangs heavy with humidity while the sun sends down hot beating rays to the earths surface. To balance things off, the ocean breezes blows gently along the shore to cool us down. Most of all, we enjoy the clean, fresh air to breathe.

Holiday decorations are subdued and simple, but exude a distinctively exotic feeling to their surroundings. Blinking lights are wrapped around trunks of coconut palm, or woven into bamboo branches. Paper stars, unique to Kerala, cast their soft moody light from ceilings, trees and rooftops. Made from folded paper with lacy cutout patterns, they pop into three-dimensional stars when unfolded and glow in the evening darkness when a bulb is hung inside.

On Christmas morning, crowds of men and families began arriving on Kovalam Beach by boat from the nearby fishing villages. Up until then, the beach had been relatively quiet, but on Christmas day, boatload after boatload of locals came out to play in the warm waters and sunshine. They swam, rolled in the sand, ate ice cream and curiously approached Westerners, asking, "what is your name" and "what is your country." All ages, male or female, played like children all day until sunset. Christmas seems to be one of the few holidays when these locals take the day off and really enjoy the ocean.

When we thought about how the holidays would have been spent back home we smiled and thought how peaceful it was to be celebrating them here on Kovalam. We didn't miss the over-saturation of advertising, the shopping malls, and the carols that began in October at all. This year, Christmas came quietly in a tropical setting in South India. The only thing we missed was having our loved ones, friends and neighbors here to share it with us.

Sunday Market

On Sundays, a sprawling market comes to life in the morning along the banks of the Sabarmati River at the eastern foot of the Ellis Bridge. During the week, the area is a dusty, dirty place, interspersed with gypsy shacks and drying laundry. On Sunday, however, it transforms into a pulsing commerce center for the local community. Vendors offer an assortment of wares, from household necessities to used books and even to hard-to-find handcrafted tools.

Along the riverbank children fly their homemade kites while an old man dig into a pile of garbage. Others squat, ankle deep in the river, relieving themselves into the slowly flowing waters. A family of pigs scavenges the shoreline for anything edible. The smell of life hangs thick and acrid in the morning air. Vendors spread their plastic tarps in loosely organized sections, one area for household goods, another for furniture, another for used batteries and other junk. Dry dust rises and whirls in the increasing heat of the strong December sun.

Some of the goods for sale are new, but mostly they consist of previously owned and well-used items. Scattered about are a few antique dealers, selling things like old silver tea sets, utensils and serving tiffins (aluminum containers), all of a uniquely Indian design. The market offers such a variation of goods for sale that I begin to look at it as one large art installation. It seems that everything society consumes and throws away has been reclaimed for resale and reuse by others, recycling at it's most primitive.

The goods, besides the obvious antiques, are the results of a thorough search through the cities trash, combined with the incredible tenacity to precisely categorize what's found. The details of which are staggering; unbusted rubber bands, safety pins, push pins, glass bottles, spectacle lenses, circuit boards, nail polish, medicine tablets, beads and sequins. Broken items are repaired on site and sold. While this is an amazing site to us, it's simply the way of life for the people here. Everything is used to the very end, fixing and repairing until there is no further salvage possible.

The people who come to shop here are as diverse as the goods for sale. The down and out poor come to find the most basic necessities. Families come to purchase new furniture and household items. Others come to find specific, hard to find items, such as well-crafted old tools for woodworking and other professions. Collectors and artists hunt around for hours, searching for the rare and forgotten.

From what we were told, the market has been operating in the same spot for over a thousand years. While it's amazing to see what is displayed for sale today, it's interesting to think back to what might have been for sale then. Perhaps the basic household items haven't changed all that much in a thousand years here, as people still have need for a solid water pot, a religious deity, or a useful tool.

Charms in Bad Air

As one of India's major industrial cities, Ahmedabad is a polluted, dusty and noisy place. However, a certain amount of charm can be found when you wipe away the dirt and grim. It was here on the banks of the wide river that Mohandas Gandhi established the headquarters of his movement for India's independence. He named the ashram after Sabarmati River, which divides its old town and recently developed areas.

Ahmedabad is located in western India, in the state of Gujurat. This area has its own language and scripts, and many people speak Gujarati, Hindi and English. In recent years, the state has had its share of difficulties. In 2001, a massive earthquake measuring 7.9 on the Richter scale crushed the western region of Kutch and damaged many parts of Ahmedabad city. Then, in 2002 the state saw wide spread communal violence after a Muslim mob was blamed for an arson attack on a train carriage that killed 59 Hindu activists. The resulting Hindu-Muslim riots left over 1,000 dead and many more afraid to return to their homes. Thankfully, the state is currently at peace.

Gujaratis are known as entrepreneurs, and this characteristic has helped make Gujarat one of India's wealthier and most industrialized states. Gujarat's northern neighbor state, Rajasthan, has the lock on tourism, and as a result, most foreign visitors overlook this interesting west coast state. This translates into a straightforward friendliness offered by the local community, without much expectation out of visiting foreigners.

There is surprisingly high level of sophistication in Ahmedabad, perhaps reflecting the wealth of the state. Some shops offer topnotch services and products, catering mostly to the locals. A restaurant called Swati Snacks attracts well-to-do locals with its clean, modern interior, and its dishes combine traditional flavors presented in a contemporary manner. Above the restaurant, a stylish furniture and accessory shop called 360 Gallery occupies two stories of display space, where art exhibits take place. Bandhej is a place to go, if you are looking for an upscale boutique where you can find clothing of both traditional and modern styles. Trendy espresso bars attract young people and families. Street called CG Road is known to have many up-market and Western brand name shops and restaurants.

However, these charms that Ahmedabad presents are shadowed by the fact that it is one of the most polluted cities in India. The general condition of air quality is the worst we have seen not only in India, but among all places we have visited so far. Being such a major industrial area is the main cause of the pollution. A law imposing all local auto rickshaws requiring use of petrol fuel in place of kerosene has not been established here. In addition, residents freely burn trash and wood at night causing so much smoke to linger all around the city. (They do so often in order to "keep them warm in cold nights", at around 15 degrees Celsius.) The resulting horrid air looks like a thick fog under streetlights. Without much breeze on any given day, it becomes unbearably suffocating, so much so that it's rather discouraging to go out on a rickshaw, into the streets where one can bathe in the dark exhausts from vehicles.

We are staying in this city, often coughing, amazed and confused by the pollutions, but trying to make the best of what it offers.

Sleepless in India

What a noisy country India is! In the 28 days that we traveled around the Northwestern regions, there was only a few nights that I felt I had a sound sleep. Combine this with waking before sunrise to make photographs in the soft morning light and I'm at the point where I really could use a few nights of quality, quiet sleep. Here in India, it seems that the truly quiet hours for good sound sleep are limited to the time between two o'clock to about 4:30 am, before the raw energy of India life begins with its various colorful chaos and mysterious religious ceremonies.

India is a land of religious diversity. In the small area that we have explored, we have found Hinduism, Islam, Sikhism, Buddhism and Jainism, all mingled throughout the communities we've visited. Each of the temples, mosques, shrines and even ashrams are equipped with amplified sound systems that often crackle and pop along with the prayers, sacred chants and songs that are played at high volume. At the mosques, the chanting of prayers begins at 5am and is repeated five times throughout the day. Add to this the Hindu and Jain temples that offer their own flavors of chants and prayers and you can understand how precious a moment of quiet sleep is to me. Along the streets leading to these places of worship are shops selling tapes, CDs and VCDs of the sacred music so that the devout can play them at home, at high volume, of course. While Moslem prayers are conducted according to a fixed schedule, we can't figure out the schedule associated with Hindu temples, and to us, it seems that the musical prayers can start at any time of day or night. The Sikhs are very solemn and serious about their prayers, and their sacred music is unsurpassed in the beauty of its sound, no matter what time it's played.

The amount of noise in any town, especially on and around major roads is overwhelming during the daytime. Drivers are constantly using their horns as turn signals and warnings for overtaking and passing, and the practice is widely encouraged as a form of communication between each other. There isn’t a moment in the day when all of these loud noises come to a halt. Large trucks and public buses have comically melodious but deafening horns, and many motorcycles have upgraded to those that are normally heard from full size cars.

Add to all that noise the celebrations of Diwali, where the firecrackers and fireworks began to blast everywhere in India just before the start of the festival and continued for several days after. The explosives, especially those detestable "Atom Bombs" echo far and wide through the night air.

You might think that when people are conversing close-by to people who are sleeping, that the speaker might lower his voice as not to wake them. In fact, it's quite the opposite, they raise their voice just to get through all of the other noises, and end up almost yelling to be heard.

Around 1AM, all these noises finally start to die down as most people begin to go to sleep and traffic becomes sparse. This is just about the time when the dogs come out to wander the empty streets looking for food or a fight. The barking, growling and howling begins to echo through the narrow streets, reaching the ears of other dogs, which answer the call with their own howls, and trigger a citywide dog barking chain reaction.

When we look for a room, many hotels lead us to their "rooms with a view", which usually means it faces a busy street and will offer all kinds of non-stop noises at night. To top it off, the minute I lay down to sleep my mind begins to spin with all kinds of unexpected thoughts and emotions. The train of thought leads to another and then yet another until a temple or mosque in the neighborhood begins their high-volume prayer broadcast.

Now that I've explained just how noisy this part of India is, there is one strange phenomenon that I find quite interesting. It seems that while my brain is preoccupied with all these loud noises, which results in a lack of sleep and fatigue, some small area of my brain registers the unknown sound as a new experience, and I think to myself "What the hell is this? I've never heard such a strange, unique, interesting sonic effect before. This must be India…" Then I let out a smile before I fall into a shallow, short sleep.

Heritage of The Mughals

We've driven all over Northwestern India in a white Ambassador, India's classic car. From Rishikesh to Agra and into Rajasthan we've seen evidence of the tremendous monuments left by the Mughal Empire during the 15th through 17th century. The most famous of these is the Taj Mahal in Agra, which some say is the most beautiful structure in the world. When I finally laid my eyes on the real thing, I, too, felt it one of the most beautiful buildings I have ever seen. Its cool white marble surface emits a solemn, peaceful energy.

The most photographed view of the Taj Mahal is from the front gates. From that position the geometric gardens, pools and fountains stretch towards the dominating mausoleum. Built by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan as a tomb for his beloved wife, Wumtaz Mahal, it sits like a meditating priestess, surrounded by four minarets at each corner. The name, Taj Mahal, fits the structure well. It means "Crown of the Palace".

We entered the grounds before sunrise and at this early hour the area was still quite. Only a few other tourists were visiting and we felt able to appreciate its beauty fully. Seeing the Taj in photos is one thing, but being up close, touching the intricate inlayed prayers and patterns with your finger, is a whole other level of appreciation.

The sacred Persian scripts, as well as the motifs of flowers and animals were all laid out using 28 gems and minerals gathered from all over India, China, Tibet and the Middle East. The primary material used in the structure is white Rajasthan marble, which has been so precisely cut and put together that not even the smallest insect could crawl inside.

In addition to the Taj, there are a number of old forts and palaces left behind by the Mughals in Rajasthan. Forts seem to be built on strategic desert hilltops and mountains, and are recognized for their historic and artistic significance. We visited the Amber (pronounced "Amer") Fort located outside Jaipur, Junagarh located in Bikaner, and Meherangarh in Jodhpur. Each one of these forts is huge, with outer walls typically soaring up to 100 meters. Inside, they all boast splendid palaces and residence. The layout is a maze of corridors and rooms.

Each fort and palace comes with its own presentation. The most enjoyable to us was Meherangarh in Jodhpur, which provides a well-documented audio tour. The fort is still managed and operated by the local Maharaja himself. Rajasthani style decorations are a common feature in these Forts. Stone, mud, ash, minerals, glass and mirrors are used to create geometric patterns and motifs of flowers and animals. They are a fusion of exotic India and Persian cultures with local customs suitable to the land.

The Mughals left behind these monuments with stunning beauties and endearing stories. They show not only their artistic and often-poetic sensibilities, incredible mathematical and architectural skills, but also their capacity to combine all of these to express themselves. While these may not necessarily represent the current Muslim cultures, the Mughals' heritage provides a hint for understanding them through their past.

The Night of Atom Bomb

India celebrated Diwali, the most important festival of the year, during the week of November 12th. Also known as "The Festival of Light", Diwali is much like Christmas, New Years, and Thanksgiving all rolled into one. At the heart of the festival is the family, and those who work or study away from home try their best to return for the celebrations. Our driver, Yadov, was no exception, so we took advantage of the opportunity and drove to his hometown of Tijara to spent a few days celebrating with his family.

There are all kinds of fireworks and firecrackers available for Diwali, in fact, it seems to be a necessary ingredient for the celebrations. A few days before the festival, in Agra and again in Jaipur, we would hear their explosions in the evening, and see the sky light up. There didn't seem to be any restrictions on the sale or purchase of these explosives and many street stalls sprang up in the days before the festival.

There is one particular firecracker, called the Atom Bomb, that produces such explosive power and deafening sound, it's hard to grasp that it is sold casually on the street corner. The cover of the box, which holds a dozen of these nasty objects, has an illustration of a man screaming in horror after the explosion. Outside Yadov’s house, guys in their twenties gathered and were having a blast lighting them off. The air around the neighbor shook with every burst. Combined with all the other sounds of firecrackers and fireworks throughout the town, the night of Diwali sounded like a war was raging outside the window.

I happened to walk close by to one of these explosions and its power whipped my clothes and hair and caused my ears to ring for two days afterwards. One of the guys said, laughing, “It’s an ‘Atom Bomb’. Great, huh? BOOOOM! Just like Hiroshima and Nagasaki.” He didn't know I was Japanese and his intention wasn't to insult me, rather, he was just engulfed in the pure joy of setting off these "crackers" in celebration of Diwali.

For them, it was just a fun thing to do for the festival, but as a Japanese, I guess I reflected on it much differently and wasn't enjoying these "Atom Bombs" very much. The idea of marketing anything under this name just didn't sit well with me, though Indians always say, "Anything is possible in India". It's just that the young mans indifferent attitude to the two cities destroyed by real atom bombs was disconcerting.

While the festival of lights in this small Indian town allowed us to peek into the life of an Indian family during their most important festival, I found myself reflecting on the state of the world and what would become of. As explosions of "Atom Bombs" continued late into the night, my mind kept churning until I finally fell asleep just before dawn.

Mother Ganga

The Ganjes River, or Ganga as its called here, is considered to be the mother of India, a sacred river and the source of all beings. In the northwestern state of Uttaranchal, this holy river leaves its Himalayan home and travels downstream to enter the flat plains below. The river exits the foothills of the mighty mountains in the pilgrimage centers of Rishikesh and Haridwar.

Rishikesh is the more northern of the two centers. The river is surrounded by hills on three sides and the water runs crystal clear and cold. The town itself became famous in the West after the Beatles (especially George Harrison) made a pilgrimage here to visit their guru, the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Today, in addition to Hindu worship, it is well know as a yoga and meditation center. While it is still hot in Northwest India in November, Rishikesh can be cold as a strong wind blows down the tree-lined valley each evening.

Haridwar, a small and comparatively quiet town, is located at the point where the Ganges emerges from the Himalayas into the vast flat lands of northwest India. It is considered to be one of the most sacred cities in all of India and pilgrims visit all year to bathe in the holy river. The water runs clear and cold down from the Rishikesh valley and is much more hygientically friendly than other sacred spots such as Veranasi. At the Har-ki Pairi, the precise spot where the Ganges is said to leave the Himilaya and enter the plains, it is believed that the river has intense power to wash away all sin. It is here on the bathing ghats that people enter the water and pray to their favorite gods.

In addition to the frenetic religious activity happening all around, other people are going about their daily activities that require the use of water, such as washing clothes, brushing teeth and collecting water for cooking. Many of the activities we associate with inside the home in the West all happen here in public, under the sun. On the banks of the Ganges, worship and daily life are intertwined and all occur simultaneously. Such sights are amazing and mysterious, as well as full of humor and drama. Reflecting on this, it might be said that that daily live in all cultures is amazing when everything is exposed to the public at the same time.

At both Rishikesh and Hardiwar priests and pilgrims make offerings of flowers, candles and incense to the sacred river at sunset in a ceremony called "ganga aarti". The river takes on a magical glow of faint candlelight while the smell of incense wafts through the air and the sounds of bells, prayers, and music is heard along its banks. We looked upon this sight speechlessly while observing the rituals and absorbing the calm and peaceful energy.

We remembered a traveler whom we met in Kunming, China, who said "Whenever I go to India, I can skip a visit to Veranasi but I cannot skip going back to Rishikesh." After visiting this special place, we could understand what he was referring to. One afternoon we crossed a suspension bridge and passed several ashrams as we walked upstream. We found several isolated stretches of sandy beaches along the riverbank where the Ganges flows wide and clean with slow currents and fast moving rapids. It is deep and cold, and its currents can make it dangerous, but the water is full of a powerful energy that we couldn't resist. After some time we found a safe spot to enter her, and fully submerged our bodies in her cleansing waters. Others came and went around us as we rested on her shores, enjoying her inviting waters, attractive views of mountains, and the feeling of her sacred spirit.

Life on the Lake

Kashmir, the "Crown of India, is a place filled with proud culture and natural wonders. Unfortunately, it has been the stage for many military conflicts between India and Pakistan since partition separated her in half in 1947. Her beauty and her strategic position remind us of a tragic heroine.

Looking over the map of India, our eyes would travel northwards, and our hearts would dream of visiting this much talked about land. It seemed like an impossible journey, as all the resources we consulted said it was too dangerous to risk traveling so close to the Line of Control with Pakistan. We surprised even ourselves when we jumped on the opportunity to visit Kashmir, and began the two-day drive shortly after arriving in India.

Srinagar is the summer capital of Jammu and Kashmir, and we arrived on a sun filled crisp autumn afternoon. Our final destination was a houseboat on Dal Lake. There are about 2,500 houseboats on Dal Lake and many offer accommodations to travelers. Each houseboat for rent is rated by the local Houseboat Association for to its facilities and services and is priced accordingly. The houseboat we booked, the H.B. Mantana, is a well kept fully appointed property featuring formal dining and living rooms, three large bedrooms each with their own bathroom, and a service kitchen for the butler.

All of the houseboats on the lake have their own unique name. Some of them are nicely descriptive, while others are rather standard, and a handful are just plain silly. "Crown of India" and "Heaven of Kashmir" are examples of descriptive names, while "Sunflower" and "Morning Glory" are rather standard. There are also many named after famous places around the world, such as "Buckingham Palace", "New Australia" and "New Sydney". There are names that seem out of place, like, "Hollywood", "Chicago", "Bangkok" and "Manila". There is even one called "Texas". Some owners with multiple boats located next to each other have names that can be pretty funny. There is "Mona Lisa" and "Young Mona Lisa", and "Dawn", "New Dawn", "Happy Dawn" and "Lucky Dawn". How about "Apollo Eight" and "Neil Armstrong"? The naming reminds me of love hotels in Japan.

Dal Lake is fairly shallow with a surface smooth as a mirror in many places. The Himalayas reflect their high peaks down onto the glassy waters, interrupted only by tracts of lotus and water lily leaves that float on the surface. Crops of tomato, melon, eggplant, radish, turnip and cucumbers grow on small floating gardens scattered around the lake.

The lake is a magical place with soft light bouncing off the water. When the sun rises after a cold night, a wispy mist rises from the surface of the lake and frosty grass along its bank, creating a mysterious atmosphere. While summer is the high season, we loved the quiet of autumn on Dal Lake. Our experience living on the houseboat was indeed a unique and rare occasion. With the recent stability of the Srinagar valley we can't help but recommend a visit to this jewel in Northwest India. The people of Kashmir are waiting for you with open arms.

Lanta's Low Season

Ko Lanta is preparing for the start of tourist season, though the island is still getting a lot of rain. It's located south of Phuket and east of Ko Phi Phi, both famous resort areas in southern Thailand. The beaches of Ko Lanta are concentrated along the west side of the island, with formal hotels and more casual bungalows lining the shore. There are only a few tourists now, as this is still the low season.

The high season is from November to May. Some of the accommodation businesses on the west side are doing renewal and repairs right now. While it's not sunny all the time, it is not always raining either, and this is probably the best time to be working on such tasks, before the tourists start coming in droves in a few weeks time.

There are no beaches to speak of on the east side. Instead, mangrove forests face the ocean and small fishing villages dot the coastline. The biggest of the fishing communities on the east side is Old Town Lanta. For fishermen on the east side, there is no tourism high season, but they too renew and fix their boats and houses. The weather pattern is hazy sun in the morning, with a high possibility of showers or thunderstorms from the afternoon into the night. Winds shift their directions, so rain and storms can come from any direction.

In the evenings in Old Town Lanta the clouds increase as the sun begins its downward decent into the ocean. Everything takes on a magical rose-orange hue. The clouds, ocean, off-shore islands, the villagers' faces, the leaves of the coconut, banana, papaya trees, the houses, and even the tropical air itself, all seem to glow with red, pink and orange light. Frogs and insects begin singing in the coconut forest nearby.

Sunsets on the west side of Ko Lanta are absolutely breathtaking. The cloud formations offer gorgeous effects, creating the illusion of the sky on fire. Our eyes follow the clouds that reflect the sun, and we loose our words watching this golden drama acted out on the horizon. It's around this time when the fishermen in Old Lanta town launch their boats for an evening of squid fishing, casting their silhouettes off in red and orange before night falls on the island and the dark sky begins to twinkle with starlight.

The locals seem to be welcoming the weather, saying "this is a cooler time of year. " For us, the beautiful sky filled with a changing palette of color each day was a pleasant surprise and we felt that the rainy season on a tropical island isn't so bad after all.

Kaosan Now

Kaosan Road. Any traveler who visits Bangkok has been there at least once. Those who have not visited may know the street from Alex Garland's novel "The Beach" or the Hollywood flick by the same name staring Leonardo DeCaprio.

The bustling two-lane road stretches for just a few blocks in the heart of the Banglamphu district. At night its lanes are blocked from traffic, making it into a pedestrian-only open-air club of sorts. The travelers are mostly Westerners and Japanese, walking, shopping, eating, and just hanging out.

Hotels, guesthouses, restaurants, clubs, convenient stores, travel agencies, internet cafés, bookstores, clothing shops, photo processing and any businesses that cater to travelers pack both sides of the road. More vendors selling souvenirs, street food, and drinks, fake hair implants and instant dreads line the sidewalks and overflow into the street itself. So many are vying for the all mighty tourist dollar that they have even began setting up shop on the neighboring roads around Kaosan.

Once upon a time, the street was a restful and relaxing spot to come before or after traveling around Thailand or other parts of Southeast Asia. It was a well-known backpackers' haven, an excellent place to trade information and to replenish necessary travel items. In recent years it has become a major tourist spot where vacationers visiting Thailand come to enjoy the hip shopping and partying while staying in Bangkok for a few days. Fortunately, the group bus tours haven't glommed on to Kaosan yet.

There isn't much difference between the average tourist and the backpacker. They all walk Kaosan dressed in their Thai, Indian or Nepalese style clothing and accessories. The standard uniform, especially for men, is the Fisherman's Pant, the traditional wrap-around pants that were made famous by, you guessed it, Thai fishermen. It seems as if everyone on Kaosan are wearing the fisherman's pants in various colors. Of course, the vacationers always look neat and clean, no matter how they try to look like experienced backpackers.

Some backpackers may lament these recent changes, but I, personally, have no attachments to the past history of Kaosan Road. These days, even the local young Thais come here with friends and lovers to enjoy the party atmosphere. Now, the standard formula of Thai serving the Western or Japanese traveler is breaking down and a genuine cultural exchange between people of all kinds is taking place.

Oasis in Old Dali

We were on board a bus leaving Lijiang headed to Dali. Our expectations were fairly low, as we repeatedly heard of the over development of the town for the new breed of Chinese tourists. Although Sichuan and Yunnan provinces offer gorgeous sights and opportunities for cultural exchange, we hadn't found any — pardon the old cliché — "wow factors" as the popular guidebooks suggested we might. We asked ourselves, what could we get out of this old city Dali?

Those who visit Dali's old town come for the views the mountain Cang Shan, which rises surprisingly high behind the town, the large lake stretched out in the shape of Buddha's ear named Erhai Hu, as well as San Ta Si (Three Pagodas) built in the mid-9th century. Travelers' hangout on a street called Huguo Lu, also known as "Foreigners' Street", where guesthouses, restaurants and cafés are concentrated. Chinese group tours stop here for a taste of Western travel culture.

What caught our attentions in this town, however, was the local culture that has been established by a group of young people living in this relatively quiet town. The formation of this community took its natural course, as young Chinese and Westerners migrated here and became friends. Some of the Chinese are native Dalian, but others moved from big cities like Beijing and Shanghai. They all had the same reason for moving here, saying "I lived in other places in China, but it was Dali where I met the most interesting people." The young Chinese seem to be the freest and of the most atypical we have seen throughout China.

They explored their unique viewpoints, tastes in music and art during conversations at the local cafés and soon they began to form a loose knit community of friends, eating and drinking together on a regular basis. The relationships formed extend in many directions, with both the Chinese and Westerners learning and relating to each other equally. As a result, they have established a collective atmosphere that is supportive, warm and welcoming.

For all of its fame as a tourist destination, Dali is relatively quiet town. There is not the kind of development pressure like we saw in Lijiang, and only the center of town is bustling with tourists. Still, many investors have their eye on Dali, expecting a boom to take place sometime in the future. This community of young adults is no exception, however, the hard push of commercial businesses is not evident and they continue to enjoy their slow lifestyle while running guesthouses, cafés and bars. The income generated through their businesses generates just enough to keep them free.

The result is an at-home, warm and relaxing environment where they welcome visitors who appreciate their unique sense of lifestyle. As travelers passing through Dali, we felt fortunate to find this wonderful community. It was an opportunity to get to know others while exchanging information and thoughts with people who were outside of the mainstream. After traveling in China for two months, it was an oasis where we could drop our guard and enjoy ourselves with these new, creative friends.

Apples and Sunflower Seeds

Yunnan Province is rich in nature and full of fertile lands. The area hosts a rich variation of culture as it sits on the borders of Tibet, Burma (now called Myanmer), Laos and Vietnam. While most of China is made up of the Han Chinese culture, multiple cultures have co-existed here for centuries, each forming their own communities and villages throughout the province. There are 25 unique minority tribes found throughout Yunnan. They include the Zhuang, Hui, Yi, Miao, Tibetans, Mongols, Ya, Bai, Hani, Dai, Lisu, Lahu, Wa, Naxi, Jingpo, Bulang, Pumi, Nu, Achang, Jinuo and Drung. The area around Lijiang is dominated by the Naxi tribe, while many of the people around Dali are of Bai origin.

We visited the Bai village called Jiu He on market day. It's located about 75 kilometers southwest of Lijiang. Villagers were shopping for all sorts of daily necessities ranging from toiletries, to clothing, to, of course, food. It is a market for the local people, and nothing at the tourist market was for sale. The most unusual item found at the market was, most likely, the two foreigners who came to visit (that would be us). We were welcomed with their honest smiles as they all tried to offer us their wares. When we were encouraged to try the local dish of sautéed soybean jelly flavored with chili I decided to go for it. It looked similar to the Japanese food called Kon-nyaku, but was much softer and melted in my mouth. At first taste, my tongue was covered in certain sweetness, followed by the punch of the chili spice. It was a delicious, yet inexpensive, treat.

Children began to gather around us as we walked through the market. We played the fun game of "instant photo" with the digital camera. The kids became even more excited when they could see their own face on the LCD screen and pushed their way into the next series of photos offering up their innocent smiles. When finally we came to the gate of their elementary school, they reluctantly waved goodbye and headed back to class.

It had been raining everyday during the past week, but this day was filled with sunshine. That early autumn feeling was in the air, cool and crisp, but still warm and pleasant in the sun. Soon the village would be in full swing bringing in the harvest, but for now, the adults gathered on the porches of the village houses and chatted about life.

As we headed back to our base at Lijiang we stopped off at another local village, this time of the Naxi tribe. The village was named La Shi and was well known for their apples. The town seemed like it was built around an apple orchard, and everywhere we looked branches were laden with red and green against the fading green leaves. In the center of the village, women sat in the quiet hours after lunch and chatted away while working on there knitting or drying of seeds. Their smiles were welcoming and they displayed an innocent curiosity about this strange Anglo and Asian couple.

Two elderly women invited us to visit their homes. Both were in a traditional design, with impressive gates and walls surrounding the property. Inside, the gate gave way to a large open-air courtyard surrounded by four structures, one on each side. The south facing structure was the main house where, traditionally, the eldest family members live. Two other structures faced east and west, respectively, and housed other family members, usually the oldest son and another sibling. Water buffalo, pigs, and chickens were housed in the north facing structure. Fierce dogs that barked non-stop at the strangers entering the family compound stood guard.

The courtyards were lovingly cared for, filled with walnut trees and potted plants. Corn and sunflower seeds were spread out in the open-air to dry. Each of the women offered us apples and sunflower seeds, pushing handfuls of the freshly harvested seeds deep into our pockets. We sat and listened to their life stories that reflected on China's hard and complex history. Today they live happy and content, enfolded in the traditional family structure, surrounded by their children and their grandchildren. Their smiles told us more than their words ever could.

Belly Full

Our bellies are full! Chinese food is said to be one of the world's three great cuisines, and we have been enjoying it everyday. We've been eating in restaurants for every meal, because our lodging is a college dormitory without a kitchen. Each restaurant and street food vendor offers a wide variety of ingredients, flavoring and cooking styles. It's a lot of fun eating in China, once the language issue is overcome. Being Japanese is an advantage as I'm able to read some (not all) of the Chinese characters.

The Chinese diet is well balanced. While they can select from different meat and fish dishes, they always eat them together with pure vegetable dishes. They value the seasonable vegetables grown in tune with specific times of year. Spiciness and greasiness vary from restaurant to restaurant and dish to dish.

It's the customers who create the meal by choosing several dishes, balancing tastes like bitter, salty, sweet and spicy. When a group of four adults dine together they may have one appetizer, two vegetables dishes, and three to four meat or fish dishes. We gasped at the amount of food that people around us ate at first, but now, we too order three or four dishes and do a pretty good job of devouring each of them. Chinese cooking is a strange thing, considering the amount of oil in each meal it's a wonder we don't suffer from heartburn. There is one thing for sure, after 4 or 5 hours we're hungry again!

There is a restaurant across the street from the dorm that is known as one of the best noodle shops in town. Each time we visit we're treated to a live performance of noodle making from the front showcase window. The noodles are ordered according to the sauce you put on top and whether you would like the noodles warm or cold. The noodles come plain, surrounded by several dishes of bean sprouts, soybeans, green onion, stringed turnips, cucumber and diced celery. The waiter asks you which condiments you'd like, and dumps them on top of the noodles before serving you. He leaves the sauce for you to add to your liking. Pour the sauce on top, mix well and enjoy! Their chewy texture is fabulous and the cold variety makes a wonderful lunch on a hot humid day. Our favorite toppings are beef juice in miso paste and peanut sauce.

The price of food is also a blessing to cost-constraint travelers, like us. It's cheap. As long as we don't indulge in highly priced restaurants, three meals for two can be managed under 10 US dollars per day, without much pressure to keep the cost down. Our favorite breakfast is a kind of egg pie called "ji dao guang bing". It's a pancake stuffed with fried egg topped with sweet miso paste, green onions, cilantro and bits of red pepper. Freshly made and piping hot they cost about 15 cents. Drinks like soda or fruit juice cost more than the meal itself. The aforementioned noodle dish is about 1 US dollar per bowl.

After a bit of trial and error, we've found a formula for picking good restaurants out of the tens of thousands here in Beijing. When buying simple foods like breakfast or snacks, they must be freshly made, ideally in front of you, while you wait. For lunch and dinner, our highest priority is the cleanliness of the restaurant. A bright atmosphere with many people eating inside is essential. If the pot of tea served is not steamy hot, it's not a good sign. We found that the locations of a restaurant, be it on a main street or back street is not so important as long as it's clean, bright, crowded and serves hot tea.

By the way, vegetarians can enjoy wonderful dishes in any restaurant in Beijing. Our guidebook lists a few recommendations for vegetarian only places, but, overall, they are totally unnecessary. Looking through several menus we learned that they are organized in categories, listing first their specialties, then appetizers, soups, meats, fish, vegetables, deserts and drinks. All a vegetarian has to do is to turn to the vegetable dish section and make a choice (but then, reading the selections is a challenge, but many menus have pictures of the dishes, and this makes it much easier). Chinese vegetarian restaurants, we found, are places where they serve mock-meat and fish product based on soy and gluten. When beautiful, fresh vegetables and tofu can be had at many restaurants, why bother?

Under the Grey Sky

"China is incredible!" my stepfather repeatedly told me in amazement. He had recently visited the country to observe it's manufacturing sector, which has been radically growing for several years, and has recently accelerated into high gear.

During the first few minutes of our arrival we could see the new economical growth and outrageous development here in Beijing. There are so many people in our view, many new high-rise buildings under construction in all directions, and brand new cars on every street.

The expressions of the people are bright, with smiles and laughter filling the sidewalks. And all of this is moving around under the huge dome of the grey sky that hovers over the city. These were some of our impressions, immediately after our arrival on a train from Ulaan Baatar.

Unlike Europe in a cold summer and dry Mongolia, the humidity is 100% in Beijing. Add smog to that and we have a kind of air so thick that you can literally cut it with your own hand. On a sunny day, the visibility is no more than two kilometers. Even buildings nearby are in a grey haze due to this hazy air quality. We are maneuvering through the city mainly by taxi and on foot in this atmosphere that is different from any other cities we have visited so far.

We plan to stay in Beijing for two weeks. However, our time for exploring is limited, because Lyn is collaborating with students at the Central Academy of Fine Arts in conjunction with her SIGGRAPH artist-in-residence. When we walk in the city, we like to avoid the main streets and wonder into the backstreets, called Hutongs. Once we get away from the touristy spots the real lives of Beijing begin to come into our view. The city is quite safe to walk anywhere and so many of the elements in the people's lives here remind me of my childhood in Japan.

When was the last time I saw middle-aged men in a neighborhood sitting around a chessboard on the sidewalk, waving fans, and drinking beer? At dusk, I can hear and smell cooking that comes from houses nearby. Young housewives yell at trouble-making little boys. Older women are gossiping loudly, seemingly all talking at the same time. And vendors come in and out of the neighborhood; selling goldfish in bowls and crickets in a little bamboo cages.

There seems to be a park, small or large, in every neighborhood. The people who utilize those parks are mainly in middle age and older. Some take their grandchildren and some others walk their little dogs. Others group up for various forms of exercises, such as walking, Tai Chi, sword dance, fan dance, and social dance. Men surround Chinese chessboards or play cards. They use these parks daily and they all seem to enjoy being there. No parks seem to be just a manicured, pretty waste of space.

We saw photos taken by young Chinese photographers in Berlin, depicting rapidly changing urban sceneries and contrasts of the old and the new. The Beijing that we are looking at now has so much of the expressions that we saw in those pictures. Once we recognize that the similar changes are taking place all over China, we would have to say, "China is incredible!" On the other hand, it is beyond our imaginations how these changes in China would affect itself and the world in the coming years.

For the Love of Steppe

It's quite easy to summarize the nature in Mongolia. The weather is harsh and most of the land is steppe or desert, with few lakes or rivers. It's difficult to survive in such an environment without the support of others. After witnessing the people's lives outside Ulaan Baatar, we now think that many of the quarrels and fights we saw in UB are just a sad part of city life. Instead, it seems that the norm is to extend a helping hand even without knowing each other. In fact, many kind folks saved us during the tour that was plagued with problems.

Passersby stopped to help us on three out of the four flat tires we had on the first day of our tour. What would one do, without a spare tire and no repair shops way out in the middle of a vast steppe or a desert? The only way out of such a situation is flag down a passing motorist to indicate that you're having problems. Those who stopped to help us provided parts, tools, and even a spare tire until we got to the next town. Usually, those who ask for help return the favor by offering beer, vodka, tobacco, or perhaps a small amount of cash, but they are not an absolute requirement. In some cases, those who offer help provide drinks and food to the stranded. Then they all sit around the problem, in our case a punctured tire, discussing the situation and working on the issue at hand. They may not even introduce themselves, instead focusing their energies on providing the help that's needed.

The countryside of Mongolia, the animals, the steppe, and the ever-present big sky, is always on the minds of its people. Everybody, including those who live in cities like Ulaan Baatar, longs to be there whenever they can. They have such a strong connection with the land. The sense of sharing the land with everyone is normal, and based in the nomadic traditions. Except for the few main highways, there are no fixed roads through the countryside, and drivers follow whichever track looks smoothest. There is no concern for entering private property and it's not a problem to pitch a tent or erect a ger wherever they feel like it.

Helping each other is the norm among Mongolians, perhaps because they share the harsh climate and the land. Their identity is glued together with the environment that they live in and is what connects its people together.

The Inner City in UB

"UB". That's how Ulaan Baatar is called by the foreigners. After spending a few weeks here, my impression is that the city is practically a ruin of the old communist system. Russians left when the Soviet Union collapsed in the early 1990's and Ulaan Baatar is just now starting to vitalize itself, hopefully in a positive direction for the future of its people.

Except for the excellent telecommunications throughout Mongolia, the overall basic infrastructure is lacking, or at least has a lot of problems. There are so many potholes in the streets, and the sidewalks surface has collapsed in place. After the rain there are large, muddy puddles everywhere. Cars, minivans and city buses spit out black exhaust that, combined with the twirling dust, makes breathing difficult. The uncovered manholes house the homeless who sit beneath the cities surface drinking the night away.

Many of the men in this city are extremely short-tempered and physically abusive. We've witnessed several arguments, scuffles and violence on several occasions. Domestic violence toward women, unfortunately, is all too common. Before the Naadam holiday, road rage was at its peak. With no traffic rules and little enforcement, gridlock is inevitable. This situation lead to shouting matches and fist fights in one of the busy intersections.

When it comes to driving, men act like teenagers who have just gotten their driver's license. They act as if they gained some kind of all mighty power, and that spells troubles for pedestrians. Crossing on the green walk light is no guarantee of your safety.

Is this just how this city is? Is the meat based diet causing too much yang energy in the body? Or is it caused by the vodka many men drink everyday? Are these mentalities reflections of the unstable society that is rapidly transforming from the collapsed communist stronghold to an open market culture? Or, have they been like this since the era of Jingis Kahn whom they are so proud of?

We heard that the number of well-educated and career-oriented women is on a rise in Mongolia. In any given college classroom, women outnumber men by about 5 to 1. They seem to have started moving forward on their own, and once educated, they are not interested in a relationship with just any ordinary guy.

I'm sure you're reading this thinking that Ulaan Baatar is all doom and gloom, however, we also have also seen several peaceful families trying to survive in this environment. Many families from our neighborhood step out of their apartments on these hot summer evenings and we can see the love in their hearts as they talk to each other or play with their children and grandchildren. For many, the family is the center of their lives.

UB's inner city is a surreal space where all these elements coexist together somehow. When we take a step back and think about it, we know that we can see similar scenes in every urban center around the globe, regardless of its level of development. Perhaps I'm just worn out on the city scene and need to head into the countryside. I think it's time to stand in the middle of the open land and watch the sunrise, sunset and stars.

Eve of the Festival

Ulaan Baatar is full of activities with Naadam just three days away. We've rented an apartment in a residential area away from the city center. There aren't many foreigners here, and it gives us the sense that we are in the middle of Ulaan Baatar's urban life. Outside the steps of our apartment is a black market crowded with locals shopping for festival food.

Naadam is a yearly festival dating back to ancient times and celebrates the Three Manly Arts of wrestling, horse racing and archery. It is an important national holiday for the Mongolians and many of them take the week off to travel home to the county side, which they have a deep connection with.

On the eve of Naadam, as I cooled off outside the buildings front door, a young boy dashes out of our building with money in hand. Moments later he hurries back with two bags of pasta and other ingredients. It reminds me of my childhood in Japan when I would run out to buy groceries for my family.

The next thing I witnessed was a car pulling into the dark parking lot. A middle-aged woman got out with many large shopping bags filled with food. To my surprise, her husband then pulled a live goat from the backseat. With their neighbors' help they dragged the poor animal to their apartment upstairs. I never imagined that an apartment could become a slaughterhouse. They would have fresh meat for their Naadam meal.

Over the course of the long holiday weekend, the building began to fill with a terrible stench. We finally realized that the goat's corpse had been disposed of in the buildings communal garbage shoot. This was the source of smell that overwhelmed our apartment.

Mongolians consume a massive amount of meat, mainly from goats, sheep, horses, and cows. There is always a strong, distinctive smell of animal flesh around the nearby market. One morning, a horse head, with its' cheek muscles shaved off, smiled at me from the back of an old Russian-made wagon. It's quite normal to see large bones abandoned on the sidewalks, or several goat heads under tables at the open-air market. Various intestines, livers, and other internals are displayed on tables and testicle sacks serve as a natural bag for other meat. The shopkeeper tries, without success, to keep the flies at bay. To our sense, these are rather gruesome sights, however, the locals select and purchase these products while laughing and gossiping together.

Every culture has something that other cultures think different or strange. Their customs and practices are normal to them and shouldn't be viewed by other standards. For example, in Japan, the freshness of fish is measured by how many seconds it takes to kill and serve the fish as sashimi, with its' moving tail proof of this swiftness.

In America,, however, we are removed from the slaughter house, and buy our food already neatly cut and packaged on Styrofoam. I think the Mongolian's might think this a strange way to buy their favorite food.

In the end, we have our own thoughts and opinions, however, we try hard not to cast judgments on our observations. We would be lying if we said that the sights and smells that we are unaccustomed to don't challenge and turn our stomachs on a daily basis. At the same time, we are learning to appreciate these differences.

Mysterious Siberia

We're moving eastwards on the Eurasian continent. On June 29, our Trans-Siberian train left Moscow at 11:30pm for the 72 hour journey to Irkutsuk, where we arrived on July 3, at 9:30AM.

After meeting our driver, we continued east to the small town of Listvyanka on the shore of Lake Baikal, one hour away by car. Our lodging is located up a dirt road that stretches from the lakeshore into a lush valley. It's a log cabin that shares property with a few other homes, the Baikal Culture Center and an art gallery.

The valley itself has exploded with fresh green wild grass and wildflowers busting into purple, white, yellow, orange and pink blooms. The thick forest of pine and birch flank the valley floor and a small creek runs through the valley floor to the lake. The view from the cabin looks out to Lake Baikal, with it's surface shining cold blue. The opposite shore lies about 50 Kilometers beyond the rising mist of the lake.

Lake Baikal is huge. It holds about 20% of fresh water that exists on this planet. Its surface area is not so large, but its depth drops over 1,600 meters, making it the deepest lake in the world.

The lake hosts a unique set of wildlife including the fresh water Baikal seals who live mostly in the remote, northern part of the lake. Its water is crystal clear, and the rocky bottom can easily be seen. The lake has three distinct ways to purify itself: sponges, corpse-eating shrimp and a unique microorganism that all live in the waters. Unfortunately, many environmentally ignorant Russian tourists visiting this beautiful place mindlessly dispose of their trash on the shores.

As we walked the shoreline we felt the chilly wind blowing off of the lake. The water temperature stays below 15 degrees Celsius during the warmest season, and acts like an enormous water-operated cooler. It's easy to imagine how cold this area gets in winter, just by feeling the breeze coming off the lake in early summer. People told us that the lake freezes solid and that cars can be driven across in February and March.

The people's expressions are much softer here. It only takes seeing us twice for them to share their smiles with us. Our accommodations include breakfast, which is served at the neighbors' house next door. Each morning the grandmotherly woman welcomes us with a smile and serves us a large home-cooked meal. This gives us a sense of the true Russian hospitality. In her backyard is a wonderful vegetable garden, from which she picks lettuce and herbs for our morning meal. Potatoes take up the largest patch and tomatoes grow in the greenhouse along side the laundry hung to dry.

Another neighbor on our hosts' property is an older woman living with her grandchildren. We photographed her working in her potato patch and afterwards she invited us to her house to see her painting. During the long winters she transforms herself from farmer into artist, painting self-portraits and her surroundings in a Chagall-like style.

Unfortunately, the art gallery burned down this past spring. The property owner is busy building the new gallery. Paintings that survived the fire are now shown in a temporary building. I did not expect much out of artists who live so far away from art centers, yet once I stepped into the small room there were many wonderful discoveries. The imaginations of artists in Siberia are fabulously mysterious and surrealistic, sometimes even psychedelic. Their originality stretch out of their own fairy tales and are realized on canvas.

During this short stay by Lake Baikal, we believe that we have peeked into the beautiful natural surroundings and the mysterious lives of the Siberian people.

The City of Vanity

At first I could not think of anything to write about Moscow. Just like the faces of so many we've come in contact with here, totally expressionless. We realized that it's only when they feel a personal connection with another person that their facial expressions relax and their stone facade cracks into a smile. The only exception was the driver who welcomed us at the Moscow airport. His friendly smile was a relief to us, but then again, an American firm is his employer.

So, what can I write about this city? One of the things we first noticed was the decaying infrastructure of the socialist era, most of which are left as-is, at least for now. Another is the new development that replaces the old infrastructure. Fashion houses, like Prada, line the major streets, and the advertisements of world famous designer goods are taking over the sides of typically huge buildings. The monument of Lenin in Red Square now ironically faces Estee Lauder, Louis Vuitton and Moschino housed in the once Soviet owned State Department Store. Russian icons of Jesus located at the main entrances guard these high-end shops.

Fashion among the people of Moscow is following the flow of this new era. The standard, especially among women, is to deck out in designer products (the more famous, the better) with bright color coordination, such as pink shoes, pink handbag, and a coordinated pink outfit. Six-inch high-heels are not rare, and four-inch are standard fare. It looks really difficult to walk through the cobblestone-covered Red Square in those, especially in the driving rain!

There are no alternatives to this fashion trend. There is no casual fashion like we saw in Amsterdam or Berlin. Perhaps it's the rebound effect from the long bitter years under rigid socialism. Or it can be master marketing. While people may live in small, cramped apartments with limited facilities, their disposable income is invested in their outer image.

The visual arts, as we have been following in Europe, are non-existent. Only the traditional forms of performance arts, such as ballet, theater, and music concerts are visible. We, by chance, found a young man showing his friends his art school portfolio at a café, and we asked him where we might find some art galleries. He gave us a name of one, and he said, "It is very difficult to find visual art in Moscow." Probably that's why he is studying in London.

Many people gave us advice and warnings for our visit to Russia. They said "Russia is a dangerous place, don't show anything valuable." We had even heard that there have been bandits attacking trains with gas and that they would take everything from you, leaving the naked tourists behind. Fortunately for us, we found none of these true and in fact saw many digital and video cameras in use, not to mention all the designer shoes and handbags in abundance.

There is so much construction going on in this city. Hotel Moscow's proud structure is being demolished. Hotel Rossya, where we stayed, which occupies a whole Russian-size street block and having nearly three thousand rooms, is also slated for destruction in August of this year. New buildings are being built everywhere. In this era when globalization has reached every corner of the globe, Moscow is going through an enormous makeover. We just wonder, when there would be creative activities out of this consumption-only society and if the art might blossom.

Swiss Pride

"Swiss people are 'very special'," said Mercel with a grin. He is the owner of our favorite neighborhood café, "Lass uns Freunde bleiben", in Berlin. His words sounded a bit ironic as he described Swiss pride.

During our 8 days in Basel and Buchs, a small town bordering Liechtenstein, we felt the sense that Swiss people are indeed special. But there was no irony in what we felt.

Switzerland is home to an absolutely beautiful landscape that is known and loved throughout the world. Besides from this stunning scenery, they have no other natural resources to speak of.

I imagine that for centuries they have known that this land might be best preserved for their own future benefit. With love, care and education of conservation they have developed a deep pride in their only natural resource, the land.

Sure, they have also won world acclaim for their precision and their respect for privacy; for their Swiss watches and their Swiss banks, respectively. However, these are skills that have been honed by a serious attention to detail that their leaders with fantastic foresights have strategically promoted, and are different from a natural resource.

Buchs is one of those picturesque Swiss towns surrounded by snow-capped mountains. The air is delicious. People drink water directly from the small fountains scattered throughout the town. The water is pure, cold and refreshing.

The purpose of our visit to Buchs was to collaborate with photographer/printmaker Jacques Lecoultre. This was the first of several collaborative art projects scheduled throughout the year. Jacques was eager to take us out of his atelier and into the hills for hiking when the collaboration needed a break. He drove us to one of his favorite spots, twice, as it was only a short half hour drive from his atelier.

What a breathtakingly beautiful place it was, with rolling green pasture land studded with wildflowers and capped in snowy peaks. In the center of this emerald alpine valley sits a small pristine lake, reflecting the surrounding in its icy blue water.

This land is open to the public for day use and overnight camping is forbidden. It's a place where locals come to enjoy their enormous love for the outdoors. Jacques grew up visiting here, and he now shares this nature with his young son, Yannick, who has also developed a deep appreciation for the environment.

The reasons we felt "Swiss are special" are that their love for their land and its nature seem to be synonymous to their patriotism. They continue to work to keep the land pure and untouched, and in some sense, keep themselves that way, too.

Swiss are extremely sensitive to the news reports on energy resources and the related geopolitical activities, as well as environmental phenomena such as global warming. Jacques said, with a concerned expression, " If the oil reserve run out after fifty years, what would we do then? That's the question I have been asking to myself these days."

A Peek into the World of Art

A young, wealthy-looking gentleman caught our attention shortly after our EC train departed the Ostbahnhof station in Berlin, heading directly to Basel, Switzerland. He settled deeply into his reserved seat in front of us. He wore his hair slicked back, a shiny pair of glasses, a fresh stripe shirt, a dark green flannel sport jacket, and a leather-made business case. His watch was a Rolex chronograph. He seemed to be trying to shake off a cold or suffering from allergy, though, snorting and blowing his nose noisily. Then he was making frequent calls on his cell phone, talking loudly.

I nicked named this young, chubby, and noisy gentleman "Philippe". We joked that he might as well be one of those art dealers headed to The Art in Basel. As Philippe read the newspaper, he took a long time studying the latest Porsche 911 review, the sports section featuring the European Cup 2004, and the business section. We discovered that he was an art professional, only because I happened to witness him quickly reviewing letters from art galleries and spending a few short minutes browsing an art magazine. He then took up a tabloid paper filled with nude photos and gossip.

Philippe was headed to Switzerland to attend Art Basel 2004, an annual art fair, which is the biggest and the most renouned in the world. The international event attracts prominent gallerists, artists, and most importantly, collectors from around the world. This event was one of the reasons for our visit to Basel.

As we observed Philippe over the seven-hour train trip, we had to wonder what type of art he was involved with, as his behavior was rather crude. Was he a collector, a gallerist? What type of art business was he involved with? We never found out, but we kept an eye out for him over the next several days.

After we arrived in Basel, we got a hint of what art means to the people and what it might be in their society. For example, the countries paper currency is decorated with portraits of artists and writers. Inside a tiny half-inch square they describe the significant achievement of the person in very small text. The only other example of currency depicting artists, that I know of, is one Japanese bill with Sohseki Natsume, a well known author, printed on it. Were there other examples in Europe before they adopted the Euro?

The overwhelming majority of the world's paper currency depicts the portraits of politicians, or those who have contributed to the counties establishment, independence and development of the nation, or war heroes who have defeated their enemies. A female artist, an author, and a music composer are featured here in Switzerland. Could this discovery lead us to glimpse as to how the Swiss position arts in their society?

We will stay in Switzerland for just a week, visiting The Art and then moving to Buchs to collaborate with a Swiss photographer/printmaker. As we discover more about the business of art, we expect to find many more Philippe's out there.

Hof Culture

Where do the calm yet hot creative activities come from?

Many of them seem to be coming from communal spaces called Höfe, which are courtyards in the middle of old buildings. Old buildings in Berlin are usually four to six stories high, without any gaps between the buildings. Because of this, they look like a single dense building that covers the whole block when you look at these structures from the sidewalks. Each structure houses one or more höfe.

The hof of the apartment building where we are staying is one of the largest one we have been inside so far. There are many trees growing and it is pleasant to our eyes, with playgrounds for kids, small lawns, and walking paths leading to streets surrounding the hof.

Our neighborhood is located along a major street, Shönehauser Allee, with many creative people roaming the surrounding area called Prenzlauer Berg. At first glance, many of the höfe have dark entrances without signs inviting us in. Still we ventured into many of them.

In one, we found a small theater on the first floor of the building, with the connected hof serving as the welcoming space for it's guests. In another building yoga and dance were taught and the hof outside served as a place where students could relax. The hof surrounded by architectural offices and galleries had several trees that gave soothing shades and a café with oddly shaped, sculpture-like chairs and tables. Some clients of the café were quietly conversing, while the other sat smoking his pipe while writing his journal. In another café, I found a flyer that announced a music band's CD release party at a hof.

Not all höfe are open at all times. Many of them have their gates closed unless some events or parties were planned.

In some cases, the buildings are large enough that they house multiple höfe connected by walkways. One example is Hackescher Höfe at Hackescher Markt, one of the busy shopping districts in Berlin. This space houses many shops, movie theaters, restaurants, bars and cafés, attracting many Berliners. Boutiques sell gorgeous dresses designed and crafted in their shop. This spot has been discovered by the popular guide books and is turning more and more into a tourist destination.

We cannot say whether there are höfe in other cities of Germany, and, if so, how they serve their communities. Here in Berlin, though, höfe are playing the role of providing precious space for the creative locals to meet, interact, exchange ideas, perform, and just sit down with their favorite beer.

Hotspots in Berlin

Our first few days in Berlin were spent around our new neighborhood located on the eastern side of town. This area was East Germany before 1990 and the fall of the Berlin Wall. The neighborhood, called "Prenzlaur Berg" is full of funky cafés, ethnic restaurants, independent boutiques, small movie and dance theaters, art galleries and an assortment of other alternative businesses. It’s an interesting hotspot, as something is always happening around here.

The people who live here are mainly young Berliners. I find their personalities brighter and friendlier than I had imagined them to be. Throughout the day, they gather at café tables under the sun or stars, smile softly and converse quietly to one another. This calmness is reflected even in the bartender of the punk café down the street. Of course, not everyone fits this description, but, for the most part, I feel this calm energy on the streets or inside the cafés.

It’s my guess that this calm and friendly attitude surfaced on the faces of the people of Berlin several years after the collapse of the wall. They had suffered for at least one hundred and thirty years with war, poverty and hunger. We saw evidence of this suffering in the art of German artist Kaethe Kollwitz. Kollwitz pulls her figurative imagery from personal experience, expressing the pain and sadness of the working class, the poor and the down-and-out living around her in the early twentieth century.

The fall of the Berlin Wall took place less than 15 years ago. Since then, the young people who have stayed here have established what appears to be a positive, thriving culture of their own. They seem to appreciate their freedom but are taking it slow, step-by-step without rushing things. Perhaps the calmness I feel around them originates from this appreciation of their young and open freedom.

Lyn and I talk about how much we dig this neighborhood. We make the required outings to museums and art galleries outside of the Prenzlaur Berg district, however, we’re most at home in this Berlin hotspot. Here we can feel the positive energy and vibe coming from the living people, as opposed to the dull energy we feel when viewing historic monuments like the Brandenburger Tor or the many others that celebrate olden day war victories. Young Berliners are moving on.

Catalunya!

Our travels in Europe have come to a mid-way point now, and we are in Berlin. Before we report on this fabulous city, we would like to have one more entry on Barcelona.

When visiting Barcelona, we were not necessarily visiting Spain, but Catalunya. To visitors the people of Barcelona speak Spanish, but to each other they speak Catalan, their native language. While I couldn’t understand what was being said on many local TV programs, I could tell they were definitely not speaking in Spanish.

We spent several days visiting and appreciating the sites this town had to offer. We loved Miro Museum and Museum of Comtemporary Art, Barcelona (MACBA). We stopped in to enjoy the local art galleries. Our favorite new art, however, was the graffiti painted on the many public walls throughout the city. It’s possibly the best mural/graffiti art we’ve seen anywhere in the world. Instead of making it a crime to paint in public, Barcelona offers artists public walls for artistic expression. How progressive, and as a result, the paintings offer insightful, thoughtful, and fun images throughout the city.

The local food consisted of a rich variation of fruit, vegetables, meat, cheese and, of course, an amazing selection of fish. To satisfy the sweet tooth, bakeries offered delicious pastries and croissants to go along with a cup of rich espresso.

During our stay, our initial naive and trivial awareness of the rich traditions of Catalunya grew day by day as we learned more about the history, traditions and culture that make up the strong Catalunya culture.

Our apartment in the Les Corts neighborhood was within walking distance of the Camp Nou Stadium. One evening, I made the last minute decision to take in a football game. It was a friendly match commemorating the retirement of Stoytchkov, the national hero of Bulgaria and a local hero to the people of Barcelona. A crowd of about fifteen thousand came out to say thanks and so-long to this great player. From 1991 to 1994 Stoytchkov played a leading role in bringing FC Barcelona to victory, claiming the Spanish Football League championship for a full 4 years. This was a dream for Catalunya and as a result the people of Barcelona will never forget Stoytchkov.

During the Franco era, the language of Catalan was prohibited. In defiance, the Catalunyans held classes in their native language at the FC Barcelona clubhouse. In thanks for their role in keeping the local culture intact, the football club continues to be well supported by both local football fans and those who don’t follow the game. The FC Barcelona team represents far more than football to the Catalunyan culture and carries with it political undertones.

Perhaps it is too forward for me to say “we weren’t in Spain” but it is certain that much of the cultural we experienced in Barcelona was Catalunya.

Spanish Rhythm

This is our first experience with the Spanish rhythm of living. I had read about Siesta in the guidebooks, but, wasn’t familiar with the details. Compared to Amsterdam, few people here speak fluent English, and it is hard for us to strike a conversation with them and get information. After observing the locals for a day, I asked the owner of Hostal Hill, a Japanese man from my hometown of Kyoto, about the inner workings of Siesta. Even after this detailed explanation in my native language, I still don’t have a full understanding of it.

According to the hotel owner, Spanish don’t necessarily take a nap during these few hours in the afternoon, but rather take their time eating a late lunch, and chatting with friends and neighbors before going back to work until around 6 or 7pm. Typically, they eat their last, small meal around 9:00pm before retiring for the evening. The Japanese hotel owner felt that this eating schedule wasn’t very healthy according to up-to-date nutritional knowledge.

Sunday morning, 2AM. The excitement of Saturday night is far from over. So many people were still on the streets. A family with a young girl, about 4-years-old, was enjoying their night out. The girl was wide-awake running around the sidewalk. As travelers here, we need to adjust to their rhythm.

We moved to an apartment near Estadi Camp Nou, the home of FC Barcelona. There are two different church bells that we can hear at this spot. Like any church in Europe, they let us know the time of day. Between these two bells, there is a lag of three to four minutes. I am warming up to this neighborhood with this lag, that I hear every hour. I would imagine, however, that there are no such lags in Switzerland where we plan to visit about a month from now.

Right across an alley from this apartment, construction of a building is going on. They start working around 8AM and, needless to say, we don’t need to set an alarm clock. Around 10AM, the noise quiets down for about a half an hour. During Siesta between 1PM and 4PM or so, nobody is at the construction site. The end of a day comes after a couple of hours after Siesta. When would this building be completed? In any case, I would say this is the pace of life for the people of this city. By the way, we also heard that there is no Siesta for the employees of American multinational corporations who have offices here.

The sun is definitely of the Mediterranean, really bright. We will spend next ten days in this city, hopefully in the sunshine.

Spring!

Spring has finally come to Amsterdam. On Saturday morning the town blossomed after what seemed to be a long winter. Our time in Arizona did nothing to prepare us for the gray, cold days we initially experienced here, making this weekend’s weather a welcome change.

Looking up we see the blue sky filled with round, puffy clouds mixed with the views of the tops of old buildings.

Along with the change in the weather, the behavior and fashion of the people also switched. The mostly vacated outdoor café tables we now full of people dressed in fresh pastel colors. The canals busy with small local boats hosting friends to wine and cheese, navigate the maze-like waterways. Facial expressions are relaxed and people show more smiles. On the top of everyone’s to-do list is to “soak up the sun.”

Vondelpark is one of the most familiar and important places for the citizens of Amsterdam. On Sunday, they began to arrive before noon to claim their spots, spreading blankets, baggettes, cheese, salami, wine, and fruit of all sorts. Their energies exploded into play with bicycles, inline skates, and of course, soccer balls.

There were so many people in the park late in the afternoon that the scene reminded me of Ohanami (outdoor cherry blossom parties in Japan) or a summer afternoon in Golden Gate Park.

The sky is still indigo blue at 9:30pm, and an occasional breeze feels a bit chilly. It was a day with surprising sharp sunrays and warmth. Even at days end the café windows remain open. The vertical silhouette of a cathedral, neighboring houses, the curve of bridges over the canals, and the orange glow of streetlights intermingle with the gradation of the late sunset. The color is gorgeous and the people move around my view. They move through the night unhurried, taking time to enjoy the warm evening. Their calm energy grounds me as I sat observing their movements.

The time one cannot exchange with money, the time when inspiration begins to flow, this is the time when time itself is art. Consciously or not, the people here know this.

On Keizersgracht

Before Tom took off to Taipei, he gave us the keys to his flat on Keizersgracht with full amenities including a high-speed wireless net access. He offered us to use his place for the rest of our stay. The location couldn’t be better. Three minutes walk to Leidse Plein bustling with both the locals and the tourists, and the building is facing a calm canal adding a distinctive local atmosphere. We moved here from Bed & Coffee and started to enjoy this new environment immediately.

Our lives in the San Francisco Bay Area are busy but actually quite simple. Or, should I say we live in different types of complications? Though we go out to see music quite often and we are active in socializing, the fact that we unconsciously fall into a limited set of routines and patterns cannot be helped, living in a middle-class suburb. I feel deeply about that when I travel to a completely different culture. Initially, I had foolishly thought that I could make note of the differences between the ways of living we encounter, and that of America or Japan. Now I run into a realization that my understanding of American and Japanese lifestyles itself is sadly limited. For example, an attempt to observe the way Dutch people spend their weekends would not have much reference points.

According to Tom, Dutch people spend Friday night and Saturday with friends, socializing and partying. Then Sunday, in general, is dedicated to spending time with their families, as we saw around the whole Ajax Amsterdam game day. Families also go out to dance and drink together at local clubs. Some clubs impose a couple of restrictions specifically on Sundays for this reason. Singles and those who do not speak fluent Dutch might not be admitted. In the States, this would be considered as a violation of the anti-discrimination law.

Amsterdam and The Netherlands are extremely open to outsiders. The whole town is flooded with foreigners and I simply don’t see any discrimination. In this cultural climate, I thought, it might be a challenge to preserve the native Dutch culture and race. It occurred to me that Dutch people’s attitude to set a day for its preservation might be manifesting in the way they spend their Sundays.

Cloudy days continue and the breeze is still chilly. But the water birds have built nests between anchored boats on the canals, and protecting their eggs or taking their chicks out to cruise.

An Amsterdam Weekend

What a weekend in this hopping city! Friday through Sunday just flew by like an arrow. The biggest joy for us was to see Tom Kee again after 6 years and have the whole weekend with him. He has launched a company, XWIRE, that creates an intelligent, fast and versatile WiFi router which is developed mainly by himself. He has been living here for 3 years, but now he is about to move back to the States.

There were two art exhibit events that we checked out during the weekend. On Saturday, we headed to West Amsterdam to the Kunstvlaai at Westergasfabrik, previously some kind of a water utility facility. There gathered “off the wall” local artists for a collective exhibit, consisting of a variation of innovative expressions to truly off the wall eye openers as well as crackups. An amazing thing was the big turnout of those who chose to spend a Saturday afternoon enjoying art. Old fashionable folks, young creative types, and families with baby strollers all seemed to be enjoying a peaceful time with art. Kind of like one summer day in Golden Gate Park or one of those San Francisco street festivals.

We got together with Tom for dinner and “walkabout” in a rather relaxing mode this evening, unlike our first night out on the town Friday that took us to jam-packed, smoky and extremely busy clubs like The Dolphins, Café Alto and Bull Dog, both just around the Leidse Plein neighborhood, with diverse nationalities of people whose languages that I could not even recognize. This evening (Saturday), Tom took us to an Indonesian restaurant, then to a couple of loungy clubs. Of course, the partying crowds started to move into those clubs as their first destination of the night, sometime around midnight.

On Sunday, we headed to Tom’s flat in the early afternoon. As we approached Leidse Plein, there was a horde of Ajax Amsterdam fans already starting the tailgate party for the day’s game. Several families were in the action as well, low-teen girls covering themselves with the Ajax flags with their mothers, or little boys with their fathers, both completely decked out in the team colors of red and white. Later we learned that it was definitely a game of significance --the Dutch Championship game. I captured the sounds of the crowd with my mic while walking through some tall-ass young dudes sucking on Heineken cans. The game was to start at 4PM. They had more than 2 hours of partying to do. The party would continue, as mighty Ajax won the game.

We set off to Kunst Rai with Tom and his friend Danielle, a cheerful Dutch photographer from just outside the city. The Kunst Rai is an annual main-stream art conference in a business-like convention center. The aforementioned Kunstvlaai mocked Kunst Rai for its stiff style, but speaking of off the wall, some of the artwork at Kunst Rai weren’t necessarily so different. Only the difference between the artists, besides those who are already well known and established, is whether they got luckily recognized by critics and galleries or not.

Arts everywhere. That’s what counts to us at the moment.

Tom started his trip to Taipei via Paris, by a bullet-train from Amsterdam the next morning at 4 AM. Good luck to you, Tom! And big thanks to everything you have done for us.