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.

In A Sleepy Town

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bit by a Bad Bug

On January 7, I was admitted to the JSS Hospital in Mysore. While celebrating New Years in Kochi I was bit by a bad bug and contracted Malaria as a result. While Kochi has historic and cultural charm, it also has a serious mosquito problem due to its open, dirty sewers and stagnant water. It wasn't until leaving Kochi, on the night train to Mangalore on January 3 that I began to feel weak and chilled, and brushed it off as just a flu or fatigue. Even though we traveled in an air-conditioned compartment, I experienced heavy sweating throughout the night. When we arrived in Mangalore the next morning, we still had a full day of travel to reach our destination of Belur. This involved rickshaw and two more buses. By the time we arrived the chills were getting worse and my head was feeling quite heavy.

This wasn't the first time I felt flu-like symptoms with achy joints, fever and chills during our journey, but to be sure, I went to a small medical clinic across the street from the hotel. The doctor there diagnosed me as with either the flu, conditions resulting in a change in climate, or the effects of drinking some bad water: he wasn't really sure. When I asked him about Malaria, he said that wasn't the case and prescribed antipyretic and antibiotics for the next two days. At the clinic, the cost of diagnosis was free, and most of the patients were poor villagers, who waited in long queues for their turn to see the doctor. While diagnosis is free, patients must pay a percentage of the prescription cost, as set by their medical benefit system. My prescriptions turned out to be 52 Rupees, about $1.20 in US dollars.

I was stuck in the hotel for obvious reasons, and wasn't able to fully explore the town of Belur. Finally, on January 6, my fever calmed down and I ventured out to visit Channekeshava Temple, well known for it's intricate and beautiful stone carvings. However, once the antipyretic wore off, the chills and fever returned stronger than before, and my body temperature shot up to 103 degrees. It was becoming more obvious everyday that this was not the flu or some other simple illness. The following morning, January 7th, Lyn hired a car and driver to take us to Mysore, the closest city from Belur with appropriate medical facilities. The chills were so bad during the four-hour drive that I asked the driver to stop just so I could stand in the hot sun to "warm up" for a few minutes.

Upon arriving in Mysore, we went straight to the Government Hospital Emergency Room and paid the 10 Rupees to register. As hard as it is to imagine an Emergency Room closing for lunch, this was the case, and no doctor was available during the 1PM to 2PM break. A young doctor advised us that if we wanted better care, we should try JSS Hospital. That's all we needed to make the move to another facility. Fortunately, JSS was not far away and our driver high-tailed it in that direction. Upon arrival, I was given a bed in the ER and the nurse immediately took my temperature, which registered 104 degrees, the highest yet. Because of the high fever, and perhaps because I was a foreigner, the doctors seemed concerned and went straight to work, asking questions about my health and immediately began an IV and gave me a shot to reduce the fever.

JSS Hospital is a medical collage, and therefore many on its staff are interns. I was passed around from intern to post-grad, and then to a senior professor who made the final decision to admit me to the hospital immediately. After a rather tedious admission process for a room in the private ward, the nurses took my blood to send to the lab. A short while later, the intense-looking post-grad came to collect me for a trip to a private lab in town, as the hospitals own testing facility would take another day for the results. After the 20-minute wait at the private lab, the results came back: I tested positive for Malaria. We drove back to the hospital and I began a "rapid treatment program" with IVs mixed with anti-Malarial medications that would last the next 5 days.

The professor surrounds himself with interns and doctors, each of whom is an expert in internal medicine, pharmacology, virus, epidemics and so on. They seemed to be brilliant and knowledgeable, exchanging information and ideas and coming to a collective decision on the treatment to be given, with the professor at the center of the team. The intense-looking post-grad said to us that he felt that Indian doctors were better trained than any doctor in the west because conditions in a developing nation present them with the full range of medical problems, the type that doctors in the west don't often see.

Nurses, on the other hand, are completely different story. They are friendly, kind and caring, but when it comes to executing doctors' orders, there seemed to be some confusion. They had trouble finding a vain in my arm for the IV, and to my irritation, I was stabbed several times before they got it right. We both found it best to double-check the medications and dosages to be sure they were correct.

The ward itself was small and not very clean, let alone fully sanitized. The bathroom was cleaned often but only with water, a dirty towel and a brush made from twigs. The ceiling of the bathroom dripped some unknown fluid that created stalactite, like you would see in some dark cave. Giant cockroaches ran free and mosquitoes entered through windows without screens. India is such a place where Malaria patients have to worry about mosquitoes inside a hospital where they are treated. The signs in the hallway read "Keep Quiet!" but it wasn't possible as other patients' moans and coughs, cries of newborn babies, and the voices of families gossiping in the hallway went on all day and night.

The hospital does not provide meals in its ward facilities. The only way to obtain food is to have someone bring meals in or venture out yourself to a nearby restaurant. Furthermore, patients or their family must run to the pharmacy at the doctors' request to purchase all medical supplies such as IVs, injection sets, and medications. I was fortunate to have Lyn with me in the ward throughout my illness to run for food or medications. I can't help but wonder how a single person would handle the logistics alone.

The fever started to go down immediately after I started the anti-Malaria drugs through the IVs. This treatment took three days to complete, with two more days of oral meds to complete the total elimination of the parasites from my bloodstream. The team of doctors headed by the professor visited me every morning, checked my body temperature, pulse and blood pressure, received reports from nurses and gave them further instructions. They conducted another blood test on the 5th day, which came back negative: the parasite was eradicated. Based on the result, I was discharged on the morning of January 12. Although I was impressed with the speedy and decisive handling by the professor and his students throughout my treatment, we were back to typical India when it came to the discharge process and all the associated paperwork, and waited over three hours before I could set a free foot out the door.

The diagnosis and treatment costs at JSS Hospital are considered low because it is a medical college, and as a result many of the patients come for poorer backgrounds. The private ward cost 250 Rupees a day with a 2,000 Rupees advance to be paid before admission. Having the money to pay for the advance is a decisive point for many of the patients wishing to stay in the private or semi-private room. Mysore has several other hospitals, which we heard offer a better overall environment, but which also come with a higher price, up to five times that of the medical collage hospital.

The total cost to treat my Malaria, including diagnosis, treatment, blood tests, medications, and the private ward, was less than 250 US dollars. JSS may not be the cleanest, or the most modern but the diagnosis and treatment given to me was on par with what I'd expect at home. The high cost of health care in America has become a huge social issue. High insurance costs, even higher costs for medical treatment have left many individuals without healthcare at all. While I've read that India also faces huge increases in medical care in the future, it's good to know that villagers, even in a small town like Belur, have access to some form of healthcare.

It is not a positive story to write about being hospitalized for Malaria in India. But looking back at the experience from a position of recovery, I gained insights into another aspect of Indian life, despite the unpleasant circumstances.

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.

Tremor in Asian Seas

On Christmas day we took a walk south of the lighthouse to the small fishing village named Vizhinjam. The villagers are mainly poor fisherfolk that depend on the sea to eek out their meager living. They live in plain huts made from woven palm fronds that sit at the waters edge. The Christmas celebration was in full swing on the southern side of the bay. Teenagers blasted music from large speakers, boys played soccer on the beach, and women greeting us with big smiles. They were relaxed and happy, enjoying the fine weather and the holiday celebration. The following day, however, the celebration turned to terror when wave after wave hit the shore, pulling everything in its' path out into the sea. The village was destroyed in a matter of minutes.

At the same time this tiny fishing village was being torn apart, we sat unaware of the danger high up on the second floor of the German Bakery on Kovalam Beach, a mere 2 to 3 kilometers north of Vizhinjam. We watched as people settled in for a day at the beach, renting chaise lounges and parasols on the shore, eating fresh fruit salad, or riding waves in the morning surf. Suddenly, we saw the waves stretch unusually far toward shore, surprising the people lounging on the beach when waves reached their blankets and scattered their sandals in the receding water. Still, the waves were never tall; instead they just kept coming farther and farther up the beach. The view was almost comical, and we found ourselves laughing as people chased down their sandals and bags before they lost them to the sea.

We kept watching the waves as we ate breakfast. The tide came up awfully close to the row of establishments along the beach, and then receded about 50 meters back after a few minutes. As this cycle continued, we discussed what might be causing the strange behavior, perhaps the full moon, or, I suggested, perhaps an earthquake. We had no idea how accurate this statement would turn out to be.

The strange phenomenon continued all morning long. The lifeguards kept watch, but didn't seem alarmed. People continued to enjoy sun bathing on the shore and swimming in the clear blue waters. In fact, the sea seemed even calmer than the day before, so Lyn decided to take a morning swim. She swam for 20 minutes, and while the current was strong, it didn't seem as strong as on the first few days after we arrived. Still, she was cautious of the oceans immense power and came out to rest on shore. As the waves had receded she choose a spot high on the beach to lay her sarong. She sat down and became engrossed in her book when suddenly the waves had advanced up the shore again, and she quickly scrambled to pick up her things before they were soaked. A cruel joke, she thought, as she and I had earlier sat watching and giggling as others had the same experience.

The locals are used to having high tides during the monsoon season, but even they said that this was something unusual at this time of year. Around 1pm, we went to lunch and choose a restaurant along the beachfront. Clearly something was wrong, as we saw fishermen running from the direction of the southern village as quickly as they could to check on their boats left on Kovalam. Several teams of men were hauling their boats to higher ground. The tides would wash far up the beach, and then recede even farther back into the sea. The distance between each tidemark to the next became increasing bigger. After eating we decided to walk north to the next beach, along the sidewalk lined with businesses. It was then that we overheard one shopkeeper say that there was an earthquake and that several people in Chenni had been killed. So, something major did happen, but we still didn't have any idea of what was going on with the ocean here. By this time, the lifeguards had pulled everyone from the water and were standing guard to keep people from entering it.

The first official news came when we caught sight of the BBC on TV where we heard that a giant tsunami hit the coast of Sri Lanka and Chennai. The first estimates were that 1,000 people were dead. It wasn't until several days later that we learned the full magnitude of the devastation. On December 26, the earth shook with an unbelievable amount of energy, 300 times more than that of quake in Kobe Japan, and aftershocks has been continuing ever since.

Miraculously there wasn't much damage on Kovalam Beach itself. We were concerned about our friends on Ko Lanta in Thailand (who, thankfully, have survived) and wondered how bad things were in Chennai, as we were considering ending our India adventure in that coastal city. As each day passes the number of victims and the scale of damage to Asian coastlines continues to multiply. We are constantly reminded of how incredibly lucky we are to be still here, and how rather odd it was that Kovalam was spared, while the beaches north and south were not.

We are currently staying in Kochi, north of Kovalam along the coast. This is an island town, connected to the mainland by a set of bridges. There was minor damage here as well. When we arrived on the 28th ferries were not operating and fishing boats did not dare to go out to sea.

Since we arrived, there have been some concerts and dance recitals organized to benefit the victims. The community seems ready to muster the enormous effort required to stage relief work, and many are taking matters into their own hands, collecting donations for basic necessities lost in the oceans fury. The most basic needs are for clothing, shoes, cookware and cooking stoves. We are hearing from locals that the government and religious organizations are slow to help because the donated money gets bogged down in endless politics. It's our hope that advanced nations will mobilize their relief efforts quickly and focus their attention on this humanitarian emergency. If you would like to help, please send money through a trusted organization like the Red Cross or other NGO's that you may be in contact with.

We continue to feel very lucky and blessed to have escaped this tragedy unscathed. Our hearts and prayers go out to all of those who lost friends and loved ones in this horrible disaster.

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.

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.

Golden Dawn

At dawn, the sun shines its heavenly light on the Golden Temple, the holiest of shrines in the Sikh religion. The temple is located in the city of Amritsar in the Indian state of Punjab. With 18 million followers of the faith in India, and many more around the world, Punjab is the center of Sikh religion and culture. Everyone is required to cover their head with cloth and wash their hands and feet before entering the holy structure. Shoes, tobacco and leather must be left outside the gate.

We approached the gate of the temple before sunrise. The cool morning air was filled with the gentle sounds of sacred chanting accompanied by Indian percussions. Our feet fell upon the marble floor underneath us, still cool from the passing night. The first sight to grace our eyes is the golden Hari Mandir Sahib, the two-storey temple in the center of the sacred pool called Amrit Sarovar or "pool of nectar". The Golden Temple appeared to be floating within it, projecting its magnificent reflection onto the waters surface. Worshippers kneel at first sight of the temple, in which Sikh's holy scripture called Guru Granth Sahib is enshrined.

After entering and the initial worship, visitors walk clock-wise around the pool along the Parkarma, the marble walkway surrounding the water. Men and women bathe in the ghats at the waters edge, offering their prayers and cleansing their bodies with the sacred water. When they are finished bathing they have a fulfilled look about them. People find peace in their own ways, such as sitting by the side of the pool meditating or quietly conversing in small groups in the shade. The chanting of the Holy Scripture, accompanied by harmonies and tabla drums are always in the background, echoing softly in everybody's ears.

As the morning sunshine broke through the city's dusty air and into the quietness of the shrine the marble structures turned hues of yellow, orange and pink, bringing with it a livelier atmosphere. The golden building stood firmly at the center with its overwhelming presence, and never fell out of our view. Young men were dressed in the latest hip-hop fashion while women wore the traditional saree. A westerner stood at his easel painting the glorious view of the Golden Temple filled with gorgeous light and color.

Actually, only the dome on Hari Mandir's roof is made of gold with the rest made from brass. The Arabic design and delicate details on its sides become visible upon approach from Guru's Bridge. Inside the temple are four high priests who continuously read from the sacred text and bless the visitors, along with a set of musicians who perform the music. Sikhs sit down on the floor, absorbedly listening and praying.

Sikhism was founded in the late 15th century and began as a reaction against the caste system and Brahmin domination of ritual. It was aimed at blending the best of Islam and Hinduism together. Sikhs believe in one god and reject the worship of idols. This temple does not have idols of gods for that reason, but instead displays pictures of the 10 Sikh gurus.

The sacred feeling of the temple is heightened by the fact that it's perpetually being cleaned and that the all structures, aside from the Hari Mandir, are made from white marble. The quiet energy of the temple is in great contrast with the chaotic streets outside its gate, filled with many people and much traffic moving about in a fog of dust. One could easily choose to spend an entire day within its walls absorbing the peace and solitude that the temple offers.

To India

"Delhi is a horrible place." That's what many travelers have told us. Our date of departure was approaching and we were getting nervous. However, after arriving in Delhi, and seeing the city first hand, it's not as horrible as our minds imagined. While it is definitely true that this city is different from any places we have been to, the differences are not completely negative.

From an Internet café in Bangkok we booked a guesthouse in Connaught Place for the first few days in Delhi. The guesthouse arranged transportation from the airport, making our early morning arrival as smooth as possible. The guesthouse itself was another not-so-great guidebook recommendation. It was located in a building occupied by several other businesses. The room was like a prison cell, a tiny 8' x 12' space completely tiled in white from floor to ceiling, and without a window. The attached bathroom was hardly functioning. We checked out the next morning to better accommodations.

The first day was spent exploring the area called Connaught Place, a well-known shopping district, laid out around several ring roads. Many people approach us on the streets, mostly vendors selling Rajistani crafts, sweets and other items for sale. To our surprise, a simple but polite "no thanks" was all that was needed to escape these hustlers. Panhandlers were the same, and so were the stylish young men who wanted to introduce us to "reliable travel agencies." The hassle of fending off touts seemed surprisingly less than in Mongolia or China, where an arm might be grabbed to keep us from leaving.

As far as food goes, we continue to stick by our tried and true standards used in China. That is, to find relatively clean, brightly lit places that fit our budget and where many other people are enjoying a meal. It was not difficult to find places that fit these criteria in both Connaught Place, and Paharganj, where our second hotel was located. The many Indian restaurants and Chat Cafés located in Silicon Valley prepared us well for diving into the real deal here in Delhi.

We had to ask ourselves, "Had we arrived directly from Northern California, without first experiencing Mongolia or China, would Delhi be totally overwhelming, would our first impression be different?" Perhaps.

India has much to offer and deeper experiences to explore. We expect that our eyes will pop and our jaws will drop in the coming months. Just walking around the old town markets around Red Fort has set the stage for what's to come. Delhi is the starting point for a three-month adventure in India.

Red Lanterns

An overnight train from Emi to Panzhihua plus an eight-hour bus ride took us to Lijiang, an old town known for its uniquely traditional architecture and Naxi culture.

Due to its cultural importance, the "old town" (as it's called) has been chosen as a UNESCO World Heritage site. The old traditional buildings withstood a major earthquake in 1996. Most of the damage in Lijiang occurred among the newly developed buildings, while the old houses stood almost indifferently. The officials were so impressed with the stability of the old building that they are now rebuilding the collapsed parts of "new town" using the same traditional methods.

Over half of the Yunnan population is a collection of minority tribes, Naxi and Bai among them. China's cultural wealth is well preserved in this city. Women proudly wear their traditional dress in their daily life and the younger generations create designs using the traditional pictographic Naxi language.

Looking down upon the town from the hillside takes you back a few hundred years as the view is filled with classic Chinese style rooftops made from slate tiles. The skyline is a series of black lines all sweeping upwards at their ends.

The town reminds me of an area of Kyoto called Kiyamachi because of the clean, clear flowing canals that line the cobblestone streets. At night, a warm glow comes over old Lijiang. Red lanterns cast their rosy colored light in the running waters of the canals. Everywhere you look you have the sense of being in old China.

Walking the cobblestone streets offers quite different views from the hillside above. The first floor of each building lining the street is a storefront. In the "old days" these shops sold all manner of goods necessary for life in Lijiang. Today they have been converted into souvenir shops, restaurants, and cafés. From morning to midnight this small town's streets are full of tourists shopping, walking and eating.

At first I was disappointed about the shopping mall appearance, with shop after shop selling T-shirts, jewelry, tea and more of the same. However, after a few days I found the reason for all the souvenir shops.

The mountains surrounding Lijiang, including gorgeous places like Tiger Leaping Gorge and the "official" Shangri-La, are also known for their lumber resources. Repeated flooding and landslides, made worse from the deforestation, have prompted the Chinese government to shut down many of the local logging companies. They have begun to encourage the communities to replant trees to stabilize the earth in the affected area. This resulted in massive unemployment, especially among the Naxi people, and they turned to tourism to make a living.

The UNESCO label created a world-class destination and the Chinese are quite proud of it. They flock to Lijiang to shop, take snapshots with the locals in their tribal clothing and to party in the bars at night. Only old black and white photographs on postcards can tell how it used to be, when this old town had its true charm.

Four Days in the Countryside

Bam! The Russian jeep that would take us to the countryside slammed into the Honda Accord driven by a middle-aged Mongolian couple on busy Peace Avenue. It was 9:30am, just 15 seconds after we pulled away from the State Department Store to begin our short four-day tour of the countryside. Fortunately for everyone, there were no injuries. Was this an omen of things to come over the next four days?

July 24 (Day 1)
09:30 The tour started. Fifteen seconds later, encountered a traffic accident. No injuries.
10:00 Restart of the tour.
13:00 Flat tire No. 1, on the left-front tire.

13:30 On the road again after patching the inner tube.
14:00 Lunch of Onigiri (Japanese rice balls) under strong sun and dusty wind.
15:00 Flat tire No. 2, on the right-rear tire at the outskirts of the "Mini Gobi". Walked around Mini Gobi while the tire was repaired.

16:00 On the road again after patching the inner tube, with help from a group of Mongolian passersby.
17:30 Flat tire No. 3, on the right-rear tire. Walked around the vast landscape during the repair.

19:00 On the road again after patching the inner tube, with help from a group of Mongolian passersby.
20:15 Flat tire No. 4, on the right-rear tire, around 15 kilometers from our first destination Harahorin.
21:15 On the road again after a Mongolian passerby lent us his spare tire for the short drive to town.
22:00 Arrived at Harahorin. Patched two tires at a tire repair shop.
23:30 Parked the jeep in the middle of a grassy hill. Pitched tents in the dark and slept. No dinner.

July 25 (Day 2)
08:00 Woke up with hunger.
09:15 Takeoff after a cup of Mongolian tea. No breakfast.
09:45 Arrived at Karakolm, a ruin from the Mongolian empire and a monestry. The driver and the interpreter went to the town to find a tire. Tried to enjoy the morning, somewhat successful but mostly feeling down. After the sightseeing, waited another hour or so for our damned Russian jeep to pick us up. Ate apples and biscuits.
13:30 Takeoff for the day's destination.
14:30 Stopped at a ger due to a thunder storm. Found flat tire No. 5 on the right-rear side. Ate cup noodles for lunch while waiting for the storm to pass and the tire to be repaired.
16:00 On the road again after patching the inner tube.
16:45 Engine halted due to a broken belt.
17:15 Repaired the issue using a spare belt. How the driver fixed it was completely unknown.
18:30 Arrived at Olgee Lake. Pitched the tents and prepared dinner. Enjoyed lake side views before strong wind and cold air overcame us.
20:00 Dinner. Dark clouds gathered overhead.
22:00 Retired for the day.

July 26 (Day 3)
00:00 Thunderstorm. Our tent almost collapsed due to high wind, rain and strong thunderstorm.
02:00 Another thunderstorm, harder than the first. Rain water started to drip inside our tent. Considered moving to the car, but changed our position inside the tent instead.
08:00 Woke up to find clearer skies and a heard of 25 horses grazing outside our tent.
09:30 Walk by the lake with our driver and guide.
10:30 Began driving for the day.
14:30 Flat tire No. 6.

15:45 Takeoff after patching the inner tube.
17:00 Temperature rapidly going down, and weather getting worse. Hard rain with strong wind and thunder. Wind and rain coming in through the gaps on the door. Pants getting wet from the water, feeling very cold.
18:30 Trying to find people who were delivering new tires for us. Very cold. While we tried to find the people, some wire under the jeep broke.
19:00 The driver somehow fixed the wire in the pouring rain, right by a flooding river. How he repaired the problem was unknown.
19:30 Met with the people with tires, headed to a roadside repair shop. New tires were installed on right front and right rear wheels. Waited in the strong, cold wind during the repair. Feeling extremely cold and lost the sense in hands.

20:30 Arrived at Hustai National Park. Caught up with a ranger at his station post.
21:00 Started to find the horses that are said to be the origin of all horse spices. Saw six of those horses in a deeper part of the park.
22:30 Arrived at a ger which is the home of the ranger and his family. Had dinner with cup noodles.

July 27 (Day 4)
07:00 Woke up as the ger family was already active. Observed various morning tasks among the family memebers. The family offered breakfast. Some conversations with the family. More observations of their lifestyle. Rode a horse.
10:30 Drove around the park with the ranger guiding us with great information. The Russian jeep doing much better in the terrain, so was our mood.
12:00 Returned to the family's ger. They offered lunch.
13:00 Left Hustai National Park.
16:00 Returned to Ulaan Baatar.

The tour was plagued with problems. We also question how the preparations were done for our tour, on the part of the tour operator. However, it was a meaningful experience in many ways. We saw the lives of Mongolian people in forms that are true to their culture. Various conditions of the nature we put ourselves in were beautiful and dynamic, no matter how they turned out to be. And that's what we visited Mongolia for.

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.

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.

Easy Entry

We arrived at Barcelona in the early evening on the 22nd of May, a delay of one day in our plans. We felt the difference in the air immediately. Higher humidity and, of course, warmer than Amsterdam. But the breeze in the evening was still a bit chilly for us.

We flew from Amsterdam on Easy Jet, a discount airline that serves the EU nations. They offer the simplest services and sell tickets only at their airport counters and on the web. Arriving in Barcelona meant we were entering Spain, but, to our amazement there were no customs checks, not our luggage or our passports. When we entered the Netherlands, at least they gave us a commemorative stamp on our passport. This time, there wasn’t even an opportunity for such stamp to prove that we actually arrived in Spain.

Perhaps this is no surprise to those who travel around Europe often, but it was an eye-opener to us, as we had not flown in Europe for several years. Just two months ago, Spain experienced a terrorist bombing in Madrid, so the easy-going nature of the airport security surprised us. It might be explained simply by the fact that our flight connected two EU nations, and that might be the actual reason. Or, is it because the new president withdrew the Spanish troops from Iraq and therefore there are fewer concerns? Still, we can’t help but wonder about it.

It was even a bit of a shock to realize that they are not checking incoming foreigners at the airport, only two months after the horrible incident in Madrid. Perhaps they do background checking on all passengers traveling inside the EU. The only times we actually showed our passports to anybody was at the check-in counter and the gate to the airline’s staff, not the government officials.

It seems that the friendly, open borders are an ideal relationship between closely located nations. Europe is definitely evolving. The way Holland and Spain view and handle "National Security" is completely different from that of the United States. That much is certain.

The fears that are marketed by the governments and the media of America and Japan manifest in the logistics at airports, including domestic flights. American citizens take off their belts and shoes, turn on their laptops and PDAs, and prove that they are not terrorists. They mostly keep quiet in doing so, but sometimes they do so proudly, probably out of their loyalties to the commander in chief.

So I must ask again, what are Spanish not afraid of?

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.

The Kröller-Müller Museum

This was the second time we visited the Kröller-Müller Museum. The first time was in the fall of 1995, on a quiet but rainy day. At that time, we enjoyed mainly the indoor exhibit and only a small part of the garden that stretches out for about a mile. We decided to spend most of the time outside this time, as we had mostly-sunny weather.

The museum, located in the middle of the Hoge Veluwe National Park, has an outdoor sculpture garden that combines a forest on this flat land and artificial gardens. It occupies a surprisingly large area, but small enough to explore on foot, if you take time to do so. The sculptures and installation arts are fantastic.

While it’s fairly easy to find the sign stating the name of the piece, the artist and the creation year, some of the art was not so obvious to the eye.

You never know what will turn up in front of eyes. That makes it exciting to explore this garden. Sometimes a narrow path takes a visitor through bushes, just like hiking. Sculptures seem to be listening to all the birds in the forest and just waiting for visitors in odd places, such as on a branch of a tall tree, on the other side of a small hill, or in between the shades of trees. Walking through the Kröller-Müller sculpture garden is kind of like Easter egg hunting, and unexpected objects can suddenly appear in front of you at any time.

High school students on a class trip, and several tourist groups made the museum a busy place. Between the waves of people, there were moments when we could hear only birds with only the sculptures standing dark and shiny on the green lawn.

A Japanese man from one of the tour groups took out his watercolors and sketchbook and began to draw fast and furiously. The museum’s closing time and the departure of his bus were imminent. Though a bit rushed, he was in deep concentration to finish up his small painting. His wife was standing by him, looking vaguely toward the forest over the lawn. I sent him a message without sounds, “I hope just you and your wife can visit here again next time.”

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.

From Arizona to Amsterdam

It was definitely a good idea to stay with Lyn's family in Arizona prior to our departure. The stay provided a buffer between the hellish last two weeks of moving out of our house and the departure day. We could handle few last-minute chores and preparations with calmer minds and attitudes, thanks to Steve and Tracy who made us completely at home.

We enjoyed the scenery of the desert and the hills. They were gorgeously illuminated by the full moon, the night before we left the US. I did a little meditation under the moonlight. It definitely eased the tensions and nervousness for the beginning of this trip. Although I had expected an agonizing sleepless night, I fell right into a short but deep rest.
Tracy. Bless her heart. She took us to the airport at an extremely early morning hours and sent us off with loving hugs.

We reflected how calm we were at a coffee bar inside the airport. The calmness continued even during the flights. Is this the clam before the storm, or are we still exhausted, or maybe the new reality hasn't just sunk in yet? We would find out soon enough.

Our journey has started.

Amsterdam Streets

It was our plan that we would not do anything during the first few days in my beloved city of Amsterdam. After checking in at our hotel, Bed & Coffee, a budget hotel near Rijkmuseum and Van Gough Museum, we took a nap. It’s a great advantage of travelers with less pressure to cram in action-packed days. We enjoy the slow pace of streets along the canals without tourist attractions. We were too tired and spaced out to deal with bus-loads of tourists.

On those streets, and even on the main streets, we could easily observe that privately owned business - those pop-and-mom operated retails and such - are not only visible but also thriving. This is a vast difference from the sights of the gross American norm, uni-color corporate brand names across the board on any street corners, as we witnessed and grew weary of during our drive through California and Arizona. Just by walking along the streets of Amsterdam Centraal where individual businesses are busy with activities, accompanied by laughter around the shops, and presence of what appeared to me as real people, we eased into the pace and the atmosphere, with jet-lagged daze.

A bit of observations at Schiphol Airport. We knew that Netherlands would be welcoming, but we were amazed at the degree of openness the country showed us in the way we had never imagined. It took only 20 minutes or so, from the time we stepped out of the aircraft to when we got to the train ticket dispenser and wondered how we were going to get the train tickets to Amsterdam Central Station. No questions like “what are you here for?” Not even “how long is your stay?” We only said good morning to the officer at the customs and then submitted our passports. The officer did not forget to confirm that I am a resident alien in the States with a Japanese passport. Needless to say, nobody even gave a glance at our luggage.

What are the Dutch not afraid of?

Empty House, Full of Heart

Our house was empty in the morning of the day we drove out of San Francisco Bay Area. But our hearts were full of gratitude, excitement, sorrow and all kinds of mixed emotions.

For vacating our house, we had tremendous, tireless help from Dave and Monica, who spent three evenings of their time for helping us. We underestimated the amount of efforts to move out of our house, and their helping hands were hugely valuable. We also had young strong muscles of Kaya and Tashi from Santa Cruz, when we moved out all the furniture into the storage. We can’t thank them enough for their support.

After 10 years of living in our house, we accumulated so much, even though Lyn got rid of a lot on eBay and we thought we were conscious of living lightly. How much stuff do we really need to live? I got sick of looking at them as they were being stored away, and it actually felt good that we had this opportunity to think about it.

On the other hand, we really felt what is really important in our lives. Not just words. We felt it. Our family members and friends kept calling us with the kindest words. We are truly blessed to have them. It’s a kind of realization that we might confirm during this trip, but we experienced it even before we started.

We both had a mentally hard time with leaving Willow behind. Willow did sense and eventually realized that we were leaving to somewhere. She followed Lyn around within 3 feet during the last few hours at our beloved home. She knew.

We drove out of our neighborhood around noon. Arizona was far, we were exhausted, but we pressed on. It was about 2AM when we arrived at Steve and Tracy’s house at the foot of desert hills just north of Phoenix.

The moon was getting full.

A Bon Voyage at Jill & Robs

A Big Thanks to Jill and Rob for hosting a terrific gathering of some of our oldest friends at their home in Marin. It couldn’t have come at a better time, as all the details and planning was beginning to wear me out. Both of us were really looking forward to a few hours kickin’ back with friends.

Jill suggested that I bring some of my artwork and set up a mini-show in her living room. Renata picked out the pieces to bring, and on Saturday we loaded the car with art. We set up a corner of the living room with easels to hold the framed work and a print bin for the matted work. Many of these old friends had never seen my art before, and I think were pleasantly surprised by what they saw. Maybe now I can get them down to the South Bay for an art show after we return.

Kathy suggested that we pin up a world map and list up the places we are planning on exploring. The list became a world geography quiz. Claire had to bring out her world atlas book to help find some of the places. A few of the stumpers were Ahmedabad, Lake Baikal, and Ulaan Baator. (Do you know where these places are?)

Soon the house was filled with familiar faces, and the table began to overflow with the bounty of a potluck. Then, before dinner, a spontaneous circle formed holding hands and our dear friend Wumby said a beautiful prayer sending us out into the four corners of the globe. Rob chimed in saying “YOU GUYS ARE THE EYES OF THE WORLD.” Well, that’s what Jerry sang, “Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world.” It’s true; we are ALL the eyes of the world.

As the evening progressed, goodbyes were said, and the house began to slowly empty as friends went home. 2am came and went, and then 3am, and before I knew it, it was 4:30am and I was still in conversation with a few women. It was a magic hour, and we sat outside by the fire discussing the depths of life.

A few hours with friends turned into an all-night slumber party and we finally found ourselves on the road home around 3pm on Sunday, exhausted from all the fun, but strangely, completely refreshed and ready to get back to the details of planning for our departure. Thanks friends, you gave us a big shot of love and support right to the heart.

Welcome!

Welcome to Global Fusion!

First of all, to all those of you who have been supporting us in so many ways, from encouraging words, making suggestions and critiques, sending us recommendations for our destinations, to making donations, and buying Lyn's artwork. THANK YOU! Without your help, support and encouragement, we wouldn’t have made it this far.

Now, we are busy in the final stages of our preparations.

Our house has been rented!

Our other concern was our cat, Willow. She is an important member of the family, and we agonized about how she would be affected by our departure. We are much relieved, now that one of our neighbors has kindly volunteered to adopt Willow. Ever since she was introduced to the family, she has been visiting them regularly.

Taro had been busy with a project that finally came to an end last week. He gave notice to his employer, and his last day will be Friday, April 16.

Lyn has rented a storage space, made some reservations for accommodations, arranged travel insurance, and started packing. She has been filling up her iPod with some of our favorite music, too.

We are looking forward to seeing many of our local friends at the NorCal Fusion Bon Voyage Party at 12 Galaxies next Monday.

The flight to our first destination, Amsterdam, is May 5. Three weeks and counting...