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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.