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.

Million Elephants, White Parasol

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Inviting Path

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Capitol Town

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Flow Of The River

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friendly Faces of Myanmar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Glad We Made It

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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.

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.

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.

Mother Ganga

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life on the Lake

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lanta's Low Season

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bangkok Smiles

Thailand is not only one of the most popular travel destinations in the world, but also a place that provides a resting space for travelers who visit nearby nations. It shares borders with several Southeast Asian countries and offers a mature tourist industry for all the necessary arrangements. It's easy to travel inside Thailand, and is still comparatively inexpensive. The culture and atmosphere are relaxed and puts the traveler at ease. It took only a few hours after arriving from China for our shoulders to relax and for us to feel at home again in Bangkok.

It wasn't our original plan to come to Thailand in October. Instead, we expected to be entering Nepal overland from Tibet crossing the Himalayas, and then traveling south into India. We adore Nepal, and were looking forward to a return visit. However, the current political situation is unstable, with nightly curfews, closed borders and random Maoist strikes. We decided not to ruin the fabulous memories of our 1999 trip.

This is our forth visit to Bangkok. Our first experience was in 1996, and our last was five years ago when we stayed in the city for a week on our way home from Nepal. Then, we could feel the makings of a world-class city, and so much had changed in this direction since our first visit.

Cars, trucks and Tuk Tuk (Thailand's trademark three-wheeled taxi) used to spit black smoke, choking pedestrians in their tracks. Since our last visit, a requirement for new mufflers has been imposed, and breathing is much easier. The taxis are mostly new with air conditioning. There is still thick pollution that hangs in the air at rush hour, but it seems much lighter than before.

In the past, we didn't see many stores selling genuine brand name goods, instead, most were knock-offs of designer names. To our surprise, we are now seeing major shopping centers offering the "real deal", with Thai customers being the primary shoppers. (This does not mean bootlegged brand name products have disappeared.)

Modernization and high-rise constructions are also progressing. The sanitary situation is much improved, and I would even say it's superior to that of many of the cities we visited in China. The bad traffic congestion is still the same all around the city, but the overhead surface trains called BTS are now operational and a new subway system began running in August this year. We still see evidence of a developing country, such as shanty neighborhood markets and street food venders, but somehow, they now seem charming.

The progress in this city is not one of overnight development, compared to the worldwide global face-lift taking place in many cities we've visited. Bangkok has been slowly remaking its image, has staggered during the Asian crisis, and is now back on track. My impression is that the changes in Bangkok have been over several years.

In any case, modernization and the associated stress level apparently have not translated to nervous expressions on its citizens. Thais who live in this cosmopolitan city still show their large, white-toothed smiles today just like we saw back in 1996. The warmth of the Thai smile is a big reason we continue coming back.

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.

Belly Full

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hof Culture

Where do the calm yet hot creative activities come from?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.”