Home Away From Home

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

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

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

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

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

In and Around Ubud

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Along the Dusty Road

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, we’ve been hearing such great things about Cambodia from fellow travelers. They say it’s an un-mined gem in Southeast Asia. It’s a pity we don’t have the time to explore the country properly, as the whole tourist scene in Siem Reap has left us with a bit of a sour taste in our mouth. We had to ask ourselves if all the backaches and frustrations were really worth it in the end? Our answer: Angkor Wat is incredible! But that’s another story.

Glad We Made It

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cultural Insights

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Electronics City

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Tremor in Asian Seas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Night of Atom Bomb

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kaosan Now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Red Lanterns

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Under the Grey Sky

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the Love of Steppe

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

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

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

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

The Inner City in UB

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The City of Vanity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swiss Pride

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Peek into the World of Art

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hof Culture

Where do the calm yet hot creative activities come from?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotspots in Berlin

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

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

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

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

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

Spanish Rhythm

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

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

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

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

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

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

Easy Entry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Amsterdam Streets

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

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

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

What are the Dutch not afraid of?