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Water world

April 17, 2011

Songkran is a funny beast. The Thai new year festival is a celebration of cleansing and rebirth, marked by water throwing.

The tourism bureau would have you believe it is something adorable, like this.

: Sprinkle sprinkle.

But this is closer to reality.

: IN YO FACE!

People line the streets with buckets and hoses, armed with water guns. Every passerby is a target, especially the people actively trying to stay dry. It’s loads of fun — as long as you’re the person throwing water. When you’re not, it can be fairly miserable.

This tradition began with the cleansing of the Buddha statues, which are washed in honor of the new year. That water was then captured and used to bless elders and family members. The holiday has evolved into the world’s largest water fight, complete with wet T-shirt contests, shucking buckets of water into open vehicles and surprising strangers with a fistful of ice in the face.

There is no escaping this festival. I spent several hours yesterday tossing buckets at the unfortunate souls who tried to sneak past Hopf Coffee House in Chiang Mai. When I was done for the day, soggier than the last cornflake in a cereal bowl, I headed home on the back of a scooter. That’s when karma took a big chunk out of my ass, and I was stopped at a traffic light for what felt like hours. I was pelted from all sides with warm water, ice water, probably even a beer or two. I also had the pleasure of a garden hose down my pants.

This morning I snuck over to the ATM, where I got treated to a Super Soaker in the back while I was removing cash. As I was paying for a squirt gun and Diet Coke at the 7-11, the employee was packing his own heat — he shot me in the neck with warm moat water. During a coffee run, I was ambushed by a child hiding behind a potted plant. And I was cornered in a dark alley by 40 tiny kids with water balloons.

I seriously haven’t been dry for more than a few hours during the past three days.

While this is the biggest and most popular festival in Thailand, it’s also the most unpopular festival for my camera. I’ve been wrapping my poor little Lumix in plastic bags, sealed inside of Ziplocs, contained inside waterproof bags, and somehow my stuff is still getting wet. (I took a couple videos, but they don’t do Songkran justice.)

So sadly, I don’t have too many images to share. Instead I have to rely on the kindness of friends, like the good folks over at JDMesh, who took this awesome photo … while dumping a bucket of water on my head.

: On the plus side, this is the cleanest I’ve been on this whole trip.

One of my favorite Songkran moments happened yesterday when some friends and I posed in the street for a seriously waterlogged photo. The guy snapping the picture was taking a long time, and we thought he couldn’t figure out the camera. Turns out he was waiting for the people across the street to run over with buckets. Sneak attack!

: D’oh.

10 essential character traits for long-term travelers

April 12, 2011

I have a lot of people tell me that I’m brave for traveling around the world.

I feel a lot of things, but brave isn’t one of them. However, it got me to thinking about the character traits that do make for a good long-term traveler.

Open

It seems like this would be one trait inherent to every traveler, but that’s not always the case. In Bangkok, I met a Swedish woman who was just starting a six-month trip around Southeast Asia. She wanted to join me for dinner, and I recommended a great street cart nearby. Her response? “Oh, I don’t like Asian food.” Can you imagine how difficult the next six months will be for that poor girl? I’m not saying you have to lose all your inhibitions and give every experience a shot — I’m specifically thinking about that ashram in India where they have big, freaky orgies — but at least inch your way out of your comfort zone. Start with a plate of pad Thai and move on from there.

: I had no idea what any of this was … until I ate it.

Polite

I am appalled by the travelers I meet who are condescending, even downright mean, to the local people. A good traveler is respectful and understanding. They realize that every culture is beautiful, even if it differs dramatically from their own. Also, please and thank you make a world of difference when you communicate with others, even when you do it in another language.

: Respect the local customs.

Humble

At home I know how to mail a package, order food, visit the doctor. On the road, however, even simple tasks take major effort. Sometimes you will seem like an idiot. Sometimes you will feel like a child. Sometimes people will laugh at you. It can be incredibly frustrating, especially for those of us who like to pretend we know it all, but you’ll just have to suck it up. Also, now you know how it feels when someone visits your home country — and I bet you’ll be a little more understanding.

: Syed helped me send a package in India.

Adaptable

Sometimes you have to make do with what you have. Switch to a different bus. Arrive in a strange country at 4 a.m. Take a bucket shower and towel off with your yoga pants. Sleep in a room with strangers. Accept the fact that you got ketchup instead of marinara sauce. Drink the warm beer.

: Ah, a refreshing warm beer.

Patient

My rigid, military dad would hate the bus schedule in Mbale, Uganda, for the sheer fact that there is no bus schedule. On the day I wanted to leave town, I stopped by the station at 9 a.m. and asked for the next bus. I was told there were no buses that day. I asked again. I was told there might be a bus. Not sure. So I said, “If there is a bus that left today, what time would that bus leave?” “Maybe noon. Come back later.” At 10 a.m. I returned. That’s when I was told there was a bus, but it would leave at 2:45 p.m. I decided to hang out on a bench and wait — and that’s why I was able to catch the bus, which actually left at 11:25. I have no idea why the bus didn’t adhere to a schedule, and I am still perplexed by how Africans do this on a daily basis. I just had to go with it and sit around until I got what I needed.

: You will also have to be patient when your ride gets a flat tire.

Shameless

Once upon a time, I turned on the tap whenever I used the restroom because I didn’t want anyone to hear me pee. I puckered up with stage fright if anyone even walked down a nearby hallway. Cut to a rainy night at a busy corner bar in Kigali, Rwanda. I had to use the toilet, which was basically a hole in an alley, surrounded by a few tipsy pieces of corrugated tin and some cardboard. There was no roof, and the rain was coming down hard and cold. One of my English students took me by the hand, shielding me with a pink child’s umbrella. Another student braced herself against the metal sheets, keeping the tin from falling over in the nasty wind. Squatting and giggling in that alley, I realized I had become less high-maintenence and slightly more audacious. But in a good way.

: Francoise held the umbrella.

Persistent

In Ethiopia I came across this phenomenon where I would ask for directions, and the person would tilt their hand from side to side, often moving their finger in a circle. Sometimes I had to ask 14 people the same question just to get down the block. It demonstrated the necessity of asking a lot of questions to get the answers I needed, something that applies to a lot of travel situations.

: Even the mannequins don’t know which way to go in Ethiopia.

Trusting

Repeat after me: There are more good people out there than bad people. The good people are generous, they like to show off their city, they are interested in learning about you, and they are quick to help. When you turn yourself over to a place, open yourself to the people there as well, and you will be rewarded.

: This family in Mysore, India, treated me like one of their own.

Compassionate

It’s not like you have to solve a huge humanitarian crisis. You don’t even have to volunteer if you don’t want to. Simply taking the time to educate yourself about a nation, a city, a village and the issues they face is enough. Maybe it’ll inspire you to help someone out with a kind word, a helpful hand or a dollar. Or maybe you’ll pack your stories away to inspire someone else someday. Either way, showing concern for others will help put your travels in context and give you a deeper, more meaningful perspective of the places you’ll go.

: I didn’t even know the island of Taquile existed until I stayed there.

Curious

Of course this is the big one. If you don’t want to know more about something, anything, everything, you should probably stay at home.

: Also: Must love monkeys.

Say wat?

April 10, 2011

I spent my first full day in Chiang Mai, Thailand, wandering aimlessly around town on foot, popping into random wats.

Like this.

: Big, old wat.

And this.

: Wooden wat.

And this.

: Gilded wat.

Along the way, I saw a few things I’ve never seen inside temples before. For instance, the tree trunks were covered with nuggets of bumper sticker wisdom.

: My ugly mug agrees with this.

A TV crew filming in the temple. What made it surreal is that the crew sent the actual praying people out of the temple and brought in some fake ones.

: Cut! That prostration needs work.

Bottled temple water.

: Like Evian, but with enlightenment.

A magical coin-operated blessing machine.

: My wish was to be big.

Another one, but sadder.

: This one gave me a blessing. I think. It was in Thai, so who knows?

And finally, monk keychains.

You can’t see the cardboard on top of the packaging in this photo, but they all say “Fashion” — because monks are known for their fashion sense.

: Collect them all!

Tea party

April 1, 2011

As I walked around Munnar, Kerela, I had to keep reminding myself where I was.

I had already spent a couple weeks in India — long enough to know that this country definitely bucks stereotypes. It’s not all Taj Mahal, Mahatma Gandhi and cows eating rubbish in the streets.

Still, I never expected this.

That’s not the India I imagined!

The hill station mimics the Alps, except with vast tea plantations instead of snow. The squatty tea bushes form electric green cobblestones that pave the slopes of every mountain.

Not only was the countryside lovely, it was downright comfortable. After the relentless heat and choking dust of Hampi, I couldn’t help but settle down in Munnar for a few days of cool relaxation. It was even chilly enough to wear a fleece at night.

I wasn’t the only one enjoying this Irish Springs commercial-come-to-life.

With a lemonade sun in the cloudless sky, I took the local bus up to Top Station — the highest point available by public transport — to see what I could see.

The driver of the bus situated me next to him, perching me on top of the dashboard. I’m certain this isn’t the safest place to ride, but it is arguably the best.

It felt like a 3D flick, no glasses necessary. The windshield was massive, with every motorcycle and wayward rickshaw about to slam right into my face. I loved it, hoisting my hands in the air like I was on a roller coaster, screaming “WOOOO!” around every hairpin curve.

Once the ride ended, I asked the driver what time the bus would be headed back down the mountain.

2:30, he said.

2:30, I confirmed.

When I showed up to the bus stop at 2:15, I realized the driver actually said 2:13. And unfortunately, this was the only timely bus I have encountered during this whole trip.

The bus was gone, and the next one wouldn’t arrive for several hours.

However, the peculiar thing about India is that everything always works out somehow. And so it was with my predicament.

After a few minutes, a car full of guys from Cochin agreed to squeeze me into the backseat and return me safely to Munnar.

As we headed down the mountain, one of the guys turned to me and in his most charming voice said, “Can I offer you a drink?” He proceeded to pull a crystal glass, a liter of Coke and a bottle of Honeybee brandy out from under his seat.

With that unexpected offer, a good day in Munnar just got better.

Holy matrimony!

March 28, 2011

I was discussing arranged marriages with Switen, a man born and raised in the romantic backwaters of Alleppey, India. Switen’s own marriage was arranged — he and his wife were virtual strangers, meeting barely two months before they were wed. They have since had two children and seven blissful years together.

His explanation for how it works was simple, but revelatory.

“In India, love comes after the marriage,” he said.

I grew up being a love cynic. I had a very bad perspective on men for a very long time, which created a string of unhealthy relationships. If you would have asked me then for my view of marriage, I would have said that the whole institute was a demeaning way to keep women from being independent, and it prevents them from moving toward self-actualization.

I knew that love existed, but I thought it was a fleeting emotion. It was the fluttery feeling that lasted only until the man got drunk, picked a fight and slept with the Theresa, the bartender at the pool hall. Love inevitably leads to despair. As my wise guru Tina Turner once said, “Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?”

It took a long time for those wounds to heal. I dated some bad men who disappointed me. I also dated some good guys who were disappointed by me. At that point, I joked that I would marry twice — first for money, then for love — but I never thought either would happen. I figured I was destined to grow old as a crazy cat lady, except for the fact that I hated cats.

Then I met Jason.

We went to sushi bars, skydiving dropzones and X-rated puppet shows. We kissed. We moved in together. We got a cat. I started to love cats. We moved across the country. We pushed through a lot of ache and trauma and hurt. We got new jobs. We got a dog. He started to love dogs.

One year ago, we got married.

I can say now that I never knew love until Jason put a ring on my finger. I thought I loved him before, but it’s nothing compared with the sweeping tides of feeling since we exchanged vows.

It’s as if every atom in my being has been charged. I’m happy to wake up and breathe his air, and it settles me just to know this man exists in my world. It’s the kind of love that claws at me, makes every day ripple, makes me hungry to return home. As I travel, I hear his voice in every bell, his eyes appear in every gold-flecked sunset, and when I see the moon I know he hung it there.

Still, this is no fairy tale. There were some tough years. We’ve waded through muck and we have stooped low with burden. There were misunderstandings and mishaps. I wasn’t always a good partner, and a lesser person might have given up on me.

Ultimately, I learned that relationships are work, and I wasn’t putting in my overtime.

This makes me think that there’s something to the idea of arranged marriages. Maybe in the short term it’s more romantic to have only the initial attraction, and maybe that can be sustained. But for the long haul, for the things that really matter, it’s a conscious choice to be in love and stay in love.

Of course, I don’t think anyone should be forced into a union they don’t want to be in. But if both partners are willing to meet halfway and put in the time, effort and energy, it’s possible to be happy for the rest of your lives.

So that’s my wish today as I celebrate my first wedding anniversary — even though I’m in India and Jason is in California. Let’s decide to be in love and stay that way, baby. We can do this thing.

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