Varanasi – the city of light

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that’s real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

Varanasi. The city where people come to die. Or if you’re Western like Michelle, Freek and me, it is where you come to get stomach problems and lie around writhing in discomfort for a couple of days in your hot hotel room, lying on your bed under a fan spinning around and around that is doing nothing more than recycling the hot air throughout the room.

Children from our alley

And all you want is a moment of coolness but you know that it is just too damn hot outside for there to be any chance at all of that. But there is a break when a cow right outside your window belts out a deep guttural ‘MEEENNNNHHHH’ and you laugh and remember what a different world it is in India.

Welcome to Varanasi in the dead heat of the summer where in our five days here it reached over 115F every day. It is one of the oldest cities in the world and a city that grew because of its sacred place in the religious ceremonies of not just Hindus but all other religions.

A Varanasi local

It is said that anyone that dies in Varanasi will attain enlightenment and be freed from eternal suffering and so will not be born again. But as my friend Cesar says “I’m kind of enjoying this life so I’m not sure I wouldn’t want to come back.” Well said, Cesar. But the people who come here to live out their final years living amongst one another in small homes would probably not be of the same opinion. Even Buddha thought it was a cool place to go to as he walked 250km to get here after attaining enlightenment in nearby Bodhgaya. Sarnath, 10km north of Varanasi, is where Buddha gave his first of thousands of teachings to his five disciples.

Life on the Ganges

And it’s not just popular with people. Animals love it too. Cows, water buffaloes, dogs, chickens and goats roam freely throughout the city. It’s amazing to see how closely the animals all hang out among each other, although not really with each other. I have to yet to see a chicken and a cow going for a friendly stroll down to the Ganges. Dogs, however, do seem to hang out with the cows and follow them wherever they go, as if they’re protecting them. In colder weather dogs will literally sleep on the cows for the added warmth.

Cows are by far at the highest end of the status ladder. Try to take the horns off a cow and you’re looking at seven years in prison. Bulls live a great life here.

Washing the body in the Ganges

They just walk around, or more accurately stand around as they seem to do most of the time, and rummage through anything they want for food. One bull in particular is fond of upending trash cans at night to search for a late night snack. Try stopping that bull. During the heat of the day you’ll find families of water buffaloes and a few straggling cows all kicking it in the Ganges. During the day you’ll see the water buffaloes just chilling out in the Ganges, their bodies completely submerged in the water with just their heads above the surface. And just before sunset you’ll see a family of ten or so water buffaloes strolling down the main road on their way back home after a hard day’s work, effectively blocking half of the road.

Morning life on the Ganges

Varanasi is bordered by the Ganges river to the east and the Ganges is where everything is at. There are over 370 ghats leading down to the river and it would take over three hours by row boat to go from the first ghat to the last one. Each ghat has a name and some are more popular than others. Some are used by people from a particular area of the country. And a couple of them are the burning ghats where dead bodies are brought within hours of death to be burned.

When someone dies it is an involved ceremony as is everything in India. First, the body is washed with honey, fennel, oils and other things to clean the chakras. Then the body is placed on a bed (similar to a stretcher) where it is covered by a bright colored sheet that is pulled to the corners so you can’t really see the shape of the body underneath.

The burning ghat

Four men then carry the body down to the river to give it a final washing, chanting mantras the entire walk down. Each of the men takes five drinks of the holy river water. (If I took even just one drink of the Ganges I would probably not be here right now.)

The body is then laid on a bed of wood close to the river and then covered with more wood, in total over 300 kg of wood for one body. The male members of the family are all near the body while all this is happening. The eldest son shaves all his hair on his head, face and underarms in mourning. Hindus will keep a lone lock of hair in the upper back of the head; think of a ponytail that’s six inches too high. Females are not allowed at the burning for two reasons. First, because they get too emotional (the literal explanation I was given). Second, because in the past they sometimes lost all control and would throw themselves into the fire and no one wants that.

Preparing the fire

The local who was telling me about all this proudly pointed out how stoic all the men looked and that they were actually happy because the deceased was going to a better place. Bright orange flower wreaths are laid across the body and from what I could tell they end up as a floral snack for the goats lingering nearby.

I’m sure I’m leaving out some parts of the involved ceremony but soon after all of this it is time to light the pyre. One of the most important Hindu Gods, Shiva, has an eternal fire that is burning all day and night and that is being tended by someone at all times of day. This is the source of the fire that is used to burn the bodies. A small bed of straw is lit from Shiva’s fire and is brought to the body. The eldest son carries the burning bed of straw under the body, walking around it five times. The number five appears in many places in Hindu ceremonies and it’s used to represent Earth, Wind, Fire, Water and Spirit.

Two birds get a free ride

The body burns for around three hours. Surprisingly I did not smell any ‘meaty’ odors coming from the fire as I had heard I would. I asked a local about why that is and he said it is because “Lord Shiva’s fire cleans out all the bad smells.” Someone needs to market this fire in the U.S.

Alas, not everyone gets to burn in Varanasi. Monks, children, lepers and snake bite victims are among those that do not get burned because it is believed they have already been kissed by Shiva. Instead, a large stone is tied around their body and they are dropped into the Ganges. One can only imagine how many bodies are lying at the bottom of the river, although as I was witness to, I don’t believe the bodies stay intact for too long before they become food.

Dog eating child's hand

A dog near the river was happily playing with a dead child’s hand that must have floated up from the bottom of the river, trying to separate the hand from the tendon. Finally succeeding in removing the tendon, he put the hand in his mouth and gulped it down in one go.

This is Varanasi, where you sense that things have been going on this way for a long, long time and you can feel the weight of the city, of all the bodies that have passed through here over all the centuries. Sunrise finds hundreds, if not thousands, of people starting their day on the ghats with a bath or a swim, or washing their clothes, or getting the fire wood ready.

And as a traveler through here, the closest you can get to being part of the action is taking a dip yourself into the murky, green, questionable, mysterious waters of the Ganges to wash away all of your sins. It is a tempting offer.

The amazing water buffalo

Our hotel owner said he no longer goes in because it is too dirty, too much pollution from upstream, not to mention all the dead bodies and everyone doing their thing in the river each morning. In the end, I said f*ck it. As we were heading back to our hotel after a sunrise boat trip, I asked our boat driver to head to the middle of the river where the current was strongest, thinking that would be the best bet for where the cleanest water would be.

Freek was the first one in. I got down to my boxers and jumped in right after, half expecting my skin to melt off my bones the instant I touched the water. But it didn’t. In fact it felt fine.

A Sadhu on the ghats

If anything it was maybe a bit too warm. I went all the way under and stayed in long enough to make sure all my sins got cleansed, climbed back on board the boat and rinsed myself off with a two liter of water I had brought along just for this purpose. A week later and no problems to report.

And why would there be? It’s not like this is the first time someone jumped into the Ganges. People have been doing that here for a long, long time.

Happy Laos New Year

sip!
kao!
paet!
jet!
hok!
haa!
sii!
saam!
song!
neung!

Sabaidee Pimai!

Forget countdowns.
Forget fireworks.
And bring your watergun.

Welcome to the Laos New Year celebration which is the celebration of the Buddhist New Year. It is every April 14, 15 and 16 and is observed in Laos, Cambodia and Thailand.

The way it is celebrated is with water. Lots and lots of water. There are water fights everywhere. In Vangvieng, where I was on the first day of the celebrations, we (myself, Anthony and my new Dutch friend Freek) armed ourselves with massive waterguns and marched down to the main road in this small, old-Western-cowboy resembling town. All along the road people were hanging out in front of their shops and restaurants splashing buckets of water or firing waterguns at every passing car, bike, motorcycle and person. My personal favorite targets were dry tourists.

There were about a dozen of us who had been on this street for a couple of hours and we soon got this gang mentality where anytime a new person or group of people would start walking down the street we would storm them in full force making sure they were drenched. And in arguably the most promising display of diplomatic relations in the Middle East this millennium, an Israeli group on the other side of the street from where I was would whistle over to me, “Hey, Iraq!” and nod in the direction where they needed my support in battle.

We thought Vangvieng was crazy. But it was nothing compared to Vientiane, the capital city of Laos where he took a four hour bus to the next day. While Vangvieng’s water fights were mostly tourists, the whole city of Vientiane was involved and no one was spared. Everyone was out on the two main roads with blaring music playing out of massive speakers parked in front of beauty salons and hand woven rug stores. Everywhere. And if you guessed that the most popular Laos New Year songs would be Akon’s “Right Na Na Na” and Flo.Rida’s “Low”, then you win $1 million.

The second day of the New Year’s celebration, our first day in Vientiane, we hung out for several hours in front of Sabaidee restaurant which is on a corner on the main drag, terrorizing the entire intersection. While locals seem to have some unspoken rules, like only dousing those who walk by you, not dousing policemen, or just splashing a few drops on the elderly, Anthony, as always, took the whole thing to a new level.

Everyone became a target. An elderly couple taking a dry, friendly stroll across the street. Anthony chased the poor old lady down and she was doused. A couple of backpackers just arriving into town, big, heavy bags on their back trying to get oriented to this new city. Happy Laos New Year. They tried to run away but it was fruitless. They got drenched. I’ve never seen grown men run away so scared. It was classic. And the ultimate target was unloading a bucket of water into the open window of a car or bus driving by. If this was a video game, that move would be worth at least 100 points.

Pickup trucks with people loaded in the back would cruise slowly down the main drag to give everyone on the streets a chance to douse them. And the artillery in Vientiane was more advanced. Gone, for the most part, were the guns. Bring on the buckets and little water bags and the ultimate in water warfare, colored water. My clothes are now colored red, green, black, yellow and orange. We hopped on back one of the trucks and rode around for an hour with a family who spoke no English but we quickly bonded as well-seasoned war veterans. At one point we were getting absolutely drilled by no less than thirty people standing on the sidewalk pelting us with these little water bags, which as I found out can sting the hell out of you if they are tied tight and hit you full on.

There’s something fun about dumping whole buckets of water on people and having it done to you too. Besides one grumpy German guy who may be the most miserable guy on the planet, everyone took it very lightly. We were talking about how back at home, in the States, Belgium or Holland, it would start off civil but after people got drunk people’s egos would get the better of them and fights would break out. People were getting quite drunk here too but not a single bout of violence or ill will broke out.

Except when towards the end of the last day, done with the water fights and wearing my last dry tshirt walking to dinner, I pleaded with this group of Laos teenage girls to spare me. They smiled sweetly and said Ok. I’m a sucker. As soon as I turned my back on them, WHOOSH!, I was drenched again.

Happy Laos New Year!

The importance of never quitting

“Don’t give up, don’t ever give up.”
Jim Valvano

“Struggle is nature’s way of strengthening [us].”
John Locke, LOST

I decided to write this post after reflecting on the first six months of my trip. Without an exception, the highlights of my trip have been those things which have been challenges, where I struggled to complete the course, trek or activity. And not coincidentally those are the things I have gotten the most out of.

I don’t like to admit it but in the past I’ve definitely chosen to bail out of a tough situation more times than I care to admit. Whether it’s bailing out of a project at work, not fighting the good fight in a relationship or convincing myself that a radical career change to pursue a dream was just not practical, I’ve just about done it all. And I never thought much about it.

But after battling to walk everyday for a month on the Camino de Santiago last year, I learned firsthand how amazing it can be when I push myself beyond my mind’s preconceived limitations and whatever pains my body might be whining about.

In Australia, I sat for a 10 day silent meditation, Vipassana (http://www.dhamma.org), which is hands down the most difficult thing I have done on this trip. Harder than trekking in Nepal with blistered toes going straight up hill for 8 hours. Try sitting in silent meditation for 10 hours a day, with no outlet for reading, writing or talking. The first day was a constant battle between a little devil perched on one shoulder and a little angel on the other.

“This sucks. Let’s get out of here. Let’s get a beer and a cigarette. Screw this thing.” The devil was very, very chatty that first day. “We’ll try it again later someday.” All very convincing arguments.

“No, no, we’re staying here. Let’s focus on the breath.” The angel was pleading his case. “Breath in. Breath out. Good.”

Thirty seconds later, the devil opens my eyes just a peak. “Everyone else is sitting so still and peacefully; there’s no way we’re going to get like that. And there’s no way Anthony finished his Vipassana in India. I’m sure he quit too. Ok, how are we going to escape?”

Then for the next twenty minutes I planned out in detail my escape from the meditation. I would pack my bags during the next break. Then I would hop the fence during the next meditation session. Again, I’m not proud of this but it is what it is.

Somehow I managed to stay there the whole first day. The second day was tough but not as tough as the first day. The devil was still chatting up a storm but he was more cool with hanging out, not fighting to escape. But he was still quite talkative and I really began wondering how I was going to survive one more week of this endless mind chatter.

Day three was a completely different story. Pure bliss. That’s the best way to describe it. A relaxed, equanimous mind and perfect contentment with where I was. I could have been anywhere in the world, in a warzone, in Siberia, in the middle of a scorching desert, and it wouldn’t have mattered. I was so shocked by this I went to speak to the teacher about it.

“What’s going on? I feel so calm and relaxed today. What happened?”

He laughed. “Emile, you’ve just quieted your mind, that’s all.”

That lesson in itself was worth the struggle of the first two days. It was like I had taken in a wild animal (my mind) and caged it that first day and all it wanted to do was fight against the cage. It was loud, running all around the place. But soon it calmed down, even became somewhat friendly, and then by day three it had completely submitted. (The question of who or what it submitted to is a whole separate discussion.)

And sometimes we need other people to push us along. Last week here in Laos I went rock climbing for the first time along with a few other people who all had years of experience. On my third climb, a more advanced climb than the first two and being already quite beat from the first two, I got half way up the climb before my arms just gave in. Shaking, gripping the wall, I called down to Jason to say I was done with the climb. “No way Emile. The only way I’m bringing you down mate is once you’ve touched the anchor.” I laughed. I knew there was no way I would finish the climb. I was spent and my arms and legs were shaking just gripping the wall, let alone going up it. But just to see how far I could push myself I kept at it. It was really slow going. Climbing one inch, then resting. One big move, then resting for five minutes. Twenty minutes later I look above me and the anchor was just an arm’s length away. I could not believe I had made it.

Then when I was back on solid ground, smoking a cigarette, basking in my accomplishment, Jason’s wife Mary says “Ok, Emile, your turn on this next one.” I pleaded my case about being completely spent. She wasn’t having it. “Just give it a shot. We’ll see how far you get.” I put on my harness and got going. About half way up the climb was an overhanging ledge that needed a pretty nifty move to get over it. And before I said anything, Mary pointed out “and I’m not bringing you down till you touch the anchor.” Crap! Damn South Africans. But again, slowly, taking lots of rest and inching my way up bit by bit, I made it to the top. I really owe it to you both for getting me up those climbs.

Prior to each of those climbs I had convinced myself I wouldn’t reach the top, and rationalized both times that “hey, I’m just a beginner. I’ll try them again later when I’m more experienced.” And the interesting thing is that when I managed for a split second to get the tiredness and pain out of my mind, that’s when I was able to make my next move. Otherwise, while I was conscious of the struggle, I wasn’t able to do anything.

The last thing I want to do here is give the impression that I am now Mr. No-Quit-In-Me. Far from it. I still catch myself quitting more often than I’d like. I had planned on hitch hiking across Australia in December. But when I arrived in Perth it seemed like such a daunting task that I booked a flight to Melbourne instead. I still regret that one, but I try to take it as a lesson now. And even on smaller scales, like not wanting to finish a book I started because the writing is terrible.

But I am much more aware of when I am quitting something because it is an uncomfortable challenge or because the end goal seems so far away. And more importantly I now know what amazing things lie beyond my preconceived limitations I place on myself.

Now, if you will excuse me, me and my little devil are going outside for that beer and cigarette.

From Bali to Jakarta

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
How many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they’re forever banned?
The answer my friend is blowing in the wind
The answer is blowing in the wind

A month ago I thought I would be back in India by this time. But on the traveling road plans are always changing and now I’m in Jakarta getting ready to fly to Thailand in a few days. I was supposed to fly to Malaysia at the end of February but canceled that plan after I proposed the idea of making a cross-Indonesian road trip to Cesar. Our original road trip had us going all the way to Sumatra (the western most island of Indonesia) to take a boat to Malaysia. But we scrapped that plan at some point after deciding that Bangkok was a more exciting option.

But before any of that, we had a road trip to complete to get to Jakarta.

And by a complex series of buses, boats, trains and bicycle rikshaws we made it from Bali and across Java, going from east to west. Some of the places we rested for at least a night: Banyuwangi, a couple of overnight buses, Cewang Lemono, Solo, Yogyakarta, Bandung and Jakarta.

Indonesia is so big (it’s as wide end to end as the US) that you need several months to see all of it. There are 17,000 islands in the whole country and I visited a total of 6, so I’ve only got a few more to go. The island of Java is about as religiously and geographically diverse as any place I’ve seen. Just on this road trip I’ve met Muslims, Hindus, Christians and even Jewish Indonesians. And they’re so religiously tolerant of each other that standing on a street corner in Solo I could see a mosque, a church and a Hindu temple standing side by side.

The terrain of Java is just as varied. There are countless volcanoes across the central spine of Java, beaches and fishing villages on the coasts, hot springs scattered throughout, and then of course the modern mega-city that is Jakarta. I had been prepared to not like Jakarta from the several travelers who had already been there but despite the smog and high population, I found it to be quite a comfortable place. It’s got a mix of the very modern with countless high rise buildings, 5 star hotels and luxury shopping malls selling Versace and D&G tshirts for a mere $1000. But just outside the mall you can by fried rice from a street vendor for under a $1, or one of my favorite dishes, Gado Gado which is a rice and vegetables covered in peanut sauce. And the street vendors make the sauce fresh right in front of you with chilis, palm sugar, tamarind and crushed peanuts and it comes out tasting like peanut butter. Most of the food in Indonesia is fried (pisang) so anything non-fried is a welcome change.

Prior to Jakarta I was in Bandung for just a day and that was probably one day too many. It’s a big busy city with lots of cars and smog and noise and I didn’t find anything too exceptional about it, although supposedly there are some good hiking trails and hot springs within an hour of it. The only reason I went was because I worked in Bandung back in 1998 and wanted to see the Holiday Inn Express that I stayed in back then. I walked around for an hour and finally found it, but now it is just a Holiday Inn and it is a super luxury hotel. Why wasn’t it like that when I stayed there? Or maybe when they saw my type staying there they figured they needed to price my kind out of staying there again.

I did meet a local Indonesian, Benjamin, at the train station as I was waiting for my train. He had converted to Judaism and wouldn’t stop talking about it. I was interested though because he was the first Jewish Indo I had met. He had just completed a two year study at the Hebrew University in Surabaya and then he insisted I take a copy of his transcript. I really didn’t want it but I could tell he really wanted me to have it so now I am traveling around Asia with a Hebrew University transcript in my bag. He got a 3.48 on a 4.0 scale. Nice work Benjamin!

For some reason I’m going backwards in time here…bear with me. Before Bandung we spent a few days hanging out in Yogyakarta where the main attraction is the 1500 year old Borbrodur Buddhist stupa (shrine). It is the largest Buddhist stupa in the world and is 5 levels high. You start at the bottom level and walk around its perimeter, climbing up to the next level when you’ve gone around once. In all it takes 5 km to walk around all 5 of its levels. On all levels the sides are rock carvings depicting various pictures and stories. The first couple of levels deal with the base human cravings and emotions and then as you get to the higher levels the stories begin dealing with enlightenment and breaking free from the base human desires.

As cool as the site was, one of the most interesting parts of the day was all of us being flocked by a large group of students on a field trip. There were a couple of Americans, Tristan and Nathan and an Aussie Mark and Cesar and I and for the next hour we were celebrities. I sat on a ledge and the girls would take turns sitting next to me, getting their picture taken, shaking my hand and saying ‘Thank you Mister!’, getting up and going and then another girl would sit down and we’d repeat the routine. I felt like Brad Pitt or David Beckham and I can see now why many celebs get annoyed with the constant attention and autograph seekers. I was ready to quit after just my first 30 minutes of fame.

Still in Yogya…I signed up for an Indonesian cooking class along with my new Dutch friends Alma and Eline. They were also on the same bus to Borbrodur but we didn’t get to know each other until we bonded during a burping contest at the bar that night. I usually win these contests hands down but the Dutch proved to be quite worthy opponents. The cooking class was in the semi-outdoor kitchen of a pretty fancy (by Indonesian standards) restaurant. We cooked for a few hours and learned how to make satay, chili sauce, chicken and tofu with more chilis, fried vegetables and coconut milk rice. The satay was finished in the first half an hour and I was ready to attack them right then but we had to wait for another two hours before everything was all done. Our teacher was Made, which means two things: she is from Bali, and she is the second child in her family. She was a real sweetheart and would smile and laugh the whole time. She was raised as a Hindu, but her husband is from Java and so was Muslim, but once they got married they both converted to Christianity. I guess somehow that’s meeting in the middle?

As is the case with most of Indonesia, outside of Kuta, Bali, most of the people don’t speak English, and this was especially true on Java. We took a 20-minute bicycle rikshaw ride to meet our friend Maya for dinner and the driver kept talking and laughing even though we had no idea what he was saying. Then we somehow ended up belting out Happy Birthday over and over as we road down the main boulevard of Yogyakarta called Marlioboro road. It wasn’t anyone’s birthday. It was the only ‘language’ we had in common.

And on our last night in Yogyakarta, we hosted a movie night with our new friends. We watched Slumdog Millionaire with six people crammed in two beds watching the movie on Cesar’s Mac laptop.
Going back in time once again, before Yogyakarta, we spent a couple of days in Solo. There’s an old Sultan’s palace that is still actively used and lots of shopping bazaars selling the local Batik arts and crafts. The president was speaking in Solo right next to our hotel and there was a large annual festival happening the same weekend we were there. But, I’m almost embarrassed to admit, I didn’t see any of those things or go do any of the shopping that Solo is known for. I spent a lot of time in an internet café working on my taxes. Woohoo. I wonder how many other Americans filed their taxes in Solo?
And finally, back to the start of the road trip. A volcano. The first site we saw was the Gurung Bromo volcano, an actively smoking volcano. When you climb up to the rim you can see the endless smoke coming out of the crater. And it reeks of sulfur especially when the wind is blowing it in your direction. We were planning to hike up to the crater rim but a Jeep ride followed by a horseback ride seemed much more appealing, especially given that we were starting at 4 a.m.

After being in Bali for a while, it felt really good to get on the traveling road again. And I feel in many ways I’ve gotten a second wind for continuing my travels and trying to win more burping contests and collecting more transcripts for total strangers in Thailand and India.

Selamat Malan!

Back on the traveling road

Now that’s it raining more than ever
Know that we’ll still have each other
You can stand under my um-ber-ella
You can stand under my um-ber-ella

I’m back on the traveling road after a month in and around Bali. Daniel, who I flew out to Bali with from Australia flew back to Australia and now I’m back traveling with my good friend Cesar. I met Cesar in India when I first began traveling in October and we traveled together for a couple of months before we went our own ways in December. He arrived to Indonesia about a week ago. We had planned to go surfing at least one time since he’s never been but Bali has this way of just making you lazy and before you know it you’ve spent the whole day on the beach sleeping and reading and then it’s time to head back to the hotel. I love Bali and with all the islands around it and all the culture and the super friendly people, it’s definitely a place I’d recommend to anyone looking for a good time in the sun.

But after a month there I was ready to get back on the traveling road. So Cesar and I are now doing an east-to-west road trip across Java. Indonesia is an archipelago and Java is one of the biggest islands and is where Jakarta, the capital city, is. We began by taking a four hour public bus in Bali to get to the port town of Gili Menon. No one on the bus spoke any English and pretty much once we left Kuta (the main touristy area of Bali) we were in tourist-free local neighborhoods. There are no bus schedules for these small buses; they just wait around until enough people get on board and then they leave. And along the way it stops whenever someone waves it down. The bus cost us under $2 each. Every time we’d stop for food or to pick someone up, people would wave at us and say ‘Hello Mister!’ and laugh. It’s a novelty for them to see a Westerner. One guy even brought us pisang goreng (fried bananas) that he passed us through the bus window.

Before getting on the ferry we bought some nasi goreng (fried rice) and brought that on board for a late night dinner. We took the ferry over to Banguwanyi which is the eastern most point of Java, arriving at 9 at night. Luckily we had shipped home over 15 kilograms combined of stuff earlier that day so our backpacks were light enough to walk around town while we looked for a hotel.

Total weight I’ve sent home so far: 25 kg.
Total weight Cesar has sent home: 43 kg.

The Rough Guide recommended a Hotel Blembongan and we set off in search of it. Most people we tried talking to spoke no English which was a complete turnaround from where I had been in Bali for the past month. Cesar somehow found this to be a good time to try out the only sentence he knows in Indonesian. After introducing ourselves to a couple of locals, Cesar tells them “Saya hayan makan sayuras”, meaning “I only eat vegetables.” He wanted them to know he was a vegetarian. I got the sense they didn’t know what to do with this information.

We passed a police station and I decided to stop in to ask for directions. I was greeted by a 20 year old in uniform who wanted to know where I was from. “California”. “Ahhh! Obama! I like Obama! Arnold Schwarzenegger!”

That is a typical conversation over here. Everyone likes to say “Obama!” the moment I tell them I’m American or from California. “I like Obama!” I am also now well aware that Obama studied in Jakarta. I know they’re being friendly but hearing this over and over starts to become too much so I’ve changed my response a bit. I now tell people I’m from North Korea. Now I get one of two reactions:

• No reaction
• “Ohh! Australia! Good day mate!”

We eventually managed to find the hotel, although I’m not sure that was a good thing. Hotel Blembongan is not exactly a five star hotel; it’s closer to a .5 star hotel. There is no western toilet, just a hole in the ground, and although we had a sink in the room, there were no taps or even a faucet. Just a sink. There was no shower. What we had instead of all of that was a three-foot tall square ‘tub’ that you fill up with water and use it for everything. Cesar thought he saw a rat but it actually was an oversized cockroach. Sometimes budget traveling means having to share your room. One really positive point of the HB was the super friendly staff who although they didn’t speak English, did everything they could to help us figure out our traveling plans. And they brought us a great breakfast of rice, tofu and eggs loaded with sambal (chili sauce). I have rice for every meal, sometimes fried, sometimes not, sometimes with vegetables, sometimes not, but always rice, rice, rice.

The next morning we were debating between seeing the Ijen crater nearby or traveling all day to Gurung Bromo, an active volcano. Active volcanos are hard to top so we opted for that. We each got into our own becak (bike rikshaws) and headed to the bus terminal. My driver insisted of conversing the whole time which would have been fine except he didn’t speak a word of English. It makes for really awkward conversation when there is no language common. I found that nodding my head and grunting acknowledgment whenever I sensed he had told me a fact gave him the impression I was following along. This trip cost under $.50.

There are some days when you travel that everything just seems to end up working out in your favor. This was one of those days. The bus to Probolingo, the town closest to Bromo, was leaving in just ten minutes. Just enough time to buy some nasi goreng for the trip. The bus was a shapeless, tall, extended rectangle on wheels but was quite comfortable. Long bus trips in India and Nepal have lowered my expectations to the point that I expect to have a sore back for a couple of days after any extended bus ride. But this was not to be. And on top of that, as I began wondering when we would stop so I could get off the bus and have a smoke, the guy in front of me just lit one up right there. Perfect. And a hole in the floor by my feet made a suitable ashtray as it opened right onto the road.

We reached Probolingo and pulled into a gas station to fill up. And all of a sudden this one guy starts shouting at us “Bromo! Bromo!” and motioning for us to get on this bus behind us. Turns out this little mini bus was going to take us to Bromo. I still wonder what if one of these two buses hadn’t had to stop for gas, how would we have found out where to go? Even though I can’t figure out how things always work over here, they do seem to work. Before pulling into the gas station we had actually been put onto another bus that had stopped behind us earlier. What if that bus hadn’t been there? Who really knows how it all works. We were on the right bus and that is all that really matters.

And to wind up a long day of travel, we road in this small mini bus up into the mountain which turned out to be Dance Party Indonesia 2009. Cesar and I were the only passengers and there was the driver Adi, the second driver Udi and a friend of theirs Anton along for the ride. None of them could have been over 20 but I’m quite bad at guessing Indonesian’s ages as everyone looks 5-10 years younger than they really are. We were talking about music that we liked and Udi and Anton start singing Rihanna’s Umbrella. I told him to wait a second, brought out my iPod and speakers and starting blasting Umbrella. Next thing we were all dancing in our seats and belting out Umbrella, including Adi the driver who somehow had ended up wearing my hat. We made a short stop to pay a toll and the people in the toll station started dancing along.

After a couple of days of long traveling, it felt good to let loose, even if it meant revealing to a larger audience the fact that, yes, I do have Rihanna on my iPod.

Getting Old

And then one day you find
Ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run
You missed the starting gun

It’s a part of life that we will get older. We are doing it right now, each moment that goes by we get older. But from moment to moment there isn’t much change happening. But over longer periods of time, measured in years, there come certain critical junctures where things happen that signal we have reached a new stage of life from which we can no longer revert back to how we were.

All readers of this blog have probably hit the big P already many years ago which was one of the first major stages to pass. Then there are things like getting a free Mach 3 shaver courtesy of the Gillette company on your eighteenth birthday, walking into bars looking exactly like the person on the driver’s license and seeing the first white hairs appear on your head which then can quickly be lost by simply moving your focus one inch in any direction and seeing gratifying forests of your normal hair.

In the last couple of months I have had a couple eye openers. Standing at the platform at a train station, a couple of college-age backpacker girls approached and asked “Excuse me sir, is this the train to…?” I don’t even remember where they were going or where this event even took place. I was too traumatized by the Sir. Sir? Anything but Sir would be better. Dude. Hey. Yo. Or just Excuse me would have been fine.

The next one (again the trauma has wiped away the location of where this happened but I remember it was on a crowded bus) happened while I was standing next to a mom and her young son both of whom were sitting. I hear the mom tell her son, “Daniel, come sit in mommy’s lap so this gentleman can have your seat.” Gentleman? That’s a term you use to address Sean Connery or a well-dressed man in a suit with tufts of white hair on his head. And did it really look like I needed to sit? Seats are offered to elderly and disabled, not to people in their early thirties. Daniel did as he was told. I did not. I continued to stand, in defiance of this woman’s proclamation of my age.

But the best (worst?) of them all happened in Bali. I’m walking down Kuta Beach looking to rent a surfboard for the day, which means politely declining the dozens of touts trying to sell you anything from massages to temporary tattoos to necklaces to ice cream. I stop and look at a surfboard and this woman approaches me.

“You like massage?”

“No thanks.” I smile at her then continue looking at the surfboard.
She continues elaborating her list of services she offers.

“You like manicure?”

“No thanks. I’m good.”

“You like pedicure?”

Before I answer I look at her to see if she’s smiling. She’s not. She seriously is offering me a pedicure.

“No thanks.” Then I notice her scanning my hair. She offers me a service I had never been offered up to that point in my life.

“You like I take out white hairs?”

NO!! I continued watching her closely, waiting to see her smile or laugh, anything to show me that this was a joke. But nothing came. It was a real proposition, as real as the white hairs I have on my head. I instinctively said no but began wondering how much longer it was before I began buying Grecian products.

The wonderful stepping stones to become older. I’m sure there are many more heading my way and I have a feeling their frequency will accelerate. They’re all eye openers when they happen, like a spotlight is being shined on reality and then there’s no denying it.

But there is a silver lining in all this. If I’ve learned anything in this last year of traveling, it’s that getting old and being old are two very different things. Getting old is inevitable; it is part of life and our bodies have been doing this for millions of years and there’s not much we can do about it. Being old is a choice, a frame of mind and that is something we have a lot of control over. It is determined by how we view life and view ourselves.

On the Camino de Santiago last year, I met Dave and Ernie from Manchester, England, who despite being twice my age (sorry guys, I had to mention that) were younger than most people I know. They were always laughing and poking fun at each other and at other people. Not a day would go by that we weren’t cracking jokes about the other trekkers, naming distinguished trekkers after their look-alike famous counterparts including Johnny Cash, Mick Jagger and Justin Timberlake. And they are in great shape from hiking in the U.K. every weekend and were always the first ones to reach town at the end of the day. I’d typically be one of the last people to stroll into town and I’d see them drinking a beer on a bench outside the bar, with an extra beer on hand with my name on it. How many people in their sixties would be doing that?

If only they had also found someone willing to take out our white hairs while we sipped those beers then there couldn’t be a better end to a day of arduous trekking. Although that would have also meant waiting around for a couple of extra days as all the hair stylists from all the nearby villages worked around the clock on Dave’s hair.

Riders on the storm

Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Into this house we’re born
Into the surf we’re thrown

Surfing is tough. And not even the standing on the surfboard part but just paddling out to behind the waves to start trying to catch them. I took a lesson when I got here, managed fine on the small breaks near shore and then the instructor said I was ready to go on my own. Yeah right. The next day I was getting knocked around like something that gets knocked around a lot. It’s been raining a lot here and that means lots of wind and lots of wind drives the waves crazy. I spent most of my time battling the waves, facing breaking waves head on, holding my board tightly but to no avail as I’d get blown off it and knocked back ten feet. It was frustrating and I hate to admit it but several times I wanted to quit. But I made myself stick it out and I’m really glad I did. I’ve learned that anything worth having really requires you to work hard at it and surviving the early trials. I’ve now learned how to paddle much better but I’m still working on my standing technique. All in good time.

We stayed at Hotel Sorga in Kuta which is a quiet super-friendly place in the main touristy area, but it feels away from it all when you’re there. The nightlife in Bali is endless and while I’m not about clubbing or really even drinking much on this trip, Daniel is another story. And for the first few nights I accompanied him on his tour of Bali’s night life. We saw the sunrise the first few nights, including the first night when we saw Timo Maas, a well-known DJ from Germany, spinning at club Double Six. Tickets were just $10 and that included a drink. Damn. After the third sunrise I decided that was way too much and I toned it down to pretty much zero.

We rented scooters for $3 a day and drove them throughout most of the southern part of Bali. The roads are surprisingly really good and after I got comfortable on the bike I was taking it over 80 kmh, with coconut and banana trees blurring by on either side of me. I’ll say it right here and now; scooters are the best mode of road transportation in the world. I’m definitely buying another one when I get home.

I left the craziness of Kuta after a week and headed over to a small island called Nusa Lembongan. A Dutch couple I met in Australia had recommended it to me as their favorite spot to surf in Indonesia and a great place for beginners. There’s a spot called Playgrounds which is just that, a playground for learning how to surf. The waves are a good size but even if you get thrown around the reef is gentle enough that it won’t tear you up. Lots of the reef is covered in seaweed and helps ease the spill. Daniel had planned to join me to Lembongan but alas yet another late night to sunrise kept him in bed while I made the one hour boat trip over solo.

I got a ridiculous bungalow with a view of the waves and spent most of my time surfing, eating and reading. I even had a pet dog who I named Susie who would always be chilling out on my patio. Every time I’d step out of the room she’d be lying out under the table, and her tail would start thumping when she saw me. I’d feed her a couple of cookies as treats since I hadn’t brought any dogfood along with me in my backpack.

Lembongan is a small 3km by 4km island with less than 4000 inhabitants, no stop signs, no police and hardly any cars. It is where you go to get away. And that was just what I needed after Kuta. But even getting far away gets old after a while and after four days I decided to head back to Kuta.

And my timing couldn’t have been better.

I called Daniel once I arrived in Sanur where the boat drops you off, and he was leaving in an hour to drive up to Ubud with his cousin Gary. Perfect. I took a taxi over to Kuta, met him and Gary at McDonald’s and we were off. We first drove to Denpasar, the capital of Bali, and had lunch with Gary’s mom and grandmother before continuing the drive up to Ubud. The whole driving journey took less than an hour.

Ubud is an artsy kinda place. Countless shops selling sculptures and paintings, some of which are really beautiful. It’s times like this I wish I had a home so I could buy some art for it. The main part of town is noisy though since it is quite touristy but luckily we have found an amazing place to stay. Gary’s dad built an amazing house about a 15 minute drive from Ubud, and also built a guest villa right next door. So we’re staying in this absolutely quiet, marble floored villa that overlooks rice paddies and coconut trees. We’re living in nature. We saw a snake coiled up on a tree branch right near our porch this morning and at night there is an orchestra of frogs, crickets and cicadas each trying to outdo the other. Gary has a lot of time on his hands now as he’s finishing up an Economics at the university in Denpasar and only has one class this semester. So he’s been showing us around. And last night we bought some Bintang, the local Bali beer, and sat around and played Rummy, which I’m happy to say I won. The big reason why I wanted to win so bad was so I could claim victory in four continents now after also winning the one game I played in Australia. Maybe I’ll put that on my resume when I start looking for a job.

Bali has definitely changed since I was last here in 1998. It’s way more commercialized and that’s never a good thing. But the people are still the same, friendly people and it’s great to see that. There is one downer in all of this though. Many of the locals talk about how business has plummeted dramatically since the three bombings in 2002. And it’s a shame too because I’ve never met friendlier people in a very touristy area. While the touts do their part to lure you into their shop or rent you a motorcycle, even if you decline their offer they are more than happy to shoot the breeze with you and joke around. “I like Obama! He is my best friend!” is something I hear a lot. I got to know everyone vendor on my little alleyway and would always stop in to talk to Nyoman and Komang, the two brothers who rented us our scooters every time I went by their shop.

It’s dark out now, the orchestra has begun and I’m about to run out of battery juice.

Going back to Bali

I’m going back to Cali
Cali
Cali
I’m going back to Cali
No I don’t think so

I actually wouldn’t mind going back to Cali. It’d be great to see friends, get some fries at In ‘n Out and feel that warmth of security within myself knowing that Arnold was watching over my land. But instead I’m going back to Bali where I visited way back in December 1998.

Back then I had been working for Lucent Technologies on a project in Japan for a couple of months and in between leaving Tokyo and flying back to my crib in Columbus, Ohio (I used to live there??) my manager had asked me to stop in Indonesia for a couple weeks of work. I was installing a couple of sweet telecommunication servers in Bandung and then on the weekend my coworker Edwin and I booked a super cheap flight to Bali. All the planes were refurbished ex-military planes. On the flight down I remember talking to Edwin before the flight took off and a screw literally fell from the ceiling and landed in his lap. I didn’t put our chances of survival much higher than 50-50. But no more screws fell, we landed and all was good.

I really don’t remember too much of Bali except that my beachside cottage was amazing and it was walking distance from the Hard Rock Café. That was back in the day when I used to collect HRC tshirts from everywhere I went. Now I don’t even know where they are. I think I donated them all. Another thing I recall from back then was our driver, Made, taking us to this illegal cock fighting ring. It’s something I wouldn’t have the stomach for now but back then I was all about new experiences. I lost every bet I made and everyone wanted to bet with the lone white man there. I lost about $50 on 4 or 5 bets. But it was all good because just outside the cock fighting ring you could get a really cheap chicken sandwich, and you know it was fresh.

I’m not sure how I still have it but I have Made’s phone number in my iPhone and I’m going to give it a try when I’m there. I don’t expect it to work as who has the same number as ten years ago but you never know. He was a year or two younger than me and I think his girlfriend was working at Domino’s or something like that.

I’m going to try my hand at surfing which I’ve never done before and I’m not expecting it to be real easy, especially since I’ve never been great at skateboarding or snowboarding or anything that requires a good sense of balance. Supposedly Bali is a great place to surf and to learn how to surf. Kuta beach is an 8 km stretch of beach that’s pretty touristy so I’m thinking a week or so there to learn the basics and then going off to a quieter island just to the east of Bali, Nusa Lombongan, where the waves are supposed to be quite good too. And I’ve heard Ubud is a tranquil, artistic, spiritual area of the island and where the Love took place in Eat, Pray, Love. I hope to get some down time to relax and I’m stocking up on used books here in Brisbane before I leave.

And at the last second, I learned my friend Daniel from the Vipassana course will be joining me too which is awesome.

Daniel on the left

He’s a real funny guy and he’s originally Indonesian and speaks the language so that’s a big plus. He’s taking time off in between jobs (he was working in finance) and he was thinking of starting to look for work again but after hearing how cheap the flights were at $140 each way, he decided he would be going back to Bali too.

Wwoofing

Lasciatemi cantare
con la chitarra in mano
lasciatemi cantare
una canzone piano piano
lasciatemi cantare
perché ne sono fiero
sono l’italiano
l’italiano vero

Kind of by accident I had my first wwoofing experience here in Australia. I first learned about Wwoofing from my friend Jeff in India. Willing Workers on Organic Farms is what wwoof’ing stands for (http://www.wwoof.org). Basically it’s a work-for-board-and-meals exchange. It’s a great way to get experience working on a farm or getting involved in any of a number of projects that people need some help with. And of course to meet the locals.

Wwoof’ing began in Australia and there are over 1,200 farmers who are listed with wwoof in Australia alone. It is also growing in many other parts of the world. I found a posting from a Bedouin in Jordan who wants someone to help him out with his herd of goats and to help his children learn English. I wrote down his email and I may just write him down the road.

So how I got to wwoof…

After my Vipassana meditation class I pretty much had no plans or place to go. It’s my new way of traveling of not making any plans until I have to and sometimes it works out great. Other times not so great. All I knew was that I wanted to get to an internet café to take care of some travel plans. My well-dressed Italian roommate from Vipassana, Daniele, was going to Brisbane to wwoof at a Yoga studio/ashram for a week. I figured I’d join him and see if they could use an extra hand for a few days. In my mind I kept having this feeling that they would welcome me with open arms saying “Sure Emile! Come on in! We can definitely use your help.”

The answer was No. Someone else was coming in two days and I wouldn’t be needed. So much for my premonitions. I decided I’d find a hostel and just check into there but I was in no rush (10 days of meditation kind of chills you out) so I just hung out in the lobby of the ashram, waiting for Daniele to settle in and then we’d go get something to eat.

My pad at the ashram

And wouldn’t you know it during that time the manager of the ashram came over and said that he had just received an email from the next wwooffers that they were going to be arriving later than expected and so if I could stay and help out for a couple of days that would be great. Perfect!

The studio is called Yoga Studio for Daily Life and it’s on the east side of Brisbane in a more industrial part of town. It’s a non-profit organization started by a Hindu named Swamiji. All the employees and yoga instructors work as volunteers and supposedly they’re quite big and have studios around the world.

I imagine wwoofing at a Yoga ashram is very different to the typical wwoofing on a farm. The closest thing I did to farming was plucking out weeds and watering plants. Our primary responsibility was to get the place cleaned up before the 10 a.m. yoga class and that involved sweeping, mopping and laying out the yoga mats for the first class.

Daniele posting a couple flyers

We did some gardening one day then the rest of the time we rode bikes all around Brisbane posting flyers for upcoming classes at the ashram. Brisbane’s a great place to ride because it’s pretty much all flat.

But the best part about the ashram was the meals. We had full, 24-hour access to the kitchen, fridge and pantry and we cooked a storm for each meal. It was all healthy vegetarian, organic type foods which means you can eat all you want and it’s still healthy.

Sporting my cool bike helmet

We were also responsible for making lunch for the couple of people working at the ashram but after the first day’s lunch they told us not to worry about their food. Not sure if they didn’t like it or what.

And another added perk is that we got to join in a yoga class each day and were actually encouraged to. It felt great to get some exercise in after being pretty immobile for the past couple of weeks. Poor Daniele though, who is learning English, has enough trouble understanding people when speaking to them let alone hearing it during a yoga class. So when we’d take the course, most of the time he had no idea what the instructor was telling us to do. And one time I looked over at him and he was peacefully asleep on his yoga mat. The ultimate relaxation.

I left the ashram after four days since I was going back to the Vipassana center to volunteer as a server. Daniele is still at the Yoga ashram, and they’ve asked him to stick around for a couple more weeks. Not a bad gig. Now only if he can understand the yoga class, he’ll be all set.

Two days in Singapore

“It’s a nice place to live, but I wouldn’t want to visit here.” Emile Baizel, when he visited here.

I stopped by Singapore for a couple of days after India and on my way to Australia.  On the way here I was pretty pumped to be seeing a new country as I always am when going somewhere new.  I was thinking I’d stay for a week to see all the sites and really do it right.  But after just a day I was done with it and ready to leave.  I was bored.

Yum!

It’s not because Singapore isn’t a great place.  It’s clean, very modern, people are friendly and peaceful.  They have countless laws and restrictions that would make even a Westerner raise an eyebrow.  Spit in public: $500 fine.  Chew gum: $500 fine and on top of that, you can’t even buy gum in the country.  You have to sneak it in when you come in from abroad.  Imagine that.  How would a Valley girl ever survive here?

A big plus about Singapore is you can get all sorts of food at really good prices.  I went to Little India both nights and got a heaping plate of biryani with naan and an assortment of other stuff for around $2.  Little India is the equivalent of a China Town except, you guessed it, with Indians instead of Chinese.  It’s a radical concept, I know.  Packaged foods like Pringles or Snickers are expensive because they have to import those in from afar.  Restaurants are much cheaper because they import a lot of the foods from Malaysia which is within an hour away by land.

My hostel took security very seriously!

There ain’t much room to grow stuff in Singapore so it’s all got to be brought in.  Cigarettes are a whopping $8 a pack, mostly I believe to deter people from smoking.  And they have more than Surgeon General’s warnings on there.  They have pictures of people’s cancerous cheeks taking up half the packaging.  My favorite one was a picture of a decrepit, mangled foot with the warning “Smoking causes gangrene.”  Really?  A foot?  Maybe he should have tried using his hand to hold the cigarette.

Basically, Singapore would be a great place to live but not to visit, at least not as a solo backpacker.  After walking around the city for a few hours the first day, I felt like I had seen all there was to see.  Plus, I’m kind of burning out on seeing sites and more into the experience of being in some place and engaging in some activity like hiking or something else.

Armenian church

And not really knowing anyone in Singapore I was  pretty much doing more of the site seeing stuff.  There is a whole lot of shopping around, including the famous (although I hadn’t heard of it previously) Orchard Road, which is an endless boulevard of malls and shops selling everything from electronics to clothing to Rolex watches (the real variety).  Seeing as I don’t really have anything I urgently need while I’m traveling (except maybe a Rolex watch) I found myself just kind of drifting between different shops.

What I could use is a used book store as I’m looking to buy another book soon.  Right now I’m debating between ‘Life of Pi’ and ‘The Witch of Portobello’.  I’m currently reading ‘God of Small Things’ which I picked up on the Everest Base Camp trek in a lodge, trading in my previous book for it.  I did find a regular book store but as with most things in Singapore, the books were not cheap, about $15 for a paperback.  I was getting used to the knockoff books in India which you could buy for $1 each.  Yes, they make knockoff books.  They really have replicas for everything in India and Nepal.  I’m still waiting to see someone making knockoffs of knockoffs.  I guess that may also be called the real thing.

One of the highlights from Singapore was seeing an Armenian Church here in the city.  I was browsing the map trying to get my bearings and all of a sudden I see ‘Armenian Church’.  Very random.  An Armenian church in Singapore?  I had to see this.  I walked over there my first evening and luckily there happened to be a couple of men doing some administrative work who were still hanging around.  We chatted for a while and I learned that there are a whopping thirty Armenians in Singapore.  “Thirty thousand, I asked?” No, thirty.  And they still have an active church which they’ve had now for over 150 years.  Leave it to the Armenians to keep a church going with a tiny community.

My first night I decided I’d go out and check out some of the local night life.  My hotel was in a bit of a distant area so all the area was quite tourist free.  And the big thing to do in Singapore is karaoke.  They have karaoke bars everywhere so I figured why not and wandered into a karaoke bar down the street.

How to use a toilet in Singapore

They greeted me with a pitcher of Carlsberg beer (a whole pitcher for myself) but couldn’t understand when I told them I wasn’t drinking and I only wanted a Coke.  I moved seats at some point and the pitcher kept following me.  They placed it right in front of me even though I hadn’t taken a sip.  Amazing.  As always I had a lot of nerves before getting to sing my song but it turned out to be quite alright as everyone sang along with me to ‘You’ve Lost that Loving Feeling’.

I met this great guy Foon who took me to some local hole in the wall for late night noodles and fried fish.  He’s a gambler on the side and every 5 minutes was checking his phone for updates to the Hoffenheim vs Schalke 04 football game.  He’s been gambling on sports for years and claims he’s way ahead in winnings vs losses.  So I got interested and asked him his secrets.  And I won’t go into the details here but the man does have a plan.  I may have to try a few of his suggestions.  Ironically, as we were walking to get a taxi he was telling me that Asians are by far the biggest gamblers in the world, that they love to bet and bet on everything.  We get into the taxi and he’s checking his game’s score when the taxi driver looks over and asks “What’s the score of the Chelsea game?  I’ve got big money on that game.”  Nice.