| squee! |
[May. 17th, 2008|11:19 am] |
I danced all night with beautiful people, my new dancing shoes that I bought yesterday are well worn in, I'm pretty sure I bruised the bottom of my feet, and I can't wait for next year's all-nighter! Two years ago, right before I quit the country, Jeff dragged me out to the Stanford Big Dance...and since I got home just before it this year, he took me out again. I absolutely adore being waltzed around a room with a hundred other couples spinning around me. Now I really need to get a lesson or two, I dance on intuition alone right now, and let me tell you...you can't intuit the lindy hop.
Jeff has become an amazing dancer in the last two years. He was getting into it pretty seriously when I left, and what with dancing every night for two years, he's got a beautiful lead that any girl would love. He taught me the basics of the rotary and cross-step waltzes in a corner of the dance floor last time, and with a little refresher this time the waltzes were my favorite part of the night.
And now, for another short nap on the couch before the property manager comes to rent away my sister's lovely little apartment. |
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| the precious things |
[May. 16th, 2008|05:47 pm] |
Yesterday I was puttering through the last 10 years of my life that I had exploded all over my old room in my parent's house. It was a very windy day, and I could see clouds of allergens being whipped off the pine trees, so it was best to stay inside and avoid the sneezes. The unpacked boxes left me with tiny stepping stones of carpet along which I could jump in and out of bed and across to the door.
Then my mother called, a little panicky, and asked if I had heard anything about a fire on a road very close to our house. I hadn't, so I walked out into the yard. Sure enough, a column of white smoke as wide as the house was drifting from the ridgeline a half mile away, with the wind carrying the smoke directly over my head. Within five minutes I could smell the fire, bits of ash were starting to drop, and the sunlight had turned a sickly yellow. My dad and I put some shovels and a pickax into the car and went to see if there was brush to clear. We were turned around by the sheriff a mile from home. He told us to go back and prepare for evacuation. So we went home, turned on the sprinklers, and started to get the precious things together.
Living in California means dealing with earthquakes and wildfires, and when you live in the Sierras there tend to be more fires than quakes.
It's an interesting exercise to pick out all the things that are important to you and put them in a car to drive away from your home. It's also surprisingly easy. Within 20 minutes I had collected a document box, my computer with all our photos from the last two years abroad, family pictures and albums, my mother's wedding dress, and a couple changes of clothes. The parakeet was waiting calmly to be moved. After you've collected the important things, there is a whole lot left over that really doesn't matter that much in an emergency.
The local news was reporting on our fire, another California fire, and the California Supreme Court decision to strike down the gay marriage ban. When they got tired of that, they switched back to Days of Our Lives. In the meantime, my sister and I were thinking of other things we wanted to save: recipe boxes, the address book, mementos from our childhood, a box of my great grandmother's silverware, my parent's wedding china, jewelry boxes, favorite books and knicknacks that we have had as long as we can remember.
Evacuation calls got to some houses down our road, but thankfully the ground crews and helicopters got the blaze under control by mid afternoon. My parents are lucky to live just three miles from a large reservoir where the water-drop helicopters can fill their buckets. Evacuations were lifted before they reached us.
Three houses burned down along with 30 acres of forest. My heart goes out to those families, and I am thankful it didn't make it to our home.
My friends, play boy/girl scout for a moment and think about what you would need to be prepared for an emergency, and also please consider putting together an earthquake survival kit if you don't already have one. A plastic trash can in your garage or storage unit works well, and you can find lists online of what to put inside. |
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| halfway home |
[Apr. 10th, 2008|10:49 am] |
We mailed your postcards, madly tossed many rupees into the Bombay economy, tipped the lovely 70-rupee/day-earning-employee at the Salvation Army House nicely, shoved all the loot into a steamer trunk, and got on the plane.
And now we are in London! Tim Hortons has made it here, much to Dane's delight. We were walking by the Canadian embassy (they call it a High Commission) and stopped to snap a picture with the flag and the coffee cup, when we were spotted by the employees and invited inside for internet and more coffee. How civilized.
In contrast, consider the US embassy in Bankok that I had to visit to apply for additional passport pages. That place was defended like a fortress, with high concrete walls and spikes on top. There was security that stopped just short of a body cavity search. And they certainly didn't offer coffee.
London is clean and bright with blue sky and no trash or cows lining the streets. It's got red phonebooths! Eeee!!
I can't wait to be home, guys. I'll be seeing ya soon. |
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| global warming = cold in China |
[Feb. 5th, 2008|03:20 pm] |
While I was in Xi'an, I got a few messages from friends and family saying 'We hear China's been hit by the worst weather in two decades, are you ok?' Now, until I got that note, I just thought it was frikin' inhumanly cold every winter in China. But no, this year is special.
The entirety of the south was hit by freak weather, including desert areas which were blanketed with beautiful layers of snow. Rice paddies turn into delicate white squares with hundreds of neatly lined white dots that mark the top of the crop stubble. Temples that normally see rain had sheets of icicles hanging from the curved eaves. Picturesque, of course.
In addition, train lines couldn't be cleared, power lines and poles and transformer stations went down under the weight of ice, and buses were stuck on the highways where emergency services tried their best to deliver hot water and food. Coal trains were also stopped or delayed, which mean no power in many parts where coal-fired plants provided the majority of electricity.
I wasn't aware of this before, but Chinese New Year sees the largest annual human migration on the planet. The Guangzhou train station alone had half a million stranded passengers. It's hard to comprehend the sheer mass of humanity that travels home at this time of year.
Maybe now China will take a look at the environmental impact it is having on the planet? |
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| stone soldier pottery combat scum |
[Feb. 5th, 2008|03:15 pm] |
That's right, my fellow transcribers and transcriptionist sympathizers:
I have visited the excavation site of the Xi'an terracotta army.
The field where they were discovered has been covered over by a number of stadium sized buildings with massive steel beam arches supporting the roofs. Just putting the buildings in place over an archaeological site is an impressive feat of engineering. The soldiers, only partially excavated, are standing in rows stretching back in decreasing states of repair. The front lines are beautifully restored, all pieces somehow found and glued back together. Then come some with pieces or heads missing. Next lie the half-buried torsos and legs, brought up in the last two thirds of the building by unexcavated rows that are simply smooth dry clay soil without a hint of what is hiding underneath. |
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| it will be perfect |
[Jan. 27th, 2008|03:31 pm] |
The Olympics are coming, and everyone is aware of it. Street vendors are practicing for it: "Hello. Olympic baby?" "Hello. English map?" The trash carts of the street cleaning army are all emblazoned with the Olympic symbol and the 'One World One Dream' logo (that also now graces the slope below the Badaling Great Wall).
In preparation for the onslaught of tourists, Beijing is undergoing massive change. This is a city of thousands of small winding alleys that link the courtyards of old Beijing houses. They are narrow and full of crumbling walls. The rich houses are marked by four posts above their main entranceway, and two elaborate stones flanking the door. The middle class have two posts and simpler stones, and the poor have just red painted doors in various states of disrepair. It is wonderfully easy to get lost in these alleys. Half the time they dead end after a half kilometer, right into someone's house. Maybe once that lane went through, but then someone decided to build a house in the gap. These roads are picturesque and beautiful under a little snow or slanting sunlight.
Walk into certain areas close to major thoroughfares though, and sloppily painted onto wall after wall are large white circles with a character inside that means 'dismantle'. These are the houses slated for destruction. Other blocks have been mostly knocked down already, where just a house or two is left standing in the rubble, sometimes with a family still living there. Areas that have been fully cleared are being rebuilt with highrise buildings and fronted with pretty shops.
I spoke with one old woman who was standing in a little late afternoon sunlight on the side of the street. The wall behind her had the white circle. She looked behind her, then slowly turned back and said she had been born in that house. Her accent was thickened by her missing front teeth, so I could not understand when they would come to knock it down, or where she would go when it happened.
The younger generation, however are not so sad. Old houses mean living conditions most of us would not accept. Rounds of coal provide heat, plumbing is decrepit, and creature comforts are few. Hard to blame them for not being saddened by the destruction of the old in favor of the new. |
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| street food |
[Jan. 26th, 2008|01:54 pm] |
I've just been introduced to my new favorite street food. A hostel-friend and I went walking through the narrow hutongs (residential lanes) today to deliver a photo print to the family of two boys we had come across on an earlier afternoon's walk. On the way back, we stopped by a street stall that consisted of a table with piles of vegetables on wooden skewers and an open steaming 3x5-foot rectangular soup-pot/stove contraption that had a little board tacked onto the side that acted as a table. First step is to collect the best looking veggies: spinach, mushrooms, slices of sweet potato, sprigs of cilantro, and purple cabbage. Those are handed to the owner, who stuffs them in among the meat, fish, and tofu skewers which are simmering in the large pot. Then the customers squat down on little stools next to the soup-pot, take a metal bowl wrapped in a plastic bag, and start picking skewers out of the pot. The veggies are fished out as they finish cooking, and everything can be topped with a little peanut sauce or raw garlic and vinegar.
When we had properly stuffed ourselves, we handed the empty skewers to the owner, who counted them up and did some quick math in his head. At 60 mao a stick, a full dinner came out to all of 13 yuan, or about 2USD. |
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| The Great Wall Amusement Park |
[Jan. 26th, 2008|01:12 pm] |
I trundled out to Badaling, the closest section of the Great Wall to Beijing proper. This was on account of it being -8 degrees Celsius, and a 10km trek along a further section sounded like frostbite. This part of the wall is fully restored. I believe this was finished in 1969, as that is the earliest date I could find among the thousands of graffiti scratched into the stones along the wall.
An hour's drive out of the city the flat suddenly ends in a steep line of mountains, and not ten minutes later big chunks of the wall appear winding haphazardly across the hill. There is no obvious reasoning for the line of the wall. It looks as though a child drew a squiggle across a map and they built accordingly.
I paid my ticket to climb up on top and was presented with two choices: left, or right. Every tourist in sight had headed right, so I figured they might know something. I hiked along, past vendors peddling t-shirts, postcards, little handicrafts, and my personal favorite, photo certificates proving that you set foot on the wall. These were developed on-sight in a little stall where a half-frozen teenage employee kept the machines warm with a hair-dryer. Snacks and drinks were available around every curve. It was quite civilized. I rounded one corner and was presented with a magnificent sweep of the wall topped with bright jackets and hats, with a line of Disneyland-style skyway cable cars ferrying the lazy to the top and an ice slide ferrying the mild thrill-seekers to the bottom.
I couldn't help but laugh when I saw it, neatly packaged and priced, the top tourist attraction in all of China! |
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| a good reason to request cremation |
[Jan. 17th, 2008|10:33 pm] |
We (myself and three young brits who I met on the train) woke up this morning in our snug warm basement dormitory to find it snowing outside. It was warmer for the snow too, so we bundled up and headed out for a bit of a morning romp in the narrow streets that were prettied up by the light dusting of white.
First stop: the tomb of Chairman Mao. After checking bags and all electronics, waiting in line, going through a metal detector, and getting rather thoroughly frisked, we were ushered into the memorial hall that squats on the southern end of Tian'an'men Square.
In contrast to the pushing, shoving, and line cutting that occurred before the security check, the line inside was orderly. Everyone observed the sign for silence, and lined up obediently in a double row. We filed slowly into the central chamber, where like an orangish and balding Snow White, the Chairman lies in his crystal coffin, a red flag for his cover. He is miraculously preserved, and despite the strange color, looks merely asleep even after 32 years of lying there. After filing out of the room, th line empties into the gift shop, which is actually located inside the mausoleum. There you can buy a wide variety of shirts and trinkets and postcards with Mao's face and a red star stamped across them.
All they would need to do is start charging an entrance fee to turn the whole thing into a miniature capitalist circus dancing on the non-grave of the father of modern China. |
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| before GPS |
[Jan. 17th, 2008|09:17 pm] |
While wandering through an exhibition on the life of the emperors, housed in a forbidden city building, I came across a saddle from the Qing dynasty. (That's the last dynasty, for those of us who under pressure could only cite 'Ming' if asked to list some dynastic names).
The thing was lavishly decorated, covered with embroidered silk, with a black lacquered wooden pommel with ivory inlay in a floral pattern. And there, on a flat raised bit that corresponds to the horn on a western saddle, was an inlaid compass, so the emperor could tell which way his horse was pointed. Brilliant! |
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| the not-so-forbidden (anymore) city |
[Jan. 17th, 2008|06:18 pm] |
Now don't tell me. I know that it has 'city' in the name, but I hadn't imagined the Forbidden City to actually be on that kind of scale. But there it is, walled up and sitting right in the center of Beijing, almost a kilometer long and .7km wide. There are 9,999 rooms in the 800-odd buildings, making it just shy of Heaven (which has 10,000 rooms). I walked down the middle for the first hour, going up and down through the series of massive gates and courtyards that stretch along the central axis until I finally reached the imperial gardens at the northern end.
The entire complex is designed to dwarf any individual visitor, and you cannot help but feel small when standing more or less alone in a walled space that can hold 100,000 people. I was compensated by being able to walk through the first gate, Tian'an'men (Heavenly Peace Gate), through the central arch that was reserved for the emperor alone. Later I peeked through the windows of the houses where the empresses and concubines lived out their lives drinking tea and doing needlework.
On a sunny and clear day, the palace is an exercise in primary colors. Red walls stretch up all around, capped by blue and yellow gold painted eaves. The squares are vast splashes of white under the sky. Greens, browns, and other impure colors are rare, except when you stumble on a section that has not been restored and the paints have been faded by dirt and coal dust. The Chinese government is scrambling to clean and apply fresh paints in time for the Olympics, so the first two major halls, which you would recognize from postcard pictures of the city, are covered in scaffolding while they are made shiny again.
By 4 in the afternoon, the sun was losing its warmth, and it was time to walk out. After hours wandering with thousands of other tourists, yet rarely seeing more than a handful at a time, it was a relief to rejoin the crowd pouring back out of the gates out toward Tian'an'men square. |
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| walls and firewalls |
[Jan. 16th, 2008|11:00 pm] |
Since Livejournal is a danger to the Party, it is blocked here, which is just plain annoying. I can post using proxy sites, but I haven't found any proxy that will actually get me all the way to viewing friend's pages. So for now, I hope you are all doing well, I'll catch up on your various adventures in a month when I make it to India.
I came straight to Beijing from Hong Kong, on a 24 hour overnight sleeper train. My passport was stamped out of Hong Kong in the station, I boarded the train with the rest, and then we were locked into the cars for the duration of the trip. Only on reaching Beijing station were we herded through passport control. My wan salmon-colored visa for China has a picture of the Great Wall on it. It's the best symbol to welcome a visitor, don't you think?
My first impression of China proper is simply that it is cold. And vast. And full of people. The train station teems with thousands dressed in drab blacks and greys, occasionally punctuated by women in red quilted coats reaching below their knees. Even rarer is the yellow winter jacket. Children are the last bastion of color, nestled snug in thick bright wraps so that they can barely toddle along. For convenience, many toddlers sport split pants, so they can easily squat without taking off any clothing. Consequently it is not uncommon to see a babe in arms with their little bum-cheeks peeking out from their pants as rosily as their smiling faces from their hats.
My first day and a half were spent frantically shopping for winter clothing to protect me from the -5 degree (C) weather. Now I am in possession of wool long underwear, wool socks, a winter jacket, wool sweater, gloves, hat, and scarf. So now it takes about 10 minutes before my fingers are numb, instead of one! Things are looking up. :) |
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| missing home |
[Jan. 4th, 2008|05:11 pm] |
I'm back in Taiwan, after a great Christmas and New Year's week on the big island of Hawaii with my parents and sisters, and now I have a big old nasty case of homesickness. I miss my mom!
It was really good to see my family after a year and a half away. And it was equally hard to get in all the catching up that needed to happen.
As you might expect, the island itself was a thing of extraordinary beauty, from moonscape lava fields to the frigid peaks where observatories sit like ice cream scoops atop the hill to the beautiful motley of beaches. The green sand beach on the southern tip was my personal favorite, if mostly for the long hike along the windy coastline it took to get there.
I hope you all had wonderful Christmas and New Year's celebrations with family and friends.
Don't forget to call your mom. |
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| Bankok, again! |
[Dec. 18th, 2007|10:23 pm] |
This city is becoming quite familiar, it's like a mini-homecoming when I pull into town.
We left Laos via the Friendship Bridge south of Vientiane, saying a sad farewell to baguettes and plentiful European foodstuffs. On the way into Laos Dane and I were charged 42 and 35 USD respectively for visa fees. On the way out we had to by an exit ticket for 2500 kip. That's about 25 cents. I'm sure it makes sense to someone.
I suspect Laos is a black hole for international aid and NGO donation funds. In Vientiane I saw on numerous occasions a crew of 4 men on their hands and knees with small rock hammers tapping gently on bricks in the sidewalk. It reminded me of the public park in Taichung, where on an all too regular basis some piece of sculpture would be uprooted and moved to another location in the park, or some perfectly good lights would be replaced with a slightly different looking model. Graft, it keeps the workers busy. |
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| listening to the rice grow |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|05:58 pm] |
Laos is one of the quietest places on earth. I suppose it is partly due to that fact that it is barely populated, with only 5 million people or so. A bigger part of it is the Lao mindset. I can't imagine a better place to unwind than among these people. The Lao have an air of unconcern for the future that slowly seeps into the consciousness during a stay here, with a corresponding appreciation of the present. "Today is today, tomorrow is tomorrow!" laughed the owner of our guest house in Phonsavan. This was coming from a man who voiced (to a journalist) a government-unapproved version of how bomb-clearing funds were appropriated, and subsequently received an invitation from the police to visit the local station. He was jailed for three months, without charge. He considered going into politics, but upon realizing the corruption and worry associated with it, decided it would be more peaceful to instead host falang in his house and drink copious amounts of lao-lao. He seemed to have little bitterness toward the police, and quite happy to sit and tell his stories to visitors.
These people seem to be practical in the extreme, rebuilding flattened towns using the large cluster-bomb casings as stilts for the houses. Soup spoons at roadside noodle stands are made out of aluminum from downed airplanes. Steel from diffused bombs is forged into shovels, sickles, and plows for the rice fields.
There is a sort of acceptance that hundreds of people a year will continue to be killed by bombies. It is simply a fact of living in a place that has had a ton of bombs dropped on it for every man, woman, and child in the country. I cannot help but appreciate how the Lao people have dealt with what has happened to them in the past forty years. It is impossible to imagine the American people dealing with a similar action against us with the same kind of grace.
If you have time, read a little about the Secret War in Laos. It may be a bit of a surprise to those of us born after it was already over. It may even be a surprise to those of you who were adults when it was going on. |
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| by river and road |
[Dec. 13th, 2007|02:38 pm] |
Laos is only recently easily traveled by road. The country is landlocked, hilly, and sparsely populated, so for most of its history the Mekong river served as highway. Today in the north the river is still the main road, where tourists are shipped down from the northern Thailand border crossing, and bags of corn are shipped back up. The river pilots use the same boats for both. I suspect they prefer the latter, because bags of corn make a lot less noise and don't get piss drunk on the way.
Now some of the roads into the mountains are paved, so bus rides are fairly doable to get to places like Phonsavan with its mysterious collection of ancient oversized stone jars (plain of jars on Wikipedia). Dane and I bought tickets from Luang Prabang to Phonsavan on the local bus, since the VIP fancy buses tend to be air conditioned to as close to absolute zero as humans have managed to achieve. We arrived early, an hour and a half before the bus was scheduled to depart. There was already a scooter and a three-foot-high pile of luggage and furniture on top of the bus, bags of grain stacked in the aisles, and all seats but two filled up with Lao folk heading out to see family or friends for the Hmong New Year. We took the last two seats, then sat and watched another twenty people show up for the bus, including some very unhappy looking Swedes who had paid a premium for some phantom reserved seats. They got plastic stools in the aisles, sort of lumped in with the corn. Three people were sitting on the engine block cover next to the driver. A couple guys were sitting in both the front and back door steps, and one poor sap just had to stand right up against the door, sure to be the first out the front window if we made a sudden stop. Nine hours of slow windy hill climbing later...Phonsavan! |
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| welcome to the slow lane |
[Dec. 6th, 2007|02:29 pm] |
After a early morning local bus ride where there were five seats to the row, the Mekong River and the Thai-Laos border lay before us. The procedure is to stamp out of Thailand on one side of the river, get on a longboat and cross the river, then stamp into Laos on the other side.
Laos is a laid back place. It is nominally communist, poor, supported heavily by international aid, and uses a currency that comes in denominations that are hard to believe. One USD trades for 9400 kip. You can buy souvenier one kip notes in the night market, but the smallest bill in use now is the 1000. I haven't seen a single coin. It is a bit mind-bending to be charged 60 or a hundred thousand anything. Just the number alone makes it sound expensive until you remember to convert.
In the sleepy little border town of Huay Xin, the man working in the concrete box that serves as immigration control only accepts Thai baht or USD as payment for visa fees. "No kip, no kip!" was repeated vigorously, as the government official refused to accept his own country's currency.
We spent the night, then wandered over to the pier to buy tickets for the boat down the river. The journey takes two days on a boat that seats more than a hundred passengers. We bought our tickets (380,000 kip for two tix), and watched the locals play games of bocce on the sandy court cut into the hillside.
Everything happens in its own time here, and nobody seems bothered when the appointed time is long past. Nothing like the influence of the hammer and sickle to encourage work ethic, right? |
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| the golden triangle |
[Dec. 2nd, 2007|05:58 pm] |
We have arrived safely back in Chiang Mai, minus a small bit of skin on my part, after a four day motorcycle tour of the north-west corner of Thailand. Highway 1095 winds its way from Chiang Mai up through some charming little towns to Pai, the aging and neo-hippie bastion, and then continues on to Mae Hong Son on the far western corner. We rented two sport touring bikes with tires that are the ugly mutt of a regular motorcycle and an off-roading beast, which meant we could give some dirt roads a go and not worry too much about getting stuck.
If you ever come to Thailand for sight-seeing, I recommend doing this 1095 drive pretty much above everything else. The mountain scenery from jungle to mountain-top is stunning, there are caves and waterfalls to explore along the way, and dozens of tiny side roads lead to hill tribe villages where you can catch a glimpse of a different kind of life. These villages range from wood-and-drywall construction to bamboo huts on stilts, depending on how far out you drive. Still, even the most rudimentary of structures has a good chance of having a satellite dish sitting next to it, while the pigs and chickens raised for sacrifice scratch around them. Occasionally it is necessary to detour around a herd of water buffalo chewing their cud in the middle of the street. Right now it is baby season. Piglets, chicks, calves, pups and kittens are running around just about everywhere.
Dane and I stayed two nights in a guest house called Cave Lodge. The place is run by an Australian who has been living out among the hill tribes for the past three decades. In the late winter he can show you where to go for a walk to see the opium poppy fields that are cultivated by the hill-tribes. And any time of year he can show you where to walk to explore some of the thousands of limestone caves that dot the area. A short walk away is the cavernous Tam Lod, which you can float through on a bamboo raft. Most caves are uncontrolled and do not lie within national park boundaries, so with proper equipment and ropes the area would be a destination vacation for spelunkers! I will definitely go back sometime after I've learned how to safely climb underground.
On the subject of safe caving, a short example. We visited one Buddhist shrine cave where the entrance is a place of meditation for monks and visitors. If you would like to explore the cave however, a monk will hand you a single yellow candle and invite you to wander further back inside. We took a headlamp and after a half hour of walking we still had not exhausted the pathway. I am curious if it is a part of the meditation to get stuck in the back of the cave with a little stump of a candle clutched in your hand... |
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| the good things about Malaysia! |
[Nov. 27th, 2007|05:24 pm] |
The country is stunning, really. Kuala Lumpur is a great, leggy city graced with beautiful buildings and swaths of green everywhere. The hills and plains are covered in lush jungle, and in many places giant lumps of red and white striated limestone stick up out of the land and give home to complex cave systems.
I stayed for a few days up in the mountains in Cameron Highlands, which was discovered by some crazy British surveyor who bush-whacked his way up to the top of the mountains to take a look around. He found a nice little spot nestled between four peaks, and promptly decided that they should grow tea and roses and bees there. It's all very proper. The jungle surroundings, in contrast, are totally wild and everything grows so quickly that an old plantation is totally lost to the world after 10 years if left to go wild. You can see pitcher plants and wild bananas and ginger, rattan, orchids, and maybe even rafflesia blossoms if you talk to the right hill tribe guide.
Back in the lowlands, we stayed with a lovely Malay family who fed us spicy fishes and curries. The coconut, jackfruit, curry leaves, and chilis were all harvested out of their own yard. Learning how to eat Malay style is a bit of a challenge. You use your right hand and mix together a bite of rice and sauce with all five fingers, then scoop it up and try not to drop it on yourself on the way to the mouth.
It would be worth a couple of days visit just for the food. |
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