Language

Lao Shan Mountain Climb

Posted on by Laughingnomad

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Spent 3 days in Quin Dao…one in new part of town, one in old town and one on a mountain north of town called Lao Shan–subsequently took train to Tai’an and climbed Tai Shan–one of the 5 holy mountains in China–it was an all day effort but not that difficult–more like a hard day hike in the Columbia Gorge in Oregon–spent the night on the top–accomodation somewhat less than basic but inexpensive–then was awakened a 5 a.m. to join the rest of the Chinese tourists to a lookout point to see the sunrise–it was quite impressive–took a tram down and now am south of Qufu–tomorrow have an “offer” to see the countryside so will probably see what that entails–do not know whether it is an overnight or what.

Have found that the Chinese usually have the best of intentions but something gets lost in the communication/language gap–on the mountain had people wanting to carry my backback–don’t think it was for financial gain but they just wanted to take care of an “older” foreigner–when I refused it often became a tug-of-war. On my way south and plan to stop in Nanjing and Langshou–there is another shan south of Shanghai that the guide book said is thee mountain to climb in China–but would like to meet up in Shanghai–probably +/- one week from now.

Had another couple of days of diarrhea with a near miss experience on Lao Shan–am sorry to hear that the upper respiratories have reached you again–but am glad that you are not proximate as the cold you gave to me in Russia took 3-4 weeks to resolve. Keep me updated–each time I get to an internet access I will forward to a word or two.
l. B

Chinese Mysteries

Posted on by Laughingnomad

The Chinese have incredible confidence in themselves…and consider themselves unquestionably the most superior people in the world…mostly due to their long history. We Westerners are the barbarians. (So we don’t need to think we are “all that” as my teenage Latina friends would call it.) And in China, Jana and I have noticed that we are continually being hidden in the rear of the restaurants, buses or whatever.

Hacking and spitting; bad hair on the men who hold cigarettes between their teeth and between their fingers like we hold a pen.

Why is the huge sign on the number 11 Middle School written in English? Because China has recently joined the World Trade Organization and it wants Western tourists to come visit their schools?

What is the Chinese Welfare Lottery? Never found out.

Old rusted framed-in but unfinished buildings…often covered with sheets of dirty canvas.

Internet everywhere…the Chinese ISP is even free on my laptop…love the sound of emailers giggling at their funny messages in the internet cafes.

Signs Everywhere…English Teachers Needed

Conversations…Guy in CD shop with university education; didn’t know what I meant by the term Communist Party…but later found out that he probably just didn’t want to talk about it. He said it was not true what westerners think…that people can say what they want and can talk. The people are told by the Communist Party that the Falung Gong is a cult that leads people away from conforming to their country (they really mean the Communist Party). They are also told that Falung Gong makes some practitioners commit suicide…and when I told one waitress that those people are committing suicide to protest against their government I saw a veil lower over her eyes but she didn’t say anything.

Western Tourists
Met a Canadian couple in Kunming that travel to Mexico every year and stay in bordellos where they can park their recreational vehicle in a fence enclosed area ($2) where they feel safe to sleep at night. I wondered how they tell where the bordellos are…

Chinese Tourists
60’s clothes; smart sophisticated looking girls…probably from Beijing. Platform leather; tennis shoes with stretchy upers, ankle length leather boots with leggings or long skirts-many of them leather. Sweaters to rival those of the Europeans.

Cultural Guffaws
Jana remembered a story about her husband John’s grandmother and grandfather in San Francisco’s Chinatown in the 1950’s. His grandfather asked a Chinese man on the street a qustion…”do-ee youee knowee whereee weee can….” when the Chinese man turned to John’s grandmother and said “lady, what’s wrong with your husband that he speaks so funny?”

A Chinese word we learned: OK is Koor Yi

He Ho To Rangoon

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Flight to Rangoon From He Ho
Question: How do you know the Westerners standing behind you in the airport check-in line are not American? Answer: Their backpacks are pink, purple, yellow and orange. Probably French I say to Bob.

Then we take the shortest bus ride in history the 150 meters from the airport to the airplane! Waiting for the plane to take off we saw the ground crew standing at attention while the plane revved up…and then they all saluted briefly to the pilot before they walked off…waving…and we were off to Rangoon.

At the Rangoon airport we discover how a local gets a cheap taxi ride…jump into a car with a paying tourist! Images: on the way to the hotel we see half a dozen men sitting on top of a huge load of rice sacks having their lunch…tea cups and plates spread out-all. Some places not seen in Rangoon the first time: Beauty Saloons, Denney Fast Food Station, McBurger (complete with arches) and J’Donuts. Military trucks seem to be used to transport the citizens…or else they are government mandatory work parties. A “Drive Safely” sticker is on the back of every single vehicle…after awhile you don’t even notice them of course.

Talking Talking…Chinese guy in back of us on the plane…Indian guy on the train to Shimla…Moroccans on the ferry…the Italians…the Spanish…talking talking. It takes so many words? Where are the British and the Germans when I need them?

It occurs to me that my soul needs soothing…I am really hungry for some down and dirty American rock music…life-filled…defiant…power-filled…the personification of confidence…no wonder oppressed youth (and others) all over the world clamor for it. “I will not be broken!” Walking down the street a guy squatting at a tea stall yells out, “What is your country?” America, I yell back at him. “Springsteen!” he yells. “Born In the USA,” he sings again and again and we can hear him singing behind us all the way down the block. Later, walking around that afternoon I see a young guy coming toward me with a Sex Pistols T Shirt. “Where did you get your T Shirt,” I ask him…he answers with a thumbs up. That is how I feel too on this day.

In Rangoon we will take a flight back to Bangkok where we will rest and arrange for our visas to Viet Nam.

A UNICEF Advisor

Posted on by Laughingnomad

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In Kalaw, at an outdoor tea house, I called out to a Western looking couple walking by…look…somebody from the West! The couple, from Israel, laughed and joined us at our low table for tea…all of us sitting on little stools with our knees around our ears again.

The woman had been in Rangoon for six months as a UNICEF advisor to the local education authorities. Families have about 10 children because about half die by the time they are teenagers she said. When the ethnic children go to school, she explained, they are confronted with both English and Bamar languages layered over their ethnic dialects and they have a very hard time learning. Old story I thought to myself thinking of the indiginous Indian children from Mexico who come with their migrant parents to the States.

Coincidentally, when I told her we were from Salem Oregon, she said a woman friend from Israel went to our city a couple years ago to live with a man friend but after six months of boredom she went back to Israel. What did she miss especially, I asked. Having fun, she said, dancing, having fun and street life. Yes, I know the feeling, I said!

Repression & The People

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Next door to the restaurant in Taunggyi I struck up a conversation with a young university student who was tending a a small bookstore. “Can everyone speak (out) in America,” he asked. “Yes, we can,” I said, thinking I will not tell him about “politically correct” speech that I consider just as fascist as the rules perpetrated by his government.

A few people, forbidden to talk about politics with foreigners, tried oblique approaches to the subject. One man with delicious donuts on a platter came up to me at the market and said to me in perfect English that he used to be a teacher. Then he disappeared and returned a few minutes later with his wife who wanted to meet me. “She wants to go to America-so bad,” he said. I made several attempts to ask him to have tea and then dinner with us but was disappointed when he looked furtively around him and told me he couldn’t do that. The government has forbidden the people to talk to foreigners about politics but they are afraid to be seen talking to you at all as it could mean trouble for them.

However, in Bagan our hired tour guide for a day to view the pagodas, told me that some Americans once told him that that there was a lot of fighting in Burma but that he reassured them there was no fighting in his country. I bit my tongue thinking of the BBC special the night before that described the fighting between the ethnic minorities and the military near the Thai border where camps harbored thousands of refugees. American and European doctors regularly cross the border under cover of fire to care for the Karen tribal people who are suffering from a government policy of ethnic cleansing by burning their villages and killing the people outright or overworking them to death in forced labor groups. “I’ll bet he is a government informer,” I said to Bob. “I think so too,” Bob said.

The next morning as I am waiting for my breakfast in the top floor restaurant I watch as two monks enter the alley below on their early morning rounds. They stand outside the gate of a house and wait for the owner to come out. After a few minutes a woman does and immediately drops to her knees and bows with her head down to the ground. The older monk appears to give her a blessing and a few words. She stays on her knees as they walk to the next house where a man comes out with some food but he doesn’t get on his knees.

The People
Everyone assumes you are well intentioned. If you give them a smile you will immediately get one back-without guile or expectation. Waiters in restaurants wait on you with respect like altar boys at mass-putting the plate down slowly and respectfully in front of you.

Taunggyi…Last Frontier of Burma

Posted on by Laughingnomad

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Taunggyi is the official end of the line for east-bound foreigners in Burma–at least if you are travelling by road. Beyond Taunggyi lies a world of black-marketeers, ruby miners, insurgent armies and opium and methamphetamine warlords. Because it functions as a conduit for smuggled goods from Thailand, China and India, this is one of Burma’s most colorful towns. Long-haired smugglers in army fatigues down the street alongside turbaned hill tribe people and sleek-suited Chinese businesspeople. An abundance of black-market consumer goods is displayed in the Taunggyi market.

In the market we see two Buddhist nuns asking for donations from the vegetable vendors followed by a young girl in a white T-shirt with Jesus (Heart) You on the front. I particularly liked the military green combat hat with a pirated Nike label which was very popular. An Indian in a military hard hat explained to us that we could get “free” pastry at the tea shop. Guys with camoflage jackets and military green Chinese issue tennis shoes are everywhere. On a second floor alley I was carrying some chicken and rice in a sack when two small raggedy boys came up to me so I gave them my chicken. They ran off tickled to death. A few minutes later they appeared again and handed me my 1000 kyat bill that I had forgotten that I had dropped into the bag. So we took the bill and gave them back 500 kyat (about 40 cents) and you would have thought they were just handed a fortune.

On our way out an old man came up to me and spoke in excellent English. He used to be a teacher he said and just wanted to talk. San Francisco, San Francisco he laughed. (People always seem to mention San Francisco for some reason when we tell them we are from America.) Good city! Then he cautioned me against buying any of the rubies two traders were trying to offer me. “Glass,” he said, “glass!”

Mothers make a big deal out of having their babies see us. They beam if we pay any attention at all to the small ones or take their pictures-almost like it is good luck for the child. We are a symbol offreedom-freedom they long for and hope to have sometime in their lifetime.

On the way back to our Chinese owned hotel called New Paradise that night we stopped at the Coca Cola Restaurant with pigs ears and pig brains on the menu and spent 20 minutes trying to get the waiter togive us some sugar for Bob’s ice tea. Think about it. How do you explain “sugar” to someone who doesn’t understand a word of your language nor you theirs?

Continuing along the street that evening, I asked a young guy at a betelnut cart to make me some betel chews that are made with small chunks of dried areca nut wrapped in a betel leaf smeared with lime paste. Some may contain flavoured tobacco (Indian snuff) peppermint and other spices. Experienced chewers can hold betel cud in their mouths for hours without spitting. An alkaloid in the nut produces mild stimulation and a sense of well being. The chewed nut stains the teeth dark red and leaves the streets everywhere running with blood-red spit.

A Bit Of Thai Culture

Posted on by Laughingnomad

Thai people are usually friendly, warm, charming and hospitable. Sanuk, the Thai word for fun or enjoyment is paramount to the Thai�s way oflife. For something to be worthwhile it must be sanuk. If it is not sanuk it will become boring. Thais can be seen laughing and enjoying themselves in whatever they are doing and if the enjoyment wanes the activity will probably stop. This also is true for the workplace.

If you are visiting someone’s house, take your shoes off at the door. And always bring a gift– fruit or candies as a nice gesture to the hosts. When someone asked you if you have eaten, it is often the way someone asks how you are doing. Try at least a bit if food is offered to you.

In most Middle Eastern and Asian countries it is very rude to put your feet up in presence of other people, especially if the soles of your feet are showing. This is a very common American gesture when we are tired but frowned upon in many countries.

Thais love their country and are happy to be here; they are simply disinterested in going anywhere else unless they have to. They are also very proud, especially of the fact that they have never been colonized, and even though they know their country has many faults and you will hear Thais complaining about the Bangkok traffic etc, foreigners should be careful not to criticize Thailand or the Thai people or especially the monarchy. To do so is a huge insult; the culture is extremely complex and even expats who have lived here many years will still make cultural mistakes. But to the credit of the Thais they will more often than not overlook these mistakes and continue to smile and be happy. This happy attitude and the level of tolerance makes Thailand a very easy and pleasant place to live.� Even though you never know what they are really thinking!

The phrase no problem (mai pen rai in Thai), is a national/cultural phenomenon (not only in Thailand but in Africa, India and in other countries) that is used to solve many predicaments and to avoid many confrontrations. Expression of anger is a cultural no-no and causes the angry person to lose much �face.� It is good to remember �no problem� when business vendors act like they are doing you a favor by waiting on you. The entire concept of customer service is largely either unknown or undervalued outside the U.S. and to be honest with you that is the source of most frustration for US travelers. Traveling requires a great deal of tolerance and adaptability.

Thais are very fond of His Majesty The King and he is loved by virtually all Thai people. The world�s longest reigning monarch and his wife the Queen have done much for Thailand and the Thai people; they have not set foot outside of Thailand for more than 35 years. One should never make any negative comments about the King or the royal family. To do so would insult any Thai. Similarly, Buddhism is the dominant religion and negative comments about the religion are not tolerated unlike in the West where it is common to discuss and debate religion and ideas.

In Thailand there is a “rule” or a way of doing something for just about everything that is the Thai way of doing things. An individual is not encouraged to think outside the box because to do so is to question others and that is not done because it will cause someone �to lose face.� For example Bob and I decided to go to a movie in Bangkok and as we were in the theater about 15 minutes before it started we went up to the ticket taker to give him our tickets. He looked at the ticket and said 9:12 pm you can go in! We asked if we could go in and sit and wait for the movie to start and he looked at us like we were challenging him with a gun and repeated “9:12 pm! 9:12 pm! Then you can go in!” The implications of not being able to question a rule must have huge implications in the international business environment!

Also in Thailand, two plus two often equals three! When we checked into our hotel the receptionist told us that the restaurant at the front of the building would provide room service. One day, I assumed that we could just sign for service in the restaurant. So when I tried to buy a coffee and was told that I couldn’t sign for it I went to the hotel receptionist and asked whether the restaurant could provide room service. She said yes it does. When I told her I tried to use the service she said “Oh, the connection isn’t made yet…and when I asked her when the “connection” would be made she answered that it wouldn’t be made until the end of the month! But it is at times like these that we grit our teeth and remember that this is not our country and we are here as (usually uninvited) guests.

Citrusdal and The Baths

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June 14, 2002 My birthday
The Baths is a health spa about 16 km from Citrusdal in a pretty wooded gorge. It is a long weekend in South Africa; Monday is Youth Day-(SA has 13 public holidays) so Rod’s wife Brenda drives up from Cape Town. Bob and I, Sarah and Adrian and Heather and Fi upgrade to a chalet-$6 each and it’s wonderful to sleep in a bed.

Around the camp fire that night James and George teach me how to say “cool banana” in Swahili: Poe Matoke!

There is a cold swimming pool and another swimming pool fed by the hot springs so we sit in the soothing warm water a while before going to bed.

The next morning at breakfast Bob shows me a note he has written: “Happy Birthday,” which takes me by surprise as I had forgotten what day it was.

Then the truck takes us into Citrusdal where we experience a wine tasting of South African wines, including one made of Rooibos Tea which tastes like medicine. There is a nice break in the weather and we have lunch out on the front porch; the food is wonderful and half of us order a second entre which startles the woman restaurant owner!

That evening back at camp Bob appears with a cake and one candle and Nikki gives me Apricot jam and a piece of handmade soap made of goat’s milk and Ylang Ylang that we can use in our apartment in Cape Town. Think she must have seen me eyeing these things in the little wine shop…I am very touched by everyone’s good wishes!

Then everyone walks up to the Baths again. Just as Bob and I were getting into our tent, though, Rod drives up and tells us there has just been a cancellation in one of the suites in the hotel…so off we go to yet another night in a real bed on my birthday! Turned out to be a really good thing though because Bob was up about 10 times that night with diarrhea.

Orange River Bush Camp at Fiddler’s Creek

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The facilities are nice-big grassy campsite and there is a lapa (open air shelter) covered with green leaves of a plant with purple flowers within which to eat and wash dishes.

At camp we eat left-over Kudo steak sandwiches for lunch and kick back in the grass lean-to kitchen to watch it rain on the river…I am beginning to feel sad that the trip will be ending in four days…after seven weeks on the road sharing experiences I realize I care very much about the other travelers.

We all go to the bar where there is a nice fire in the braii (barbeque). I drag my computer and connectors to the bar with me and Sarah says “looking for a powerpoint?” That is a plug-in or socket. To us in the U.S. it means a microsoft application. I love learning all these different terms. Some of us order a Gluhwein (hot spiced wine). Then it’s Amaretto and coffee.

The next morning we packed up the tents in the rain, had breakfast of coffee and crepes with lemon juice and sugar and drove into the town of Springbok where we headed straight for the KFC…oh, grease heaven! While there-in walked one of the guys from the Kumuku Truck-barefoot in the rain and cold. Within 5 minutes Nikki had told him he looked like shit and where was his shoes! I asked where they were headed…he said he didn’t know-he just gets on the truck in the morning and gets off when it stops. We all laugh.

Two hours out of Springbok James “hoots” the horn as we pass the Kumuku parked at a toilet stop. Yeah, we’re going to beat them to the hot springs and get the best camping spot! It is getting colder when we go to the bar so we order hot mulled wine while the camp operators build a fire. Michelle introduces a mathematical puzzle which stumps everyone.

We shower in the thatched open air showers and crawl into our tents; during the night it starts to rain but we are snug. The next morning we are up and can’t wait to get to the last camp of the trip before we hit Capetown-Citrusdal and The Baths!

Hobas & Fish River Canyon

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June 11, 2002
On the way from Serus the topography is incredible–perfectly formed mesas and buttes-almost Utah-like. We stop in the tiny wide spot in the road called Bethanie. Bob mails a card to his mom and I buy some pop and sausage in the little market. We notice some light skinned women sitting around-told Bob they looked exactly like Central Asians; James says they are probably mixed Bushman and White.

Later I read Laurens Van Der Post describe the Bushman in his “The Lost World of the Kalahari” as having the face of a central African black turning into “a lovely Provencal apricot yellow” and that “he moved in the glare and glitter of Africa with a flame-like flicker of gold like a fresh young Mongol of the Central Mongolian plain…his cheeks high-boned like a Mongol’s….” Some description!

It’s Bob’s turn to read “Bang Bang Club” about the experiences of four photographers during the last four years of the war in the townships of South Africa before Nelson Mandela’s release and the first election to include blacks. If you want to know what it was like on the ground in those days this book is graphic. Michael, who is from Johannesburg, says that his dad had the
photography shop that sold the photographers their equipment.

The Bohemian Rhapsody is lifting us high on the stereo-Freddy Mercury singing in that glorious and sadly gone away voice!

We arrive at the camp and Rod registers us with the camp operator in his native Afrikaner and then directs us to “toilets and ablutions” (showers).

We eat lunch while the wind blows sand in our faces and our food; to keep the tents from rolling away we have to put our baggage in them and detatch them at the top from the frames. Adrian asks if anyone has any clothes “pigs” (pegs) and I am mystified until I realize he wants some clothes “pins.”

The truck drives us to Fish River to watch the sun set over the canyon. When we arrive back at the camp a Catholic school has brought about 150 middle school children from Windhoek to hike the canyon and they are all ready to sleep out on the lawn next to our tent. Needless to say, Bob and I quickly move our tent to the other side of the park and then we have Kudo steak, mashed potatoes and carrots and peas for dinner.

In the middle of the night it starts to rain and we hear the kids…then in the morning we find them all sleeping in the camp bathrooms.