BUSH DINNER
Winking fireflies in the distance beckon, becoming shimmering lanterns strung on naked branches, laying on the dusty bush or sitting atop red-checked tablecloths. We are being delivered to a bush dinner, where the immense night of Kruger Park has a bronze, shimmering oasis. We clamber from the open benches of our safari vehicle, staring at the scene in gaping-mouthed wonder. We are handed delicate ostrich kebabs, and turn to smell the fragrant sausage on the grill. A large glass of buttery red wine is poured, and we gaze at the twinkling path and whisper in awed, hushed voices, still unsure how we so undeservingly belong. The chirping insects are interrupted by a low tenor roaring in the distance, and the lion's call reminds us once again that we are, indeed, in Africa. A pit viper could wind around our ankle, a leopard could pounce from a tree, or an elephant could run through our party and trample us all. But we sit, in delirious anticipation of our bush dinner, chattering like bushbabies. We know that this night is so special, we will cherish it like the twinkling jewel of our lantern-lit laughter.
SAFARI GUIDE
The two small giraffes are all spindly, awkward legs. They barely strain their thin necks to reach the new leaves in the low brush. One mother approaches in the distance, swaying elegantly like a dancer on spotted stilts. The other is across the dirt track, so we are parked just behind her path. She quickly prances up to her babe, who barely reaches the height of her swishing tail. She bends, and they touch delicate noses. they youngster ducks, and we can see his umbilical cord dangling from his belly, like a tiny twig.
The bushy, scarred face of the male lion opens into a gaping yawn, showing fractured teeth from a past battle. He lunges onto his feet and flicks his tail. The lioness is lounging on her side, wide paws stretched out, and her pristine face tilted to the glaring sun. She graciously stands, then raises a heavy paw to coquettishly swipe at her mate. He approaches from behind as she dips, in acquiescence. About ten pumps from his meaty haunches, and this round is over, and he growls and nibbles at her neck with teeth like daggers. He leaps off, and she rolls in the long grass, the same wheaty color as her soft coat. They will do this every twenty minutes for three days, ensuring delivery of three lion cubs next winter.
The hippo gang bobs in turns out of the watering hole. As they surface, a bleat escapes and the water bubbles. Small round ears are visible, like fleshy periscopes soon sinking into the deep. Out of the winter thicket emerges the first of the buffalo herd, horns low in anticipation of a cool drink. Soon, dozens more are lining the edge of the water, even wading in to gulp the refreshingly murky pool. Now the buffalo gang far outnumbers the hippos, as the herd continues to pour out of the bushes, eager to reach the pond before the sun sets. Just now, it hovers like pink fire on the horizon. The largest hippo slowly opens his mouth until it's impossibly wide, but the buffalo are unfazed at the display, or at the wee turtles nipping at their ankles. There are now hundreds of the black beasts, ready to satisfy the days' thirst before dusk fades the scene to black.
Chasing rhinos is harder than one would expect. Their dark grey tough skin mimics the massive termite mounds, and they prefer to graze on long grass that hides their lumbering path. We've been hoping to spot them for days now, to crown our Big Five search. Jimmy, our tracker, holds up his wise hand, and gestures into the stark field. Behind a spindly tree, leaveless before the summer rains have fallen, is a shadow. Andrew, our guide of only one month experience but with instincts of a much wiser ranger, turns the wheel slowly. We mow down thorny bushes, thick grass, creaking trees. Everyone's heart beats in unison and we are grinning like idiots. After a few minutes of careful navigating the trees that refuse to fall under our wheels, we see the curved horn and skittish pair. We do not intend to make mom nervous, but the rhino babe struggles to hide her massive rump behind a couple of tall trees. We watch them watch us, the lumber off again, the truck is the least graceful animal in this protected area.
LIGHTNING STORM
Lightning in South Africa is a show-stopper. It dances in huge sheets between clouds in the night sky, leaving the distant mountains and closer branches in spooky silhouette. The flashes are almost constant, but never leave the same imprint on our wondrous eyes. Next, the sky on the other side of the truck competes with jagged bolts, like shiny branches of a nerve fiber. Only a few dewy drops have actually landed on our upturned faces, but we wish for all the thirsty beasts and creatures for a massive downpour. It does not come until we are safely back at Ngala Lodge, popping and shuddering on the roof while we dry off in the downy comforter or standing in the stone shower, letting the dust melt away. We all hope for mucky morning puddles.
MOTHER AND CHILD REUNION
Hard to believe, but the best animal story of our safari happened in the dining area of the stately Ngala Lodge. Over lunch, we hear a mild commotion, and two tall blonds are bent over the floor, exclaiming in shrill concern. A tiny baby squirrel has fallen from the rafter, and knocked himself unconsious on impact. As he slowly blinks, his recovery is uncertain as he limps and wiggles his way across the slate. His mother peers from the rafters, as he wobbles into the fireplace and chirps in breathless alarm. She rushes down the roof, down two trees, and over to her son. We watch, as she grasps the infants nape gently while he winds around her neck, and she carries him home.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Uganda vignettes
The view at Kingfisher lodge in Southern Uganda overlooks Queen Elizabeth National Park, and is absolutely spectacular. We stopped there for a lunch break during our rural village visits, right before a popcorn-sounding downpour filled the craters in the road with sufficient water to drown our muddy Land Rover. We could see huge lakes that blend with the blue-grey sky in the horizon, a massive amount of greenery stretched across the landscape, and we tried to convince our eyes that all large trees were actually lumbering elephants. They weren’t. Next time. The rest of the drive was through misty tea plantations reminiscent of Malaysia’s Cameron Highlands and prolific banana plantations that would challenge Ecuador. Gorgeous…
The abundance of food and farms in Uganda is shocking, when you consider how much of the population suffers from malnutrition. As part of our survey of outcomes from Healthy Child Uganda, we were fortunate to meet the village volunteer educators. We visit Dina’s land in Mabira parrish, where there is evident lushness and plenty. Ripe avocados that taste like sweet fruit. Bananas in bunches of fifty lie in huge green piles, ready to be ground into matoke paste, or what Ugandans call simply “food”, since it accompanies every meal. Squash twice the size of my head. Goats graze on the thick grass as far as the ropes on their ankles allow. Cows with three-foot-long horns on their head gaze at us with stony assurance. So why do her children have a red tinge to their hair, and bellies big with worms/spleens/hunger? Perhaps it relates to Dina’s request that our transition project help women who suffer from domestic abuse. When you husband attacks you with a stick, and you must run to your home village for safety, it is difficult to maintain the welfare of your children or to manage the household finances…
Our other stop that day is to visit Jessica, another village corps volunteer who lives in Katyazo parrish. She is an inspiring example of the empowerment that HCU has created among its’ community. We are here to witness her achievements in income-generating activities, but we gain so much more. Her success lies in the rearing of plump and healthily bleating goats. It lies in her farm, full of banana trees that provide shade for the wobbly chicks following their proud mother chicken in a chattery parade. It lies in the private school she initiated on her property, now quiet of the three hundred children that attend the mud-brick rooms with no chairs and a lone chalkboard. But mostly it lies in her arms. Although Jessica has had six of her own children, the knowledge and status she gained through working with HCU has given her the confidence to adopt three orphans. The tubby girl cradled in her hands is one year old now, a life saved from certain death when she was abandoned at a dusty roadside at one week of age…
Watching the children suffer is the hardest. In exploring the work of the few Family Medicine graduates that completed training before the program lost funding for school fees, the Outpatient Department is bustling and bright with mothers in African-print skirts and headscarves. At Mbarara University Hospital, Francis Mugabi is a gentle giant who moves through the department gathering looks of silent respect. Today he will care for an infant who has suffered burns to his scalp that look like black ash painted on his wailing head. He will treat countless cases of severe malaria, despite widespread bednet dispensation programs. We visit the Health Centre at Rugazi county, where medical students give a narrative of a woman in obstructed labor who could not afford the immense cost of gas to transport her to a hospital to deliver her baby safely. She was put on a public minibus, to suffer the bumpy road with faint hope that she might not join the nation’s horrendous maternal mortality statistics. This rural antenatal HIV clinic was panicking with the admonition that Nevirapine used to prevent mother-to-child transmission was about to run out for the month. This will be a nation-wide concern soon, once the Bush administration’s comprehensive funding ends and the free testing and treatment program, that is completely unsustainable locally, will grind to an abrupt halt. If only Dignitas were modeling their HIV-management style throughout Africa…
Thanks for listening.
Hope you enjoyed a brief visit to Uganda.
Next stop, Tanzania.
where the wild things are - safari 2006
Stampy the elephant met us in Manyara National park on our first day. He was hungry. If he could have, I think our Land Cruiser would have been swallowed. Instead, he took upon devouring a large yellow acacia, thundering around it and pulling off chunks of tree about two feet to our right. The tip of his trunk acted like a fine utensil, delicately shovelling grass into his cavernous mouth. The whole trunk served to rip off the tree branches, which he stripped of bark and dropped to the ground unceremoniously. He was really hungry.
Warthogs are unabashedly the most ugly animal I've laid eyes on, but their babies are adorable. These grey, horny pigs travel in families, often with several communal females joining on to help raise the kids. They have a way of kneeling on the ground with their front legs while they graze, which makes them look even sillier since they then become lopsided as well as ugly.
Vervet monkeys have blue scrotum the color of midday turquoise sky. They have expressive, deep eyes and light grey hair that halos around the face. When they see a picnicking jeep, they are very picky about which windows or roofs to leap into (the roof pops up, and we peer out of them like groundhogs in safari hats). They chose our vehicle after we inadvertently left some peanuts on the seat. Silly monkeys! (I mean us)
Giraffes walk with grace and style only matched by America's Top Models. They saunter through the grasslands of the dry Serengeti, and reach into tall acacias for leaves. They wrap their long grey tongues around these, and munch as they sway. When they break into a trot, all the charm disperses, and they become wobbly beasts with centre-of-gravity issues.
Most of the female wildebeests are pregnant, and they will all give birth in February. These are dark grey hooved animals with pearly, disshevelled beards. They should be migrating soon, but since this is the first season in over twenty years that the short rains did not come in Nov/Dec - it's hard to say. Can you imagine herds of hundreds of these animals walking in straight lines through the bush? Can you imagine all of them getting pregnant simultaneously last June? Now that's wild.
Hungry hungry hippos are melting into the thick mud. Bright white egret birds perch on some of their heads or broad backs, waiting for insects to get kicked up by their movements. Hippos yawn like they could swallow the earth. We saw one lone wanderer, dragging his stumpy legs slowly through the grass. He mistakenly loped off to look for food, and was not going to make it back to his pool in time.
The carnivores are active, since the green and lush Serengetti plains have not arrived, they are making up for it with extra kills. The lions eat their fill and leave the rest to jackals and vultures. Hyenas, and the elusive leopard eat quickly and gallop off. Everywhere is murder and mayhem. Life in the real wild. Awesome, but desparate.
kili 2006
The top ten reasons why climbing Mount Kilimanjaro rocks:
1. It's a BIG rock, biggest in Africa
2. 5895 metres at the summit, in fact. We ascended over 4000 m of those. And back down those same in about 24 hours. Getting up, they insist "pole" which means "slow down, you silly whitey"
3. over 60 km of hiking
4. think of how good it feels to get seven days of dirt off. in someone else's shower.
5. feels like a calgary weather pattern, with a thirty degree temperature change within a short period. rain then sleet then dense sun then pelting hail - all in the same day
6. watching the sun rise over massive glaciers, what's left of them. they predict their melting within the decade from global warming. but the point is - we started the final six hours of ascent at midnight in order to get there for the event. huddled and shuddered at Uhuru peak for about ten minutes, and then ran down. feeling short of breath, nauseous, and disoriented from the oxygen level - about half what I prefer.
7. it's not a toilet if it's just a hole in the floor of a shed
8. down-filled booties are the coolest invention ever. too bad they've now seen the floor in the shed, and will have to be purged of all evil before I put them back on my feet.
9. someone else does a week's worth of meal planning, gluten-free, and insists on tea-time in between. the food was better than that at the fancypants lodges on safari!
10. we never have to do it again, unless there's amnesia involved in oxygen-deprivation and we forget that it was the MOST physically strenous event our bodies have ever suffered....
adventures in Northern Laos 2008
luang nam tha adventures
day one - blog
frog
Glenda and I are staying at the Boat House, a quaint ecotourism (they actually mean it, with solar hot water and electricity!) lodge on the river here. We awaken to find little frogs all over the bathroom, and one is clinging to my backpack despite my hauling it around trying to find a bathing suit.
bog
The mist over the jungle here is intense, a white cloud hovers over the green hills everywhere. The river is still high, and chocolate-brown from mud. We are pulling our kayaks - let's just call it like it is, big red dinghies - into the river and our shoes get stuck in the mud. As we make our stops at the local villages, our flipflops collect more hay and goop. Eventually they look like platform shoes, the bottom made from sludge!
grog
We stop in one village for lunch, after some pretty good rapids (glenda steered like a star, and got many paddle-high-fives). They served green pumpkin stew, beef stew, and spicy eggplant mash - with sticky rice, of course. We are watching village life, all the women pounding rice husks and the puppies trying to sleep on top of each other for warmth. It is raining most of the day.
dog
Once we got off the river, our guide decided we needed to try Lao Lao (the ultimate creative term for rice whisky). I think he liked Glenda - his comments about the older women appeal were strong hints... Regardless, one of the villages nearby had a policemans meeting coming to a close. Meetings are one of many excuses for drinking. Beer laos is passed around in communal (and communicable) glasses. Then they want us to share the meal. Turns out they cooked a dog special for the occasion. So much for the cute puppies we watched that morning. They too will be ceremonial dishes soon - and we just couldn't stomach the thought, nor the dog sausage. THe worst was when they fed the dogs under the table some bones...
wait for it...
you know I have to do it...
I guess it must be a dog-eat-dog village...
We also drew the line at "jug whisky", a huge urn filled with rye and rice and silty water that you use a huge straw to suck up the bottom booze. Also glad, and surprised, to see our driver did not partake!
day two - Princess Buttercup of the Jungle
Now we are into the wild. We are trekking up a mountain of sticky rice fields and rubber plantations (thanks, CHina, for raping the Laos jungle...). It is 34 degrees in the shade. We are amazed by how many things can be created with bamboo - hiking poles, baskets, bowls, boats, and even entire homes. Water buffalo share the trail, and have turned it into sludgy mudtraps that grab at our feet like suction cups. Each time we fall, we owe our guide a beer. By the end of the day, we are indebted 8 Beer Laos - and there are only two of us.
Our guide is a local Khmu man, who grew up in a village that survived on subsistance farming. The villages we go to for this trek are only accessible by walking or boat, so they learn to tough it out (when Glenda asks about medical care, they say waiting six days to see if the symptoms subside and if the local medicinal herbs might help is the rule). These villages have organic, free-range chickens, pigs, ducks, goats, and (yes, just when you had forgotten) dogs. Glenda and I have decided that you could not be a princess and trek out here. Too many ants. And we smell like bog.
day three - InsectAside
Leeches.
No one warned us about the leeches.
They wave their spindly little pin-like bodies in the air until they grab onto a moving object, and crawl up it until they find skin to feast on. We find at least twenty each - the highest managed to reach my knee.
The bugs are thick in this part of the jungle. We are trekking along the Nam Ha today, until we hit our next mountain range. The path is not well-trod, even the hardy villagers take an easier route out.
We are irritable when we finally reach our next village, but almost weep under their cool water tap where we can rinse off layers of caked-on mud, bugspray, suntan lotion and sweat (glow?).
Soon, the local children have spread the word about the falang who have arrived. They gather in their dusty, torn clothes to remind us that even at our most grim - we have something to change into. They gawk at us as if we are the attraction.
Once we settle into the bamboo hut, and our guide kills a duck for dinner, the show begins. First, we must exchange songs - campsongs like The Other Day and Kukabura are big hits, but we think they liked You Are My Sunshine best, since they insist on clapping along with everything. Their songs are mingled with giggling fits and feats of acrobatics on the patio (which is missing much of the floor). This leads to yoga maneuvers - these kids have skillz. Finally they settle in to watch what us chill out, and touch our toes or arms to ensure we, too, feel just like them.
These kids are gorgeous, with huge brown eyes and sparkling smiles (it continues to astonish how such a poor country is full of such incredibly gorgeous white teeth). The girls can climb trees in their long folded skirts, and the boys can hang off the roof from their toes.
Tonight, we have learned how to tie our mosquito net better to avoid the ants. Small mercies.
day four - not-so-wildlife
Our last day is a gentle paddle down the Nam Tha. We pass through some of the protected area again, and look into the trees for monkeys.
Insects bleat out like car alarms (honest!), and skinny fishermen gather nets in their underwear. The only monkey on the river is me!
Our guide tells us he wants to start up his own trekking company. This one has been arranged by the Green Discovery outfitters, so is pretty legit (and organized, not the most Laos trait). He is thinking of names, and picking our brain for some english lessons. He is so sweet, we decide it must be a cultural phenomenon to alert us of our route once we have passed it and must paddle upstream (our first day guide did the same).
We are glad to reach the Boat Landing guesthouse to partake of as Laos a Thanksgiving as we can manage - pot roast duck in lemongrass, and a curry for gravy. Lime mint slurpies are gulped with wild abandon. The shower is like heaven.
Thanks for your attention, if you made it this far.
Hope you enjoy hearing about our time here.
For us, it has been a great reminder as we start to work in the hospitals - that the vast majority of the nation lives in mud and bamboo huts, has one change of clothing, and sweats the day in a rice field...
Now we fly off to Vientiane, where there is french cuisine and a workout facility. Soon, we will make our way to the provincial hospital, and contend with congealed blood soup and dusty small town life again.
day one - blog
frog
Glenda and I are staying at the Boat House, a quaint ecotourism (they actually mean it, with solar hot water and electricity!) lodge on the river here. We awaken to find little frogs all over the bathroom, and one is clinging to my backpack despite my hauling it around trying to find a bathing suit.
bog
The mist over the jungle here is intense, a white cloud hovers over the green hills everywhere. The river is still high, and chocolate-brown from mud. We are pulling our kayaks - let's just call it like it is, big red dinghies - into the river and our shoes get stuck in the mud. As we make our stops at the local villages, our flipflops collect more hay and goop. Eventually they look like platform shoes, the bottom made from sludge!
grog
We stop in one village for lunch, after some pretty good rapids (glenda steered like a star, and got many paddle-high-fives). They served green pumpkin stew, beef stew, and spicy eggplant mash - with sticky rice, of course. We are watching village life, all the women pounding rice husks and the puppies trying to sleep on top of each other for warmth. It is raining most of the day.
dog
Once we got off the river, our guide decided we needed to try Lao Lao (the ultimate creative term for rice whisky). I think he liked Glenda - his comments about the older women appeal were strong hints... Regardless, one of the villages nearby had a policemans meeting coming to a close. Meetings are one of many excuses for drinking. Beer laos is passed around in communal (and communicable) glasses. Then they want us to share the meal. Turns out they cooked a dog special for the occasion. So much for the cute puppies we watched that morning. They too will be ceremonial dishes soon - and we just couldn't stomach the thought, nor the dog sausage. THe worst was when they fed the dogs under the table some bones...
wait for it...
you know I have to do it...
I guess it must be a dog-eat-dog village...
We also drew the line at "jug whisky", a huge urn filled with rye and rice and silty water that you use a huge straw to suck up the bottom booze. Also glad, and surprised, to see our driver did not partake!
day two - Princess Buttercup of the Jungle
Now we are into the wild. We are trekking up a mountain of sticky rice fields and rubber plantations (thanks, CHina, for raping the Laos jungle...). It is 34 degrees in the shade. We are amazed by how many things can be created with bamboo - hiking poles, baskets, bowls, boats, and even entire homes. Water buffalo share the trail, and have turned it into sludgy mudtraps that grab at our feet like suction cups. Each time we fall, we owe our guide a beer. By the end of the day, we are indebted 8 Beer Laos - and there are only two of us.
Our guide is a local Khmu man, who grew up in a village that survived on subsistance farming. The villages we go to for this trek are only accessible by walking or boat, so they learn to tough it out (when Glenda asks about medical care, they say waiting six days to see if the symptoms subside and if the local medicinal herbs might help is the rule). These villages have organic, free-range chickens, pigs, ducks, goats, and (yes, just when you had forgotten) dogs. Glenda and I have decided that you could not be a princess and trek out here. Too many ants. And we smell like bog.
day three - InsectAside
Leeches.
No one warned us about the leeches.
They wave their spindly little pin-like bodies in the air until they grab onto a moving object, and crawl up it until they find skin to feast on. We find at least twenty each - the highest managed to reach my knee.
The bugs are thick in this part of the jungle. We are trekking along the Nam Ha today, until we hit our next mountain range. The path is not well-trod, even the hardy villagers take an easier route out.
We are irritable when we finally reach our next village, but almost weep under their cool water tap where we can rinse off layers of caked-on mud, bugspray, suntan lotion and sweat (glow?).
Soon, the local children have spread the word about the falang who have arrived. They gather in their dusty, torn clothes to remind us that even at our most grim - we have something to change into. They gawk at us as if we are the attraction.
Once we settle into the bamboo hut, and our guide kills a duck for dinner, the show begins. First, we must exchange songs - campsongs like The Other Day and Kukabura are big hits, but we think they liked You Are My Sunshine best, since they insist on clapping along with everything. Their songs are mingled with giggling fits and feats of acrobatics on the patio (which is missing much of the floor). This leads to yoga maneuvers - these kids have skillz. Finally they settle in to watch what us chill out, and touch our toes or arms to ensure we, too, feel just like them.
These kids are gorgeous, with huge brown eyes and sparkling smiles (it continues to astonish how such a poor country is full of such incredibly gorgeous white teeth). The girls can climb trees in their long folded skirts, and the boys can hang off the roof from their toes.
Tonight, we have learned how to tie our mosquito net better to avoid the ants. Small mercies.
day four - not-so-wildlife
Our last day is a gentle paddle down the Nam Tha. We pass through some of the protected area again, and look into the trees for monkeys.
Insects bleat out like car alarms (honest!), and skinny fishermen gather nets in their underwear. The only monkey on the river is me!
Our guide tells us he wants to start up his own trekking company. This one has been arranged by the Green Discovery outfitters, so is pretty legit (and organized, not the most Laos trait). He is thinking of names, and picking our brain for some english lessons. He is so sweet, we decide it must be a cultural phenomenon to alert us of our route once we have passed it and must paddle upstream (our first day guide did the same).
We are glad to reach the Boat Landing guesthouse to partake of as Laos a Thanksgiving as we can manage - pot roast duck in lemongrass, and a curry for gravy. Lime mint slurpies are gulped with wild abandon. The shower is like heaven.
Thanks for your attention, if you made it this far.
Hope you enjoy hearing about our time here.
For us, it has been a great reminder as we start to work in the hospitals - that the vast majority of the nation lives in mud and bamboo huts, has one change of clothing, and sweats the day in a rice field...
Now we fly off to Vientiane, where there is french cuisine and a workout facility. Soon, we will make our way to the provincial hospital, and contend with congealed blood soup and dusty small town life again.
third trip to Angkor complex in Cambodia
Some of these large complexes (sprawling over land the size of London)
were built over one thousand years ago
and this thought is rather overwhelming when you see the detail
and imagine the scope when it was covered in gold
with the bas relief painted bright colors
This being my second time, and since I was visiting my parents who were staying somewhere swank
we had a guide and minivan a/c luxury
So I will bring you in to the labyrinth from the south passage.
WARNING – MASSIVE DETAIL BELOW. READ ONLY IN CASE OF INTEREST, OR RUN AWAY NOW.
There is a moat around Angkor Wat, and it stretches over a km in both directions. the murky waters are full of floating fuchsia lotus flowers, and the end of the bridge is guarded by seven-headed snakes.
Behind the outer wall, you can see the visually stunning skyline over this Hindu temple
Five towers of carved stone so aesthetically pleasing they look like a mirage
especially when the sun shifts from the horizon
When you enter the front gate, there are large Buddha statues draped in saffron robes and white lotus necklace offerings
Then you can see the walls, covered in bas relief chiseled meticulously from ancient stone, depicting triumphs of kings, and roasting of fish, and epic battles. In three layers. It’s hard to take it all in, but they have now stopped the tourists from rubbing the carvings for luck (it turns them dark and shiny. And there is a predilection for rubbing the breasts of the dancing asaras, which is pretty trippy)
There are steps up to the four outer and tall inner towers, but these are so steep and narrow that they have been closed to tourists’ clumsy feet.
Instead, they decided to place cheesy costumed locals in bright makeup and masks to pose for pictures for $1 in the courtyard.
But if you spend time wandering through the site, you will see monks in orange robes meditating (or even taking pictures). You will see small sticks of incense sending wisps of prayers to the sky. You will see the lady selling water has lost a leg to a landmine.
Beyond the south gate, with headless Naga demons lining the road, there is Angkor Thom. This incredible, surreal complex of more Khmer style has pillars with gracious, calm god-kings gazing down from all four sides (over 170 faces).
The next enclosure to see is called the “jungle temple” because there has not been extensive restoration as in the rest of the ancient cities. Huge trees grow crookedly from the mossy walls, and sprawl across doorways, so gigantic that their roots wrap around entire rooms.
The last place to see is called the “rose temple” because the creator used pink sandstone (possibly from India, taking advantage of the river that flows backwards near these sites for some seasons). This stone is so precise that the carvings have rested intact and beautifully detailed. Although not many buildings exist here, they have so many impeccably preserved carvings that it is worth the drive. Also worth the journey is a brief glimpse to how the rest of the country not living on the wealth of Angkor tourists fares. Tiny shacks on stilts, wells in front labeled for the family who donated them, women weaving bamboo baskets while their children hawk them on the roadside.
were built over one thousand years ago
and this thought is rather overwhelming when you see the detail
and imagine the scope when it was covered in gold
with the bas relief painted bright colors
This being my second time, and since I was visiting my parents who were staying somewhere swank
we had a guide and minivan a/c luxury
So I will bring you in to the labyrinth from the south passage.
WARNING – MASSIVE DETAIL BELOW. READ ONLY IN CASE OF INTEREST, OR RUN AWAY NOW.
There is a moat around Angkor Wat, and it stretches over a km in both directions. the murky waters are full of floating fuchsia lotus flowers, and the end of the bridge is guarded by seven-headed snakes.
Behind the outer wall, you can see the visually stunning skyline over this Hindu temple
Five towers of carved stone so aesthetically pleasing they look like a mirage
especially when the sun shifts from the horizon
When you enter the front gate, there are large Buddha statues draped in saffron robes and white lotus necklace offerings
Then you can see the walls, covered in bas relief chiseled meticulously from ancient stone, depicting triumphs of kings, and roasting of fish, and epic battles. In three layers. It’s hard to take it all in, but they have now stopped the tourists from rubbing the carvings for luck (it turns them dark and shiny. And there is a predilection for rubbing the breasts of the dancing asaras, which is pretty trippy)
There are steps up to the four outer and tall inner towers, but these are so steep and narrow that they have been closed to tourists’ clumsy feet.
Instead, they decided to place cheesy costumed locals in bright makeup and masks to pose for pictures for $1 in the courtyard.
But if you spend time wandering through the site, you will see monks in orange robes meditating (or even taking pictures). You will see small sticks of incense sending wisps of prayers to the sky. You will see the lady selling water has lost a leg to a landmine.
Beyond the south gate, with headless Naga demons lining the road, there is Angkor Thom. This incredible, surreal complex of more Khmer style has pillars with gracious, calm god-kings gazing down from all four sides (over 170 faces).
The next enclosure to see is called the “jungle temple” because there has not been extensive restoration as in the rest of the ancient cities. Huge trees grow crookedly from the mossy walls, and sprawl across doorways, so gigantic that their roots wrap around entire rooms.
The last place to see is called the “rose temple” because the creator used pink sandstone (possibly from India, taking advantage of the river that flows backwards near these sites for some seasons). This stone is so precise that the carvings have rested intact and beautifully detailed. Although not many buildings exist here, they have so many impeccably preserved carvings that it is worth the drive. Also worth the journey is a brief glimpse to how the rest of the country not living on the wealth of Angkor tourists fares. Tiny shacks on stilts, wells in front labeled for the family who donated them, women weaving bamboo baskets while their children hawk them on the roadside.
brought to you by the letter D - Laos fall 2007
Dancer
Thep is an iconic figure, and has become almost mythical in our Calgary
circle. He is a most prominent Laotian artist (http://www.junerain.com/), and he
has returned here with his partner Charles. They are our pied pipers,
peddling joyous laughter, flowing wine, and unadulterated gluttony invoking
herbal secrets. We are in Luang Prabang, a town of cobblestoned lanes and
colonial facades spilling bright silk tapestries, with saffron-robed monks
at every turn. Thep will share a treasure with us; his "Private Dancer" is
an unassuming woman named Pinh. We whisk her to our hotel, where she
kneads, slaps, and pulls us until our ball-o'-string muscles are loosened
(more bendy than a yoga class!). Charles had sworn she'd found his G-spot.
I can see why.
Dragonflies
reach dragon-size here, and they divebomb each other like air cadets in
training exercise. Their iridescence simmers in the strong sun as they flit
about, trailing ghostly sparkles.
Dogs
are pets here, and kept with nice coats and some meat on their bones. This
is sometimes unfortunate, since the new Vietnamese immigrants covet this
bulk. They stealthiliy coast by on a motorcycle and snatch them up to
roast. Ting, who does our laundry with a huge grin, has just lost a doggy
to someone's dinner table...
Deanne
makes my soul light. She has a calmness that belies a caustic wit. But her
self-restraint is a barrier that I can penetrate with purring coersion. So
we enjoy a metro weekend of shopping, voracious eating, and tummy-sore
giggles. She has made a beautiful scarf at a weaving class. It is just so
good to be here, with someone to share how lovely it all is. Thanks, Dee!!
Thep is an iconic figure, and has become almost mythical in our Calgary
circle. He is a most prominent Laotian artist (http://www.junerain.com/), and he
has returned here with his partner Charles. They are our pied pipers,
peddling joyous laughter, flowing wine, and unadulterated gluttony invoking
herbal secrets. We are in Luang Prabang, a town of cobblestoned lanes and
colonial facades spilling bright silk tapestries, with saffron-robed monks
at every turn. Thep will share a treasure with us; his "Private Dancer" is
an unassuming woman named Pinh. We whisk her to our hotel, where she
kneads, slaps, and pulls us until our ball-o'-string muscles are loosened
(more bendy than a yoga class!). Charles had sworn she'd found his G-spot.
I can see why.
Dragonflies
reach dragon-size here, and they divebomb each other like air cadets in
training exercise. Their iridescence simmers in the strong sun as they flit
about, trailing ghostly sparkles.
Dogs
are pets here, and kept with nice coats and some meat on their bones. This
is sometimes unfortunate, since the new Vietnamese immigrants covet this
bulk. They stealthiliy coast by on a motorcycle and snatch them up to
roast. Ting, who does our laundry with a huge grin, has just lost a doggy
to someone's dinner table...
Deanne
makes my soul light. She has a calmness that belies a caustic wit. But her
self-restraint is a barrier that I can penetrate with purring coersion. So
we enjoy a metro weekend of shopping, voracious eating, and tummy-sore
giggles. She has made a beautiful scarf at a weaving class. It is just so
good to be here, with someone to share how lovely it all is. Thanks, Dee!!
the Good, the Bad, the Ugly - return to Laos 2007
Ah, Laos
You can be certain you are in the right place when your "to do" list starts
off with 1. Savor, 2. Be Grateful, and 3. Be Present. These are not things
I can cross off, since I cannot complete them (even borderline compulsive
list-makers like me). So they will remain things to do while I am here.
Today I met with the first year interns that I helped train in January.
They were smiling at me for the entirity of rounds; every time I glanced
over I was met with a sea of gleaming white teeth. Lak invited me to his
family's home tomorrow night. There is a Boat Racing Festival here in
Vientiane, and through our jumbled french exchange "cadeaux" became
"bateaux" and then "gateaux". So I think they set fire to cakes and float
them down the Mekong. Either way, I will be part of the fun soon!!
My list of things to do included booking a flight to Cambodia to spend a
weekend with my parents, and another to Luang Prabang to see Deanne.
I've had buckwheat mushroom crepes, homemade (yes, pasteurized, thanks for
asking) yoghurt, caramel pork, and pumpkin souffle. So far. This weekend,
my mission will be mango sticky rice.
the Bad:
road warfare has intensified dramatically. There are low-riders and
motorcycles (albeit with more helmets on top) zipping around like wasps.
Roads are laid. There are crosswalks. There are parking lots. All in 9
months. Instead of having a baby, Vientiane popped out traffic.
the monsoon season has ended, and in its wake is a humidity thick with dust.
The government-regulated "sins" are ankle-length silk skirts that females
must wear in all hospitals. They line them with further silk. I went to
the morning market to buy two more and spent a full charades session
convincing the girls not to line mine. Let's see what happens - double
lining maybe? For those cold canadian winters...
the Ugly:
stupid cellulitis recurred on my ear on the flight to Hong Kong. So I did
get to see the immensity of the skyscrapers, but felt too lousy to impose my
wallet on any of it. Good thing the HK airport has docs who can be
persuaded to sell authentic meds. The facial swelling became Stay Puff
Sized during the international flights, to the point I was lucky to see out
my itchy ballooning eyes when I finally landed here. Over 17 hours of
flying. Not a single decent in-flight movie.
(am much better now, thanks)
You can be certain you are in the right place when your "to do" list starts
off with 1. Savor, 2. Be Grateful, and 3. Be Present. These are not things
I can cross off, since I cannot complete them (even borderline compulsive
list-makers like me). So they will remain things to do while I am here.
Today I met with the first year interns that I helped train in January.
They were smiling at me for the entirity of rounds; every time I glanced
over I was met with a sea of gleaming white teeth. Lak invited me to his
family's home tomorrow night. There is a Boat Racing Festival here in
Vientiane, and through our jumbled french exchange "cadeaux" became
"bateaux" and then "gateaux". So I think they set fire to cakes and float
them down the Mekong. Either way, I will be part of the fun soon!!
My list of things to do included booking a flight to Cambodia to spend a
weekend with my parents, and another to Luang Prabang to see Deanne.
I've had buckwheat mushroom crepes, homemade (yes, pasteurized, thanks for
asking) yoghurt, caramel pork, and pumpkin souffle. So far. This weekend,
my mission will be mango sticky rice.
the Bad:
road warfare has intensified dramatically. There are low-riders and
motorcycles (albeit with more helmets on top) zipping around like wasps.
Roads are laid. There are crosswalks. There are parking lots. All in 9
months. Instead of having a baby, Vientiane popped out traffic.
the monsoon season has ended, and in its wake is a humidity thick with dust.
The government-regulated "sins" are ankle-length silk skirts that females
must wear in all hospitals. They line them with further silk. I went to
the morning market to buy two more and spent a full charades session
convincing the girls not to line mine. Let's see what happens - double
lining maybe? For those cold canadian winters...
the Ugly:
stupid cellulitis recurred on my ear on the flight to Hong Kong. So I did
get to see the immensity of the skyscrapers, but felt too lousy to impose my
wallet on any of it. Good thing the HK airport has docs who can be
persuaded to sell authentic meds. The facial swelling became Stay Puff
Sized during the international flights, to the point I was lucky to see out
my itchy ballooning eyes when I finally landed here. Over 17 hours of
flying. Not a single decent in-flight movie.
(am much better now, thanks)
Vietnam 2007
Houses are tall skinny models in day glo outfits, they stretch ten stories high and crowd each other, crammed into any available space. The bright blues, pinks, and limes are usually only painted onto the front face of the structures - the sides of the homes remain stark cement. You can peer into the hallway to see the extended families cooking pho (pronounced "fur") or speaking loudly in sharp stacatto shrills (the only way I've heard this language). Getting to your room on the "fourth" floor may entail grunting up nine stories worth of stairs with your pack.
Sapa is a fairytale land of hilltribe folk and mountains that look carved out of rice paddies. The farms stretch over the valleys in layers interrupted by brooks. People live simply, growing corn or rice and dying their clothing with natural indigo. They dress in multiple layers of garments, richly embroidered with diamond patterns. Some women shave their heads under a large red hat, and since these ladies might reach one's shoulders - are a funny sight disappearing over the horizon following the tourists with their wares of silver and weaving, like garden gnomes come to life.
The town of Hoi An is made up of beautiful old chinese merchant homes, with carved teak pillars and central courtyards. These structures house the merchants of today - now selling stone carvings or tailoring expertise. Many have become restaurants, where a cooking class may dip into regional specialties of shrimp paste in rice paper or fish cooked in banana leaves. The tailors can make anything you can dream, and often in under 24hours.
The town of Hoi An is made up of beautiful old chinese merchant homes, with carved teak pillars and central courtyards. These structures house the merchants of today - now selling stone carvings or tailoring expertise. Many have become restaurants, where a cooking class may dip into regional specialties of shrimp paste in rice paper or fish cooked in banana leaves. The tailors can make anything you can dream, and often in under 24hours.
Banished to paradise - first trip to Laos 2007
The people I met in Laos have the widest, and whitest, smiles - Cheshire cat grins hover everywhere - floating down the Mekong in a longtail boat, over the tamarind carts, and while pacing their babies in the pediatric ward at Mahosot hospital.
The project I was attached to has now developed 3 of 5 years of a new medical school curriculum. I'm hoping to get involved for the clerkship component, but will see if this works out later. What I did help with was the Orientation Weeks for the new Family Medicine Interns. These grads are still running on the antiquated curriculum, so basically we try to teach an approach to medicine in two weeks. The family med program is also a U of Calgary baby, but the fumbling infants (first grads of the 2 year residency) are being asked to take over its running.
The quote "banished to paradise" refers to the fact that Deanne and I got assigned to go to the Provincial Hospital in Luang Prabang for our stint visiting the teachers at this level. This city was designated a World Heritage site - it sits on the merging banks of two rivers with lush green rice paddies lining the perimeter. There are more wats (buddhist temples) at the tip of the town than you could imagine, and from these at 6:30 am the drums resonate to awaken the drowsy monks. They don bright orange garb, and take an orange tin to fill with the alms they collect from buddhists who line the streets on their knees to give rice or fruit. The wats are only interrupted by early 20th century colonial buildings in white. In front of these architectural wonders will become the bustle of the night market - women from hilltribes selling woven silk and cotton, chinese opium pipes, and Tshirts with communist propaganda.
We ventured to the district hospital north of town, where Deanne met cholera (which officially doesn't exist in Laos, the communists aren't a fan of bad news). She was hospitalized briefly - luckily in the better hospital - and I never even got sick; for those of you taking bets on what bug I'm bringing home, scratch this one off!
The project I was attached to has now developed 3 of 5 years of a new medical school curriculum. I'm hoping to get involved for the clerkship component, but will see if this works out later. What I did help with was the Orientation Weeks for the new Family Medicine Interns. These grads are still running on the antiquated curriculum, so basically we try to teach an approach to medicine in two weeks. The family med program is also a U of Calgary baby, but the fumbling infants (first grads of the 2 year residency) are being asked to take over its running.
The quote "banished to paradise" refers to the fact that Deanne and I got assigned to go to the Provincial Hospital in Luang Prabang for our stint visiting the teachers at this level. This city was designated a World Heritage site - it sits on the merging banks of two rivers with lush green rice paddies lining the perimeter. There are more wats (buddhist temples) at the tip of the town than you could imagine, and from these at 6:30 am the drums resonate to awaken the drowsy monks. They don bright orange garb, and take an orange tin to fill with the alms they collect from buddhists who line the streets on their knees to give rice or fruit. The wats are only interrupted by early 20th century colonial buildings in white. In front of these architectural wonders will become the bustle of the night market - women from hilltribes selling woven silk and cotton, chinese opium pipes, and Tshirts with communist propaganda.
We ventured to the district hospital north of town, where Deanne met cholera (which officially doesn't exist in Laos, the communists aren't a fan of bad news). She was hospitalized briefly - luckily in the better hospital - and I never even got sick; for those of you taking bets on what bug I'm bringing home, scratch this one off!
SE Asia 2006
Cameron highlands in Malaysia are famous for the tea estates that an industrious scotsman created almost a century ago. These little bushes were originally planted through his vision, rising only two feet or so, and rolling over the hillsides like little waves of deep green tea (sea?) leaves. The hills are covered by the mists, only interrupted by the stray strawberry grow-op. The plantation makes all things tea, for example tea"cino" like a cappucino only milder. There are zip lines hanging over the estate, for workers to send bloated bags of leaves down the hills to the factory, where the equipment from 80 years ago still chugs and spits the leaves into fine powder.
Koh Chang is a small island in eastern Thailand, with roads like a ride at the exhibition grounds. The idea to rent a scooter initially conjured statistics about how more tourists die in MVA than any other cause, but realizing these leggo vehicles can go only 40 km/h at full throttle alleviated those fears quickly. or should I say not so quickly... Our helmets were like eggshells in bright easter shades of pink and blue, and not much thicker. We grabbed a quick ice coffee for the road and head down. and then up. and then down. The twists of the pavement are so complex, the mirrors at the pinnacle of the turn simply confuse the driver straining to complete a greater-than-ninety degree curve. But the reward is the most spectacular sunset, dropping like a red chinese lantern over the small islands in the distance. With the added bonus of a few hours away from the europeans who have descended in shiny blond (Timotei? do they still make that stuff?), tatooed droves to our paradise.
Bangkok never sleeps. or at least it sleeps in shifts, and the call schedule is not so desirable. We have arrived back into the smoggy parade after a long bus ride. There is a line of mattresses with mismatched frayed towels stretching across the parking area of a Shell gas station. The station itself has become a bar, with a bright pink VW van with its roof hacksawed off selling cheap liquor. Jack Johnson, the new Bob Marley of the gringo set, hums in waves over Kao san road. We lie on adjacent mattresses, and young thai girls plaster orange-smelling whipped concoctions over our face, apply a mud mask, and finish it off by spooning cucumbers over our fresh complexions. The facials take almost an hour, including the rubbing and pulling of our tired features, and cost less than eight dollars. The tuktuks putting by with neon brakes at eye level, the fake Victoria Beckham jean stalls, the massproduced dredlocks that can be applied to any length hair, the beer tubs that stand three feet tall, the banana pancake skillets (or mango with sticky rice, more my taste), the young thai girls with their old white men, the constant chatter of indian teens trying to entice you into their tailoring shops which promise "armani" suits in 24 hours... all of it melts away for a time. Then it all accosts you in bleats and whines when you leave the incongruous gas station. Time to eat. that will cost about a dollar, and is certain to be one of the best meals you've ever had, with lemongrass, basil, and ginger lingering on the tongue for hours.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)