Monday, October 31, 2005
The Awaited Pictures
A note on some of the pictures, although the order may not correlate:
Yes, it’s our beautiful cabin we have come to love. Halloween decorations adorn the room, like the banner of bright orange jack-o-lanterns.
These two smiley critters are our newest roommates, Awoo and Bering. Because… “Awoo…the Bering Sea…That is my heart’s desire…Awoo…the Polar Bears….I love ‘em, I love ‘em, I love ‘em, I love ‘em!”
No, it’s not Halloween it is the nightmare of our bug encounter. Just imagine these critters covering every surface!!
Our laundry treat for the Hotel Department, however the trick was on us because now they are taking our bag and putting it on hold!
The pics of our departure are self-explanatory. Of course we are sporting our Halloween Maryland T-shirts and the rice paddies and clouds are just beautiful. The one image with mostly water is the city center; because it is resized smaller it may be difficult to make out the golden stupa that is the Shwedagon Pagoda.
Trick-or-Treat, It's Time For Sweets...Check Out This Blog, It's Really Neat!!
The following is a shared journal entry:
October 30, 2005
Another Day
Between our constant studying we are enjoying the comments from first mom and dad, then the ton from Ashley who, of course, gets a special callout as you have really contributed to our experience and the smiles we receive from your messages really help brighten the day. You would think with all the wonderful things we have done we wouldn’t need such simple surprises as a message on the blog, but these are the small things we look forward to the most, especially at sea. B loved her email from her stuffed friends at home.
We have sent five more postcards, which means nineteen total, have left from Myanmar – Heather saved one because it is of Bagan with the thousands of stupas. Departure is around noon tomorrow and we received the Hawaii and San Diego field program packet, choosing hopefully the trip to Pearl Harbor, the Arizona Memorial, and a city orientation of the Polynesian culture and sites. Though a luau in the evening sounded fantastic it overlapped with this trip and we figure it will be easy enough to experience the beach and luau aspects of the culture when this tour ends in the early afternoon, not to mention purchasing hundreds of pineapples.
We have five days until Vietnam, and our third upcoming Global Studies Exam, which means that we are hard at work studying once again. It was laundry day for the Bering Sea and of course we cannot wait, or we lose our chance before Vietnam. So we sent some of the not so nice items in the extremely rare case that the water is not filtered through yet. At least that way if anything gets messed up it will not be a huge loss, and if everything comes back fine then clean clothes at last!
So we had the hardest time trying to figure out what to put all of the candy in for trick-or-treating and transformed our now empty BJ’s cracker pack box into a masterpiece for all the sweets – jolly ranchers and Doublemint gum. Of course we have to represent!
We are missing everyone at home and cannot believe that we are leaving Myanmar. It seems like we have been here forever and the panorama outside our window has become so familiar. Will it be as emotional a departure as South Africa we cannot say, but we have seen so much of such an amazing country despite the political situation. We thought a lot about PopPop today and how much we miss him; his absence even more stark because of the loss of Nana and our trip that is so very much, we believe, in memory of their legacy. Even the fact that we are heading to Vietnam, though he did not fight in that war, reminds us of him, probably because of his pictures during the Second World War with the Mighty Eighth.
We don’t really remember what it is like at sea, as we only spent one day between India and Myanmar on the waves. Heather has been praying for split pea soup or sweet and sour pork over white rice, two of her favorite meals on the ship, but we were pleasantly surprised by lunch today. Two pieces of meatloaf, which made us wish for homes, and two stuffed peppers later we were, excuse the pun, but stuffed. Though everything at home is better we loved the stuffed peppers as a change from the chicken and pasta dishes.
With luck water restrictions will conclude tomorrow evening after Halloween and everything will return to normal. We cannot wait to find out about all of the Boo day spectacular events.
We wanted to leave a little note about a question in an email concerning our new roommates – Bearing and Awoo! The campus store has brown and white teddy bears, the white look like polar bears and of course, two cute faces smiled at us the day after the Olympic victory, these white fuzzy little bears wearing charcoal, navy t-shirts in our colors. Bearing and Awoo came home with us!! B loves them, though Wilty not so much. Of course many bears, brown and white, still remain in the store sporting various colored t’s but these friendly faces were a small treat to keep us smiling as we knew we were leaving the ship for an extended trip and we dislike being away from the comfort of our cabin since none of the hotels seem to come close to the coziness and security our small room offers. At night all we had to do was think of Bearing and Awoo, B too, waiting for us on the ship.
Well that is all for now as we wait for Halloween and Vietnam/Cambodia. Good night! Stay tuned for awesome photos and more stories…thanks to everyone, Sandy, Ashley, and of course, Mom and Dad. You make us smile!
Heather's Journal Entry:
October 31, 2005
Halloween In Myanmar
So the day started out just like any other day of classes, except for the bottle green of the rice paddies outside the window and the row upon row upon row of teak. We went to breakfast hoping to see Pat after her trip to Bagan, but breakfast came and went without our usual tea and coffee morning routine. Oh well, things will get back to normal when we return to sea. After breakfast we decided to hang our pumpkin banner across the window and a smaller one from our door, before putting our laundry out for Dalphon, which we decorated with a Halloween poem that he loved. It read, “Trick or Treat, it’s time for sweets. Give us clothes that’s clean and neat!” We are wearing our University of Maryland jack-o-lantern T-shirts and we have certainly received plenty of comments on how cute we look. One year from now I will think back and say, as I look at a picture of me in this shirt standing on the deck before a view of the pastoral Burma, “One year ago I spent Halloween morning in Myanmar! Can you imagine?”
The most exciting thing about our departure was the continual presence of the golden stupas some that have even turned up on the pictures and the magnificence of the Shwedagon Pagoda from the sea. Amazing! Indeed every few minutes I would say, “Look, another stupa. Do you see it?” I so very much wanted to capture in pictures the glory and presence, not to mention the abundance of these wonderfully gilded steeples and the thrill of them each time they peek above the green foliage of the jungle. Unfortunately, I am afraid that this is something that must be experienced and cannot be adequately expressed in words of images. Sadly this is the last time I will see the stupas, but hope that we will study them in Asian Art where I can add the true joy of their presence into our discussions along with some of our own photos.
On our way to Global Studies we were stopped by a medical emergency, the ethnomusicologist professor being taken off the ship in a wheel chair. Dean John told us in class that he had experienced some cardiac problems and had apparently had a heart attack in the early hours of the morning. We were told that he was taken by ambulance to Yangon to be airlifted to Bangkok for tests before a determination would be made as to his status aboard the ship. Hopefully everything will be all right and he will return to serenade us once more at the Pre-ports with his choir of students and adult passengers and Gamelan orchestra.
After Global Studies we went to lunch where large jack-o-lanterns sat on the buffet with wide toothless grins and tufted hair. Hopefully they will be there for dinner for us to get pictures, as they are quite professional and a true joy to look at on this special day. We made our way up to Deck Seven to see the ship pull out of the harbor, and of course the bugs were there for the sendoff as well, but only the large green grasshoppers. I guess that they just could not go without saying goodbye. I certainly hope that the chef does not plan to use them in the Halloween festivities, though Ormond told us that there would most assuredly be brains. Which incidentally, last night he told he wanted to bring us chocolate chip cookies, but because he was so busy the moment slipped past. Megan took a picture of a smaller boat at port, and upon reviewing the pictures we both laughed when I told her its purpose – the poo poo ship, as they occasionally came along side to suck the waste from the Explorer during our port stay.
Though we did not have Travelers’ Journals today because of a special extended class we held earlier in the voyage, we stopped by the classroom to turn in our second travel essay before returning to our room, where we found Boo Gram’s from our friends aboard the ship. Megan and I sent one to eachother, in addition to one from Pat for each of us with a cute little poem, “Roses are red, violets are blue, here are some treats for your tea for two.” And of course it would not be Halloween without a trick for a treat, one from Borin and Dreesilla – though we imagine these to be from Bob and Betty just starting the spooking a little early. We shall find out later. So now we have a small stash of Gummy Bears and Rice Krispies Treats, not to mention that Megan surprised me yesterday after a quick errand with a Three Musketeers, one of my favorites, and a Butterfinger for her.
Finally it was time for the bewitching hour to begin as the Academy kids began trick-or-treating before the college-aged students. We gave out so much candy and at last the jolly rancher reserve is much more manageable for two. Everyone really loved our costumes, many of the other students parading around as flight attendants, crayons, witches, monsters from the abyss, rice paddy pickers with their straw triangular hats, and the widest display of foreign fashion in one place. Though my favorite would have to be our next-door neighbors who decided to be the Lundy twins and even borrowed our beaded purses for the night as everyone on board has commented on their beaded intricacy and indeed knows them as a symbol of us.
After the door to door of treats and tricks we made our way to the Garden Lounge for a demonstration in pumpkin and vegetable carving before being handed our very own pumpkins and sharp knives, which wearing silk we decided to pass. We saw Pat and Betty, though Bob was feeling under the weather and stuck in bed. We will make him a get-well card with a picture of us at Halloween since he missed our Burmese princess costumes. Again, everyone thought we looked beautiful in our silk gowns and it was fun to watch as heads turned at our appearance. Everywhere you looked ghosts and ghouls wandered the ship carrying candied and caramel apples. Even Chris had to stop us to find the perfect lighting for a photo shoot and so perhaps sometime you should check his website to see if he has downloaded anything for Halloween under shipboard life to find us.
At last we purchased a phone card and I fear that our calls home are quickly becoming quite predictable. Last time we had a huge “Good morning” from Cherylie who absolutely knew it was us, even though it was evening and not the start of the day on the MV Explorer. “Boo” she yelled, though she had to admit that two earlier calls from which she assumed to be us prompted her into readiness at our cute little voices. Sad to say, no Joe, he was at work and we so very much wanted to hear his best ghostly moan. As we post this I know that it is still the bewitching hour at home, so happy trick-or-treating! We love to call home on special days and we are still trying to figure out when to call for Thanksgiving, when it is turkey day here, or turkey day there. Mom and dad, are you still going to the ocean with everyone? If you were we would love to try to call the cell to hear a chorus of Happy Thanksgiving from everyone. Or if you were just getting together as usual than it would be fun to correlate our call when you are all together. Though I would be prompted to purchase two cards just to spend more time talking to you when you are back at home.
Happy Halloween!
Megan's Journal Entry:
October 31, 2005
Halloween in Myanmar
After eating lunch in the Garden Lounge at last, where six carved pumpkins with chilling, bloodcurdling faces, intricate spiraled tendrils sprouting from their heads, large bulbous noses, and glaring eyes, we headed to the front deck to watch our departure from Myanmar. Only several others, less than ten, had decided to make an appearance on the bug-infested deck, littered with live crickets ranging from small to uncomfortably large. Yes, we managed to maneuver over the doorway and hop to the rail, Heather leaving me for a brief second to take some photos from the other side of the deck of those stupid stupas, a medium hopping pest deciding to cling to my pumpkin T-shirt. It hopped off nonchalantly onto the railing, seconds before my complete breakdown and mental realization of what had occurred. Disaster averted, we managed several photos of each other, and the port where a film crew and photographer had arrived to capture our departure. It was most difficult to watch the vista of bottle green rice paddies in the intense heat of the afternoon sun, large clouds white and fluffy against the blue of the sky, slowly grow smaller as we made our way towards the mouth of the muddy river. About twenty golden stupas specked the landscape in intervals, I trying just as hard as Heather to seize one of their glittering crowns in the click of the camera shutter. Shwedagon Pagoda even made a goodbye appearance as we passed the city center, its size overshadowing the other smaller stupas amongst the agricultural landscape.
It took several hours for the ship to clear the muddy mixing of the delta. Water is still being conserved as the Voice has announced. And even though our laundry was taken this morning with the intention of being washed, they will most likely not be returned for several days as they are now on hold. Linens and bedding have moved to the front of the line so our personal laundry will have to wait. We wish they would have opted to hold off on students dirty apparel until they were prepared to launder them as several of the items, if we had really wanted or needed them, could have been hand-washed. Its not inconveniencing though and today is Halloween so little else matters. With our Maryland Halloween T-shirts we are clearly the only two students who are celebrating this holiday to the fullest. Most likely others will appear later in costumes, but to wait until the late afternoon to celebrate seems such a waste.
We have a banner we made with paper pumpkins that is hanging from the opening in our window, another on our door. Boo grams were delivered, each of us receiving three – one from each other, Pat, and the mysterious Boris and Dreesilla? We have a feeling this is Betty and Bob, our adopted family and with Gummy Bears and Rice Krispies it seems much more like Halloween. Don’t worry mom and dad, our parents onboard and Pat has taken care of us. While it may not be Milky Ways and Nutrageous, Halloween is not the same without candy. We are hoping perhaps cider will be a surprise at some point of the day, but this is perhaps wishful thinking. However, if there are carved pumpkins it could be reasoned that cider is not too much of a wish, as they always seem to be prepared for such occasions.
We are studying for a couple hours before dinner, after sitting a half-an-hour in the Union while the Gamelan class practiced, the absence of Mitch Strumpf clearly being felt. Professor Mitch Strumpf is the ethnomusicologist and teacher, also the director of the chorus who has performed South Africa’s national anthem among many other regional songs. After Dean Tymitz announced of Mitch’s heart attack and his expected transport to Bangkok by this evening, the shipboard community is missing the loss of one of its family. Even though we’ve only enjoyed several meals with Professor Strumpf, his smiling face on the pier in South Africa as he sat in the shade of the hotel, and his multi-media clips of performances and music around the globe, it is quite a misfortune for his presence will be missed. It is possible he will rejoin the ship at a later date and we certainly hope it will be in the near future as the choir and other performance groups, under his guidance, will not avoid being forgotten at pre-port presentations.
We are preparing for our costume party and trick-or-treating, using the curling iron before dinner to spiff up the hairstyle and become glamorous. We will go to dinner in our day apparel and then make the switch afterwards, touching up the makeup. Trick-or-treating begins at 1845 for the Explorer Academy, the several students onboard, and at 1915 to 2000 the remainder of the ship joins the activities. From there we are going to a either a scary story session where caramel apples and other special surprises we will given out or a pumpkin carving session where the head chef will demonstrate how all the spine-tingling Jack faces came into existence for this creepy evening. Then it is back to the room to study some more, these Global Studies exams are serious!!
Trick-or-treaters in the most ridiculous costumes knock knocked on our door for the hour of fright, most memorable were the crayons, flight attendants, and monks. We were, of course, beautiful and the photographer Chris took a ton of pictures of the two of us, so be sure to check his site sometime in the near future as they may end up there. From the large batch of jolly ranchers and Doublemint gum, the minutes passing with Mannheim Steamrollers Halloween Monster Mix playing in the background, the candy dwindled. And while it was not all dispersed, perhaps the less than one pound remaining will be much more manageable. Apparently we had the “good stuff” and were glad of the compliment.
We left for the pumpkin carving session, halted by our next-door neighbors, Pia and Jacqueline who needed a favor. We had been talking with them and laughed over the idea that they would be us for Halloween. With matching tops, yellow and green and our beaded purses, they posted paper on their backs that read “Lundy Twin A” and “Lundy Twin B”. It was indeed funny to witness the sight, and I must say Heather and I make much better twins.
At the pumpkin carving session we, at last, found Pat and shared stories of our travels briefly, over her oohing and ahhing at our silk gowns. The pictures do not do these creations justice, but they are an idea of the glitter and glam. Everyone loved our gowns, evening the dining staff that were still in the Garden Lounge cleaning up from dinner. The pumpkins here are not quite orange, but rather large and it was interesting to see the ornate creations come to life.
We returned to our room around nine thirty, called home, and studied for about an hour before deciding our eyelids could barely remain open another minute. Sleep came on quickly and if we have to loose another hour and a half before Vietnam I hope it will not be tomorrow. Trick or treat at home!!!
October 30, 2005
Another Day
Between our constant studying we are enjoying the comments from first mom and dad, then the ton from Ashley who, of course, gets a special callout as you have really contributed to our experience and the smiles we receive from your messages really help brighten the day. You would think with all the wonderful things we have done we wouldn’t need such simple surprises as a message on the blog, but these are the small things we look forward to the most, especially at sea. B loved her email from her stuffed friends at home.
We have sent five more postcards, which means nineteen total, have left from Myanmar – Heather saved one because it is of Bagan with the thousands of stupas. Departure is around noon tomorrow and we received the Hawaii and San Diego field program packet, choosing hopefully the trip to Pearl Harbor, the Arizona Memorial, and a city orientation of the Polynesian culture and sites. Though a luau in the evening sounded fantastic it overlapped with this trip and we figure it will be easy enough to experience the beach and luau aspects of the culture when this tour ends in the early afternoon, not to mention purchasing hundreds of pineapples.
We have five days until Vietnam, and our third upcoming Global Studies Exam, which means that we are hard at work studying once again. It was laundry day for the Bering Sea and of course we cannot wait, or we lose our chance before Vietnam. So we sent some of the not so nice items in the extremely rare case that the water is not filtered through yet. At least that way if anything gets messed up it will not be a huge loss, and if everything comes back fine then clean clothes at last!
So we had the hardest time trying to figure out what to put all of the candy in for trick-or-treating and transformed our now empty BJ’s cracker pack box into a masterpiece for all the sweets – jolly ranchers and Doublemint gum. Of course we have to represent!
We are missing everyone at home and cannot believe that we are leaving Myanmar. It seems like we have been here forever and the panorama outside our window has become so familiar. Will it be as emotional a departure as South Africa we cannot say, but we have seen so much of such an amazing country despite the political situation. We thought a lot about PopPop today and how much we miss him; his absence even more stark because of the loss of Nana and our trip that is so very much, we believe, in memory of their legacy. Even the fact that we are heading to Vietnam, though he did not fight in that war, reminds us of him, probably because of his pictures during the Second World War with the Mighty Eighth.
We don’t really remember what it is like at sea, as we only spent one day between India and Myanmar on the waves. Heather has been praying for split pea soup or sweet and sour pork over white rice, two of her favorite meals on the ship, but we were pleasantly surprised by lunch today. Two pieces of meatloaf, which made us wish for homes, and two stuffed peppers later we were, excuse the pun, but stuffed. Though everything at home is better we loved the stuffed peppers as a change from the chicken and pasta dishes.
With luck water restrictions will conclude tomorrow evening after Halloween and everything will return to normal. We cannot wait to find out about all of the Boo day spectacular events.
We wanted to leave a little note about a question in an email concerning our new roommates – Bearing and Awoo! The campus store has brown and white teddy bears, the white look like polar bears and of course, two cute faces smiled at us the day after the Olympic victory, these white fuzzy little bears wearing charcoal, navy t-shirts in our colors. Bearing and Awoo came home with us!! B loves them, though Wilty not so much. Of course many bears, brown and white, still remain in the store sporting various colored t’s but these friendly faces were a small treat to keep us smiling as we knew we were leaving the ship for an extended trip and we dislike being away from the comfort of our cabin since none of the hotels seem to come close to the coziness and security our small room offers. At night all we had to do was think of Bearing and Awoo, B too, waiting for us on the ship.
Well that is all for now as we wait for Halloween and Vietnam/Cambodia. Good night! Stay tuned for awesome photos and more stories…thanks to everyone, Sandy, Ashley, and of course, Mom and Dad. You make us smile!
Heather's Journal Entry:
October 31, 2005
Halloween In Myanmar
So the day started out just like any other day of classes, except for the bottle green of the rice paddies outside the window and the row upon row upon row of teak. We went to breakfast hoping to see Pat after her trip to Bagan, but breakfast came and went without our usual tea and coffee morning routine. Oh well, things will get back to normal when we return to sea. After breakfast we decided to hang our pumpkin banner across the window and a smaller one from our door, before putting our laundry out for Dalphon, which we decorated with a Halloween poem that he loved. It read, “Trick or Treat, it’s time for sweets. Give us clothes that’s clean and neat!” We are wearing our University of Maryland jack-o-lantern T-shirts and we have certainly received plenty of comments on how cute we look. One year from now I will think back and say, as I look at a picture of me in this shirt standing on the deck before a view of the pastoral Burma, “One year ago I spent Halloween morning in Myanmar! Can you imagine?”
The most exciting thing about our departure was the continual presence of the golden stupas some that have even turned up on the pictures and the magnificence of the Shwedagon Pagoda from the sea. Amazing! Indeed every few minutes I would say, “Look, another stupa. Do you see it?” I so very much wanted to capture in pictures the glory and presence, not to mention the abundance of these wonderfully gilded steeples and the thrill of them each time they peek above the green foliage of the jungle. Unfortunately, I am afraid that this is something that must be experienced and cannot be adequately expressed in words of images. Sadly this is the last time I will see the stupas, but hope that we will study them in Asian Art where I can add the true joy of their presence into our discussions along with some of our own photos.
On our way to Global Studies we were stopped by a medical emergency, the ethnomusicologist professor being taken off the ship in a wheel chair. Dean John told us in class that he had experienced some cardiac problems and had apparently had a heart attack in the early hours of the morning. We were told that he was taken by ambulance to Yangon to be airlifted to Bangkok for tests before a determination would be made as to his status aboard the ship. Hopefully everything will be all right and he will return to serenade us once more at the Pre-ports with his choir of students and adult passengers and Gamelan orchestra.
After Global Studies we went to lunch where large jack-o-lanterns sat on the buffet with wide toothless grins and tufted hair. Hopefully they will be there for dinner for us to get pictures, as they are quite professional and a true joy to look at on this special day. We made our way up to Deck Seven to see the ship pull out of the harbor, and of course the bugs were there for the sendoff as well, but only the large green grasshoppers. I guess that they just could not go without saying goodbye. I certainly hope that the chef does not plan to use them in the Halloween festivities, though Ormond told us that there would most assuredly be brains. Which incidentally, last night he told he wanted to bring us chocolate chip cookies, but because he was so busy the moment slipped past. Megan took a picture of a smaller boat at port, and upon reviewing the pictures we both laughed when I told her its purpose – the poo poo ship, as they occasionally came along side to suck the waste from the Explorer during our port stay.
Though we did not have Travelers’ Journals today because of a special extended class we held earlier in the voyage, we stopped by the classroom to turn in our second travel essay before returning to our room, where we found Boo Gram’s from our friends aboard the ship. Megan and I sent one to eachother, in addition to one from Pat for each of us with a cute little poem, “Roses are red, violets are blue, here are some treats for your tea for two.” And of course it would not be Halloween without a trick for a treat, one from Borin and Dreesilla – though we imagine these to be from Bob and Betty just starting the spooking a little early. We shall find out later. So now we have a small stash of Gummy Bears and Rice Krispies Treats, not to mention that Megan surprised me yesterday after a quick errand with a Three Musketeers, one of my favorites, and a Butterfinger for her.
Finally it was time for the bewitching hour to begin as the Academy kids began trick-or-treating before the college-aged students. We gave out so much candy and at last the jolly rancher reserve is much more manageable for two. Everyone really loved our costumes, many of the other students parading around as flight attendants, crayons, witches, monsters from the abyss, rice paddy pickers with their straw triangular hats, and the widest display of foreign fashion in one place. Though my favorite would have to be our next-door neighbors who decided to be the Lundy twins and even borrowed our beaded purses for the night as everyone on board has commented on their beaded intricacy and indeed knows them as a symbol of us.
After the door to door of treats and tricks we made our way to the Garden Lounge for a demonstration in pumpkin and vegetable carving before being handed our very own pumpkins and sharp knives, which wearing silk we decided to pass. We saw Pat and Betty, though Bob was feeling under the weather and stuck in bed. We will make him a get-well card with a picture of us at Halloween since he missed our Burmese princess costumes. Again, everyone thought we looked beautiful in our silk gowns and it was fun to watch as heads turned at our appearance. Everywhere you looked ghosts and ghouls wandered the ship carrying candied and caramel apples. Even Chris had to stop us to find the perfect lighting for a photo shoot and so perhaps sometime you should check his website to see if he has downloaded anything for Halloween under shipboard life to find us.
At last we purchased a phone card and I fear that our calls home are quickly becoming quite predictable. Last time we had a huge “Good morning” from Cherylie who absolutely knew it was us, even though it was evening and not the start of the day on the MV Explorer. “Boo” she yelled, though she had to admit that two earlier calls from which she assumed to be us prompted her into readiness at our cute little voices. Sad to say, no Joe, he was at work and we so very much wanted to hear his best ghostly moan. As we post this I know that it is still the bewitching hour at home, so happy trick-or-treating! We love to call home on special days and we are still trying to figure out when to call for Thanksgiving, when it is turkey day here, or turkey day there. Mom and dad, are you still going to the ocean with everyone? If you were we would love to try to call the cell to hear a chorus of Happy Thanksgiving from everyone. Or if you were just getting together as usual than it would be fun to correlate our call when you are all together. Though I would be prompted to purchase two cards just to spend more time talking to you when you are back at home.
Happy Halloween!
Megan's Journal Entry:
October 31, 2005
Halloween in Myanmar
After eating lunch in the Garden Lounge at last, where six carved pumpkins with chilling, bloodcurdling faces, intricate spiraled tendrils sprouting from their heads, large bulbous noses, and glaring eyes, we headed to the front deck to watch our departure from Myanmar. Only several others, less than ten, had decided to make an appearance on the bug-infested deck, littered with live crickets ranging from small to uncomfortably large. Yes, we managed to maneuver over the doorway and hop to the rail, Heather leaving me for a brief second to take some photos from the other side of the deck of those stupid stupas, a medium hopping pest deciding to cling to my pumpkin T-shirt. It hopped off nonchalantly onto the railing, seconds before my complete breakdown and mental realization of what had occurred. Disaster averted, we managed several photos of each other, and the port where a film crew and photographer had arrived to capture our departure. It was most difficult to watch the vista of bottle green rice paddies in the intense heat of the afternoon sun, large clouds white and fluffy against the blue of the sky, slowly grow smaller as we made our way towards the mouth of the muddy river. About twenty golden stupas specked the landscape in intervals, I trying just as hard as Heather to seize one of their glittering crowns in the click of the camera shutter. Shwedagon Pagoda even made a goodbye appearance as we passed the city center, its size overshadowing the other smaller stupas amongst the agricultural landscape.
It took several hours for the ship to clear the muddy mixing of the delta. Water is still being conserved as the Voice has announced. And even though our laundry was taken this morning with the intention of being washed, they will most likely not be returned for several days as they are now on hold. Linens and bedding have moved to the front of the line so our personal laundry will have to wait. We wish they would have opted to hold off on students dirty apparel until they were prepared to launder them as several of the items, if we had really wanted or needed them, could have been hand-washed. Its not inconveniencing though and today is Halloween so little else matters. With our Maryland Halloween T-shirts we are clearly the only two students who are celebrating this holiday to the fullest. Most likely others will appear later in costumes, but to wait until the late afternoon to celebrate seems such a waste.
We have a banner we made with paper pumpkins that is hanging from the opening in our window, another on our door. Boo grams were delivered, each of us receiving three – one from each other, Pat, and the mysterious Boris and Dreesilla? We have a feeling this is Betty and Bob, our adopted family and with Gummy Bears and Rice Krispies it seems much more like Halloween. Don’t worry mom and dad, our parents onboard and Pat has taken care of us. While it may not be Milky Ways and Nutrageous, Halloween is not the same without candy. We are hoping perhaps cider will be a surprise at some point of the day, but this is perhaps wishful thinking. However, if there are carved pumpkins it could be reasoned that cider is not too much of a wish, as they always seem to be prepared for such occasions.
We are studying for a couple hours before dinner, after sitting a half-an-hour in the Union while the Gamelan class practiced, the absence of Mitch Strumpf clearly being felt. Professor Mitch Strumpf is the ethnomusicologist and teacher, also the director of the chorus who has performed South Africa’s national anthem among many other regional songs. After Dean Tymitz announced of Mitch’s heart attack and his expected transport to Bangkok by this evening, the shipboard community is missing the loss of one of its family. Even though we’ve only enjoyed several meals with Professor Strumpf, his smiling face on the pier in South Africa as he sat in the shade of the hotel, and his multi-media clips of performances and music around the globe, it is quite a misfortune for his presence will be missed. It is possible he will rejoin the ship at a later date and we certainly hope it will be in the near future as the choir and other performance groups, under his guidance, will not avoid being forgotten at pre-port presentations.
We are preparing for our costume party and trick-or-treating, using the curling iron before dinner to spiff up the hairstyle and become glamorous. We will go to dinner in our day apparel and then make the switch afterwards, touching up the makeup. Trick-or-treating begins at 1845 for the Explorer Academy, the several students onboard, and at 1915 to 2000 the remainder of the ship joins the activities. From there we are going to a either a scary story session where caramel apples and other special surprises we will given out or a pumpkin carving session where the head chef will demonstrate how all the spine-tingling Jack faces came into existence for this creepy evening. Then it is back to the room to study some more, these Global Studies exams are serious!!
Trick-or-treaters in the most ridiculous costumes knock knocked on our door for the hour of fright, most memorable were the crayons, flight attendants, and monks. We were, of course, beautiful and the photographer Chris took a ton of pictures of the two of us, so be sure to check his site sometime in the near future as they may end up there. From the large batch of jolly ranchers and Doublemint gum, the minutes passing with Mannheim Steamrollers Halloween Monster Mix playing in the background, the candy dwindled. And while it was not all dispersed, perhaps the less than one pound remaining will be much more manageable. Apparently we had the “good stuff” and were glad of the compliment.
We left for the pumpkin carving session, halted by our next-door neighbors, Pia and Jacqueline who needed a favor. We had been talking with them and laughed over the idea that they would be us for Halloween. With matching tops, yellow and green and our beaded purses, they posted paper on their backs that read “Lundy Twin A” and “Lundy Twin B”. It was indeed funny to witness the sight, and I must say Heather and I make much better twins.
At the pumpkin carving session we, at last, found Pat and shared stories of our travels briefly, over her oohing and ahhing at our silk gowns. The pictures do not do these creations justice, but they are an idea of the glitter and glam. Everyone loved our gowns, evening the dining staff that were still in the Garden Lounge cleaning up from dinner. The pumpkins here are not quite orange, but rather large and it was interesting to see the ornate creations come to life.
We returned to our room around nine thirty, called home, and studied for about an hour before deciding our eyelids could barely remain open another minute. Sleep came on quickly and if we have to loose another hour and a half before Vietnam I hope it will not be tomorrow. Trick or treat at home!!!
Saturday, October 29, 2005
It was the best of times...It was the worst of times
*If you are reading an entry below this one or commenting on pictures from our previous travels it would be wonderful to hear from you, however it gets difficult to remember how many comments have been posted on each entry so if you could just respond to all entries, India, Myanmar, etc. underneath this blog and only on these photos it would be wonderful. It creates additional time for us on an already expensive Internet service. We love hearing from you so keep posting.
October 27, 2005
Rain, Rain Go Away
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
When we woke up this morning the sky was gray with the prediction of rain in the near future. It has not rained in quite some time on our journey and so it certainly messed with our plans. The day started lazily with breakfast, a sudden downpour commencing over a bowl of Rice Krispies that would wax and wan for the remainder of the day. Luckily our trip to the Shwedagon Pagoda at sunset left plenty of time for the weather to clear – at least in theory.
After breakfast we downloaded all of our photos taken during the city orientation yesterday, did the accounting and bookkeeping for the last couple of days, and packed for our hopeful trip to Bago tomorrow. By lunchtime we were out of things to do except study and found ourselves feeling ever less hopeful for the clouds to part and the sun to shine; but also dreading the hour and a half ride back into the city.
Megan writes, “Spending some leisure time on the ship – downloading photos, labeling and writing, as well as studying – the morning was a little R and R away from the city center. Outside our window we could see buses leaving on various trips and the shuttle departing every hour for the main gate about fifteen minutes away. Here in Yangon the villages are spaced out between rice paddies and the checkpoint is quite far from the pier. I’m not even sure pier is the correct word. Our ship is docked in extremely shallow water and during low tide you can see the recession of the muck on the other side of the bridge has completely been replaced with dry beds of dirt. I wonder how low the water surrounding our ship becomes during this time?”
After lunch we watched the remainder of Sweet November and treated ourselves to some of our chocolate stash from South Africa that is very slowly coming down to the end; altogether we have about three bars of mint crisp left. Soon it was time for us to depart and it was absolutely pouring. Having visited the pagoda yesterday at sunset with the city orientation we knew that the wet marble ground would not provide for the safest excursion and certainly wearing rain jackets and carrying umbrellas would not be photo savvy. Our main reason for today’s trip would have been to take pictures of us at the pagoda as we did not the day before, and so because of the monsoon we decided not to go. It continued to rain flannel, as Shannon would say, until about dinnertime when the sky cleared and the sun sank in colors of purple and orange. I have to say that we were slightly disappointed, but knowing that we saw the same beautiful sunset yesterday made us feel slightly better.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Water is still a commodity on the ship, only available between six and nine o’clock in the evening. If you miss the window of opportunity you go without for another entire day. We have filled every bottle, nalgene and cup we could find in the room with the slightly yellowish, cloudy water just for the purpose of utilizing the toilet. The suction still remains, however a little water helps to clean out the bowl. We have resorted to using bottled water for face washing and teeth; hand washing clothes has ceased but at least we have been able to get a good bit clean – both jeans, six tops from India, all personal garments, socks, several T-shirts and two tanks. The laundry bag still seems quite full but until we return to sea I doubt much more will be washed.
Some people have complained a great deal with the absence of water as they have missed the time period and have not been able to shower. Several adult passengers have bathtubs apparently and have filled them as well. Just yesterday during the three hour period it was announced about twenty-four gallons per individual was used. The white plastic runners still cover the carpets and the hallways sometimes smell a little unpleasant. This venture between India and Myanmar seems to prove costly for the ship. Purchasing water is extremely expensive and clearly not the greatest quality. Even water in the dining hall is limited, as fruit juice, apple juice, pineapple juice, and orange juice have become quite plentiful to deter mass consumption of water. Ice is gone for good, at least until the tanks are refilled back at sea.
Around one o’clock it started to pour, humid, sticky surges of precipitation overshadowed with dark clouds. When two o’clock arrived and no end in sight of the torrential sheets we opted to not attend our trip Sunset at Shwedagon Pagoda. It’s disappointing but with sunset in three hours we figured there was no way a sunset like the night before would be visible. The construction of the surrounding buildings as well would prove difficult for such amounts of water to clear the premises and we did not want to walk around barefoot in a river of dirty water in the pouring rain not able to take photos. At least we were able to see the pagoda once already.
Heather writes, “We had hoped that they would cancel the trip and refund the money, but that was not the case. At dinner we managed to put our stay on the ship to good use by locating a ticket for Bago tomorrow. Mary and Willie gave us their last ticket, with the promise to pay them if we were lucky enough to find another.”
As such we spent the evening in the confines of our room relaxing and writing some more. We were able to obtain one ticket for the Bago trip the next day, as well as a trip on the first day in Vietnam. The trip for Ho Chi Minh is called “Ho Chi Minh City’s Temples and Churches”. We decided, as we would be in Cambodia for the remainder of our stay, we would regret not seeing any of the port city. As such, this fourteen-dollar trip for five hours would focus on the religions of Vietnam – Confucianism, Taoism, Buddhism and Christianity. During the practicum we would visit Notre Dame Cathedral, Xa Loi and Dai Glac Pagodas, Le Van Duyet Temple, Mariamman Hindu Temple, Saigon Central Mosque, and a Cao Dai Temple. We have found two tickets but only purchased one from a student, as the other has not responded to our note (most likely she is away on a trip here in Myanmar and hasn’t even received it yet).
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We have also decided to purchase two tickets from the buy/sell booklet for Ho Chi Minh’s Temples and Churches on our first day in Vietnam since we do not depart for Cambodia until the following day and will not have the opportunity to see the city. We have located two tickets for sale, and were already contacted by one of the students who brought it to our room. It only cost fourteen dollars so it is not a huge loss if we cannot use it, but hopefully the other student will contact us upon their return from seeing Mandalay or Bagan on Saturday or Sunday.
After dinner we wrote fourteen postcards, and still have six, but we are not exactly sure who to send them to. If you have any ideas let us know and provide an address as everyone on our prepared list will be opening their mailbox to postcards from Burma. So be on the lookout for mail, as anyone we could think of will receive one from this country. Why, you ask? A group of twenty postcards costs one dollar at the market, the best deal we have found in any of the countries thus far. I cannot wait for tomorrow, but just thinking about the possibility of us not going makes me sick to my stomach. Wish us luck!
October 28, 2005
Bago
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
So apparently the title of this entry would lead you to believe that we went to Bago, and indeed we did. We woke up very early to eat breakfast and meet the buses at seven thirty to be put on the waiting list for Group B since we did not find a second ticket. There was definitely a wait list of about six or seven people, and on our way to the gangway I felt quite sick with the possibility that we may be left behind. We encountered Eric from the Field Office on our way to breakfast and he put our name on the list, which we hoped to be the first one and not the last. But luck was definitely on our side and as we walked down the gangway, though there was already a line of those waiting to join the trip, one of the other field program staff handed us a ticket that she found in the donation box. Whew! What luck. She knew that we already had one ticket and because the other group of two did not have one at all it made more sense to give it to us, not to mention that because it was in the ticket trader box it was absolutely, positively, stupendously FREE!
Megan writes, “With one ticket firmly in our grasp we departed at eight o’clock for the gangway to see if we could find another, or at least hope someone else would have decided to forego their assigned trip and do something else independent. The one ticket came from Mary-Louise, an adult passenger, and she agreed to let us take the ticket without paying for the trip at the time, and in the likelihood we were able to go, pay her later. Clomping down the two-story gangway, we were handed by the field office people, in a hush hush approach, a ticket that had been dropped earlier in the donation box – a cardboard container we had checked a million times in the previous day to no avail and a box where passengers can put a ticket for a trip if they decide to not participate and cannot find anyone to purchase. The method was largely in secret because there were several other passengers who were attempting to join the trip as well who were off the gangway sooner than us, however we had been quite persistent in our search and the staff was aware of our exploits. With my free ticket, a free trip, a free day of fun, a free pass to Bago, a free, free, free, free adventure for one of us, we left for the three-hour drive to this city. As about fifty dollars was wasted due to a downpour the previous day for our trip to the pagoda at sunset, we felt ecstatic that we had no additional expenditures except for one ticket – Mary-Louis later accepting only fifty dollars instead of fifty-four.”
So we boarded the bus and were soon on a three-hour drive to Bago and our first stop. On the way we literally saw hundreds of golden stupas, which I have neglected to describe in previous posts. The stupas are like golden steeples, almost like an upside-down gold encrusted ice cream cone with vanilla ice cream spilling out in the smoothest torrent of white marble. I tried unsuccessfully to capture a picture of every single one, though this endeavor proved to be very difficult on bumpy roads. At eleven o’clock we pulled into the Kha Khat Wain Monastery to see the procession of the thousand monks and novices in their red robes receive their last meal of the day. Standing at the entrance to the dining room we watched as hundreds upon hundreds filed past to sit cross-legged on straw mats at low round tables. The air was permeated with the scent of warm rice, as monks scooped a bowlful into their collecting vessel. It was an incredible sight standing barefoot on the dusty red tiles of the monastery as they chanted in deep-throated voices, though most were young boys, teenagers, and young adults our age. It had to have been so awkward for them with our group staring open-mouthed as they ate. It felt quite obtrusive and so after seeing the procession Megan and I walked around the monastery to see the other rooms instead of watching the monks. The way our group hovered you would have thought we watched aliens in some strange feeding ritual. I don’t like it when people watch me eat, so I can only imagine what a group of about sixty must feel like.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Bago is an ancient capital of the Mon Kingdom in the thirteenth century. We made a brief stop at a toilet about an hour from our first destination, Kha Khat Wain Monastery. Situated amongst rice paddies and overgrown fields this toilet facility had to have been constructed for the sole purpose of tourists as the amenities included clean services, spotless floors and counters, and clean towels in a wicker basket to dry your hands; Heather always chooses the stall with the enormous spider for some reason.
At one of the largest monasteries in Myanmar, we were soon ushered into a large room where tables and floor mats were arranged in rows on the wood paneled floorboards, several boys, monks in red cloth with shaven heads, arranged silver teapots and bowls. Minutes later a gong resounded through the complex and the procession for the final meal of the day began. Hundreds, thousands of monks from age seven to perhaps eighteen or twenty, filed in to the entryway where enormous bins of rice were uncovered. These large pots emitted the sweet smell of rice, the scrapping of large spoonfuls heard for a half an hour as the monks progressed into the hall. During the morning meal procession they received their final meal of the day before noon!! I cannot even describe this once in a lifetime opportunity but at that moment it seemed incredibly awkward to watch these young boys learning the Buddhist ways, eating quietly as is the custom, taking photos of their procession and their silent feast. They averted their eyes, as did we, occasionally meeting glances for a fleeting second.
As we left street vendors tried to sell postcards and other merchandise, twenty postcards I knew at the market were only a dollar. Here they were attempting to get five and followed Heather the entire time we walked around one of the meeting halls of the monastery. Four dollars…three dollars he lowered the price, until I showed him that all I did really have was one dollar to which he gladly accepted. So with twenty postcards, beautiful images, we boarded the bus for our stop at Shwemawdaw Pagoda. The glittering golden top of the stupa reaches fourteen meters higher than the Shwedagon Pagoda, though not as many structures surround the complex.
Heather writes, “After leaving the monastery we drove to the Shwemawdaw Pagoda with a photo stop before our arrival to capture the full height of the stupa, which would not be possible from within the complex. It is said to be over one thousand years old and fourteen meters higher than the Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon, though not as rich in hundreds of smaller stupas, pagodas, and Buddha sculptures. Shady trees lined its base and were a welcome spot in the heat of the early afternoon sun, which was quite intense. “The ground should not be too hot as yet,” our guide emphasized as she meandered meaningfully around the central stupa, and we, the tourist, tested the surface with doubtful faces and raised eyebrows. Though I found instead that you could probably cook an egg on its surface and darted from one shady spot to the next as the soles of my feet were scorched by the surface of the white marble. Many locals sitting in the shade of a tree had smirks on their lips as they watched our ridiculous dance around the pagoda.”
Sweltering hot as the day had become, it was almost unbearable to walk barefoot around the structure. The soles of our feet trying to tread lightly on the burning stone, seeking shade whenever possible under a sheltered tree, we were given a lecture on the site and its reliquary. The shade provided little relief from the sizzling waves of heat, our guide not even perspiring as the whole group began to melt – first tops become sticky, then skirts heavy as the slight breeze tries to ruffle their wet frills, hair lies tacky against the back of your neck, your feet wanting to dance uncomfortably over the ground to the liberation of air-conditioning on the bus and flip-flops. It is easily over one hundred degrees here in Bago and at religious centers dress is far more formal than in the United States.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We had lunch at Hanthawaddy, advertised as the only luxurious restaurant in Bago, though I found it to be less than so. The napkins were dirty and slightly wet, which made me quite dubious about the rest of our lunch services. We enjoyed a Sprite for the first time on this voyage, though it was a huge dilemma between drinking from the can that could have any number of filth on its surface or the glass, which is bond to have been washed in river water with all kinds of parasites. Once again, rice was the main staple, as the pork, beef, and fish were all way to spicy for me to handle.
Megan writes, “Lunch was at “the only luxurious restaurant in Bago” Hanthawaddy, as the sign declared. The food however was incredibly spicy, the only edible item rice and vegetables. Feeling again like I’m back on Survivor I am craving such items as the Sprite they bring to me in a can, which I pour into the glass cup as it looks clean, expecting this place to be much more sanitary than the tea shop the other day. From the second floor of the restaurant, no air-conditioning, the view from the open windows is directly in front of the pagoda. It is a beautiful sight and it engenders more time to relax and let the experience of being in the golden land soak into my memory.”
“We made a brief stop at a reconstructed palace of the last king, King Thibaw, before heading to the market in Bago. The site is beautiful but I find disappointing. On one side the plot of land has several remnants from the original structures, even a roofed complex housing the original teak columns, on the other side the golden and glittering throne hall. Is it accurate in its depiction? The market is solely for necessity items like fruits, vegetables, seafood, and meat, the smell too unbearable from the butcher of animal carcasses to even enjoy the bustling sight for too long.”
Soon we were on our way to the Shwethalyaung Pagoda and the fifty five meter long Buddha. But before our arrival we paused at the Bee Throne Hall and the reconstructed palace. In the central chamber we could hear the sharp chatter of the bats swinging from the ceiling. Though the throne was merely a reconstruction, the palace was incredible in its golden splendor, and made me think about the authentic throne sitting in the National Museum. At the Shwethalyaung Pagoda the reclining Buddha was smaller and less impressive than the Buddha in Yangon, but the back and side of the pillow was ornamented in mirrors and iridescent mosaics that made it well worth the trip. On our way back to the bus Megan and I decided to purchase an intricately carved fan to complete our Halloween costumes.
We made a quick stop at the market, though we stayed on the bus because I did not feel too good before heading to the Htauk Kyant War Memorial Cemetery where more than two thousand stone graves of Commonwealth and Allied Forces Fallen Soldiers in the Myanmar campaign of World War II are buried. A quick stop on our way for a restroom break proved to be exactly what I had imagined it would be like in a foreign country – a nightmare. Our stop earlier today was quite nice, and owing to the fact that we pay every time we use a restroom, I would not pay one-cent to ease my bladder at this locale. Even knowing I had a three hour trip back to the ship, and likely no water there, by the time I saw the restroom and its cobwebs, dirt, and shack like walls with wide gaps I was scared enough to buy myself at least another hour and a half before I needed to actually go again. Though by the time we reached port I really had to go.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
At the Shwethalyaung Pagoda, a huge reclining Buddha, smaller than the one we saw during the city orientation, possesses some beautiful aesthetics that its larger counterpart is lacking. While the face is truly not as ornamented, the pillow is jeweled and mirrored, larger and more plush. The feet are completely covered in the same mosaic of twinkling tiles; the symbols positioned around three circles rather than the block placement of the larger Buddha’s feet. On the back, panels depict a story of the Buddha, in his death pose, these to embellished and elaborately festooned and bejeweled with iridescent decals. Heather declares she would like a wooden fan for her Halloween costume and so as we depart we once again go through bartering with a soft-spoken woman for two fans that will compliment our Burmese princess attire perfectly. Only a dollar, it was far from a waste.
We begin the return drive, an hour to our last stop, Htauk Kyant War Memorial Cemetery. You cannot tell whether the forecast for the day is going to be pleasant or not as many of the locals carry umbrellas throughout the day, merely to shade them from the intense sun. This does little to prepare an individual for a rain that sneaks up so suddenly you are caught in the middle of a downpour on a tour bus stopping at a memorial park where 2,700 stone-graves of Commonwealth and Allied Forces Fallen Soldiers in the Myanmar campaign of World War Two are honorably kept. With an umbrella we made our way into the beautiful arena of stone markers and monuments for several photos.
Heather writes, “The cemetery was a very beautiful site, and well kept with sprawling green arches that made you feel as if you walking into the secret garden. The orderly rows of headstones were interspersed with wildflowers and pruned bushes and the central memorial of stone pillars sparkled in an afternoon shower. The sun broke free of the rain clouds to etch shadows into the thousands of names on the stonewalls. Many of the students did not get off the bus because of the rain, but I cannot imagine letting a few drops ruin the experience. Though last night was completely different because it was not simply a shower, but a monsoon.”
The return ride seemed incredibly long, the darkness overtaking the landscape of the city center. Back at the ship we were in for a real shock. Waiting at the bottom of the gangway for five minutes, the security officer on duty came down into the darkness to check our bags, an unusual routine as normally this is performed at the top on a table near the metal detectors. She ushered groups of two to scamper and scurry up the two-story gangway as fast as possible, run through the metal detector, hand our identification cards to a security officer to swipe quickly and dart inside the door. Why? Swarms of crickets and other tiny bugs were everywhere, all over the consoles, tables, windows, walls, floors, and doorknobs, everywhere!! The air is crammed with these flying pests as we swat them away from our faces. It is like Indiana Jones when the female character walks down the dark corridor covered in large insects. More like a scene from a movie we cannot believe the state of the ship. Inside we do the dance that comes along with trying to get them out of your hair, your skirt, twirling to have others check to make sure there are no longer any of the larger unwelcome guests on your body.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
It was dark upon our return to the ship and I have neglected to mention the chaos that the night hours bring. At night our ship, so brightly lit, attracts every single flying insect imaginable from the cappuccino colored river water like a veritable insect magnet. My advice to future students traveling to this country would be to return long before dark. We must go through security before boarding, but were forced to wait in the pitch dark at the bottom of the two story gangway as the security officers were inside because of the bugs. Little green glowing insects swarm around every lit window and without a doubt looking up at the entrance around the metal detector, the lights on the ceiling, and the computer station where we swipe in. One of the officers came to the bottom of the gangway to check our bags in the dark before sending two students scurrying up the stairs to swipe their cards and run into the ship. I do not exaggerate when I say that it was a complete swarm, like something from a Hollywood movie. They were everywhere, over every surface imaginable.
It is one thing to laugh at the absurdity of this as we eat dinner every night and look at the bug covered window from the inside, but running through this to open a bug covered door with a bug covered handle is a whole different perspective. Once inside the ship I shook my head and ran my fingers through my hair as several of the florescent bugs fell to the ground. Then I plucked by shirt, more of the bugs falling from my chest to the white covered carpet, before I twirled my shirt to shake free the unwelcome rodents. The two women working at Pursers laughed as we danced around to free ourselves of the creepy crawlers and other students entered the square to a similar choreography of yelps, and plucking of clothes. It still sends shivers down my back and hopefully just one not so good picture from inside the ship looking out at the entrance will prove to you the insanity. The pool bar has been closed since our arrival because of the bugs and now we must order from the piano lounge instead. The crew has a lot of work ahead of them to clean up every deck space that has become littered with the dead carcasses of the bugs that have accumulated after the last couple of nights.
There are still restrictions on water, available only from six to nine in the evening, so we eat a hasty dinner and run to our room to shower and hand wash some items before we fill every empty water bottle, nalgene, and cup to use for flushing the toilet during the day. Yesterday the shipboard community used nine thousand some gallons in those three hours, about twenty four gallons per person and the ship cannot fill the tank from port that fast; not to mention the expenses. We have seen the trucks bringing water to the Explorer but they do not hold very much and we must remember that the kitchen still has to wash dishes and cook our meals. As long as we can shower that is fine with me, and somehow we have managed to wash most of our clothes and for probably the first time since the start of our voyage both pairs of jeans are clean at the same time. Miracle of miracles. Though I cannot wait until they replace our blue bath towels once again with our white plush towels, and uncover the carpet from its white plastic tapestry.
We have the next two days free before departing for Vietnam and we plan to study and relax before returning to the routine of classes. We have seen the entire city and would have loved to see Mandalay or Bagan, but a four day trip seemed quite impractical with first our original safari in Kenya, followed closely by our trip in India and later our overnight trips to Cambodia and then Xi’an and Beijing. Five large trips in a row would have been incredibly tiring and overwhelming. But we absolutely loved Myanmar and we cannot wait to share all of our pictures with everyone and our gorgeous silk dresses. Stay tuned for pictures from our Halloween festivities.
October 29, 2005
Burmese Beauty Rest
Today we are staying on the MV Explorer for a little relaxation and work. Looking out our window a score of dead bugs cover the windowsill, large dragonflies and birds circling the ship for a feast. We have fourteen postcards to write, fourteen because we want to send as many of these greetings home as possible. It seems everyone we can think of will be getting a card from this port, or at least we hope everyone receives them as we am sure mail will be scanned randomly or not at some point before leaving the country.
We will study more for the Global Studies exam before Vietnam. It’s nice to spend some time on the ship and we are going to enjoy every minute before returning to sea. We have seen everything we want to in Myanmar and most of all dread any further bug incidents. We also have some ironing from all the laundry so our schedule for the next two days will be pretty much same – ironing, studying, writing, reading, completing a paper, labeling photos, and resting.
On a side note, to answer a comment left by Cherylie Girlie regarding flowers. In India, once we had arrived in New Delhi we had a brief lull before heading to the train station for Agra. We did mention flower necklace in the posting but not the specific marigold. Lunch was at a local hotel and as a custom guests are greeted with a lei-like necklace of golden, orange marigolds. Of course, the hot train ride did little for the freshness of the wilting buds. We left them near the window, as did many other students but we did plucks several of the petals for a scrapbook. We try to remember every little detail, niceties like these, and we were slightly disappointed to find out that neither of us had a comprehensive coverage of this highlight. As long as you keep asking questions we’ll be able to help fill in areas we might miss. There is a picture posted so you can see the garland. So the first picture posted with the orange flowers are from India, the remainder are Myanmar.
Any questions or comments, feel free to remark. Our next posting will most assuredly be a short one on October 31, 2005 followed by a more detailed entry on the activities of Halloween and pictures of the event, of course Boo Day will be long over for us while you are still handing out candy at home. Our costumes will be making their grand appearance and we are so excited. With five days once our departure to Vietnam, we will be preparing for exams and a trip into the country of Cambodia. It is so wonderful that not only do we get the opportunity to see Vietnam but can enter into another country many have rarely visited. Missing everyone at home and would like to hear from you. Signing off for now.
October 27, 2005
Rain, Rain Go Away
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
When we woke up this morning the sky was gray with the prediction of rain in the near future. It has not rained in quite some time on our journey and so it certainly messed with our plans. The day started lazily with breakfast, a sudden downpour commencing over a bowl of Rice Krispies that would wax and wan for the remainder of the day. Luckily our trip to the Shwedagon Pagoda at sunset left plenty of time for the weather to clear – at least in theory.
After breakfast we downloaded all of our photos taken during the city orientation yesterday, did the accounting and bookkeeping for the last couple of days, and packed for our hopeful trip to Bago tomorrow. By lunchtime we were out of things to do except study and found ourselves feeling ever less hopeful for the clouds to part and the sun to shine; but also dreading the hour and a half ride back into the city.
Megan writes, “Spending some leisure time on the ship – downloading photos, labeling and writing, as well as studying – the morning was a little R and R away from the city center. Outside our window we could see buses leaving on various trips and the shuttle departing every hour for the main gate about fifteen minutes away. Here in Yangon the villages are spaced out between rice paddies and the checkpoint is quite far from the pier. I’m not even sure pier is the correct word. Our ship is docked in extremely shallow water and during low tide you can see the recession of the muck on the other side of the bridge has completely been replaced with dry beds of dirt. I wonder how low the water surrounding our ship becomes during this time?”
After lunch we watched the remainder of Sweet November and treated ourselves to some of our chocolate stash from South Africa that is very slowly coming down to the end; altogether we have about three bars of mint crisp left. Soon it was time for us to depart and it was absolutely pouring. Having visited the pagoda yesterday at sunset with the city orientation we knew that the wet marble ground would not provide for the safest excursion and certainly wearing rain jackets and carrying umbrellas would not be photo savvy. Our main reason for today’s trip would have been to take pictures of us at the pagoda as we did not the day before, and so because of the monsoon we decided not to go. It continued to rain flannel, as Shannon would say, until about dinnertime when the sky cleared and the sun sank in colors of purple and orange. I have to say that we were slightly disappointed, but knowing that we saw the same beautiful sunset yesterday made us feel slightly better.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Water is still a commodity on the ship, only available between six and nine o’clock in the evening. If you miss the window of opportunity you go without for another entire day. We have filled every bottle, nalgene and cup we could find in the room with the slightly yellowish, cloudy water just for the purpose of utilizing the toilet. The suction still remains, however a little water helps to clean out the bowl. We have resorted to using bottled water for face washing and teeth; hand washing clothes has ceased but at least we have been able to get a good bit clean – both jeans, six tops from India, all personal garments, socks, several T-shirts and two tanks. The laundry bag still seems quite full but until we return to sea I doubt much more will be washed.
Some people have complained a great deal with the absence of water as they have missed the time period and have not been able to shower. Several adult passengers have bathtubs apparently and have filled them as well. Just yesterday during the three hour period it was announced about twenty-four gallons per individual was used. The white plastic runners still cover the carpets and the hallways sometimes smell a little unpleasant. This venture between India and Myanmar seems to prove costly for the ship. Purchasing water is extremely expensive and clearly not the greatest quality. Even water in the dining hall is limited, as fruit juice, apple juice, pineapple juice, and orange juice have become quite plentiful to deter mass consumption of water. Ice is gone for good, at least until the tanks are refilled back at sea.
Around one o’clock it started to pour, humid, sticky surges of precipitation overshadowed with dark clouds. When two o’clock arrived and no end in sight of the torrential sheets we opted to not attend our trip Sunset at Shwedagon Pagoda. It’s disappointing but with sunset in three hours we figured there was no way a sunset like the night before would be visible. The construction of the surrounding buildings as well would prove difficult for such amounts of water to clear the premises and we did not want to walk around barefoot in a river of dirty water in the pouring rain not able to take photos. At least we were able to see the pagoda once already.
Heather writes, “We had hoped that they would cancel the trip and refund the money, but that was not the case. At dinner we managed to put our stay on the ship to good use by locating a ticket for Bago tomorrow. Mary and Willie gave us their last ticket, with the promise to pay them if we were lucky enough to find another.”
As such we spent the evening in the confines of our room relaxing and writing some more. We were able to obtain one ticket for the Bago trip the next day, as well as a trip on the first day in Vietnam. The trip for Ho Chi Minh is called “Ho Chi Minh City’s Temples and Churches”. We decided, as we would be in Cambodia for the remainder of our stay, we would regret not seeing any of the port city. As such, this fourteen-dollar trip for five hours would focus on the religions of Vietnam – Confucianism, Taoism, Buddhism and Christianity. During the practicum we would visit Notre Dame Cathedral, Xa Loi and Dai Glac Pagodas, Le Van Duyet Temple, Mariamman Hindu Temple, Saigon Central Mosque, and a Cao Dai Temple. We have found two tickets but only purchased one from a student, as the other has not responded to our note (most likely she is away on a trip here in Myanmar and hasn’t even received it yet).
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We have also decided to purchase two tickets from the buy/sell booklet for Ho Chi Minh’s Temples and Churches on our first day in Vietnam since we do not depart for Cambodia until the following day and will not have the opportunity to see the city. We have located two tickets for sale, and were already contacted by one of the students who brought it to our room. It only cost fourteen dollars so it is not a huge loss if we cannot use it, but hopefully the other student will contact us upon their return from seeing Mandalay or Bagan on Saturday or Sunday.
After dinner we wrote fourteen postcards, and still have six, but we are not exactly sure who to send them to. If you have any ideas let us know and provide an address as everyone on our prepared list will be opening their mailbox to postcards from Burma. So be on the lookout for mail, as anyone we could think of will receive one from this country. Why, you ask? A group of twenty postcards costs one dollar at the market, the best deal we have found in any of the countries thus far. I cannot wait for tomorrow, but just thinking about the possibility of us not going makes me sick to my stomach. Wish us luck!
October 28, 2005
Bago
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
So apparently the title of this entry would lead you to believe that we went to Bago, and indeed we did. We woke up very early to eat breakfast and meet the buses at seven thirty to be put on the waiting list for Group B since we did not find a second ticket. There was definitely a wait list of about six or seven people, and on our way to the gangway I felt quite sick with the possibility that we may be left behind. We encountered Eric from the Field Office on our way to breakfast and he put our name on the list, which we hoped to be the first one and not the last. But luck was definitely on our side and as we walked down the gangway, though there was already a line of those waiting to join the trip, one of the other field program staff handed us a ticket that she found in the donation box. Whew! What luck. She knew that we already had one ticket and because the other group of two did not have one at all it made more sense to give it to us, not to mention that because it was in the ticket trader box it was absolutely, positively, stupendously FREE!
Megan writes, “With one ticket firmly in our grasp we departed at eight o’clock for the gangway to see if we could find another, or at least hope someone else would have decided to forego their assigned trip and do something else independent. The one ticket came from Mary-Louise, an adult passenger, and she agreed to let us take the ticket without paying for the trip at the time, and in the likelihood we were able to go, pay her later. Clomping down the two-story gangway, we were handed by the field office people, in a hush hush approach, a ticket that had been dropped earlier in the donation box – a cardboard container we had checked a million times in the previous day to no avail and a box where passengers can put a ticket for a trip if they decide to not participate and cannot find anyone to purchase. The method was largely in secret because there were several other passengers who were attempting to join the trip as well who were off the gangway sooner than us, however we had been quite persistent in our search and the staff was aware of our exploits. With my free ticket, a free trip, a free day of fun, a free pass to Bago, a free, free, free, free adventure for one of us, we left for the three-hour drive to this city. As about fifty dollars was wasted due to a downpour the previous day for our trip to the pagoda at sunset, we felt ecstatic that we had no additional expenditures except for one ticket – Mary-Louis later accepting only fifty dollars instead of fifty-four.”
So we boarded the bus and were soon on a three-hour drive to Bago and our first stop. On the way we literally saw hundreds of golden stupas, which I have neglected to describe in previous posts. The stupas are like golden steeples, almost like an upside-down gold encrusted ice cream cone with vanilla ice cream spilling out in the smoothest torrent of white marble. I tried unsuccessfully to capture a picture of every single one, though this endeavor proved to be very difficult on bumpy roads. At eleven o’clock we pulled into the Kha Khat Wain Monastery to see the procession of the thousand monks and novices in their red robes receive their last meal of the day. Standing at the entrance to the dining room we watched as hundreds upon hundreds filed past to sit cross-legged on straw mats at low round tables. The air was permeated with the scent of warm rice, as monks scooped a bowlful into their collecting vessel. It was an incredible sight standing barefoot on the dusty red tiles of the monastery as they chanted in deep-throated voices, though most were young boys, teenagers, and young adults our age. It had to have been so awkward for them with our group staring open-mouthed as they ate. It felt quite obtrusive and so after seeing the procession Megan and I walked around the monastery to see the other rooms instead of watching the monks. The way our group hovered you would have thought we watched aliens in some strange feeding ritual. I don’t like it when people watch me eat, so I can only imagine what a group of about sixty must feel like.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Bago is an ancient capital of the Mon Kingdom in the thirteenth century. We made a brief stop at a toilet about an hour from our first destination, Kha Khat Wain Monastery. Situated amongst rice paddies and overgrown fields this toilet facility had to have been constructed for the sole purpose of tourists as the amenities included clean services, spotless floors and counters, and clean towels in a wicker basket to dry your hands; Heather always chooses the stall with the enormous spider for some reason.
At one of the largest monasteries in Myanmar, we were soon ushered into a large room where tables and floor mats were arranged in rows on the wood paneled floorboards, several boys, monks in red cloth with shaven heads, arranged silver teapots and bowls. Minutes later a gong resounded through the complex and the procession for the final meal of the day began. Hundreds, thousands of monks from age seven to perhaps eighteen or twenty, filed in to the entryway where enormous bins of rice were uncovered. These large pots emitted the sweet smell of rice, the scrapping of large spoonfuls heard for a half an hour as the monks progressed into the hall. During the morning meal procession they received their final meal of the day before noon!! I cannot even describe this once in a lifetime opportunity but at that moment it seemed incredibly awkward to watch these young boys learning the Buddhist ways, eating quietly as is the custom, taking photos of their procession and their silent feast. They averted their eyes, as did we, occasionally meeting glances for a fleeting second.
As we left street vendors tried to sell postcards and other merchandise, twenty postcards I knew at the market were only a dollar. Here they were attempting to get five and followed Heather the entire time we walked around one of the meeting halls of the monastery. Four dollars…three dollars he lowered the price, until I showed him that all I did really have was one dollar to which he gladly accepted. So with twenty postcards, beautiful images, we boarded the bus for our stop at Shwemawdaw Pagoda. The glittering golden top of the stupa reaches fourteen meters higher than the Shwedagon Pagoda, though not as many structures surround the complex.
Heather writes, “After leaving the monastery we drove to the Shwemawdaw Pagoda with a photo stop before our arrival to capture the full height of the stupa, which would not be possible from within the complex. It is said to be over one thousand years old and fourteen meters higher than the Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon, though not as rich in hundreds of smaller stupas, pagodas, and Buddha sculptures. Shady trees lined its base and were a welcome spot in the heat of the early afternoon sun, which was quite intense. “The ground should not be too hot as yet,” our guide emphasized as she meandered meaningfully around the central stupa, and we, the tourist, tested the surface with doubtful faces and raised eyebrows. Though I found instead that you could probably cook an egg on its surface and darted from one shady spot to the next as the soles of my feet were scorched by the surface of the white marble. Many locals sitting in the shade of a tree had smirks on their lips as they watched our ridiculous dance around the pagoda.”
Sweltering hot as the day had become, it was almost unbearable to walk barefoot around the structure. The soles of our feet trying to tread lightly on the burning stone, seeking shade whenever possible under a sheltered tree, we were given a lecture on the site and its reliquary. The shade provided little relief from the sizzling waves of heat, our guide not even perspiring as the whole group began to melt – first tops become sticky, then skirts heavy as the slight breeze tries to ruffle their wet frills, hair lies tacky against the back of your neck, your feet wanting to dance uncomfortably over the ground to the liberation of air-conditioning on the bus and flip-flops. It is easily over one hundred degrees here in Bago and at religious centers dress is far more formal than in the United States.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We had lunch at Hanthawaddy, advertised as the only luxurious restaurant in Bago, though I found it to be less than so. The napkins were dirty and slightly wet, which made me quite dubious about the rest of our lunch services. We enjoyed a Sprite for the first time on this voyage, though it was a huge dilemma between drinking from the can that could have any number of filth on its surface or the glass, which is bond to have been washed in river water with all kinds of parasites. Once again, rice was the main staple, as the pork, beef, and fish were all way to spicy for me to handle.
Megan writes, “Lunch was at “the only luxurious restaurant in Bago” Hanthawaddy, as the sign declared. The food however was incredibly spicy, the only edible item rice and vegetables. Feeling again like I’m back on Survivor I am craving such items as the Sprite they bring to me in a can, which I pour into the glass cup as it looks clean, expecting this place to be much more sanitary than the tea shop the other day. From the second floor of the restaurant, no air-conditioning, the view from the open windows is directly in front of the pagoda. It is a beautiful sight and it engenders more time to relax and let the experience of being in the golden land soak into my memory.”
“We made a brief stop at a reconstructed palace of the last king, King Thibaw, before heading to the market in Bago. The site is beautiful but I find disappointing. On one side the plot of land has several remnants from the original structures, even a roofed complex housing the original teak columns, on the other side the golden and glittering throne hall. Is it accurate in its depiction? The market is solely for necessity items like fruits, vegetables, seafood, and meat, the smell too unbearable from the butcher of animal carcasses to even enjoy the bustling sight for too long.”
Soon we were on our way to the Shwethalyaung Pagoda and the fifty five meter long Buddha. But before our arrival we paused at the Bee Throne Hall and the reconstructed palace. In the central chamber we could hear the sharp chatter of the bats swinging from the ceiling. Though the throne was merely a reconstruction, the palace was incredible in its golden splendor, and made me think about the authentic throne sitting in the National Museum. At the Shwethalyaung Pagoda the reclining Buddha was smaller and less impressive than the Buddha in Yangon, but the back and side of the pillow was ornamented in mirrors and iridescent mosaics that made it well worth the trip. On our way back to the bus Megan and I decided to purchase an intricately carved fan to complete our Halloween costumes.
We made a quick stop at the market, though we stayed on the bus because I did not feel too good before heading to the Htauk Kyant War Memorial Cemetery where more than two thousand stone graves of Commonwealth and Allied Forces Fallen Soldiers in the Myanmar campaign of World War II are buried. A quick stop on our way for a restroom break proved to be exactly what I had imagined it would be like in a foreign country – a nightmare. Our stop earlier today was quite nice, and owing to the fact that we pay every time we use a restroom, I would not pay one-cent to ease my bladder at this locale. Even knowing I had a three hour trip back to the ship, and likely no water there, by the time I saw the restroom and its cobwebs, dirt, and shack like walls with wide gaps I was scared enough to buy myself at least another hour and a half before I needed to actually go again. Though by the time we reached port I really had to go.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
At the Shwethalyaung Pagoda, a huge reclining Buddha, smaller than the one we saw during the city orientation, possesses some beautiful aesthetics that its larger counterpart is lacking. While the face is truly not as ornamented, the pillow is jeweled and mirrored, larger and more plush. The feet are completely covered in the same mosaic of twinkling tiles; the symbols positioned around three circles rather than the block placement of the larger Buddha’s feet. On the back, panels depict a story of the Buddha, in his death pose, these to embellished and elaborately festooned and bejeweled with iridescent decals. Heather declares she would like a wooden fan for her Halloween costume and so as we depart we once again go through bartering with a soft-spoken woman for two fans that will compliment our Burmese princess attire perfectly. Only a dollar, it was far from a waste.
We begin the return drive, an hour to our last stop, Htauk Kyant War Memorial Cemetery. You cannot tell whether the forecast for the day is going to be pleasant or not as many of the locals carry umbrellas throughout the day, merely to shade them from the intense sun. This does little to prepare an individual for a rain that sneaks up so suddenly you are caught in the middle of a downpour on a tour bus stopping at a memorial park where 2,700 stone-graves of Commonwealth and Allied Forces Fallen Soldiers in the Myanmar campaign of World War Two are honorably kept. With an umbrella we made our way into the beautiful arena of stone markers and monuments for several photos.
Heather writes, “The cemetery was a very beautiful site, and well kept with sprawling green arches that made you feel as if you walking into the secret garden. The orderly rows of headstones were interspersed with wildflowers and pruned bushes and the central memorial of stone pillars sparkled in an afternoon shower. The sun broke free of the rain clouds to etch shadows into the thousands of names on the stonewalls. Many of the students did not get off the bus because of the rain, but I cannot imagine letting a few drops ruin the experience. Though last night was completely different because it was not simply a shower, but a monsoon.”
The return ride seemed incredibly long, the darkness overtaking the landscape of the city center. Back at the ship we were in for a real shock. Waiting at the bottom of the gangway for five minutes, the security officer on duty came down into the darkness to check our bags, an unusual routine as normally this is performed at the top on a table near the metal detectors. She ushered groups of two to scamper and scurry up the two-story gangway as fast as possible, run through the metal detector, hand our identification cards to a security officer to swipe quickly and dart inside the door. Why? Swarms of crickets and other tiny bugs were everywhere, all over the consoles, tables, windows, walls, floors, and doorknobs, everywhere!! The air is crammed with these flying pests as we swat them away from our faces. It is like Indiana Jones when the female character walks down the dark corridor covered in large insects. More like a scene from a movie we cannot believe the state of the ship. Inside we do the dance that comes along with trying to get them out of your hair, your skirt, twirling to have others check to make sure there are no longer any of the larger unwelcome guests on your body.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
It was dark upon our return to the ship and I have neglected to mention the chaos that the night hours bring. At night our ship, so brightly lit, attracts every single flying insect imaginable from the cappuccino colored river water like a veritable insect magnet. My advice to future students traveling to this country would be to return long before dark. We must go through security before boarding, but were forced to wait in the pitch dark at the bottom of the two story gangway as the security officers were inside because of the bugs. Little green glowing insects swarm around every lit window and without a doubt looking up at the entrance around the metal detector, the lights on the ceiling, and the computer station where we swipe in. One of the officers came to the bottom of the gangway to check our bags in the dark before sending two students scurrying up the stairs to swipe their cards and run into the ship. I do not exaggerate when I say that it was a complete swarm, like something from a Hollywood movie. They were everywhere, over every surface imaginable.
It is one thing to laugh at the absurdity of this as we eat dinner every night and look at the bug covered window from the inside, but running through this to open a bug covered door with a bug covered handle is a whole different perspective. Once inside the ship I shook my head and ran my fingers through my hair as several of the florescent bugs fell to the ground. Then I plucked by shirt, more of the bugs falling from my chest to the white covered carpet, before I twirled my shirt to shake free the unwelcome rodents. The two women working at Pursers laughed as we danced around to free ourselves of the creepy crawlers and other students entered the square to a similar choreography of yelps, and plucking of clothes. It still sends shivers down my back and hopefully just one not so good picture from inside the ship looking out at the entrance will prove to you the insanity. The pool bar has been closed since our arrival because of the bugs and now we must order from the piano lounge instead. The crew has a lot of work ahead of them to clean up every deck space that has become littered with the dead carcasses of the bugs that have accumulated after the last couple of nights.
There are still restrictions on water, available only from six to nine in the evening, so we eat a hasty dinner and run to our room to shower and hand wash some items before we fill every empty water bottle, nalgene, and cup to use for flushing the toilet during the day. Yesterday the shipboard community used nine thousand some gallons in those three hours, about twenty four gallons per person and the ship cannot fill the tank from port that fast; not to mention the expenses. We have seen the trucks bringing water to the Explorer but they do not hold very much and we must remember that the kitchen still has to wash dishes and cook our meals. As long as we can shower that is fine with me, and somehow we have managed to wash most of our clothes and for probably the first time since the start of our voyage both pairs of jeans are clean at the same time. Miracle of miracles. Though I cannot wait until they replace our blue bath towels once again with our white plush towels, and uncover the carpet from its white plastic tapestry.
We have the next two days free before departing for Vietnam and we plan to study and relax before returning to the routine of classes. We have seen the entire city and would have loved to see Mandalay or Bagan, but a four day trip seemed quite impractical with first our original safari in Kenya, followed closely by our trip in India and later our overnight trips to Cambodia and then Xi’an and Beijing. Five large trips in a row would have been incredibly tiring and overwhelming. But we absolutely loved Myanmar and we cannot wait to share all of our pictures with everyone and our gorgeous silk dresses. Stay tuned for pictures from our Halloween festivities.
October 29, 2005
Burmese Beauty Rest
Today we are staying on the MV Explorer for a little relaxation and work. Looking out our window a score of dead bugs cover the windowsill, large dragonflies and birds circling the ship for a feast. We have fourteen postcards to write, fourteen because we want to send as many of these greetings home as possible. It seems everyone we can think of will be getting a card from this port, or at least we hope everyone receives them as we am sure mail will be scanned randomly or not at some point before leaving the country.
We will study more for the Global Studies exam before Vietnam. It’s nice to spend some time on the ship and we are going to enjoy every minute before returning to sea. We have seen everything we want to in Myanmar and most of all dread any further bug incidents. We also have some ironing from all the laundry so our schedule for the next two days will be pretty much same – ironing, studying, writing, reading, completing a paper, labeling photos, and resting.
On a side note, to answer a comment left by Cherylie Girlie regarding flowers. In India, once we had arrived in New Delhi we had a brief lull before heading to the train station for Agra. We did mention flower necklace in the posting but not the specific marigold. Lunch was at a local hotel and as a custom guests are greeted with a lei-like necklace of golden, orange marigolds. Of course, the hot train ride did little for the freshness of the wilting buds. We left them near the window, as did many other students but we did plucks several of the petals for a scrapbook. We try to remember every little detail, niceties like these, and we were slightly disappointed to find out that neither of us had a comprehensive coverage of this highlight. As long as you keep asking questions we’ll be able to help fill in areas we might miss. There is a picture posted so you can see the garland. So the first picture posted with the orange flowers are from India, the remainder are Myanmar.
Any questions or comments, feel free to remark. Our next posting will most assuredly be a short one on October 31, 2005 followed by a more detailed entry on the activities of Halloween and pictures of the event, of course Boo Day will be long over for us while you are still handing out candy at home. Our costumes will be making their grand appearance and we are so excited. With five days once our departure to Vietnam, we will be preparing for exams and a trip into the country of Cambodia. It is so wonderful that not only do we get the opportunity to see Vietnam but can enter into another country many have rarely visited. Missing everyone at home and would like to hear from you. Signing off for now.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Yangon
October 26, 2005
A Provincial City
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
The bottle green of the rice paddies in the distance, touched with early morning clouds lying low to the flat ground, are stroked with the first rays of sunshine. And although the air is already satiated and bursting with warmth I am not overly hot as I clunk down the two-story gangway, small pack across my chest and tennis shoes on my feet. An impression of welcomeness greets me at the air-conditioned bus, the Burmese man in his longyis skirt hands me three small pink roses tied with a pink ribbon. Everyone on the bus has these fragile flowers that have already began to wilt in the intense heat. I place them in a small pouch on the back of the seat, almost as if this is its rightful spot. Later Heather and I remove the outer petals to dry for a memory book, like we did with the marigolds from India.
The one-hour drive to Yangon traverses the fertile delta country of southern Myanmar. And although the population in the city embraces five million, the routines of the people in the villages we pass are careful and meticulous. These people seem very pleasant and friendly, many watching the bus and waving as we pass. Monks, mostly boys between ten and fifteen, stroll the streets for alms and eat from a decorated vessel before returning at noon for their final meal of the day. These boys have shaved heads, darker skin, and red robes twisted around their body. They walk barefoot over the roadways and earthen paths.
We arrived at Chauk Htat Gyi Reclining Buddha, over seventy meters long, for a brief interval to admire the beauty of this central figure. His robes were gold, ears elongated and my favorite embellishment, the aesthetic appeal of golden figures emblazoned on the soles of his feet. I took notice of the elephant in one square, it seems these creatures have become a reminder and emotionally linked to Nana. I have seen them in every port almost and have come to admire the variety of artistic styles utilized to display these gentle giants.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We started our morning with a nine o’clock departure from the ship at Thilwa Port to the center of Yangon. Upon boarding the bus the tour agency handed each participant a lovely little bouquet of three pink roses tied with a silk ribbon. The Burmese people are so generous and this small gesture certainly started the day with a positive atmosphere. The drive to the city is quite long, though the scenery is ever changing, from the emerald rice paddies ruffling in the wind to the golden stupas on the hills that I love so much, the monks wrapped in red drapery collecting alms to the early morning activity of the tea shops and local vendors.
Finally arriving in Yangon our first stop was the sixth largest reclining Buddha, the Chauk Htat Gyi Buddha, at seventy meters long. The small mirrors ornamenting the robe reflected the morning sunlight from outside and cast small glitters of gold light onto the delicately painted face. We walked completely around the Buddha, stopping near the feet to climb a wooden platform for perhaps the only photography spot that will capture the entire Buddha in one frame from head to toes. It was very impressive to see the artistry as we walked barefoot on the dusty floor. Upon returning to the bus we were given large moist wipes for our feet, though Megan and I had brought Purell Sanitizing Wipes for the very same purpose we were glad not to have to use our small stash.
Megan writes, “From the Buddha we departed for Sule Pagoda and the Colonial Building. Small shops and a busy intersection, not nearly as impressive as on the postcards, surrounded Sule Pagoda. However, the attractiveness of golden stupas spotting this overgrown city engenders quite a unique atmosphere. With old teak growth you tend to forget you are in a bustling metropolis, an international city.”
Driving through the narrow streets we made our way to Sule Pagoda and the independence monument for a photo stop. Though certainly very small, the pagoda was still an interesting site and indeed made me even more excited to see the Shwedagon Pagoda in the afternoon.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
After several minutes at this photo spot we departed for the National Museum. The only thing truly impressive about this four-story oven was the eight-meter high Lion Throne, used by King Thibaw, the last Burmese king. As the only, only authentic and existent throne surviving it was truly amazing to stare up at the golden ornamentation, picturing some leader dressed in royal splendor.
During lunch at Traders Hotel – the beautiful and most Western accommodations thus far on the journey – rice, vegetables and meat I discovered were all delicious. Nothing was overwhelmingly spicy. Leaving these plush surroundings we ventured back to the Bogyoke Aung San Market, or Scott Market, where Heather and I swerved through vendors and stalls, searching for the Golden Globe. At last we returned to the spot, the friendly face of its owner greeting us with familiarity. The outfits look amazing, golden silk with lightly accentuated colors, that you will get to view really soon as we will become Burmese princesses for Halloween. We know, we have returned to the little girl mentality where ballerinas, princesses and fairies are in abundance. But what else could such a beautiful outfit represent? Besides we know plenty of saris from India are bound to make an appearance. We will most likely wear the jade bracelets as part of the costume, and yes Cherylie Girlie when it comes to jewelry we do not forget you!! Of course, Joe hasn’t made out at all in India or Myanmar, although we have tried to no avail to find spices, hot sauce, and instruments. It seems like they have all but disappeared, as well as tea here in Myanmar. If we get a chance, as we hope to go to Bago, we will have a brief hiatus at a market there and perhaps it will yield better results. We hope to make it up to dad in Vietnam.
Heather writes, “We were given approximately one hour at the National Museum where most importantly we saw the last and only surviving throne of the Burmese monarchy. The eight meter high Lion Throne used by the last Burmese ruler, King Thibaw was perhaps the most elaborate throne imaginable with the intricate craftsmanship seen on the many pagodas of wood and gold. A single room was devoted to the throne and I can only imagine how magnificent it would have been to sit on such an overwhelmingly beautiful seat looking out over your kingdom.”
“After the museum we ate lunch at Traders Hotel in the Myanmar Ballroom where once again rice was the main staple with some less spicy Burmese cuisine. The room was quite fancy with silk cushions and tablecloths and it was nice after yesterday’s teashop experience to see the cleanliness at the hotel.”
From this market we proceeded to our last stop, Shwedagon Pagoda, towering almost ninety-eight meters high above the cityscape. An elevator delivered us to the elaborately constructed hilltop, marbled floor spanning the complex where thousands upon thousands of golden stupas and several red pagodas spanned for as far as the eye could see. It goes without saying that 4531 diamonds, the largest of which is a single seventy-six carat, adorned the main stupa. Heather and I were amazed at every delicate detail, not one spot overlooked. It was like snorkeling in Mauritius where so many fish surrounded the boat you didn’t have to look through the camera, you were bound to capture something. We caught some of the sunset between the rows of pagodas, the camera capturing the sparkle of the suns last grasp to this amazing site.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Our next stop took us back to the Bogyoke Aung San Market where Megan and I, by some stroke of good luck found the same shop that we had bought our dresses from, and they are beautiful. We both chose a gold silk with gold embroidery, though Megan chose a green accent and I chose a blue. The seamstress laughed yesterday at the almost identical measurements and upon returning to the room later we believe that the fabrics and measurements were switched – Megan’s top too snug and mine too loose. So we switched and they fit perfectly, I am sure that we were destined to have the opposite fabric anyway. They are quite similar so we are not displeased; we actually feel like a Burmese princess and I cannot wait to take a picture on Halloween to post on the blog as we have decided to show off our new gowns, mostly because everyone else will be wearing their saris and tailored suits.
We also found some of the cutest skirts that we have been trying to find since Brazil and each of us bought two and they are so colorful. The skirts are long and each a single color, pink, purple, blue, and orange. Our last purchase of the day was some very cute beaded pouches like a change purse, and of course there is one for mom. (Note: We did buy a jade bracelet for you mom when we bought ours. You told us whatever we bought ourselves to buy you and we have followed this rule quite literally, except where we are absolutely sure you would not want something. Don’t worry we are not stupid, and you will love the jade bangle; it is gorgeous.)
Our last stop was the Shwedagon Pagoda and it was certainly a site with hundreds of golden stupas and indeed the most beautiful at three hundred twenty six feet high and topped by a seventy-six carat diamond and four thousand five hundred thirty one smaller diamonds. Walking around it clockwise we could not help but pick our jaws off the ground as each new wonder flashed before our eyes. You will have to imagine intricate gold work pagodas, and hundreds of gold stupas glinting in the dying sun. The monks walked throughout the complex and each stupa held a different image of Buddha. We are going to see the pagoda at sunset tomorrow and so hopefully we will have some really awesome photos.
Megan writes, “Tomorrow we will return to this Pagoda for out Semester at Sea trip, Sunset at Shwedagon Pagoda. It will give us an opportunity to take pictures of ourselves as we decided after a hot day we looked quite shabby. Since the trip tomorrow will be just to this site, we will be a little more orderly in appearance.”
At last we returned to the ship to find out new restrictions on water usage. At ten o’clock in the evening the water was turned off and so we both had time to shower and wash some jeans and other items. Tomorrow we will take care of our pictures and do some minor studying before seeing the pagoda at night. After dinner Megan and I were once again tempted by the smell of popcorn and just had to buy some to watch with Sweet November. It was fantastic. Popcorn has never tasted so good. You will have to imagine what it is like not to eat your favorite food, especially desserts and snacks for three months and then you will have an idea of how much this popcorn meant to us. Stay tuned for more…
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
We traveled back to the ship in the dark, small trucks in front of us packed with so many passengers returning to their villages from the city; many of the men in their longyis holding on to the back and standing on a small platform.
I could see the lights of the ship as we neared, exhausted and ready for sleep. An announcement declared the limitations of water beginning. At ten the water was turned off. Heather and I had showered and washed more laundry. Although we have since discovered that the 27th and 28th will only have water returned between six and nine o’clock in the evening. This means showers, hand-washing more laundry, and filling every spare bottle with tap water for the toilets to use throughout the following day – also to brush teeth and wash our face. Because of the one-day leap from India to Myanmar the tanks were not filled completely and water is at an all time low.
Good night at home, and as you read this, good morning for me.
A Provincial City
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
The bottle green of the rice paddies in the distance, touched with early morning clouds lying low to the flat ground, are stroked with the first rays of sunshine. And although the air is already satiated and bursting with warmth I am not overly hot as I clunk down the two-story gangway, small pack across my chest and tennis shoes on my feet. An impression of welcomeness greets me at the air-conditioned bus, the Burmese man in his longyis skirt hands me three small pink roses tied with a pink ribbon. Everyone on the bus has these fragile flowers that have already began to wilt in the intense heat. I place them in a small pouch on the back of the seat, almost as if this is its rightful spot. Later Heather and I remove the outer petals to dry for a memory book, like we did with the marigolds from India.
The one-hour drive to Yangon traverses the fertile delta country of southern Myanmar. And although the population in the city embraces five million, the routines of the people in the villages we pass are careful and meticulous. These people seem very pleasant and friendly, many watching the bus and waving as we pass. Monks, mostly boys between ten and fifteen, stroll the streets for alms and eat from a decorated vessel before returning at noon for their final meal of the day. These boys have shaved heads, darker skin, and red robes twisted around their body. They walk barefoot over the roadways and earthen paths.
We arrived at Chauk Htat Gyi Reclining Buddha, over seventy meters long, for a brief interval to admire the beauty of this central figure. His robes were gold, ears elongated and my favorite embellishment, the aesthetic appeal of golden figures emblazoned on the soles of his feet. I took notice of the elephant in one square, it seems these creatures have become a reminder and emotionally linked to Nana. I have seen them in every port almost and have come to admire the variety of artistic styles utilized to display these gentle giants.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We started our morning with a nine o’clock departure from the ship at Thilwa Port to the center of Yangon. Upon boarding the bus the tour agency handed each participant a lovely little bouquet of three pink roses tied with a silk ribbon. The Burmese people are so generous and this small gesture certainly started the day with a positive atmosphere. The drive to the city is quite long, though the scenery is ever changing, from the emerald rice paddies ruffling in the wind to the golden stupas on the hills that I love so much, the monks wrapped in red drapery collecting alms to the early morning activity of the tea shops and local vendors.
Finally arriving in Yangon our first stop was the sixth largest reclining Buddha, the Chauk Htat Gyi Buddha, at seventy meters long. The small mirrors ornamenting the robe reflected the morning sunlight from outside and cast small glitters of gold light onto the delicately painted face. We walked completely around the Buddha, stopping near the feet to climb a wooden platform for perhaps the only photography spot that will capture the entire Buddha in one frame from head to toes. It was very impressive to see the artistry as we walked barefoot on the dusty floor. Upon returning to the bus we were given large moist wipes for our feet, though Megan and I had brought Purell Sanitizing Wipes for the very same purpose we were glad not to have to use our small stash.
Megan writes, “From the Buddha we departed for Sule Pagoda and the Colonial Building. Small shops and a busy intersection, not nearly as impressive as on the postcards, surrounded Sule Pagoda. However, the attractiveness of golden stupas spotting this overgrown city engenders quite a unique atmosphere. With old teak growth you tend to forget you are in a bustling metropolis, an international city.”
Driving through the narrow streets we made our way to Sule Pagoda and the independence monument for a photo stop. Though certainly very small, the pagoda was still an interesting site and indeed made me even more excited to see the Shwedagon Pagoda in the afternoon.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
After several minutes at this photo spot we departed for the National Museum. The only thing truly impressive about this four-story oven was the eight-meter high Lion Throne, used by King Thibaw, the last Burmese king. As the only, only authentic and existent throne surviving it was truly amazing to stare up at the golden ornamentation, picturing some leader dressed in royal splendor.
During lunch at Traders Hotel – the beautiful and most Western accommodations thus far on the journey – rice, vegetables and meat I discovered were all delicious. Nothing was overwhelmingly spicy. Leaving these plush surroundings we ventured back to the Bogyoke Aung San Market, or Scott Market, where Heather and I swerved through vendors and stalls, searching for the Golden Globe. At last we returned to the spot, the friendly face of its owner greeting us with familiarity. The outfits look amazing, golden silk with lightly accentuated colors, that you will get to view really soon as we will become Burmese princesses for Halloween. We know, we have returned to the little girl mentality where ballerinas, princesses and fairies are in abundance. But what else could such a beautiful outfit represent? Besides we know plenty of saris from India are bound to make an appearance. We will most likely wear the jade bracelets as part of the costume, and yes Cherylie Girlie when it comes to jewelry we do not forget you!! Of course, Joe hasn’t made out at all in India or Myanmar, although we have tried to no avail to find spices, hot sauce, and instruments. It seems like they have all but disappeared, as well as tea here in Myanmar. If we get a chance, as we hope to go to Bago, we will have a brief hiatus at a market there and perhaps it will yield better results. We hope to make it up to dad in Vietnam.
Heather writes, “We were given approximately one hour at the National Museum where most importantly we saw the last and only surviving throne of the Burmese monarchy. The eight meter high Lion Throne used by the last Burmese ruler, King Thibaw was perhaps the most elaborate throne imaginable with the intricate craftsmanship seen on the many pagodas of wood and gold. A single room was devoted to the throne and I can only imagine how magnificent it would have been to sit on such an overwhelmingly beautiful seat looking out over your kingdom.”
“After the museum we ate lunch at Traders Hotel in the Myanmar Ballroom where once again rice was the main staple with some less spicy Burmese cuisine. The room was quite fancy with silk cushions and tablecloths and it was nice after yesterday’s teashop experience to see the cleanliness at the hotel.”
From this market we proceeded to our last stop, Shwedagon Pagoda, towering almost ninety-eight meters high above the cityscape. An elevator delivered us to the elaborately constructed hilltop, marbled floor spanning the complex where thousands upon thousands of golden stupas and several red pagodas spanned for as far as the eye could see. It goes without saying that 4531 diamonds, the largest of which is a single seventy-six carat, adorned the main stupa. Heather and I were amazed at every delicate detail, not one spot overlooked. It was like snorkeling in Mauritius where so many fish surrounded the boat you didn’t have to look through the camera, you were bound to capture something. We caught some of the sunset between the rows of pagodas, the camera capturing the sparkle of the suns last grasp to this amazing site.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Our next stop took us back to the Bogyoke Aung San Market where Megan and I, by some stroke of good luck found the same shop that we had bought our dresses from, and they are beautiful. We both chose a gold silk with gold embroidery, though Megan chose a green accent and I chose a blue. The seamstress laughed yesterday at the almost identical measurements and upon returning to the room later we believe that the fabrics and measurements were switched – Megan’s top too snug and mine too loose. So we switched and they fit perfectly, I am sure that we were destined to have the opposite fabric anyway. They are quite similar so we are not displeased; we actually feel like a Burmese princess and I cannot wait to take a picture on Halloween to post on the blog as we have decided to show off our new gowns, mostly because everyone else will be wearing their saris and tailored suits.
We also found some of the cutest skirts that we have been trying to find since Brazil and each of us bought two and they are so colorful. The skirts are long and each a single color, pink, purple, blue, and orange. Our last purchase of the day was some very cute beaded pouches like a change purse, and of course there is one for mom. (Note: We did buy a jade bracelet for you mom when we bought ours. You told us whatever we bought ourselves to buy you and we have followed this rule quite literally, except where we are absolutely sure you would not want something. Don’t worry we are not stupid, and you will love the jade bangle; it is gorgeous.)
Our last stop was the Shwedagon Pagoda and it was certainly a site with hundreds of golden stupas and indeed the most beautiful at three hundred twenty six feet high and topped by a seventy-six carat diamond and four thousand five hundred thirty one smaller diamonds. Walking around it clockwise we could not help but pick our jaws off the ground as each new wonder flashed before our eyes. You will have to imagine intricate gold work pagodas, and hundreds of gold stupas glinting in the dying sun. The monks walked throughout the complex and each stupa held a different image of Buddha. We are going to see the pagoda at sunset tomorrow and so hopefully we will have some really awesome photos.
Megan writes, “Tomorrow we will return to this Pagoda for out Semester at Sea trip, Sunset at Shwedagon Pagoda. It will give us an opportunity to take pictures of ourselves as we decided after a hot day we looked quite shabby. Since the trip tomorrow will be just to this site, we will be a little more orderly in appearance.”
At last we returned to the ship to find out new restrictions on water usage. At ten o’clock in the evening the water was turned off and so we both had time to shower and wash some jeans and other items. Tomorrow we will take care of our pictures and do some minor studying before seeing the pagoda at night. After dinner Megan and I were once again tempted by the smell of popcorn and just had to buy some to watch with Sweet November. It was fantastic. Popcorn has never tasted so good. You will have to imagine what it is like not to eat your favorite food, especially desserts and snacks for three months and then you will have an idea of how much this popcorn meant to us. Stay tuned for more…
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
We traveled back to the ship in the dark, small trucks in front of us packed with so many passengers returning to their villages from the city; many of the men in their longyis holding on to the back and standing on a small platform.
I could see the lights of the ship as we neared, exhausted and ready for sleep. An announcement declared the limitations of water beginning. At ten the water was turned off. Heather and I had showered and washed more laundry. Although we have since discovered that the 27th and 28th will only have water returned between six and nine o’clock in the evening. This means showers, hand-washing more laundry, and filling every spare bottle with tap water for the toilets to use throughout the following day – also to brush teeth and wash our face. Because of the one-day leap from India to Myanmar the tanks were not filled completely and water is at an all time low.
Good night at home, and as you read this, good morning for me.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Myanmar - Land of the Unknown
*Don’t forget to read about our three-day trip in India and check out the cool pics!! More on Myanmar is on its way.
Megan’s Journal Entry:
October 25, 2005
Myanmar - Land of the Unknown
Cruising up the Yangon River towards a dock we know nothing about, the muddy waters of the delta mix with freshwater, fashioning several striations across the waters surface – muddy, less muddy, and muddier. I am reminded of a prose poem I wrote about six months ago about Vietnam. While the locale is completely distinct this paragraph seems to capture the images I have witnessed:
“When the sun rises, its light saturates the depths of the Mekong, muting the green of the fronds, the tan of the rice paddies, and the brown of the muddy water. It intensifies the exploding red of the rambutan and bursting purple of the sun-baked grapes and blushing chartreuse of the pemelo. For years now I have pushed my wooden sampan along the river, selling mangosteen, jackfruit, durian, and papaya.”
These small boats with men working long poles glide past the windows of the dining hall, carried out by the tide. Our engines and the tugs direct us up the narrow channel to something, somewhere, someplace, we have no idea. As this is Semester at Seas first visit to Myanmar it should prove to be a week of discoveries, the first not too pleasant. During the diplomatic briefing with the United States Embassy members we found out many essentials to our stay. Where to begin…as America has placed sanctions on the products of Myanmar, or Burma as outsiders address the nation, no mass-produced items can be brought back to the US. No souvenirs, no rubies, no gold jewelry, no cloth, no nothing! What a shock. Tell me again why I signed up for Local Markets today if the five hours we spend there, much of it free time, will result in no lovely purchases for friends, family and myself. Also currency cannot be exchanged legally except through the government. The current rate is about 1,200 kyat (pronounced ‘chat’) but through the government the exchange is considerably lower at only 400 kyats. Thus, students will have to use the gray market if they want local currency. Luckily many accept the dollar so Heather and I will not hassle with this. To make things even more confusing all bills should be labeled Central Bank of Myanmar and not Union of Burma Bank. No ATMS are available and traveler’s checks and credit cards are not accepted.
We also discovered quite a few things that were illegal and would result in imprisonment from the military regime – chewing gum in public, taking photos of government institutions and officials, etc.
As we pulled into the docks, a jungle greeted us surrounded completely by rice paddies. Everything is green, not just green but emerald and bright. The concrete pier has many officials in uniform and a group of boys from a school to welcome us. News crews are filming the operation, as this will be the most Americans in Myanmar in decades – since 1962.
As we left for the Local Markets expedition I must admit to feeling jaded and concerned about not only wasting my time but also not being able to purchase anything but individual art sculpted by an artisan. It was an hour drive through nothing but paddies and dense foliage to the city. The city is crowded like India but no cows, and not nearly as much filth. No horns honk discordantly every few seconds, people here are subdued and respectful.
I felt disappointed in not purchasing a sari in India although I knew deep down I would never wear it. So at the local markets I decided to have an outfit made. I figure if everyone else on this ship is purchasing items, so can I. Besides the one woman sewing the dress together will have manufactured my outfit, not mass-produced in bulk. For twenty dollars I will have a gorgeous longyis outfit from Myanmar/Burma. The fabric is silk and golden in color with small sea foam accents. The dress comes in three pieces, the longyis skirt, a top, and a shawl. It is certainly something I can see myself wearing again and again. Perhaps I shall wear this for Halloween and sign up to have my makeup applied by a girl down the hall who is fabulous with cosmetics and costuming. Some iridescence to the face could assuredly make the outfit a little more fun for the occasion and with sea foam beaded shoes from India it will be perfect. Tomorrow I pick up the completed portions when I return to the market with my City Orientation Tour.
From this market we went to the China markets, fruits and vegetables stacked everywhere. Also abundant were bagged octopus legs and other bizarre sea creatures, and baskets upon baskets of heaping dead grasshoppers. Yum!! Don’t worry Dad I do have a picture. After a quick walk through the busy side streets we returned to the bus for tea at a local shop. Upon arrival the place was not what I had in mind. Chairs and tables so low to the ground you might as well have positioned yourself on the floor were only the beginning. Tea was poured and I warily took a sip. It tasted like warm water, nothing more. And as soon as I saw one waiter reset a table nearby I decided I had taken my first and last sip. He merely dumped the extra liquid out of the cups and flipped them upside down again on the tray for the next group. How disgusting. I worried the entire hour back to the ship, feeling dirtier than the second-class train ride in India. One hundred Listerine rinses later I must say even the images of this experience still make my stomach curl.
Back on the ship I ate dinner, first Bob and Betty ate with us, then Bill and Professor Strumpf, and then two other faculty members. It was a leisurely eaten meal as we all talked about the first day in Myanmar. I still think about the local markets and the behavior of the vendors that are poles apart. Here they are quiet, reserved and do not coerce you to enter their stalls to glimpse at their products. They are helpful and willing to barter a little.
We are still checking the sell/buy booklet as we have decided we would love to go to Bago for one day and see the temples. If no tickets become available we will go down the day of the trip and see if there are any open seats on the bus. As this is the procedure, many people at the desk believe we have a great chance of joining the group. Tomorrow is the City Orientation and I cannot wait to pick up our outfits. Missing everyone at home because Halloween is so near and Happy Boo Day won’t be the same.
Heather’s Journal Entry:
October 25, 2005
Myanmar On My Mind
It took much longer than I expected to arrive in port as we cruised into the Yangon River to the port terminal. Because of the tides we were forced to adjust our schedule, but we finally arrived at a little past nine. As we sailed into the milk chocolate waters of the river, small sampans glided past in the turbid water. They were everywhere, like little ants scurrying on their way. At the pier it looks as if we have docked in the jungle far from civilization. It is very green, and the rice paddies stretch on for as far as the eye can see. There is a sign hanging on a cargo container saying, “Welcome to Myanmar M.V. Explorer.” They are waiting for us, and as the gangway goes down, the immigration officials and US embassy personnel board the ship. The immigration officers will work all day checking our passports and adding visas to hand out to the students tomorrow. Our diplomatic briefing is anything but brief and certainly very disturbing. Because of US sanctions we are not allowed to bring anything from Myanmar back into the states, with the exception of hand-painted artwork and hand-carved sculptures – absolutely nothing mass-produced.
Considering that our trip today is called “Local Markets” I cannot believe that they expect us to follow this regulation, as I know that practically everyone will be buying something from here. Semester at Sea could not have a trip to the market and anticipate such temptations as bangles, laquerware, gold jewelry, precious stones, and embroidered silk to deter the shipboard community from purchasing souvenirs.
After eating lunch we head to the tour bus and depart through the overgrown streets on the broken roads past golden stupas and mammoth lions standing erect at the entrance of temples leaning precariously on the hills. As we arrive almost an hour later in Yangon, the narrow streets remind me of India with their cycle rickshaws, but there are no horns and the buildings are blackened with soot. Men and women wear longyis, a complete circlet of fabric crossed in the front and tucked into a knot-like pouch. It is very different from the way we dress, just as many stares were directed at our blue jean clad group than at the locals.
We arrive at the Bogyoke Aung San Market, a bustling center of activity. Having been to a market in every port some things become quite routine. Yet the politeness and sincerity of the people is surprising. They do not beckon you into their shop and try to unload their goods on you, nor do they flash trinkets in front of your face or call out to you as you pass. Instead they smile and say good morning. At first we are not sure what to do, but soon the group disperses and everyone is off to shop for gifts, so we follow suit and begin by looking at several bangles of beautiful jade, which we find to be rather cheap. And so they are boxed and we continue on our way, stopping to admire the array of gold bangles, but these prove too expensive with the new government regulations on gold, and so we move on to textiles. We pick out a traditional silk outfit with gold embroidery displayed on a plastic form. It is so beautiful and the woman removes the fabric to reveal that it is just yards of silk. She takes our measurements, and tomorrow we will pick up our new formal gowns. They are three pieces, a bottom, top, and wrap, the latter of which we took today. Lastly we pick out some postcards and try to pay, but the language barrier seems to be a problem at this shop. Finally we discover that four postcards are very cheap, and instead we find ourselves buying a pack of twenty postcards for one dollar, which are accepted everywhere. We have been lucky to use US currency and it makes it much easier to determine how much you have spent. I don’t even think that we know twenty people to send mail to, but perhaps we will figure something out. (Has anyone received postcards from Mauritius? On a side note, no postcards were sent from India because the quality was very poor and we had very little time. Good news is that everyone should expect one from Myanmar.)
We drove past the famous pagoda on our way to the Chinatown Market and cannot wait to get a closer look tomorrow. This market is smaller and sells mostly food products, and some of the strangest fruit you have ever seen. We decided that we had wandered far enough when we came to baskets of roasted crickets piled high in the harsh sun. Gross! I was just waiting for them to jump off the basket onto the ground.
At last we drove to the teashop, but it was not what we expected. The tea tasted like lukewarm water and the cleanliness left much to be desired. After one sip I decided that I had had enough and I am so glad that I did. Watching them clean up a table, they dumped the leftover tea into the grass and flipped the cup back over onto the tray in the center of the table without washing it. Yuck, yuck, yuck!!! Can I say it again, YUCK! Lets just say that the mouth got a good cleaning when I got back, namely a couple dozen rinses with Listerine after a couple dozen brushes.
We returned to the ship at around six o’clock for dinner, followed by some studying and bed. Tomorrow we will tour the city and pick up our tailored pieces at the market. Myanmar is absolutely beautiful, and every time I see a stupa on the hill I get excited – too bad we cannot stop at every single one. Until tomorrow, goodnight.
Megan’s Journal Entry:
October 25, 2005
Myanmar - Land of the Unknown
Cruising up the Yangon River towards a dock we know nothing about, the muddy waters of the delta mix with freshwater, fashioning several striations across the waters surface – muddy, less muddy, and muddier. I am reminded of a prose poem I wrote about six months ago about Vietnam. While the locale is completely distinct this paragraph seems to capture the images I have witnessed:
“When the sun rises, its light saturates the depths of the Mekong, muting the green of the fronds, the tan of the rice paddies, and the brown of the muddy water. It intensifies the exploding red of the rambutan and bursting purple of the sun-baked grapes and blushing chartreuse of the pemelo. For years now I have pushed my wooden sampan along the river, selling mangosteen, jackfruit, durian, and papaya.”
These small boats with men working long poles glide past the windows of the dining hall, carried out by the tide. Our engines and the tugs direct us up the narrow channel to something, somewhere, someplace, we have no idea. As this is Semester at Seas first visit to Myanmar it should prove to be a week of discoveries, the first not too pleasant. During the diplomatic briefing with the United States Embassy members we found out many essentials to our stay. Where to begin…as America has placed sanctions on the products of Myanmar, or Burma as outsiders address the nation, no mass-produced items can be brought back to the US. No souvenirs, no rubies, no gold jewelry, no cloth, no nothing! What a shock. Tell me again why I signed up for Local Markets today if the five hours we spend there, much of it free time, will result in no lovely purchases for friends, family and myself. Also currency cannot be exchanged legally except through the government. The current rate is about 1,200 kyat (pronounced ‘chat’) but through the government the exchange is considerably lower at only 400 kyats. Thus, students will have to use the gray market if they want local currency. Luckily many accept the dollar so Heather and I will not hassle with this. To make things even more confusing all bills should be labeled Central Bank of Myanmar and not Union of Burma Bank. No ATMS are available and traveler’s checks and credit cards are not accepted.
We also discovered quite a few things that were illegal and would result in imprisonment from the military regime – chewing gum in public, taking photos of government institutions and officials, etc.
As we pulled into the docks, a jungle greeted us surrounded completely by rice paddies. Everything is green, not just green but emerald and bright. The concrete pier has many officials in uniform and a group of boys from a school to welcome us. News crews are filming the operation, as this will be the most Americans in Myanmar in decades – since 1962.
As we left for the Local Markets expedition I must admit to feeling jaded and concerned about not only wasting my time but also not being able to purchase anything but individual art sculpted by an artisan. It was an hour drive through nothing but paddies and dense foliage to the city. The city is crowded like India but no cows, and not nearly as much filth. No horns honk discordantly every few seconds, people here are subdued and respectful.
I felt disappointed in not purchasing a sari in India although I knew deep down I would never wear it. So at the local markets I decided to have an outfit made. I figure if everyone else on this ship is purchasing items, so can I. Besides the one woman sewing the dress together will have manufactured my outfit, not mass-produced in bulk. For twenty dollars I will have a gorgeous longyis outfit from Myanmar/Burma. The fabric is silk and golden in color with small sea foam accents. The dress comes in three pieces, the longyis skirt, a top, and a shawl. It is certainly something I can see myself wearing again and again. Perhaps I shall wear this for Halloween and sign up to have my makeup applied by a girl down the hall who is fabulous with cosmetics and costuming. Some iridescence to the face could assuredly make the outfit a little more fun for the occasion and with sea foam beaded shoes from India it will be perfect. Tomorrow I pick up the completed portions when I return to the market with my City Orientation Tour.
From this market we went to the China markets, fruits and vegetables stacked everywhere. Also abundant were bagged octopus legs and other bizarre sea creatures, and baskets upon baskets of heaping dead grasshoppers. Yum!! Don’t worry Dad I do have a picture. After a quick walk through the busy side streets we returned to the bus for tea at a local shop. Upon arrival the place was not what I had in mind. Chairs and tables so low to the ground you might as well have positioned yourself on the floor were only the beginning. Tea was poured and I warily took a sip. It tasted like warm water, nothing more. And as soon as I saw one waiter reset a table nearby I decided I had taken my first and last sip. He merely dumped the extra liquid out of the cups and flipped them upside down again on the tray for the next group. How disgusting. I worried the entire hour back to the ship, feeling dirtier than the second-class train ride in India. One hundred Listerine rinses later I must say even the images of this experience still make my stomach curl.
Back on the ship I ate dinner, first Bob and Betty ate with us, then Bill and Professor Strumpf, and then two other faculty members. It was a leisurely eaten meal as we all talked about the first day in Myanmar. I still think about the local markets and the behavior of the vendors that are poles apart. Here they are quiet, reserved and do not coerce you to enter their stalls to glimpse at their products. They are helpful and willing to barter a little.
We are still checking the sell/buy booklet as we have decided we would love to go to Bago for one day and see the temples. If no tickets become available we will go down the day of the trip and see if there are any open seats on the bus. As this is the procedure, many people at the desk believe we have a great chance of joining the group. Tomorrow is the City Orientation and I cannot wait to pick up our outfits. Missing everyone at home because Halloween is so near and Happy Boo Day won’t be the same.
Heather’s Journal Entry:
October 25, 2005
Myanmar On My Mind
It took much longer than I expected to arrive in port as we cruised into the Yangon River to the port terminal. Because of the tides we were forced to adjust our schedule, but we finally arrived at a little past nine. As we sailed into the milk chocolate waters of the river, small sampans glided past in the turbid water. They were everywhere, like little ants scurrying on their way. At the pier it looks as if we have docked in the jungle far from civilization. It is very green, and the rice paddies stretch on for as far as the eye can see. There is a sign hanging on a cargo container saying, “Welcome to Myanmar M.V. Explorer.” They are waiting for us, and as the gangway goes down, the immigration officials and US embassy personnel board the ship. The immigration officers will work all day checking our passports and adding visas to hand out to the students tomorrow. Our diplomatic briefing is anything but brief and certainly very disturbing. Because of US sanctions we are not allowed to bring anything from Myanmar back into the states, with the exception of hand-painted artwork and hand-carved sculptures – absolutely nothing mass-produced.
Considering that our trip today is called “Local Markets” I cannot believe that they expect us to follow this regulation, as I know that practically everyone will be buying something from here. Semester at Sea could not have a trip to the market and anticipate such temptations as bangles, laquerware, gold jewelry, precious stones, and embroidered silk to deter the shipboard community from purchasing souvenirs.
After eating lunch we head to the tour bus and depart through the overgrown streets on the broken roads past golden stupas and mammoth lions standing erect at the entrance of temples leaning precariously on the hills. As we arrive almost an hour later in Yangon, the narrow streets remind me of India with their cycle rickshaws, but there are no horns and the buildings are blackened with soot. Men and women wear longyis, a complete circlet of fabric crossed in the front and tucked into a knot-like pouch. It is very different from the way we dress, just as many stares were directed at our blue jean clad group than at the locals.
We arrive at the Bogyoke Aung San Market, a bustling center of activity. Having been to a market in every port some things become quite routine. Yet the politeness and sincerity of the people is surprising. They do not beckon you into their shop and try to unload their goods on you, nor do they flash trinkets in front of your face or call out to you as you pass. Instead they smile and say good morning. At first we are not sure what to do, but soon the group disperses and everyone is off to shop for gifts, so we follow suit and begin by looking at several bangles of beautiful jade, which we find to be rather cheap. And so they are boxed and we continue on our way, stopping to admire the array of gold bangles, but these prove too expensive with the new government regulations on gold, and so we move on to textiles. We pick out a traditional silk outfit with gold embroidery displayed on a plastic form. It is so beautiful and the woman removes the fabric to reveal that it is just yards of silk. She takes our measurements, and tomorrow we will pick up our new formal gowns. They are three pieces, a bottom, top, and wrap, the latter of which we took today. Lastly we pick out some postcards and try to pay, but the language barrier seems to be a problem at this shop. Finally we discover that four postcards are very cheap, and instead we find ourselves buying a pack of twenty postcards for one dollar, which are accepted everywhere. We have been lucky to use US currency and it makes it much easier to determine how much you have spent. I don’t even think that we know twenty people to send mail to, but perhaps we will figure something out. (Has anyone received postcards from Mauritius? On a side note, no postcards were sent from India because the quality was very poor and we had very little time. Good news is that everyone should expect one from Myanmar.)
We drove past the famous pagoda on our way to the Chinatown Market and cannot wait to get a closer look tomorrow. This market is smaller and sells mostly food products, and some of the strangest fruit you have ever seen. We decided that we had wandered far enough when we came to baskets of roasted crickets piled high in the harsh sun. Gross! I was just waiting for them to jump off the basket onto the ground.
At last we drove to the teashop, but it was not what we expected. The tea tasted like lukewarm water and the cleanliness left much to be desired. After one sip I decided that I had had enough and I am so glad that I did. Watching them clean up a table, they dumped the leftover tea into the grass and flipped the cup back over onto the tray in the center of the table without washing it. Yuck, yuck, yuck!!! Can I say it again, YUCK! Lets just say that the mouth got a good cleaning when I got back, namely a couple dozen rinses with Listerine after a couple dozen brushes.
We returned to the ship at around six o’clock for dinner, followed by some studying and bed. Tomorrow we will tour the city and pick up our tailored pieces at the market. Myanmar is absolutely beautiful, and every time I see a stupa on the hill I get excited – too bad we cannot stop at every single one. Until tomorrow, goodnight.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Monday, October 24, 2005
India...The Untold Story
*This post has been edited at last, so hopefully all those silly mistakes have been corrected. Additionally, several small paragraphs have been added throughout to fill in some missing portions and small memories. Enjoy!
Heather’s Journal Entry:
October 20, 2005
The Taj Mahal
We woke up today at three o’clock in the morning, looking out the window at a sleeping Chennai, literally. In the early morning hours several bodies littered the concrete pier, curled up in small heaps like a nautilus. Before heading up to the Union we called home. “Hello,” I said, “it’s me and I am today and you are yesterday, or you are today and I am tomorrow.” Soon everyone at home will be changing their clocks for daylight savings and so without even crossing another time zone we will be ten and a half hours ahead, assuming we do not adjust the clock again before Myanmar. At least it is not us losing another hour, but perhaps just by doing this once you have some minute perspective on what it would be like everyday for us and how it really messes with your schedule. It felt so nice to hear dad’s voice. He has missed our last two calls home so it has been almost a month. Cherylie Girlie had to be included, though she mostly listened.
Congregating in the Union, three trips of about sixty individuals each flocked to the coffee, tea and danishes. I myself crammed in three cinnamon swirl rolls, not knowing when or where we would find ourselves for lunch. Soon we were descending into the bowels of the Explorer, swiping our ID card, and out into the darkness and wetness of the morning hours. It is very hot, though it is the monsoon season. We boarded a tour bus for the airport, a trip of about forty minutes. Driving through the streets of the city, I was impressed with the amount of traffic and pedestrians even in the early morn. The discordant cry of the rickshaws horns squawked like geese in rising and falling chords.
Finally we arrived at the airport, which I have to say was surprisingly modern. The airport was clogged with men. It was amazing to see the unequal ratio of men to women moving into the security checkpoint to load our bags onto the conveyor to be x-rayed. We were herded into a small corner, quite far from our baggage. There were seven security stations, six for men, and one for women that was concealed behind a small screen partition. If a metal detector were not enough we had to step up into a platform for another woman to pat down you legs, across your chest and back, and down your arms. Many of the guys in our group wondered what exactly occurred behind the curtain, and all I can say after seeing their security procedure for men, is that the women were completely frisked. You will have to use you imagination here. When the security officer seemed puzzled by my necklace my heart skipped a beat, but everything was fine, and I assumed it would be because Hindus only practice cremation as a form of burial.
We took Indian Airlines to Delhi, a three and a half hour flight. The plane was much nicer than the one in Venezuela, rivaling the American planes in cleanliness. At one point during the flight white clouds of mist rose from the windows and ceiling baggage compartments. You can only imagine the look of terror on many faces, but it was just the ventilation and air conditioning system. Landing in Delhi we collected our batteries and boarded a tour bus to a hotel for lunch.
Back on our tour bus after exiting the airport, a crowd of men with signs lining the entrance, we made our way to lunch at one of the finer Indian hotels. It was Indian cuisine and mostly very spicy. Upon entering the hotel we were honored with necklaces of the most beautiful blossoms of orange flowers. I made my lunch into a rice and Nan meal instead.
Next we headed to the train station for a four-hour journey to Agra. We boarded the train for our second-class seats with no air-conditioning. It was filthy and I cannot even believe that we have to do this again tomorrow. The seats are filthy, more so than you could ever imagine. There are vendors that wander down the central aisle with various textiles, food, and water, the latter with brown debris floating throughout. The stench of trash, sweat, and human waste is almost too much to stomach. Every once in awhile another train passes in the opposite direction. You can anticipate it by listening for a huge sigh just as it approaches, then a gush of air as it passes your open window before the air is sucked out again.
The vendors are very bothersome and they will not leave you alone. I have found that the best way to go fairly unnoticed is to write and keep my eyes glued to the page. As we whisk by small towns, clearly destitute, I am shocked at the abundance of saris. It would seem that no matter how poor the people are the women retain the beautiful wrappings of a sari. I bet it must feel like a princess with all that drapery of silk. Aside from the saris, cows are everywhere and indeed looking more nourished than their human counterparts.
We had the unfortunate luck of being placed with two snobs on the train. If I have to hear how hot or how gross it is one more time I might go crazy. “Can anyone breathe?” she wines with her designer sunglasses, silver dangly earrings and bracelet upon bracelet. “Oh my gosh, I can’t breathe,” she adds. I definitely think that I had enough when they had the audacity to ask if an upgrade to first class were possible. She takes a picture of three young girls selling socks and scarves and they do not leave us alone, tapping us on the knees and saying, “madam.” They crowd our compartment and the snobs continue taking pictures, but they do not give anything in return. As I am writing this as it happens I am very uncomfortable. Why is it that they feel they can do whatever they want, putting their feet up on out seat to stretch out and kicking my knee for the nth time with her gold slipper shoe.
Once we arrived in Agra she sat on the blue vinyl seat shaking her foot, tapping her pink manicured nails on her knee and smacking her gum. She simply takes, sucking the life from those around her, but does not give.
We walked a short distance from the train to our tour bus, glad to be heading toward the promise of air conditioning and away from the congestion and stale air of the train. But we had no idea what awaited us on that five-minute walk. First a man with elephantitis, two enormous ballooned feet, barely able to walk. Then a boy with the entire lower half of his face stretched, the skin looking like melted rubber and lastly, a small boy, his bones so twisted that his limbs wrapped around his body in the most awkward and unnatural angles.
After boarding the bus we made our way to the Taj Mahal. We had to walk about fifteen minutes to the gate, small children pressing in on all sides to sell their wares. Reaching the entrance we were separated into male and female again, a small screen concealing the women’s security check as they repeated a similar process that we experienced at the airport.
Once inside I was amazed by two wonders. One, the hundreds of people walking around and the other, the giant marble complex standing before me. The Disneyland atmosphere of such a wonderful national treasure shocked me. You could barely take one step without walking into someone. It was so frustrating. But more importantly, the Taj was breathtaking. How do you even begin to describe the familiar white marble architecture sweeping from pillar to turret, dome to platform, and pillar to turret? Sleek, smooth, white and beautifully carved with intricate detail – a lotus flower of mammoth proportions. We did not have much time so we rushed to the base of the palace, putting blue booties over our tennis shoes and climbing up the steep steps to the raised platform overlooking the river and the entrance into the mouth of the impressive marble edifice. The line was long, but it moved quickly, finally approaching the entrance hall.
Inside it was pitch black; Indians and tourists pushing and shoving, I pressed heavily into a wall, and Megan’s hand smashed on a doorframe. We could not see the floor and the tiny inclines placed at the doorways. Walking on a river of whiteness in a void of darkness I say to Megan, “I cannot see a thing, can you?” “Just touch it then,” she says. I said something stupid in response like, “Are you sure that is permitted?” which she so causally reminded me that it was the blackest of black inside, and so we both put our hands on the surprisingly cold wall. We walked around the circumference of a circular room running our fingers along the interior of the Taj as our eyes were glued to the delicate craftsmanship of the central nave with its lace-like lattices. A single light shone on the marble tomb. We spiraled around the jewel encrusted interior rooms sliding in our blue suede shoes to feel rather than see the ups and downs of the polished floor.
Suddenly an opening and we are exiting the lower floor to the vista of the Taj Mahal overlooking the river. The sun was setting as we walked along the ceremonial ground back to the front of the Taj, removing our booties to take some final photos in the fading light. Soon, after the glowing orange orb dipped behind the lotus and the sky changed from pink to purple, to darkness, we were forced to surrender our cameras to our sides and simply take in the moment. I am so thankful for those few minutes taking in the majesty of the Taj Mahal. If not I may have missed it in the crows of sightseers and frenzy of photography.
Leaving the Taj in the dark Megan and I stuck close to the pack, arm in arm we walked swiftly past the vendors to the bus. Arriving at the hotel we checked in before doing a little shopping. My mouth dropped open as we entered the lobby and the windows of the first shop were crammed with beaded shoes. Of course, being in Agra with another train ride to Delhi and flight to Chennai, room was limited, so we chose one for everyone except our favorite person in the entire world who got a couple of pairs, and no it is not dad.
Our room was large with a marble floor and dark wood paneling. It was relatively comfortable; though still not my idea of a classy hotel. But sleep deprivation won out over misery and after showering we went to bed.
October 21, 2005
The Sights of Agra
We woke up at five o’clock to shower and curl our hair after sleeping back-to-back or shoulder-to-shoulder. We were so cold from the powerful air conditioning and we just felt much safer huddled together. A six o’clock someone knocked on our door who we assume to have been the wakeup call, but a strange noise like a squealing monkey was enough to deter us from opening the door and unbolting the lock.
Soon we were heading to the Agra Fort, also known as the Red Fort, after a breakfast of toast. Meals seem to be limited to rice, Nan, or toast, mostly because everything else is so spicy or I am thinking more about the aftereffects than satisfying my taste buds. But nana was right; rice is always available in great abundance. As soon as we approached the fort I knew that I was in for a treat. Imagine Windsor Castle made from red sandstone and perhaps you will have some small inkling of what this place was like. We wandered around the small corridors in between a forest of red sandstone columns and scalloped arches. We each decided self-consciously to get away from the flock of students pushing for the prime photo spots. They walk down the central walkway in clumps as we skirt the garden to the right, walking through an entryway into an open corridor leading to an enclosed space. One wall is lined with low windows overlooking the river and the Taj Mahal on the opposite bank.
We round room breaks into several directions, a set of hidden stairs leading up to an open tower. We climb and explore far from the gaze of the group and the flash of their cameras, admiring the architecture and the intricacy of the sight. Soon it is time to return to the group and the bus, but we discover a secret passage to the roof and take some time to look out over the complex, a dark room on the right and another cell-like area.
After thirty minutes we return to the group, I upset about our short time to enjoy the beauty of the fort. Our next stop takes us to a mini Taj Mahal lie complex. On our way to the site we pass inches within the tires of an upturned local bus, the passengers still inside. Yet the busy streets, grazing cows on heaps of trash, and honking rickshaws pay it no heed, and neither do we.
The mini Taj Mahal displays the marble complexity once again and we remove our shoes away from the main entrance and sneak up into a niche-like cubby to take pictures. But once again our time runs out and we return to the bus and the hotel for lunch. Once again rice is on the menu, and I charge my camera in the room to get ensure it lasts the day. We make a quick shopping stop, which in reality becomes quite long as the group picks our expensive cashmere and silk rugs, which incidentally would look fantastic in a tearoom. The smallest carpet is five hundred dollars, slightly bigger than a piece of notebook paper and the snob asks, “Do you think I could use these as car mats?” It is absolutely amazing that some students see nothing, and nothing fazes them. They will never truly see the world.
After lunch we travel to Dayal Bagh, a mosque that is currently under construction. After thirty years of intense work, the complex is still not complete, one worker installing a gem inlay that takes six months per panel. Even this insight makes me wonder how the Taj Mahal was created. Exiting the complex I am surrounded by beggars and I freeze. I cannot take it anymore. I don’t want them bothering me, touching me, or looking at me with those eyes. We are mere inches from the bus and Megan pushes me in the back to break free of my poverty stricken fetters. I am completely overwhelmed.
Our last stop is at Fatehpur Sikri, a deserted sandstone palace. I fall in love with the place upon first glimpse and once we are set loose on the grounds Megan and I explore to our hearts delight. The first building has the most beautiful central arch and lace work filigree. Across the open courtyard a five story towering pagoda imposes its shadow over the small pool linked by four causeways to the surrounding spaces. I wish we could climb to the top of the pagoda, but instead we step like tightrope walkers on the cracked causeway to the center of the pool, taking pictures of our progress.
In a more secluded portion of the palace I discover a set of crumbling stairs up and then down into a valley of crumbling ruins, blackened with age. Here we take many pictures, but do not linger. At last we arrive at a heavily ornamented temple, it red sandstone shadowed in the setting sun, each etch and detail outlined in the spotlight of the glowing orb. Pictures will never do this place justice. I love this place and I am sad to go. The sunsets and we make our way back to the Mansingh Palace, our hotel, for a dinner of pizza before taking the night train back to Delhi.
When we arrive at the train station it is pitch dark and I force myself not to look at the small fires and people lying around the station. We wait for an hour to catch the train on platform two, pretzel boys weaving their twisted bodies through our group. Megan grabs my arm when they approach and puts my rolling luggage in front of me to shield me from their grasp. The boy with elephantitis is still there. Once we board the train we speed off toward Delhi in our first class accommodations, though this is simply misleading because it is practically the same as second class with the exception of air-conditioning and the absence of vendors. Somehow many of the students acquired alcohol before boarding the train and they sing and dance and drink during our trip back. By the time we arrive they are quite obviously drunk.
We arrive at the hotel around eleven o’clock in the evening where the students grab any room card they want and run off to their rooms before the arrival of the trip leader on the second bus. When she arrives there is chaos and I feel bad that she has to locate all of the students to find out what room they are in. The two leaders have worked very hard and to keep the group together and the other students do not make it easy for them.
Shortly after we are crawling into bed, definitely a little more upscale than the previous night, and are asleep minutes after our heads hit the pillow.
October 22, 2005
Delhi
When we wakeup this morning we eat breakfast and repack our bags for our flight to Chennai. We have a very simple tour of Delhi by bus, which is quite upsetting considering that we do not even get off the coach except at the Gandhi Museum where we see his last footprints before he was assassinated.
We do a little shopping before leaving the hotel, purchasing some First Flush Darjeeling, which we promise to share with everyone since it is the first leaves of the season and a promised specialty.
The airport procedure follows, our tickets stating the mandatory frisking, before we board the flight on Jet Airways. I think that one of the biggest surprises was the quality of the airlines. The seats and food trays are impeccably clean, the food decent, served with real silverware and linen napkins, and the cutest little bottles of water, soothing music, and very friendly staff. It was probably one of the most comfortable planes I have ever been on.
After boarding the ship, we have two priorities. First food, which we get at the pool bistro; a meal of hotdogs and soda, and second, bed. It has been a very interesting trip and one that I will certainly never forget. Our tour guide said something that I think sums up this experience, the art historical heritage, the beauty, and the stark contrast with the poverty, the beggars, and the filth. “India is a spicy dish. Sometimes you get the spicy, sometimes the sweet. It just depends on when and where you are.” I am sure that in the days to come I will reflect on this more and add to my original thoughts, but for now I must put India aside and think of Burma (Myanmar).
October 24, 2005
At Sea
I spent yesterday unpacking and cleaning laundry in the sink. It has been a tiring experience, but very rewarding. We decided not to get off the ship yesterday, but did watch our departure in the last hours of light as we pulled away from Chennai around dinnertime.
We had one day of class, and pre-port tonight in preparation for tomorrow. Also, one more hour ahead, so we are officially ten and a half hours ahead of home. Soon we will make a call in the evening and it will be the exact time in the morning.
Here is a run down of our schedule for Myanmar:
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Local Markets Field Program
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Full Day City Orientation
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Sunset at Shwedagon Pagoda
Friday, October 28, 2005
We would like to try to join the Bago Field Program
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Free
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Free
Monday, October 31, 2005
Depart Myanmar (Not exactly sure what time because it depends on the tide, though we will have class on this day)
Halloween Festivities
Well, that’s it! We just purchased more Internet time, and I am absolutely exhausted. GOODNIGHT!
Megan’s Journal Entry:
October 20, 2005
Delhi Day
The dining hall staff arranged to have some pastries in the Union at four o’clock as the couple hundred students, torn from sleep, staggered in carrying bags as small as a school backpack and as large as monster hiking gear and rolling luggage. Three small sticky buns later Che26 stilted down four flights to disembark into the rainy-monsoon-season morning in Chennai. An hour of sleep on yet another mosquito infested bus to the airport where tickets were distributed and security check lines already extremely long and congested with Indian men dressed for business. Barely five women stood in the four lines, not to mention we were extremely shocked when all the women on our trips were escorted to a curtained station, the several guys of the group continued unimpeded through the metal detectors while female women ran handheld devices up and down our bodies, their hands doing much of the searching themselves. We stood behind curtains, not able to see our bags a couple rows down going through the metal detectors. As she scanned me, my urn sent the detector into a mild fit. Not to worry, all Indian women wear tons of jewelry so one little brass urn was modest compared to the scores of gold that coerce the device to resound with high pitched beeps. Joining my small pack and carry-on, my separation anxiety diminishing as I checked them to be sure my documents had not been fleeced in my absence.
Once through, I, yes me, pointed out we were gate five and the sign as the trip leaders had vanished. Thanks to my smarts, as I take a bow, we joined the others with ten minutes till boarding flight IC 440 with Indian Airlines at six forty. Three hours later and much needed sleep we arrived in New Delhi followed by lunch at a local hotel. It is just as congested and dirty as Madras but has some of the same small gems – the colorful cloth of women’s saris and garlands of flowers beginning to wilt in the intensity of heat. The food was spicy, spicy, spicy, but where there’s Indian cuisine you can also count on steamed rice.
We had an extremely tight schedule planned, so jam packed that missing the train would mean no visit to the Taj Mahal. Zilch! This have-to-see monument would be closed Friday, our only other day in Agra. Of course, about fifteen girls decided changing cash was more important than having the bus deliver seventy students to the train station. Typical! Nevertheless, we made it in time to board this transportation that will convey us to the Mogul city of Agra.
On a side note, what beautiful names India has from the state of Tamil Nadu where the MV Explorer is docked in Madras Harbor to Utar Pradesh and Agra. The Taj Mahal, Fatehpur Sikri and Dayal Bagh. What mystical and magical names can be found here.
Back to the train, S5 in second-class sleeper with no air conditioning, it would be difficult, in fact near impossible, to compare to anything at home. The train is so filthy it is mostly likely disease ridden. Eight of us squeezed into a space for four with a smell so unbelievable. It is worse than Seal Island itself. Dirty vendors patrol the isles trying to sell toilet paper and unlabeled water as cloudy as if it were not water at all, bits of residue floating like its some polluted pond. Others carry food and silver jugs with small spouts filled with coffee. Thank goodness for Cottonelle Fresh, but I wasn’t about to go on this train.
The two girls across from me have obviously not been clued into the realities of poverty-stricken life in the favelas of Venezuela, the shacks of Brazil, the townships of South Africa; ready to upgrade their upgradeless tickets to air-conditioned first class. The cool air and closed windows would provide a much more enjoyable perfume, but you might as well become reflective of the environment we have been placed with one word for later, shower!! Apparently they need to be, as stated, in the equivalent of the Ritz and shopping is the buzzword in every other sentence. I don’t know whether to be envious of their persistence in remaining unchanged to the world, or sympathetic to their behavior, as nothing has been intense, horrific, or gruesome enough to offer life-changing mannerisms.
The smell continues, and I must apologize for my apparent infatuation with the odor of manure, filth, manure, dirt, manure, rot, manure, muck, manure, sewage, and did I mention manure? Nothing compares and if you find yourself at home wanting to participate in every way possible with my adventure take a good long whiff of your garbage can before trash day and you won’t even scratch the surface of the iceberg. It is so prevalent and just seems to linger, filling the air with its immobile particles of putrid scent creating an entirely new atmosphere. You will have placed yourself in one of the nicer regions we have traversed on this four-hour journey.
Just now as I write a woman sticks her reddened hand through the window to beg. At first I envision the redness to be from slaughter, chicken or cows blood, but then I realize it is the spices used to cook that have died her skin. How filthy this experience is, I cannot describe. Even a girl on our trip across from me spreads her feet out beside me to lounge and I wander where those soles have been, knowing the same as mine and I do not want them to touch me.
I can’t help but wonder whether to take photos or not. And by the time anyone else reads this the experience will be long over. The train and the landscape it progresses are not images I wish to capture, but should I to remember how they affect me? Do I take several, the bare minimum, to convey to those at home what I have seen? Can the lens of a camera even capture the reality or will it be merely a façade that transmits neither the scope nor brevity of this environment? I do not know. Still I struggle with this concept. To bring home images of pristine beaches, catamaran rides in the vista of rolling blue fields of water, the architecture and beauty of such places as the Pantheon, mosques, temples and ancient churches, even the Taj Mahal. What do all these beautiful landscapes I have captured say about me as a person? Perhaps I search for the beauty in everything, even a small flower or sweet girl in a township. Or possibly I have closed myself off to feeling, to being impacted by such sights of gruesomeness. Am I just like those two girls? I would hope not.
I realize that now, what others have said about India may have been correct – that this is the country that affects students the most. Maybe they put us in second class intentionally to generate these reflections among as many willing students as possible. If not, it was still an incredibly rewarding experience, though at the time disappointing to feel so uncomfortable. Journaling during the adventure on the train truly made the experience bearable and more valuable.
Quite a few girls have purchased saris and silk fabrics. I think that they are beautiful but something I would never wear. Some have purchased them for Halloween or the Ambassador’s Ball, which seems to be an imaginative idea but a one-time venture. What about traditional Vietnamese clothes or something oriental? These sound like more practical purchases for me and I will most assuredly explore the shops in Vietnam for the perfect oriental-style dress. Time allowing, something tailored would be perfect.
After an hour on the train we seem to have left the city behind us, only agricultural fields and villages. The smell somewhat lessened returns as we near more overcrowded centers around the train station. The train ride continued in much the same fashion. One of the girls said you couldn’t pay her to sleep on the mats; an hour later she is in quiet slumber on the blue filthy plastic, her personality seeming significantly hollow.
When the two girls started taking photos of three children begging, I was highly irritated as they laughed at the three and provoked continued entreating as the small children would be persuaded to tap more on their knees with each laugh. The two Semester at Sea students taking the photos were doing just that, take and not give. These girls in filthy threadbare cloth were receiving nothing for posing for these photos.
Agra at last…To the Taj Mahal. Leaving the train station beggars surrounded us on our march to the bus. Deformed children, boys shaped like pretzels with no feet, one leg, some bent in impossible positions, dragged themselves across the ground to keep pace while others, men with engorged feet larger than a football, twice that size, toes enormous and sprouting off in all directions stood near the coaches. Such ghastly images I will never forget. Their filthy clothes and bodies, their misshapenness that they believe to be essential to their life. Punishment for past lives they believe they must resort to begging and try to make up for their past deeds.
We arrived at the Taj Mahal and walked to the main gate where thousands upon thousands of people, mostly Indian, Chinese, and Semester at Sea groups, pushed and shoved along with the street sellers to get through security. But what a magnificent site!! With only twenty minutes it was difficult to let the experience, the realness soak through completely, but the rays of the waning sunlight forced us to immerse ourselves in the experience at it was soon too dark for photos. Inside the Taj Mahal it was so dark, cave-like, that you couldn’t see, photography not permitted. With my blue shoe covers on I stumbled through the unlit interior, guards policing the people trying to take photos and blowing their whistles each time a flash announced its victim. With more people than Disney World we were practically propelled into the stomach of this sacred center the intricacy and craftsmanship of scrolls, lattices, and flowers just remarkable. As if the size were not beautiful enough every surface has some texture, color or ornate detail. I said to Heather, “We’re in the Taj Mahal. Just touch the marble.” Her reply, “Can we?” “We’re walking on it, so we might as well.” Sorry to any non-trekkies but it was like watching Data and Jean Luc Picard in First Contact caressing the hull of the first warp vessel.
It was growing dark quickly as we stood staring at the contours of the amazing palace vanishing into the night. Of course we had to walk back to the bus in the dark and repeat no a million times to vendors shoving items in our face. On top of this, avoiding cattle poop in the dark is quite another adventure.
I can’t believe I’ve seen the Taj Mahal, the experience so unreal, even the feeling of standing in its presence seems to be fading slightly in my memory. It seems so bittersweet. Why is that? The scope and size I never thought would be so grand even having seen pictures in the past. I do not have postcards from India, but it seems a shame to have nothing but perhaps one of the two hotels will have some available. If not, it would be fine as everything here is so hectic.
The grounds on the Taj Mahal are extensive, other structures reddish in color, stand to its left and right. After leaving this amazing landmark of India we were delivered to Mansingh Palace, and no this was by no means a stop on the itinerary, but rather, our hotel. In the hotel lobby the décor was fairly nice, the marbled-looking floor and dark wood, pleasant dining and small shops. The elevator was less than par with tattered and faded carpet. The hall was as nice as the lobby, brass plates with black lettering of the rooms. Number 123, ‘cause it’s easy as ABC, Heather and I unlocked the door and a decent room and bath were on hand. Two full beds, a sitting section, and green marbled benches, the only complaint would be the bumpy white walls and discolored grout of the depressing bathroom. Dinner was much the same as lunch in the hotel, pleasingly not as spicy on the palate.
After dinner it was time to check out the shops, largely owing to the fact that shop number one’s display windows were completely laden with beaded shoes. Upon entering we discovered it was much like Ollivander’s Wands, as every shelf was stacked and arranged in every shape, size, color and fabric. We opted for a ******* style with *****. Shhh!! The men in the store helped us fit the paper feet to the soles and soon we left with two bags full. As I sing, “We’re coming home with shoes! We’re coming home with shoes! Cha Cha,” goodie bags will start becoming quite plump. I can just hear the cheers already. We have also purchased a ton of tea in India, so many I cannot possibly name them all, Assam, Darjeeling, and Nelgiri among others. Some have unusual names I have never heard. We also took the opportunity to purchase first flush, which in the states easily runs as high as one hundred dollars. Here it was thirty and Heather and I will have to become masters at preparing tea as most found here are full leaves. This should be quite a treat and learning experience, much different than boiled water and tea bags.
We showered with flip-flops and snuggled into our beds clean and exhausted. With each other the anxiety and sadness of being away from the comfort of the ship is dramatically decreased.
October 21, 2005
Destination, Unknown
With a pretty detailed itinerary, the words on the page meaning absolutely nothing to me, I awoke for an early breakfast at seven o’clock. Whatever I do today, good or bad, I will have to remind myself that the Taj Mahal was the primary reason for the trip. After another shower, because you can never enjoy too many before heading out into the dirt of the city, we had to hold the plug of the hairdryer in the socket for each other as it was slightly too small and would slip out slowly. Wearing blue jeans, pink ribbed tank top and a black tunic we went to breakfast, reminiscent of an American buffet.
After breakfast we left for Agra fort not knowing what to expect. Amazing. Breathless. Riveting. These are my words for the day, though I try not to foreshadow too much. Imagine a Mayan ruin like Tulum or some European architectural wonder in Rome, even the grounds of Windsor Castle and Hampton Palace. This is the scope of Agra Fort. Gardens like a labyrinth with strange fluffy fan like petals, and lots of entrances to inner complexes, we almost became lost in the maze; one view near the river revealing the Taj Mahal in the distance. The morning was surprisingly cool; the air lingering with rain was hazy. Twenty minutes to discover, capture, consume and enjoy this site we felt rushed but invigorated at being enmeshed in the aspect we love most about traveling, the architectural and art history in Non Western countries.
As we went to the join the group to depart on our whirlwind tour, a row of monkeys appeared on an upper railing. An incredibly small monkey paused on the banister, its head no bigger than a tennis ball. I laughed at the notion that they were the present residents of these abandoned temples and palaces.
I never imagined India with so many sites in the Mogul repertoire of intricate marble and sandstone design. I love the color of these places, something I am positive we will witness again in Cambodia. We left for Dayal Bagh, a marble temple being built. With thirty years of construction complete, the temple promises to be impressive, however with many more years to go before completion. Through congested streets so narrow they could only be considered side streets with vendors marketing their goods – fruits stacked so neatly into small towers, clothes piled ten or more high – and cattle roaming around carts and stalls, through rickshaws, bikes, motorcycles, cars and buses. I marvel at the apparent skill of the drivers who most likely avoided hundreds of accidents each day. The rules of the road do not seem to apply, horns a constant symphony in dissonant chords. The minute you exit the mouth of the tour bus you go from one stomach to an even larger one where the city consumes you entirely.
At Dayal Bagh large slabs of marble lay in plentiful piles. Men and younger boys working with tools to chisel out some of the most ornate and delicate patterns I’ve ever seen. It was amazing to watch a man shave down semi-precious stones for an inlay, a design that will take six months to a year to complete. I suggest returning in another thirty years to see the progression, maybe its completion. The construction process is absolutely amazing, it’s like building the pyramids and I wonder how they will hoist the marble dome to the height of the temple. One palm tree stands in front of the stairwell, the palm mimicked perfectly in the marble above an arched doorway. It is unbelievable that these designs are carved into marble.
We leave the construction site for the Mini Taj Mahal, the production of a new highway system slowing our tour bus as we inch along the exterior road to the site. We pass a local bus flipped on its side, the wheel meeting the level of my window. I see no one inside which is a good sign.
At the Mini Taj Mahal, we walk the gardens, marvel at the intricate marble and hear the chanting of men in prayer. It is another wonderful stop where the colorful inlays on the marble surface glint in the light of the day and augment the beauty of this structure.
From this landmark we depart for Fatehpur Sikri, a true marvel. There is not enough time to explore this complex in an hour. Some of the girls, of course the two from the train, exclaim how these three days are a waste and how everything we have seen today is exactly the same. I can’t believe these statements as I am absolutely thrilled at the chance to observe these abandoned sandstone temples. Fatehpur Sikri is amazing. It stretches on and on, not one detail overlooked. Heather and I find many secret spots; even a stairwell that looks like it is supported by nothing from underneath that proves a wonderful photo spot. The sun sets while we are here and the colors of the warm sun melting into the sandstone balconies create an infusion of red, orange, russet and coffee shadows on the light ground.
A small girl with her family, clean and beautiful, comes up to Heather and I and introduces herself. She asks our names and we reply. Her eyes glitter when she tells us she thinks we are really beautiful. It is the children like her that are true gems.
We go to a department store for a demonstration on satin rugs. The infamous girl from the train buys two small ones for four hundred dollars each many students overhear her announce they are for car mats. Even now I have to pick my jaw up from the ground.
After dinner at the hotel we leave for the train station. For dessert we try Gulab Jamun, a doughy ball cooked and completely covered in a syrupy honey. It seems to be a mix of glazed donuts and pancakes and wonderful served warm. Waiting a half an hour on the platform with pretzel boys and beggars is very uncomfortable. I feel like a hawk watching them, making sure one does not sneak up on us, squeeze their way in through the maze of feet and touch our pants. I pull Heather away from some that get too close placing the carry-on between us. I know how unnerving this is for her because I feel it too. I picture myself pushing the carry-on into their fragile frames if they near too close. Thankfully they seem to realize when I pull Heather away from their reach that I will not tolerate their begging. They stare and return to other students who take pictures of their deformed bodies and engorged feet. First class seating is not much better, filthy seats with air conditioning. I won’t complain though.
We reach the hotel, Hotel Ashok to a warm reception, a welcome sign and a beautiful hotel that I know will have the most comfortable rooms thus far on our voyage. Several students who had managed to drink rum on the train make quite a scene and I linger in the lobby with Heather until all the students have left. Taking in the atmosphere in a sitting area and saying hello to the staff that greets us. We do not want to be associated with these animals that have made an embarrassing performance. They grab keys randomly off the counter, not paying attention to names on the envelopes and ignoring the polite inquiries of the staff. We shower and sleep well in the cushy bedding.
October 23, 2005
New Delhi
A tour of Delhi on the last day proves to be interesting. There are many of the same small streets with dirt and beggars nearby. One group surrounds Heather and I right outside the bus. I push Heather through the circle to create an opening and follow closely behind her before they can regroup. Many other students swerve around them as well to quickly board the bus.
After the Parliament Buildings and India Gate we head to the Gandhi Museum. A small garden with a memorial stone announces the very spot he was killed - the path of his last walk marked by concrete footprints. We remove our shoes to walk up to this pavilion. It is amazing to consider that the place we stand is the very spot he walked to greet his death. His struggles to help the people of India are remarkable and inside the museum we enjoy looking at the video clips of this magnificent figure in history.
We leave for lunch in the hotel and to check out of our rooms, 1441, to go to the airport. Being frisked again, more than I have even been touched in my life was awkward. The guys all ask us what goes on behind the curtain, as they have no such complaints at the security check point. On Jet Airways, the cleanest flight I have ever flown, food is served with linen napkins and silver utensils. I realize as I poke at the chicken in a spicy green sauce that I have missed meat from my meals. After the flight is over and we have returned to the ship we go up to the pool bar for dinner. The dining hall is closed and so we order a hot dog before showering and bed.
October 23, 2005 – October 24, 2005
We spent the day on the ship unpacking and downloading photos. We washed blue jeans and six tops that were dry by the end of the day. We washed more laundry the next day that adorns the bathroom as we prepare for Yangon. The clocks go forward another hour tonight and we feel barely able to digest India before Myanmar.
Heather’s Journal Entry:
October 20, 2005
The Taj Mahal
We woke up today at three o’clock in the morning, looking out the window at a sleeping Chennai, literally. In the early morning hours several bodies littered the concrete pier, curled up in small heaps like a nautilus. Before heading up to the Union we called home. “Hello,” I said, “it’s me and I am today and you are yesterday, or you are today and I am tomorrow.” Soon everyone at home will be changing their clocks for daylight savings and so without even crossing another time zone we will be ten and a half hours ahead, assuming we do not adjust the clock again before Myanmar. At least it is not us losing another hour, but perhaps just by doing this once you have some minute perspective on what it would be like everyday for us and how it really messes with your schedule. It felt so nice to hear dad’s voice. He has missed our last two calls home so it has been almost a month. Cherylie Girlie had to be included, though she mostly listened.
Congregating in the Union, three trips of about sixty individuals each flocked to the coffee, tea and danishes. I myself crammed in three cinnamon swirl rolls, not knowing when or where we would find ourselves for lunch. Soon we were descending into the bowels of the Explorer, swiping our ID card, and out into the darkness and wetness of the morning hours. It is very hot, though it is the monsoon season. We boarded a tour bus for the airport, a trip of about forty minutes. Driving through the streets of the city, I was impressed with the amount of traffic and pedestrians even in the early morn. The discordant cry of the rickshaws horns squawked like geese in rising and falling chords.
Finally we arrived at the airport, which I have to say was surprisingly modern. The airport was clogged with men. It was amazing to see the unequal ratio of men to women moving into the security checkpoint to load our bags onto the conveyor to be x-rayed. We were herded into a small corner, quite far from our baggage. There were seven security stations, six for men, and one for women that was concealed behind a small screen partition. If a metal detector were not enough we had to step up into a platform for another woman to pat down you legs, across your chest and back, and down your arms. Many of the guys in our group wondered what exactly occurred behind the curtain, and all I can say after seeing their security procedure for men, is that the women were completely frisked. You will have to use you imagination here. When the security officer seemed puzzled by my necklace my heart skipped a beat, but everything was fine, and I assumed it would be because Hindus only practice cremation as a form of burial.
We took Indian Airlines to Delhi, a three and a half hour flight. The plane was much nicer than the one in Venezuela, rivaling the American planes in cleanliness. At one point during the flight white clouds of mist rose from the windows and ceiling baggage compartments. You can only imagine the look of terror on many faces, but it was just the ventilation and air conditioning system. Landing in Delhi we collected our batteries and boarded a tour bus to a hotel for lunch.
Back on our tour bus after exiting the airport, a crowd of men with signs lining the entrance, we made our way to lunch at one of the finer Indian hotels. It was Indian cuisine and mostly very spicy. Upon entering the hotel we were honored with necklaces of the most beautiful blossoms of orange flowers. I made my lunch into a rice and Nan meal instead.
Next we headed to the train station for a four-hour journey to Agra. We boarded the train for our second-class seats with no air-conditioning. It was filthy and I cannot even believe that we have to do this again tomorrow. The seats are filthy, more so than you could ever imagine. There are vendors that wander down the central aisle with various textiles, food, and water, the latter with brown debris floating throughout. The stench of trash, sweat, and human waste is almost too much to stomach. Every once in awhile another train passes in the opposite direction. You can anticipate it by listening for a huge sigh just as it approaches, then a gush of air as it passes your open window before the air is sucked out again.
The vendors are very bothersome and they will not leave you alone. I have found that the best way to go fairly unnoticed is to write and keep my eyes glued to the page. As we whisk by small towns, clearly destitute, I am shocked at the abundance of saris. It would seem that no matter how poor the people are the women retain the beautiful wrappings of a sari. I bet it must feel like a princess with all that drapery of silk. Aside from the saris, cows are everywhere and indeed looking more nourished than their human counterparts.
We had the unfortunate luck of being placed with two snobs on the train. If I have to hear how hot or how gross it is one more time I might go crazy. “Can anyone breathe?” she wines with her designer sunglasses, silver dangly earrings and bracelet upon bracelet. “Oh my gosh, I can’t breathe,” she adds. I definitely think that I had enough when they had the audacity to ask if an upgrade to first class were possible. She takes a picture of three young girls selling socks and scarves and they do not leave us alone, tapping us on the knees and saying, “madam.” They crowd our compartment and the snobs continue taking pictures, but they do not give anything in return. As I am writing this as it happens I am very uncomfortable. Why is it that they feel they can do whatever they want, putting their feet up on out seat to stretch out and kicking my knee for the nth time with her gold slipper shoe.
Once we arrived in Agra she sat on the blue vinyl seat shaking her foot, tapping her pink manicured nails on her knee and smacking her gum. She simply takes, sucking the life from those around her, but does not give.
We walked a short distance from the train to our tour bus, glad to be heading toward the promise of air conditioning and away from the congestion and stale air of the train. But we had no idea what awaited us on that five-minute walk. First a man with elephantitis, two enormous ballooned feet, barely able to walk. Then a boy with the entire lower half of his face stretched, the skin looking like melted rubber and lastly, a small boy, his bones so twisted that his limbs wrapped around his body in the most awkward and unnatural angles.
After boarding the bus we made our way to the Taj Mahal. We had to walk about fifteen minutes to the gate, small children pressing in on all sides to sell their wares. Reaching the entrance we were separated into male and female again, a small screen concealing the women’s security check as they repeated a similar process that we experienced at the airport.
Once inside I was amazed by two wonders. One, the hundreds of people walking around and the other, the giant marble complex standing before me. The Disneyland atmosphere of such a wonderful national treasure shocked me. You could barely take one step without walking into someone. It was so frustrating. But more importantly, the Taj was breathtaking. How do you even begin to describe the familiar white marble architecture sweeping from pillar to turret, dome to platform, and pillar to turret? Sleek, smooth, white and beautifully carved with intricate detail – a lotus flower of mammoth proportions. We did not have much time so we rushed to the base of the palace, putting blue booties over our tennis shoes and climbing up the steep steps to the raised platform overlooking the river and the entrance into the mouth of the impressive marble edifice. The line was long, but it moved quickly, finally approaching the entrance hall.
Inside it was pitch black; Indians and tourists pushing and shoving, I pressed heavily into a wall, and Megan’s hand smashed on a doorframe. We could not see the floor and the tiny inclines placed at the doorways. Walking on a river of whiteness in a void of darkness I say to Megan, “I cannot see a thing, can you?” “Just touch it then,” she says. I said something stupid in response like, “Are you sure that is permitted?” which she so causally reminded me that it was the blackest of black inside, and so we both put our hands on the surprisingly cold wall. We walked around the circumference of a circular room running our fingers along the interior of the Taj as our eyes were glued to the delicate craftsmanship of the central nave with its lace-like lattices. A single light shone on the marble tomb. We spiraled around the jewel encrusted interior rooms sliding in our blue suede shoes to feel rather than see the ups and downs of the polished floor.
Suddenly an opening and we are exiting the lower floor to the vista of the Taj Mahal overlooking the river. The sun was setting as we walked along the ceremonial ground back to the front of the Taj, removing our booties to take some final photos in the fading light. Soon, after the glowing orange orb dipped behind the lotus and the sky changed from pink to purple, to darkness, we were forced to surrender our cameras to our sides and simply take in the moment. I am so thankful for those few minutes taking in the majesty of the Taj Mahal. If not I may have missed it in the crows of sightseers and frenzy of photography.
Leaving the Taj in the dark Megan and I stuck close to the pack, arm in arm we walked swiftly past the vendors to the bus. Arriving at the hotel we checked in before doing a little shopping. My mouth dropped open as we entered the lobby and the windows of the first shop were crammed with beaded shoes. Of course, being in Agra with another train ride to Delhi and flight to Chennai, room was limited, so we chose one for everyone except our favorite person in the entire world who got a couple of pairs, and no it is not dad.
Our room was large with a marble floor and dark wood paneling. It was relatively comfortable; though still not my idea of a classy hotel. But sleep deprivation won out over misery and after showering we went to bed.
October 21, 2005
The Sights of Agra
We woke up at five o’clock to shower and curl our hair after sleeping back-to-back or shoulder-to-shoulder. We were so cold from the powerful air conditioning and we just felt much safer huddled together. A six o’clock someone knocked on our door who we assume to have been the wakeup call, but a strange noise like a squealing monkey was enough to deter us from opening the door and unbolting the lock.
Soon we were heading to the Agra Fort, also known as the Red Fort, after a breakfast of toast. Meals seem to be limited to rice, Nan, or toast, mostly because everything else is so spicy or I am thinking more about the aftereffects than satisfying my taste buds. But nana was right; rice is always available in great abundance. As soon as we approached the fort I knew that I was in for a treat. Imagine Windsor Castle made from red sandstone and perhaps you will have some small inkling of what this place was like. We wandered around the small corridors in between a forest of red sandstone columns and scalloped arches. We each decided self-consciously to get away from the flock of students pushing for the prime photo spots. They walk down the central walkway in clumps as we skirt the garden to the right, walking through an entryway into an open corridor leading to an enclosed space. One wall is lined with low windows overlooking the river and the Taj Mahal on the opposite bank.
We round room breaks into several directions, a set of hidden stairs leading up to an open tower. We climb and explore far from the gaze of the group and the flash of their cameras, admiring the architecture and the intricacy of the sight. Soon it is time to return to the group and the bus, but we discover a secret passage to the roof and take some time to look out over the complex, a dark room on the right and another cell-like area.
After thirty minutes we return to the group, I upset about our short time to enjoy the beauty of the fort. Our next stop takes us to a mini Taj Mahal lie complex. On our way to the site we pass inches within the tires of an upturned local bus, the passengers still inside. Yet the busy streets, grazing cows on heaps of trash, and honking rickshaws pay it no heed, and neither do we.
The mini Taj Mahal displays the marble complexity once again and we remove our shoes away from the main entrance and sneak up into a niche-like cubby to take pictures. But once again our time runs out and we return to the bus and the hotel for lunch. Once again rice is on the menu, and I charge my camera in the room to get ensure it lasts the day. We make a quick shopping stop, which in reality becomes quite long as the group picks our expensive cashmere and silk rugs, which incidentally would look fantastic in a tearoom. The smallest carpet is five hundred dollars, slightly bigger than a piece of notebook paper and the snob asks, “Do you think I could use these as car mats?” It is absolutely amazing that some students see nothing, and nothing fazes them. They will never truly see the world.
After lunch we travel to Dayal Bagh, a mosque that is currently under construction. After thirty years of intense work, the complex is still not complete, one worker installing a gem inlay that takes six months per panel. Even this insight makes me wonder how the Taj Mahal was created. Exiting the complex I am surrounded by beggars and I freeze. I cannot take it anymore. I don’t want them bothering me, touching me, or looking at me with those eyes. We are mere inches from the bus and Megan pushes me in the back to break free of my poverty stricken fetters. I am completely overwhelmed.
Our last stop is at Fatehpur Sikri, a deserted sandstone palace. I fall in love with the place upon first glimpse and once we are set loose on the grounds Megan and I explore to our hearts delight. The first building has the most beautiful central arch and lace work filigree. Across the open courtyard a five story towering pagoda imposes its shadow over the small pool linked by four causeways to the surrounding spaces. I wish we could climb to the top of the pagoda, but instead we step like tightrope walkers on the cracked causeway to the center of the pool, taking pictures of our progress.
In a more secluded portion of the palace I discover a set of crumbling stairs up and then down into a valley of crumbling ruins, blackened with age. Here we take many pictures, but do not linger. At last we arrive at a heavily ornamented temple, it red sandstone shadowed in the setting sun, each etch and detail outlined in the spotlight of the glowing orb. Pictures will never do this place justice. I love this place and I am sad to go. The sunsets and we make our way back to the Mansingh Palace, our hotel, for a dinner of pizza before taking the night train back to Delhi.
When we arrive at the train station it is pitch dark and I force myself not to look at the small fires and people lying around the station. We wait for an hour to catch the train on platform two, pretzel boys weaving their twisted bodies through our group. Megan grabs my arm when they approach and puts my rolling luggage in front of me to shield me from their grasp. The boy with elephantitis is still there. Once we board the train we speed off toward Delhi in our first class accommodations, though this is simply misleading because it is practically the same as second class with the exception of air-conditioning and the absence of vendors. Somehow many of the students acquired alcohol before boarding the train and they sing and dance and drink during our trip back. By the time we arrive they are quite obviously drunk.
We arrive at the hotel around eleven o’clock in the evening where the students grab any room card they want and run off to their rooms before the arrival of the trip leader on the second bus. When she arrives there is chaos and I feel bad that she has to locate all of the students to find out what room they are in. The two leaders have worked very hard and to keep the group together and the other students do not make it easy for them.
Shortly after we are crawling into bed, definitely a little more upscale than the previous night, and are asleep minutes after our heads hit the pillow.
October 22, 2005
Delhi
When we wakeup this morning we eat breakfast and repack our bags for our flight to Chennai. We have a very simple tour of Delhi by bus, which is quite upsetting considering that we do not even get off the coach except at the Gandhi Museum where we see his last footprints before he was assassinated.
We do a little shopping before leaving the hotel, purchasing some First Flush Darjeeling, which we promise to share with everyone since it is the first leaves of the season and a promised specialty.
The airport procedure follows, our tickets stating the mandatory frisking, before we board the flight on Jet Airways. I think that one of the biggest surprises was the quality of the airlines. The seats and food trays are impeccably clean, the food decent, served with real silverware and linen napkins, and the cutest little bottles of water, soothing music, and very friendly staff. It was probably one of the most comfortable planes I have ever been on.
After boarding the ship, we have two priorities. First food, which we get at the pool bistro; a meal of hotdogs and soda, and second, bed. It has been a very interesting trip and one that I will certainly never forget. Our tour guide said something that I think sums up this experience, the art historical heritage, the beauty, and the stark contrast with the poverty, the beggars, and the filth. “India is a spicy dish. Sometimes you get the spicy, sometimes the sweet. It just depends on when and where you are.” I am sure that in the days to come I will reflect on this more and add to my original thoughts, but for now I must put India aside and think of Burma (Myanmar).
October 24, 2005
At Sea
I spent yesterday unpacking and cleaning laundry in the sink. It has been a tiring experience, but very rewarding. We decided not to get off the ship yesterday, but did watch our departure in the last hours of light as we pulled away from Chennai around dinnertime.
We had one day of class, and pre-port tonight in preparation for tomorrow. Also, one more hour ahead, so we are officially ten and a half hours ahead of home. Soon we will make a call in the evening and it will be the exact time in the morning.
Here is a run down of our schedule for Myanmar:
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Local Markets Field Program
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Full Day City Orientation
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Sunset at Shwedagon Pagoda
Friday, October 28, 2005
We would like to try to join the Bago Field Program
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Free
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Free
Monday, October 31, 2005
Depart Myanmar (Not exactly sure what time because it depends on the tide, though we will have class on this day)
Halloween Festivities
Well, that’s it! We just purchased more Internet time, and I am absolutely exhausted. GOODNIGHT!
Megan’s Journal Entry:
October 20, 2005
Delhi Day
The dining hall staff arranged to have some pastries in the Union at four o’clock as the couple hundred students, torn from sleep, staggered in carrying bags as small as a school backpack and as large as monster hiking gear and rolling luggage. Three small sticky buns later Che26 stilted down four flights to disembark into the rainy-monsoon-season morning in Chennai. An hour of sleep on yet another mosquito infested bus to the airport where tickets were distributed and security check lines already extremely long and congested with Indian men dressed for business. Barely five women stood in the four lines, not to mention we were extremely shocked when all the women on our trips were escorted to a curtained station, the several guys of the group continued unimpeded through the metal detectors while female women ran handheld devices up and down our bodies, their hands doing much of the searching themselves. We stood behind curtains, not able to see our bags a couple rows down going through the metal detectors. As she scanned me, my urn sent the detector into a mild fit. Not to worry, all Indian women wear tons of jewelry so one little brass urn was modest compared to the scores of gold that coerce the device to resound with high pitched beeps. Joining my small pack and carry-on, my separation anxiety diminishing as I checked them to be sure my documents had not been fleeced in my absence.
Once through, I, yes me, pointed out we were gate five and the sign as the trip leaders had vanished. Thanks to my smarts, as I take a bow, we joined the others with ten minutes till boarding flight IC 440 with Indian Airlines at six forty. Three hours later and much needed sleep we arrived in New Delhi followed by lunch at a local hotel. It is just as congested and dirty as Madras but has some of the same small gems – the colorful cloth of women’s saris and garlands of flowers beginning to wilt in the intensity of heat. The food was spicy, spicy, spicy, but where there’s Indian cuisine you can also count on steamed rice.
We had an extremely tight schedule planned, so jam packed that missing the train would mean no visit to the Taj Mahal. Zilch! This have-to-see monument would be closed Friday, our only other day in Agra. Of course, about fifteen girls decided changing cash was more important than having the bus deliver seventy students to the train station. Typical! Nevertheless, we made it in time to board this transportation that will convey us to the Mogul city of Agra.
On a side note, what beautiful names India has from the state of Tamil Nadu where the MV Explorer is docked in Madras Harbor to Utar Pradesh and Agra. The Taj Mahal, Fatehpur Sikri and Dayal Bagh. What mystical and magical names can be found here.
Back to the train, S5 in second-class sleeper with no air conditioning, it would be difficult, in fact near impossible, to compare to anything at home. The train is so filthy it is mostly likely disease ridden. Eight of us squeezed into a space for four with a smell so unbelievable. It is worse than Seal Island itself. Dirty vendors patrol the isles trying to sell toilet paper and unlabeled water as cloudy as if it were not water at all, bits of residue floating like its some polluted pond. Others carry food and silver jugs with small spouts filled with coffee. Thank goodness for Cottonelle Fresh, but I wasn’t about to go on this train.
The two girls across from me have obviously not been clued into the realities of poverty-stricken life in the favelas of Venezuela, the shacks of Brazil, the townships of South Africa; ready to upgrade their upgradeless tickets to air-conditioned first class. The cool air and closed windows would provide a much more enjoyable perfume, but you might as well become reflective of the environment we have been placed with one word for later, shower!! Apparently they need to be, as stated, in the equivalent of the Ritz and shopping is the buzzword in every other sentence. I don’t know whether to be envious of their persistence in remaining unchanged to the world, or sympathetic to their behavior, as nothing has been intense, horrific, or gruesome enough to offer life-changing mannerisms.
The smell continues, and I must apologize for my apparent infatuation with the odor of manure, filth, manure, dirt, manure, rot, manure, muck, manure, sewage, and did I mention manure? Nothing compares and if you find yourself at home wanting to participate in every way possible with my adventure take a good long whiff of your garbage can before trash day and you won’t even scratch the surface of the iceberg. It is so prevalent and just seems to linger, filling the air with its immobile particles of putrid scent creating an entirely new atmosphere. You will have placed yourself in one of the nicer regions we have traversed on this four-hour journey.
Just now as I write a woman sticks her reddened hand through the window to beg. At first I envision the redness to be from slaughter, chicken or cows blood, but then I realize it is the spices used to cook that have died her skin. How filthy this experience is, I cannot describe. Even a girl on our trip across from me spreads her feet out beside me to lounge and I wander where those soles have been, knowing the same as mine and I do not want them to touch me.
I can’t help but wonder whether to take photos or not. And by the time anyone else reads this the experience will be long over. The train and the landscape it progresses are not images I wish to capture, but should I to remember how they affect me? Do I take several, the bare minimum, to convey to those at home what I have seen? Can the lens of a camera even capture the reality or will it be merely a façade that transmits neither the scope nor brevity of this environment? I do not know. Still I struggle with this concept. To bring home images of pristine beaches, catamaran rides in the vista of rolling blue fields of water, the architecture and beauty of such places as the Pantheon, mosques, temples and ancient churches, even the Taj Mahal. What do all these beautiful landscapes I have captured say about me as a person? Perhaps I search for the beauty in everything, even a small flower or sweet girl in a township. Or possibly I have closed myself off to feeling, to being impacted by such sights of gruesomeness. Am I just like those two girls? I would hope not.
I realize that now, what others have said about India may have been correct – that this is the country that affects students the most. Maybe they put us in second class intentionally to generate these reflections among as many willing students as possible. If not, it was still an incredibly rewarding experience, though at the time disappointing to feel so uncomfortable. Journaling during the adventure on the train truly made the experience bearable and more valuable.
Quite a few girls have purchased saris and silk fabrics. I think that they are beautiful but something I would never wear. Some have purchased them for Halloween or the Ambassador’s Ball, which seems to be an imaginative idea but a one-time venture. What about traditional Vietnamese clothes or something oriental? These sound like more practical purchases for me and I will most assuredly explore the shops in Vietnam for the perfect oriental-style dress. Time allowing, something tailored would be perfect.
After an hour on the train we seem to have left the city behind us, only agricultural fields and villages. The smell somewhat lessened returns as we near more overcrowded centers around the train station. The train ride continued in much the same fashion. One of the girls said you couldn’t pay her to sleep on the mats; an hour later she is in quiet slumber on the blue filthy plastic, her personality seeming significantly hollow.
When the two girls started taking photos of three children begging, I was highly irritated as they laughed at the three and provoked continued entreating as the small children would be persuaded to tap more on their knees with each laugh. The two Semester at Sea students taking the photos were doing just that, take and not give. These girls in filthy threadbare cloth were receiving nothing for posing for these photos.
Agra at last…To the Taj Mahal. Leaving the train station beggars surrounded us on our march to the bus. Deformed children, boys shaped like pretzels with no feet, one leg, some bent in impossible positions, dragged themselves across the ground to keep pace while others, men with engorged feet larger than a football, twice that size, toes enormous and sprouting off in all directions stood near the coaches. Such ghastly images I will never forget. Their filthy clothes and bodies, their misshapenness that they believe to be essential to their life. Punishment for past lives they believe they must resort to begging and try to make up for their past deeds.
We arrived at the Taj Mahal and walked to the main gate where thousands upon thousands of people, mostly Indian, Chinese, and Semester at Sea groups, pushed and shoved along with the street sellers to get through security. But what a magnificent site!! With only twenty minutes it was difficult to let the experience, the realness soak through completely, but the rays of the waning sunlight forced us to immerse ourselves in the experience at it was soon too dark for photos. Inside the Taj Mahal it was so dark, cave-like, that you couldn’t see, photography not permitted. With my blue shoe covers on I stumbled through the unlit interior, guards policing the people trying to take photos and blowing their whistles each time a flash announced its victim. With more people than Disney World we were practically propelled into the stomach of this sacred center the intricacy and craftsmanship of scrolls, lattices, and flowers just remarkable. As if the size were not beautiful enough every surface has some texture, color or ornate detail. I said to Heather, “We’re in the Taj Mahal. Just touch the marble.” Her reply, “Can we?” “We’re walking on it, so we might as well.” Sorry to any non-trekkies but it was like watching Data and Jean Luc Picard in First Contact caressing the hull of the first warp vessel.
It was growing dark quickly as we stood staring at the contours of the amazing palace vanishing into the night. Of course we had to walk back to the bus in the dark and repeat no a million times to vendors shoving items in our face. On top of this, avoiding cattle poop in the dark is quite another adventure.
I can’t believe I’ve seen the Taj Mahal, the experience so unreal, even the feeling of standing in its presence seems to be fading slightly in my memory. It seems so bittersweet. Why is that? The scope and size I never thought would be so grand even having seen pictures in the past. I do not have postcards from India, but it seems a shame to have nothing but perhaps one of the two hotels will have some available. If not, it would be fine as everything here is so hectic.
The grounds on the Taj Mahal are extensive, other structures reddish in color, stand to its left and right. After leaving this amazing landmark of India we were delivered to Mansingh Palace, and no this was by no means a stop on the itinerary, but rather, our hotel. In the hotel lobby the décor was fairly nice, the marbled-looking floor and dark wood, pleasant dining and small shops. The elevator was less than par with tattered and faded carpet. The hall was as nice as the lobby, brass plates with black lettering of the rooms. Number 123, ‘cause it’s easy as ABC, Heather and I unlocked the door and a decent room and bath were on hand. Two full beds, a sitting section, and green marbled benches, the only complaint would be the bumpy white walls and discolored grout of the depressing bathroom. Dinner was much the same as lunch in the hotel, pleasingly not as spicy on the palate.
After dinner it was time to check out the shops, largely owing to the fact that shop number one’s display windows were completely laden with beaded shoes. Upon entering we discovered it was much like Ollivander’s Wands, as every shelf was stacked and arranged in every shape, size, color and fabric. We opted for a ******* style with *****. Shhh!! The men in the store helped us fit the paper feet to the soles and soon we left with two bags full. As I sing, “We’re coming home with shoes! We’re coming home with shoes! Cha Cha,” goodie bags will start becoming quite plump. I can just hear the cheers already. We have also purchased a ton of tea in India, so many I cannot possibly name them all, Assam, Darjeeling, and Nelgiri among others. Some have unusual names I have never heard. We also took the opportunity to purchase first flush, which in the states easily runs as high as one hundred dollars. Here it was thirty and Heather and I will have to become masters at preparing tea as most found here are full leaves. This should be quite a treat and learning experience, much different than boiled water and tea bags.
We showered with flip-flops and snuggled into our beds clean and exhausted. With each other the anxiety and sadness of being away from the comfort of the ship is dramatically decreased.
October 21, 2005
Destination, Unknown
With a pretty detailed itinerary, the words on the page meaning absolutely nothing to me, I awoke for an early breakfast at seven o’clock. Whatever I do today, good or bad, I will have to remind myself that the Taj Mahal was the primary reason for the trip. After another shower, because you can never enjoy too many before heading out into the dirt of the city, we had to hold the plug of the hairdryer in the socket for each other as it was slightly too small and would slip out slowly. Wearing blue jeans, pink ribbed tank top and a black tunic we went to breakfast, reminiscent of an American buffet.
After breakfast we left for Agra fort not knowing what to expect. Amazing. Breathless. Riveting. These are my words for the day, though I try not to foreshadow too much. Imagine a Mayan ruin like Tulum or some European architectural wonder in Rome, even the grounds of Windsor Castle and Hampton Palace. This is the scope of Agra Fort. Gardens like a labyrinth with strange fluffy fan like petals, and lots of entrances to inner complexes, we almost became lost in the maze; one view near the river revealing the Taj Mahal in the distance. The morning was surprisingly cool; the air lingering with rain was hazy. Twenty minutes to discover, capture, consume and enjoy this site we felt rushed but invigorated at being enmeshed in the aspect we love most about traveling, the architectural and art history in Non Western countries.
As we went to the join the group to depart on our whirlwind tour, a row of monkeys appeared on an upper railing. An incredibly small monkey paused on the banister, its head no bigger than a tennis ball. I laughed at the notion that they were the present residents of these abandoned temples and palaces.
I never imagined India with so many sites in the Mogul repertoire of intricate marble and sandstone design. I love the color of these places, something I am positive we will witness again in Cambodia. We left for Dayal Bagh, a marble temple being built. With thirty years of construction complete, the temple promises to be impressive, however with many more years to go before completion. Through congested streets so narrow they could only be considered side streets with vendors marketing their goods – fruits stacked so neatly into small towers, clothes piled ten or more high – and cattle roaming around carts and stalls, through rickshaws, bikes, motorcycles, cars and buses. I marvel at the apparent skill of the drivers who most likely avoided hundreds of accidents each day. The rules of the road do not seem to apply, horns a constant symphony in dissonant chords. The minute you exit the mouth of the tour bus you go from one stomach to an even larger one where the city consumes you entirely.
At Dayal Bagh large slabs of marble lay in plentiful piles. Men and younger boys working with tools to chisel out some of the most ornate and delicate patterns I’ve ever seen. It was amazing to watch a man shave down semi-precious stones for an inlay, a design that will take six months to a year to complete. I suggest returning in another thirty years to see the progression, maybe its completion. The construction process is absolutely amazing, it’s like building the pyramids and I wonder how they will hoist the marble dome to the height of the temple. One palm tree stands in front of the stairwell, the palm mimicked perfectly in the marble above an arched doorway. It is unbelievable that these designs are carved into marble.
We leave the construction site for the Mini Taj Mahal, the production of a new highway system slowing our tour bus as we inch along the exterior road to the site. We pass a local bus flipped on its side, the wheel meeting the level of my window. I see no one inside which is a good sign.
At the Mini Taj Mahal, we walk the gardens, marvel at the intricate marble and hear the chanting of men in prayer. It is another wonderful stop where the colorful inlays on the marble surface glint in the light of the day and augment the beauty of this structure.
From this landmark we depart for Fatehpur Sikri, a true marvel. There is not enough time to explore this complex in an hour. Some of the girls, of course the two from the train, exclaim how these three days are a waste and how everything we have seen today is exactly the same. I can’t believe these statements as I am absolutely thrilled at the chance to observe these abandoned sandstone temples. Fatehpur Sikri is amazing. It stretches on and on, not one detail overlooked. Heather and I find many secret spots; even a stairwell that looks like it is supported by nothing from underneath that proves a wonderful photo spot. The sun sets while we are here and the colors of the warm sun melting into the sandstone balconies create an infusion of red, orange, russet and coffee shadows on the light ground.
A small girl with her family, clean and beautiful, comes up to Heather and I and introduces herself. She asks our names and we reply. Her eyes glitter when she tells us she thinks we are really beautiful. It is the children like her that are true gems.
We go to a department store for a demonstration on satin rugs. The infamous girl from the train buys two small ones for four hundred dollars each many students overhear her announce they are for car mats. Even now I have to pick my jaw up from the ground.
After dinner at the hotel we leave for the train station. For dessert we try Gulab Jamun, a doughy ball cooked and completely covered in a syrupy honey. It seems to be a mix of glazed donuts and pancakes and wonderful served warm. Waiting a half an hour on the platform with pretzel boys and beggars is very uncomfortable. I feel like a hawk watching them, making sure one does not sneak up on us, squeeze their way in through the maze of feet and touch our pants. I pull Heather away from some that get too close placing the carry-on between us. I know how unnerving this is for her because I feel it too. I picture myself pushing the carry-on into their fragile frames if they near too close. Thankfully they seem to realize when I pull Heather away from their reach that I will not tolerate their begging. They stare and return to other students who take pictures of their deformed bodies and engorged feet. First class seating is not much better, filthy seats with air conditioning. I won’t complain though.
We reach the hotel, Hotel Ashok to a warm reception, a welcome sign and a beautiful hotel that I know will have the most comfortable rooms thus far on our voyage. Several students who had managed to drink rum on the train make quite a scene and I linger in the lobby with Heather until all the students have left. Taking in the atmosphere in a sitting area and saying hello to the staff that greets us. We do not want to be associated with these animals that have made an embarrassing performance. They grab keys randomly off the counter, not paying attention to names on the envelopes and ignoring the polite inquiries of the staff. We shower and sleep well in the cushy bedding.
October 23, 2005
New Delhi
A tour of Delhi on the last day proves to be interesting. There are many of the same small streets with dirt and beggars nearby. One group surrounds Heather and I right outside the bus. I push Heather through the circle to create an opening and follow closely behind her before they can regroup. Many other students swerve around them as well to quickly board the bus.
After the Parliament Buildings and India Gate we head to the Gandhi Museum. A small garden with a memorial stone announces the very spot he was killed - the path of his last walk marked by concrete footprints. We remove our shoes to walk up to this pavilion. It is amazing to consider that the place we stand is the very spot he walked to greet his death. His struggles to help the people of India are remarkable and inside the museum we enjoy looking at the video clips of this magnificent figure in history.
We leave for lunch in the hotel and to check out of our rooms, 1441, to go to the airport. Being frisked again, more than I have even been touched in my life was awkward. The guys all ask us what goes on behind the curtain, as they have no such complaints at the security check point. On Jet Airways, the cleanest flight I have ever flown, food is served with linen napkins and silver utensils. I realize as I poke at the chicken in a spicy green sauce that I have missed meat from my meals. After the flight is over and we have returned to the ship we go up to the pool bar for dinner. The dining hall is closed and so we order a hot dog before showering and bed.
October 23, 2005 – October 24, 2005
We spent the day on the ship unpacking and downloading photos. We washed blue jeans and six tops that were dry by the end of the day. We washed more laundry the next day that adorns the bathroom as we prepare for Yangon. The clocks go forward another hour tonight and we feel barely able to digest India before Myanmar.
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