Friday, March 31, 2006
Saturday, March 25, 2006
The rest of Myanmar...
Day 2: Bago
Bago is a city that is not very far from Yangon but can take hours to get there b/c of bad roads and traffic. Luckily the scheduled 3 hour drive only took 2 so we got to spend extra time at our first stop which was a monastery. The Buddhist monks are so beautiful with their dark Asian eyes, shaved heads and red robes. Every morning the monks go around to the villages and collect spoonfuls of rice which they put into their black bowls. Back at the monastery all the rice is dumped into large pots for it to be distributed equally during their second and finally meal of the day (which is around 11am or 12pm). The feeding of the 800 monks in this monastery is a process in and of itself. Whoever is available in the community comes and helps prepare the meals for the monks to earn merit (for their next life). Monks can’t cook anything b/c they cannot kill any of the organisms in the water, bugs in the food, or the actually plant itself, so they rely on the people that come. The people were young and old but all doing there various duties, from peeling, cutting, cooking, setting the table, etc. When its time to eat someone rings this huge bronze bell and the monks line up. Then they file past the rice pots where volunteers load their bowls with rice and proceed into the dining hall. Scriptures are read as they eat their meals of rice, duck eggs, coconut, potatoes, and other veggies.
After the monastery we proceeded to a replica of the golden palace from the 1700s. It was cool but so elaborate and big. By this time it was midday, and very, very hot and sunny. We visited a pagoda much like the Schwedagon in Yangon but not quite as glamorous. But the marble or whatever the floor was made of was soooooo hot to walk on. As our tour guide showed us around we went from one boadhi tree to another for relief from the scalding pavement and sun. After lunch we headed to another reclining Buddha. Nothing remarkable about this one but I did meet the coolest girl there. She was selling postcards and asked if I wanted to buy any. I replied no thank you and began to walk away when she followed me and started a conversation. I took the chance to find out how old she was (b/c she looked like she was 8 or 10 yrs old but was really 14), if she went to school, and since she didn’t how she learned English. She told me that she didn’t have a father, couldn’t go to school b/c she didn’t have the money, and learned English by talking to people. She in fact knew 9 other languages! I was so taken aback by this brilliant girl. She gave me 2 postcards as a gift b/c she said I was beautiful. I gave her a dollar for the postcards b/c I wanted to pay for them. She also had some old Myanmar coins that I bought from her for $3.
Next we went to a village not far from the reclining Buddha, and when the bus door opened there was my new friend again. I don’t know how she got their but she and many other hawkers/beggars that were at the Buddha were now at the entrance to the village. We walked and talked as I toured the village. We went to a cloth weaving shop and many people bout longyis (the traditional Burmese skirts that men and women wear). I continued to find out more about my new friend. I wanted to give her my address or get hers so I could write to her. I asked if she could read English. She said that she couldn’t read or write any languages. I was so flabbergasted that such an intelligent girl couldn’t read or write, but I guess if one is not able to attend school then one wouldn’t be able to. I realized how privileged I am to have been able to go to school, for free, and then to college. Schooling, along with freedom of speech isn’t a universal privilege. I am once again so thankful to be an American yet I feel so guilty that not everyone can enjoy the freedoms and dare I say it, luxury of going to school. To exasperate my feelings, on the way back to Yangon we passed another reclining Buddha that is being built. Our tour guide said something to the effect the govt would rather sponsor another Buddha then build schools for its children. On the way back to the bus, we passed a monk school, where families can send their boys to become monks b/c it is one of the only ways for them to get an education (and enough to eat in some cases). When it was time to depart from the village, I told my friend that if when I return to Myanmar, I would teach her to write. She asked me not to forget her… and quite honestly I don’t think I will ever.
On the way back to Yangon we stopped at the 4 sided Buddha pagoda and the World War II memorial. The memorial was absolutely beautiful but I still don’t understand why these soldiers ended up dying in Burma.
Day 3: Glass factory
Jesse and I snuck on the shuttle from the boat to downtown Yangon early the next morning. We had talked to some friends the night before and all decided to rent a room in Yangon instead of trying to make it back to the ship late at night again. We checked into the Central Hotel for $35 a night and our room was very nice. Even more, we had satellite TV (granted we couldn’t get many channels b/c of the govt) but we did get BCC, CNN, and MTV Asia. We settled in and then headed to the “glass factory.” I don’t know what I expected before but it was unlike anything I ever would have imagined. It was located in a woodsy, jungle area of Yangon. The set-up was a seedy, shed like shop and a roofed work area. One of the owners (there are 9 brother and sister owners)gave us a tour and showed us how they blow the glass, bake it and then polish it. It was very interesting but I couldn’t get over the piles upon piles of glass that they had lining the walk ways. Our guide told us we were welcomed to rummage through any of it and they would clean it up for us to buy. He also mentioned that the piles are how they store everything and if the items break then they just melt make them into something else.
I bought a few cool items, but Jesse went absolutely crazy buying three huge vases/bowls, plus matching glasses. I had to laugh when we walked back to the cab with 4 boxes full of glass.
Once back at the hotel we headed to the top floor where we enjoyed a hour foot massage and a hour back massage for $8. It was incredible and much needed.
Day 4: Practice for Vietnam
Early in the morning, we walked to the US Embassy hoping to talk to someone about life in the foreign service (I had spoken to a the consular onboard during preport and she invited me to stop by). But when we arrived the consular wasn’t there and another guy who would have talked to us had to go to a meeting… bummer but we’re going to try to go the Embassy in Vietnam.
Next we headed for the market for some practice for our “shopping experience” we anticipate having in Vietnam. We spent all day spending all of our money in the market. I bought some beautiful artwork of monks and of the marketplace (in the impressionist style). I also got a beautiful longyi (the traditional skirt of Myanmar). I splurged slightly and bought some loose blue and white sapphires. I originally was going to have them made into a ring in Vietnam but I think I am going to hold on to them and have them appraised when I get back. Once we ran out of money we snuck onto another shuttle back to the ship. The next morning dock time was at 11am so we just slept in and enjoyed the rest of the day!
Final thoughts on Myanmar…
Myanmar is so magnificent. If they didn’t have such a horrific govt, the place would be an awesome country to visit. Its called the “bejeweled pauper” b/c it is one of the most naturally endowed countries (teak wood, rubies, jade, rice), yet it ranks among the most undeveloped and poor nation in the world. I definitely don’t think that SAS should have gone there. There is just so much corruption and it is inevitable that you’ll support the govt no matter how hard you try. For me there is no reason that is not selfish to visit Myanmar. If you go b/c you want the “experience” then you do so at the expense of entire repressed population. And to me it is not worth the stamp in my passport.
Bago is a city that is not very far from Yangon but can take hours to get there b/c of bad roads and traffic. Luckily the scheduled 3 hour drive only took 2 so we got to spend extra time at our first stop which was a monastery. The Buddhist monks are so beautiful with their dark Asian eyes, shaved heads and red robes. Every morning the monks go around to the villages and collect spoonfuls of rice which they put into their black bowls. Back at the monastery all the rice is dumped into large pots for it to be distributed equally during their second and finally meal of the day (which is around 11am or 12pm). The feeding of the 800 monks in this monastery is a process in and of itself. Whoever is available in the community comes and helps prepare the meals for the monks to earn merit (for their next life). Monks can’t cook anything b/c they cannot kill any of the organisms in the water, bugs in the food, or the actually plant itself, so they rely on the people that come. The people were young and old but all doing there various duties, from peeling, cutting, cooking, setting the table, etc. When its time to eat someone rings this huge bronze bell and the monks line up. Then they file past the rice pots where volunteers load their bowls with rice and proceed into the dining hall. Scriptures are read as they eat their meals of rice, duck eggs, coconut, potatoes, and other veggies.
After the monastery we proceeded to a replica of the golden palace from the 1700s. It was cool but so elaborate and big. By this time it was midday, and very, very hot and sunny. We visited a pagoda much like the Schwedagon in Yangon but not quite as glamorous. But the marble or whatever the floor was made of was soooooo hot to walk on. As our tour guide showed us around we went from one boadhi tree to another for relief from the scalding pavement and sun. After lunch we headed to another reclining Buddha. Nothing remarkable about this one but I did meet the coolest girl there. She was selling postcards and asked if I wanted to buy any. I replied no thank you and began to walk away when she followed me and started a conversation. I took the chance to find out how old she was (b/c she looked like she was 8 or 10 yrs old but was really 14), if she went to school, and since she didn’t how she learned English. She told me that she didn’t have a father, couldn’t go to school b/c she didn’t have the money, and learned English by talking to people. She in fact knew 9 other languages! I was so taken aback by this brilliant girl. She gave me 2 postcards as a gift b/c she said I was beautiful. I gave her a dollar for the postcards b/c I wanted to pay for them. She also had some old Myanmar coins that I bought from her for $3.
Next we went to a village not far from the reclining Buddha, and when the bus door opened there was my new friend again. I don’t know how she got their but she and many other hawkers/beggars that were at the Buddha were now at the entrance to the village. We walked and talked as I toured the village. We went to a cloth weaving shop and many people bout longyis (the traditional Burmese skirts that men and women wear). I continued to find out more about my new friend. I wanted to give her my address or get hers so I could write to her. I asked if she could read English. She said that she couldn’t read or write any languages. I was so flabbergasted that such an intelligent girl couldn’t read or write, but I guess if one is not able to attend school then one wouldn’t be able to. I realized how privileged I am to have been able to go to school, for free, and then to college. Schooling, along with freedom of speech isn’t a universal privilege. I am once again so thankful to be an American yet I feel so guilty that not everyone can enjoy the freedoms and dare I say it, luxury of going to school. To exasperate my feelings, on the way back to Yangon we passed another reclining Buddha that is being built. Our tour guide said something to the effect the govt would rather sponsor another Buddha then build schools for its children. On the way back to the bus, we passed a monk school, where families can send their boys to become monks b/c it is one of the only ways for them to get an education (and enough to eat in some cases). When it was time to depart from the village, I told my friend that if when I return to Myanmar, I would teach her to write. She asked me not to forget her… and quite honestly I don’t think I will ever.
On the way back to Yangon we stopped at the 4 sided Buddha pagoda and the World War II memorial. The memorial was absolutely beautiful but I still don’t understand why these soldiers ended up dying in Burma.
Day 3: Glass factory
Jesse and I snuck on the shuttle from the boat to downtown Yangon early the next morning. We had talked to some friends the night before and all decided to rent a room in Yangon instead of trying to make it back to the ship late at night again. We checked into the Central Hotel for $35 a night and our room was very nice. Even more, we had satellite TV (granted we couldn’t get many channels b/c of the govt) but we did get BCC, CNN, and MTV Asia. We settled in and then headed to the “glass factory.” I don’t know what I expected before but it was unlike anything I ever would have imagined. It was located in a woodsy, jungle area of Yangon. The set-up was a seedy, shed like shop and a roofed work area. One of the owners (there are 9 brother and sister owners)gave us a tour and showed us how they blow the glass, bake it and then polish it. It was very interesting but I couldn’t get over the piles upon piles of glass that they had lining the walk ways. Our guide told us we were welcomed to rummage through any of it and they would clean it up for us to buy. He also mentioned that the piles are how they store everything and if the items break then they just melt make them into something else.
I bought a few cool items, but Jesse went absolutely crazy buying three huge vases/bowls, plus matching glasses. I had to laugh when we walked back to the cab with 4 boxes full of glass.
Once back at the hotel we headed to the top floor where we enjoyed a hour foot massage and a hour back massage for $8. It was incredible and much needed.
Day 4: Practice for Vietnam
Early in the morning, we walked to the US Embassy hoping to talk to someone about life in the foreign service (I had spoken to a the consular onboard during preport and she invited me to stop by). But when we arrived the consular wasn’t there and another guy who would have talked to us had to go to a meeting… bummer but we’re going to try to go the Embassy in Vietnam.
Next we headed for the market for some practice for our “shopping experience” we anticipate having in Vietnam. We spent all day spending all of our money in the market. I bought some beautiful artwork of monks and of the marketplace (in the impressionist style). I also got a beautiful longyi (the traditional skirt of Myanmar). I splurged slightly and bought some loose blue and white sapphires. I originally was going to have them made into a ring in Vietnam but I think I am going to hold on to them and have them appraised when I get back. Once we ran out of money we snuck onto another shuttle back to the ship. The next morning dock time was at 11am so we just slept in and enjoyed the rest of the day!
Final thoughts on Myanmar…
Myanmar is so magnificent. If they didn’t have such a horrific govt, the place would be an awesome country to visit. Its called the “bejeweled pauper” b/c it is one of the most naturally endowed countries (teak wood, rubies, jade, rice), yet it ranks among the most undeveloped and poor nation in the world. I definitely don’t think that SAS should have gone there. There is just so much corruption and it is inevitable that you’ll support the govt no matter how hard you try. For me there is no reason that is not selfish to visit Myanmar. If you go b/c you want the “experience” then you do so at the expense of entire repressed population. And to me it is not worth the stamp in my passport.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Myanmar
Day One: Buddhist Disneyland
After hearing the interport lecturer’s stories about Burma, I already knew Semester at Sea was making a huge mistake to go there. She described the injustices that the people of Myanmar (formerly Burma) face on a daily basis. The people elected a democratic govt in the 80s but the military wouldn’t allow the new govt to take office. If one is found talking ill of the gov’t they are thrown in jail. Burmese people can’t walk in groups of 4 or more. Most outside media is blocked, this includes many tv stations, news papers, hotmail, and AOL. There are many areas in Myanmar that foreigners are not allowed to go/see. In addition the lecturer also believed that the decision to go to Myanmar, while an individual one, was not a good one.
The first day, Jesse and I went on a full day Yangon City tour. There is absolutely nothing around our port area. It is a 20-25 minute walk from the ship to the gate, and then a 45min-1 hour drive into the city. This drive reminded more of Rural Africa then what I would have ever expected from SE Asia. There were literally huts littered along the road along with rice fields and cattle. Once in the city, while there wasn’t trash everywhere, the infrastructure was worse then India. The buildings were of gorgeous design (you could tell the British had been there!) but horribly run down and dirty.
We went to the national museum which was rather dull but it was the first time, of many, that I had saw “darting eyes.” Darting eyes is the reaction of the citizens of Myanmar when either they have said something (or about to) that could get them into trouble with the military. It was kind of like a “big brother” mentality at all times, which was very creepy and uncomfortable. Our tour guide was showing us a map of the country and explaining that Myanmar is divided into three zones: white, gray, and black. White zones allow foreigners (and are mostly the big cities in the central area of the country), the gray zones a foreigner would need a permit to enter (and they were generally located just outside the white areas). The black zones allow no foreigners to enter and make up at least half of the country and touching all international borders of the country. A student asked why can’t we go into the black zones, and that is when the “darting eyes” occurred, before the tour guide answered he couldn’t talk about that there.
We stopped at Chauk Htat Gyi Pagoda which is Yangon’s reclining Buddha (every city has one). I couldn’t believe how big this statue was! It dwarfed me. I couldn’t believe the amount gold and gems that were used. It truly was magnificent. Our next stop was at the Shwedagon Pagoda. This place of worship was unreal. It reminded me, and many others, of Disneyland. The temple was plated with 90 tons of gold. Surrounding it were smaller temples and shrines. It was interesting to watch the people and monks worship and give offerings.
Jesse and I left the SAS trip at the end and went to a restaurant for dinner. The restaurant overlooked Royal Lake and the dragon Barge. It was really beautiful. For appetizers we ordered fired Gourd and fried cashews (fried was definitely the theme on the menu… but this was “authentic Burmese cuisine.” Both were great and I was really surprised that I liked the gourd, but it actually tasted like onion petals. I ordered shrimp curry with Indian Spices with Jesse order duck-something. Both were really good. Mine was really spice but absolutely wonderful. For desert we spilt a fried banana with honey. The bill came to under $25 dollars with drinks, tip, and the mandatory 10% government tax.
We decided to walk off dinner and headed towards the barge. The streets were relatively empty and kind of eerie, but we arrived safely to the park area in front of the barge. We were wondering around when some one yelled hello, and jumped out of his chair at an outdoor restaurant. He introduced himself and asked us where we were from. He then invited us to have a drink with him. I was ready to refuse when Jesse said he’d love to . So we sat down with him and ended up talking to him and his two companions for a couple of hours. This Burmese had lived in Seattle for a year and spoke decent English. He had a cross tattooed on his forearm so I asked him if he was a Christian and he said yes. I asked him if he was discriminated against in Burma (over 90% of the population is Buddhist) and he said no, that everyone was very peaceful and tolerant. Interesting…
To summarize our conversations with this slightly intoxicated Burmese man and his friends, anytime we’d talk about anything he’d look around whisper a few things and then say he couldn’t really talk about it. Jesse and I weren’t pressing him for information at all but our friend, Winston was his name, kept talking about this and that. Winston talked a lot about his love for America and how he wishes he could go a back and escape Burma. He knew that since he had already been to America there was hardly any chance that he would get another visa (b/c it would be presumed that he wouldn’t leave the states then). He spoke with desperation about trying to go anywhere so he could actually “live life” and how he was dead in Burma (figuratively).
After a while, Jesse left to use the restroom, and men came over to the edge of the restaurant and yelled something to Winston. Winston went to talk to the men, and came back and looked riled. He said that that was an officer and we needed to go soon. When Jesse returned he told me that he had been stopped by half a dozen soldiers who began to question the waiter that had accompanied him to the bathroom. So needless to say we began to walk to the gate of the park to catch a taxi. SAS had said that a taxi to/from the Yangon to the port should cost around $6. The cabbies at the gate wanted $10 b/c it was 11:00pm, but Winston said we should not trust them. So we continued on a little ways and found another cab willing to take us for $12, and by this time all I wanted to do was go back immediately because I was very nervous, feeling like we shouldn’t trust anyone anymore. Winston kept saying that he’d right down the license plate number and that it was only $2 more and you can’t put a price on safety… plus what he had been telling me earlier, I was felt like we might not make it back to the ship…
Five minutes into the cab ride, we stopped at this seedy looking place and the driver whistles. I start freaking out and yelling to the driver (who doesn’t speak English) to keep driving. He got out of the car and opened the trunk and then I saw 3 guys come out of the woodwork. Luckily, I remembered hearing in my econ class that the govt regulates the amount of gasoline each cabbie can have per week, and then I saw a gas can and a funnel in the hands of the approaching men.
So after refueling, we continued on, having to clear through two different military checkpoints. Creepy… Then Jesse, who had way too much to drink, had to go “really, really bad” and couldn’t hold it. So we asked the driver to stop so he could get out. Once out, I hear a whistle, and then see a police officer heading to towards the car. He begins to talk to the cab driver and more and more personnel come over all talking to each other and to me in Burmese. They point at me and then somewhere else and then would say something to me, which I didn’t understand. I think they wanted me to get out of the car, but I was definitely not getting out (they would have had to pull me out). Finally Jesse returns from the bushes and hops in like they weren’t 10 people surrounding the car and tells the cabbie to go. Well, that didn’t work and the men continued to talk. The cabbie told us to pay them “tu dollas”. Confused, but just wanting to leave, I began to fish through my purse for 2 dollars when the officer said 5 dollars. What were supposed to do? So reluctantly, I gave the bastards 5 dollars and we were able to leave.
Needless to say, the rest of the way Jesse and I fumed over our experiences that day. I was so angry. I was angry that SAS brought us here. I was angry that I was forced to give their horrible govt my money, thus allowing them to be in power for one day longer. When I finally got back to the ship I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get back off again in Myanmar.
Well I hate to leave it there but I must… until I have time to write the rest of my journey in Myanmar… and no worries, I did get off and had a wonderful time.
Besides that, tonight is the famous crew talent show and I am looking forward to that very much. Tomorrow is a no class day but I am sure I won’t do anything productive like I should… Everyone write me an email and give me updates on what is happening back home so I’ll have lots of email waiting for me when I get Vietnam.
After hearing the interport lecturer’s stories about Burma, I already knew Semester at Sea was making a huge mistake to go there. She described the injustices that the people of Myanmar (formerly Burma) face on a daily basis. The people elected a democratic govt in the 80s but the military wouldn’t allow the new govt to take office. If one is found talking ill of the gov’t they are thrown in jail. Burmese people can’t walk in groups of 4 or more. Most outside media is blocked, this includes many tv stations, news papers, hotmail, and AOL. There are many areas in Myanmar that foreigners are not allowed to go/see. In addition the lecturer also believed that the decision to go to Myanmar, while an individual one, was not a good one.
The first day, Jesse and I went on a full day Yangon City tour. There is absolutely nothing around our port area. It is a 20-25 minute walk from the ship to the gate, and then a 45min-1 hour drive into the city. This drive reminded more of Rural Africa then what I would have ever expected from SE Asia. There were literally huts littered along the road along with rice fields and cattle. Once in the city, while there wasn’t trash everywhere, the infrastructure was worse then India. The buildings were of gorgeous design (you could tell the British had been there!) but horribly run down and dirty.
We went to the national museum which was rather dull but it was the first time, of many, that I had saw “darting eyes.” Darting eyes is the reaction of the citizens of Myanmar when either they have said something (or about to) that could get them into trouble with the military. It was kind of like a “big brother” mentality at all times, which was very creepy and uncomfortable. Our tour guide was showing us a map of the country and explaining that Myanmar is divided into three zones: white, gray, and black. White zones allow foreigners (and are mostly the big cities in the central area of the country), the gray zones a foreigner would need a permit to enter (and they were generally located just outside the white areas). The black zones allow no foreigners to enter and make up at least half of the country and touching all international borders of the country. A student asked why can’t we go into the black zones, and that is when the “darting eyes” occurred, before the tour guide answered he couldn’t talk about that there.
We stopped at Chauk Htat Gyi Pagoda which is Yangon’s reclining Buddha (every city has one). I couldn’t believe how big this statue was! It dwarfed me. I couldn’t believe the amount gold and gems that were used. It truly was magnificent. Our next stop was at the Shwedagon Pagoda. This place of worship was unreal. It reminded me, and many others, of Disneyland. The temple was plated with 90 tons of gold. Surrounding it were smaller temples and shrines. It was interesting to watch the people and monks worship and give offerings.
Jesse and I left the SAS trip at the end and went to a restaurant for dinner. The restaurant overlooked Royal Lake and the dragon Barge. It was really beautiful. For appetizers we ordered fired Gourd and fried cashews (fried was definitely the theme on the menu… but this was “authentic Burmese cuisine.” Both were great and I was really surprised that I liked the gourd, but it actually tasted like onion petals. I ordered shrimp curry with Indian Spices with Jesse order duck-something. Both were really good. Mine was really spice but absolutely wonderful. For desert we spilt a fried banana with honey. The bill came to under $25 dollars with drinks, tip, and the mandatory 10% government tax.
We decided to walk off dinner and headed towards the barge. The streets were relatively empty and kind of eerie, but we arrived safely to the park area in front of the barge. We were wondering around when some one yelled hello, and jumped out of his chair at an outdoor restaurant. He introduced himself and asked us where we were from. He then invited us to have a drink with him. I was ready to refuse when Jesse said he’d love to . So we sat down with him and ended up talking to him and his two companions for a couple of hours. This Burmese had lived in Seattle for a year and spoke decent English. He had a cross tattooed on his forearm so I asked him if he was a Christian and he said yes. I asked him if he was discriminated against in Burma (over 90% of the population is Buddhist) and he said no, that everyone was very peaceful and tolerant. Interesting…
To summarize our conversations with this slightly intoxicated Burmese man and his friends, anytime we’d talk about anything he’d look around whisper a few things and then say he couldn’t really talk about it. Jesse and I weren’t pressing him for information at all but our friend, Winston was his name, kept talking about this and that. Winston talked a lot about his love for America and how he wishes he could go a back and escape Burma. He knew that since he had already been to America there was hardly any chance that he would get another visa (b/c it would be presumed that he wouldn’t leave the states then). He spoke with desperation about trying to go anywhere so he could actually “live life” and how he was dead in Burma (figuratively).
After a while, Jesse left to use the restroom, and men came over to the edge of the restaurant and yelled something to Winston. Winston went to talk to the men, and came back and looked riled. He said that that was an officer and we needed to go soon. When Jesse returned he told me that he had been stopped by half a dozen soldiers who began to question the waiter that had accompanied him to the bathroom. So needless to say we began to walk to the gate of the park to catch a taxi. SAS had said that a taxi to/from the Yangon to the port should cost around $6. The cabbies at the gate wanted $10 b/c it was 11:00pm, but Winston said we should not trust them. So we continued on a little ways and found another cab willing to take us for $12, and by this time all I wanted to do was go back immediately because I was very nervous, feeling like we shouldn’t trust anyone anymore. Winston kept saying that he’d right down the license plate number and that it was only $2 more and you can’t put a price on safety… plus what he had been telling me earlier, I was felt like we might not make it back to the ship…
Five minutes into the cab ride, we stopped at this seedy looking place and the driver whistles. I start freaking out and yelling to the driver (who doesn’t speak English) to keep driving. He got out of the car and opened the trunk and then I saw 3 guys come out of the woodwork. Luckily, I remembered hearing in my econ class that the govt regulates the amount of gasoline each cabbie can have per week, and then I saw a gas can and a funnel in the hands of the approaching men.
So after refueling, we continued on, having to clear through two different military checkpoints. Creepy… Then Jesse, who had way too much to drink, had to go “really, really bad” and couldn’t hold it. So we asked the driver to stop so he could get out. Once out, I hear a whistle, and then see a police officer heading to towards the car. He begins to talk to the cab driver and more and more personnel come over all talking to each other and to me in Burmese. They point at me and then somewhere else and then would say something to me, which I didn’t understand. I think they wanted me to get out of the car, but I was definitely not getting out (they would have had to pull me out). Finally Jesse returns from the bushes and hops in like they weren’t 10 people surrounding the car and tells the cabbie to go. Well, that didn’t work and the men continued to talk. The cabbie told us to pay them “tu dollas”. Confused, but just wanting to leave, I began to fish through my purse for 2 dollars when the officer said 5 dollars. What were supposed to do? So reluctantly, I gave the bastards 5 dollars and we were able to leave.
Needless to say, the rest of the way Jesse and I fumed over our experiences that day. I was so angry. I was angry that SAS brought us here. I was angry that I was forced to give their horrible govt my money, thus allowing them to be in power for one day longer. When I finally got back to the ship I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get back off again in Myanmar.
Well I hate to leave it there but I must… until I have time to write the rest of my journey in Myanmar… and no worries, I did get off and had a wonderful time.
Besides that, tonight is the famous crew talent show and I am looking forward to that very much. Tomorrow is a no class day but I am sure I won’t do anything productive like I should… Everyone write me an email and give me updates on what is happening back home so I’ll have lots of email waiting for me when I get Vietnam.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Day 3: Americans on Parade
After seeing New Delhi I didn’t really have much hope that Old Delhi would be more exciting. But the transformation, from the government created New Delhi to the people’s Old Delhi, was instantaneous. There is so much life! It was exactly what I had pictured India being before every getting off the ship. People were just everywhere. The streets were litter with some busses, many rickshaws and motorcycles, but mainly people. The conditions of all the buildings were disrepair. Trash and filth was everywhere, yet the people were happily going about there business. It felt odd to be taken pictures of people just going about their normal business, but they stared at us too, finding us as interesting as we found them. Our tour guide arranged a rickshaw (the man-powered kind) en route to Gandhi’s crematory site. So sixty-some Americans piled into two-seat rickshaws and paraded through Old Delhi. It was so fun to actually be on the same level as the locals, instead of towering above them on big charter busses. Other rickshaws, cars, bikes, motorcycles, and public busses would pull up next to us. Many people, especially the men gawked at us, which was slightly uncomfortable, yet some-what expected.
Gandhi’s burial site (I am not sure what the technical name is for where some of his ashes are kept) is a nice area surrounded by a huge park. I had to take off my shoes in order to walk up to the monument. There were many school children there on a field trip.
Next we head to this magnificent Hindu temple. We weren’t allowed to take pictures, which was a huge disappointment b/c they had gorgeous statues of different Hindu gods and goddess. Then, after that we headed to a Sikh temple. I had never heard of this religion either that blends the best of Hinduism and Islam. The Sikh people in India have been very prosperous b/c of their hard working ethics, fair treatment of women, and emphasis on education.
We headed back to the hotel for lunch, and then we had the rest of the day free. A group of people that I met on my trip and myself all went to a market. I found so much cool stuff and spent all of my money! I bought cashmere pashminas (fat scarves that are like shawls), fabric, bronze ware, wrap pants, a wrap skirt, and a hand bag. It was a very successful day of shopping!
Day 4: Pizza Hut and the Taj Mahal
At 4am I woke up and by 5am we were at the train station. We boarded a “tourist” train that is apparently much faster and nicer then the rest. We received bottles of water, a newspaper and breakfast on the train. I met some new people and talked awhile before turning my ipod on and falling asleep.
We awoke in the city of Agra which is home to the fabled Taj Mahal. We had been fore warned that this is the “dirtiest” city in India and the train station was “intense” filled with beggars, cripples, and diseased… and I would have to say that was about the most accurate description. I collected all the breakfast left-overs around me to give to beggars. Since we had been told that you could be mobbed by people (when given to beggars) I gave the food to my new friend Rex to give away. We were able to quickly disperse the food on the walk out of the train station to the bus.
Once on the bus we were informed that VIPs would be at the Taj Mahal this afternoon thus closing it to tourist. This meant that we had to rearrange our entire day, viewing it neither at dawn or dusk but smack-dab in the middle of the day. We proceeded to the Agra fort where we were supposed to be able to catch our first glimpse of the Taj. When we arrived, it was so incredibly foggy we could barely see 20 feet ahead of us! Besides that the fort was cool and amazing to think of all the might and resources that went into it.
Next we headed to the Taj. When we arrived we had to walk about half mile to the gate. The duration of this walk was filled with hawkers shoving their shit in our faces constantly. If you tried to be polite and say no thank you they took that as yes you wanted what they were selling. No joke you literally had to ignore them even when they putting stuff in your hands or pulling at you. You had to treat them like they did not exist, which for me was extremely hard (b/c I felt like I was being extremely rude). Some of my friends shouted at them “No!!” but the hawkers just didn’t seem to get it. I have never been so hassled in my life.
Once we got to the gate I could not believe the line! It was so long, but more surprisingly, it was full of Indians- not tourist. As a side note: personal space does not exist in India. Everyone one is always shoulder to shoulder and always in each other’s “personal space.” Since the line was so long (b/c they had security like at the airport) it was not moving. Our guides told us to follow this man, who in turn, led us through downtown Agra’s seedy allies to another entrance. But all the hassle was worth it… the taj is splendid! Even in my pictures it looks to perfect to be real!
The story behind the Taj: The queen of one of the great kings was pregnant with their 14th child. There were complications and on her death bed the Queen asked the King for three things. The first was to never remarry. The second was to take care of their children. And as the third and finally thing the queen asked for the King to build her something that would show the world their undying love and to always be remembered by. The king did all three things.
After the taj we drove an hour and a half to the deserted city. A great palace was built out in the middle of nowhere that apparently at first had water. But after only 14 years of use it was abandoned b/c of the lack of water. Everyone was so tired by this point in the day that the palace was not very exciting to anyone. It was grand just like every other fort/palace we had been to within the past 3 days. This one was defiantly my favorite, but it was hard to appreciate the way it should be when you’re so fatigued.
The palace built its own “lake” (which looked like a deep pool) that you looked down upon from the main level. The lake was now about 10% full of nasty green, algae infested rain water. There were a group of Indian boys playing down there, and when they spotted the tourists they would dive in. After two of them jumped in, them came out and the leader said “pay as you like.” I was so flabbergasted that these boys actually expected us to pay them for what we just witnessed! It was so funny b/c no one asked them to jump nor would anyone have cared unless we hadn’t screamed for them to stop (b/c no one knew how deep the water was). This is an example with one of my biggest problems with India. Everyone wants something for doing nothing. I understand that they have a huge labor pool (some of which is untapped) but it is almost to the point of absurdity. I used the restroom at one place where in the entrance a man stood. He didn’t say anything and I just stepped around him. The bathroom was an absolute shit hole (literally and figuratively) and when I exited, the man asked for a tip. A tip for what was my question? He did nothing but stand in my way when I entered. There had already been problems at other places where the bathroom attendants actually charged students to use the restroom, which is not allowed. These attendants are already salaried people and if they do an exceptional job and give you T.P., a towel, turn the facet on for you , or wipe down the toilet seats, then you should give a small tip. But most of the time none of these things are done.
After the abandon city we headed back to Agra and stopped at a Pizza hut for dinner. The pizza was nothing like that of the USA consisting mostly of dough, with a minimal amount of sauce, cheese or toppings. But I like carbs and had no problem eating most of it.
Then we proceeded to the train station, but we were an hour early. As we sat on the bus for a minute (trying to see if we could wait on the bus) beggars already began to line up outside of the motor coach. The tour agent for some reason wouldn’t allow us to wait on the bus so we all proceeded into the train station for the most uncomfortable hour wait known to man. The beggars, mostly children, were unrelenting. I gave a power bar to one child trying to be sneaky about it so that the others wouldn’t see and steal it from him. But what broke my heart was the callousness that not only I felt, but everyone felt. We had been hassled all day long, and by this time all anyone wanted to do was get on the train and get back to the hotel. Most students just had to turn away and not acknowledge the taps on their legs or tugs on their clothes. Others were just down right mean to them, yelling at them to go away. It was so awful, because all I wanted to do was help but their just was no way to help them all. We had been specifically told not to give to beggars, because many are being exploited by the mafias and other underground organization or their own parents. I desperately wanted to help but I didn’t want my efforts to be in vain. So I did very little, which is what I regret the most about my trip.
Day 5:
To make a long story short (and bring this to an end), once I got up, had breakfast, and checked out, we were told that our plane was delayed due to fog. Of course it would be! So 3 hours late, we finally arrived in Chennai. By this time, every other SAS trip was coming back, so we paid our bus driver, enough to put his kids through college, to speed through the streets and pass every other SAS bus so we could be the first ones off and in the "never ending" bag search line to get back on the ship. It was definately the highlight of the day, as we passed a day-trip bus, on the wrong side of the road into oncoming traffic. What can I say? We like to live dangerousely! But by the time I got back, through line and situated, there was no way I could get off again and deal with the taxis. Bummer but oh well!
After seeing New Delhi I didn’t really have much hope that Old Delhi would be more exciting. But the transformation, from the government created New Delhi to the people’s Old Delhi, was instantaneous. There is so much life! It was exactly what I had pictured India being before every getting off the ship. People were just everywhere. The streets were litter with some busses, many rickshaws and motorcycles, but mainly people. The conditions of all the buildings were disrepair. Trash and filth was everywhere, yet the people were happily going about there business. It felt odd to be taken pictures of people just going about their normal business, but they stared at us too, finding us as interesting as we found them. Our tour guide arranged a rickshaw (the man-powered kind) en route to Gandhi’s crematory site. So sixty-some Americans piled into two-seat rickshaws and paraded through Old Delhi. It was so fun to actually be on the same level as the locals, instead of towering above them on big charter busses. Other rickshaws, cars, bikes, motorcycles, and public busses would pull up next to us. Many people, especially the men gawked at us, which was slightly uncomfortable, yet some-what expected.
Gandhi’s burial site (I am not sure what the technical name is for where some of his ashes are kept) is a nice area surrounded by a huge park. I had to take off my shoes in order to walk up to the monument. There were many school children there on a field trip.
Next we head to this magnificent Hindu temple. We weren’t allowed to take pictures, which was a huge disappointment b/c they had gorgeous statues of different Hindu gods and goddess. Then, after that we headed to a Sikh temple. I had never heard of this religion either that blends the best of Hinduism and Islam. The Sikh people in India have been very prosperous b/c of their hard working ethics, fair treatment of women, and emphasis on education.
We headed back to the hotel for lunch, and then we had the rest of the day free. A group of people that I met on my trip and myself all went to a market. I found so much cool stuff and spent all of my money! I bought cashmere pashminas (fat scarves that are like shawls), fabric, bronze ware, wrap pants, a wrap skirt, and a hand bag. It was a very successful day of shopping!
Day 4: Pizza Hut and the Taj Mahal
At 4am I woke up and by 5am we were at the train station. We boarded a “tourist” train that is apparently much faster and nicer then the rest. We received bottles of water, a newspaper and breakfast on the train. I met some new people and talked awhile before turning my ipod on and falling asleep.
We awoke in the city of Agra which is home to the fabled Taj Mahal. We had been fore warned that this is the “dirtiest” city in India and the train station was “intense” filled with beggars, cripples, and diseased… and I would have to say that was about the most accurate description. I collected all the breakfast left-overs around me to give to beggars. Since we had been told that you could be mobbed by people (when given to beggars) I gave the food to my new friend Rex to give away. We were able to quickly disperse the food on the walk out of the train station to the bus.
Once on the bus we were informed that VIPs would be at the Taj Mahal this afternoon thus closing it to tourist. This meant that we had to rearrange our entire day, viewing it neither at dawn or dusk but smack-dab in the middle of the day. We proceeded to the Agra fort where we were supposed to be able to catch our first glimpse of the Taj. When we arrived, it was so incredibly foggy we could barely see 20 feet ahead of us! Besides that the fort was cool and amazing to think of all the might and resources that went into it.
Next we headed to the Taj. When we arrived we had to walk about half mile to the gate. The duration of this walk was filled with hawkers shoving their shit in our faces constantly. If you tried to be polite and say no thank you they took that as yes you wanted what they were selling. No joke you literally had to ignore them even when they putting stuff in your hands or pulling at you. You had to treat them like they did not exist, which for me was extremely hard (b/c I felt like I was being extremely rude). Some of my friends shouted at them “No!!” but the hawkers just didn’t seem to get it. I have never been so hassled in my life.
Once we got to the gate I could not believe the line! It was so long, but more surprisingly, it was full of Indians- not tourist. As a side note: personal space does not exist in India. Everyone one is always shoulder to shoulder and always in each other’s “personal space.” Since the line was so long (b/c they had security like at the airport) it was not moving. Our guides told us to follow this man, who in turn, led us through downtown Agra’s seedy allies to another entrance. But all the hassle was worth it… the taj is splendid! Even in my pictures it looks to perfect to be real!
The story behind the Taj: The queen of one of the great kings was pregnant with their 14th child. There were complications and on her death bed the Queen asked the King for three things. The first was to never remarry. The second was to take care of their children. And as the third and finally thing the queen asked for the King to build her something that would show the world their undying love and to always be remembered by. The king did all three things.
After the taj we drove an hour and a half to the deserted city. A great palace was built out in the middle of nowhere that apparently at first had water. But after only 14 years of use it was abandoned b/c of the lack of water. Everyone was so tired by this point in the day that the palace was not very exciting to anyone. It was grand just like every other fort/palace we had been to within the past 3 days. This one was defiantly my favorite, but it was hard to appreciate the way it should be when you’re so fatigued.
The palace built its own “lake” (which looked like a deep pool) that you looked down upon from the main level. The lake was now about 10% full of nasty green, algae infested rain water. There were a group of Indian boys playing down there, and when they spotted the tourists they would dive in. After two of them jumped in, them came out and the leader said “pay as you like.” I was so flabbergasted that these boys actually expected us to pay them for what we just witnessed! It was so funny b/c no one asked them to jump nor would anyone have cared unless we hadn’t screamed for them to stop (b/c no one knew how deep the water was). This is an example with one of my biggest problems with India. Everyone wants something for doing nothing. I understand that they have a huge labor pool (some of which is untapped) but it is almost to the point of absurdity. I used the restroom at one place where in the entrance a man stood. He didn’t say anything and I just stepped around him. The bathroom was an absolute shit hole (literally and figuratively) and when I exited, the man asked for a tip. A tip for what was my question? He did nothing but stand in my way when I entered. There had already been problems at other places where the bathroom attendants actually charged students to use the restroom, which is not allowed. These attendants are already salaried people and if they do an exceptional job and give you T.P., a towel, turn the facet on for you , or wipe down the toilet seats, then you should give a small tip. But most of the time none of these things are done.
After the abandon city we headed back to Agra and stopped at a Pizza hut for dinner. The pizza was nothing like that of the USA consisting mostly of dough, with a minimal amount of sauce, cheese or toppings. But I like carbs and had no problem eating most of it.
Then we proceeded to the train station, but we were an hour early. As we sat on the bus for a minute (trying to see if we could wait on the bus) beggars already began to line up outside of the motor coach. The tour agent for some reason wouldn’t allow us to wait on the bus so we all proceeded into the train station for the most uncomfortable hour wait known to man. The beggars, mostly children, were unrelenting. I gave a power bar to one child trying to be sneaky about it so that the others wouldn’t see and steal it from him. But what broke my heart was the callousness that not only I felt, but everyone felt. We had been hassled all day long, and by this time all anyone wanted to do was get on the train and get back to the hotel. Most students just had to turn away and not acknowledge the taps on their legs or tugs on their clothes. Others were just down right mean to them, yelling at them to go away. It was so awful, because all I wanted to do was help but their just was no way to help them all. We had been specifically told not to give to beggars, because many are being exploited by the mafias and other underground organization or their own parents. I desperately wanted to help but I didn’t want my efforts to be in vain. So I did very little, which is what I regret the most about my trip.
Day 5:
To make a long story short (and bring this to an end), once I got up, had breakfast, and checked out, we were told that our plane was delayed due to fog. Of course it would be! So 3 hours late, we finally arrived in Chennai. By this time, every other SAS trip was coming back, so we paid our bus driver, enough to put his kids through college, to speed through the streets and pass every other SAS bus so we could be the first ones off and in the "never ending" bag search line to get back on the ship. It was definately the highlight of the day, as we passed a day-trip bus, on the wrong side of the road into oncoming traffic. What can I say? We like to live dangerousely! But by the time I got back, through line and situated, there was no way I could get off again and deal with the taxis. Bummer but oh well!
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