Jule!

Yes, I am alive. No Mom, I have not been kidnapped at the Pakistani border, and no Aaron, I have not run away with any Ladakhi men to make Indian babies. To put it mildly, I am in the remote northeast of India, a place that I can only describe as the Himalayan no man's land. Internet and phones are as hard to come by as a plain old grilled cheese, so for now, I will fill your appetites with the juicy lessons I have learned thus far.

1. Chai tea is to Indian's what Coca-cola is to Americans. Only after my 600th glass did I find out that it is 80% whole milk, no wonder is doesn't taste the same at s-bucks (becca, I need to readjust my sbucks order now).

2. A "drive" out of town really means a roller coaster ride in a Scorpio, the Indian version of Land Rover, only half as stable and twice as noisy. Every town in the region lays within a small to medium sized valley, and to get from one to the other, one must cross the great Himalayas... what I have deemed the "road to hell". In other words, the term "off-roading" doesn't exist here because there is no actual roads. Did I mention they are one lanes that go both ways?

3. You have never drank until you have downed a bottle of Black Label Whisky in a nomads yak wool tent with his entire family, and a herd of 200 sheep, in the middle of the desert. That pretty much sums it up, although I must say, a baby Himalayan sheep is the new Yorkie.

4. The Ladakhi region is very similar to what one might imagine Tibet to be. It borders China and Pakistan, and contains mostly Buddhist Ladakhis who are the opposite of Indian's from Delhi or Bombay. They are sweet, kind, and will barely stand near me. On the other hand, Indian men need to be put in their place. Thus far I have have 3 feminist arguments, and seriously wonder if they know we live in the year 2008. Don't worry though, I am on the job. Baby steps.

5. In a small village of no more than 30 people called Ni, I visited an Amchi or medicine man. He explained to me that nutmeg heals heart problems as he waved a rabbits foot above my head. Sunny, get on that.

6. My wake up everyday has been around 4 am. At that time, I get dressed in my chilly but comfortable tent, called a Yurdu, sip some chai, eat some scrambled eggs with toast (the only comfort from home I thankfully have!), and get in the car. Of course, my crew believes this is the best time for Techno music. I tried to explain that it just isn't appropriate, and yet every morning at 5 am, I am stuck in a new-age rave.... sweeeeeeet.

7. My Ladakhi driver, who I have deemed Jason Bourne, is probably the closest friend I have made thus far. He is 40 years old, adorable, and looking for love. If anyone is interested please let me know.

8. After a quick shop in the local market, we were invited to a local villagers home for a traditional Ladakhi meal. She then requested that I cook with her, as in India women do most of the cooking (Aaron dont get any ideas). Considering my American cooking skills are pretty shabby, I thought I'd give Ladakhi a try. I did everything except burn this poor woman's home down. For someone so capable, I just can't wrap my head around cooking. I did have the pleasure of tasting Yak cheese (a yak is like a cow and sheep combined), which is the first cheese I can honestly say even my family wouldn't eat.

9. Upon arriving in another tiny village, about 8 hours north of any real civilization, near the border of Pakistan, I met two villagers who brought me to their home. 4 Ladakhi women proceeded to pet me, dress me, and force me to drink barley beer. This brought styling to a whole new level. Don't be jealous Austy, I clearly got a wool gown of Yak fur for you to bring to Michigan.

10. There is a large difference between 16,000 feet and 18,000 feet. Upon arriving in Leh, one must spend at least a day or so acclimatizing. In such high altitudes as this, you breathe almost 50% less oxygen, which makes a 4 step walk, an endeavour. On our first day on the "road to hell", we passed Khardung-La, which until recently was the highest motorable road in the world. This spectacular setting of glaciers, snow-capped peaks and waving Prayer flags requires a serious climb up icy rocks to reach the highest point at around 18,700 feet. This experience ended with my first case of Altitude sickness. Think of a hangover mixed with a cold, and you will have some idea of just how excruciating it is. However, in the end, after I recovered, I would say it was a moment of true exhilaration and sheer beauty.


On a more serious note, Leh, the main village of Ladakh where we are stationed, is beautiful. Set in a valley, surrounded by desert and snowcapped peaks, Leh is picture perfect. The weather here can fluctuate 30 degrees in one day, which makes packing light and staying healthy slightly difficult. I have experienced sun-burn, wind-burn and today, as rain transformed into snow, some frost bite. I have eaten some delicious meals, such as egg curry which may replace Tamago as a favorite, and some awful ones, such as barley soup. I have showered in the freezing rain water, and showered in some boiling tubs overlooking the valley. I have hung with nomads and played with their children for hours, and I have been shoved around at the Hemis festival by natives who don't want an American girl at their special event. This is the duality of Ladakh; the good and bad, the beautiful and tragic, the inspiring and disappointing. Our filming is a process, as we are 6 strangers getting to know Ladakh as well as each other. It has been a challenge being the only girl; shocking I know, as it is a pretty standard situation for me, but in Indian culture there are many ways in which I am not viewed as equal, and clearly I have not problem expressing my issues with that. Under the surface of Ladakh is a brilliant history and tradition that I am beginning to understand. Our production is on schedule, and ironically I am the one making sure we are running a tight ship. The Himalayas are no place to mess around. It is an ominous, sharp, wild place. Let the Himalayan safari continue....

Until next time, over and out

Love,
Farryn
otherwise known as Dolma, a Ladakhi name given to me by a Buddhist monk. It means "star of the sky".....

Mountain of Eden

South Africa

SOUTH AFRICA

FEBRUARY 14
We arrived in Capetown, South Africa after a rather bumpy evening. I took some Nyquil early, hoping to avoid seasickness and wake up ready to disembark. At 6:00 am, I ran outside with my camera hoping to get the beautiful view of Capetown we had been hoping for; instead, I saw fog, fog, and more fog. Finally, after much delay the tugboats pulled us into port, and at 1:00pm I stepped foot onto African soil. I really can’t describe in words the beauty of South Africa. Nestled between majestic mountains, including the famous Table Mountain, lies the jewel-like city of Capetown. The temperature and architecture reminded me of a small European city, yet the culture is so much more vibrant, boisterous and diverse. We docked at the V & A Waterfront, one of the best places in the center of the city, with everything at our fingertips. The port area was just amazing....I have heard that it is the nicest port area we will see the entire trip. It was just a really, clean nice place with restaurants, stores, musicians, and oh how could I forget....seals! There were so many seals lounging on docks all around the shore. So began the day, as Lauren, Parr, Shana and myself left to explore the south western part of the country.
I was very anxious to go so I grabbed the first cab driver we saw and asked him if he could take us to Cape Point, Cape of Good Hope, Simon’s Town and Boulder Beach. Of course, not really understanding the distance of each point and that cabs aren’t readily available at every place, he explained the ridiculous nature of my request, but decided to go along for the ride anyway. As the four of us jumped into his 1984 Mercedes, the Hebrew letters of Shalom written on the dashboard seemed to be a great sign. So we began our hour drive to Cape point, the most southwestern tip of South Africa where the Atlantic ocean meets the Indian ocean (it does not have the coffee and milk effect or water and oil effect that I spoke about where the Amazon and Negro river meet in Brazil). Our cab driver was a man named Benjamin who was extremely nice and pretty much gave us a tour of the city. He stopped at Boulder Beach which has become world famous for its thriving colony of African Penguins and magnificent wind sheltered beaches. A totally secluded beach blocked off by huge rocks, hence the name Boulder beach, where colonies of penguins roam aimlessly. The Penguins were so much fun...they were not the traditional tuxedo penguins I am sure you are all picturing, but rather much smaller. It was surreal to be laying on a beautiful, white sand beach, in the middle of Africa, one of the world’s hottest continents, with penguins strolling by.

After that we drove to Cape Point, and ate lunch before boarding the funicular to the top of the mountain. We would have hiked the whole way, but time is of the essence on Semester at Sea, so we opted to hike only half of it. Yes, even with my knees I pushed through and made it to the top. On the left side was the Indian Ocean and on the Right was the Atlantic Ocean. The only thing more southern than that exact spot is Antarctica, a point that I found rather cool to think about. We signed the rock in the center, so if any of you are planning are trip there look for our names in big pink sharpie on the left-hand side. Right as we were about to leave, it began to rain to we hustled back to the car and left. As we were driving back through Simon’s Town, an adorable fishing village that lies between Cape Point and Boulder Beach, we passed a family of baboons playing on the street sign that read in big, bold black: Welcome to Capetown. Fitting, I do believe.

After our full day of exploring South Africa we were ready to see what all the hype of night life in Capetown was about. We decided to go to a place called Long Street for dinner and some bar hopping. Long Street is awesome- it’s a really cool area with tons of little shops, bars and restaurants. We ate dinner at the Long Street Café where I met a group of 25 South Africans visiting from Kwazulu-Natal, in the upper region of S.A. It was amazing to talk with them, and learn about their country from their perspective. It was funny, they thought that I had a cool accent- can you believe that!? Following dinner we headed over to this fantastic bar called Cool Runnings---it had the whole Rastafarian feel, which Parr and I obviously loved. I tasted my first local beer, Savanna Dry, which tastes like apple cider and, as Lauren called it, is S-U-P-E-R-B. We danced to great reggae music all night long, and enjoyed our first night in the great country of South Africa.

FEBRUARY 15
At 10:00 am Lauren, Shana, Adam and I grabbed our backpacks and headed to the Capetown International Airport for our flight to Kruger. We flew on a small 13 row plane over the entire span of South Africa, landing in a tiny, one terminal, hut called the Nelspruit Airport. One of the best parts about traveling within each country is the span of locations you get to see. I saw so much of South Africa in two days, just between the one hour drive to Cape Point, and flight to Nelspruit. Windows are key on SAS, even I have gotten used to giving up the aisle. Nelspruit lies in Mpumalanga region of South Africa, the northeastern portion of the country. It is breathtaking to say the least, but silence was the first thing I noticed. Amazing silence, like I have never heard before.
We passed tons of farms, and hills upon hills of nothing but natural habitat. Finally, after an hour long drive we reached our final destination- Pescana Lodge on the boarder of Kruger National Park. Pescana is one of the most amazing lodgings I have ever seen. It is exactly what you would image a hotel in the African bush felt to be- little houses made of straw roofs, with deep reds and golds everywhere. We were split up into houses, four of us in each, and I was placed with one girl named Anne, and two boys, Devon and Adam. We dropped our bags and were greeted outside our doors by 3 classic safari vehicles. The first driver I met, named Vernon, was the quintessential outback guy- long stringy hair, scars across his checks, leather safari hat covered in mud, smoking a cigarette out the front seat of his hunter green vehicle. Clearly, I had to have him, so I grabbed Lauren and Shana, a great group of boys and claimed him as our guide for the next two days. We jumped in, Lauren, Shana and myself in the front row, boys in the back two, and crossed the boarder into Kruger. Vernon was awfully quite, intimidating in fact, and then he stated that he apologized for his bad mood but that he was dealing with a massive hangover- great start. He began to explain the rules, which were basically “don’t do anything stupid like jump out of the car when a lion is near”, and we knew we had made the right choice. This guy was awesome- and exactly the kind of guy who we trusted to make the best of our three days in Kruger. After five minutes of driving we saw our first animal, a lonely Impala standing in the brush. I took a thousand pictures of it which I now regret, because after three days there I can tell you that I must have seen about three thousand of them. Throughout the four hour drive, we saw rhinos, a family of baby hyenas (adorable), and one giraffe, and at nightfall headed back to Lodge for dinner.
I can’t tell you what it was like, after a month of awful, mystery food, to enjoy a delicious, homemade meal. I have never eaten as much as I did at the Lodge buffet. The set-up a beautiful spread in the lobby of the lodge (which is very small and contains a staff of maximum 20) for all of us to enjoy. I housed it down, and then moved outside to enjoy a glass of South African Shiraz (Mommy, I though of you), and a boma; a boma is a celebratory dance performed by the Zulu’s, an indigenous African tribe. Although their daily lives have changed, their culture and traditions still remain a stronghold of South Africa. It was an honor to have them perform for us. The dances are separated by age and sex- young males, older males, young females, married young females, and older females. Each generation had a distinct costumes and dance, all similar expect that the unmarried woman performed topless. Some of the boys were to immature to handle it, but I though it was beautiful and was honored to have them perform for us. They pulled Shana and I up with them, held our hands, and without speaking one word of the same language, communicated enough to teach us the moves. It was really cool, but we headed back to our lodges for a goodnight sleep. It was greeted by three velvet monkeys at my door before getting into bed.

February 16
At 4:15am the phone rang for our wake up call. I was shocked that I actually got out of bed, and immediately made some instant coffee for me and my roommate, something I have become quite accustomed to. I woke Lauren up, and headed to our vehicle for a full day of exploring. As we drove into Kruger at sunrise, we spotted a large, majestic male lion. It was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen- we silently watched it wake from a nights sleep, stretch and enjoy the dewy morning. Surreal, to say the least. We also spotted the rest of our friends, Parr included, who were visiting Kruger independently. Not as exciting as the Lion, but it was great that we all got to experience such a special moment together. It was an amazing way to begin the day. Immediatley following we spotted an insane amount of animals, including herds of Zebras and Impalas, more hyenas and rhinos, water buffalo, and giraffes. Finally, we saw what I had been waiting all day for- elephants. And not just one, but a whole family of them crossing the road. They were so beautiful I cried, yes, make fun of me, but I actually did. Seriously, seeing them, out in the open, not caged in, but free to roam as they pleased was fascinating. They are the most compassionate creatures- Vernon told us a story that really stuck with me, about a family of Elephants that were attacked by poachers one night. One of the elephants tusks was cutoff, leaving him with only half of it. As you know, the tip of the tusks is where their ‘fingers’ are, which is what they use to do most of their daily activities. Without them, the elephant can risk starvation or even death. When the mother elephant realized what had happened, she lead the entire clan of elephants to another area of Kruger, where the grass was of worse quality, but easier to remove from the ground. This allowed the hurt elephant to eat without having to do anything. Without hesitation, she adapted an entire communities life in order to help one of them out.

In Africa, they distinguish certain animals as “The Big Five”- buffalo, elephant, rhino, lion and leopard, because they are the hardest to find and most dangerous. In less than five hours, our group had seen all but one, and we decided at that moment that we were going for all of them. Our guide Vernon received a call that a leopard had been spotted forty-five minutes away, so we held on tight and floored it to the area where he believed a leopard was. Kruger Park is the size of Belgium- it lies on more than one country and contains millions of acres of land. Throughout all of this vast land, there are only 1,500 leopards, not to mention that fact that they are extremely fast and sneaky. In his 23 years working in the Park, he had only seen one a handful of times, and begged us not to get our hopes up. But as our drive came to an end, he turned off the engine and told us to look to the right. There before us, perched on a rock like a shot out of the Lion King, was the last of our Big Five- a leopard. He asked us all to put down the cameras and enjoy the moment because we may never have it again. Pretty cool, that before 10am, we had seen all of the Big Five, zebras, giraffes, and more. That’s the crazy thing about natural Safaris- people can come for days and never see one animal, and according to Vernon that happens pretty often. So we headed to a small picnic area for Lunch, bought some cases of Savanna Dry and toasted to our great start. Vernon was amazing, and gave us such insight into the life of a ranger, and the secrets of Kruger. He took us much further than we had anticipated, into the northeastern portion of the park on the boarder of Mozambique. We finished off the day with more of everything, and to my delight a whole bunch of Hippos and Baboons. We arrived back at the lodge at 5:00 pm and watched the sun go down before enjoying another delicious meal.

February 17
To our dismay we were told that the next morning was at our leisure, until 12:00 when we headed back to the airport. So, Lauren, Adam, Shana and myself, who had not had nearly enough of the Safari, secretly booked another game drive. Leon, our new driver (we tried to get Vernon again, who at this point I consider a friend, but he was already booked) picked us up at 4:30 am the next morning and we enjoyed our last drive through Kruger. It is not desert like I had imagined, nor is it jungle, but rather a never-ending mountainous region with three rivers flowing through it. Some areas are dry, called bush felt, while others are moist with tons of trees covering the land, I adored every second of my safari, and can’t wait to go back. I was glad that we didn’t see a cheetah, because now I have an excuse to run back there as soon as possible. I was sad to go, but jumped back on the plane in Nelspruit and said goodbye. The pilot was aware of the amount of SAS kids traveling that day, so right before we landed, he flew all the way over Capetown to Robben Island and made a circle back- it was an insane view of Capetown and we were all thrilled that he had done that. We got off the buses at the port, and for some reason (Mom, don’t get nervous), as I was walking to the gangway I fainted and fell face first into the cement. I think it was a mixture of my 25lb bag, heat exhaustion and dehydration, but my face plant into the ground took a lot out of me, and I decided against jam-packing the afternoon with activities. I went with some friends to the Green Dolphin Jazz Club for dinner and some live music, and went back to the boat to get some rest.

February 18
Every semester, SAS offers students to volunteer with Operation Hunger in South Africa for the day.. Like all trips, you must sign up, and you receive it based on a lottery. Unfortunately, I was one of the unlucky students who didn’t get the trip, so my friends and I decided to jam-pack the day with a bunch of different things in order to make up for it. First, Parr, Jori and I headed to Long Street, similar to Washington Avenue actually, to do some local shopping and sightseeing. I found amazing thrift and second hand stores, as well as some modern trendy stores with all the latest South African styles. Then, at 1:00 we met up with our friends Greg, Josh, Cade and a tour guide we had hired to take us around for the day. We began with a tour of Capetown- through the eyes of apartheid. We saw where the first Dutch settled and formed the “Mother City”, the first community to open its doors to Black South Africans, and got a great view from the highest point within the city. It was amazing, and we were happy to get an understanding of Capetown from a historical, cultural and political perspective.
After the tour, our driver took us to the outskirts of the city, where communities called Townships are. A township is a suburb or city of predominantly black occupation, formerly officially designated for black occupation by apartheid legislation. In the most basic sense, from the outside, townships look like acres and acres of decaying dog houses. Only once you step inside, you realize that it is not animals, but families of people residing inside of them. There is very little water, and bathrooms are outdoor stalls that can be found every mile or so. Describing it can’t even begin to explain the immense poverty that these people live with everyday. Imagine those old commercials on TV about the starving children in Africa, but place in the background a bustling, wealthy city such as Capetown. The contrast that occurs within a 10 minute drive is phenomenal. These ‘shanty towns’ as the locals call them, are miles upon miles of shacks made out of paper, cardboard, or anything one can find. We visited Khayelitsha, South Africa’s fastest growing township, and entered the home, shack rather, of a woman named Vicky, who runs a bed and breakfast. She explained to us that many people come to South Africa and never get to really experience it. So about 10 years ago she opened up her home in the Township to travelers, mainly students, who get to experience the poverty firsthand. When we arrived, she had 5 students from all over the world staying in her two bedroom house, pretty remarkable. Each year at Christmas, people from all over who have stayed with her send toys that she distributes to all of the children- I told her to sign me up. We left Vicky’s house and walked through the Township, stopping along the way to give toys we had brought with us to the children. I had bought a pack of star-shaped, plastic sunglasses that the kids just died over- I wish I had bought more.

Although devastatingly sad, the township was also surprising in many way. Life inside Khayelitsha is filled with entrepreneurial energy, and community spirit. The image from the outside gives no indication of the vibrant culture within, and I was thankful to have been able to experience it firsthand. After a couple of hours playing with children, the six of us got back into the car and headed to our last stop for the day- a South African Rugby match. It was a huge game, Australia vs. South Africa, and I was so glad to be able to go. We got great seats, third row from the ground on the South African side. Rugby is huge in SA, and everybody came out for the game. It was awesome. Around 8:00 we headed back to the boat for another good night’s sleep.

February 19
Every Sunday Capetown gets bombarded by sellers with goods from all over Africa. I woke up really early and headed to the famed flea market. Honestly, I almost died. There were the most amazingly beautiful goods from masks to statues to fabrics infused with so much culture. There were dance teams and musicians playing on the side of the huts, and authentic food being sold around every corner. We walked around and enjoyed the beautiful day in Capetown. At sunset Lauren, Parr, Jori and I jumped in a cab and headed to the famous Table Mountain. Table Mountain is a huge landmass with a flat top that sits in the middle of the city. We went to the top for an amazing view of the entire city. We went back to the boat, enjoyed a great dinner on the waterfront, and headed to La Med, a club on the beach where all young, South Africans go on Sundays to hang out and enjoy themselves.

February 20, 2006
We woke up on our last day in South Africa to awful weather- rain and fog covered Cape Town and we were sure that all of our plans for the day would be ruined. Some of my friends decided to head north to the Winelands, but Lauren and I decided to stick around the boat and see what else what available. At 1:00, we got word that the weather was clearing up, and our plan for the day would work. Our plan, of course, was to skydive. At 3:00 we met up with a group of kids at the aquarium and boarded a bus for our 30 minute drive outside of the city. Finally at around 5:30, it was our turn. We got into our full-body harnesses and walked towards a small, 5 passenger plane. We met the two guys that had our lives in their hands, and instantly felt comforted by their ease and charisma. This was nothing to them, and they made us feel like we were in good hands. To be honest, I was sure that once the process began I would be nervous. But to my astonishment, I wasn’t nervous, scared or anxious at all. It is such an overwhelming feeling. Knowing that in a matter of seconds you will be flying through the clouds. We flew for about 12 minutes and once the pilot said we had reached 10,000 feet, the door opened and Lauren and Nix, her instructor, were gone in a blink of an eye. Jules and I followed right after, with 35 seconds of free falling through South African sky. In those 35 seconds, we flew at 120 mph, dropped from 10,000 to 3,500 feet while doing back flips and front flips the entire time. It was the highest adrenaline rush I have ever experienced and would have done over again that second. In mid-air he pulled the chord, and the parachute opened, sending us up at warp-speed, only to fall slowly back down. We flew around, with Lauren right nearby for the next 8 minutes or so, until finally finding our landing spot back where we started. It was amazing… Lauren and I are still smiling about it. We boarded the bus and headed back to the V & A Waterfront for our last hour in Capetown. At 9:00 pm, the doors closed, and our trip to South Africa had come to an end.

After six days in South Africa, I can say with complete certainty that I could easily see myself living there. Unlike other places we have been to, where my desire to stay lays in the fact that my experience was phenomenal, Capetown seemed to suit me very well. The hardships of the apartheid era gave people an understanding of what is important in life. They are thankful for what they have, and work hard to gain more. Overall, the people in South Africa were some of the nicest, friendliest and most helpful people I have met on my trip thus far, and I wish I had been able to spend more time there. Honestly, I feel in love- the culture, the smells, the music, the people, the land. And don’t worry you don’t have to do anything, I already found my apartment.

India

INDIA

THURSDAY, MARCH 09
There is no way to describe my excitement for India. My friend Dave and I woke up at 5am to watch the sunrise over the Indian Ocean. As our boat pulled into to Chennai, hundreds of fisherman were setting out on their small boats to get their catch of the day. The world was so silent and still, breathtaking. After a lecture from the U.S Consulate in Chennai, we waited anxiously until the boat was cleared. Finally, at 12:00 we stepped foot onto Chennai and began what would be an experience like no other.

The port of Chennai is exactly what you would imagine any port to be, except that it is covered with beggars, sellers and security. Chennai is the 4th largest city in all of India, and being a commercial hub, within one minute you can see the vast difference between rich and poor. There really is no way to describe India- you will have to see from my pictures but I will do my best. Immediatley after leaving the boat, the 6 of us, Lauren, Parr, Shana, Jori, Brooke and myself, were met by hundreds of rickshaw drivers. They come on so strong that you barely have time to think before you are being whisked away in a rickshaw, with a driver who has one arm and one eye. Parr and I jumped in and began our first rickshaw drive. This in itself is one of the craziest experiences. Traffic in India is out of this world- there are no rules, no speed limits, no lanes, nothing. Basically anywhere you see room, you drive, including oncoming traffic. In the middle of the road, our driver pulled over and made us get out- we don’t know why, but we Immediatley got into another rickshaw and continued on our way. Our plan for the day was to visit two shopping areas- one, a place called Island Grounds where a trade fair was going on that I had been told about my one of the interport students, and another called Spencer’s Village which is a small, boutique like mall. All of the sudden our drive stops, and tells us that we have arrived at Island Grounds. We get out, and realize that Parr and I are standing in the middle of an empty field, with nothing but hay and two elephants. I almost cried! Mom, you were so right, within 10 minutes of being in India, I was standing next to two beautiful elephants. Suddenly a group of young boys and men came running over and circled us. We stayed calm, took some pictures with them, and bolted back to the street to get into yet another crazy rickshaw. We decided to bypass Island Grounds, considering how the first try worked out, and we headed to Spencer’s Village.



In India there is a weird unspoken system between drivers, and store owners. Many jobs in India deal directly with tourism, and therefore they try and gain as much as possible out of it. Most drivers have deals with various stores and restaurants that if they bring their tourists there, they will receive free stuff or kickbacks of purchases. This makes getting anywhere very difficult. On our way to Spencer’s Village our drivers stopped three times, all at very expensive antique stores where we obviously could not afford anything. Finally we arrived at Spencer’s Village and to our dismay it was more of a mall than anything else. Although there were some great local boutiques, where I picked up some awesome stuff, mostly for Austy and Amanda, there was also Guess, Levis and a hundred other stores I had no desire to see in India. Inside the mall was a travel agency, so we walked in an meet Kenny who hooked us up with a great guide to take us around Chennai for the day. The six of us, with Adam and Josh met our guide and began our tour of Chennai. We began at Fort St. George, which standing in the heart of Chennai is an old military complex that now houses the Tamil Nadu government and the Fort Museums. The Government Museum with an exceptional collection of more than 2,000 south Indian sculptures, Hindu bronzes and archeological finds from the British and French East Indian company. We moved onto the National Art Museum which had an amazing collection of old coins, and statues. Nobody was interested but Shana and I, and we ended up alone inside of this massive museum for a while, just exploring all the beautiful artifacts. We jumped back into the cars and headed towards a specific part of Marina beach called Ghandi beach where the Tsunami hit. Although there is no sign left of the destruction it caused, it was surreal to be standing at the Indian ocean right where hundreds of lives were taken. The beach itself was beautiful, soft, smooth sand with the aqua Indian ocean crashing against the shore, yet nobody, and I mean nobody was swimming. The beach was filled with people, mostly men, all fully dressed; any women on the beach were fully dressed as well, and would not dare to even remove their shoes. There were all kinds of vendors, from balloon tossing to men selling sea shells, who bombarded us as soon as we arrived. But in the midst of sunset, standing with my friends on a beach in India, I could not have been happier.

We left the beach, and headed to Mylapore, one of the busiest quarters of the city, full of life, people and culture. We ended at Kapealeswar Temple, a Dravidian temple with a huge tank, dating from 1250. Though non-Hindus can’t enter the temples sacred space, we were able to enter the main gate and watch as Hindus entered for their daily prayer. It is customary in Hindu and Muslim religions that when entering a home, temple or mosque, one must remove their shoes, so we took off our shoes and stood right inside the main entrance and watched the people being blessed and paying their respects to the Holy men. The temple itself is magnificent; pyramid like in shape, it is covered in over 12,000 brightly colored statues of Gods and Goddess carved into each side, top to bottom. Right outside of the temple is a bustling area with stalls and vendors selling everything you could imagine. After leaving the temple, women lay strings of flowers in their hair like delicate white lilies of the valley, and we were stopped by a women with two children who placed one strand on each of us. We thanked her and headed to the Sheraton Hotel for dinner at Dashkin, which was recommended to us for a traditional South Indian meal. We ordered a dish which basically was a taste of everything on the menu, and although some people didn’t enjoy it, I loved trying new things. You guys would be proud, my eating has become much more adventurous, I mean I’m only in India once right? And Mom, Naan and dosas are phenomenal, I think we should add them to the Weiner family menu.

FRIDAY, MARCH 10
I woke up at 4 am and met with a bunch of other SASers to depart from Chennai for our fight to Delhi. The airport is covered in people, sleeping everywhere you can see. Children were running around barefoot in the middle of the streets and waited at the door of the bus for us to get out. It is so sad, but we are told not to give them anything, because if you show compassion towards one, you will be hassled by everyone else. In the airport security is crazy- men and women are split up into different lines and as the men fly through the metal detectors, every women is taken into a small room and searched from head to toe. After dodging hundreds of beggars we boarded the plan, and for the first time the Weiner last name worked in my benefit- there was no room on the plane for the end of the alphabet, so all the W’s to Z’s were bumped to first class. It was awesome- I sat in the first row, got served watermelon juice, and an amazing Indian meal. After the somewhat bumpy but comfortable flight we arrived in the capital city of Delhi.

In many of the countries, independent travel is the way to go, but according to past SASers the India trips through SAS are phenomenal. So we signed up for a three day trip to Delhi, Agra and Varanasi. Other than seeing the Taj, visiting Varanasi is supposed to be the most amazing part of the trip. Set along the Ganges river, Varanasi is the religious capital of India. However, two days before our trip bombs went off in the train station of Varanasi and outside of the main temple of the city. Because of this, our trip was cancelled and all SASers were banned from visiting the sacred city. Despite my devastation, there were much bigger problems and really nothing we could do. But once we arrived in Delhi, I could instantly see that this was not the trip for me. There were two separate groups with the same itinerary for in India, each with over 50 people. I did not realize at the time, but upon arrival in Delhi, I noticed that we were traveling as a pack of over 150 people. This to me, is not the way to see and explore a country, definitely not India. Our first stop was at the Bahai House of Worship in Bahapur, which is one of the seven new temples created as a place for all religions and races to worship the creator of the universe and to express the love between God and Man. The design of Bahai was inspired by the lotus flower, representing purity. It is surrounded by nine large pools, symbolizing comprehensiveness, oneness and unity. I had never heard of this faith and found the principles to be extremely interesting; not all, but some include the oneness of mankind, independent investigation of truth, common foundation of all religions, the essential harmony of science and religion, equality of men and women, elimination of prejudice of all kind, and universal peace. We were told that before we enter, we must remove are shoes and all talking, laughing and gesturing must be halted. The minute we entered, I saw kids doing exactly that. Not only were there no locals or Bahai believers in the temple, but it was covered with SASers who had little or no respect for the sacred space. I was infuriated and on our way to the hotel, I realized that this trip needed to be saved.

We arrived at Hotel Ashok in Delhi and I b-lined it to the travel desk. I had just found out that (Mom, don’t get mad) Varanasi had opened its doors to tourists again, so my first idea was to leave the group and fly to Varanasi for the day. However, many other students had the same idea, and all the flights were booked. So onto plan B: A 4 hour drive to Jaipur. I booked and driver and guide for the next day, and felt relieved that I wouldn’t be traveling with 150 students through India. We arrived at the hotel around noon, so we had the rest of the day to explore Delhi. SAS’s plan was to drive us around like fish in a bowl, so we opted out of their tour and got a driver to take 8 of us all over. First we drove through New Delhi, past the monumental Parliament and the government buildings. Then we went drove to Old Delhi, and stopped at Lal Quila, the Red Fort, a massive red sandstone fort made to protect the city in the 16th century. Now it is a main target for Al Queda attacks, so security is extremely tight and we were only permitted to a certain point. We continued on to Jama Masjid, the largest Mosque in India, surrounded by one of the poorest neighborhoods I had seen yet. Jama Masjid, or Friday Mosque, was built in 1656 as an integral part of Shah Jahan’s plan to produce a walled city when he moved from Agra to Delhi in the 17th century. A vast open courtyard is enclosed by a low arcade with three massive gates on the north, south and east sides for people to enter. To the west, the direction of Mecca (every worshipper in any Mosque or temple pray facing Mecca), stand three large domes and two towering minarets overshadowing the prayer hall and mihrab, or prayer niche. In the center of the temple is a large pool where Muslims perform their ablutions of washing their hands and feet before prayer. We walked up the steps, removed our shoes and entered this sacred temple in the afternoon when many Muslims arrive daily. This was one of the most inspiring yet perplexing experiences of my trip. We were the only foreigners there, an amazing thing considering the amount of SASers in Delhi at the time, and silently walked around the sandstone mosque in silence. I watched as men performed their rituals, and noticed the great absence of women. It was rainy and cold, yet the Muslims did not seemed fazed by it at all. At one point, two men pulled out their phones and were taking pictures of me on their camera. I pointed my camera at them, gave the “universal smile” that is the most valuable tool I have on this trip, and snapped back. All of the sudden at least 30 Muslim men and boys surround my friends Liz, and Parr and I. We stayed calm, and decided to take a photo with them, hoping that by Adam taking the photo they would open the circle up and smile. Everyone posed for the picture and right as we smiled for the camera, I felt three hands on my body. I turned around, asked that they keep their hand to themselves, but instantly felt more hands grabbing me all over. We bolted out of there, put our shoes on as fast as possible and ran back to the car. This experience really upset me, for we were doing everything possible to respect their place of worship and honor their religions, and yet they had no respect for us or their sacred space.

We left the Mosque and headed to New Delhi to the Gandhi Darshan. This park on the banks of the Yamuna river is where Mahatma Gandhi, Indira Gandhi, and her son Rajiv were all cremated. A memorial and ever-burning flame stands as commemoration for the beloved leader and his family. My friend Jori and I ran ahead of the group, and once again were surrounded by a large group of men, who showed such disrespect for their own culture, and while I didn’t feel really threatened it was truly unsettling. Right after, with a few short delays when our driver tried to take us to some fancy store where we knew he got a kickback, we headed to Babu market for some local shopping. We were the only foreigners there and I loved being able to see what the markets for the people in Delhi looked like. Parr, Jori and I got henna all over our hands, and I got some skirts for 2 American dollars each, amazing! The 8 of us got back in the car and jetted back to meet SAS for a showing of “Dances of India”. I was so excited to see a real Indian show, but was disappointed to realize that it was definitely made for tourists. It had different examples of Indian music and dance from the North and South but was very overdone and Americanized. After an exhausting day, we went back to the hotel for a short nights sleep in an actual bed, something I have grown to look forward to greatly.

SATURDAY, MARCH 11
At 4am (yes, once again 4am, a time I have grown quite accustomed to) Adam, Andrew, Parr and I met our driver Krishan and got into the car for our 4 hour drive to Jaipur. We all passed out, but in the few moments I woke up, I saw such pungent scenes along our drive. People in India never seem to sleep, and at all hours of the night, traffic from tons of trucks, cars, rickshaws, and camels, yes I said camels, is horribly bad and people roam the streets in search for money, food and shelter. I continued to sleep and woke up to Adam yelling for Parr and I to grab our cameras. Right outside our window in the haze of morning was a massive elephant. I looked around and realized that somehow we had arrived in Jaipur (although I am glad I was sleeping because it was 8am, and God only knows how Krishan got us there so fast).

We made our way through Jaipur at dusk, passing tons of elephants and camels along the way. While is it considered a large city, Jaipur is much smaller and poorer than Chennai or Delhi. Known as the pink capital of Rajasthan, Jaipur was founded by Rajput Maharaja Jai Singh in 1727. He designed the city in a grid layout with sandstone palaces, havelis, avenues and bazaars which now houses over two and half million people. We arrived at the Hilton hotel, which is across from one of Jaipur’s most famous palaces. The Water Palace literally stands in the center of a man-made lake with not access to it but by boat. Although it is closed off to the public now, and only fisherman are permitted access to the lake, it is one of the most beautiful sights of India. We arrived at the hotel before our guide, so we enjoyed a delicious North Indian breakfast and began our day. First our guide Ana took us to the famous Amber Fort, a palace complex of Amer set with its sandy color blending into a backdrop of rocky hills overlooking Jaipur. There are many ways to reach the top, but we opted for an elephant ride, which was amazing, and a breathtaking way to see the entire city. The palace itself was by far one of the most remarkable sights in all of the cities I have seen. The front courtyard is covered in vendors, beggars, tourists, monkeys and elephants. We entered through the Suraj Pol or Sun Gate, took off our shoes, and entered a stunning marble temple dedicated to Kali, the Goddess of War. Ana told us that Raja Man Singh feared that he would lose a battle, and dreamt that if he worshipped Kali, he would succeed. The next day, he won the battle and began building a temple in her honor out of the same marble used in the Taj Mahal. We were each blessed by a Holy man with rings of flowers placed around our necks, and bindis placed on our faces. We walked through Amber Fort for hours, and still barely saw enough of it. I could’ve spent days there exploring all the different palace structures, hidden doorways and views.

Finally we left and went to a small village where they hand-make all sorts of crafts that India is known for. We watched as them make Indian rugs which take up to two years to make, and were told that when one is completed there is a huge celebration. It was really interesting to see how they work, and how each member of the area is part of a team. It doesn’t matter how many items one person makes, but how many they make in total, and ideal completely lost to most Americans. We skipped lunch, and headed to the Jantar Mantar, one of the five remarkable observatories built by Jai Singh. Constructed of stone and marble, the massive structures were designed by Singh to prove to the Mughal Emperor that Hindu astrology was based on science. Inside the complex is a variety of structures devoted to each astrological sign, and the largest sundial in the world. We walked around for a while until leaving for the City Palace. City Palace, in the center of the pink city, is still home to the former ruling family and several other edifices that have been converted into museums. From textiles to costumes, weapons to art, these museums cover so much of Indian history and tradition. The Palace itself is a fusion of Hindu and Mughal décor, with delicate white patterns, sandstone walls, and marble columns, all guarded by two stone elephants at the gate. In the center of the Palace were a group of men playing traditional north Indian music, while a holy man blessed anyone who accepted it. But at this point we were exhausted and starving, so we headed to a local restaurant and treated Ana and Krishan for dinner. We shopped at a small local market before getting back in the car for our ride back to Delhi. Somehow our 4 hour ride became a six hour one and the four of us became so delirious we actually resorted to playing geography. Parr tried to pull a fast one on us by claiming the emerald city as an actual place. In addition to the fun inside the car, the view out the windows were something I’ll never forget. We saw everything you could imagine- cars packed with 14 people in every spot possible, trucks filled with animals, animals carrying trucks, men (and mind you, its just what I saw) pooping out the backs of moving cars, and kids running across the highway to bang on our windows for money. Jaipur was unforgettable, not only for its breathtaking art and architecture, but for its people as well.

SUNDAY, MARCH 12
We got to sleep in, until 7 am that is, before we set off for our train to Agra. The train stations in India are incomparable; people sleep anywhere and everywhere, covered in dirt, feces, and sewage, just waiting for people to come and go. Right as I stepped out of the bus I was harassed by two children begging me for food, and although I had nothing, I still felt guilty. I walked as fast as I could towards the train but couldn’t help but be affected by what was around me. At that time in the morning, even I couldn’t help but feel wide awake.

We got on the Shabatabi express to Agra and thankfully got first class seats. Basically in Indian trains, anything other than first class means a cattle-car which is not only uncomfortable, but unsafe. We arrived in Agra, home to two million people, and realized that as the main tourist destination in all of India, the beggars and poverty throughout the city is immense, We were supposed to visit the Taj at Sunset, however, upon arrival we were told that the Prime Minister was visiting at 1:00, which meant that it would be closed to the public. So we changed our plans and headed first to Agra Fort. Built in 1565 by Emperor Akbar, the fort is a medley of Islamic and Hindu styles of architecture, and seemed to be endless, with hundreds of stairs, corridors, temples, and levels. Surrounded by high red sandstone walls, we entered the fort through Amar Singh gate, and explored. In the center of the structure is the Khas Mahal, marble pavilion, which is next to a octagonal tower where legend has it Shah Jahan lay on his death bed. His son banned him to the fort for eight years, with enough compassion however to give him a direct view of the Taj, where his wife lay to rest. It was extremely foggy and we couldn’t see the Taj, so we left and made our way to the gates of the famous monument.

The buses dropped us off and we walked through vendors and beggars about ¾ of a mille to the main entrance of the Taj Mahal. With men in one line and women in the other, you could see the intensity of security surrounding India’s most prized place. Somehow, we ended up diverting and followed two men through a set of stairs and a back alley, where we ended up in the middle of a community of homes, shops and buildings. We were taken through the back alley to the Taj, and although a bit sketchy to say the least, we were able to see a part of Agra that no visitors seem to ever go. At last, I stepped through the gates and saw the Taj Mahal for the first time. I stood there, speechless, for what seemed like forever, and yet not even close to enough. There really is no way to describe the Taj- I can’t think of any words that could even come close to matching its beauty, and although it has been explained to me a hundred times, I didn’t understand it until I saw it for myself. Marvelous, overwhelming, and tremendous that Taj is truly one of the wonders of the world. It was constructed by Emperor Shah Jahan in memory of his wife, Mumtaz Muhal after her death while giving birth to their 14th child. He vowed to build her this temple, and after 22 years, bringing marble and stone from all over Asia on elephants, he completed the Taj. He made this breathtaking palace out of eternal love for Mumtaz, but only was able to see it from his view in Agra Fort. After taking tons of pictures for the first time in my entire trip I decided to put the camera down, and enjoy it for myself. My friend Adam and I entered the dome where their bodies remain, and sat down. We sat for an hour and watched the people coming in and out, their reactions and emotions; I we touched the entire length of the Taj from side to side, running our hands along the perfect white marble, and stared at the magnificence of it. No matter how long I stared, it was never enough. We only had two hours there but I could’ve spent a lifetime. As we took our last steps inside the Taj, I cried knowing how lucky I am to have experienced it. It was so moving, so inspiring and Mom and Dad, I can’t thank you enough for giving that to me.

After the Taj, with my adrenaline rushing me to an extreme natural high, we made our way 25 miles west of Agra to Fatehpur Sikri, a large compound made by Emperor Akbar on a premonition that he was going to bear a son. Within twenty years it was virtually abandoned due to lack of water, and now remains an incredible ghost city, with all of the structures intact. As always, traveling in a pack of 150+ is not my style, so I opted to travel alone through the abandoned city. The delicate red sandstone structures still have the fascinating aura of 16th century India, with what seems like a never ending amount of gardens, palaces, and balconies. I walked passed the Pachisi Board, a gigantic stone board game where Akbar used to use slave-girls as pieces, Anup Talao Pavilion which was the home of Akbar’s favorite wife, and Panch Mahal, a five story palace decorated lavishly with symbols and engravings. While exploring I ended up at a gleaming white marble mosque shaded beneath a mother of pearl canopy. I took off my shoes, and was handed a small bag with two strings, a piece of fabric and rose petals. I was pointed towards a marble wall with wish-bone like cutouts and tied my strings to it, for what I perceived from the man to be for good luck. Then, I walked inside, laid my fabric and rose petals onto a bed, and was blessed by a holy man. When I walked outside, I was greeted by a beautiful little girl, who when I spoke to her in English responded back with perfectly. She walked with me for a while, and although she was bright, pretty and savvy, said that no matter what she did, she was doomed for a life on the streets. I tried to give her money but was instantly harassed by a group of beggars, so we ran outside, and said our goodbyes. I left feeling like I could’ve done more, but sadly knowing the impossibility of that.

MONDAY, MARCH 13
After an emotionally and physically exhausting few days, we fly back to Chennai and arrived home, to our ship which is so nice after being in such a foreign place. I wanted to see as much as I could in my last few hours in India, so I jumped into a Rickshaw and went around town for a while. On the way back, Adam, Dave and I ended up in a rickshaw with the same driver Dave had on the first day. Joseph explained that he is a father of three, two boys and one girl, and that instead of paying him, he would love for us to give him some “American things”. So when we got back to the boat, I threw some clothes, toys and food in a bag and gave them, with love, to Joseph for his family. I think that was a great way to end my journey.

My experience in India was inspiring, shocking, devastating, and exciting all at the same time. It was exactly what I had imagined and everything I never could have. And yet, I am leaving feeling unaccomplished and unfulfilled, two things I am not okay with. See, its not that there is poverty and tragedy in India, rather that India is tragedy, the definition of the word. On one of the bus rides we had a bag of garbage that needed to be thrown out, and when I asked our tour guide where to put it, he threw it on the ground and said “India, garbage”. Those two words stuck out in my mind so strongly. India is a world where God is the basis of every culture and religion, yet I feel like it is the one place God completely overlooked. While this experience was life changing, it also made me mad and angry that nothing has changed, that nothing is changing. In other countries we have been to, poverty is visible, but it isn’t all that you see. In India, every street, every field, every building is amassed with sick and homeless people, starving children and animals. More than not, people are handicapped in someway, missing eyes and limbs. I was told that in Chennai many of these handicaps are self-inflicted so they can receive attention and money from the government. I hate to say this, but I after leaving I feel like with the exception of the people and incomparable monuments, India should be bombed, settled for a couple of years, and begun all over again. I wish I could have done something, anything, but for the first time I feel like no matter what, I couldn’t even leave a dent. So for me, although India was amazing to experience, it was devastating knowing what other parts of the world have, and how little we really share it.

Myanmar

MYANMAR

Myanmar, where do I even begin. First and foremost, for those of you who don’t know, Myanmar is the old Burma, situated between China, India, Thailand and Laos right off of the Bay of Bengal and the Andaman sea. I don’t mean to give you a book report but most people in the world have no clue what Myanmar is so I have to give you a short lesson on this amazing country. Myanmar began with the migration of three groups, the Mons from Cambodia, the Mongol Burmans from the eastern Himalayas and the Thai tribes from Thailand. In the 11th century Bagan, one of the main religious centers of the world, was the first to gain control of the territory but failed to unify the disparate racial groups. For the next 250 years Burma remained in chaos and in 1824 the British invaded and soon after Burma became a part of British India. When this happened, Burma became a major rice exporter and Indians and Chinese arrived to complicate things even more. In 1937 Burma was separated from their British rule and talks began to develop around the country for self rule. The Japanese drove the British out of Burma in WWII and tried to enlist Burma’s support politically. In 1948 Burma decided against Japans ideas and became independent, immediately breaking up into hill tribes, communists, Muslims, and Mons who soon after all revolted. Myanmar was granted independence on January 4th, 1948, a day that marks the widespread civil unrest, war and insurgency that defines the country. The Chinese invaded and participated in the local wars and illegal opium trade, until the Burmese army regained the heartland in 1950 and 1951. Over the next 25 years the economy crumbled under Socialist rule, and in 1987 the people had dealt with enough. Huge demonstrations called for the General’s resignation and massive confrontations between pro-democracy demonstrators and the military resulted in 3,000 deaths in a six week period. The SLORC was formed and elections were promised to the people in 1989. However this never occurred and the revolts continued until an innumerable amount of innocent protestors were killed.

The opposition quickly formed a coalition party called the National League for Democracy under the leadership of Aung San Suu Kyi, and due to her overwhelming popularity, the government put her under house arrest for ten years in 1989. Can you imagine a country where a noble prize winner, who believes in democracy and freedom is put under house arrest for ten years? Prime Minister General Khin Nyunt drafted a seven point ‘roadmap’ to ‘disciplined democracy’ in 2003, but it was really placed as a diversion for the US, which along with Europe and Japan, tightened sanctions against Myanmar following Aung San Suu Kyi’s arrest.

Myanmar’s name was changed to Burma in 1989 by the military government, SLORC, because they felt that ‘Burma’ was a vestige of European Colonialism. But many people do not recognize the name change because they argue that such a drastic change should be approved in national referendum. So the first thing I noticed after arriving in port was that neither Burma or Myanmar is politically correct. Until 1984 Myanmar was closed to tourism so although many people do travel into the country from Thailand or other bordering countries, it is rare to get a visa and even rarer to be let in once you arrive. Before we arrived at the port we were afraid that the boat could be turned away. It was always a possibility but after a half a day of immigration, longer than any other port, we were cleared. Even still, we were not allowed to disembark the boat until the next morning, so for 12 hours, we had to sit on the boat and make the time pass before we could step foot onto the country’s soil.

The journey in the port was breathtaking. Normally we pull in around 5am, so that when students wake up and look out their windows, the see the countries for the first time. However, like I said, Myanmar was a different story so in the middle of my last class on A day, I watched as we pulled into the country. In a matter of minutes the beautiful water in the Bay of Bengal changed from a deep blue to a musty, dark brown and we were told that all water sources were cut off until Vietnam. Although we were told that our ship was docking in Yangon, we were actually porting in Thawila, a small, fishing village about 45 minutes out of the city. With a beautiful sunset in the background, we slowly pulled in to port, passing small fishing villages with children running out to see what was going on. It was amazing, and for miles and miles all I could see was farm land, long boats, and small homes made of straw, not one building in sight.

FRIDAY, MARCH 17
After anxiously awaiting out departure, my friends Adam, Dave, Cade and I set out at 6 am for our 45 minute drive to the city of Yangon. My initial reaction of Myanmar was that it was similar to India but much cleaner and less polluted. The people live in better conditions, but still seemingly anywhere. Yangon is the capital of Myanmar, but unlike most Asian cities whose populations reach over 5 million, Yangon takes on the feel of a provincial town rather than an international city. It is covered in trees, gardens and temples, that lay directly next door to tea houses, hotels, and shops. The dynamics of the two make for one of the most interesting places I have ever been. We got into town and ate a delicious breakfast at the Traders Hotel, they even had challah, which we were all very excited about. Then at a quarter past 8 we decided to walk the streets and see where it took us. I learned a ton about Burmese culture during this time- I saw a women selling baby sparrows out of a cage on the street corner, smoked my first cheroot or Burmese hand rolled cigarette, and meet a group of children who loved having their pictures taken. In the two hours we roamed the streets of downtown Yangon, I was not once hassled or harassed; I can’t begin to explain how friendly the people are, and how refreshing it was after India to be allowed to explore the city without feeling threatened at all times. In Myanmar the official exchange rate of US dollars into Kyats is 6, however the black market thrives there and because it can’t be beat, even hotels will exchange at the black market rate of 1,100 kyat to a dollar. However, my idiot guy friends met some guy on the street who claimed to be a money exchanger and thought it was a good idea to do so. He took us into a small tea house and slyly slid money under the table, straight out of his shirt pocket. It ended up being a great idea because for every American dollar, I received 1,300 kyats. So of course, with our extremely large wads of money in hand we headed to Bogyoke Market, otherwise known as Scotts Market, where supposedly the best market shopping in Yangon is. After being directed and re-directed about 10 times we finally found our way to Scotts Market and was shocked at the amazing things being sold. Jade is sold everywhere for prices you cant imagine, paintings for $3 American dollars, beautiful fabrics for .50 cents, and antiques of every kind from all over Asia. The problem is that America has a ban on Burmese imports and unless it is ‘hand made’ it will most likely be confiscated at customs, so of course I made some great purchases but had to be careful what to buy. I bought my first longyi, which is the customary Burmese clothing that all women and girls wear. It is a long piece of decorated fabric, similar to the saris that Indian women wear.

After a great time in the market we left and decided to head to a tea house in a local area. We jumped in a cab and after a 10 minute drive out of the city, we ended up at a small tea house where we were the only foreigners in sight. Everyone in the restaurant wanted to talk to us- it was amazing. They wanted to know who we were, where we were from, what we were studying; and yet even those who didn’t speak English, they all knew we were from ‘the boat’. Then this adorable man with a small bun on the top of his head came bustling over. His name was Khan, Uncle Khan as he forced us to call him, and he was a variety of things including a tea house manager, tour guide, translator and more. We talked for a while, learned all types of things we should do and decided that on Monday when we returned from out trips throughout Myanmar, we would meet back with Uncle Khan to take us around town. We said our goodbyes and headed to Kandawgyi Lake, a small lake surrounding Yangon where the Kandawgyi National Park and Royal Barge pagoda sit. Both amazing sights, but even still the most interesting part of the day, by far, was interacting with the amazing people. Oh yeah, and we saw Himalayan bears in the process of mating, the boys thought it was the greatest thing they’d ever seen.

We headed back to the boat after what seemed like a very long day, only to board buses and head back to the Yangon Airport for our flight to Bagan. There I met Lauren, Parr, and Brooke who were all on the exploration to Bagan as well. We got into a tiny 13 row propeller plane and headed to Bagan, the ancient city of Myanmar. After an hour long bumpy flight, we made our decent into the Bagan airport, but what looked like an ornate temple. Known as the city of four million pagodas, Bagan is one of, if not, the richest archeological sights in all of Asia. During the reign of King Anawratha in 1044 CE, over 2,000 pagodas, temples and shrines were built and scattered amongst the plains of Bagan. Flying over the breathtaking scene of ancient pagodas, and ruins, with no sign of the 21st century in sight was mesmerizing. Directly from the airport we headed with our guide Kyaw, pronounced kind of like Joe, to Tayokepye temple. To be honest, second to the Taj, Bagan is probably the hardest thing I have to describe yet, because there is no way to put the experience into words. Tayokepye temple, made by hand of red bricks, is large in size yet small in structure. Many earthquakes over the years caused walls to crumble, so many temples seem in ruins, but in reality they are in phenomenal shape. Inside, there are shrines of Buddha’s, and Gods, and stairs to the top are so small that everyone had to crouch and shrink to fit through. Many people scale the temple, and climb to the top, only you have to remember that as in India, shoes are not permitted. Everything is covered in dust and debris, yet it is so beautiful and the view from the top makes the climb worth while. As I looked out over the horizon and saw the never ending abundance of temples and pagodas, I asked Kyaw how a country with no education, or health care system in place had the money to build these elaborate temples. He explained to me that Bagan was the birth place of Buddhism in Myanmar, and the people believed that if they built shrines and temples, an extremely pious deed, they would be reincarnated in a higher caste in the next life. There are no Ipods here, no television sets or car stereos, only temples, pagodas and the occasional festivals to worship and pray to the Gods. Once the stairs ended, I scaled the rest of the temple and found a spot on the top where no one else was. I sat by myself and watched the South Asian sun go down.

We left the Temple and headed to our accommodations for the next four days. Myanmar is known for its awesome hotels but I was certainly not expecting anything like this. We arrived at the Bagan Thande Hotel, and in the midst of ancient pagodas and temples lay small bungalows with thatched roofs and beautiful greenery. The hotel sat on the bank of the famous Irrawaddy river where small long boats and fisherman were out finding their daily catch. We ate a delicious Burmese meal, and watched a traditional puppet show, which is based on the classical myths of Burmese culture. We went to our amazing room, which I shared with Parr, and went to bed for an early morning wake up.


SATURDAY, MARCH 18
I had a great plan to wake up at sunrise, which was 5:35 am and rent a bike with my friend Jim to go to a nearby temple and climb before the sun rose. Unfortunately when I awoke at 5, my face had broken out in rash, so I decided the bike excursion was probably not the best idea. Despite my allergy issues, we boarded the buses and went to Shwesandaw Temple. Explaining each and every temple I saw will do nothing for you, so I suggest that if you’re interested, google them, because they are amazing and something you really should see. We then headed to Ananda temple, one of the largest and most beloved temples in all of Bagan. We partook in the Buddhist ceremony of giving all of our ‘meritorious’ deeds over to Buddha as a prayer for our family and friends; each of us were handed a long wooden pole to ring three different bells in succession. I wandered from the group, and walked around the massive temples silently, watching monks in prayer. I met a young women outside the temple whose husband ran our hotel and we talked for a while. In Myanmar, many women and children wear thanaka, a paste made from bark and water that they place on their face to protect their skin from sun and other damaging elements. She brought me to her home, which was only a few hundred yards from the temple, gave me a cup of tea, and applied the cooling thanaka to my face. When I offered her some money, she kindly refused and I responded that in America, when someone does something kind and generous for you, you hug. It was the first time she had hugged a stranger and as we said goodbye, I wished that I was able to spend more time with her.

I rejoined my group, left the temple and went to a primary school in a small village area. The school is made of huts and grass buildings in the middle of a desert. It is no larger than three or four little rooms, and yet it holds 800 or more students every year. It is only a primary school but because of over population, students have no where else to go. The teachers allow them to stay at the same school, even though the are too old for it or they lack the space. The administrators themselves admit that the education is quite under par, but it is all they have; it was sad to see the teachers explaining to us how they understand how little they can actually accomplish, but unlike many other places we have visited, there is a great effort made. It is summer vacation now, but they had the children from the surrounding villages come in for one day of summer school. We walked into a small room, and sitting on the floor in rows were about eighty third graders. They were as happy to see us as we were to see them. The children were split up, girls on one side of the room, boys on the other. The girls were so adorable, so excited to see American girls- what we looked like, our clothes, our hair; their faces, covered in thanaka, with smiles from ear to ear lit up the room. I was happy that I had the thanaka on as well because I could tell that it made them feel more comfortable. I sat down on the floor with them, and pulled out a can of bubbles I had brought with me. They loved it, and we blew bubbles together for a while. Then the teacher said that they had prepared some songs for us, and the kids broke into song, from Burmese classics to the American alphabet. Then we did the same, singing ‘Twinkle Twinkle’, ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ and of course, the A,B,C’s. They loved it and I could’ve stayed the entire day, but we had to go. We left the school, and went to a nearby village, where I think most of the children actually lived.

Getting off of our air-conditioned bus into the sweltering building was transforming. I know people live like this, I’ve heard of it, I’ve seen it countless times on this trip, and yet every time I am more and more amazed at how it actually occurs. With nothing but small homes made of wood, palm leaves and woven grass, these families lives amongst one another in such harmony. I watched as over 20 women and children bathed in a wide-opening using tubs and buckets of water. Sitting in the homes were old men and women, great grandparents and ancestors smoking cheroots, and doing nothing but watching, silently. The children mauled us, I mean attacked us, and wouldn’t leave our sides. Five kids in particular stayed with me and Parr the entire time. We taught them to play patty-cake, and we explained how to them how to high five, smile, and laugh using English words. And of course, we explained to them the American hug, and got them each to hug us, as they blushed and laughed hysterically. We left the village and went to a restaurant for another delicious lunch. We then headed to another amazing temple, statuesque and covered in gold. As I walked around Shwezigon Temple I found a monk under a tree praying, and watched him for a while. Then we had the awesome chance to ride pony carts around Bagan, which is said to be one of the best ways to see it, other than hot air balloons or planes. Every road, every corner, everywhere you look in Bagan there is another fascinating archeological relic to be seen, and driving by on fast paced buses is not the way to do that. So Parr and I jumped into a small cart driven by a horse, for a ride around Bagan. Our driver rode us all around, finally dropping us off at Pyatthada Temple where we could stay and watch the sunset. We spent the rest of the evening at Nandar Restaurant where we had a traditional Baganese meal, and puppet show performance.

SUNDAY, MARCH 19
At 8am we arrived at Nyaung Oo vegetable market in lower Bagan. This market was bursting with sounds and smells from every direction, we barely knew where to look. Women were spooning food into packages for purchase with their bare hands, children were selling everything running barefoot in the streets as animals, cars and people passed. There were men praying in temples and shrines that surrounded the markets, and many people eating in tea houses as well. I loved the market, but on this particular morning that allergic reaction I previously told you about flared up, and I looked like a blowfish. The sweltering heat and pollution were not helpful, so I walked around for as long as I could before getting back on the bus. We then drove for about an hour until we arrived at Mt. Popa, a small mountain that houses one of Bagans most sacred temple on top. The village at the base of the mountains’ entire economy is based on people who come from all over Myanmar to climb Mt. Popas 700 + steps to the temple. The steps circle the entire mountain, and as I walked up, I was constantly surrounded by temples, sellers, monks, and monkeys- tons and tons of monkeys! Once SAS found out about my swollen face, I was told by the Dean to stay in the hotel for the day. I clearly didn’t listen but once I began to climb Mt. Popa, I realized that it wasn’t the best idea. I climbed about 500 of the 700 steps and reluctantly turned around and headed back down. It was breathtaking, and although I was unable to go to the top, I was proud to have experienced the magic of Mt. Popa.

On our way back to Bagan, our tour guide Kyaw told us stories of his experiences in America and with the American tourists he had guided around Myanmar, including Charles Schwab and Amy Tan. Did you hear me, I said Amy Tan! I was half asleep on the bus and the second Kyaw said her name I ran to the front of the bus. Amy Tan’s last book, Saving Fish From Drowning, which I coincidentally finished the day before we arrived in port, was all about Myanmar. When she came to the country to study, Kyaw and his brother were her guides, and if you look in the back on the book, she thanks her trusty guides for all their help. I was extremely excited and couldn’t believe that my favorite author and I explored Myanmar with the same two people. Talk about a small world. When we arrived back in Bagan we went to Kyaw mom’s house, Ms. Moe, where they produce beautiful lacquer ware with mother of pearl, a very common item manufactured in Bagan. Then, after some time at the hotel, we were taken to one of the most special things I’ve done all semester, a dinner at one of Bagans most fascinating temples. Dhammayangyi Temple was made by a very evil King who died before the temple was completed. Because of his bad karma, no one wanted to complete it and therefore, it remains only ¾ done, and still stands exactly how it was left thousands of years ago. The dinner was delicious and accompanied by a Burmese dance and music performance by local villagers. The tour guides had to get permission from the government for this event, and we thanked them immensely.

MONDAY, MARCH 20
The next morning we arose and boarded the plane for our flight back to Yangon. There was an entire days itinerary planned, most of which I had done on my first day in the city, but due to my allergic reaction, I was picked up by the doctors upon arrival in the city. I went back to the boat, received medication and slept for a couple of hours. How could I possibly sit on the boat with another day of Myanmar yet to explore? So I covered my face with a shawl and snuck out of the boat, took the bus to the city, and found my friends in the Traders Hotel. I walked around the city for a couple of hours, talking to people and seeing as much as possible before heading back to the boat for a good nights sleep.

Although my time in Myanmar was slightly spoiled by my allergic reaction (funny, considering I’m not really allergic to anything), Myanmar was everything I thought it would be. Its such a shame that most people in the world have no idea what or where Myanmar is. On our way back in Yangon, our guide spoke openly with us about the politics and government in Burma, something that is extremely risky to do for people who are found even discussing politics will be arrested. There is no power for the people in Myanmar, and although they tried many times, when their loved ones have been innocently killed at such high rates, they can’t help but give up and lose hope. Their one hope lays with Aung San Suu Kyi whose house we passed on the way into the city. Our guide was proud to be a supporter, but would only call her ‘The Lady’ because saying her name outloud is a criminal offense. Many people have problems with traveling to Burma because any reputable tour company is supported by the government, and as foreigners the last thing we want to do is support their military regime. However, if being able to see the country and learn about the people needs to be done through the government, than better we learn about it than not. The people of Myanmar were astonishing, and everywhere we went we were met with such kindness and generosity. I wish I had been able to see more, places like Inle Lake and Mandalay, and more of Yangon, but in the short amount of time we spent there I feel in love with it. I feel so thankful to have had the opportunity to go where very few people have or will be able to, and I hope that I have the chance to return.

With love,
Your little adventurer...
Farryn

-for those of you who are interested, I have attached an article on tourism and Myanmar below. I read this before departing for my trips, and found it very informative and interesting. Its long, but if you want to get a better understanding of Myanmar you should take a look at it. Lots of love!




The Influence of Politics on Tourism: The Case of Myanmar
Tourists contemplating a visit to any country with a history of human-rights abuses are faced with a similar ethical dilemma: keep yourself and your tourist dollars away, or go and bear witness, facilitate the exchange of ideas and support local businesses. Visitors to Myanmar are faced with such a dilemma and some profound political and ideological decision-making. Tourism marketing strategies in Myanmar have focused on a picturesque and idyllic landscape, imbued with spirituality as a consequence of its Buddhist traditions, and inhabited by peaceful people whose traditional culture has been preserved. However, this image of a country at peace denies the harsh realities that underlie such representations.

Myanmar is the largest state in mainland South-East Asia and is relatively rich in natural resources, including petroleum, timber, marine fisheries, and natural gas. It also has a unique cultural and natural heritage. Myanmar’s history dates back over 5000 years, but modern Burma has its origins in the 19th century. This was a period of immense change, and paved the way for colonial occupation as Burma was annexed by Britain in 1886 following three Anglo-Burmese wars. After independence from Britain in 1948, an elected government held power until 1962 when there was a military coup, and armed forces have exercised control ever since. The regime followed a policy of deliberate isolationism and sought to create a centralized economy entitled “the Burmese Way to Socialism”. Like regimes in Singapore, Malaysia and China, the rulers of Myanmar argued that their people were served best by economic development.

However, this philosophy led to an economic crisis and increasing unpopularity culminating in an uprising in 1988 which was quelled with great severity and left many fatalities. The State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC) - now the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC) - was installed as the next military government and it attempted to introduce a more market-oriented system, organizing elections in 1990 when the National League for Democracy (NLD) won over 80% of the vote. However, the party, headed by Aung San Suu Kyi, has not been permitted to take office and this has provoked domestic discontent and strong condemnation overseas.

Colonial place names were abandoned after the upheavals of 1988 and Burma and its capital of Rangoon became Myanmar and Yangon respectively. The authorities have suppressed the opposition by severely restricting its activities, keeping supporters under regular surveillance and imprisoning many dissidents. As well as the denial of freedom of political association and expression, other unacceptable practices have been documented in Myanmar over a number of years such as forced labor and relocation. The leadership is also linked to trafficking in opiates and amphetamines. Aung San Suu Kyi, who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1991, is occasionally freed from house arrest and still fights for constitutional amendments, but concessions are unlikely in the immediate future and the SPDC seems set to retain power, despite signs of factionalism amongst the ruling elite.

This type of politics has adversely affected Myanmar’s relations with parts of the international community and the actions of its leaders are frequently criticized. The European Union (EU) formulated a Common Position on Myanmar in 1996 consisting of an arms embargo, visa restrictions and bans on defense links, senior bilateral visits and non-humanitarian aid. Individual European countries have taken other steps. The UK for example, discourages trade, investment and tourism with/in Myanmar. The US has also undertaken action with a Presidential Order in 1997 prohibiting new investment by US persons. Relationships between the two countries remain on shaky ground. In 2005, analysts suggested that the relocation of key government ministries by Myanmar’s military junta was prompted by fears of an invasion by the US, which has branded Myanmar “an outpost of tyranny.”

Tourism to Myanmar has been both promoted and deterred. On one side, the SPDC, the ruling elite, opens its arms to foreign visitors. For over 25 years, tourism has been accepted as an industry of potential importance and a major foreign exchange generator. In 1990 a Tourism Law recognized tourism as a significant economic activity and ended the state monopoly, allowing local and foreign private operators to run hotels, transport businesses, and tour guiding services. A Hotel and Tourism Law in 1993 affirmed official support, setting out objectives related to the growth of the hotel and tourism sector. Myanmar’s cultural heritage and scenic beauty were to be exploited, maximizing employment opportunities, while fostering international friendship and understanding. In short, the SPDC saw tourism as an opportunity to disseminate a favorable picture of Myanmar to the rest of the world.

There followed a period of rapid expansion in hotels, airports and the number of tourism operators and agencies. Ecotourism began to be promoted and Nature Reserves were designated with the help of international environmental organizations. In 1995 the Orient Express began luxury cruises hailed as an expression of confidence in Myanmar’s tourism. Yangon airport is in the midst of an ambitious expansion that will enable it to handle Boeing 747s and up to 2.7 million passengers a year. Myanmar’s state-run newspapers and television endlessly trumpet the regime’s efforts to upgrade the country’s infrastructure as a means of developing the economy and facilitating tourism.

But the high-speed growth in tourism infrastructure did not come without a price. It caused mass upheaval, with millions of laborers required to erect the suitable tourism infrastructure, and to restore cultural sites as tourist attractions (often crudely according to archeologists and conservators). Tourism development was directly linked to human rights violations, and there were reports in the 1990s of the government conscripting labor to complete infrastructure and tourism projects. People were also displaced from their homes to make way for tourism. For example, people in Palaung were reportedly uprooted and moved into “ethnic villages,” built for tourism purposes. Whether these peoples of these ethnic groups object to their cultural identities being commodified for tourism purposes is not a concern of the SPDC.

In reaction, many groups, both inside and outside Myanmar, have opposed tourism, including Suu Kyi and her party. They have urged travelers to refrain from visiting Myanmar until there is a political transition to democracy. In 2002 she said “Burma will always be here, and when it is democratic it will be a place that I think tourists will enjoy visiting with no qualms and guilty feelings.” Her anti-tourism campaign has proved to be successful, with travelers and their dollars staying away. Whilst tourism has expanded rapidly in neighboring Asian countries, Myanmar still receives relatively few tourists. In 2004, nearly 657,000 visited Myanmar, compared to neighboring Thailand, which attracted more than 10 million.

Non-government organizations that support Myanmar’s pro-democracy movement are also raising the call to world travelers, urging them to avoid travel to Myanmar and thus prevent the SPDC from obtaining the hard currency and global legitimacy it needs to survive. These NGOs stress that tourism fosters an illusion of peace and regularity while providing foreign exchange to pay for arms which strengthen the military. It thus fortifies the regime whose members may benefit personally and politically from any increase in arrivals. The Burma Campaign UK – which refers to the country by its former name – has lined up politicians and celebrities to back the “I’m not going” campaign. In February 2005 Tony Blair, the British Prime Minister, joined such stars as Susan Sarandon and Ian McKellen in pledging not to vacation in Myanmar and urging others to do the same.

However, there are some outside analysts that believe tourism should be encouraged in Myanmar, despite the political situation. They suggest that human rights abuses are not confined to Myanmar which does not deserve to be singled out, and argue that tourism can break down barriers and accelerate economic progress which improves the lives of local people. Some of these advocates have vested interests in promoting tourism. For example, one tour operator, that describes itself as Britain’s leading specialist for Myanmar, asserts that contact with the free world does more good than isolation and that a pro-active tourist policy for the country is the moral choice. A cruise company that visits the country implied that any abuses are exaggerated and raises doubts as to whether they exist at all.

Others say that it is the right of tourists to visit and make up their own minds. The General Manager of the largest travel agency in Myanmar has explained that curiosity about the region is so great, that political issues are secondary. “We believe that travelers from abroad should go there to see, and judge for themselves. Only then would they be qualified to comment.” Even producers of guide books have been drawn into the controversy, with the pressure group Tourism Concern attacking Lonely Planet for publishing a Myanmar edition. The publisher maintains that tourism aids many ordinary Burmese who are against any boycott, and that forced labor is rarely attributable to tourism alone.

It has been suggested that tourists who don’t go to Myanmar have been duped into hypocrisy by a clever public relations campaign. Many of the travelers who avoid Myanmar take vacations in Fidel Castro’s Cuba, a dictatorship with its own share of human-rights abuses and stifled opposition voices. Western travelers also travel by the millions to China despite the Tiananmen Square massacre and the continual repression of Falun Gong practitioners. Cambodia, Vietnam and Laos – other Asian countries with less-than-enlightened rulers – are experiencing a rapid growth in tourism. Few people stay away from India because of its caste system or because of child labor in factories. They travel to Turkey despite its policies towards its Kurdish minority, and flocked to Bali’s beaches when East Timor was under the brutal subjugation of Indonesia. In fact, Amnesty International, the human rights organization, declared in 1999 that as tourism destinations stand, Florida is the worst case of human rights abuse. So why not boycott tourism in Florida?

In addition, tourism is also not the only industry that does not equate ethics with economy when deciding policies. A report in the New International in 1996, stated that both French and US oil companies were using forced labor in Myanmar to undertake gas pipeline projects, which resulted in the forced relocation of indigenous communities. These issues do not receive the same high media coverage as the alleged crimes of the Myanmar Government in the pursuit of tourism revenues.

There are those who suggest that travel to even the worst countries generally benefits both the travelers and the locals. In Myanmar, a lion’s share of tourist dollars does end up in pockets of the military junta, and a large percentage escapes the country in leakages, but much also trickles down to individuals and local businesses desperate for income. Travelers returning from Myanmar report that most local people are against the travel boycott. Travel enhances friendships between peoples and facilitates cultural and political exchange. In the case of repressive countries such as Myanmar, it may also allow visitors to bear witness to local conditions. Just as the growth of ecotourism has generated support for the environmental movement, so human-rights-conscious travel can help form opinions that could be far more useful to those who struggle against repressive regimes than travel boycotts would be.

It is clear from the arguments above that the appropriateness of attempts to boycott tourism is unclear and its efficacy is equally debatable. The low tourism figures to date do suggest that tourism is depressed, possible as a result of the boycott, but there are other determinants that have impeded expansion rates. Some growth has taken place, and it is important to note that discussion about the ethics of visiting Myanmar is not one of relevance in many of Myanmar’s source markets. For example, for the Taiwanese, the dispute about human rights seems less important than matters of personal safety, customs regulations and price. Although Myanmar remains one of the poorest countries in the world, there are some signs of more positive economic trends. The opening up of the country after rejection of the socialist-style planned economy has encouraged a degree of accommodation with the rest of the world. Tourism has both benefited from and assisted in this process. Aang San Suu Kyi’s attitude is of relevance in determining any altering in international relations. Once opposed to all aid, investment and tourism until the restoration of democracy, commentators suggest that now she might be modifying this stance.

To conclude, the recent fortunes of Myanmar’s tourism are clearly tied to various manifestations of its politics. The instability of the military regime has been a deterrent to travel, and unattractive images of its leaders, associations of political repression and arguments that tourism is partly responsible for human rights abuses represent strong disincentives in certain markets. The features and actions of Myanmar’s government seem to have hindered tourism and prevented the country from realizing its potential as a popular tourism destination. Until the underlying political tensions are resolved and new policies put in place leading to improvements both in realities and perceptions, Myanmar’s tourism industry is unlikely to thrive. The omission of two key groups from this discussion should be acknowledged: the local population who do not have the right of free speech, and the tourists themselves who have yet to be surveyed.