17 days, 4 countries, 1 carry on

We're on the cusp of the next adventure.  Megan and I are about to route through a series of unfamiliar airport codes: DFW-DXB-BKK-RGN-NYU-RGN-BKK-LPQ-BKK-DXB-DFW.  Whew.

For those who don't want to spend the next many minutes searching airport codes, that's Dallas to Dubai (with 12 hour layovers coming and going) to Bangkok, which then serves as a hub for jaunts into Myanmar to Yangon and Bagan and then to Luang Prabang, Laos. 

We're traveling light, opting for one carry on bag each.  While this means we'll be doing laundry now and then in a hotel sink, it also means we'll move quickly and efficiently from place to place. 

While it is probably obvious at this point by the size of our luggage, Miller will not be joining us on this particular trip.  With about 23 hours in airplanes followed by epic jet lag in unfamiliar cities, we decided Miller will have a lot more fun in Brenham with Harper, his Grandpa, Grannie B, and all his cousins. 

So that's the update.  We're now less than 72 hours until departure.  Tantalizing street food photos coming soon . . .

Beijing Olympics: Making Rain, Angering Governments

I read a fascinating article today that connects to yesterday's book review of The Worst Hard Times, by Timothy Egan. During the worst years of the Dust Bowl, the drought-stricken region saw many individuals who purported to be rain makers--people who could shake the moisture from the sky. Many would collect money for their services and simply skip town. Others, like Amarillo-based Tex Thornton, would launch dynamite into the clouds hoping to explode the clouds and release their rainfall.

Apparently the Chinese are also working on how to artificially cause rain. I have previously written about China's air pollution problems, which I experienced first-hand in Beijing. One morning in Beijing, we headed out after a long night of rain, and some locals told us that we were very lucky to get to see blue sky. Well, given the high chance of rain during the Beijing Olympics next August, the Chinese hope to artificially trigger the rain early to avoid rain during competition. Moreover, they hope to cause the rain in order to clean the air.

Let's just hope they are more successful than Tex Thornton.

On a side note, the Beijing Olympics are set to be a very big deal for a variety of unusual, political reasons. In fact, the most contentious Olympic torch relay in history is already in the works. China wants to run the torch to the top of Mount Everest in Tibet as well as through Taiwan. Taiwan, which has never accepted China's stance, is livid about the plans. The run to the top of Everest has caused controversy of its own. Many around the world do not accept China's occupation of Tibet, and, after visiting Tibet, it became clear that most ethnic Tibetans do not accept the continued Chinese occupation of Tibet. The plans to run a torch up Everest has already sparked protests landing several US climbers in jail.

Beyond the political message, others oppose using Everest for a political statement. After all, the mountain is called Chomolungma by the locals, "Goddess Mother of the World," and climbers engage in a "puja ceremony" before climbing to ensure that their climb is blessed religiously. Moreover, this season the Chinese have sent a large team up the North side of Everest to test the viability of a torch placement. In the process, the team has taken extra large campsite areas with armed guards stationed to protect the gear. These "preparation" efforts destroy the sanctity of the mountains and really taints the climbing experience for the north side climbers this year . . . climbers who are very well aware of other misdeeds by the Chinese military in the Himalaya region . . . typified by the massacre at Nangpa La near Cho Oyu last year.

This blog intends to keep an eye on these developments. China is a fascinating place, and these games give an opportunity to spotlight the good and the bad.

Beijing Puts on Its Manners Cap

Growing up, we were frequently told to don our "manners cap" upon entering restaurants and other public establishments. The cap was a metaphysical reminder to not act like wild heathens in the presence of our grandmother--if I remember right, my grandmother actually crafted the hats herself and could remind us of their function with one of her classic looks (many have attempted to imitate her legendary facial gestures--few have succeeded).

Anyway, Beijing is apparently attempting to put on its own manners cap. China will find itself in an international media spotlight for the Olympics and, in an interesting act of self-consciousness, has decided to crack down on "anti-social behavior." The Chinese government hopes to thwart major Chinese pass times like spitting and cutting in line.

What I find puzzling is the application of the term "anti-social behavior" to these activities. Spitting and cutting in line is extremely social behavior--it's the social norm. Sitting on a bus in Beijing, Clayton Brown and I witnessed people hurling massive loogies onto the floor of the aisle, which was nothing compared to what happened across streets and sidewalks around town. The most shocking loogie event occurred in the Beijing airport where we watched a greenish glob of goo smack against the pristine marble floors--apparently this behavior knows no boundaries.

As for lines, they frankly do not exist. When an airplane lands, people race for the door in a no holds barred struggle to flee the plane. As an experiment, I once jumped out of a seat on an Air China flight immediately upon landing, yanked my bag out of the overhead bin (smashing two heads with my elbows in the process) and pounded past people toward the door. While this behavior would have horrified US passengers (and likely landed me in an interrogation room), the Chinese accepted my assault as normal behavior. Again, these are social norms--far from "anti-social."

Elevators provide similar forums for chaos. In the US, the doors usually open and the people at the front of the elevator exit gradually. Once emptied, the people outside slowly enter the elevator--usually ladies first.

China presents a life or death struggle for elevator loading and unloading. The folks outside the elevator doors are rushing into the elevator as it begins to open. They slip in rapidly through the doors like a wave of water while those inside have to struggle to get out. We would have to swim out of the incoming crowd or face another elevator ride. Again, this procedure is the social norm.

But China attempts to impose Western social norms on its people--"it's glorious to be polite." The efforts have been highly effective in Shanghai, where public spitting is a rarity. We'll see how it works for Beijing.

This is how China hopes to avoid embarrassment in 2008. But I wonder if they are looking the right direction. After all people spit and blow their nose onto the sidewalks probably because Beijing's air pollution causes serious mucus issues. I would end my days in Beijing by blowing black snot into tissue paper. I wondered how athletes planned to compete in the thick, green air. Long walks left our lungs agitated by the particulates--how will the marathon runners feel?

So, when 2008 comes around, Beijing may be as "polite" as Shanghai with the population kindly withhold their polluted mucus for more private locations. The homeless will likely be shipped out of town, and the government will then expect Westerners to awe at the cleanliness and sophistication of China. But late at night, when the tourists return from the day's Olympic events, they will blow their own black snot into tissues with lungs throbbing from the particulates. That is an embarrassment that China cannot avoid.

Long Way Round: Vicarious Travels Across Asia

Frequently, a traveler finds herself jaunting between a series of transportation hubs. The backpacker headed to Europe normally explores larger cities connected by the rail system. Travelers to Asia tend to stop in only major cities accessible by large aircraft. But these sort of travels cut out the amazing opportunities available by road . . . opportunities exploited to the max by Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman in "The Long Way 'Round." I'll just call them "Ewan and Charley" from here on out because, after watching the documentary, they are starting to feel like old friends (they even note this phenomenon when they meet the folks at Orange County Chopper).

This weekend, Megan and I indulged in some vicarious travel by enjoying the DVD of the Long Way Round, a documentary of Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman's trip around the world . . . by motorcycle. While neither Megan nor I ride motorcycles, we found ourselves drooling at the thought of setting off across these vast territories by road.

The trip began with what seemed like Ewan and Charley's insane dream to travel from London to New York by motorcycle. After months of intense preparation (self-defense classes, first aid classes, the desperate search for motorcycle sponsorship--KTM lost a great opportunity as this film could be the greatest advertisement for BMW motorcycles of all time), the duo heads out on a pair of BMW's with a camera man and two support vehicles ("support" is a bit of a stretch: for most of the trip, the vehicles merely allow the bikers to restock on food and film before setting out on their own again).

The route was daunting. From London they would take the Chunnel train to Paris. After crossing Western Europe, the pair traveled to Prague and through Slovakia into Russia. From Russia the team entered Kazakhstan (finding a very different country than Borat describes). After Kazakhstan, they reenter Russia before crossing Mongolia. From Mongolia, they make a third entry into Russia and travel Siberia's "Road of Bones" to Magadan. From there they fly to Anchorage, Alaska. Then, they enjoy pavement toward Fairbanks and into Calgary before dropping down to the US and crossing the plains toward Chicago and, finally, New York City.

The route meant 20,000 miles through often absurd obstacles. The joy of the adventure often comes through the experience of random fortune. Kazakhstan finds them at the center of bizarre media frenzies. They end up spending the night in the home of a random, underworld character who entertains with machine gun and guitar. The "roads" in Mongolia leave the group at the mercies of random passersby who can perform instant repairs. Finally, they try to navigate the Road of Bones shortly after the winter thaw, so the roads often vanished into raging rivers, leaving the travelers to hitch rides in the backs of passing trucks. Needless to say, this trip wasn't easy.

To avoid spoiling the film, I'll cut the description short. Megan and I watched it with hopes of changing the way we travel in the future. While I doubt we'll cross Asia by motorcycle (and my mother and grandmother just breathed a huge sigh of relief), we would like to start hitting the road more often . . . probably even starting in Mongolia. Traveling by road, the duo encountered the joys of empty space and open highway, often finding themselves in nearly inaccessible hamlets in Far Eastern Russia. These sort of places offer rich experiences and fascinating interactions unavailable in major cities. I watched the DVD and found myself growing both jealous and bolder by the minute. And I'm guessing Ewan and Charley wanted their viewer feeling those exact emotions.

We finished the series aching for more, and, as if reading our mind, Ewan and Charley plan to deliver with the "Long Way Down," a journey from the tip-top of Scotland to Cape Town. While I do not know the exact route (and imagine that will depend largely on political conditions), the journey is bound to be as harrowing and fascinating as the first. Megan and I, after crossing part of Tanzania, assumed that navigating large parts of Africa by road would be prohibited by peril . . . we're hoping that Ewan and Charley prove us wrong.

Nepal Update

Nepal remains one of our dream destinations. After hearing descriptions of treks near Annapurna and other legendary mountains, we knew we would have to visit. While we lack concrete plans to visit, I have attempted to keep with the political situation in Nepal.

In college, I more-or-less focused my education on studying the history, philosophy and politics of revolutionary movements. While that education centered on Latin American movements, I found an opportunity last year to do a deeper study of the Maoist movement in Nepal.

In my reading, I came across a number of facts that lead me to believe that the Maoists would be successful. First, I found that the traditional society in Nepal oppressed women while the Maoists empowered women. That effort alone gained the Maoists huge support early on. Second, the Nepalese court system has a long back-log and is generally considered to be broken. The Maoists set up courts providing quick access to dispute resolution: while the decisions often tended to be arbitrary or even just bad, the perception of better governance also helped the Maoists make in-roads among the people. Finally, the Maoists effectively tied into to local cultural institutions to create strong links with the people around them. In one story, a group of Maoists soldiers disguised themselves as members of a traditional wedding procession to sneak past the royal police. The population considered it both a sign of cleverness and an endearing invocation of traditional culture.

My prediction was that the Maoists would eventually toss out the monarchy, and that proved incorrect. Instead, the King has less power, the Maoists are in parliament, and, apparently, Nepal is still in pretty bad shape. The situation has approached Peru under Sendero Luminoso when the tough tactics of Fujimori and the brutal tactics of Sendero left the population trapped between two forces becoming less distinguishable. Often, in these struggles, the "good guys" are impossible to find.

News on Nepal is difficult to come by and often biased. The Maosists leak certain information as propaganda while the government tends to stifle media as well. Andy at Hobotraveler.com is currently in Nepal and reports on a pretty desperate situation. His view is worth checking out.

We want to get to Nepal, but we'll have to see how things develop. In an oft-repeated story, the Nepalese people seem caught-in-the-middle and suffer as a result. While the 10 years of conflict is apparently winding down, the fall out will be felt for a long time to come.

Tibet: The Utopia That Quite Possibly Never Was

Recently, a friend sent me a provocative article from the travel section of the New York Times called "Tibet, Now." Early on, the article notes some interesting travel statistics for Tibet. Specifically, estimates show that Tibet received approximately 1.2 million visitors in 2004 with estimates of 10 million visitors annually by 2020. The article noted that Westerners would be likely to rush to Tibet as soon as possible to see the country before it loses the mystical quality that will apparently be lost by an onslaught of visitors. Overall, the author seems underwhelmed. While he finds the beauty and magic of Tibet, he seems to find a Tibet that does not match his expectations--Shangri-La, it seems, will remain elusive.

But the article made me wonder: at any point could anyone have found that Tibet? The Tibet of our collective imagination? Can anyone travel to Tibet Michael Crichton-style? Time to back up . . .

Soaring Expectations

The article really got me thinking about my own visit to Tibet and my own reactions that constantly vacillated between awe and disappointment. For me, maybe more than most, Tibet had a magnetic effect on my imagination. As an environmentalist with generally left-leaning political orientation (I can visualize readers boycotting my blog forever: those readers can go back to their Glenn Beck soon), Tibet represented a culture of peace and simplicity that I had admired throughout college. More importantly, as a devoted wannabe mountaineer from an excessively early age, Tibet was the place. After growing up on the stories of Jack London, I had drooled through Harrer's Seven Years in Tibet and Reinhold Messner's The Crystal Horizon about his stunning ascent of Mount Everest from the Tibet side (by the way, Messner made that ascent in the monsoon season, meaning lots of extra snow . . . oh yeah . . . and since that might be too easy anyway, he climbed completely alone . . . and without oxygen). Tibet was a beacon on a really enormous hill, and finally, in the summer of 2005, I had my chance to go.

I traveled to Tibet with Clayton Brown, a good friend from the legendary Amarillo days (okay, maybe not "legendary," but we can pretend). Together we had a short stack of books that we savored like rare treasures in the face of frequent flight delays. One such book was Michael Crichton's Travels, which stands out as one of the most bizarre and generally mind-bending (and spoon-bending) travel books I've read.

In Travels, Crichton describes trips so remote and inaccessible that it created an entirely new baseline for adventure in my mind. His trips to Hunza and New Guinea remain far off dreams for me--heck, Hunza, as such, does not even exist anymore. He trotted around the globe on journeys that had to be outrageous logistical nightmares, code for excellent, unspoiled fun. After Clayton and I had finished the book, we had a new phrase for serious travel: "Crichton travel." After visiting Africa, I would call Crichton travel a modern version of traveling like David Livingstone except that Crichton travel, because his trips were so recent, teases us with the thought that a journey like that might still be possible.

Finding Tibet



Tibet was to be a real shot at Crichton travel. I had watched Kundun and prepared myself for the land of Lamas and altitude, religious pilgrims and yak butter tea, sounds of chants and the sour taste of chang, a Tibetan barley beer. And I got exactly that. While the Dalai Lama is in exile, I visited many monasteries and even got to spend the night in one featured below . . . at the foot of Everest no less!



The altitude was stunning. We had crash acclimatization by landing in Lhasa at over 12,000 feet. A week later, we had adjusted and raced, without being winded, from the monastery to Everest Base Camp, which sits at over 17,000 feet. The religious pilgrims were an inspiration, prostrating themselves across the crowded market streets in pursuit of the Jhokang Temple.



The yak butter tea tasted foul, but I will never forget the enchanting scent of yak butter candles burning below a Buddha sculpture that rose 20 meters above our heads. The chants were beautiful, and, while it tasted of lemons and smelled of rotting eggs, I consumed my fair share of chang. Namdrok Lake (first photo below) was a stunning turquoise, and, after seeing Chomolungma (the more accurate, original name for Everest meaning "Goddess Mother of the World"), I understand why so many are drawn to its summit.





That said, every moment that fulfilled my every wish on that visit was countered by one that left me disappointed and concerned. The end of Kundun, the film that fueled many of my romantic notions of Tibet, documents the events responsible for much of my current disappointment: the Chinese take-over. Now, Lhasa has more ethnic Chinese than Tibetans. Across the street, literally across the street, from the Potala Palace, seen at the top of this post, sits a "monument to the liberation" of Tibet that pierces the surroundings with its grotesque modernism: the phallic shape seems to add violence the otherwise religious milieu. Tibetan passersby cringe at the sight of Chinese tourists having their photo taken in front of the monument. The scene is heart-breaking. We later saw Tibetans cringe more violently as they labored for long days in the mud while hauling rocks to create massive highways . . . highways designed to achieve those 10 million annual visitors.



The Potala Palace itself is a model of absurd revisionism. The Chinese curators have attempted to erase any acknowledgment of the fact that a Dalai Lama still exists and that he once lived in the Palace. Instead, the 14th has been erased, and the history of the building ceases suddenly with his predecessor. Similarly, the labels throughout the Palace try to invent a Chinese history that is likely unwarranted. The New York Times article mentioned the room of 1,000 Buddha figures: the label in that room notes, annoyingly, that over 100 of the figures were casted in China. Similarly, early Dalai Lamas are noted only by the fact that they had visited some Chinese emperor or another. The labels struggle with belabored prose that fails to establish any meaningful connection, and the visitor is left wondering why red flags fly all over town.

The air in Lhasa is pierced by cell phone rings and traffic, commerce and industry. European and US tourists are relatively few compared to the larger number of Korean tourists and Chinese tourists, but all tourist numbers are growing. Even our attempts to escape Lhasa, while offering more of the "pure" Tibet, still brought us reminders of the "Tibet, now." As mentioned earlier, we ended up crashing on the floor of a prayer room in a monastery at the foot of Everest. Next to the monastery, a Chinese government-run hotel offered plenty of rooms. Like most tourists, we decided to choose the floor of a sooty prayer room to avoid benefiting the government. Anyway, as I dozed off in the room with the scent of decades of yak butter candles feeding my reverie, a cell phone shattered the peace. Two sleeping bags over, a half-hour long conversation began, and I wondered if I could ever find my Tibet.

But, as I noted in an earlier posting about a visit to a Maasai village in Tanzania, while tourists wish some sort of pure travel experience, their own arrival and ability to arrive suggests that such experiences are unattainable.

I entered Lhasa and immediately checked into a gem of a hotel: the Yak Hotel. The place had Western toilets, comfortable beds, and excellent Internet connections. More importantly, the restaurant at the Yak Hotel, the Dunya Restaurant, offered some of the best meals we had in Tibet. Run by some Dutch and US expats, the Dunya restaurants is a model of fusion: we devoured yak-meat enchiladas and Indonesia fried rice with stir-fried yak. It was a delight. Just as we criticized the touristy atmosphere of Lhasa, we indulged in its comforts. The photos below feature respectively the comfortable beds of the Yak Hotel and the patio at Dunya Restaurant where we enjoyed the occasional Lhasa Beer and peaceful time with our journals.





Later, on the long trip back to Lhasa from Everest base camp, I sought some much needed digestive relief in a Chinese military outhouse . . . while the Chinese government certainly did not benefit by that visit, I was definitely, at least for a brief moment, quite thankful for that particular facility.

We also have to wonder how great a place pre-Chinese Tibet was. This thought probably has now left me losing both my Glenn Beck readership as well as my liberal fans, but hang on--throughout the country we saw few signs of hygiene or sanitation. Senseless death at young ages by easily preventable and treatable disease is quite common and, presumably, was much worse before Chinese hospitals could be built in the area. It's easy to reflect on a romantic history of a country as though the history is on film, sanitized and scripted: reality could have been harsh, excruciating, and brutal. But the trade-off for modern comfort is a certain sanctity and sense of autonomy, and, based on the devotion of the Tibetans, I imagine the modern comforts are not worth that price.

Utopia Means "No Place:" Go See Tibet

Tibet is an amazing place. After all of my debating back and forth, I still recommend visiting at some point . . . soon. Moreover, visit and hang onto those romantic notions because you will find exactly what you are looking for. The faith of the Tibetan people has remained steadfast through decades of occupation. The countryside is stark, stunning, but harsh. I admire the ability of the Tibetan population to make such a rich existence out of the arid landscape. You will find tourists and tourist accommodations, but, all in all, when it comes time to hit the sack, you'll be happy those exist. The Chinese presence may feel oppressive at times, but, even if they have shirked the responsibility, they are really the only ones that can safeguard a fragile environment. Regardless, go see Tibet, but do not expect to find a traveler's utopia.