The Traveling Duo

The Best Day Yet

When traveling, it is inevitable that some days will be grand while others just seem to drag on.    Typically we’re the kind of travelers that do one really cool thing and call it a day.  Some may call us lazy, but we just like to keep things slow.  The Best Day Yet turned out to be quite the exception.  

After a bit of luck and a lot of help from strangers, we arrived in Ban Na Hin, a quaint little village in Central Laos.  The main draw here is its close proximity to Tham Kong Lo, a 7km-long limestone cave.  Since arriving in southeast Asia, we have been drawn to the idea of buying a motorbike and cruising through the countryside.  Due to some hesitation (from one of us more than the other) and lack of experience, this has only been a passing thought.  Our luck struck again, though, and we were finally able to convince a motorbike rental shopowner that we were quick learners and would not crash their vehicle, and after a quick 30 minute lesson, we were on our way. 

Our first stop was a 9km drive from town to a scenic lookout point just south of town.  We had seen the spot on our way in but hanging on to a sawngthaew isn’t really the best way to enjoy a view.  As our 110cc motorbike crept up the hill, we were finally able to have some long-desired freedom to stop and enjoy.  Before us stretched a vista with hundreds of strikingly carved limestone karsts sporadically covered in jungle foliage.  Neither of us had ever seen the earth looking so raw - almost prehistoric.

Next, we took a partially-finished 40 km road in order to reach Tham Kang Lo.  ”Partially-finished” is a bit of an under-statement, as the trip felt more like an off-road adventure.  The vast majority of the road was unpaved dirt, or loose gravel if we were lucky.  The portions that were paved were curiously interrupted by massive tree trunks strewn across the road, forcing us to constantly drop off 2 meters to the side on to an alternate path until we were past the obstruction, then climb back up a steep slope to reach blessed pavement once again.  Then there were three river crossings where they were still in the process of building bridges.  Fortunately, the rivers were dry this time of year, but it still meant steep descents into treacherously deep mud.  Given that this was our first time on a motorbike, it was simultaneously nerve-wracking, heart-wrenching and… absolutely exhilarating!

Tham Kang Lo was a cave of gigantic proportions.  It took us an hour and a half to traverse its length in a motorized canoe, all but five minutes of that trip was spent in absolute darkness.  If you stop and think about it, people often find themselves in dark situations - hiding in the closet as a kid, walking around late at night, etc.  But in most of those, there’s at least a sliver of light that shines from underneath the door.  If there’s movement inches away from your face, you can at least discern the faintest hint of a silhouette.

In Tham Kang Lo, with our headlamps off, there was absolutely no difference between having your eyes open and closed.  You couldn’t see your hand waving right in front of your face.  When we did turn our headlamps on, we were treated to massive caverns the size of several football fields (and this is the portion we could see).  We came across areas where steady drips of water were starting to form a new generation of stalactites and stalagmites.  In a different cavern, there were a series of thin limestone formations which rang deeply when drummed upon.  What was even more interesting was that during the trip we encountered several canoes filled with villagers.  Apparently, the cavern-tunnel is still a throughway for locals trying to reach the other side of the karsts.

After finally making our way back into town just after sunset, our plan was to have a nice meal and retire early to bed.  We were still energized from our exhilarating day but had an early bus to catch.  These plans quickly changed, however, when we got invited to attend a wedding reception.  It was only 8:00, so we figured we could enjoy the festivities and still make it back to our guesthouse before too late.  Little did we realize that wedding parties can go on all night!  To make it even more interesting, we were seated next to the groom’s parents who made sure we had a good time.  While Daniel was forced to pound Beer Lao after Beer Lao, Sarah was asked to stand in the middle of the dance floor with three other women.  The emcee briefly talked about each person (all we got out of it was falang…or foreigner) and slowly men approached to dance.  As we all got more and more drunk, the dancing became less and less formal until it was a Laos-style mosh pit of all ages. 

We did end up missing the direct bus due to a little trouble waking up the next morning, but fortunately were able to hop on another bus later in the day.   Because we were late we had to sit on plastic stools in the middle of the aisle and try to get more sleep to help with the hangover.  It was all worth it, though, and as Fortune would have it, we’ve been invited to yet another party tonight!

Passing Time in Phongsali

We’ve been in Laos for a week now, and spent most of that time up in the northern end of the country, where diversity is high but incomes are low. When you walk into ethnic minority villages where no one speaks Laos, let alone English, communication can be an issue. Curious adults want to know where we’ve come from, how long we’ll be here - essentially conversations that require a degree of vocabulary that we sorely lacked. With children, its much easier. They just want to play!

With all the time we spent playing in the villages, I began to appreciate just how innovative their games were. I wouldn’t necessarily categorize the people we met as impoverished; everyone we met were subsistence farmers and hunters, and always had plenty to eat. But they certainly lived a life free of many of the worldly possessions that Westerners wouldn’t dream of living without. Absolutely none of the children had anything that could be considered a toy.

You might not realize this, but thong sandals are incredibly aerodynamic. From what I could make out, the game is played by tossing your sandal some 10 meters away. Your friends then take turns trying to make theirs land as close to yours as possible. The more skilled kids got some serious frisbee-esque lift out of their footwear.

Apparently dirt can be just as fun. In a different village, kids eagerly helped us dig up small rocks to use as crude marbles. Once you’ve got enough, you cup one hand against the ground and take turns trying to flick the rocks into the “pocket.” I grew bored of this pretty quickly, but I’m not exagerating when I say the kids played this for hours on end.

The best game that I found also happened to (not surprisingly) be the dirtiest. The place that we spent the night in had a village center, with a ring of benches set up for special ceremonies. The children there had developed a unique form of tug-of-war that I haven’t seen before. One kid would sit down on the ground, and wrap his arms and legs around the legs of one of the benches (which was firmly embedded in the ground). The next would then sit behind the first with his arms and legs wrapped around his torso. The third would then link up behind the second so that eventually there formed a chain of miniature humans. The child that was “it” had to then pull his buddies off the bench, one by one, with the end result being a giant cloud of dust within which writhed a giggling mass of little limbs. Let the record state that it took all dozen kids working in concert (and then some) to pull me off that bench.

Special Note: Its a shame that we haven’t been able to capture some of the remarkable scenes we’ve come across - in a cruel twist of fate, we dropped our camera in 6 inches of muddied water just as we started trekking into the remote hills for a closer look at the “real” Laos village life. If you’re wondering why there haven’t been new pictures posted, we finally acquired a replacement just yesterday.

A Breath of Fresh Air

Entering Laos from China, one cannot help but give a great sigh of relief.  Traveling from China’s in-your-face culture, mostly due to the sheer number of people, to a land of only 6 million and an unmistakable laid-back attitude can only force you to finally relax.  Everywhere you travel, you are greeted with smiling faces and children shouting sa-baai-dii.  We pedaled through small dirt path villages and watched as young boys danced naked through the rice patties.  On the side of the road, water buffalo cruised the rivers with a surprisingly docile nature.  There are baby animals every where you look.  Piglets chasing each other, chicks hiding between their mother’s legs, puppies hanging on as their nursing mother crosses the road.  On our bikes, we no longer fear for our lives as even the traffic moves at a much slower pace. 

As a tourist, there are two paths in this country:  one is a well-paved backpacker and family scene and the other unpaved territory.  Fortunately, we have already been able to see a little of both.    In Luang Prabang, we relaxed by sipping red wine in a cozy little cafe along a palm-tree lined street or parachuting ourselves from a rope swing and landing into a limestone pool next to a gushing waterfall.  In Muang Khua, we experienced mountainous village life by trekking 7 hours into the jungle and staying with the village headman who has only met a few other westerners in his entire life.   Connecting these two experiences, we cruised down the Nam Ou river passing by stark limestone peaks and ragged rocks.  Women and children line the coast washing clothes and themselves while young men sporting snorkeling masks dive with spear-guns to catch tonight’s dinner.  As we pass by, each person looks up, gives an enormous smile, and waves. 

It was only thirty five years ago that the US dropped more than 2 million tons of bombs on Laos, and as we relax, we hear the occasional rumble of UXOs exploding in the distance.  It is a haunting boom that echos from miles away, where dedicated government workers are still clearing the remains of Laos’ tragic history.  We have only begun to understand the country’s history and a small fraction of what living in Laos is like.  The one thing we do know is that we have yet to find a place in the world where we’ve been greeted with so many smiles.

South of the Clouds

I have some fond childhood memories of good times spent in Disney World.  The whole family would pile into the minivan, and we would cruise down I-95 along the Eastern seaboard.  Along the side of the road were multitudes of billboards, all building up an attraction called South of the Border.  You’re inundated with commercials for this place as you drive south, but when you actually pass it, there’s surprisingly little to see.

Yunnan is one of the more remote province in China, and accounts for fully half of China’s 56 minority ethnic groups.  Coupled with this diversity are some of the most incredible landscapes I’ve ever seen - its no surprise that this region has become something of a backpacker’s mecca.  Its name translates literally into South of the Clouds, and unlike Carolina’s highway amusement park, this place definitely lives up to the hype.

The vast majority of our time was spent in a Naxi town named Lijiang.  Here, its easy to rent bicycles and cruise from village to village, getting a taste for the local life.    Even though Lijiang is relatively close to the equator, its nestled in an alpine valley so the air has a cool crispness to it year round. 

Here, I encountered vistas that were so achingly beautiful, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach.  It’s not unlike those times when I brushed up against a high school crush - there’s a rush where I would clench up inside, and find it difficult to breathe.

Every available surface has been lovingly cultivated so that no matter where you look, there’s lush agriculture and vibrant green to greet your eyes.  In the distance, the imposing Jade Dragon Snow Mountain looms overhead, breaking up the deep blue sky with the soft white of fresh snow.  At dusk, rays of sunlight splinter through the clouds to reflect golden fire off of scattered rice paddies. 

In the Tiger Leaping Gorge, massive granite cliffs hold a silent vigil above the churning turqouise waters of the Jinsha river.  Across the chasm, an aging, gap-toothed Naxi man rests on his haunches on the side of the trail, gathering sour grass for his evening meal.  Herds of goats graze peacefully while perched precariously on steep precipices.  Village life here seems to have remained simple, isolated and untouched for an untold number of centuries. 

I must confess that we’ve become a bit addicted to this bucolic lifestyle and have spent far more time here than we originally intended.  Still, the road beckons, and its time to move on.

“What the Fuck?”

After a series of unfortunate events, Daniel and I decided that the first and most important phrase you must know when traveling in China is - “What The Fuck?”.  If you can say this in Mandarin, you’ll be able to address the absurd and downright crazy actions of some Chinese people.  For example:

• A freakish Tibetan sandstorm delays your flight by 31 hours.  The airport is devoid of helpful people, and you’re only informed about the delays until after the 8th hour - what the fuck?!
• The queue to purchase train tickets during the madness of Chinese New Year is at least an hour’s wait.  30 minutes into it, people start blatantly cutting to the front of the line - what the fuck?!
• 5 hours into a 25 hour train ride, someone ties a still alive-and-shitting chicken underneath your seat.  It absolutely reeks and when agitated likes pecking at your leg - what the fuck?!
• On that same train, a man who looks like he hasn’t showered in a week decides to sleep with his greasy head resting on your shoulder - what the fuck?!
• While you’re takng a nap on a table, and someone decides it’s a good idea to sit on the aforementioned table so that their ass crack is perfectly aligned with your nose - what the fuck?!
• The train station sells over 40 standing-room-only tickets per train car for that wonderful 25 hour train ride - what the fuck?!
• The grandmother sitting across from you repeatedly hulks up phlegm and spits them right at your feet - what the fuck?!
• The local market is selling bloody, vein-covered muck that I swear looks like fetus - what the fuck?!
• You check in to a hotel room for all of 5 minutes, decide not to stay, and the owner demands that you pay for a 1/2 day - what the fuck?!

Fortunately, things have turned up for us, and we can laugh about these situations now.  For it’s the perils of traveling that are half of the adventure. 

Reveling in the Anarchy

I knew Tibet’s lunar new year, Losar, would be something special, but nothing could prepare me for the spectacle that ensued. I can still feel the echo of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Sarah and I had waited patiently in the Barkhor Square with some fellow travelers and Tibetan friends for evening to fall. There were squads of jing cha patroling the area, as well as a fire truck clearly on stand by, yet all was quiet. Then, according to some unspoken cue, Lhasa erupted.

Throughout the city’s maze of alleyways, small sparklers and hand shells were being fired. We ducked into a narrow street to get a closer look - just as things got interesting. One after another, the rat-tat-tat machine gun of chains of firecrackers rang virtually non-stop in our ears. Someone had set a small pile of rubbish ablaze in the middle of the street. Tibetans emerged from their homes to add fiery armfuls of cardboard and straw - attempting to burn away their troubles in the coming year. More lengths of firecrackers were tossed into the mix, violently exploding within the raging inferno.

The heavier ammunition was slowly brought out, and Lhasa lit up in a riot of colors. Fireworks as impressive as any I’ve seen in the US blanketed the sky in every direction. The smoldering remains of exhausted explosives were now steadily raining down, forcing observers to seek cover. Billowing smoke from both fire and fireworks were making it difficult to breath. So this is what a war zone is like.

Yet a war zone this was not. We could just make out beaming Tibetan faces through the haze, and every now and then a delighted scream would pierce the cacaphony when a child danced too close to the pyrotechnics. The atmosphere was simply electrifying and you couldn’t help but be swept up in this unbridled expression of joy.

Perhaps most amazing, is that this is only the first night of the festivities. I can’t fathom what other kinds of new experiences the remainder of Losar has in store.

Braving the Bitter Cold

Stumbling out of bed at 5:30 am, we set off for a new adventure. Traveling within the Tibetan Autonomous Region (TAR) can be pricey and tough to organize, but every morning just outside Jokhang Temple, pilgrims congregate to board one of the public buses. We decided to join them - our destination, Ganden Monastery. The bus ride was short (1 1/2 hours) but cold, and because daylight doesn’t break here until almost 9:00, it was dark and even colder at our destination.

Our good luck struck again, however, as the night before it had snowed on the hillsides of the local mountains. This made our trip even more spectacular. Daniel and a few of our new friends, decided to hike up the mountain facing the monastery. It was probably about a 300 meter elevation gain, but when you are already at 4600 meters and there is frost on the ground, the hike is tough. About half-way up, I bailed due to frozen feet and a lack of serious interest and decided to go hang out with the donkeys down below. Apparently, I missed out. The view from the top was amazing. You had a 360 degree of the Himalayas and you see mountains hundreds of miles away. Plus, there were giant yaks and prayer flags to provide context that you were definitely no longer at home.

Our second adventure was to walk along the upper kora (a pilgrimage circuit). Sadly by this point, our camera had died, so this post is both to update you all on our lives but also for us to remember the experience. The views along the monastery were breathtaking, but even more memorable is the mark that mankind has made on this path over the last 600 years. As we walked, we came across shrines filled with images of Buddha or yak bones or eternal flames. There were huge stones that have been polished smooth from pilgrims rubbing their hands or backs. We came across a small boulder that had a striking series of circular depressions made when pilgrims ground smaller stones against the rock. And then there were the prayer flags. They were every where - to the highest peak and the lowest point. We walked through a forest of prayer flags and listened as they flapped in the wind. The spirituality of the Tibetan people continues to amaze us.

On the way back to Lhasa, we met a new Tibetan friend. Her English name is Ashley, and she is remarkably fluent in English considering this is her 3rd language and she has only been studying it for 3 years. After about 30 minutes driving through Tibet’s equivalent of marsh land, we made a second stop at another smaller monastery. As Daniel and our new travelling friends slept in the bus, Ashley walked me through the monastery and explained the different rituals and symbolisms. Even though the monastery was much smaller than others we have seen, this monastary felt so much more alive. About 30 monks congregated in the center chanting scripture, playing trumpets, banging drums and other unknown instruments. Pilgrims lined the walls, slowly walking under scriptures and past Buddhist sculptures, offering small amounts of money or yak butter and rubbing the walls. It is times like these when you can’t help but be moved by Tibetan Buddhism and gain a better insight into why so many people devote their entire lives to it.

Qinghai to Lhasa

Traveling to Tibet, we decided to take China’s newest, engineering-wonder yet controversial train from Xining to Lhasa. It was a 26 hour journey, most of which was at an altitude above 4500 meters. Yet again the countryside was breathtaking. Sarah probably took over 40 photos along the way, mostly of the various herds we saw. Fortunately for you, we edited our collection and are giving you our finest. Of course, the camera never captures the true beauty.

Arriving into Lhasa, we have been taking it a little slower. Walking the famous Barkhor Circuit has been surreal, as we rub shoulders with fierce-looking Tibetan nomads and chanting pilgrims, prostrating themselves on the ground every few steps. The pungent odor of yak butter intermingles with the harsh scent of cigarette smoke and every now and then you catch a whiff of steaming momo’s or fried potatoes.

Lhasa stimulates your every sense, and it is hard to really grasp the experience. The history and devoutness of the Tibetan land and people are inspiring. People will spend hours on a kora (walking around clockwise) around the Jokhang Temple. Inside the temple, people are chanting, praying, rubbing prayer beads along the walls, donating money and yak butter. As Daniel pointed out, it makes you wonder what they are praying so hard for.

In the US, Tibetan culture is glamorized and the plea for a free Tibet can be found everywhere. Of course, atrocities occur everywhere in the globe. But being here, there is something unique about the Tibetan culture. Despite globalization and conquests, a vast number of Tibetan people hold onto their traditional lifestyles. Traditional garments are worn over Gore-Tex jackets and even those with the latest designer jeans still proudly display their nomadic heritage in their weathered, sun-beaten faces.

Weekend at Tongren

To feed our need to get out of the city and see the country, we decided to have a little weekend getaway in a town called Tongren. It would be a 4 hour bus ride and would take us near two Tibetan Monasteries, which are renown for making a traditional Tibetan Buddhist art called Thangkas. Our expectations were blown away both with the countryside and the people; we also got our first dose of bus troubles, an experience which I’m sure will become all too familiar.

On our trip out to Tongren, we were accompanied by a Tibetan Nun. She was very kind and pointed out the names of rivers that we were passing and the area where the Dali Lama was born. She also taught us some of our first Tibetan words, which would come in handy in the next couple of days. We drove through the mountainous road and saw how the river had slowly cut away the land to create an enormous gorge, all the while listening as our new friend chanted prayers. The landscape was amazing, and in the distance we could see mosques, monastaries, chortens, and prayer flags, making us wonder what else was out there.

The next day, Daniel and I ventured to the first monastery, where we were lucky enough to come across the main Thangka teacher, who had been painting for the last 22 years. We had seen Thangkas for sale at local markets and were never really all that interested, but his paintings were amazing. Each work took at least a month and was painted with rich colors and actual gold flakes. He helped us pick out the right Thangka for us - one that will protect our travels, our health, and our relationship. The great thing about Thangkas is that they were designed for nomads; you roll them up on a wooden pole and they have multiple protective fabrics to keep the paint from being damaged. After our purchase, we joined the artist for a late breakfast and tea ceremony. His room consisted of everything that you could need - a coal burning stove to keep warm and cook food, a bed, decorative pieces to bring color, and his alter to pray. Before eating, the Lama prayed - chanting scripture that he has memorized (and we’re talking books and books of scripture), bowing, ringing bells, counting beads, and placing rice onto a tiered golden piece that he slowly rebuilt. Daniel and I tried to give him space, but it was too beautiful not to soak up.

We were taught how to make sampas, a traditional Tibetan breakfast dish. Its prepared by melting a chunk of Yak butter and raw sugar in a bowl of boiling water. Once the butter and sugar has completely melted, a barley-based flour is used to thicken the mixture into a doughy consistency. According to our host, the best sampas is mixed by using the fingers to mash the dough up against the wall of the bowl, and then pressing the dough into bite-sized rolls. The final product is hot, sweet and very filling. We think this may become a new staple for us in the coming month.

After we parted ways with the Lama, we decided to take a circuitous route and walk back to town. It gave us a glimpse of rural life on the Tibetan plateau and a sense for how vast space is out here. Everywhere you look are long stretches of steppes - crawling up steep mountain sides and down into river-carved ravines. The fact that the land has been cultivated for so long, even out in this remote region, makes you appreciate how ancient this civilization truly is.

Our trip ended with some nice late night TV featuring the Beijing Olympic Unveiling of the Staff Uniform ceremony - uniforms that the tech, security, and escorts will wear. It was pretty awesome watching choreographed dance routines consisting of tourists being shown to their seat. In our world where every day is different, it pretty nice that you can count on Olympic propaganda on TV even if you can’t understand what they are saying.

Shaanxi Cuisine and the Dangers of Internet Cafes

Though most Westerners have never heard of Xi’an, its actually a city of great historical importance. For the majority of China’s dynasties, Xi’an was the seat of the government. Situated in the heart of the Middle Kingdom, all Chinese roads seem to lead to Xi’an.

One great benefit of being a cultural epicenter is the choicest dishes from the surrounding provinces and best cooking techniques find a home here. In Seattle, I’m something of a fiend for Pho. For Sarah and I, there’s no better comfort food for those cold, wet Northwest days - until we discovered Pao Mo.

Mo is a thick, flat bread similar to pita, but much denser. Its traditionally prepared with a lamb stew, but Sarah had a version made from tofu along with a selection of veggies. The server brings out your bowl with one or two mo’s, and waits for you to slowly (almost ritualistically) break the bread down into tiny, bite-sized chunks. The locals take incredible care while doing this. Too small, and when the stew is mixed in the bread turns into mush. Too large, and the bread doesn’t soak in enough soup.

When the resulting mixture is served back to you, there’s cilantro and hot sauce that can be layered on top. Finally, you’re given pickled garlic to nibble on as you chow down. When you’re done eating, all of that goodness sticks to your ribs, keeping you warm from the inside out.

On a completely separate note, the information superhighway has been reduced to a small one-lane dirt road by over-zealous Chinese bureaucrats (10% of websites are censored). I’ve had a hell of a time trying to access Flickr. At times its been either completely blocked, or its jumped through so many proxies that cookies don’t register properly, to random photos not loading. I also made the devastating mistake of loading all of my photos off of my camera to the PC at an internet cafe. Thinking I would easily be able to upload them to the web, I proceeded to clear out the memory on my camera (much to Sarah’s chagrin). Lo and behold:

• Flickr was completely blocked.
• Copying back onto my device wasn’t permitted.
• Uploads to my web server were insanely slow.
• The PC automatically shut off after my card ran out of Yuen.
• The PC automatically wipes the HD after the PC has been shut down.

The ensuing shouting match between Sarah and myself (mostly Sarah commenting on my ineptitude), caused severe rubber-necking from every Chinese person within a 100m radius. Since the terra cotta soldier pictures and others were lost, we had to do a little creative photography to compensate. If I ever figure out a way to access Flickr, you’ll get to enjoy them.