Is Home Where The Heart Is?

After journeying through eight unique lands and completing a full circle around the globe…

Venturing thousands and thousands of miles via crowded planes, rickety trains, and crazy-ass-midnight-departing busses with drivers high on yaba…

Spending hundreds & hundreds of pristine British pounds, weighty European euros, mysterious Burmese kyat, lofty Swiss francs, unpretentious Thai baht, and at the very end, as a layover-hating, desperately hungry, tired and overall pissy chick…. Japanese yen…

Gazing in awe at the world’s most celebrated, exquisite works of art by the Renaissance masters and Mother Nature herself…

Breathing in the humid breezes of the Mediterranean sea, the refreshing air atop the Swiss Alps, the pungent stench of an open air fish market in Yangon, and the damp aura in the heart of the Northwest Thai bush…

Experiencing invaluable, life-altering memories with those who have nothing and everything at the same time, and those who are wounded yet resilient…

I am home.

Or am I?

By now I am more or less recovered and time-adjusted after a 30+ hour ride back to JFK from Chiang Mai, an exhausting voyage where I felt full of both anticipation and distress the whole time and hence unable to sleep. With my seatbelt securely fastened, my tray table locked and all electronic devices shut off, the jumbo jet descended back into a world that was simultaneously comforting yet somehow alien. A familiar awe overcame me as I saw the coast come closer and closer and finally the majestic buildings that scrape the clear azure sky above. I watched as the white wake streams behind the yachts cut through the water of the Long Island Sound. I obviously couldn’t see this closely, but could imagine the salmon-colored Lacoste polo’s and whale printed shorts worn by the sun-tanned business men aboard, drinking ice cold Budweisers without a care in the world other than the performance of their stocks. To come from deep in the Southeast Asian jungle witnessing daily hardship amongst innocent children to the most famous concrete one in the world, brimming with wealth and opportunity, has been a bit of an adjustment. Obviously it’s not that hard to climb into a big, soft bed with clean sheets, drive around in my newly-leased Honda Accord, and be able to have internet access at literally any time, anywhere, but it all just feels a bit different for me now. I can’t look at anything material without mentally calculating how much that one thing would make a difference to so many people overseas.

A door has been opened in my heart and my soul and my perspective has been forever altered on what truly matters in life…yes, sounds philosophical and cliché but I can’t lie. I think anyone else who tagged along with me would likely feel the same. My mind’s eye will always hold dear to me the adorable kids as they excitedly grasped the coloring books and crayons I gave to them upon my last visit to the Orphanage in Mae Sariang. I also brought some medicine and clothing given to me by a local blood donation center, which was extremely generous of them. All very much appreciated and will go a VERY long way. I only wish I could have done more.

When I first arrived this time, of course after bouncing around the old jeep for a couple hours, I went directly into the youngest kids’ dorms to say hello to some of the children I had bonded with initially. Many of them were sleeping; others were scattered about the camp, splashing around in the puddles. Except for Emu, a gorgeous tiny 6-year-old Karen child, reed-thin with pin straight black hair and striking eyes. She was feeding a bottle to a teeny tiny baby all on her own on one of those wooden bunk beds. Nurturing and wise beyond her years at only 6 years old, you could see the love and compassion exude from her as she cared for her baby “sister”. I was happy to allow her to be a carefree child again, if only for a few moments, by giving her some of her own coloring books and taking over the care of the infant. I later learned after chatting in broken English and Thai with one of the teenagers there that the infant, 7 weeks old, had a brain deformity (I don’t know details of what kind) and that they named her “Beauty.”  I had gotten pretty frustrated with the language barrier by now (even though I’ve been trying to learn Thai, I haven’t absorbed as much of this challenging language to really communicate effectively other than basic conversation…) because I desperately wanted to sit down and chat with the caretakers of the Orphanage as well as the older kids to perhaps hear the stories and where they specifically came from, but alas, I was unable to do so. Maybe next time (I’m trying my best to keep up what I’ve learned and expand my Thai as I am figuring out my next move…)

I’m beholden to have had this opportunity to gaze directly into the eyes of an innocent, budding child and see nothing but a deep yearning for love and affection. It was in those types of moments that I silently berated myself for ever worrying about the trivial things that I used to…all my good ol’ First World problems. Anyway, I left my heart with them and truly will miss them…but I do know I have not finished my work there specifically, nor in the general arena of humanitarian work. I would have taken them all home with me, especially that little Emu, but since all the kids are from Burma and are not Thai nationals, they are ineligible for adoption (FYI, only Burmese citizens are allowed to adopt Burmese children).

Driving back through the magnificent, succulent green jungle as a sea of raindrops fell on the thick, impermeable trees, I could almost hear the disturbing whispers of the inexplicable horrors and tragedies that was occurring only miles from there across the border in Burma.  The dichotomy of the beauty and the calamity was simply too much to get my head around.  I’ve become captivated and unnerved by the situation that the various ethnic minority groups along the Burmese borders still have to endure at the hands of their own government’s military. The specific group that I am determined to help are the Karen, who have been involved in a Civil War with the government for over 50 years and are fighting for the creation of a Karen homeland state within a Federal Union. This unique culture continues to desperately survive despite the continued strife they must endure…I’m talking heinous things like burning of villages, rape, torture, murders, sexual abuse…all of the above. Yes, this shit still happens today. I had the opportunity to become involved in an agriculture project within an IDP camp aimed at teaching the Karen farmers alternative and more effective methodologies as well as crop variety to improve nutrition amongst the camp. That project is still in the process of taking off, slightly delayed due to the safety and security risks of the volunteers.

So here I am, a world away from all that in my comfortable little Fairfield County bubble, typing away on my iMac and sipping on ice-cold diet ginger ale. What a life-changing whirlwind this has been…and to be honest, the journey has just begun. In my first post, I wrote, “I want to see new things, new places, new people…and just experience a new perspective of this crazy, beautiful world.” Well, I can check that box. But I’m not done. This is only the beginning…

Strange is our journey here on Earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to divine a purpose. From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know: that man is here for the sake of other men.

 - Albert Einstein

Safe Haven...

Time continues to fly over here in Asia and I can honestly say that each and every day I spend exploring this part of the world gets even more interesting and rewarding. This past week, I was lucky enough to be invited to spend some time at a Karen Orphanage on the Thai-Burmese border. What an experience. The intent, of course, was to go help out the kids however and wherever I could and to see what needs they might have in the long term, but the warm smiles and palpable hugs they extended to me by the vivacious, sweet children made me feel like the truly lucky one. 

 

To get to the Orphanage from Chiang Mai, you must first hop on a steamy, rickety old bus for about 4-5 hours (the full duration of the trip depends solely on the driver's haste and discretion in terms of toilet breaks...) to a town near Mae Sot. When you finally arrive and you gain feeling back in your legs, you must get a hold of a sturdy off-road-worthy truck or jeep and a fearless, experienced driver capable of navigating through sheets of heavy rain, deep, muddy potholes and ridiculously steep, windy dirt roads in the heart of the northwest Thai jungle (think Avatar-style). Not really an easy task nor for the faint of heart. After about 2 hours into the bumpy drive, you'll go through a Thai-Karen IDP Camp, where petite, colorfully-clad, brown-skinned elderly women carrying baskets of freshly picked bright green chilies nearly the size of them will walk the dirt roads, slowly making their way back to their village. Out of respect for these hard-working and admirable people, we pulled over to give a few of them a lift and some fresh bottled water and were happy to be able to cut out a few kilometers of their arduous trek in the pouring rain after a long day working in the fields. As they sat gracefully bouncing on the back of our jeep, I turned back and marveled in wonderment and admiration at their intricately furrowed eyes, perhaps representative of years of onerous navigation through a difficult life...they passively yet confidently exuded a certain wisdom and experience and I realized I'd probably never be be able to fully wrap my brain around what those eyes had been exposed to and where those slender yet able-bodied women had been.

 

Continuing on past the camp, the road gets increasingly muddier and trickier to navigate, especially when the ferocious rainfall is at its strongest. I held my breath and closed my eyes several times hoping we would get there soon. Luckily, we made our way down to the other side of the dense mountain where the quaint orphanage, a collection of modest little block houses conveniently protected by the surrounding trees and brimming with love on very low-lying, wet land. Upon my arrival, I was greeted by a young man, Nikhom, who I later learned was raised there as an orphan and now has become one of the few regular caretakers there. He showed me around and we chatted via broken English and elaborate hand gestures, wading calf-deep through the muddy, flooded grounds (the flooding situation is a huge concern there and I'm currently trying to raise some funds with a friend here to help out with potential infrastructure improvement).  I then wandered off and started snapping some shots of two precious little boys waving and pointing at the random white girl roaming around in the rain with a big fat camera. Their simple, genuine smiles and innocent giggles completely stole my heart. I walked into the house they were waving from and was overwhelmed to see a handful of rambunctious children, perhaps ages 2 - 6, playing alongside their narrow wooden bunk beds and before I knew it, I had a darling little girl clinging to my leg whilst another sat me down with an intense mission to Barbie me up with elaborate 80's-style make up. To see how full of love these little guys were was just so touching...I can hardly find the words to describe it. And to know that they have had to endure some pretty horrible situations and have senselessly lost their parents is simply heart-wrenching.  

 

I also had the chance to spend some time with the admirable Karen woman who runs the orphanage and has been doing so for over 20 years, Tasanee. She unfortunately lost her father at quite a young age and then had to experience the loss of her own children's father, a village leader who was ruthlessly murdered many years ago, and has since harnessed her sorrow into creating and maintaining this loving solace for these innocent children. Truly commendable. 

I will be returning to the Orphanage next week to bring some much needed supplies and am extremely excited. If anyone is reading this and is interested in any type of donation - please do not hesitate to reach out. A small amount will go a very, very long way. 

Highs of Thai...

When I left NYC back in April, I foolishly set July 1st ("2 months on the road should be enough...") as my probable return date to the States, thinking I'd have gotten my hearty fill of diversity and adventure and would be ready to return to some stability and familiarity. Ha! Believe it or not, I'm still out here loving each and every moment and not quite sure when I'll be ready to go back. This week marks my sixth week basking in the magical glow of the Southeast Asia region (fourth week in Northern Thailand) and in light of that milestone - plus the fact that I've received a few inquiries from prospective travelers back home who want to come to this area - I've decided to share some of my favorite experiences and places so far. 

Pai, Mae Hong Son Province, Thailand

Last week, I jumped on a motorbike with a friend for a quick road trip through ridiculously steep, narrow, winding mountain roads to a little town called Pai, just about 2 hours east of the Burmese border. I'd probably recommend taking a rented van or tour bus there instead of a bike like I did unless you have someone who intimately knows the crazy roads and semi understands how the Thai drive (read: wrecklessly). After soaking up the gorgeous, lush green jungles along the way (Northern Thailand in all its glory) and then eventually gaining some feeling back in my bum from the 3 hour ride, we began to roam around and I instantly understood the charming allure of the place. A unique, very chilled out, relaxed vibe permeates the hippie-like Pai village, where images of Bob Marley's casual, carefree smile welcomes you from nearly every local bohemian art shop and cafe. There are endless amounts of boutique shops, unique bars, and one-of-a-kind restaurants at every turn, but we decided to venture off a bit to avoid the sea of dread-locked tourists in the village for some exploration of the all-encompassing natural beauty.

 

The rolling hills around Pai are home to several hillside tribes that have managed to sustain their traditional cultural identities amidst the encroaching forces of modernity. Luckily, my friend had been around the area several times before and has established friendly ties with several of the villagers, so I was able to tag along and enjoy an exclusive, authentic glance into the lives of the Lisu, Akha, and Lahu villages as he reunited with friends. Each little tucked-away village had its own special character and charisma...the colorful dresses, the architecture of the huts, the layout of the farmland, the overall feel of the place was just so different in each area. We ended up going to one village pretty close to the Burmese border zone that had tense undertones verberating throughout, where I instantly felt as though 'big brother' was watching (the border areas here are pretty heavily monitored and controlled in an effort to avoid illegal crossings, drug smuggling, etc.)...I probably wouldn't advise to venture too close in those directions toward the borders if I were you but I'm not really one to play by the rules sometimes so was not even a bit hesitant to go... Anyway, I loved to see that the distinct communities still primarily make a living from extensive farming and raising livestock (who they literally live side-by-side with) and it was truly amazing to see how in touch with Mother Nature they are. You can literally watch as the very suntanned, ridiculously muscular, wise-looking farmers slowly and confidently walk back from the fields, many of which are completely vertical, with healthy bushels of homegrown food to either sell to a local market or to cook themselves for their families. Really gives a different meaning to the "farm to table" concept. Such an honest, hard-working way of living. I was also happy to learn that although the opium trade had been ther livelihood for many generations, the production has stymied in recent years and most farmers have switched over to growing and selling other crops like corn and vegetables. Thank goodness.

 

Unfortunately, as we weaved our way through the vibrant greenery, the same kind of paralyzing nausea that had hit me during the trek in Kalaw overwhelmed me once again and so began another bout of food poisoning for the Bug. Argh, I knew I shouldn't have eaten that banana-wrapped cocoa thing that one random lady handed me in her shop! So frustrating, but at least my immune system must be getting much stronger...

 

We then stumbled off the beaten path to a little known riverside bungalow homestay about 7 kilometers outside of Pai, proudly marked by a bright red Swiss flag. "Michel" is owned by a Swiss man and his adorableThai wife who welcome visitors to their serene getaway year-round with open arms. I would highly recommend this place if you are looking for some tranquility and authenticity outside the often bustling touristy town of Pai.  

Tiger Kingdom, Chiang Mai

This was actually about a month ago but I haven't written about it so wanted to highlight this experience as a must-do if you should find yourself in this part of the world. With my teeny green shorts and flashy Prada aviator sunglasses, I waltzed into a large cage full of grown 250-pound tigers within a quite touristy attraction that in my opinion is definitely worth visiting in Chiang Mai. It was truly incredible being so close and interactive with these gorgeous, enormous wild creatures. They absolutely could've eaten me in one swift bite, but they surprisingly remained pretty calm the whole time. Yes, there are accusations out there that the tigers are so tame because they are totally drugged out, but who knows if there is actually truth to that. Anyway, full of fear and hesitation and with my embarrassingly shaky hands, I rubbed their fluffy bellies, lay down with them using their bums as pillows, and pet them like they were simply giant kitties. 

Biking and Trekking in Chiang Mai

My other semi-life threatening yet completely exhilarating experience was on a motor bike around the hills of Chiang Mai. I totally recommend doing this if you're out here - but I'd advise to go with someone who knows what they are doing since there are tons of accidents each year where overconfident farangs go racing around stupidly and blindly and don't realize that Thai drivers are some other kind of crazy too. Anyway, after touring around the Hmong hillside village and a few gorgeous hidden Buddhist temples, we got caught in the daily rainshower that occurs here during monsoon season. My driver advised that we'd need to cut the trip short and go back to town on the route we had taken up there, but stubbornly, I insisted we try the trail that we originally intended to go on since it was supposed to be beautiful and was just something new. Doh. It was a downhill, rocky, painful, muddy disaster. After some slipping & sliding, and lots of falling and nervous laughter, we made it; however, my legs looked like peaches that were beaten by a baseball bat and it looked like we had just been in a crazy mud-wrestling match when we landed. Nonetheless, it was truly worth it. It's pretty hard to describe the scenic artistry in some of these areas that you can only get to by bike or foot and I definitely encourage anyone with a sense of adventure and keen appreciation of natural beauty to go off the beaten path around there to explore for themselves. 

 

Chiang Mai Bar Scene - Ladyboys and Locals

 

So since I'm trying not to spend too much money and I'm not so much into partying these days, I don't really have any great stories about the best trendy nightlife around here, but there were two nights that have stuck out so far that are worth sharing. One was after the muddy slip-and-slide down the mountain when I was half crippled and in desperate need of a cold, relaxing beer.  I roamed near my hotel to La Croix Road where there was a little boxing arena surrounded by neon-lighted bars and booming dance clubs. I sat down to watch some shirtless scrawny boys play around with each other in the arena and ordered a tall Chang from an unbelievably gorgeous, tall, voluptuous Thai waitress. When she returned with the frosted glass and talked to me in an alarmingly rich, deep voice, I clearly realized she that in fact, she was not a she... They are called "Ladyboys" here (yes, this is politically correct) and there are PLENTY of them here. The Thai's, I've learned, are getting pretty big on gender-bending norms and from what I can see, they are not afraid to show it all over. I've since learned that Thai Buddhism does not regard homosexuality as sinful and so perhaps that has enhanced the social acceptance of this throughout the cities. I looked around and realized the place was brimming with these gorgeous Ladyboys, all with meticulously made up faces, suggestive, sexy dresses, and all extremely friendly and welcoming to the skinny white girl sipping on a beer.

 

Another night, a friend and I were drawn to a bar that was full of young looking Thai students enjoying great live music in an outdoor garden type bar called Nube just outside of the Old City. Although there were no seats available, a group of giggly, smiling young girls (maybe 18-20 years old) waved us over and we joined them for a night of singing along to the music and cheers-ing our beers before every sip. Felt really cool to be hanging with the locals.

Silent Meditation Retreat, Wat Suan Dok

 

After days of racing around the mountains and drinking beer with scandally clad Ladyboys, I decided to take a healthy mental break for my first meditation retreat. What an experience. I didn't realize how crazy fast and jumbled and full my brain is until I was forced to sit silently on and off for 24 hours doing nothing but "breathing in and out, and solely being aware of your breaths...nothing else...". Sure, it sounds like a piece of cake: just sit lotus-style in a beautiful courtyard adorned with smiling golden Buddha statues and palm trees, relaxing and doing nothing but feeling comfortable and calm in flowing white clothing for hours at a time, listening to the soothing guidance of a tiny monk encouraging you to focus your mind. In reality, or at least MY reality, it started off to be a pretty painful and frustrating couple of hours until I really could get in the groove and understand what all this was intended for. We were allowed 1 Q&A session with the monk to ask anything we wanted related to practicing meditation or share what we were struggling with and were experiencing, etc. which was pretty cool. And after breaking for occasional chanting, some brief sleep sessions and a few modest-sized meals, I left the place feeling surprisingly refreshed and centered. I'd recommend doing the 2 day course like I did if you are just trying to get your toes wet, but if this type of thing is already your cup of tea, there are tons of retreats here you can look into for a much longer and more intensive experience.

 

So there are some experiences and hopefully inspiring ideas for now...more will be on the way. I am still here in Chiang Mai trying to soak up the culture and language (by the way, met an adorable little Thai teacher where I'm staying who agreed to help me with my Thai in exchange for helping him with his English...sweet deal!) and simultaneously working on some potential opportunities to do some good in some much-needed areas around in the region.

 

'Til Next Time... 

Hope in Southeast Asia

So I ended up staying in Myanmar a few extra days so that I'd have about two full weeks there...yet I am still far from satiated. I am intrigued by that particular country as well as the surrounding areas. The spirited people, rich land, diverse culture, complex historical and political situations...it is just so intricate and complex, wonderful and harsh, pure and dirty, all at the same time.

In Myanmar, I started my journey in the south where I was taken aback and slightly uncomfortable with the constant attention I was receiving as a white person roaming around. I'd be given the heads up about this, but didn't really get it until I was walking the streets of Yangon, the biggest city in Myanmar, where the sidewalks are scattered with deep holes and the electricity shuts off regularly at random times. Now, the attention you get as a foreigner is not like when pretty women get playful cat calls when passing by a testosterone flooded construction site, nor when Bradgelina and the kids pass by adoring fans and aggressive paparazzi. On a simple stroll through the streets, I received many heartfelt, excited "Hello's!!" and several requests for pictures with me, was approached by multiple energetic longyi-clad kids and robbed monks anxious to practice their limited conversational English, and was even welcomed into the back of a street side teashop, which turned out to be a family's home, to be protected from a monstrous monsoon. Mostly everyone seemed thrilled to see people from the outside world coming to explore their country. To me, they seemed genuinely proud and exhibited what I interpreted as a sense of relief and hope. While it was fascinating and somewhat flattering at times, by the time I reached Mandalay, I was ready for the attention to stop. 

By now (back in Northern Thailand, by the way), I thought I'd be writing fervently about things that have grabbed my attention recently (politics, human rights, etc., specifically the sickening realities of the nearly half million internally displaced persons amongst various ethnic minorities in the border regions of the area)...BUT...A) I still have much to learn so my opinions would not carry much weight at this point anyway, and B) I am hopeful I will be returning to the country at some point in the near future and given democracy and free speech has not yet fully blossomed and been accepted there, I will keep my mouth shut and hold off a bit to avoid any potential negative clashes with the government. Instead, I will share some more about the beauty and characters of the country I was fortunate to experience; however, given my growing knowledge and interest in what has been going on "behind the scenes" there, I must say at times I felt I was being forcibly ushered around a very limited portion of the country - far from the outskirts - to specific tourist friendly places flowing with smiling, happy folk, plenty of shops, beautiful sparkling pagodas and more.  I sometimes felt I was walking within a meticulously constructed movie set,Truman Show style, and am now even more ravenously curious to pop the bubble and peak behind the curtains...

Anyways, after leaving magical Inle Lake, I continued up North to Hsipaw, a quiet area more or less similar to the trekking town of Kalaw with many Shan villages scattered on the outskirts. I ended up bonding with an extremely fascinating, warm woman from Taiwan who shared her story with me over some scrambled eggs and fresh pineapple at our homestay. Hope, whose name appropriately fits what she's all about, is a renowned University Professor who has come to Myanmar for nearly 5 years now, teaching poor Shan village children Mandarin Chinese and English on her own time. Although some of those villages tend to be somewhat secluded and prefer to be self-sustaining, perhaps a bit "skeptical" and uninterested in the incoming Westernized influences, Hope has managed to build a very tight relationship with one particular village and has loyally returned to instill hope in the form of education for these precious kids. She must have read the extreme admiration, enthusiasm, and interest in my eyes as I listened to her experiences and so she graciously invited me to join her that afternoon for a class with the children.   

This was such a rewarding and thought-provoking day. I wish I could repeat it. We walked about an hour along dirt roads to this Shan village just outside of Hsipaw, where we passed hut after hut, ox after ox, rice field after rice field (you get the idea...) and stopped at a beautiful wooden hut on high stilts with some plump pigs and chickens running around in the dirt yard in front. This was the Village Leader's house where she has the children gather on a blanket for a makeshift outdoor classroom whenever she visits. The kids of all ages literally jumped for joy as she walked in, and she reciprocated the excitement and love.  I was extremely impressed when a young girl with a baby on her back came straight over to me and asked my name in perfect English. They must be soaking this up! It was really a beautiful thing to watch and couldn't believe I was lucky enough to get up in front for my own little English song/dance thing I made up to play with the kids. Lots of energy and laughing and overall a really special, good time. 

One family in the village I met really touched my heart. An older toothless man with a somber smile was standing arm-in-arm with a limping, young, baseball-capped boy, who was clearly not partaking in the lessons. I then approached them and the hand gestures and limited communication between me and the older man began, but then Hope joined me to explain their story and instantly became teary-eyed.  I learned that the boy and father had unfortunately been in a rough motorbike accident a few months ago just down the road, and since the little boy was not wearing a helmet at the time, he suffered severe brain damage and is no longer able to talk or interact in a consistent, reliable way. The impression I got from some of the elders (from pointing to his head and then shaking their hand to indicate "no") was that they were not hopeful for the kid, which was disturbing since I know there are options to improve these situations in more developed places in the world, like specialized schooling, speech therapy, etc. Although the small family exhibited optimism,  it was easy to see the desperation and worry behind their smiles.  I learned that the "moya" bills (doctor/medical bills) they must pay have prevented the boy from being able to attend any type of school and have so far tallied up to 1.5 million kyat, or $1,500 USD. For a family that makes about $1-2 USD a day on average, this is obviously an overwhelming amount of money.  I couldn't help but think how the situation might be different and how that boy's future might be changed if he had even some access to special education, decent doctors, a chance to continue to live his life despite some cognitive disabilities from a tragic accident. It was sad for me to see the limited school supplies available to the kids (they were PSYCHED when I handed out pencils and paper to them, like kids on Christmas morning jacked up on sugar) as well as the relatively run-down circumstances they live in; but to see a seriously injured kid within this scene with an even lower chance of a bright future ahead of him really broke my heart. 

After being "escorted" hand in hand by the adorable children all the way to the edge of the village, Hope and I discussed potential options on how we could help that family out, even just a little. We threw around ideas of involving Doctors Without Borders and other potential organizations that could help, which I believe she is looking into now, but in order to do something that would provide instant relief to the warm-hearted family, we decided to put together what we could to donate to them directly out of our pockets. So far, best money I've spent so far on this trip. But I want to do more. I need to. 

So now I am back in Chiang Mai after some perspective altering experiences in a third world country, filling myself up with whatever knowledge and resources I can get my hands on to learn more, and actively searching for something I can do to continue to provide hope, help, or really anything to those who really need it in this part of the world, even it's just for one person in one random village that I will only see once.  

Stay Tuned...

A Day on Inle Lake...

I have completely skipped over writing about some crazy, funny, extraordinary Southeast Asian experiences I've had in the past few weeks (to name a few: playing with 250 pound, full-grown tigers, attending a silent meditation retreat, going to a Thai cooking school, falling off a motorbike several times in the hills of Chiang Mai, etc) and I will definitely get to them, but my day yesterday inspired me so much that the words just started flowing and I've already managed to squeeze out a post on it, so here it goes...

Day 6 in Myanmar was happily spent on and around Inle Lake, a freshwater lake in the heart of the Shan region. Now this is usually a "busy" tourist attraction for Myanmar, yet it felt practically deserted when I was there -maybe given it's the rainy season. Moing, a dark-skinned, barefoot, muscular, wild looking Shan guy whose constant wide grin showed off his half toothless, dark red-stained mouth, took me and two random Norwegian guys who made it to the dock before 8am for a day-long trip across the Lake. The traditional wooden tail boat was very long and very narrow, just like the rest of them out on the water. 

Moing swiftly navigated the boat through quite narrow canals, flowing with opaque brown water that reminded me of the chocolate river Willy Wonka took Charlie on in his Factory. We passed grass hut after hut, watching little boys bathing, women washing dishes, and dogs cooling off in the murky, mysterious water that was set against the bright green meadows on shore. After a half hour we emerged from the canals and it was smooth sailing across glass-like, unusually calm water from there. I contently sat back and soaked up the picturesque, happy scene: the majestic Shan Hills surrounding us as if giving us a giant bear hug, the scattered dark green patches of floating Lotus patches, the silhouettes of Intha fisherman leisurely leg-rowing across. I then fixated on a stunningly white bird racing through the air who seemed to be doing a well-choreographed dance with it's own reflection in the mirror-like water - twirling, rising, falling, skimming the still water beneath. Unfortunately, the bird was too fast for me to snap a few shots. But it was a very beautiful, very zen thing to watch with the naked eye. 

Our first stop was the Nam Pan Market...a truly hectic, steamy and chaotic scene amidst the cool, tranquil surrounding Lake. We got out and explored the rows upon rows of chopped bloody fish, roasted corn, smoked mango, engraved wood, seashell jewelry, and much much more. After failing to say no to a rather persistent souvenir vendor, I ended up with a beautiful bamboo engraved symbolic "calendar" that showed the story of Buddha throughout time. The man then had me sit down on a teeny tiny foot stool for some water (which was warm & gross - tried to hide my automatic gag after the first sip), introduced me to his wife, and helped me write out the pronunciation of some Burmese words I've been trying to learn. Very sweet. 

The Norwegian guys, handsome, tall, blonde, jacked university students (like Norwegian Ken dolls, really) somehow designated me as the "translator" with Moing... mind you, Moing spoke NO English what-so-ever, but after hearing the polite conversation I had with him in my limited Burmese that morning: hello, good morning, what's your name, how much will it cost - the guys were impressed and decided they'd go through me if they had a question for him. Not very efficient but highly entertaining. Between pointing at my Burmese dictionary and making what probably looked like overly-elaborate and potentially offensive hand gestures, I think I got it through to him that we did not want to go to places like the market where "people want money. no tourist places. want to see YOUR country. how you live. you show us!" [just imagine the hand gestures I used to convey that].  When I told him "we do not want to see the Long NeckTribe" (aka the Padaung Tribe, who by the way, are basically fakes at this point...Sad that what once was a true, rich cultural tribe is now solely a tourist/zoo attraction. The "Long Neck" girls here are bussed in from their apartments and wear what resemble the stacked silver rings around their necks all day for the money, yet do not practice any traditional customs or anything like that. I just couldn't support that...)  I put my hands around my neck and lifted my head. He grabbed my hands away from my throat - did he think I was trying to choke myself?! Anyway, the whole day was like that. Quite funny and drawn out but we somehow managed to get along quite well. After plenty of bonding laughs, he rolled some betel nuts for us. I luckily knew what it was so declined - basically a mild stimulant that many people of Myanmar chew on and spit out, similar to tobacco. And that's the nasty stuff that turns their mouths red so they look like freshly fed vampires. I did, however, take the offer as a positive one, in that I interpreted he was trying to show us a very custom part of Burmese life. 

When he took us through a maze of far out canals (to where exactly, I still do not know...) we finally arrived on a bank where you could easily see some old Stuppas poking out in the bright greenery. Moing got caught up in the back on the boat (I think his paddle go caught in something?) and we just kind of floated for a while while he was babbling in Burmese, so I jumped out into the knee high chocolate milk water and pulled the boat ashore. He stood there staring at me for a while and a group of local village boys on the shore laughed hysterically. I still don't know why - maybe that's not what women are supposed to do. I was just anxious to get on shore and see the little remote village he took us to, which is exactly what I wanted. Some Intha women with surprised looks on their Thanaka-covered faces came over with colorful cloths to dry my legs, again speaking very fast and I  have no clue what they said. At that point, I didn't even try to look it up because I wouldn't even know where to begin. I just thanked them very much and smiled away. 

Moing gestured to a path through the woods which I could tell lead to a Pagoda; but when I heard the sweet angelic singing in the heavy air of what had to be school children, I simply couldn't resist checking that out. "OK, Moing, Chez-uh-beh (thanks)...I see you soon. Chez-uh-beh." And I walked to the school as the boys had more betel nut and popped open some Myanmar lager. 

Ah!!! My heart smiled. Dark-skinned kids of all ages - from maybe 4 to 9 years old in bright Christmas-green pants (long skirts for the girls) and crisp white shirts, singing in whatever language, smiling and giggling with innocent pleasure. Now, all these kids share ONE big room and are "separated" into classrooms within that room into the various grades. There were a good amount of them, and there was no electricity from what I could see, so you can imagine how hot and crowded it must have felt in there. The teacher, a girl who looked younger than me, motioned me to come in, but given I had no treats or pencils to give them and could tell they were in the middle of a lesson (yes, a singing lesson), I declined but still managed to take some cute pictures. When the kids caught a glimpse of me through the door - a white woman with big sunglasses and a hefty camera - they all stared and pointed and giggled, as if they had never seen anything like it in their lives. It felt surreal. The sweet singing turned into loud and enthusiastic "hellooooo's!" from all sides. After returning as many greetings as I could, I snuck out for some serenity at the nearby Pagoda and chatted with a young novice monk who lived in a nearby monastery. 

The next stop was back out on the Lake at a little bamboo hut on stilts where a nice woman made us some lunch (believe she was a friend of Moing's or something). I don't know what it was, but like practically everything I've  had here, contained plenty of oil, warm tomatoes, sautéed onions, and white rice.  One of the Norwegians unfortunately couldn't stomach the Burmese food so he was running back and forth to the toilet the whole time. Poor guy. I know what that's like unfortunately...I'm better but still not 100%. 

On our way back, a sign on a monastery we passed caught my eye, "Jumping Cats! ".  Hm, OK let's give that a shot. We went in and then I vaguely remembered that I had read about some place like this in the Lonely Planet travel guide where the cats were trained by monks and jumped through hoops or something. Fail. The cats were quite skinny, grouchy, nasty little critters that were afraid of people. I watched as a newborn tried to get some milk from his mother who was simply not interested. Sad. So that was underwhelming. When we came out after 5 minutes or so, Moing laughed and said something in Burmese. I'm pretty sure he knew we wouldn't like it but was having fun with us. 

When we got back to Nuang Shwe (the town I was staying in a bit Northeast of the Lake)  it began to rain. Really rain. I made a run for it back to my hostel and passed out on my bed immediately as the falling raindrops provided the perfect lullaby to put me to sleep after a perfect day.