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Some Concerns from Charles March Blackride From <charlesmarchblackride@yahoo.com> Subject: McCharles Date: Fri, 2 Apr 1999 I beg your forgiveness if I am overstepping my slight acquaintanceship with your Mr. McCharles, but having just scanned his most recent email from India, I'm somewhat disturbed. His letters are getting longer, more frequent and, dare I suggest, possibly manic-depressive. McCharles would appear to be on course to announcing as one of the very mystics he rightly ridicules. Perhaps one of you who understands him better than I should alert him that he is Kurtz. My apologies, once more, if my concern is an over-reaction. Sincerely yours, Charles March Blackride A puffed-up poet named Charles March Blackride wrote to challenge the "comprehensivity of my India reportage", and my sanity. He may have a point. A couple of weeks Quit, the bubbling vat of my India experiences is starting to congeal. "Cheap and Best!" is the highest praise possible from any street tout. They always display a "great and misplaced enthusiasm" for whatever product or service the tourist is hurrying past. Cheap and Best? India is ridiculously inexpensive and offers much. There must be more World Heritage Sites here than in any other country. My first visit to India was the big city touristic fast lane; Varanasi, Agra (Taj Mahal), Jaipur, Udaipur, Bombay. I was quite critical of India that trip, though I loved it and wanted to return as soon as possible. This time I visited many smaller places. Check-out this random list of some of my favourite spots including (population):
The smaller centres are better for me as my greatest griefs are big city griefs; traffic and pollution (air, water, noise). Indian cities have "all of the vices and few of the virtues of civilization". (Mattiesson) I thought China was noisy but India is much worse, reaching ear-damaging volumes. The Muslim call to prayer is amplified 5 times a day. (Actually, this one I like. "Allah, Akbar. Prayer is better than sleep.") Christians and Hindus blare their speakers in religious competition. Simultaneously, vehicles and shops play Hindi film songs at "diabolical volumes" (Dervla Murphy) This cacophony is punctuated by the many air horns found now on all manner of vehicles, even putt-putt Vespa motor-scooters. Every citizen I talked to blamed most of India's problems on over-population. I think the main problem is cultural. There are many regions in other countries just as crowded, just as poor, which are organized, happy, neat and tidy. (Northern Myanmar, for example, from where I write. I haven't caught a whiff of stale urine, India's national odour, since I got to this country.) Nowhere else in the world but India will you find such conspicuous inefficiency, ignorance, and injustice. The reason is simple, said Gita Meha, "conservatism, massive passivity, opaqueness, apathy, and nearly sanctified prejudices". India just doesn't seem to adapt to changing times. 50 years ago you should throw all your trash on the street -- it was quickly eaten by roaming cows. Now we have plastic. 50 years ago you could defecate and urinate just about anywhere. It would be "smulched" into the soil. Now we have concrete. I have no faith at all in the government to educate the population. Governments seem almost powerless in India. Not even Sonya Gandhi, with her vast wealth of political experience as Rajiv Gandhi's widow, offers any hope. Corruption seems to be a source of perverse National pride. Many told me, "India is the most corrupt country on Earth." Actually, I read they ranked 8th worst on the Transparency International ranking. (Perhaps the committee was bought-off.) Certainly much has improved even since I was here before. Trains and buses now depart close to schedule. Newspapers are excellent. The Elite of India are rising quickly to 1st world standard. So am I being too critical of India? Perhaps I just need more hyperbole to balance the vitriol. (Ah, but the villain is always more interesting than the hero in any picture.) No, I'm not being over-critical. India needs more teachers, leaders, constructive critics -- not fewer. As Gandhi said, "All criticism is not intolerance". This is an ancient culture, but a modern nation. Much was left undone over the past 50 years. HIGHLIGHTS I was blown away by the Kailasa Hindu rock temple at Elora. It's been acclaimed as one of the "most audacious feats of architecture ever conceived". Carving stone from the top down, artisans cut out a complex twice the size of the Parthenon in Athens. That being difficult enough, the precision and detail of this monolith is also fabulous. I visited the most fantastic Jain temple complex at Shatrunjaya. This is a hilltop strewn with over 800 gleaming white immaculate temples. Gorgeous. Jain temples are always first class, usually constructed of fine marble. The very best Jain temple is Dilwara on Mt. Abu. There you will find, some say, the finest marble carving anywhere in the world, so fine it is translucent in places. A giant lotus flower hangs down from the centre of the temple dome carved from a single block of marble. I liked a lot of the stone carving, especially the erotic images. Indian Gods, like movie stars, must be respectably chubby. Goddesses are voluptuous, consorts Hefneresque. Those ancient carvers must have enjoyed their work. The Rat Temple near Bikaner is unique. Rats are holy here. Like all Hindu temples, bare feet are demanded. I stood patiently until one of the thousands of rats finally scampered over my feet (very auspicious!) before I scampered out myself. Actually, the rats look small and sickly despite the mountains of food offerings they get. I liked better the nearby camel farm. I tried to confirm the rumour that camels have been bred so as to be unable to mate without human assistance. Not true. But they are somewhat incompetent so the handlers usually assist with insertion. For me the biggest attraction to India this time was the Jaisalmer Fort. Of all the amazing forts in fort-studded Rajasthan, this is everyone's favourite. "Straight out of the 'Tales of the Arabian Nights' ... captivating, romantic, and unspoiled ... no one who makes the effort to get to this sandy outpost departs disappointed." You really need to see it at sunset, massive and sprawling, washed in a golden desert glow. Unforgettable. Another favourite was Daulatabad Fort. Very "Indiana Jones" with defences including crocodiles, poisonous snakes, rock-hewn spiral passageways, fire traps, boiling oil. A 6 km escape tunnel leads to the plains below. Certainly impregnable, this fort was never taken by force. (The gate guards were bribed.) The Sultan of Delhi liked the fort so much that he marched the entire population of Delhi 1100 km to make it his new capital. His unhappy subjects dropped like flies in their new home. He finally marched them back again 17 years later. Being a jock philistine, the Arts are a low priority for me on these trips. But I did manage to stumble on to some amazing acts. I saw a frantic 12-year-old girl tabla prodigy. The tabla is like a bizarre double bongo which can produce wild sounds. Indians play jazzy rhythms unknown to me. But I like them. Of course I saw sitar players several times. (Once on a hotel roof overlooking the Taj Mahal. Magic.) But the best of all was an old fellow playing an inverted clay pot, drumming with his hands, special rings on his fingers. This gives a unique percussive sound. I enjoyed the Kathakali dance performed in Kerala. Dynamic, dramatic, with unbelievably detailed make-up and masks. The dancers put something in their eyes to make them large and red, expressive eye movements being the highlight of Kathakali. The next day we had a charismatic boat captain described by Anna from Finland as "one of most beautiful human beings she had ever seen". Turned-out he was a Kathokali dancer. He ran that ship as he danced. In Delhi I dropped in to a place called the "Crafts Museum", not expecting much. I was the only one there. It turned out to be the funkiest, hippest folk art gallery I've ever seen. Craft work from all over India, but displayed in tasteful and interesting ways. I loved everything. I had wanted for a long time to visit the Golden Temple of the Sikhs in Amritsar. It is glorious! I stayed in the pilgrim complex too, for free (donation). Sikhism puts high importance on social service. For example, every temple has an attached free kitchen. At the Golden Temple they feed 40,000 / day, all sitting on the floor as equals (no caste). They feed anyone; the poor, Hindus, Muslims, even me. This is what all religions should be doing. Every Sikh I've met has been courteous, educated and affluent. These people are so industrious they've made their state the richest in India. I was very lucky to meet Gopi and Chitra. Gopi was born in India and educated in Canada and the U.S. He married Chitra who was born in Edmonton. They now live in Pondicherry with their 6-year-old daughter. I spent a good deal of time with them, meeting both sets of parents. (Chitra's parents live in Vancouver but come over for a few months each year.) Chitra & Gopi are certainly an Indian couple, but with western sensibilities and understanding. They answered all of my questions about Indian society in 1999. The familiy "keeps" a 12-year-old untouchable girl as a baby-sitter and companion for their daughter. This is quite common for progressive families. The "servant" does odd chores, as well, in exchange for room, board, and a little spending money. Every time you turn a corner in India there is something to make you grin:
At one of Gandhi's memorials I was outraged to see women cutting the lawn, sitting, using tiny hand scythes. Then I realized, "How Gandhian". He always said India didn't need mass production, but rather production by the masses. At least until the population is fully employed. Everything is done in the most labour intensive way possible. For example, men carry milk from the plains up to Mt. Abu every morning. A really heavy load. A very steep 5 hour climb. Yet there is a perfect road up. The milk could be driven. Crazy things still happen in India every day. Pick up any paper and you are likely to read:
You've noticed the Indian peoples have "only imperfectly mastered the Canadian language". Actually its a quaint "Hinglish" (Hindi-English)
Varanassi; the sacred centre of Hinduism, he most atmospheric and filthiest place in India. If you visit only one city, this is it. You will find all of India down on the river ghats. To die in Varanassi is immediate release from the cycle of rebirth and a direct ticket to Heaven. Pilgrims drown themselves or their children in the holy Ganges, swimming out tied to empty clay pots. (Actually the British put a stop to that in the early 1800s.) The diseased and aged make their way here, many begging. Usually I can smile, greet them, and walk on, leaving them to work out their own salvation. But for the first time I was really shaken. A young woman. Wasted. Obviously dying. AIDS? I walked past, but haunted. What to do? Mother Teressa's hospice for the Dying Destitute is a few metres away. Yet she chooses to beg in the street. In the morning I returned, still unsure. Of all the beggars working the cremation ghat, she was the only one still left wrapped-up in her dirty sheet. I waited 5 minutes but could detect no sign of breathing. At a loss, still, I walked away. I hope she finds release. I returned along the river ghats looking for sweepers. India is filthy because these people are despised and under-paid. Each untouchable I could find, I patted on the back, thanked, and then offered a cash tip (disguised in a candy wrapper not to draw too much attention). Each and every one stared back at me blankly -- "This is a madman." -- then took the cash.
P.S. The "McSadhu" photo was taken during the Holi festival of colour, where drunken louts throw and smear bright toxins on one another. It was great! P.P.S. In India I found myself taking many City group tours. They were terrible, but far better than the alternative. Lonely Planet online has published a good write-up of individual vs. group travel. I'll send it along in case anyone is interested. To tour or not to tour? -- Lonely Planet Cometbot, Oct '98 IN THE SPOTLIGHT To tour or not to tour? You won't have to go far to hear someone putting down organised tours. It's almost de rigeur to write organised tourists off as camera-toting, Bermuda-shorts-wearing, loud, insensitive and ill-informed oafs. Many's the independent traveller who'll be more than happy to tell you, over a beer or two, that people on organised tours would be better off sitting at home watching it all on TV - after all, they only ever see the country through the windows of an air-conditioned bus, don't they? The litany of ills is endless: you never meet the locals on an organised tour, you're not allowed to see the things you want to see, you never really get involved in a culture. Organised tours give you a pre-packaged, sanitised view of a country, with no room for serendipity. As if that isn't reason enough to turn up your nose, there are the evil effects that organised tours have on the local economy: foreign-owned companies ship people in, drag them around then ship them home again, using the country's resources without giving anything back to its people. Independent travel, in comparison, is a wonderland of cultural interactivity - nights spent with local families discussing village politics and eating like the real people do, days spent wandering at your own pace, finding things by accident, getting off the beaten track, and generally immersing yourself in the whole 'travel experience'. Fans of organised tours, naturally enough, say almost the opposite. If you take a tour, they suggest, you use your time efficiently and you draw upon the knowledge of local guides who can give you a great deal of historical and cultural insight into the country. Organised tours help the economy by employing people in hotels, restaurants and as guides. Independent travellers,on the other hand, spend half their time looking desperately for somewhere to lay their head or fill their belly, gawk at sights without having any real idea of their cultural significance and corrupt the virginal locals by inflicting themselves and their fleece jackets on regions which just aren't ready for virile western culture. So what's a poor traveller to do? Here's what we reckon - before you decide how to travel, you should sit down and have a good think about what sort of person you are and what you want to get out of your journey. If you don't mindspending a lot of time alone, if you've got time up your sleeve, if you're confident about introducing yourself to strangers, if you already know a fair bit about your destination, if you think you'll cope all right with the frustrations of organising your own transport, accommodation and food, then independent travel will probably be incredibly satisfying. If you're a shy, retiring type, if you're travelling because you have a particular interest you'd like to learn more about, if you'd rather someone else did the dull bureaucratic stuff, if you're going somewhere dangerous or want to learn a new skill, or if you've only got a couple of weeks, then an organised tour may be just the ticket. Sure, there are plenty of awful organised tours, tours where you'll be shuttled between piss-ups and more often than not wake up in your tour mate's vomit, tours where you'll only stop long enough to shoot a roll of film, tours where the only local you meet will be the bloke on reception at your hotel. But there are also plenty of great organised tours. There are theme tours,like those that give you an in-depth look at the architecture of northern Italy, or the wine-making regions of France, at the ecology of Madagascar, or development projects in Guatemala. There are adventure tours, ideal if you're keen to develop your trekking, rafting or skiing skills, or want to see a particularly remote area, but don't feel confident about doing it by yourself. There are tours which will teach you something new: learning to paint in Florence, learning a Gaelic instrument in Ireland, learning to fish in Botswana, learning to surf in Australia. You can book yourself a luxury train trip through Rajasthan or a five-star fling in France, or you can sign on to rough it across Zimbabwe, pitching your own tent and cooking your own breakfast as you go. Maybe you want to find your Karelian roots, follow in the footsteps of Gustaf III, engage in bi-plane combat, rope a calf or make your own Hollywood blockbuster. If you want to do it, there's someone out there who wants to charge you for it. Links: For general tour info, try http://members.aol.com/tours2go/tours/ - these guys claim to be the international tours matchmaker. http://www.ecotour.org/ecotour.htm is a top ecotravel site, with links to tour operators and tips on planning your travel the ecologically-friendly way. http://www.serioussports.com/core.html is packed with links for adrenalin junkies and outdoor enthusiasts For the most comprehensive list of the strangest specialised tours you're likely to find, try http://specialtytravel.com/ Burma, Metronidazole, Chloramphenicol, "Ampicillin", me, and SLORC "This is Burma and it will be quite unlike any land you know." - Kipling, 1898 "The iron fist of SLORC (State Law and Order Restoration Council) squeezes the citizens of Yangoon, the capital, through the day. After curfew, the dark, empty streets are over-run by giant, fearless rats. Postal clerk turned dictator, Ne Win, (hugely wealthy, married 7 times) has controlled this detested military regime since 1958. Officially retired since 1988, Ne Win continues to pull the strings from his residence where he surrounds himself with 'wizards and astrologers'. This is the kind of stuff I had looked forward to writing about Myanmar (the correct name of the country). I had expected to find another Cambodia which I visited a few years ago -- a tortured, impoverished, backward country of suffering Buddhists. (By the way, a backpacker journalist-wanna-be named Amit Gilboa wrote an expose on whats been going on in Cambodia: "Off the Rails in Phnom Penh -- Into the Dark Heart of Girls, Guns, and Ganja". You know of the "Killing Fields" -- between 1 - 2 million dead from a population of 7 million. That was the well-meaning Khmer Rouge, communist lunatics. More recently the madman in charge has been pretend democrat Prime Minister Hun Sen who engineered a coup in 1997. Anything goes in Hun Sen's Cambodia. His buddy, Drug Lord Theng Boon Ma, had his luggage lost on a domestic flight. He pulled an AK-47 out of the trunk of his waiting car and shot-up the offending plane. No charges were layed. There are a lot of guns in Cambodia. To celebrate Buddhist New Year, citizens of Phnom Penh fire their weapons in the air. One year 5 were killed, 12 wounded from falling bullets. The military base near the airport seized a capitalist idea -- tourists can shoot any type of weapon for $10 / hour, $.25 / bullet. Some go only to try the B-40 rocket launcher -- $35 / shell. You will find many foreign nationals living in Cambodia, working legally and illegally. I hung-out at an expat bar called "The Heart of Darkness". Some of these guys are here for cheap drugs and prostitutes. My first night in town a 25-year-old Australian known as AK-Ray was killed, his body dumped in the main park in town as a warning to others. He had been running drugs and guns. A Kiwi bar owner who has been there for years told me that the worst invaders weren't the Khmer Rouge, but the U.N. Peace-keepers. Those soldiers were paid $145 U.S./ day in a country where the average national income is $120 / year. Some, the Bulgarians and Africans in particular, went crazy with drugs and prostitutes. Because the U.N. is not allowed to test for AIDS, the disease was effectively spread throughout the country. Though at one point a memo was issued requesting U.N. vehicles not be parked in front of brothels, the U.N. still considers Cambodia as one of their great success stories. ENOUGH about Cambodia. Interesting as it is, there's no comparison at all with Myanmar.) Arriving in Yangoon in the evening, we were efficiently whisked from the modern airport through a bright city of wide streets and spacious architecture. Yacht Club. University. Our first impressions were good. The golden spires of pagodas light up the night. The hotel was spotless, new, friendly, and inexpensive. A Vancouver couple immediately took me out for beer and traditional Burmese food at a street restaurant which had never entertained foreigners. After dinner we joined up with one of the roving gangs of street musicians to sing old pop songs in Burmese and English. Bryan Adams is by far the most popular artist. I was feeling pretty damn good about Myanmar and happy to be Quit of India after 4 months there. Next morning was Easter Sunday. I went to Mass, conspicuously under-dressed, at the biggest Catholic church in town. I was over-whelmed with the warm welcome. In the light of day I began to see the shabbiness and neglect, the socialist drabness. Dozens of major construction projects, mostly hotels, were stalled or abandoned. Paint was peeling on most buildings. The huge sports complex, a gift from China, empty. The Yangoon Trade Centre ("Prosperity Through Trade"), deserted. Still, the market was vibrant and oh so clean as compared with India. You can buy virtually anything. There has never been any kind of economic embargo of Myanmar except self-imposed isolationism. All of the multi-nationals are here with the exception of a few like Levis who opt not to do business with this regime. I saw only 3 or 4 homeless people. When the police spot them, they are transported to some ghetto for the poor far from the city and prying eyes of tourists. That evening we visited the famed Shwedagon pagoda, massive!, packed with tourists. The spire, built 1769, is covered with 53 tons of gold leaf and adorned with 5000 diamonds and 2000 other precious stones. Every 100 years the gold "umbrella" on top is replaced -- this would occur on Buddhist New Years, a few days hence. Tourists are dismayed with the amount of money Buddhists donate to temples. We all quickly resolve to donate to people (Buddhist Home for the Aged Poor, School for the Deaf) not buildings. As in Tibet, we do everything we can to minimize the number of dollars going into government coffers. As quickly as possible I left Yangoon, heading north on the road to Mandalay which was the capital until the British took-over. En route we passed an endless military graveyard. In Burma 27,000 allies died in WW II, 200,000 Japanese. In Mandalay I stayed at the wonderful AD1 Hotel where I was fated to spend a lot of time on the roof, admiring the pagoda spires rising above the leafy green skyline. I had plenty of time to chat with the staff, especially the generous owner. Older Buddhist people are soft-spoken, polite, and kind. All males spend some months as monks -- it seems to have a lasting influence on their characters. I was surprised, though, at how much this Buddhist nation is influenced by India. They eat communal meals with their right hand as in South India. The Burmese chew betel nut even more than do the Indians. One young man, teeth reduced to stumps, embarrassed, hiding his mouth behind his hand, told us, "I can't quit. I like it too much." A more uniquely Burmese scene is an older woman smoking a huge cheroot. This is the worst possible time to be in Myanmar and in Asia. Pre-monsoon the weather is insufferably hot. The upside is that the annual heat wave coincides with the most important holiday of the year, the Water Festival. This party compares with Carnival in Trinidad or Rio in length and intensity. For 4 days people go nuts drinking and dancing. Costume, masks, make-up. And for 4 days you are soaked. Worst are the fire hoses and ice water kids. After 1 day of drenching most tourists just want to hide in their hotels. In Mandalay I got fever. Four nights I awoke, the sheets soaked with sweat. Then I would huddle in my sleeping bag trying to get warm despite cold chills. I'd seen enough colonial graveyards to know that many foreigners die young of strange fevers. I decided to find a doctor. Unfortunately, nobody works during Water Festival. Employees of essential services don't show. I finally found a retired family doctor who works out of his home. He was British trained, perhaps 50 years ago. I made the leap of faith. A more sincere, kindly doctor I've never met. He took a stool sample and prescribed about 6 different kinds of pills including a sulfa drug. (I wasn't sure I wasn't allergic.) I assumed the pills would cure or kill me. Next day I was wiped. I could barely stand, never mind climb stairs. When I finally got back to his house I told him what I wanted -- what was recommended in my guide book. Of course he didn't have that drug but prescribed an alternative antibiotic. I hate taking any drugs. They mess you up and weaken your immune response. These chemicals had the side-effects of making me forgetful, stupid, and unlucky. Nothing went right. I even, somehow, lost the antibiotics. To escape the heat and water I traveled up to the British hill station at Pyin oo Lwin. Transport was by crappy Toyota pick-up -- 20 passengers plus cargo. The town is spacious, green, quiet, and quaint. The only taxis are brightly coloured horse-drawn stage coaches. I stayed one night at Candacraig, former quarters of the Bombay-Burmah Trading Company. It's an English country mansion constructed of teak. By far the best hotel of my trip. Mr. Bernard, the cook, refused to leave after WW II and wouldn't allow any alterations to building or menu (Roast beef, potatoes, English vegetables). He unfortunately eventually died there. Now the place is deteriorating apace with the other potentially gorgeous mansions. The rich all seem to have a summer home here. I was charmed by the girls and young women who often stopped to ask, in careful English, if I needed directions. In Buddhist countries confident women hold-up far more than half the sky. And there's been no "street-proofing" of kids yet. Burmese women smear coloured "thanaka" on their faces as a beauty cream and sun block. This is a paste made from a tree.
The rich young males are another story. Long hair, sun glasses, dressed in denim and Doc Marten boots. Serious bad attitude. A bit shocking for a Buddhist, asian culture. They've seen all the violent American movies but the only English they've mastered is, "Fuck You". SLORC has encouraged traditional dress and Buddhist values. Now, in one of the least western-influenced countries in the world, they will suffer a huge backlash. With some difficulty, I managed to get an air ticket to Bagan. If I was going to die, I at least wanted to see Bagan first. It's one of the 2 great ancient sites in Asia along with Angkor Wat in Cambodia. In Bagan I had to find yet another family doctor. He disagreed with my former medication anyway prescribing alternatives Metronidazole and Chloramphenicol. At least the fever was gone and I was able to explore the 2000 pagodas of Bagan. By 1044 this was the rich trading hub for India - China. Unfortunately, Ghengis Khan rode in in 1287, utterly sacking the place. These are really ruined ruins. Very little has been restored. It has an ancient ambience. I walked among the pagodas at night. Spooky. And one day hired a guide, horse and cart to take me to "excellent and unusual" pagodas. We started at 5 AM to avoid the heat. Actually, I was more impressed by the "newer" pagodas of Mandalay. As I flew out I'm sure I saw over 2000 structures there too. When I judged myself healthy enough, I booked a bus back to Yangoon. On arrival I went to Thai Airways to explain my health problems, to see if I could move my flight sooner. Bangkok is the best place in Asia for a foreigner to be ill. The airline suggested a flight that same evening. I jumped at the chance. As it turned out, that was my first healthy day -- my last in Myanmar and my first in Thailand -- after 23 days of diarrhea. To be on the safe side, in Bangkok I immediately purchased "Ampicillin", the antibiotic I couldn't get in Myanmar. After 8 good days the diarrhea returned. I assumed I still hadn't killed the bug. Handing out antibiotics like aspirin has made many bacteria drug resistant. The Ampicillin gave immediate relief. I hope I'm cured. So, I cut short my seemingly jinxed visit to Myanmar. I saw only 3 of the 6 great sites in that country. I should go back some day. It's my kind of place; untouristed, Buddhist, and beautiful. People hope that Ne Win, now close to 90-years-old, will die soon. That might precipitate a major change for the better. Every local I spoke with in private quickly agreed that their government was terrible. The biggest complaint was power cuts. Myanmar has mountains and rivers, but still doesn't generate enough electricity. The next complaint is the economy. Things have greatly improved since moderate pro-trade General Than Shwe was installed as leader. Actually, there has been steady growth since the regime abandoned socialism in 1989. Before that Myanmar was one of the 10 poorest countries in the world. Ne Win had nationalized every industry, even retail grocery shops. Everyone has suffered under this crazy regime. Most were, until recently, reluctant to use banks as the government took a cut of every deposit. But hording cash was risky. SLORC would occasionally announce that notes of a certain denomination were now worthless -- supposedly to combat counterfeiters. Today there is a lot of money around. Count the Toyota Land Cruisers and Mercedez. Where does the hard currency come from? Rice, drugs, gems, and hardwood. Half the heroin in North America is made from Myanmar poppies. They have 75% of the world's teak reserves. In fact, deforestation is probably the biggest long-term problem. They've denuded entire mountains just so rebels have no place to hide. There's been much criticism of the 100 lovely golf courses in this impoverished country. (Ne Win and his cronies are all big golfers.) But I find those cynics short-sighted. Just as the rich pagoda is a symbol of spiritual fulfillment, the golf course represents the secular. Every mother's son can aspire to become a military officer or a smuggler, and earn membership in the club. The government mouthpiece newspaper, "The New Light of Myanmar", is a comic, embarrassing propaganda rag. But it does cover golf scores from all over the world. Huge out-of-place, out-of-time billboards proclaim: "People's Desire: Oppose those relying on external enemies, Acting as stooges ... Oppose foreign Nationals interfering in the internal affairs of State Crush all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy." I didn't sense any particular support for Aung San Suu Kyi who won 85% of the popular vote in the 1989 election. The Nobel Peace Prize winner has been under house arrest for most of the past decade since SLORC imposed permanent martial law. The U.N. has documented the arbitrary arrest and torture of political opponents. SLORC has been ruthless. But the western media has been particularly disinterested in Myanmar. SLORC is a dictatorship which stifles free speech. One tourist waiting for a call-back in the International Phone centre wandered upstairs looking for the toilet. He found a room full of people with headphones listening to the calls. In another idiotic move, SLORC closed the University in '89 and shut-down about half the colleges. Of course the University is the centre of dissent. SLORC would rather sacrifice their intellectual future than risk another uprising like '88 where 3000 were killed during a 6 week period. That's Myanmar. I never did look for Kurtz up the famous, atmospheric Irriwaddy river. It was at low flow. There was a big risk of getting hung-up on a sand bar. I did manage one short boat ride on this most evocative of rivers. Lovely. On to Thailand and good health! Topless beaches, nightlife, unique cuisine, Buddhist culture; Thailand is the most popular tourist destination in S.E. Asia. But I'm not a total fan. IMHO Thailand is over-touristed, over-rated, and relatively expensive. (too many "suit case" tourists) Thailand is "the beaten track", enduring millions of demanding "farang" for too many decades. Thai people working in tourism appear to be fed-up with us. Another part of the problem is Bangkok. Sprawling, polluted, congested, this city boasts that it has consumed more concrete over the past 10 years than any other in the world. Most everyone gets stuck in Bangkok for longer than they want -- waiting for a visa, organizing forward travel, or ... recovering from illness. Most stay on Khao San Road. All day and all night vans and buses deliver swarms of backpackers to this tourist ghetto. Western restaurants blare rock music or offer current release (pirated) movies so customers can laze away the hours. Bangkok is westernized -- 7-11, Baskin-Robbins, Dunkin' Donut. All this familiar comfort is seductive. Travelers get lethargic. I met many who had been on Khao San for a week and not yet visited the Grand Palace, Wat Pho, or the National Museum -- all within 15 minutes walk. You KNOW Rick McCharles would never get sucked into Khao San sloth. He's the kind who denounces McDonalds, that most conspicuous of all western imperialist icons. (This trip I hit on a more devious strategy than boycott. I patronized McDonalds, fouling their spotless washrooms, soaking up the air con, but purchased only "loss leaders", the ice cream cones. I hoped I might drive rotten Ronnie out of Asia through insolvency.) So why, you might ask, did you find Rick drinking Gatorade, scarfing Pizza Hut pizza, and watching "Jurassic Park, The Lost World" in his room on HBO TV? When I came to Bangkok I had been sick for 3 weeks. I relaxed for a couple of days, seemingly recovered. I was well, but fatigued. I needed R & R so I headed for the beach. Ko Tao (Turtle Island) is the newest Thai sandy paradise. I was there a few years ago and I liked it -- no paved roads, no electricity, quiet beaches, one small beach techno bar ("The Drop Zone"). The tiny island has developed rapidly. Now there is one paved (5 km) road, much construction, and far too many motor scooters and electrical generators. I retreated to the remote "CFT Resort" (assortment of huts) hidden in the jungle on a rocky cliff. Just to prove my stereotype wrong, the Thai manager "Pat" was friendly and enthusiastic. Two minutes after I arrived she threw me the keys to her motorcycle ... (so I could retrieve my pack stashed back at a restaurant. I only used the bike ONCE) ... "Careful. The brakes don't work very well." I rested here for 6 days reading Michener on the porch of my cliff shack, snorkelling, admiring sunsets from the Bluewind restaurant.
I do like Thai food. In fact the "glop" I make at home is a variation of "Pad Thai", a woked rice noodle dish. Great fruit! Especially rambutan and mangosteen. Green coconut curry on rice with fresh seafood. Coconut soup is similarly tasty. A late night treat is "rotee", a folded crepe with banana, raisins, or whatever your sweet tooth desires. Pour sweetened condensed milk on top. Walking beside the beach one night I spied a thick rope on the path. I paused to watch it slither away. This was the biggest snake I'd seen in "nature", over 2 m long. I ran to the nearest restaurant to alert a waiter. He just laughed. Later at CFT one of the tourists ran up the hill yelling. "Snake!" Pat wasn't sure whether the 80 cm viper! was dangerous or not. "Better leave it alone." We all had "monsters" (big lizards) in our huts at various times. We sleep with the door open to wind and surf. One night I had an insect infestation on my walls. By morning they were gone without a trace. Bugs are usually no problem. We keep our mosquito nets carefully sealed. And you get accustomed to the chainsaw-like insect noise. (What are they? Cicadas?) There are many unbelievable insects in Asia. The Praying Mantis is my favourite. Street venders serve up some of the big ones; deep fried scorpions, beetles, grubs, and locusts. Free samples for foreigners. I love the cheetah-like street cats, especially the Siamese. Lean, angular, wild. In most of Asia cats are bad luck or worse. But Buddhist countries are more feline tolerant. (Hey, Toms got balls. I'd forgotten.) Ko Tao was just what the doctor ordered -- often cool, windy and overcast -- anticipating the coming monsoon. Eventually, though, I grew restless and moved on to Krabi, the favourite Thai destination for many. Railly beach at Krabi, I must say, is the prettiest I've seen -- a sweeping white crescent with striking limestone cliffs. This is a fully developed resort. It couldn't be more touristy. Yet I liked it because it is isolated, accessible only by boat. There is luxury accommodation aplenty, but I found a unique "tree house" for $3.50 / night. Krabi has emerged as a world class rock climbing site. Bring your own gear, tent on the beach, and a wealth of cave and cliff climbing is yours. Ocean kayaking is big too. The Leonardo of our age had been filming "The Beach" at nearby Phi Phi island. Based on the badly written, wildly popular cult book of the same name, it's a backpacker "Lord of the Flies". Many here are anxiously awaiting release, hoping to see themselves painted-up, dancing in the Full Moon Beach Party scene. (I shudder to envision the Thai islands over the next few years as Leo's fans in the hundreds of thousands make pilgrimage to Ko Phi Phi.) Then it was back to Bangkok where I was admitted (for a few hours) to the highly regarded "Mission" hospital. The diarrhea, which I thought was cured, was back. The doctor thought it might just be a "blip". She prescribed charcoal pills of which I had never heard saying, "You've had enough antibiotics." Loafing Khao San Road again. I didn't want to depart until I was sure I was healthy. Thence, Pizza Hut, Gatorade and Lost World! Come to think of it, wasn't I the one who said, "Give me convenience or give me death!" (Or was it the Dead Kennedys?) I wasn't a complete slug. But I had previously visited all of the main tourist attractions of Bangkok and even developed a like-hate relationship with the megalopolis. Then I heard of a new bizarre attraction -- the Museum of Forensic Medicine. It was a bit queasy-making. Samples of skin with knife and bullet wounds. Hundreds of morgue photos; high voltage burns, train crash victims. Two murderers preserved in wax and resin! Yuck. Last time visiting this shopping town I investigated the ultra-modern World Trade Centre (a predictable duty-free shopping mall) where cleaners scuttle about wearing jackets labelled "Anti-dirt". More interesting was the urban slum out back. The poor live a traditional village lifestyle in the midst of city glitz. Each family finds a niche; the kitchen expands to restaurant specializing in fried fish, pop corn, or coconut sticky rice. On family sets up a barber chair. Another repairs electrical goods. Another sells socks. It seemed to be a restful, if limited, existence. People sleep when tired. Dogs, cats, and chickens take care of most of the garbage. Even here there is no smell of urine. Patpong, the famous red light district, was busier than ever. It's becoming more of a tourist attraction than brothel. There are many female visitors and I've even seen entire families with cameras there. And it's probably the best street shopping night market in town. The sex shows are novelty acts involving a lot of pingpong balls, bananas, darts, and razor blades. It's no kind of serious red light district like Hamburg, for example. (Imagine a whorehouse of Germanic efficiency; behind tall barriers, an entire apartment building, every window red lit!) Thailand's reputation for prostitution grew out of the Vietnam war when GIs were sent there for R & R. Actually there are now more sex workers / capita in Manilla and Taipei than Bangkok. The serious sin tourists are moving on, perhaps to Eastern Europe and Russia. Very common in Thailand, though, is to see a tall Western man with his petite (bored?) Asian "girlfriend". They miscommunicate in incomprehensible broken English. I always assume these women are "package" prostitutes. In Germany you can book your Thai vacation (3 weeks with escort) calculated down to the last pfenning. This trip I met a number of these couples. Actually, all were married or in long-term relationships. Prostitution is common in Asian cultures though. In India I never once saw a "working girl" while in Chinese cities I saw many every day. I was wandering Lhasa at dusk when I saw hundreds of pretty, young, made-up women walking in the opposite direction. I turned around. The Chinese have recently built a massive Casino complex in Tibet to help justify their more massive investment in that barren plateau. These ladies were on their way to work. Arriving in south China I was astonished at the number of barber shops, sometimes entire streets of them. Twice I ended up in one of these tiny brothels, a couple of beds separated only by curtains. We chatted with the ladies (through a translator) and had drinks. I didn't stay for a styling. PS I'm next to the mountains of Northern Laos. It's getting a little hot and wet in Thailand. I need to gain altitude and latitude. Everyone is raving about Laos -- "a backpacker's paradise". I'll let you know. Every backpacker is on their way to Laos. Some are already speaking of (shudder) "Thailand North". Actually, "Visit Laos Year" begins November '99. It is being orchestrated by General Cheng whose tourism credentials include French Paratrooper school and Russian Military Academy. Just a few years ago everyone avoided Laos. I was frightened off by malaria stories. There is malaria, but don't worry -- I'm one of the few actually taking his malaria tablets. Mefloquine. The same fine preventative used by our boys in Somalia. I washed the last pill down with whiskey, just before bed. Laos has been the under-populated, forgotten backwater (though landlocked) of Asia, developing at a snail's pace in relative isolation after near 300 years of war. So why Laos? Why now? I don't know. Transportation is impossible. It's a dusty land. The most unique of the few tourist attractions, the Plain of Jars (giant, mysterious stone jars), most don't visit because the road is infested with bandit rebels. In fact the entire infrastructure for tourism is sorely lacking. Email is recently available but never seems to work. Yet everyone loves Laos. Everyone loves Cafe Lao -- fantastic strong, tasty coffee mixed with sweetened condensed milk. ($.20) Match that with a fresh baguette veggie omelette sandwich ($.80) and you're off to a happy day. After the coffee, people are the principle draw of Laos. I would guess that half the photos taken here are of cute children. Lao people are laughing, joking, goofing. They don't take themselves (or tourists) too seriously. They've been generously protected from tourism and Western culture by communism and bad roads. And (formerly) a maximum 15-day tourist visa. You can't go far in Laos in 2 weeks. I arrived from Thailand via the "Friendship Bridge", built 1994. Amazingly, this is only the second span over the Mekong, the river that dominates so much of S.E. Asia. Soft entry. Vientienne, the capital. Though it's no longer a sleepy French colonial city of wide boulevards filled with bicycles, it's still walkable and likeable, especially in the evening. I quickly got "kipped" -- 710,000 kip for a $100 U.S. traveler's cheque -- and set out to try to spend it. I had to carry the stacks of cash in my day pack. The largest denomination note is 5000 K. And Vientienne is just about the only place in the country where you can get unkipped. Life is not at all uncomfortable for the many conspicuous "expats"; diplomats, NGO representatives, business men. I hung-out at the Canadian run "Healthy and Fresh Bakery", chatting with a young guy from Cranbrook working the counter, listening in on the conversations of expat wives who all, obviously, have maids back cleaning their huge homes. You can party Friday night at the Australian Embassy. Play rugby, touch football, bridge. Run with the Hash House Harriers on Monday night. You can fine dine though you need an expat salary to eat at the French restaurants (menu priced in dollars not kip). All the imported luxuries are available. There's a better selection of French wine than in Saskatoon. I met a Calgary cowboy experimenting with different cattle breeds on the local grasses. He's got a better chance of success than those working "crop substitution" -- convincing opium poppy farmers to switch to mulberry trees (for silk). 3 sights not to miss in Vientienne:
History is indeed written by the victors. Unlike everywhere else, I rarely heard a bad word about the government. The dissenters have mostly left. They cross the Mekong into Thailand which actually has more Lao speakers than Laos. You can still find a portrait of Vladimir Ilyich in the library but Marxist-Leninist ideology was abandoned in about 1991. The regime talks of "new thinking" not capitalism. The soviet-modeled 1 party system persists. When I heard of an "eco-resort" 55 kms away, I hopped a local bus. I was seated on the floor on my padded day pack. Even close to Vientienne, this was already the "real" Laos full of happy, curious rural folk & their animals traveling to or from the market. Even better was the boat trip down a remote tributary. Disembarking, swarmed by butterflies, climbing the muddy bank, I was still unsure I was in the right place until I saw the sign, "Bar 106 metres". Up on a scenic bluff an Austrian had converted an experimental eucalyptus reforestation plantation to a resort where one can "nature walk through monsoonal forest" and then enjoy a solar chilled beer. Me and a Swedish guy, the only other guest, sat up on the terrace watching singing locals paddle their sampans home at dusk, using rubber flip-flops as paddles. Ecology is a new concept in Laos. You rarely see a bird. But you see men and boys walking every road with long ancient muskets. Any meat is fair game. One dusty village shop had a dead marmot in a basket. Skewered bar-b-q rat is enjoyed in every market. (tastes like chicken, I'm told.) I'd advise go vegetarian in Laos. There's mystery meat in the traditional noodle soup. North on highway 13, the only "good" road in the country, to Vang Vieng . What a great place. A string of recently-improvised guesthouses converted from traditional wooden homes. It's a new mecca for trail-blazing backpackers. The Lao people, many struggling to learn their first words of English, are enthusiastic and eager to please. One joint even serves-up French toast with Canadian maple syrup! It's not hard to keep this rabble happy. The little town is fronted by pretty tree covered limestone hills, shrouded in cloud, honeycombed with caves and tunnels. I joined a "tour" (me and a Kiwi travel agent) to an underground river which can be walked (and swum) 4 km under the mountain. We sloshed perhaps 800 m before our guide turned us back. Great experience! After an authentic Lao lunch (a gamble gastrointestinal) we climbed on to inner-tubes for the 3 hour float back to town. It's timed so we would arrive back at sunset. At the "sunset pub". Beerlao flows freely. But a surprising number of tourists later in the evening try opium. It's easy. Find an "opium den" (any house on the side street), lie down in the fetal position, affect a vacant stare, and, as if you are already helpless, a woman will minister the long pipe to your lips. You only need enough energy to inhale. You hear stories of disappeared tourists who finally wake-up in some mountain village after a couple of weeks, nothing left but a passport. At $.40 / pipe, that's a lot of smoke. When Paul Thoroux visited Vientienne in the early '70s, peering out the window of his 1st class sleeper car, he observed, "The brothels are cleaner than the hotels, marijuana is cheaper than pipe tobacco, and opium easier to find than a cold beer." Those were crazy days. The rickshaw pullers were mostly addicts. They would smoke all night then drink "cafe electrique" (black coffee laced with amphetamines) to work. Fortunately, a morally-principled communist regime put an end to the flagrant sinfulness, driving it into back alleys where it belongs. On taking power in 1975 the Pathet Lao rounded-up about 3000 prostitutes and petty criminals banishing all the men to one penal island and all the women to another. Back to Vang Vieng. I suspect the cheap opium tourists are puffing is pretty weak stuff (to keep them out of real trouble). Nobody was much affected. The big problem isn't tourists but rather in the villages. Opium is a vice traditionally condoned only for elderly men. But with the bad example of tourists, now young people are trying it and even heroin. The number of young Lao addicts is increasing. North to the highlight destination of Laos, Luang Prabang. It's the kind of place "people forget to leave." "Oh! What a delightful paradise ... Will Luang Prabang be in our century of exact sciences, of quick profits, of victory by money, be the refuge of the last dreamers ...?" - Marthe Bassene, French doctor's wife, 1909 The U.N. recently designated this city a World Heritage site as "the best preserved (colonial) city in S.E. Asia. The 32 historic temples are being restored furiously. It may soon actually deserve that recognition. The excellent museum was the former palace of the Royal Family. (Who the Pathet Lao re-educated in a cave until dead, one-by-one, by starvation. Slow learners, I assume.) Laos is a real social trip. Rugged conditions make for camaraderie. "Bad roads, good people. Good roads, all kinds of people." - Mexican roadside tourist vendor Mornings people would straggle into the bakery for Cafe Lao and delectables. And to be organized by Natalie (Berlin). One day we went up the Mekong to the much promoted Pak Ou caves where the devout deposit Buddha statues. Hundreds lay jumbled, disintegrating, broken. I thought it was interesting and unique but most others are disappointed. Then the Kwang Si waterfall! Scrambling muddy paths to the top, walking the calcified lip like a balance beam. (one guy dropped his expensive sunglasses) Below we swam and showered in the bracing falls. Nights I usually sat up sipping CC with Ramona (Edmonton) and Malcolm (Belfast) who are getting married. They met while working in Korea. Another interesting guy (Chicago) was victim of one of my full-blown, half-educated sermons: - the blunders of U.S. foreign policy. Turned out he was a Navy diver, trained with the SEALS, and served in the Gulf. He didn't disagree, though I noted he preferred George Jr. over Al. Where did the U.S. go wrong? Where to start? - Of course. John Kennedy enunciating the "Domino Theory" of Communist take-over in Asia. Today it looks more like a "Domino's Pizza" capitalist take-over. I heard the Kennedy argument again on CNN recently. An American give-war-a-chance advocate declaring that "he won't leave an unstable Europe to his grandchildren". - the "Secret War" in Laos where, in contravention of the 1962 Geneva Accord, U.S. pilots (code named "Ravens") dressed as civilians and flew dangerously obsolete planes into battle. Each Raven carried a suicide pill especially created by the CIA in case he fell into enemy hands. - "Air America" -- CIA running opium and heroin on U.S. aircraft to finance a covert anti-communist guerilla army - use of defoliants containing dioxin (e.g. Agent Orange) and not admitting their use until 1982 - the illegal bombing of Laos, especially the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Eventually the U.S. dropped more tonnage on this tiny country (about half a tonne / person) than they did in all of WW II. Unexploded ordinance (UXO) still kills about 130 people / year, about 40% children. (In Cambodia the number might be closer to 800 / year.) The States has a lot to answer for in this part of the world. Yet U.S. travelers, I'm told, are treated well. (Though in China, after the Belgrade Chinese Embassy "mistake", Americans were borrowing maple leaf tags for their packs.) Luang Prabang is the end of civilization. I found myself on the departing "bus" (Chinese cargo truck with 2 impossibly narrow side benches) with a crazy italian suitcase tourist. Actually he had 4 bags! and muddy designer leather shoes. How did he get here? I don't know. He's one of those guys who speaks machine gun unintelligible English. I do know he was on a world tour using only a travel agency promotional brochure for a guidebook. His next stop was a city in China, but he was unsure which. Then he would fly to Mexico. Or Brazil. We got stuck in some dark Lao smuggling town. "I canno stay here-a no!", he said, when he saw the Chinese hotel toilet. He cheered up when I took him to the Red Cross traditional Lao herbal steam bath. Next morning I saw him safely on the truck to the border. He'll be eaten alive in China, of course. The end of the line for me was Muang Sing, a sleepy little village right in the middle of the Golden Triangle. In fact, the muddy, messy square was once the greatest opium market in the world (under French sanction). It's mainly know now as an exit point for automobiles being smuggled from Thailand to China. I saw huge convoys of (supposedly protected) hardwood too, heading north. Because it's remote and weird, backpackers have taken a liking to Muang Sing. They chill here though there is absolutely nothing to see or do. Actually, some come because this is a nexus of tribal peoples. Colourful costumes, metallic headgear, fascinating customs. Hill tribes practice "swidden" (slash and burn) agriculture. Not pretty, but apparently the environment can sustain the low population. A guesthouse has opened up 8 km out of town so I spent a couple of rural days. I could have trekked to different minority villages. I did walk to one but found the experience awkward. What to do when the old woman runs out shouting, "Money, money, MONEY"? I prefer to see the tribal people in the market. No more villages for me. Disclaimer: I did do the required Thai Hilltribe Trek (elephant ride, bamboo river raft, stay in ethnic villages). It was great. All 1 million! tourists who go each year enjoy it. Goodbye Laos. I'll remember all the black pot-bellied pigs, the nursing sows dragging in the dirt. (How do the pregnant ones walk?) I'll remember the ancient, hunched tribal woman bathing at the highway standing pipe, naked but for the tattoos which completely covered her torso. I'll remember the greenery and scenery. PS After advising everyone I've met for the past 6 months NOT to backpack in China (unless they speak Mandarin), I'm really looking forward to the Middle Kingdom. It's so much more ... "civilized". I'll head for Yunnan, the tropical southern Province. I'll head for Tiger Leaping Gorge... Laos Rebuttal (from Peter Long) (Rick in italics) Hi Rick: At last a letter I know something about!! i.e. Laos Every backpacker is on their way to Laos. Some are already speaking of (shudder) "Thailand North". Don't shudder too much - Laos before Thailandization was pretty primitive from many points of view: security, health, education. Subsistence living may look romantic, but in fact is grubby, stunting and short. So why Laos? Why now? I don't know. Transportation is impossible. It's a dusty land. The most unique of the few tourist attractions, the Plain of Jars (giant, mysterious stone jars), most don't visit because the road is infested with bandit rebels. You're right, I never went there. The Germans were financing the construction of Highways 6 and 7 when I was last there, which should open things up. In fact the entire infrastructure for tourism is sorely lacking. Wow! You should have seen it in the 'good old days' Gummint hotels (in the capital), sheds elsewhere, filthy, although the Russians didn't seem to mind, better than being at home I expect. Yet everyone loves Laos. Everyone loves Cafe Lao -- fantastic strong, tasty coffee mixed with sweetened condensed milk. ($.20) We remember that well from Thailand in the 60s. Made by pouring water through a sock filled with coffee (Joyce has just reminded me that you got a chaser of tea to clean your mouth!). Good coffee in Lao, comes from the plateau in the south. I met a weird fellow there who was helping them develop coffee (he grew up in Kenya), but quality control ws a problem, and Lao is not a member of the coffee cartel and can't get MFN status from the US because of involvement in the drug trade. Match that with a fresh baguette veggie omelette sandwich ($.80) and you're off to a happy day. Veggie omelette - Luxury!! Breakfast was rice soup (with pork), and lunch was rice soup (with chicken). Dinner was rice soup etc. The day after the order was reversed. Lao people are laughing, joking, goofing. They don't take themselves (or tourists) too seriously. They've been generously protected from tourism and Western culture by communism and bad roads. Also by being shot if they tried to cross the river, and a security guard in the hotel to see that no-one switched the TV to the Thai channel. And Migs at the airport. All in the good old days of course. I arrived from Thailand via the "Friendship Bridge", built 1994. I went over the bridge when it was under construction - a very efficient Oz operation. I usually arrived via the airport, but crossed the bridge once when I was bounced from the flight ,and took the train to Nong Khai. It took about 3 hours to cross the bridge. And Vientienne is just about the only place in the country where you can get unkipped. I did change a traveler's cheque once in Luang Namtha! You can party Friday night at the Australian Embassy. Play rugby, touch football, bridge. Run with the Hash House Harriers on Monday night. I went with the hash. Ran through some noisesome mud, (Joyce threw my socks out when I got home) You can fine dine though you need an expat salary to eat at the French restaurants. (menu priced in dollars not kip) All the imported luxuries are available. There's a better selection of French wine than in Saskatoon. Wow!! I met a Calgary cowboy experimenting with different cattle breeds on the local grasses. I did not see much grass, other than rice. most cows appear to be in the bush/forest. I think you need a hardy local breed to survive, but I think beef is an important export to Thailand and China. He's got a better chance of success than those working "crop substitution" -- convincing opium poppy farmers to switch to mulberry trees (for silk). You need a high value crop when you have to walk out 2 days with the load on your back. 3 sights not to miss in Vientienne: 1) A wonderfully weird Lao-style "Arc de Triomph". The Americans sent concrete and cash so the military could build another runway for U.S. jets. The general, instead, completed the "Arc" as a memorial for Lao war dead. I think it was completed after the 'liberation' 2) The symbol of Laos (replacing the hammer and sickle on the national emblem in 1992) is the wonderfully weird "Great Stupa" which looks like some kind of gilded missile cluster. It was peacefully deserted when I was there. I never saw anything like it in all my Buddhist travels. However, I was there on the national day with thousands of people and hundreds of monks 3) Best for last, the entertaining "Revolutionary Museum". Here I learned how French soldiers drowned children by throwing them into wells and the evils of running-dog-imperialist American war mongers. (napalm victims, bombed-out pagodas) No mention of the North Vietnamese 1975 invasion which installed the communist Pathet Lao government which remains in power today. Unlike everywhere else, I rarely heard a bad word about the government. The dissenters have mostly left. They cross the Mekong into Thailand which actually has more Lao speakers than Laos. NE Thailand has an indigenous Lao population, they are not all dissenters. North to Vang Vieng on highway 13, the only "good" road in the country. Highway 13 is the old French numbering of a 'Route de l'interet regionale'. It ran from Saigon, through Cambodia to the Chinese border. There is a statue of the French engineer on the road to the south of Vientiane After an authentic Lao lunch (a gamble gastrointestinal) we climbed on to inner-tubes for the 3 hour float back to town. It's timed so we would arrive back at sunset. At the "sunset pub". Beerlao flows freely Pleased to say the World Bank financed the expansion of the brewery in Vientiane.. When Paul Thoroux visited Vientienne in the early '70s, peering out the window of his 1st class sleeper car, he observed, "The brothels are cleaner than the hotels, marijuana is cheaper than pipe tobacco, and opium easier to find than a cold beer." Sounds doubtful. There is no railway in Laos. - the "Secret War" in Laos where, in contravention of the 1962 Geneva Accord, U.S. pilots (code named "Ravens") dressed as civilians and flew dangerously obsolete planes into battle. The DC3 Dakota was a fine plane! - the illegal bombing of Laos, especially the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Eventually the U.S. dropped more tonnage on this little country (about half a tonne / person) than they did in all of WW II. Unexploded ordinance (UXO) still kills about 130 people / year, about 40% children. (In Cambodia the number might be closer to 800 / year.) You need to be careful digging for bridge foundations. The end of the line for me was Muang Sing, a sleepy little village right in the middle of the Golden Triangle. In fact, the muddy, messy square was once the greatest opium market in the world (under French sanction). I can't believe that you got to Muang Sing. I have been there several times. Our stays were based in Louang Namtha, but I went to Muang Sing (and south of there to Muang Long, and once all the way to the Me Kong, from where I travelled down the river in a 'long tail' boat, trying to hunch down and not look like an American, who are not welcomed by Khun Sa's men on the Burmese bank of the river. More of this another time). The old opium market was restored with German aid, they had a nice installation in Muang Sing, with, at that time, the height of luxury of Mercedes jeeps, everybody else had terrible Chinese jeeps. They reconstructed all the pillars of the market while Klaus (?) was on leave, but when he came back they were not in a straight line, so in good teutonic fashion he had them demolished and done properly. It's mainly know now as an exit point for automobiles being smuggled from Thailand to China. I saw huge convoys of (supposedly protected) hardwood too, heading north. The porousness of the border appears to vary. On my last trip there were hundreds of cars sitting in the bush for a year. You could buy one very cheaply. Actually, some come because this is a nexus of tribal peoples. Colourful costumes, metallic headgear, fascinating customs. Hill tribes practice "swidden" (slash and burn) agriculture. Not pretty, but apparently the environment can sustain the low population. You are right about the mix of several tribes. Did you get acquainted with the one where if you get a massage you are worked on by a team of 6 girls simultaneously (so I'm told!)? A guesthouse has opened up 8 km out of town so I spent a couple of rural days. I could have trekked to different minority villages. I did walk to one but found the experience awkward. What to do when the old woman runs out shouting, "Money, money, MONEY". On the Muang Long road once, we tried to take a picture of one of the girls with Joyce, but she was so spooked by Joyce's white hair (maybe thought she was a ghost) that she screamed and ran into the creek. Too bad because she had good looking breasts casually revealed by her open jacket. The tiny pack horses were similarly spooked by the jeep, and the drivers were not much better either, also diving for the ditch. After advising everyone I've met for the past 6 months NOT to backpack in China (unless they speak Mandarin), I'm really looking forward to the Middle Kingdom. It's so much more ... "civilized". Except for the toilets, the worst I have ever seen (smelt!) and heaved over, and watch for the phlegm first thing in the morning and the chicken bones on the restaurant floors. Really enjoyed all your accounts and philosophy. Cheers Peter |
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