sybarites

It turns out that the beaches in Thailand are as spectacular as everyone said they were. The views? Stunning. The water? Warm, and the colour of light jade. The sand? Powdery, white, perfect. But with so much paradise at hand, we seemed obsessed with beach comparisons. As many as we visited, we were never too tired, or too satisfied, or – thank goodness – too sunburnt to visit yet another. Someone we would meet for two mintues would swear up and down that the best beach they’ve ever set eyes on is ‘xyz’. So, we would promply make plans to go to ‘xyz’ and agree that it is beautiful, but maybe the sand isn’t quite as powdery as ‘abc’ or the snorkeling not exactly as clear as ‘def’. At every stop, we had no reason to ever move on but I’m glad we did, if only to prove that all and none of the beaches here are perfect.

Worth mentioning are a few outstanding ones upon which we baked.

Long Beach on Koh Phi Phi [ed. Koh means island in Thai] provided our first taste of snorkeling in Thailand and Marc’s first snorkeling adventure ever. I saw more fish in five minutes than I’ve ever seen and Marc spotted a couple of harmless black-tipped reef sharks in the distance. In fact, we didn’t really even need to swim because the curious little zebra-stripped-yellow-backed fish would come to visit as soon as we were knee deep into the bay.

Of course, we made a special stop on our snorkeling tour at Maya Beach, also known as “The Beach” from the movie of the same name. Those location scouts really know how to pick a brilliant site to shoot a film. The colour of the water here is unbelieveable and our pictures could never do this place justice. Maybe the pictures taken by the hundred or so other tourists who were there at the same time would paint a better picture.

Kata Beach on Phuket island is near the top of our list because it had the best swimming. Oddly, we don’t seem to have a stupendous photo of this place…

Rai Leh Beach at Krabi is where we spent Christmas. (Actually, we stayed at the cheaper beach next door, Ton Sai, and just walked over to the posh beach at low tide each day.) Nothing wrong here with the long, wide swath of sand and the clear, tepid water which is the perfect depth in which to sit and drink a cold beer. The sheer cliff faces and small, off-shore islands made for some especially dramatic scenery.

We have just one more day to spend in the Land of a Thousand Smiles. Guess where we’ll be smiling.

This year, we were very lucky to be able to spend Christmas on a beach in Thailand. Even luckier, we were able to meet up with another Canadian couple, Julia and Jeff, whom we had met at the ger camp when we were all in Mongolia. Odd to think that we had met six months ago and only knew each other 36 hours before deciding to spend the holidays together, but we had a brillant time comparing travel stories and toasting our good fortune at actually having somplace to stay.

As mentioned in Marc’s post, we had spent a great deal of our time in Bangkok fooling around with reservations and such because this is ultra-high season and things are booked up right good and full. We were ecstatic to have found a couple of bungalow rooms at this place on Ton Sai beach, Krabi, even though we were paying over double the normal price and were obliged to partake in a compulsary, and relatively expensive gala celebration on Christmas Eve.

All week, we four had been joking about how we would make the most of this gala. Presumably, it would be buffet-style which would mean that we, the compulsary attendees, would be compelled to pull our chairs directly up to the shrimp platter and become bottomless pits. As it turns out, there were no shrimp, but plenty of thai food, some really well-done roast beast, a little turkey and a super ladyboy show.

After a few warm-up numbers, for which we applauded loudly from our front row seats wearing our festive elf hats, the feature act was announced, ‘Not only does Thailand have some of the prettiest ladyboys in the world, some of them were here to perform for us tonight!’ What followed was an excellent performance by some pretty ladyboys with outstanding costumes. The best part was when one of the solo acts descended from the stage to mingle with the crowd and made his way over to our table to dance with Julia. Truly, this was a Christmas highlight.

On Christmas Day, we spend a laid-back afternoon in the sun drinking Chang beer and floating in the sea before sharing some thai food at a beach-front place near our bungalows. We shared our first bottle of wine in a couple of months and had a grand time toasting everything.

P.S. For gifts this year, I got a cold and Marc got a bad case of heat stroke. Merry Christmas.

After three aggravating days planning our travel around Thailand, which required a dozen phone calls, two people on the internet, two failed reservations, and four headaches, we were more in need of a Thai massage than a hot trek to our first tourist destination, Bangkok’s Grand Palace and Temple of the Emerald Buddha.

As diligent and paranoid as ever, I followed the Lonely Planet’s tip of covered knees, shoulders and toes. Unfortunately, Janet, with capri pants and a scarf covering her shoulders, was turned back to borrow a long skirt and a blue shirt two sizes too big for her. Oddly, we saw several Thai girls wearing black mini-skirts wandering the grounds, suggesting the issue is not knees, but the casual pants, which reminds me that the Vatican requires women to cover their shoulders in St. Peter’s Basilica while they may feel free to reveal cleavage short of the nipple.

Upon entering the temple we were immediately besot by the splendor of gold tiles covering buildings with shapes I had never imagined, and statues of monstrous figures. Each building was unique, with little to tie it visually to the next, except for the gold tiles.

The most unusual for me was the gold bell-shaped temple, though I have seen many similar shapes since.

Most space for walking was occupied by a plethora of older Thai ladies in yellow shirts, the color of the Thai royal family,who were waiting to see the princess visit the Temple of The Emerald Buddha later in the afternoon. The women who arrived early held the prime viewing locations by placing their open umbrellas on the ground while they sheltered from the blazing sun.

The adjoining palace made me think of Disneyland, not in a clichéd way, but as if the grounds were too perfect, as if closer examination would reveal the hedges to be pâpier maché and the stones to be plaster.

It’s Christmas Eve and we are halfway around the world in Thailand, on Tonsai beach. White sand replaces snow and cold beer replaces eggnog but we’re happy to be spending the holiday with some Canadian friends and, can you imagine, a real turkey dinner at our resort. Our first toast on Christmas day will be to everyone at home, fourteen hours behind us and asleep in your beds with visions of sugarplums dancing in your heads.

Stay warm!

Part I: The Family Headshave
In Hampi, we stopped at a tiny barber shop so that Marc could get a shave and a haircut for two bits (literally). I had the camera ready to record the straight-razor shave but was completely distracted by the anxious, little girl sitting in the chair next to Marc.  She had a glossy, black head of pretty hair which, without hesitation or ceremony, the barber wetted and began shaving with a straight razor.   From part to nape, the hair fell away and onto the floor.

Following her, as the youngest, her brother and sister took their turns before their monther and father.  The whole family then went to bathe in the river which, along with the shaving, we were told was part of a ritual pilgrimage.

Part II:  What Is That?
It is a six hour journey by passenger train from Ajmer to Jaipur and for two of us to travel, it was less than $2 CAD.   There are bench seats and open windows and fans for when the heat is unbearable, but those were all turned off, and the windows were closed when we travelled.  The people in the cars were all wearing toques and scarves and were draped with blankets.
There was a friendly fellow that sat across from us who spoke way more English than we spoke Hindi.  He asked where we were from, are we married and is it a ‘love’ marriage, and did we like India.  He helped us to buy chai and told us that, regrettably, we had been cheated when we bought our bananas on the platform: we had paid Rs.20 (less than $0.50) when we should have only been charged Rs.10.   He said he was sorry that we had been cheated.

Shortly thereafter, we pulled our our iPods and the following conversation ensued:
“Oh, FM radio, yes?”
“No, no, it’s an iPod.”
“Oh yes, a cassette player.”
“No, it’s an iPod, like a computer- see?”   I show him my Nano.
“Oh, FM radio.”
“No, look, it’s like a computer that plays music.”
I gave him the earphones and he listened to a minute of music, nodding, but still not really understanding.
“Oh, okay” he says.

Part III: Newspaper
Apart from its primary function of reporting news, a newspaper in India can be so much more.  It is a towel with which to wash windows, a food wrapper, an origami-ed spice pouch, a paper towel, a blanket, a floor mat, a fly swatter, a napkin and a plate.  In a country that hasn’t yet embraced the waste management practices of reduce or recycle, re-use is second nature.

Part IV: The Cleaning
Weeks after this occurance, I am still a bit astonished as to how it occurred.
I was walking down the beach to meet Marc at our hut in Goa, South India.  I was carrying my sandals, walking in the surf and nodding ‘hello’ to the people I passed.  One man, an Indian, stopped and turned when I said hello.  He pointed to the side of my sunglasses and said something in Urdu.  My immediate thought was that there was a bug on me and that he was warning me.  I took off the sunglasses and started examining them but he pointed, again, to the side of my face.  I started feeling around my temple but he approached and touched my ear for a couple of seconds.   When he drew back, he held a tiny, elongated spoon in his hand with something yellowish on the end.  He pushed it off with his finger and said, “Wax”.

Suddenly, I understood that he had quickly scooped my ear for wax.  Before I even had a chance to get over my astonishment, he produced a card which stated that he was a certified Middle Ear Cleaner and he explained that he could clean my ears for 200 rupees.  I was aghast and almost at a loss for words;  how did this man put a spoon in my ear without me feeling it?   I emphatically declined his services and rushed away.

Part V:  ATM
In the one-horse town of Hampi, Marc and I decided to get some money.  We walked 500m to arrive at the only bank in this village of 3000 people.  We weren’t desparate for the cash, and could’ve gone a bit further afield to visit an ATM, but thought we’d give the local branch a shot.
We walked into the offices and asked if we could “get some money”.  The man at the counter said they were closed, yet the doors were open, the lights were on and the office was filled with staff about their business.   We looked at each other, and then back at the fellow, and then Marc asked, “OK, what time do you open tomorrow?”   Immediately, the fellow started talking with his colleagues.  Ninety seconds pass and we are still standing there, so Marc asks again, “What time do you open tomorrow?”  and the man says, “Yes, we are discussing.”
So we wait.  Four minutes pass and he then asks us what we wish to do.  We say, again, that we wish to withdraw some money.  And he says, “OK, sit down.”
So we sit.  Another man pulls out a ledger and asks for a credit card and passport. Marc produces both and the man meticulously copies the details of each into this dusty ledger.  There is more discussion between colleagues.  Tea is served.  The waiting continues.  Meanwhile, a small crowd of people has gathered outside the door of the bank to watch the foreigners.  More and more people accumulate.
Finally, another man appears with a stack of bills which, when he places them on the desk in front of us, measures more than six inches tall.   He explains that he can only give us 50’s and 100’s because that’s all they have.  As the only bank in town.
Without any other option, we shrug and take a fistfiull of cash in each hand, which we “hide” in our pockets as we push past the spectators and make our way as quickly and nervously as possible to our hotel.    Apart from the pig we saw eating a dead cat, no incidents ensued.

After five weeks in India, we visited the small city of Pushkar.  It is known, predominantly, as the home of the yearly Camel Festival during which thousands of people and camels (and tourists) descend on this little place to witness the spectacle of the camel trade on a  massive scale.  The rest of the year, it is “merely” a significant pilgrimage site for Hindus to visit one of only a handful of temples dedicated to Brahma, the highest god of Hinduism, the one and the everything.  So, we decided to take a look.

Unfortunately, and despite our five weeks of experience in India, we fell victim to the “temple tour and priest blessing”.  It’s kind of an awkward situation because upon arrival at this temple, we were quickly instructed to accept the flowers as offerings to the gods, and ushered through the complex at a quick pace, offering our bewildered “prayers” to each god.  Being both atheists, this was a little uncomfortable but we went along with it to avoid having to explain why we weren’t interested in what every other tourist comes to Pushkar to do.

Next, we were led back to our shoes (whew!) and were ushered to the Brahma ghat, the steps that lead down to the edge of the holy lake of Pushkar.  By this time, I was starting to feel really awkward because I’m not Hindu and because if I were a Hindu watching me as a tourist, I would be insulted by this pathetic patronage of one of the holiest of sites.  Regardless, we were both roped into a lakeside ritual which involved touching the water (not something I would have done on my own) and then receiving a bindi before being asked to make a donation.  Our donation was small and the priest, if he was, in fact, a priest, didn’t care and just dismissed us.

Outside the ghat entrance, we tried to be subtle about washing the bindi off our foreheads but a man begging for change caught us and was aghast that we would inflict such bad luck on ourselves and our families.  So, if anyone should experience any bad luck in the near future, it’s our fault and we apologize.  But we regret nothing!

I saw a man working at the train station today.  He is Indian, about thirty years old, maybe younger, and he sells snacks and beverages from a cart on the platform.  We are roughly the same age.  His customers are the people onboard, or who are about to board, the trains that pass by every few minutes from this station in Jaipur.  It’s cold in the mornings and evenings, but the tracks still reek of raw sewage (from the lavatories on the trains which empty onto the tracks) and the platform is never, never devoid of trash and dust and dirt and noise.  People with brooms cruise the platform constantly cleaning but the area remains trash strewn.

While we waited for our train to arrive, I made very brief eye contact with this man a couple of times as he paused with his cart.  And I wondered about him:  Is this a job to which he aspired?  Has he been working this same platform with this same cart since he was fifteen?  Is he selling his masala chips and chai to get through college?  Does he have an MBA already but has to stay in Jaipur to support a family?  Does he have a family?  Is this a job that he has worked towards for years and is now proud to hold?  Does he aspire to do more?  Is he happy?

I wonder, but I’ll never know.

I just cannot leave India without posting two of my favourite pictures of Jodhpur, a city known for its polo and its Brahmin-blue buildings.

Ages ago, the members Brahmin caste in this city painted their homes a vibrant, cerulean blue as a way of distinguishing themselves from the other lower castes, but the others caught on and pretty soon most of the homes were painted the same colour.  It’s a little deceiving of the representation of the highest caste in Jodhpur, but particularly beautiful when seen on high from the old fortress of Meherengarh.

Also, this is one of my favourite photos of the rickshaws lined up to ferry visitors from the fort back to the city.  To say these vehicles are ubiquitous in India is no exaggeration.

Zenana.  This is a new word for us:  it describes the area in which the women of a palace live.  In the more Northern parts of India, that means that the zenana enforces purdah, or the cloistering and covering of the  women of Islam.

What is most interesting about these areas is that though women were shielded from being seen from the outside world by intricately carved wood or marble screens, they could see out of them quite well and were able to keep an eye on the daily comings and goings of the palace.
In Jodhpur, the screens in the zenana were exquisitely carved and we were told that no two are alike.

In Jaipur, the Maharaja erected an entire building for the women of his palace to watch, through screens, the life outside their zenana.  Today, it is an emblem of the city , like the Empire State building is New York, and is a much visited monument.

Five weeks in India requires all males to experiment in growing facial hair, a task which resulted in a beard and then the king of moustashes, Middle America’s version of the FuManchu. The World Beard Championships actually files this under partial beard. I usually call it that-redneck-stache as FuManchu suggests so much more mystery and history than my facial hair exhibits.

It looks better than I could have possibly imagined, not that it looks good. Janet said it best, “you just look like a redneck.” Fortunately I haven’t needed a new wardrobe to make the look work, but I did need a new pair of sunglasses. The last pair looked so terrible that I had to wear Janet’s sunglasses until I could find a new pair. Somehow those feminine curves gave me a look more like the Edge than the traditional redneck. A cowboy hat I tried on at a street stall also looked surprisingly terrible, where as a grubby baseball capped worked fine. I passed on the beer shirt.