119 Speed Bumps to Gulu

 

Bus ride from Kampala to Gulu: 7 hours (300 kilometers)

Speed bumps on the road to Gulu: 119

Live chickens tied to the outside of the mini-bus that passed us: over 50

Live chickens on our bus, purchased through the window: 5

Bananas consumed today: 6

Times I’ve been asked if I’m Christian: 9

Marriage proposals: 3

Times Ugandan children have asked me, “how are you?”: about equivalent to the potholes in Uganda (infinite ∞)

 

Anne and I have just returned from four days in Gulu, the main city in northern Uganda.  Since 1986, an insurgent group called the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) has been fighting a war to take over the government, allegedly to establish a religious state based on the Ten Commandments.  The leader of the LRA, Joseph Kony, is most certainly insane (he claims to be possessed by the Holy Spirit), and the tactics he employed the most brutal and egregious human rights violations one can imagine: kidnapping children to use as child soldiers and sex slaves, cutting off villager’s noses, lips, ears, and limbs (people would be asked: would you like a long-sleeve shirt, a short-sleeve shirt, or a vest? and then lose their arms to the corresponding length), burning people live in their homes, forcing children to kill their families, and even worse things we were told about that I can’t bring myself to write here.  Well over 60,000 children were kidnapped during the insurgency (that’s the conservative estimate and no one really knows for sure) and countless more people killed.  The LRA also have effectively destroyed the entire infrastructure of the north – roads, schools, hospitals, homesteads all gone.  For 22 years, the Acholi people of northern Uganda have lived in fear of the LRA – it is the longest running war in Africa. 

 

In 1996, the government moved all of the rural people of the north, 1.6 million people, into massive IDP camps (Internally Displaced Persons), so they could better fight the LRA in the countryside.  The conditions in the camps were overcrowded and very basic, with food shortages since people could no longer farm (or indeed do much of anything for their livelihoods), many sanitation and health problems from such close living conditions, as well as rising rates of alcoholism, AIDs and suicide.  Some people in the north have lived in camps so long that it is the only life they have known. 

 

In 2006, a ceasefire was declared and conditions have begun to improve as aid organizations have moved into the region and people have slowly begun to return home.  In the past year, the larger IDP camps have been broken up into about 200 smaller resettlement camps grouping people together near their former homesteads so they can farm during the day and return to the group safety of the camp at night.  Still, these camps provide very poor living conditions, with most lacking safe water and other vital services.

 

Anne and I were in Gulu to visit an organization called Aid Africa, which mainly works with people in three of these resettlement camps providing much-needed access to medical care, building high-efficiency wood stoves, helping to secure safe water sources, and providing orange trees for homesteads.  We spent two days going “into the field” with the five Ugandan staff members to see their projects and meet people in the camps they work with: Owo, Rwotobilo, and Monroc.  The experience was incredibly intense and moving.  Villagers and the Aid Africa staff told us much of what I wrote above, but to hear it first-hand from the people who lived through the war in the place where much of the violence took place brought me to tears.  Everyone we met had been hurt in some way by the LRA. 

 

But I was also amazed, not only by what these people had survived, but by how they have begun to rebuild their lives, laughing and smiling still.  We were greeted by countless giggling, waving children and invited to see the homes of villagers in the camps.  Life is still an incredible struggle here, but after so many years of conflict, the people we met want peace and to move on with their lives, even if it means granting amnesty to the perpetrators.  It is an amazing juxtaposition – the extreme inhumanity of the LRA (which I don’t think I will ever truly be able to comprehend – why and how could people do this to other people?) and the incredible resilience and spirit of the survivors we met. 

 

-Julie 

South Africa Impressions

South Africa is incredibly complex.  Or course every country is, but here so much is communicated in English that it is much easier to learn about the history and social structure than it was in other places we’ve recently been.  Perhaps what strikes me the most about being in South Africa is how visible everything is.  Here you can see extreme wealth and extreme poverty at each other’s doorsteps.  Mansions in upper Cape Town and shacks in the townships.  Laborers in the countryside in the Western Cape, for example, earn an average of 50 rand a day (approximately six USD) for eight hours of hard labor. Meanwhile, a decent meal at a restaurant in Cape Town costs at least 50 rand.  The gaps are so large it is not hard to believe that crime is such a big issue (though to be sure most South Africans would never turn to crime and deplore it).  I rather like this quote from the book Disgrace by South African author J.M. Coetzee.  In it, the main character and his daughter were just robbed:

“A risk to own anything: a car, a pair of shoes, a packet of cigarettes.  Not enough to go around, not enough cars, shoes, cigarettes. Too many people, too few things. What there is must go into circulation, so that everyone can have a chance to be happy for a day.  That is the theory: hold to the theory and to the comforts of theory.  Not human evil, just a vast circulatory sytem, to whose workings pity and terror are irrelevant.  That is how one must see life in this country; in its schematic aspect. Otherwise one could go mad.” 

The legacy of colonial oppression and apartheid lives on as well, along with the categories it created: white (Afrikaans vs English), black, coloured, Indian, etc.  So much is determined which group you belong to: opportunity for education and jobs, where you can live, and the preconceptions people will form about you.  It is certainly impossible for the government to reverse 400 years of history in just the 14 they’ve had since apartheid ended, but also remarkable how little has changed for so many people. 

Coming from the US, I would be wrong to look at these issues as unique to South Africa.  It is just that nothing is hidden here as it seems to be at home.  For better or worse, we seem much smoother at glossing over such issues with politically correct language, and in hiding poverty and racial isseus away from site as best we can (both hidden away in our country and hidden even further away in the countries from which we send and receive goods or choose to occupy).  Having everything so open here certainly makes you think a lot, and at least for me, makes me far more thoughtful about my privelage, my actions and their consequences. 

And while I began with the negatives, there is also so much that is good and beautiful here.  So many of the people we’ve met have been hopeful about the future.  We visited Robben Island over the weekend, the island off of Cape Town where many opponents of apartheid were held (including Nelson Mandela).  Tours are given by former political prisoners who remarkably have come back to the island to share their stories and to heal.  Eight former prisoners currently live on the island, along with three of their former guards.  Our first guide had just returned to the island after several years away, and was full of emotion.  At one point he just started singing the national anthem of South Africa, which was quite moving knowing how much it meant to him and also when other people on the bus joined in.  At the end of his portion of the tour, he turned to the subject of truth and reconciliation - how could former political prisoners forgive their torturers and oppressors?  How did South Africans come together to forgive and reconcile gross wrongs after apartheid ended rather than turning to blame, revenge, or civil war?  He said this: ”It wasn’t about me.  It was for the good of the country’s future.  It was for the people, and it was for humanity.”  And that, I think, is pretty incredible. 

 -Julie

36 Hours in Doha

Beyond a layover at the airport in Doha, Qatar, the Middle East wasn’t a region we planned to officially visit on this trip. That changed a bit though when we arrived at the Bangkok airport last Thursday to find that our flight from Doha to Cape Town had been canceled and rescheduled for a day later. After flying to Doha and waiting out the requisite bureaucratic confusion (go to that counter, talk to this person, nope that person, and then head back to the original counter until someone finally figures out what has happened), we were finally shuttled off to our complimentary accommodations at the Moevenpick Tower and Suites, a shiny new chrome and blue Swiss hotel tower in the midst of central Doha. The hotel itself was a bit ridiculous.  As an example, there was a phone next to the bed, another at the desk, and even one next to the toilet, and there were blue mood lights under all the furniture, but it did have the softest, most comfortable beds of the trip, so I was satisfied with that alone.

With one full day to wander Doha, Anne and I decided to leave the luxury beds and wander out of our tower. Upon leaving the gold and leopard-print themed lobby, we realized that central Doha is really odd. Odd first of all because the entire area was under construction. We later found out that there are over 100 high-rise buildings currently being built there and only a few that were finished. Odd also because in between all of these skyscrapers was nothing. No smaller buildings, no street-side stands, no shops on the first floor of the high-rises, and no people on the streets. Just newly built roads, a few sidewalks and landscaped gardens, and towering skeletons of buildings. Depending on your school of thought, it was an urban planner’s dream or nightmare. I would opt for the latter opinion, while the Urban Planning and Development Authority of Doha (who have their own nice skyscraper going up) might disagree.

I don’t know the history of this section of Doha, but as it seemed like prime land right by the water, I would venture to guess that in a city this old something else used occupy this wide swath of land. I also don’t know a lot about the demographics of the population, but it seemed that the buildings were all being constructed with migrant labor from various parts of Asia and Africa, and it is likely that these workers are afforded few rights much as those in the UAE. I also had no good way to answer these questions as any printed information about Doha we received came from the government, so if anyone does please do leave your comments.

But to return to our wanderings: Anne and I eventually ran into a European couple strolling down the street and asked them for recommendations on where to go. They suggested a nearby park and were also surprised to find that we hadn’t yet made it to the city center. “What’s the city center?” we asked. They pointed to a giant complex not too far away, and told us that it was inside there – it was a mall. “It’s quite nice. Even has a skating rink and a bowling ally,” they said as we parted ways.

Well this was even more shocking than the landscape, so Anne and I turned around and headed towards the mall. From the outside, it reminded me much of a mall in the US, except that there were lots and lots of people milling about outside, quite a contrast to the empty streets around. Once inside, our senses were assaulted. Sure enough, there on the mall map was printed: City Center – Doha. We walked past an artificial pond and waterfall, where people were posing for pictures on the pond’s bridge, and headed up some stairs to the center of the city center, where we found the promised ice rink crowded with kids.

In reality, the mall was probably not much different or more garish than any other I’d been in before in terms of it’s construction. What made it fascinating though were the stores and the people. Imagine the site of a shop selling anitque Qatari furniture next to another selling Levis. Or a shop selling al-daraa and al-battoulah – the traditional long black dress and face covering that many Qatari women wear, next to a store selling American basketball jerseys. And then complete that picture by imagining the halls of this mall crowded with city residents, many of whom wear traditional Qatari and Saudi clothing. Perhaps this is what worries Islamic extremists? Myself, I was a bit overwhelmed as Doha had utterly defied any preconceived notions I might have had.  After coming upon a display of life-sized dinosaur animatronics, crowded with parents photographing their kids, we decided that we were just about ready to move on . . .

-Julie

Same Same but Different

I thought for a long time what to write about Thailand, and the theme that kept coming into my mind is the phrase “same same but different,” a rather ubiquitous Thinglish phrase. Anne, Lou, and I debated it, but we couldn’t quite decide what the phrase is supposed to mean. For me though, it expresses the baffling mix of traditional Thai culture, modernity, and western influence that we tended to find everywhere we went. Such as the freshly paved highway four-lane outside of Chiang Mai, filled with a mix of new cars and rickety tuk-tuks, street-side stores selling mini Buddhist shrines people can erect outside their their homes, and “king bling” signs, flags and billboards all around. It was like being on a highway at home, except for the not-so-subtle differences such as those I mentioned . . .

(Note/Tangent: Thai’s absolutely love King Bhumipol, who has been king since 1946. He has no official power, but since he is so revered when he does choose to get involved in politics or other affairs, his opinion is generally followed. The official king color is yellow and on Monday’s (the day the king was born) many, many people choose to wear yellow shirts or entire yellow outfits in his honor. In fact, we learned that there is a king color for every day of the week, with pink, the color he wore when he last left the hospital on a Tuesday, being the next most popular. There are pictures of the king everywhere in Thailand, even giant ones on the sides of skyscrapers. They even have “long live the king” bracelets that look just like Lance Armstrong’s “livestrong” bracelets).

Or take the Black Canyon Coffee shop we frequented on hot days (it had air conditioning), a Thai chain whose menus had descriptions like: “Mocha Glacier Frappe: refreshing frozen and smooth blended Mocha coffee topped with creamy coffee ice cream will remind you of the cold glacier in the ocean! Authentic!”" Here I do tend to wonder if the description in Thai comes out a bit better, but the point being that this coffee shop seemed like one I’d find in the US in so many ways, particularly in terms of its decor, yet things like the menu’s enjoyable descriptions or the overly kind, attentive, and numerous staff members reminded me that I was still in Thailand.

There are so many more examples to throw in, such as the site of a monk in traditional dress filming and photographing his fellow monks visiting a temple, religious figurines at a historic temple dressed in leopard print garb, a Ronald McDonald statue doing the traditional “wai” Thai greeting, that the playboy bunny seems to be popular in ways that seemed absurd to us, or the bewildering Bangkok landscape of ancient Buddhist temples mingling with towering condominiums. Entire books, university courses, and conferences have been held to try to determine just what globablization and modernization mean for countries like Thailand, and my observations are perhaps more amusing than deeply meaningful, so I certainly won’t try to decide in this blog entry what I think it all means. From the standpoint of a visitor, the quickly changing landscape of Thailand was fascinating to observe, and comforting to find that even amidst what may seem the same as the US, there are many differences, small and large, that show that Thailand’s journey towards whatever modernization might be is quite unique.

And one final moment of happiness we found in Thailand to share:

While taking the night train back from Chiang Mai to Bangkok, we stopped in a small village. A new group of passengers boarded the train, including a mother with three young boys who were sitting across from Luthien and I. The mother held one of her sons in her arms, who was perhaps three or four years old. She first had him shake hands with me and then had him greet me with the phrase he shyly repeated after she said it: “I love you.” The little boy repeated this several times for me and then proceeded to greet Luthien in the same way, “I love you.” While all of this was happening, it seemed that the entire extended family of the mother and her sons was standing outside our train window to see them off. There was a group of at least ten Thai people crowded around waving and smiling and watching. As the mother turned her attention to her relatives out the window, the oldest boy, of about seven or eight, paced around our seats muttering absentmindedly under his breath the phrase, “I love you farang, I love you farang.” (farang = foreigner in Thai). The whole moment was enough to keep us smiling all the way until Bangkok.

-Julie

What to do when a monk falls asleep on your shoulder and other cultural musings

While on a bus from Kathmandu to Pohkara today, a young Nepali Buddhist monk sat next to me. He and his fellow monks had come to one of the main monasteries in Kathmandu, Swayambhunath, for training and were now headed back to their home monastery in the mountains. Our driver was actually quite good and cautious, so without the normal sounds of horns and screeching brakes to keep one awake (driving here is really a bit tame compared to India, but that’s probably a good thing), one by one the passengers slowly fell asleep as the sun rose higher and the bus temperature rose with it. The monk next to me drifted off, and as the bus turned on every sharp right mountain curve, he would lean over closer and closer to me in his sleep until finally he rested on my shoulder, still sleeping. What to do? In Nepal, men and women do not touch in public. Women can hug women and men can hold hands, but inter-gender contact is rare and frowned upon as it is seen as being sexual. If this were any other man, I would have just moved him off of me, but since he was a monk I wasn’t quite sure what the unspoken cultural rules were. I didn’t want to embarrass him by waking him up, but I also wasn’t sure if it was right to leave his head on my shoulder. Unable to decide, the eight-hour journey continued on, with the monk swaying away from me on each left-handed curve and then back to rest on my shoulder with each right-handed curve. Nepal is a land of hills and mountains (“a little bit up, a little bit down, Nepali flat,” they say), so the road was constantly curving. Every once in a while the monk shook himself awake and sat up, but then a few minutes later he was asleep and falling over again. I guess if it didn’t bother him it shouldn’t bother me . . .

Travelling in Nepal and India has given me a greater appreciation for just how complex human cultures are. By that I mean that there are so many intricate, rich, and unspoken patterns in every society that are quite foreign, and often baffling, to the outsider. Children from those societies grow up surrounded by these norms, whether it be that when you share a drinking vessel, your lips should never touch it (even amongst couples), or that tucking in your sari a certain way means you are from a particular region of India. And I haven’t even mentioned much bigger issues such as trying to understand gender roles or the thousands of Hindu gods! Even if I lived here for years and years, I wonder if I could ever truly understand it all. I discussed these thoughts with a Nepali friend, Narayan, in Bhaktapur yesterday, but I’m not sure that my ideas were communicated quite right. He told me that if I dyed my hair black and wore Nepali clothes, I would fit it quite well as a very pale Nepali woman! In any case, I am continually fascinated by what I can learn just by watching people and talking. It also is interesting to reflect on how many and which unspoken cultural norms we have at home that must seem crazy to visitors to the US.

I will leave my musings here, as we have just arrived in Pokhara and it is time to explore the town. Anne and I leave tomorrow for a six-day trek in the Himalayas. It is part of the Annapurna circuit, a loop called Ghorapani (Poon Hill) to Ghandruk. We are going with a Nepali guide named Dipak, who seems to be filled with more calm and happiness than I thought possible. We’re gearing up for spectacular views, meeting mountain villagers, and eating lots of dal bhat (stewed lentils and rice, a Nepalese staple). Should be great!

Never Ending Peace And Love (NEPAL),*

Julie

*Acronym courtesy of Narayan.  He has many of them, some even more amusing.

 

The Kindness of Strangers

Anne and I have just returned to Cochin after a two-day side trip to the hill station of Munnar. The bus ride to Munnar was four and half hours, almost entirely uphill on a bus with the loudest brakes I have ever heard (cheers for earplugs), but it was well worth the journey as the countryside around Munnar was a fantastic, peaceful land of mountains and endless green tea fields. On our first day there we took another bus up even higher to hike around a place called Top Station where you are surrounded by shadowy mountain peaks and can see into the neighboring state of Tamil Nadu. We returned to our hotel room at the end of the day to relax and journal when I realized with a sinking feeling in my stomach that my prescription sunglasses were no longer in my bag. I wear my sunglasses all the time and since we are mostly traveling in the tropics, they are quite an essential thing to have along. I knew that I had last taken them off on the bus back from Top Station, so I decided to retrace my steps even though I already had little hope for finding them . . .

I headed out of the hotel and to the line of rickshaws outside (“rickshaw, madam? rickshaw, madam?”) and asked a man there to take me to the restaurant we had eaten dinner at. Along the way I managed to convey to him that I had lost my sun spectacles. After checking the restaurant and not finding them, I asked the driver to wait one more minute and I went to the nearby food stand see if I could find the rickshaw driver who had taken us back to our hotel earlier. There are over a hundred rickshaws in tiny Munnar alone, so this was definitely a long shot. At that point, my current rickshaw driver got quite into the search and started asking me all sorts of questions about the rickshaw I was in earlier: what did the driver look like? what was his name? what was he wearing? what did the dashboard of the rickshaw look like? how was the steering wheel shaped? what design were the seats? were there any decals or decorations in the windshield? These are not things that I typically take note of, especially at night, but he was so kind and earnest that I tried my best to answer. He then had me get back in and started zooming around the streets, asking other drivers if they knew where to find the rickshaw, and peering into everyone we passed. We didn’t have luck and eventually headed back to the hotel, at which point he offered to meet me at nine in the morning the next day to search some more. I politely declined (if they were in that man’s rickshaw from earlier, they probably would have flown out by now anyway), but gave him my first name and hotel in case he did somehow run into them the next day. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as I walked away, it was a fascinating glimpse into the culture of rickshaw drivers and the man had just been incredibly nice and helpful.

Early the next morning I headed out to the station where we had caught the bus to Top Station the day before. A law of nature in India: when you don’t want a rickshaw, they are always around, and when you do need one, you can never find it. After waiting a few minutes a white “tourist vehicle” car pulled up across the street, so I decided to ask this driver for a ride. After telling me I should take a rickshaw and me explaining to him that there weren’t any, he told me he could take me to the bus station. I asked the customary question, “how much?” and he shook his head and said it would be free. Rather shocked, I got in and he did indeed take me to the bus station for free, and we had a lovely conversation along the way. He even offered to wait for me and take me back after I checked for my sunglasses at the station.

At the station I managed explain what had happened to the bus crew there and they told me that the bus I was on yesterday would be back again at 2:30pm. So Anne and I returned there that afternoon and sure enough, the same white and blue bus roared up, chock full of people, Hindi music blaring, with flowers strung in the windshield and Jesus picture surrounded by blinking Christmas lights hanging over the dashboard (we were told that 40% of the people in this area of Kerala are Christian). After working my way to the front of the bus, I approached the ticket man and pointed to my glasses and told him I had left a pair on the bus yesterday. He nodded and got on the bus, and reached into a brown box above a seat. And there, low and behold, were my sunglasses in their case, just as I had left them. I was so happy and surprised that I wanted to hug him, but that’s a taboo here, so I rather awkwardly attempted the namaste bow and thanked him again with what must have been a ridiculously large smile on my face. Sunglasses aside, I was amazed by all of the interactions that had led me to this point.

Before we started our travels three months ago, we were discussing nitty logistics such as where to hide our passports and how to avoid having our bags stolen. Anne had said that though it may seem naive, she hoped that we could rely on the goodness of people around the world. From Japan to India, this philosophy has so far really proven true. As creatures of habit, I think we naturally tend to fear and distrust what is different or unfamiliar to us, but one thing that our travels have shown us is how similar and kind – how human – people really are the world over. This point might also seem basic and naive in a world with so many social challenges and so much need, but it is one that I think would make a big difference if more people realized it.

Still Smiling,

Julie

Trains, Auto Rickshaws, Taxis, and More

So much has been fascinating so far about our travels in India, but perhaps transportation is what sticks out in my mind the most.  Since arriving in Mumbai and heading south over a week ago, we’ve had a chance to sample most forms of transport available here.  A run-down of our experiences so far:

Taxis – Upon leaving the Mumbai airport, we got into one of the many tiny black taxis that scoot around the city.  This particular ride we didn’t have to barter for as they use meters in the city, but elsewhere we play the game of finding a price that suits both us and the driver.  Generally the driver names a price; we cut it in half and then throw out more numbers until we come to a point of compromise from there.  We often find that pretending to walk away helps our cause.  Our first taxi ride in Mumbai to the area of the city we were staying in was long and eventful.  At 10pm the streets were still jammed with taxis, cars, trucks, the occasional cow, and various people pulling carts along the sides of the streets.  Honking here has a whole different meaning from home.  Drivers seem to honk whenever they approach anything in their way, mainly as a warning for that person or vehicle to watch out, and thus the streets are quite noisy as everyone is honking to everyone else.  So imagine many, many vehicles all driving along in a general direction, but not in any sort of lanes, with horns blaring all around.  Add in people bravely attempting to cross the street (even on highways no less) and it is quite an adventure.  It definitely makes Chicago traffic seem a bit tame.

Trains – Train travel in India is much more real than at home.  By that I mean that you have the option to avoid the sanitized, air conditioned compartments and instead choose a more organic experience in the sleeper class cars.  There the doors and windows hang open and the country air (and dirt) rolls in.  The journey becomes an experience as much as your destination.  As long as your shoes are off, it is quite acceptable to put your feet up on the blue vinyl bench seats.  Each compartment is pretty big and sits six people comfortably.  The aisles are filled with the call of “chai, chai, chai” and “coffee, coffee, coffee” as vendors walk around selling you just about everything you could need on a train journey.  Stops at each town are long enough that you can hop off the train, stretch your legs, and check out the scenery from the ground.  Then if you want to, you can have the excitement of waiting for the train to slowly start moving onward and then run up to it and jump on and hang out the door for awhile.  Our first train trip south to Goa was 12 hours and the second one 16 hours to Kerala.  Time passes lazily enough as you can sleep, read, chat with fellow passengers, drink endless amounts of chai, and stare out the window as the scenery rolls by.  Train travel also forced me to confront some of the realities of life in India, such as the fact that there really is no waste disposal system here.  You throw your trash out the window into whatever farm fields, villages, or rivers the train is passing.  This system probably worked well before the days of plastic, but today much of what is thrown out doesn’t get eaten by goats or disintegrate.  Anne and I have been trying to avoid using bottled water (we brought a steripen with us to sanitize tap water – thanks to Anne’s dad for that!) and other plastic disposables.  It definitely makes you more conscientious of your consumption habits.  I also remind myself that if we threw our trash out the train window in the US (well, that would be if we had trains), the mounds would be much, much higher than here.  We just hide our waste away well.

Auto Rickshaw – These are almost like smaller versions of taxis, with two wheels in the back and one in the front and no doors.  Quite useful on narrow streets and for traveling shorter distances.  In the north of India they have the more traditional rickshaws pulled by human power, but we haven’t seen any in the south.  So far I’ve witnessed two fights between auto rickshaw drivers whose vehicles have bumped into each other.  I guess that’s the alternative to auto insurance here.

Scooters and Motorcycles – I’ve only been on one so far in Goa, but they transport entire families in many cases, usually with a kid the front, the father driving, another child or two in the middle, and the mom hanging on and riding side-saddle gracefully on the back, her colorful sari or salwar kameez dress flowing in the wind.  Oddly enough only the driver seems to ever wear a helmet.

Walking – Perhaps the most dangerous way of all to get around, but also the way to see and experience the most.  Dangerous first of all because you have to watch out for traffic; here the constant honking comes in handy, but I still sometimes fear that my toes will get run over.  You generally walk on the street in India as sidewalks are sparse and of variable quality.  Even then one needs to watch out for random obstacles in the street.  In Mumbai I managed to step in a deep hole in the ground and cut my leg which has led to several interesting trips to Indian hospitals (The doctor who stitched up my leg warned that women should never walk and talk together at the same time!).  But walking is almost more dangerous as a female as you have to watch out for MM – Men and Mosquitos.  We got this useful acronym from Sabash, our friendly hotel manager in Cochin.  We had commented to him that we had met many male Indians, but not many females, and he said that it was because all the women were hiding inside from the men (true to a point I imagine).  In any case, the attention we’ve received so far has been harmless, though today one man decided to follow me down the street for a good ten minutes.  But walking the streets is a great way to get away from the tourist infrastructure in India and see people going about their daily lives.  Walking has also taken us away from the chaos of the main streets, to quite peaceful locations and into situations where we have met really kind people. 

We’ve also been on ferries and there are backwater punting boat and bus rides to come, but this entry is getting quite long and life awaits outside this internet café.  India so far has been an amazing land of contrasts, filled with experiences that are intense, beautiful, sad, and joyful as well.  Hopefully my ramblings about transport adventures have given a little glimpse of that.  I hope that this entry finds everyone reading happy and well!

From Cochin,

Julie

Adventures Down Under (The Pacific Ocean)

Scuba diving on the Great Barrier Reef was one of the most mind-blowing experiences of my life. No where else have I seen so much wildlife concentrated in one place – sea turtles, reef sharks, sting rays, giant clams, sea cucumbers, and fish and coral of seemingly infinite varieties. Even now, after several days on dry land, I can still recall the feeling of dropping underwater from the surface of the ocean, emptying my BCD and equalizing the pressure spaces in my ears as I slowly descend into an aquatic wonderland. Suddenly I can acutely hear my breathing, move my body nearly weightlessly in any direction, and stare up at the light refracting on the surface of the ocean as my air bubbles drift upwards from my regulator. It’s amazing what life develops in a world without the restraints of gravity. I did 11 dives over three days at sea on a live-aboard boat with ProDive Cairns. Perhaps most memorable was the dive in which a large bat fish followed my dive-buddy and I around, swimming circles around us for for well over half and hour, until it found a green sea turtle that looked more interesting and decided to swim after it instead. Some pictures from the dives (and of the bat fish) can be found here.

The Great Barrier Reef is enormous – 340,000 square kilometers to be exact. That’s half the size of Texas and the size of seven Great Britain’s. It’s the largest marine park in the world and the only living thing that is visible from the moon with the naked eye. Actually, the term Great Barrier Reef is a bit of a misnomer, as it actually is a conglomeration of 3,000 smaller reefs. The area is host to 1500 fish species, the highest diversity of fish found anywhere in the world. Like so many places today, the reef is at risk due to global warming. Coral is very sensitive and can only live in waters of a certain temperature, and if the ocean becomes too warm than the organisms living in the coral die, leaving just a bleached white skeleton behind. Of course, with the carbon footprint I’m leaving behind from my trip, I can’t really speak on this subject but from the perspective of a hypocrite. It is sadly ironic that all of the tourists flocking to see the reef are contributing to its demise.

In other news in Australia, yesterday the Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd, has issued an official apology to the aboriginal people of Australia for past oppression and assimilation policies. It’s a pretty big step here, a country in which indigenous people didn’t have rights as citizens until the early 1970s. Indigenous tribes in Australia – of which there are hundreds – have the oldest continually maintained cultures in the world, having come to the continent over 40,000 years ago. An Australian I met highly recommended John Pilger’s book, A Secret Country, for reading on the history of what happened to the aboriginal peoples since British colonization. I don’t know a lot of the details yet myself, but I have learned enough to know that it is a sad and apalling tale of genocide that rivals that of the Native American communities in the United States.

And with that unhappy thought, it is time for me to go and pack my bag. Tomorrow Anne and I fly to Mumbai, India (we’ll meet up with Lou again when we reach Nepal next month). Our trip is about to take a big turn, as we leave Oceania after eight weeks of exploring Australia and New Zealand. Our time here has been wonderful – we’ve met so many kind and interesting people and seen so many breathtaking sites – that I only hope I can return again soon (perhaps on a biodiesel airplane?).

-Julie

Tramping through Middle Earth

We just returned from a three-day tramp through the Fiordland National Park in the southwest. It was called the Kepler Track and is one of the nine great walks in New Zealand. The hike began early on Monday morning with a flat walk around Lake Te Anau, a crisp, clear glacial lake surrounded by mountains. The trail then brought us into the forest (aka “the bush”) and we began to climb Mount Luxmore. After alternating between huffing and puffing over the elevation and being in awe at the countless shades of green mosses, ferns, and trees surrounding us, we reached the treeline several hours later and were treated to a panoramic view of the area. To one side, we could see patterned yellow-brown farmland and the lake, and on all other sides were jagged, beautiful mountains and fiords. We lingered at the viewpoint for a good hour, watching the clouds and the landscape, quite content with the world, before continuing on to the first hut of the hike. Most walks in New Zealand have huts maintained by the Department of Conservation that come with basic cooking, sleeping and toilet facilities. The huts were a great place to meet other hikers, and we met other trampers from Germany, Austria, Israel, New Zealand, and Australia. Most impressive was three generations of a family that hiked up the mountain together: kids, parents, and grandparents.

The next morning we were awoken by the hut ranger and told that we needed to get moving as the weather forecast called for gale force winds of 90 km an hour later in the afternoon. Apparently we would be blown off the mountain if we waited around (eek!), so off we went. Whereas the view was sunny and clear the day before, for our second day of hiking we were walking through the clouds. We could see about 20 to 30 feet around as as we walked through light rain and wind over the ridge line of the mountain. While the view would have been great, the effect of staring over sheer mountain drop-offs into nothingness was pretty spectacular in itself. We could see silhouettes of mountain peeks in front of us as we went, as the clouds swirled around rock formations all around and water ran down the path. We climbed the summit of the main mountain of the hike, Mount Luxmore, and continued onward over several more misty mountain ridges. After about four hours of hiking, the path began its steep descent into a mountain valley through a rainforest that seemed to have awoken with the fresh moisture from the rain.

After another hut stay and more adventures meeting fellow hikers, our last day of trekking was quite mild and pleasant (only a bit of rain and then sun), as we walked on a mostly flat track through fern covered forests, past another glacial lake, Lake Manapouri, and on to the Waiau River and Rainbow Reach. For the Lord of the Rings fans out there, this is where they filmed some of the scenes of fellowship sailing down the River Anduin to Gondor. (: Looking back as we crossed the final bridge, we could see the mountain ridges that we had just crossed in the distance.

All too soon, we were whisked back to reality as a shuttle bus driver picked us up at the trail lot and returned us to the small town of Te Anau. Tomorrow we head to Milford Sound and then we’ll begin to make our way north past glaciers and more fiords. If you’re a fan of hiking, definitely add New Zealand to your trip list.

Kia Ora,

Julie

Thanks from New Zealand

I’m in Christchurch, New Zealand now and for the first time on the trip I’m actually staying at a youth hostel.  And while the hostel is quite nice and a bit eccentric really - it’s built in a remodeled historic jailhouse – it’s definitely still accommodations for the masses in my ten-bed dorm room. This led me to think that it is pretty wonderful that we’ve not had to stay at a hostel until now thanks to the kind generosity of friends around the world.  A few well-deserved shout-outs to them:

Thanks to Erin and Etienne in Tokyo, Japan who let us join them in their housing at the Canadian Embassy and showed us where to get the best sushi in town; to Kate in Nam Yang, South Korea who let us squash into her efficiency apartment and joined us in our travels south; to Josh in Bussan, South Korea who let us squeeze into his even smaller efficiency; to Rebekah, Andrew, Juno, and Alastair for welcoming us to their home right before Christmas – Alastair even gave up his room for us!; to the Kienhius family for kindly hosting us over the holidays in Melbourne and Ocean Grove and introducing us to lots of Aussie culture; and to Graeme and the crew at QDOS for welcoming us as wwoofers and giving us fine tree house-style accommodations.  And thanks as well to the many other friends (old and new) we met along the way who helped us experience the places we were visiting in ways we never could have on our own.

Tomorrow we are picking up our hire car and heading off to explore the south island.  I already miss being able to pop down to the Lorne beach, but it’s hard to be sad when New Zealand awaits. (:

-Julie