Killing Time in Bangkok

Hello!

I write today, as is clear from the title of this entry, from Bangkok, Thailand. I arrived here from Calcutta on this past Sunday the 19th, and I've spent the last few days taking care of odds and end mixed in with a bit of sightseeing while I've waited for my visa to process. This morning I picked up my waiting passport complete with Chinese visa (a beautiful piece of paper if I ever saw one!), and tonight I will take a take a train to the Laos-Thailand border, probably crossing into Laos tomorrow or the next day. As I mentioned last time I'm meeting Ashley and Sarah in Guiyang, China on April 4, and my plan is to spend as much time as possible in Laos on my way there (thus skipping straight away to Laos from Bangkok). I'm told Laos is just fantastic, and people I've talked to here who have been there recently have reported that as of yet it remains largely unchanged by tourism and tourists (such as myself! to an extent anyhow . . . more on other types of tourists in a bit), at least compared to Thailand. So Laos it is, however briefly.

The arrival itself into Bangkok was something of a shock. Or, perhaps not exactly a shock, but rife with novelty. You see, Bangkok is a thoroughly modern city; none of the Indian cities (nor anywhere else, for that matter) come close. Not even a little bit. (Among the big Indian cities I didn't see Chennai, but I'm confident it isn't an exception to this statement). Calcutta felt the most modern to me, as I noted in the entry I wrote there, but . . . so, so not modern the way Bangkok is. But it wasn't just the 'modernity' of Bangkok that caught my attention; it was also Western-ness of the way things look and feel and function (as opposed to India, where oftentimes they don't). [That said I have my doubts about whether it is worth distinguishing at all between 'modernization' and 'Westernization' (and their various derivatives). Anyhow . . .] Some specific aspects of this include of this include, vaguely in the order that I first encountered them here, lanes on the roads, people using those lanes in shiny Japanese cars, people driving without honking the whole time, raised freeways, more than a few clusters of tall office buildings, people exposing their shoulders and knees in public, the absence of power-cuts, etc. (not to mention Starbucks, ABP, and most the rest of the various American franchises (okay so Starbucks isn't a franchise but once again you get my point I'm sure)). Perhaps if I'd come here before I visited elsewhere in Asia it would have felt hectic, bustling, different; I don't know. But when I first arrived I felt as though I had returned to what had been so familiar to me all my life before I left the States last October (and which, to be sure, will be familiar once again soon enough). Over the past few days, as I've grown used to these things, I've become more able to notice differences here from places I've been thus far. From what I can gather it seems to me the chief difference lies in the culture that gets expression mainly within the confines of the home, which I haven't been exposed to at all besides walking through a few residential neighborhoods.

Perhaps the one bit that was truly shocking was the notorious Khao San Rd., the main backpacker drag in town. The big Indian cities each have their own equivalent, but once again none were anything like this. Khao San is positively overflowing with a type of tourist you just don't find in India outside Goa, and not really there either. I'd say the bulk of them, or at least the most visible, appear to be the same sort of people that go to Cancun on spring break (indeed maybe some of them are on spring break), with very much the same intent. [I suppose I don't actually know their intent, but I'd wager several days' budget that it has a lot to do with "getting wasted".] They're the skimpily-clad, bleached-blond, "look how much time I've spent in a gym/lying in the sun," type (and their various derivatives) who are here first and foremost to make other people jealous when they tell them how great and exotic it was and if Satan does in fact have minions then I'm sure that these are them. I'd forgotten that people like this actually exist, and perhaps you can discern that I'm disappointed to have been reminded . . . . I'm staying about 10-15 minutes away in a lovely, quiet neighborhood near the river where kids play in the streets; I wouldn't come anywhere near this place except that this is where internet is found and one of my primary intentions for my time here was to get caught up on all the email I'd neglected over the past month and a half. So, I encounter Khao San on a daily basis, but I won't miss it when I'm gone.

The rest of what I've seen of Bangkok I've mostly enjoyed. Some dislike it for being a sprawling, uncentralized mess of an unplanned city (mess isn't the right word but you know what I mean), but-- perhaps growing up amongst the archetypal sprawling, uncentralized mess of an unplanned city has something to do with it-- it doesn't really bother me. Perhaps my favorite thing about the city is that it's a veritable wonderland of traffic-immune public transport, boasting not one but two modern urban train systems (highly modern subway along with the even-moderner SkyTrain (it is a SkyTrain afterall)) as well as, that's right, two forms of boat transport, not to mention the ultra-cheap and well-done bus system. [So this is the place where any comparison to Los Angeles falls apart.] The boats are the best because besides, well, they're boats!! Bangkok has a nice, wide river with frequent ferries running up and down, and these boats are great, but even cooler are the canal boats that run through this one fairly narrow canal that runs right through the heart of the city. Apparently, Bangkok used to be called the "Venice of the East" as it was, like Venice, a town with canals rather than roads. And while there's still more canals than you find in your average town, my feeling is that it's a shame there aren't as many as there once were, because they're wonderful.

The other thing I really like about Bangkok are the 'wats' (Buddhist temples/monasteries) that you find just about every other block here. Many of the big sights in Bangkok are wats with some particular distinction, and I paid a visit to a few of these, mostly yesterday. I really liked most of what I saw-- I thought the buildings were consistently beautiful, and each one I went to had something distinct and different about it, usually having something to do with the particular Buddha statue inside. I'm having trouble with the downloading of pictures, and I'm pretty much out of time (I am out of time!), but the picture at right is of a wat (Wat Arun) that is quite unlike the others (more of a monument) that I quite liked. But again, this is rather atypical. For what that's worth . . .

Okay, out of time, and said what I've have to say anyhow.

Till next time,

--Josh

From Calcutta

Written mostly between March 8-10, finished up March 17-18.
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I write today from Sudder St., the backpacker area of Calcutta. It came as something of a surprise to find Calcutta to be a lovely town, after all the images of Mother Theresa with convalescents and whatnot. That is to say, the parts we've seen (a decent chunk) have been pleasant, though I have no doubt that Calcutta's slums are no less dire than those of Mumbai or Delhi. It's my favorite of the giant cities I've seen in India-- not oppressively polluted (though perhaps we're just passing through at a good time . . . ), easily walkable, lots of street vendors and people moving about. It feels thoroughly modern and cosmopolitan, though there are lots of old, crumbling buildings from the days of British rule (as well as a few well-maintained ones) that give the place a certain charm.

We arrived here this morning (feels like ages ago . . . ), returning from our shorter-than-expected stay with Dakshinayan at a tiny, remote village called Cheo. It was shorter than expected due to a combination of factors, none of which had anything to do with dissatisfaction with our time there; in fact we had a great stay. To explain: going into it, we had only a vague sense of how our time would be spent. We knew we were going to be in a more or less remote tribal village and that a little teaching would be involved, but other than that we really didn't know what to expect. As it turned out, we were placed in a small school at the edge of Cheo, a village of about 150 people of the Paharia tribe, set atop a hill rising out of the surrounding plains. There's a lot that I want to explain all at once . . .

First, the Paharia and tribal groups in India: My mind seems to be wired to assume that the word 'tribal' has racial connotations, as I expected the tribal people we were to meet and (to an extent) live amongst to somehow look different from everyone else in India. Basically, they don't. Those we dealt with tended towards a particular set of physical attributes (dark skin, on the short side in height), but all well within the spectrum seen in the rest of India, if closer in appearance to the people of the south. We learned that in fact the Paharia originated towards the south, ending up further north for reasons I can't quite recall. Anyhow, they were forest dwellers who were eventually pushed into the hills of the region (where we were) by the arrival of another tribal group called the Santalis, and in those hills they have remained to this day. They have a distinct language, apparently more closely related to southern languages than Hindi or other languages spoken by those in the area, which makes sense given their origins. It's estimated that there are roughly 30 to 40 thousand of them, broken into three groups--each in some sense a different caste-- who speak dialects that we were told differ greatly. Apparently we were with the "untouchable" group, though it seems to me that the meaning of this is different than elsewhere in India, as they live entirely independently-- I don't think at any point we saw any people from the other two "castes"-- whereas generally (at least this is my sense of things) the various castes make up the internal social strata of a town or region or what-have-you. Even if they sometimes live in separate villages neighboring each other as was the case in Suppa (which I talked about in the last entry).

So that's some background. Today, Paharia villages-- at least those we saw-- remain quite remote and relatively isolated. For instance, these were the first places I have visited without any electricity whatsoever (except the occasional solar charged appliance). [Of course, traveling by bus as I was in the other more remote areas I visited I only ever ended up in places that had already seen the arrival of substantial change, if oftentimes only in the past few years. Anyhow, my point is just that bus routes don't run to areas this remote.] There were "roads", but these would be considered nasty jeep trails anywhere else. The nearest shop of any kind is a two hour walk away; mostly people buy everything that needs to be bought at the market that takes place once a week at this two hour away town. [In general, walking is a big part of life-- though many of our students were from Cheo, the majority of our students walked some distance to get to school, some as much as an hour each way.] People live in what could be described as huts of varying construction, with sides ranging from solidly built structures with thick walls and ceramic tile roofing, containing several rooms, to those with bamboo sides and a grass roof over a single room.

[Caption: The picture at left is of Estella (in the rainbow shorty-overalls), one of our (favorite!) students, and her older sister in front of their home.]

Our role in all this was at a schoolhouse near to the village called Cheo. This is where we lived as well as taught basic English and math to some of the local Paharia kids, ranging in age from roughly 3 or 4 to perhaps 14 or 15 (vague because the Paharia don't keep track of birthdays or age). There were three classes of ascending ability-- in the first we were teaching letters and numbers one at a time ("This is the letter 'H'!"), in the third we were working on speaking in complete sentences ("This pencil is red"). It was okay, though at times a bit repetitive and uninteresting. The better part of our energy went towards keeping the kids paying attention and from distracting one another. Ashley and I were teaching with Sudha, another young American volunteer currently from Philly who had already been there six weeks when we arrived, and the two Paharia men who run the school year-round year after year, Ramnat and Chandrama. They also live at the school when volunteers are there (most of the year), though they both have families and homes nearby (that, naturally, they visit fairly often). All three were great folks to spend time with.

The school day ran from 9-12 (though we had to wake at six to do chores), divided into six short periods, two of which were generally spent doing physical activity of some kind. So we rotated amongst the classes teaching English and "English math" (since the numbers as well as the alphabet are different in Hindi, which the kids are taught by Ramnat and Chandrama, who also teach English when volunteers aren't around). As I said, school was okay, but not all that interesting and I don't think that either Ashley or I especially enjoyed maintaining order for its own sake.

[Caption: The Cheo girls roaming about in the afternoon.]

What was really wonderful was playing with the kids outside of class, when we could just participate in whatever antics it was they were getting themselves up to. These kids have the most wonderful childhoods-- roaming about wherever, thinking up whatever games suit their fancy, playing lots. It will probably come as no surprise to most of you to hear that in general I envied the simplicity of life in the Paharia villages. Or, I suppose should say, the simplicity that I perceived. In truth I would say we didn't get a very good sense for the lives of the adult Paharia-- they're quite reserved on the whole (though the kids aren't at all) and we never got invited inside a home. But in a way this was great, as the other side of this coin was that they didn't make a big fuss about us. That is, didn't treat us like some kind of celebrities, made us wait our turn like everyone else when we went to wash our clothes at a local spring (which also happens to be an awesome local hangout during the warm season, which was just beginning during our stay). It was a great situation in that on the one hand the Paharia haven't been exposed to the various factors, whatever they may be (advertisements with attractive white models, etc., perhaps) that make so many Indians seem to feel that Westerners are somehow special, attractive, or whatever, while at the same time much of the year there are a few volunteers at the school so that our presence didn't seem to be excessively strange or surprising to them (the local Paharia).

[One loose end I'm conscious of having left in this blog is that from my entry describing my experience in Murudeshwar in which I quite enjoyed getting lots of attention walking about where Westerners don't often go. That experience feels like something from a different lifetime; my reaction at the time seems naive to me now. I hadn't yet been anywhere that wasn't a major tourist destination, but I soon found out that getting off the trodden trail in India is as easy as wandering without particular aim in any city, or taking buses to places without lengthy descriptions in the travel guide. The novelty of celebrity treatment wore off quickly, and the places I have enjoyed walking about most have been those I can do so without drawing much attention or creating a disturbance.]

[I have discovered the bracket.]

In the end our early departure had to with the timing of the Hindu festival Holi such that we wouldn't be able to get a bus back to Calcutta in time to connect with our flights out of India. Logistical stuff . . .

This left us with about a week to spend so we headed up to Sikkim, a tiny state in the eastern Himalaya. It was great! Very different from the rest of India, as the Sikkimese (I don't believe this is technically the correct term, but I heard it used . . . ) are closely related to Tibetans, and are Buddhist (their practice being something very close to Tibetan Buddhism). They are a much . . . well . . . more relaxed and easy going group of people than you could say about Indians in general. We stayed in some beautiful little villages, and saw some giant mountains (at a distance), including Khanchendzonga, which just so happens to be the world's third highest mountain. And we saw lots of gompas (Buddhist monasteries). It was really nice up there.

And now my time in India is through. My visa expires on the 21st of this month, and I've at last booked myself a flight to Bangkok. From there I'll be heading to China over the two weeks via northern Thailand and northern Laos, once I get my Chinese visa in Bangkok. Ashley's headed to Hong Kong, where her friend Sarah Norton will join her. The three of us are going to meet up in Guiyang in the province of Guizhou, and then spend the better part of the next month (that is, April) teaching a little English to adults in the Hmong (a minority group, also found in northern Thailand and northern Laos as it turns out) village of Xijiang (nearby to Guiyang). After that, Ashley and Sarah are headed back to India to do a NOLS course in the Himalaya. As for me, I'm thinking I'd like to try to make it to Tibet, but we'll see how things go. I'm not sure how much trouble I'll have with permits and the like.

Anyhow, it feels strange to be about to leave, makes me realize that my time here is in fact passing. But on the whole I feel ready to move on from India. I'm not yet done with the mountains of India (at least, not if I can help it!), though I may be through on this particular trip. For now I'm looking forward to seeing a little piece of China as well as to pass through a bit of southeast Asia.

Bye!

--Josh