Wanderlust Heaven!

Hadn’t been on an Indian bus in many years, and the experience now brought back memories. Loud Indian/Ladakhi music cranked the entire time, we passed tiny little shops with nice attempts at English (‘vegetebels shops’), and people brought everything with them on the bus – chickens, vegetables (but not ‘vegetebels’), piles of clothing, etc. I sat next to a fetching Ladakhi woman – I must say that the local women are very cute. Not too sure how to go about getting a date – there really aren’t any bars in Leh, and language would be a problem in many cases. I suppose you’d need some local connections and spend some time in the area – more on that later.

Stopped in a little tea shop for a cup. The walls were covered with posters of Bollywood movie stars – one was of Aishwarya Rai, who was Miss World a couple years back. Indians are crazy about their movie stars. I’ve never been a big fan of Indian movies – the singing is high-pitched and there seem to be only 2-3 formulaic storylines (e.g., girl falls in love with boy, another boy kidnaps her and jails her on a mountaintop, she sings the song of her tragic situation for most of the movie, then the boyfriend finds and frees her). I do think the latest batch of Bollywood movies are becoming more diverse and ‘normal’ to Western eyes/ears. As I sat there I wondered if Indian society was becoming as ‘starfucked’ as U.S. society. And my conclusion was that the Indian situation might be even worse. There’s no immediate harm to worshipping movie stars, or sports stars (another big Indian thing) – it’s a decent distraction from daily life. But my issue is that it eventually crowds out admiration for perhaps more worthy figures, like competent politicians, scientists, human rights workers, etc. Anyway, no big deal, methinks…

Got on another bus, to visit Shey Palace. Sat with an Aussie fellow named Marcus, who was on a 3-month trip to India and Europe. Nice guy…first time in India so his head was spinning. Got off the bus at Shey, at the foot of the hill. Nearly all the Tibetan gompas are atop hills so some climbing is in store. Noticed the fragrance of the place, and the extreme light/sun – being so high up, you really feel the warmth and if not careful can get a bad sunburn. Climbed to the gompa, was sweating and out of breath when I got there. Had a monk open the door and let me in. Nice Maitreya Buddha (Buddha of the Future) statue and some artwork. Walked back outside into the strong sun, and saw that it was possible to climb farther up, to some monuments and prayer flags on higher peaks. I was only wearing my Tevas, so wasn’t well-prepared for serious climbing – although I hate to visit a place and not see everything. Climbed for a while, reached the first monument – the path was pretty rocky. Sat there a while, feeling the wind and watching people swarm around below. Decided to go back down – the Tevas weren’t designed for climbing like this, and if I got hurt that would be the end of further adventures like this.

Got back to Leh around dinnertime. Wasn’t too hungry, so did a bit of yoga and kicked back. Took a crap and as I was sitting there, I heard chanting from somewhere outside, as I’d heard before. This chanting happens at various times – a couple times I heard it at 3:30 a.m., and also at dusk. It’s cool – sounds otherwordly and makes you feel blessed. I wondered if the chanting priest(s) were blessing my bowel movement, and silently gave thanks as I finished up.

Was pretty tired so decided to stick around and rest, in advance of the next few days when I’d be on lengthy trips to outlying sights. The electricity was on and off, and tonight it was pretty much off. So the options were limited: perhaps practice some yoga, but I was too lazy; sex, but I was unaccompanied; sleep, but it was too early; or watch a movie. I opted for the latter.

I had bought a few pirated DVDs in Bangkok and Chiang Rai, and now decided to watch my first movie in 6 or so months. One of the reasons I brought my laptop is to watch movies and listen to music – I had done plenty of the latter, but somehow could never find 2 hours to sit and watch a movie. Now that I was out of the cities, and Thai hedonism, there wasn’t that much else to do, so I surrendered to laziness and turned on the laptop. Watched World Trade Center, the new flick. Thought it was OK – it brought 9-11 to the personal level, and was fairly well done – not too rabid or patriotic. I would have guessed Oliver Stone would have been much more militant, but he surprised me with his restraint. Still, the movie felt like a long installment of a soap opera and I was hoping for more of a ‘point of view’ movie from which I might learn something. I didn’t get much food for thought from World Trade Center. Perhaps I was being too demanding; after all, 9-11 has been analyzed ad infinitum, and the entire ‘War on Terror’ does feel like a bad soap opera. So maybe I’m being too critical here…

The picture quality of the DVD was mediocre, and taught me a lesson. If in the market for pirated DVD’s, don’t buy the latest features – they’re likely to have been filmed by a teenager holding a camera in a crowded, dingy theater. I later watched another pirated DVD, Cold Mountain – this had been around for a couple years, and the quality was excellent. Probably had been taped from cable TV or digital source.

Next day, started a series of jeep tours of the major Ladakh sights. My driver was a great guy named Angdu – a local 28-year-old who liked foreign (especially Israeli) girls, pop music, and driving aggressively. We hit it off right away, and I was relieved. I had decided not to pay for a guide, just for a driver who preferably spoke decent English and could serve as a quasi-guide. Angdu spoke great English and knew the territory cold, so I lucked out and had a fine time the rest of the week.

We drove that day (Sunday) to Lamaruyu Monastery, set high amidst a minor Himalayan range west of Leh. As we drove I checked out the terrain. Ladakh is pretty dry, in a sense. It gets relatively little rain, and doesn’t have much of a monsoon, unlike most of India. It did get inundated with showers in August – the worst stretch of rain in 80 years, and bad news for the local houses, many of which have basic mud roofs. But that was (hopefully) an anomaly, and not global warming showing up on Ladakh’s doorstep. Ladakh is blessed with numerous rivers from the Himalayan snow run-offs – the Indus River is the largest, but there are others too. Of course, rivers don’t feed vegetation like rains do – so most of Ladakh is rocky and lunar, unlike say Burma which gets huge amounts of rain and is perhaps the lushest place I’ve seen.

The weather was sunny, but a bit chilly, especially as we drove into the mountains. Actually, I thought that Ladakh’s autumn weather resembled New England’s, for different reasons (elevation versus latitude). I was reminded of post-Labor Day chills as I walked to the bus stop for school. And the winters are probably similar too, from what I’ve heard from locals. One key difference is heating – most guesthouses don’t have any, and in general people get by with wood, dung, or kerosene heating – very little central heating. The dodgy electricity supply is one contributor to this.

Lamayuru was impressive – wandered around there for an hour or so, then climbed to the high hill next to it. Was wearing sneakers so was up to the task. Got to the top and spent some time staring silently at the prayer flags whipping in the wind. Tried to compose a poem but nothing interesting really came to mind – haven’t written much poetry this year, to my surprise. Perhaps the prose is crowding it out. As I walked by a small house, I wondered if anyone lived there…then I heard chanting coming from inside and I smiled as I slowly trudged past.

That night Angdu and I stayed at a local guesthouse, and had dinner together with a German tourist. He’s a pediatrician, and asked many questions – perhaps he was diagnosing my situation. I didn’t like him at first – I hate nosy people – but as the night went on I slowly changed my mind. One thing I liked about him was that he was true to himself – for instance, we talked about trekking, and he came right out and said he didn’t like trekking because it made him tired and he liked to sleep in a bed at night. He was forthright about not being an action hero and stud – unlike many tourists up here, who like to believe they’re rugged adventurers from the old school who are discovering new worlds (while their porters carry everything and cook for them, of course). This fellow wasn’t conflicted about his identity and what he wanted, and listening to him helped me realize that sometimes I do a poor job of framing a situation and making a decision, and then I get down on myself for not being perfect. More specifically: I was annoyed at myself for not being more proactive/energetic about looking into trekking in Ladakh, and perhaps missing a golden opportunity that might ‘change my life.’ I should have been more honest with myself – I wasn’t in the mood to go out into the cold for 5 days, I was tired from the altitude, I was feeling lazy and wanted to finally watch a couple movies, etc. So I didn’t really want to trek, at least not now, but felt self-conflicted – where was the Mike Slone of ’92, who plunged ahead into the Himalayas without thinking twice?

Now Dear Reader, you’re probably thinking a couple of things. One, Mike should consider himself fortunate to at least be in the situation to have a choice to make, and none of the options are bad. Two, the Mike of ’92 wasn’t particularly thoughtful – thinking twice is usually the right thing to do, and ‘aged Mike’ with his inner debates was actually using a good process to come to the right answer. Any reactions?

Anyway, enjoyed the rest of the dinner. We drank a few bottles of Godfather Beer – this stuff is lethal. Hadn’t had it since ’92, and hadn’t missed it either. It’s something like 8.5% alcohol, and like all Indian beers uses glycerol as a preservative. When I had first had Indian beer, I used to wake up with terrible headaches, probably because of the glycerol – derivatives of which are also used in embalming fluid, nitro-glycerin, etc. Versatile chemical – but not my first choice for beer preservative. I had been taught back in ’92 how to ‘clean’ an Indian beer. My ‘instructor’ was an obese American ex-preacher in Kathmandu. What you do is get a half-full glass of water, turn the bottle of beer upside down (quickly) and submerge the top in the water. You hold it there for 5-10 minutes; the glycerol is heavier than water, so it sinks into the water glass and displaces the water, which rises into the beer bottle. You can actually watch the glycerol sinking – it’s gold-colored, murky stuff, and when you’re through you’ve got a cleaned (albeit slightly watery) beer, and a water glass full of golden chemicals. Didn’t bother to clean the beer this night, but showed Angdu later on how to do it.

An Indian Army-owned company called Himank builds and maintains the roads in Ladakh. Talk about a great (though corny) sense of humor. They place signs along the roadways, to keep drivers alert and sensible. The signs are generally hilarious, and the corniness mirrors the overall Indian sense of humor, at least as I’ve experienced it – there’s a touch of British word-play and irony which is absent from American humor, and which I really take pleasure in. It’s a bit more in your face than British humor, and I suppose it’s quintessentially Indian. A few examples of the signs:

• Better be Mr. Late than Late Mr.
• Don’t be gama in the valley of the lamas
• Love thy neighbor, but not while driving
• Darling I like you, but not so fast

And so forth. Himank did stick in the occasional political sign – ‘Union is strength’ was one I found a bit unsettling, it reminded me of many signs I’d seen in Burma.

Went back to Leh on Monday, took it easy and ate a pizza for dinner. Nice break from the momos (Tibetan dumplings) and noodles. Next day, drove to Pangong Lake with Angdu and his first cousin Thani, who is a tour guide but apparently had never visited Pangong. When I met Thani he asked me for my ‘good name,’ a quaint way of asking my first name. I hadn’t heard that in years – you still get it sometimes in former British colonies.

Pangong is a high-altitude lake, and is fed from the Himalayan run-offs, with all the various minerals descending into the lake. The water is an amazing series of shades of blue. The water near the shore is azure and light, farther out its much darker and cobalt-colored. It’s one of the largest lakes in Asia (130 km long), and one of the highest in the world. Only 25% is in India – the rest is in Tibet, and many tourists and locals visit the lake to try to peer into the lost world of Tibet. You can walk a few kilometers along the shore, but not far enough to really look into Tibet – hopefully the Indians will open more of the place, and perhaps put a few boats on it too – right now there are only a couple Army boats. Not sure how deep it is – and no one there had any idea. Angdu had heard a rumor that the Chinese Navy had put a sub in Pangong, but that sounded ridiculous…if China wanted to invade from that front, it wouldn’t be that hard to just swarm around the lake with a zillion foot-soldiers.

The Pangong water is brackish – probably was part of the ocean millions of years ago. In August you can swim, but the water is very cold (probably like Maine’s coast in summer). By the time I visited the water was freezing and I decided that discretion would prevail. Very cool place to visit, highly recommended.

Drove back that same day – very long day. Talked about girls with Angdu and Thani. Both guys are still single. Angdu is playing around with a Muslim girl, but he’s worried her folks will find out and that wouldn’t be good. Apparently Muslim parents are super-strict (what a surprise) and they will only accept a Muslim suitor. He showed me a pic on his mobile, she’s very cute. Thani doesn’t have a girlfriend, and is desperately seeking. We talked about girlfriends I’ve had from different countries – Angdu was fascinated by this discussion as he drives people from many places and has his own observations. We finally degenerated into my ranking of ‘most sexy girls’ which I won’t describe further for fear of lawsuits and death threats…

We had a few semi-close calls while driving on the mountain roads – which are very tricky. Reminded me of the high road to Monaco, but worse. Most of the sights are only 150 km or less from Leh…but the roads are so winding that you can’t drive much faster than 30 km/hour, so the trips take 4-5 hours each way. Angdu drives pretty quickly, but is conscientious – whenever we approached a blind corner, he honked in warning, unlike many of the approaching vehicles (many of which were large Army convoys and tour buses). Made for some hair-raising moments, but we were never (I think) in serious danger, a testament to Angdu’s driving skills. The road seemed to go on forever…

To and from Pangong we went over the Chang La (Chang Pass), the third-highest drivable pass in the world. It’s a desolate place, with a few bummed-looking Army soldiers, a crappy little cafeteria/tea shop, and some leaky oil drums. Lovely. Ladakh has the three highest drivable passes in the world, and I managed to go over all of them while there. At the top of these passes, it’s not easy to breath, and if you hang out long you get a headache. The drive and altitude take a lot out of you, to be sure. But the reward is the spectacular views – 20,000 foot mountains surround you, and the snows were there even in September.

I should break the narrative here to again mention, as I did in earlier entries, that I came across no other Americans. When I had dinner with the German fellow at Lamaruyu, he said I was the first American he’d met in India. Granted, there weren’t many tourists in total in late September – the high season is earlier – and perhaps numerous Americans show up in-season, but I doubt it. I’m not trying to blow my own horn here at all – my point is that Ladakhis meet many Europeans and get to hear their views on life, politics, religion, etc., but the American experience is not being shared, and that’s unfortunate. So Ladakhis hear about us from Europeans, from local Muslims, from newspaper accounts – and we’re not in charge of communicating our own stories. The Bush Administration hired Charlotte Beers to be the national media magnate, and that effort failed. I’m sure other initiatives are underway, a la Voice of America, but they’re government-sponsored and aren’t trusted sources – whereas a few American tourists in-country would likely have a much larger impact. We need goodwill ambassadors out here – perhaps I can apply for a government stipend…

To be fair, there weren’t that many Indian tourists in Ladakh, either. The number is growing as incomes rise and Indians learn to relax a bit. It’s a beautiful part of India, and I hope that Indians visit there more often – without overwhelming the place and its culture.

The ride back to Leh was long, but uneventful. Listened to some of Angdu’s Ladakhi music – which was surprisingly catchy, with lots of flutes and not too much high-pitched/Hindi-esque singing. I went out and bought a CD later on – Sungskat, by Tashi Chospel and Meena Rana (of course you’ve heard of them) – and have continued to enjoy it.

Next day, drove to the Nubra Valley, to the northeast, abutting Pakistan and Tibet. Went over the world’s highest drivable pass, Khardung La, at 18,300 feet. That might have been the highest I’d ever been – probably was. It was certainly the highest place I’d ever taken a piss. Overall, the experience was much like Chang La – cold, desolate, bored soldiers, passable facilities. But great sights and the feeling of being as high as you can go in a car.

The Nubra Valley was stunning. It’s a long cut between the mountains, the Himalayas and Karakoram range, and has a range of terrain. Much is sandy, almost desert – there are bizarre sand dunes where you can actually rent a camel and go for a spin. Apparently Indian families love this stuff – I wasn’t surprised, having seen them ride on ponies on Chowpatty Beach in Bombay. It wasn’t really my thing, and we didn’t see the camels anyway. The sandy desert at the foot of huge mountains was quite a sight.

Nubra is a wild place – it feels like it’s ruled by nature/the gods and not by man. I think Kipling had some such quote when he was in the area. There are a few towns in the valet, and you do see people regularly, but the topography is what stands out and not any achievements of man (besides the road to get here from Leh).

This area, like many in the north, is politically and militarily sensitive, so there are tons of checkpoints where you must present your passport and permits (which Rimo Expeditions got for me). I was reminded of the Massachusetts Turnpike tollbooths, and how annoying those are. When I was little I asked my mother the name of the people who sat inside these booths – a kid’s typical dumb question. I think she put me off for a while, but I persisted in asking the name – so she told me they were known as ‘Green Sidneys.’ They wore ugly green outfits, and I imagine my mom saw one with a ‘Sidney’ nametag, so that’s where she got the name. I called these people ‘Green Sidneys’ while growing up and the name still sticks with me, for some reason. I’ll bet my sister Bonnie remembers that too. Mom was really so creative, she was always coming up with these odd names – she must have had dozens of nicknames for our dog, whose name was Robin Hood but who was never called that by any of us.

Spent the night in the town of Diskit. Loved the town names in Nubra – there was also Hunder and Panamic. Drank some more Godfather Beer that night with Angdu – this time I showed him the beer cleaning trick and he found it fascinating. I think he’ll show his mates the trick sometime soon. Had a bowl of Tibetan noodles – tasteless – and hit the sack.

Next morning, had breakfast at the guesthouse before heading back to Leh. We had my new favorite breakfast – masala (mixed peppers and spices) omelette, with chapatis (flat Indian bread), butter and tea. I’ve always enjoyed eggs and bread together, and the Mexican equivalents – huevos rancheros, etc. Omelette and chapatti, with a bit of butter, makes for a very tasty breakfast rollup and I had it frequently while in Ladakh.

Stopped in Hunder to wander around. It was a cold morning, and the walk was pleasant and bracing. I sometimes find that I’m more introspective and alert when it’s cold, and that my thinking runs deeper. I wonder if any studies have been conducted relating quality/type of thinking with the weather. Anyway, I found myself wandering about and thinking a lot about my mother during that morning. I’m sure she would have loved to have seen the places I’m now visiting, and having these bizarre experiences. She was always open to seeing the world and learning.

Listened to Bryan Adams’s Greatest Hits on way back – was better than it sounds. Stopped at a weird little ring of mountains – I walked over to it, and there’s a lake in the center. Reminded me of Frodo’s walk to Mt. Doom in Lord of the Rings/Return of the King – I was looking out for Gollum the entire time.

While walking around this little, probably unnamed lake, I was trying to be in the moment and trying not to be distracted by various things – travel bookings, emails, etc. Doing one thing at a time is not what we’re trained to do these days, and can be a severe disadvantage. Is it possible to re-train ourselves and live in the moment? Is it even desirable? I think that if we can pull it off, we’ll be much happier – but I admit I don’t know how to slow down that much, even with my newly uncluttered life.

Got back to Leh, and went to arrange a ride to Manali, a large town in the next state south, Himachal Pradesh. I was sad to soon be leaving Ladakh, but felt I had done the right things and had a good set of adventures. And Angdu and I had become friends, and were planning to meet just before I took off, at the Hotel Ibex, for a few more beers (hopefully Kingfisher, not Godfather!). It was time to move on. The ‘shared taxi’ to Manali wouldn’t be pretty – a 14-hour ride leaving Leh at midnight, crammed with as many as 9 people. I opted for a window seat, and could only hope that my neighbors were petite Ladakhi women and not burly Indian laborers. Anyway, we’ll see.

Am looking forward to getting to ‘HP’ again. Was last there in ’92, with my friend Jan. Will be interesting to note the changes over the past 14 years. And perhaps, when I move from Manali to Dharamsala (home to the Dalai Lama and much of the Tibetan exile community) I will either resolve my inner conflict and be happy not to go on a trek – or I will be in the mood to get up into the mountains and challenge my aging bod – or I will remain torn and self-conflicted, an old Jew sitting around complaining when he should realize how good he has it!

N.B. 1 - Looks like BootsnAll hasn’t found the ‘lost posts,’ so I will get those back on the system, with photos, within a few days. It takes quite a while to upload photos…

N.B. 2 - Please post a comment…a bit of feedback would be greatly appreciated, and would probably help me upgrade the quality of these entries…

How random is that…I’ve always said that it pays to be aware of your surroundings (and Hunter S. Thompson famously said that ‘politics’ is merely the art of controlling your environment). Many times I’ve picked up a newspaper or magazine and read a piece related to something I just thought or wrote – examples will hopefully be provided later in this posting.

Had to fend off some thieving taxi drivers in the city and at the airport. They were quoting triple the meter rate, and all I could do was laugh at them and walk away. I doubt any philosophical lessons were communicated successfully, but at least I felt better. Met up with my financial advisor from Hong Kong, who flew down for the weekend. I got together with him, Bob and my ex-colleague John from Monitor. Went to a very nice Thai restaurant – I already forget the name, but take it from me, it was great! Then we went to a private club, much like a hostess club in Tokyo – had some good fun hanging around with some seriously stunning Thai women. I was hanging out with one who was half-Spanish – quite an unusual look. My Hong Kong friend and I shared notes during a bathroom break – interesting to note that our tastes seem at least partly driven by our origins. He prefers very light-skinned, bodacious women – whereas I’m partial to those with a bit of tint and on the lean side. I suppose the grass is always greener…

As I flew away from Thailand en route to Mumbai, India, I felt a real sense of calm – not the usual feeling for someone about to land in India. I was finally appreciating the lack of stress in my ‘new life.’ Perhaps it takes a few months for the change to sink in…and the stress of work had been replaced by travel planning, managing my finances remotely, etc. Still, the difference was immense, and at long last I was realizing this.

Backstory: I spent the summer of 1992 working for Ciba-Geigy in Mumbai (then called Bombay). It took a few weeks to adjust to the chaos of India, but I went on to have one of the 2-3 best summers of my life, and I wanted to stay longer. I arrived there knowing only 2 names – that of my new manager, and that of my b-school friend (really just an acquaintance by that point), Rajan Mehra. Within a few weeks I had joined my first Hash House Harriers Run, gotten a girlfriend, and joined a cool circle of friends that included a German drug enforcement agent (who didn’t seem that bothered by the odd joint), an Indian medical school student who was one of the best beer-chuggers I’d ever seen, and a cabal of three sisters from the far-off province of Nagaland (the capital of which, Kohima, was the farthest advance of the Japanese army during WW2). I also became much closer to Rajan and his group of friends, which included a gentle giant named Jatin and the cynical, witty Phiroze. I went down to the old Portuguese state of Goa with this group, and during my remaining time in Bombay my social schedule was booked solid.

After I finished my stint in Bombay, I traveled north to the state of Himachal Pradesh, where Dharamsala and Manali are located. I joined up with my old b-school buddy Jan and we did a trek from Dharamsala to Bramaur – not an easy trip. Almost died of dehydration one day – went from climbing and sliding down a glacier to climbing avalanches in the searing midday heat. The sherpas pushed us to cut out one day of the trip, so we compressed two into one – and were without agua for the second half of that day. I finally crawled into our destination and dunked my head into a cow trough, drinking in the foul water as if it were the finest nectar in the world. When I lifted my head out, I saw that the village cow was right there, looking at me with big sad brown orbs.

My Indian experience in 1992 has always been right here with me. It took me 10 years to return to the country – to Mumbai, Kochin and Goa – where I did a bit of work and took some holiday in the past few years. Coming back was good for me – to jog my fading memory, to see old friends, to smell the fragrances (not all fragrant) that are all around you in India. But I never had the time to revisit northern India, and I was unhappy about that. When there in 1992, amidst the Himalayas, I had vowed to return before long. Not the first promise I broke – but the vow lingered.

So I was back in India again – and for a real stretch of time, not just a week. I’d be spending almost half of my 7-month journey within India – which made sense, given my affinity for the place and given the sheer size of the place. First, I’d start in the cities and quickly work my way north, all the way to Leh, Ladakh, right near the Chinese and Tibetan borders (note the wording). I landed in Mumbai, and took a taxi to Rajan’s apartment. Took the driver some time to find it – I hadn’t been there in 14 years and wasn’t much help. Anyway, when I mentioned Rajan’s surname to the doorman it wasn’t particularly helpful – his grandfather built the apartment building and most of the flats are inhabited by members of his extended family. Finally tracked down Rajan, his wife Kalli, and their two adorable daughters – I had met Avantika a few years ago, but not Malvika yet. His cousin was away in Goa for a few days, so I had the use of his bed while in Mumbai – very comfortable, and a big change from the modest guesthouses I’d crashed in recently. Kudos to Rajan and his entire family for their excellent hospitality. Rajan and I went out for a bite and a few beers, then I slept till 10 the next morning.

I was only in Mumbai for a couple days – although I plan to use the city as a base and will return there a few more times between now and mid-December. On Monday I got up and chatted with Rajan’s uncle for a while – he’s a voluble businessman and we talked for a while about the trends in the country, and about my situation and travels. He was quite encouraging. It’s funny…I haven’t met anyone yet who’s hectored me to get married soon…people seem to like the idea of freedom, I suppose, and are happy to hear about what I’m up to.

I went out and walked around some old haunts – Churchgate, where I once darkened the doors of Hindustan Ceiba-Geigy, Ltd. Then walked down to Fort, where I inhaled plates of masala padad and tandoor pomfret at Mahesh Lunch Home, an old fave of mine where I had feasted with buddies back in 1992. Rajan had told me that the local beers still use glycerin as a preservative – the stuff gives you a real headache, and I had learned to ‘clean’ Indian beer years before in Kathmandu. Anyway, I had a Kingfisher at lunch and crossed my fingers.

Bought a newspaper – The Times of India – which cost only 4 Rupees (about 10 US cents). Rajan told me that the paper makes all its profits, which are substantial, from ads and not from selling the paper itself. Walked down to Colaba, the dock area, where the Taj Mahal Hotel and the Gateway of India are. Impressive edifices. Sat in the Taj and read my paper. Observed multitudes of local and foreign businesspeople thumbing their Blackberrys and having geeky conversations. Wondered for a sec if I missed these things – then came to my senses. Walked over to my favorite Mumbai café, Leopold’s – where years before I would break the cadence of Indian food with the occasional club sandwich. Leopold’s is truly a global hangout – at any time there are fellows in djellabahs, cowboy hats, safari suits, you name it. Leopold’s also has good draft beers and you can sit there for hours watching the craziness happen all around you. Felt like little had changed, at least within Leopold’s…but of course a new McD’s was next door, and there were Nike and Samsonite shops down the street. And I had noticed some impressive new malls on my cab ride from the airport. India was changing, to be sure – was there any downside to all the new shopping options, mobile calling plans, and eateries?

Had dinner that night at the Bombay Gymkhana club, a scene of some drunken Friday night parties back in ’92. Rajan and Kalli invited their friends, including the aforementioned Jatin and Phiroze. Everyone was doing very well in business and looked prosperous. The reforms that had started when I was there in ’92 – kicked off by the then-Prime Minister PV Narasimha Rao and his Finance Minister Manmohan Singh (the current PM) had, with some interruption, borne fruit for India. India’s politics are probably even messier than Thailand’s, and India’s transition has been a real roller-coaster at times – but you can’t stop rock and roll, unless you’re a senior Burmese general, of course.

Next day, had to get a SIM card for my mobile, and also a fresh stock of anti-malaria medicine. Finally was able to get these the next day, with some effort. To get an Indian SIM card you need to hand over a copy of your passport and a photo – wasn’t thrilled to give these to a random fellow manning the shop desk. But did it anyway, and will now wait to see if I wind up on international ‘no fly’ lists. To get the meds, went to a couple local pharmacies first. Indian pharmacies are awesome – first, you don’t need a prescription to get your stuff. Second, Indian pharmacos weren’t bound by product patent laws (there were process patent laws – so Indian firms just made the pills using a different approach, often more efficiently) until recently, so you can find generic knock-offs of virtually any Western drug, for pennies. Almost worth coming to India for that alone. But I needed mefloquine, and that seems to be a different sort of animal – one pharmacy told me they’d need a couple days to get it, or I could go to a hospital and try there. I tried another place, no dice there either. Walked towards Bombay Hospital, dreading the crush of humanity I’d find there. Saw one more pharmacy near it – and decided to give it a try, sometimes the places near a hospital are a bit better-supplied. And this place set me up – they had 4 boxes left and the price was right. Major errands done, I went back to Rajan’s and then to the airport to fly to Delhi.

On the flight up I reflected on a couple things. One was simply the annoyance of spending valuable time doing errands. Even without working, I carry around my mobile everywhere, partly because it has my dayplanner on it. And I use the dayplanner incessantly – the line-items are no longer chopped down to the 15-minute level, and are more likely to comprise ‘book hotel for Dharamsala’ than ‘conference call with Toshio’ – but I still feel busy. I’d seriously consider employing a manservant/valet to do my dirty work and free me completely. Of course, then I’d constantly worry that he was cheating me, or that I was overpaying him, or…you know what I mean. And while I consider myself an egalitarian American, I’m not exactly a man of the people, and I can see why those with means in India and Hong Kong have servants. In India they’re particularly critical if you want to get anything accomplished – when I was there in ’92 a houseboy ‘came’ with the apartment. I tended to cringe when he called me sir (I was 24 years old) and clean up after me (I was 24 years old), but it wasn’t bad either.

The other thing I thought about during the flight was less esoteric. Simply put, I was a bit concerned about landing it Delhi as night approached. The last time I did that, in ’92, I got screwed by a lying auto-rickshaw driver, who deposited me out of town in the boonies when I refused to switch from my hotel to one he recommended (to get a commission, of course). I kicked his puny little vehicle, swore at him (I knew some Hindi profanities back then – they’re good and dirty), and started walking towards the city center, which I assumed was where the distant lights shone. As I walked into the city on a dirt track, I heard a noise behind me and looked back. Three or four starving dogs were about 30 feet back, tongues out, heading right for me with obvious malice. For some reason an old Bill Cosby comedy piece came to mind: little Bill and his friend Old Weird Harold were too scared to walk home from the movie cinema at night because that was when all the monsters came out.

I momentarily thought of my mother in Boston – and how pained she would be to hear that I was eaten by hungry dogs in Delhi. I also thought it would be absolutely the wrong way to die, so decided to take some evasive maneuvers. I had nothing that could serve as a weapon, and made a mental note to obtain a sword in Delhi. I reached down to the dirt and pretended to pick something up – which I then pretended to throw well past the beasts, who then turned tail and ran after the phantom steak. That moved them back a bit – I picked up my pace, but didn’t run. The dogs started coming back, I again did the phantom toss, and they again fell for it. After doing this 5-6 times I was close to the city, and came up to a petrol station. Another auto-rickshaw driver was resting there, and when he saw me, sweaty and panting, he grabbed a tire iron and chased the dogs off.

That was my intro to Delhi, and I was hoping to avoid a repeat. Thankfully, the airport now offers pre-paid taxi service, and it works pretty well. A regular taxi took me to my Connaught Circle hotel. The hotel was a dump – I had to walk around piles of debris to get to my room. I cursed my timing – my b-school friend Hasmeeth was out of town, otherwise I would have stayed with him and lived it up large. But I was stuck with this place, and dealt with it. I was only in town for a day and a half, en route to the north.

New Delhi looks pretty good these days. Connaught Circle, the heart of the new city (built by the Brits around 1915 or so) is full of western chain stores and restaurants/pubs. Plenty to do for a few days around there. Didn’t get to the old city, where the old Moghul sites and the Gandhi burial pyre/memorial is located – will do that when passing back through Delhi after the north. Still had to deal with the usual Indian hassles – endless touts selling carpets, SIM card problems, an ATM which appeared to be eating my card, and frequent power cuts – the last of which surprised me, given that this was the Indian capital. In Burma, the junta siphons power from the rest of the country to ensure that their Potemkin village of Rangoon always has power. Of course, Burma is a military dictatorship and India is not. I did think a bit about the trade-offs inherent in staying at budget hotels/hostals – you save serious cash, but end up taking time to deal with stupid matters, like getting toilet paper, replacing broken keys, moving rooms when the power fails, etc. You end up remembering and cherishing the small set of budget places that get it right – there aren’t many of them.

Did I mention that there was a city-wide bandh (strike) the day I was in Delhi? Seems the government wanted to get rid of all the unlicensed vendors selling booze and knick-knacks, and attempted to ‘seal’ these outlets. I didn’t see much mayhem, but apparently the east side of the city got pretty ugly…

That afternoon I kicked back and read an old Time magazine. Was intrigued to see a story about the Burmese (Karen) Htoo brothers, I believe I mentioned them in one of my Burma posts. You may recall that these cheroot-smoking lads, under the age of ten, were leading an ethnic rebel army against the Burmese military. Turns out that one of them just surrendered to the government, while the other lives in a Thailand refugee camp with his wife and child. He can’t be over the age of 16. Talk about the CV’s these two could write: ‘Led lengthy campaign against world’s 9th largest army. Negotiated nuanced and durable peace treaty with said army. Successful businessman selling range of products: lumber, cigarettes, and heroin. Etc.’ Seeing these types of stories just reinforces my love of reading – I’m always picking up a random publication and picking up a storyline from years before (or the day before).

While showering that night I fought a short battle against a cockroach on the bathroom floor. My repeated water attacks succeeded in flushing the thing down the drain – at least for a while. I recalled my time in 1992 when I was terrorized in my flat by some sort of insect which kept poking its antennae up from the bathroom sink drain – every day I ran the water, and eventually graduated to ‘flaming’ it with deodorant and a lighter (my Tufts friends will recognize the technique). The thing kept coming back, for a few weeks, until I really went after it with the lighter – then it seemed to disappear. I had bad dreams during that period – the insect would climb from the sink and attack me while I slept. I even think I closed the bathroom door and my bedroom door just to prevent the unthinkable. Talk about lame…

I saw a Japanese tourist in the street wearing a T-shirt boasting ‘I scored last night.’ I doubt he knew what it meant. Weirdness reigns!

Next morning I got up at 3 a.m. to go to the airport to fly up north to Leh, Ladakh. I was surprised on two counts: first, I felt fine despite having only 2-3 hours of sleep, and second, the flight was on time. The problem was that it was scheduled for 5:40 a.m., a bit before I tend to rise these days. But I was excited to get up to Ladakh, I lacked the time back in ’92 and had always wanted to see the place. It’s part of Kashmir state – the safer side of the state – and is so far north and so high up that it’s almost lunar. Leh, the local capital, is 3,500 meters above sea level, and the airport is one of the highest in the world. When you get there, you immediately feel the oxygen deprivation – I took two naps my first day there.

Delhi and Mumbai airports have mobilephone charging stations, sponsored by the phone companies. Very good idea – the power costs are probably negligible, and given that Indians aren’t the least talkative people in the world, the incremental calls made are likely significant.

When you step off the plane in Leh, you immediately notice the military presence. Ladakh borders China, and in 1962 a war was fought over territory near here. There are Indian soldiers everywhere – kind of annoying. They drive like mad all around town and honk loudly – I suspect the locals despite them, although the level of animosity is probably far lower than around Srinagar, where the locals are Muslim and the tensions are high. Ladakhis seem pretty mellow Buddhists – but I suppose Buddhists can bow your brains out too. See Cambodia and Sri Lanka for more details…

You also notice the mountains and landscape right away. Not many trees can survive up here. The sky is intensely blue and bright. Clouds seem seconds away. Sounds (like my thumping heart) seem right in your ear. The ground is rocky and cratered – guess I don’t need to pony up $10 million to visit the moon now.

The plane was semi-full. Tourist season is coming to a close, just a few weeks to go, but still a fair number of travelers coming in. I didn’t have a firm hotel booking, and as I didn’t know Leh I was slightly anxious. I got my backpack off the belt and quickly caught a cab to town. Went to the place I wanted to stay – turned out to be a) a real oasis and very comfortable, and b) not full, so I was in business. As you may have surmised from my posts, when I get to a new place I almost always walk around and get a sense of the place – after that, I’m more relaxed and I can pick and choose my activities (or lack thereof). But in Leh, the altitude is such that you really can’t do much for a day or two…and given that I had had only 2-3 hours of sleep, I needed more anyway, so I plopped down on the nice bed, covered myself with blankets (including one awesome furry number….meow!) and snoozed till noon. Then I did my little walk, ate some fine Tibetan mutton momos (dumplings), and got my bearings.

Leh is incredibly peaceful – unlike Mumbai and Delhi. For newcomers, you really pay attention to your breath, as it’s a bit labored when you arrive. I felt like I was having an extended yoga pranayama class for the first day or so. The people are friendly and relaxed – although the drivers have the Indian penchant for honking when you’re walking half a mile down the road. The outside door of my guesthouse had a sign warning that the door would be closed at 11 p.m. I asked the proprietor about that – I hate having those sorts of restrictions – and he just laughed and said he put the sign there during the World Cup to ‘keep things calm.’ Of course, the World Cup had ended two months beforehand…but what’s the hurry? The air was slightly chilly, although the sun was warm. Ladakh gets some crazy temperature extremes – you can get frostbite and sunstroke at the same time. I think you’d need to actually try to do so…but the point is that one needs to be somewhat mindful when in off-the-grid places like this.

The cool air was perfect for September – the autumn chill reached out and tickled my New England DNA. But that’s pretty much where the New England connection ended. As I sat at my hotel window staring out at the mountains at dusk, I heard bells and chants coming from somewhere in the old town. The smells that drifted by the window were a heady mixture of flowers, incense, cow dung, and sulfur. It felt as if life itself had taken a shower and put on new clothes. In the West there’s no identifiable smell, unless you’re standing next to a dumpster (or my toilet). In places like India, your nose is constantly being given work to do…sometimes the odor isn’t pleasant, but more often than not in my experience it’s quite good. I couldn’t believe it had taken me 14 years to return to northern India.

I visited a tour outfitter to see about some short trips in Ladakh. There were 3-4 distant places I wanted to see, so that pretty much ruled out a multi-day trek, which would only hit a couple of them. Plus, it was getting cold at night. Plus, I was feeling a bit lazy (for me). I told myself I’d do a trek in Himachal Pradesh, out of Dharamsala, as Jan and I did in ’92. I felt a bit guilty at not doing a Ladakh trek – I met a few people who were about to start one, and I knew that Jan had done more than one. But I held fast and decided to make my time in Ladakh more touring as opposed to trekking. Jan had given me the name of his outfitter, and I thought they seemed good, so I went with them for my various mini-trips around Ladakh. More on that in the next post – as I haven’t actually started these trips yet.

Spent my second day in Leh checking out the local sights. Leh Palace was built in the 17th century and is sometimes known as the ‘mini Potala’ after the real deal in Lhasa, Tibet. The palace towers above the town – it’s no longer inhabited, as the local royal family was exiled to the town of Stok back around 1830. The place is huge and impressive, but inside it’s bare and crumbling. Workers were there, and I hear that the place is always undergoing renovations. The view of the town and the nearby mountains are stunning - words simply cannot describe it. But here are a few attempts…

After the palace, climbed a steep switchback road up to the Namgyal Tsemo Gompa, built in 1430. Was sweating hard when I reached the top. I do love the feeling of sweat drying with a cool breeze, so was able to sit at the top and let the winds seduce me for a few minutes…met up with a very colorful looking local fellow, shown here:

Went back to my guesthouse. Listened to the sounds of the canals for a while – if I didn’t know better, I could have sworn it was pouring out. Lit some incense and did a bit of yoga at dusk – the power was out but it didn’t matter at all. The yoga felt mystical and the sound of the water soothed my savage breast. I couldn’t help but smile, really – I think what I’ve truly been seeking in recent years is peace and quiet, and time to reflect. Finally, I was getting closer to my core needs, and was looking forward to smiles coming on freer and easier in coming months.

Postscript: my brother-in-law Dave noticed that several of my recent posts are missing on the blogsite. Seems BootsnAll had a database screwup and lost all postings (everyone’s) between August 17 and September 15 - they’re looking for them now. Anyway, they were cached on Google, so I was able to retrieve them. That’s the good news…the flip side is that the Burmese government can probably read them too, and next time I apply for a visa I might get the Heisman. Anyway, will re-post soon if BootsnAll doesn’t take care of this…thanks for playing.

(BTW, if the photos are too small for you to see details, just left click on the ones you want to see. A super-size version will probably come up - if so, just right click on it, then select ’show picture’ and you should get a normal-sized version.)

I took more than 300 photos of the place – and because my memory card can only hold around 120 or so high-res. shots, I had to find photo shops who could dump my shots onto a CD-ROM. Ordinarily I just dump the shots onto my laptop, but had left that in my friend Bob’s place in Bangkok, as I had heard that Burmese Immigration would confiscate and hold computers and mobiles, and that didn’t sound appealing. I was actually happy to leave these distractions in Bangkok, but soon realized that Burma was perhaps the most photogenic place I’d ever visited, and that my memory card wasn’t cutting it. Gotta bump my 256MB Sony Memory Stick up to 1-2 gigs – if anyone’s listening, that’s what I want for Hanukkah or my next birthday!!

Thankfully, the Burmese camera shops were ready for me, and were real rock stars. All of them could burn the CD-ROM and thus allow me to take another round of photos. I got back to Bangkok with 5 CD-ROMs full of photos, which I then moved over to my laptop. Anyone who’s considering a trip to Burma should certainly go out and purchase a sizeable memory card.
The Bagan temples were generally very cool. There’s simply too much to say to get into details here, but I’ll list a few thoughts:
• I was generally happy about visiting the area when I did – during monsoon season. Rain was only a minor hassle, and the tourist count was low, allowing me to be lazy and just show up at hotels and get air tix on the fly. But my big day visiting the temples of Bagan coincided with the final day of school holidays, so scores of kids were hanging around the main temples, pushing the area’s very nice lacquerware, necklaces, etc. The kids were extremely cute and photogenic (photos below), but I hate this sort of thing when I’m sight-seeing and it drove me nuts. The kids use the term ‘lucky money’ and it seems they want the $$ for buying school supplies, paying fees, etc. My solution was to forgo buying anything, but to pay the kids to show me around the temples and to let me take their picture. I’d then give them 1,000-2,000 kyats and all seemed well. I was given a couple small ‘gifts’ by some of the kids with whom I got on well.

• If you don’t want to buy something, make it clear. Don’t beat around the bush, and certainly don’t ask the price – if you do that, you’re departing from your original logic and you’ll get stuck in a protracted discussion/pleading session that’s quite uncomfortable.
• At Manuha Temple, ran into a truckload of out-of-town monks visiting the massive reclining/sleeping (but not dead!) Buddha shrine there. These monks were particularly merry and we were soon laughing together for no particular reason. Manuha is an interesting place…background is that King Manuha of the Mon people was a Buddhist 500-600 years ago, and tried to convince his contemporary King Anawthra of Thaton to convert. Anawthra asked Manuha for some ancient Buddhist books, Manuha said no as he suspected Anawthra wasn’t serious, and the latter proved he was indeed serious by invading the Mon kingdom and capturing/imprisoning Manuha. Manuha was allowed to build the temple that now bears his name, and he spent his final years there. Goes to show that the path to hell is indeed paved with good intentions!

• One of the cool things about Burma, and to some extent other Asian nations,’ is the breakfast offerings. Many Burmans eat a noodle soup called mohinga for breakfast – it’s a bit sweet, the noodles are tangy, and you can put a bit of chicken and/or fish and chillis into it. Quite nice…and a good departure from either no breakfast or from English-style. I had a few bowls of mohinga during my trip – quality/flavor differs noticeably from place to place. Sometimes had a cheroot (Burmese style cigar) after breakfast. When I was in Croatia years ago I enjoyed their burek, which is a pie-like food, definitely greasy, with layers of cheese and meat. Not an everyday thing, but nice enough.
• Had to force myself to do all the corny activities in Bagan and elsewhere – horse rides, boat rides, etc. I generally hate to be a captive audience, and to do the same things everyone else does (you won’t find me on many package tours), but at the same time it’s worth it to book a $5 hour-long boat ride and check out the Bagan sunset on the Ayeyarwaddy (“Big River”) River. Got some very nice shots that way, and seeing the sun setting on pagodas peeking up above trees or perched high on mountains was memorable.

• Took a half-day trip to Mt. Popa, which is a monastery/pagoda at the top of a sharp little volcanic mountain. Astonishing geology – to approach the mountain from the main road is something else. It’s one of the iconic photos of Burma, you’ve probably seen one at some point. Climbed the 700+ steps, sweated a lot, and watched the local monkeys run around the place and occasionally get into (bloody) battles. View from atop was excellent. The experience was compounded by our having stopped at a village rum toddy factory and having several tastings of the local product – it’s made from sugar cane and packs a punch.

• Final night in Bagan, had dinner at a local café. Pretty good meal, but the kicker was the little plate of candies laid out at the end. Turned out to be tamarind candies – unbelievably tangy and sweet stuff. My step-mother Ellen would love these candies – too bad they are so fragile they can’t be carried, they’d turn to dust after a few hours in a bag.

At the end of the day, I was happy to have had the Bagan driver take me around. My back was killing me so wasn’t up for a bike ride around the place…and I would have gotten confused/lost anyway. For US$20 he took me to all the major sights and gave me some background, and when all was said and done I really wondered why I had been feeling down my first night in Bagan. I suppose it was my general tendency to distrust anyone who comes ‘bearing gifts.’ I should take a lesson from many of the locals, who are incredibly low on cynicism and are usually smiling and waving – despite living under a brutal military regime and suffering the daily slings of its policies.

Considered taking a river boat up to Mandalay, but was running short on time. Boat would have taken 12 hours, and I really wanted to get up to Mandalay and see the sights there quickly, as my Bangkok-based friend Bob was coming into Mandalay and I only had a half-day to see the ancient capitals outside the city and perhaps a few city sights too. So I flew, which only cost US$30 and took 20 minutes. I’ve gotta say that Burma’s air industry is impressive in its turnaround times – many flights are multi-segment, i.e. Heho-Mandalay-Yangon, or other permutations, and they get people and baggage on and off and take off again within 10 minutes. Granted, the planes are small and the airports are nearly empty, but it’s still nice to have such a mellow, informal system – no taking off the shoes, etc. The only hitch is that delays are frequent – but didn’t hit me too hard.

Was met at Mandalay’s brand-new airport by a friend of the Bagan driver – again, I was enmeshed in a network of conspirators, in a manner. Anyway, I was now more comfortable with being a ‘kept man’ and allowed this fellow to take me to the ancient cities of Inwa/Ava and Amanapura, both of which were ancient capitals of Burma and which were now either sparsely inhabited by farmers and tour guides or modern versions of the old cities. Inwa required a 2.5 hour horse/cart tour, which was pretty interesting. A few ancient pagodas and monasteries still remain, but you can certainly feel and see the ravages of time. Amanapura is famous for its 1.5 km teak bridge across the Ayeyarwaddy River – I took a boat across one way, and walked the bridge in the other. Had a nice lunch at a riverside café with the driver, and knocked back a couple bottles of Myanmar Beer. Tastes great, very filling. A couples shots of the local kids and the teak bridge:

Then raced up to Mandalay to hit two main sights before meeting Bob at the guesthouse. First, went to Mahamuni Pagoda, which is a massive Buddha complex in the city, and which has more vendor stalls than most malls. While there, I was invited (for a small fee) to help gild the Buddha – a fellow hands you a small sheet of gold leaf and you just stick it on the Buddha statue. Random. I then met a very friendly monk (of course, I initially suspected him of being a government agent) who chatted with me for a while, and was kind enough to show me to the toilet, which was approximately a 2 km walk from where we met. Quite an impressive complex.

The street-level feeling I got from Mandalay was nothing special. The city is young – established in 1857 by the penultimate Burmese king, Mindon Min, whose successor fell to the Brits about 20 years later. Mandalay, the new capital, was called ‘the center of the universe,’ but now it’s a dusty, quiet place which feels more like the center of Mandalay Division (which it is, officially). You certainly see the Chinese ‘invasion’ here – many, many new 2-3 story buildings have gone up in Chinese style – i.e. garish, pink and incredibly cheesy – and my driver told me that 12% of the city’s inhabitants are now Chinese and that Burmese like him are being forced out to the city’s fringes. His car is owned by a Chinese fleet owner, and apparently that’s very normal these days.

Near sunset he drove me out to Mandalay Hill, a famous place to visit. I climbed the steps and was greeted by a very nice view of the city and environs. The city is much more appealing when viewed from the heights – you can see the trees, and the countryside is attractive. There’s a golf course – who the hell plays there, probably the Chinese business community and the military – and a huge prison as well. And a school for the teaching of traditional medicine. I ran into a friendly French couple whom I had met and spoken with at Mandalay Airport – we hung out a bit and compared notes. Burma is one of those places where you continuously run into the same people – that happened several times later as well. Enjoyed the view (photo below), then climbed down and went to the guesthouse to meet Bob.

Bob had arrived without a hitch, and was sleeping soundly, so I woke him up and our driver took us for a quick bite of Shan food, then to the (in)famous Moustache Brothers show. These 3 fellows (actually 2 brothers and their cousin) put on a political and cultural show every night – with criticism of the junta, local singing and dancing, and just general joking around. The English-speaking MC, Lu Maw, is an absolute riot – I bought the CD if anyone wants to see it. His brother and cousin were arrested in 1996 and spent 5+ years in the clink. They had told anti-government jokes at a democracy rally held at Aung San Suu Kyi’s house in Rangoon, and agents turned them in. The cousin, Lu Zaw, seemed to me to be carrying the psychic scars quite heavily still, whereas Par Par Lay, Lu Maw’s brother and the ‘head Moustache Brother,’ still seems off-the-wall and light-hearted. Anyway, the show was brilliant and I would go again if I had the chance. Bought their T-shirt too, but didn’t dare wear it while in Burma – that would be pushing my luck. Aung Sun Suu Kyi visited the Moustache Brothers in Mandalay a few years ago, while free, and she’s known them from way back - they have amazing pics of her while a young woman (see below). Our driver picked us up after the show – and mentioned that a government agent had been hanging around the street in front of the house.

It is surprising that these guys are allowed to perform – but only for tourists, and only in English. I suppose the government looks at it as a way of keeping subversive elements above-ground and in one place – and if they threw them in jail again, the uproar might be too much for even the junta to stomach. When they were in jail years ago, Rob Reiner and others wrote letters, and the movie About a Boy mentioned Par Par Lay’s imprisonment. Anyway, after the show Bob and I spoke with Lu Maw for a few minutes, and had a good discussion about the general situation. He also asked us the definitions of a few English words, including ‘patriot’ – good one there. Lu Maw’s English is pretty solid – he’s self-taught, and picks up a few words every day. He’s very into using colloquialisms – his brother and cousin were ‘sent up the river,’ ‘in the clink,’ and ‘under lock and key.’ Every time he successfully throws out one of these expressions, he grins madly and it’s huge fun and laughs for the audience. Certainly one of the more entertaining shows I’ve ever seen, PG-rated or otherwise. And Bob and I got to pose with the Brothers holding various subversive signs - see below. You can find out more about the Moustache Brothers online, I’m sure.

The next day we drove 4-5 hours out to Hsipaw, which is in Shan State and a good place for treks and just chilling. We had a bit of a negotiation with our driver, whom we had asked to price a lengthy trip – Mandalay-Hsipaw-Mandalay-Kalaw. We thought he was a bit high, and got information from another source. We drove the price down and while the driver seemed cranky for a couple hours, he soon came around and we were all cool. This fellow was actually wonderful – good-natured, knowledgeable, opinionated, and fun. He, Bob and I got on well as we went to Hsipaw. We stopped at a huge Buddhist cave (name eludes me, and I’ve tossed my guidebook), then got into Hsipaw as night fell. We stayed in the one real option there – Mr. Charles Guesthouse. Hsipaw is known for the “Mr’s”– Mr. Charles Guesthouse, Mr. Food (a Chinese joint), Mr. Book (obvious), and formerly Mr. Donald, a nephew of the last Shan sao pha (literally, ‘sky king’), local nobility who lived in a mini-palace and gave tours to foreigners – until he was arrested a year ago and sentenced to 13 years for talking about politics with foreigners. My guidebook didn’t have anything about his arrest, so I was shocked when I asked to go see him and was told what had occurred. Crazy and fucked up.

That first night in Hsipaw, the three of us went to Mr. Food and ate a huge meal. I thought the highlight (besides the lengthy row of Myanmeer Beer bottles we were lining up) was the ‘dry fish curry.’ Everything’s either rice (thamin) or a curry (hin) in Burmese food – this was simply a large, whole fried fish (some sort of river carp or perch, methinks) that was very moist and flaky on the inside – we ate some of the smaller bones, they melted right in the mouth. Wasn’t the curry I was used to – but quit