tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937127788617113952024-02-18T20:37:36.259-05:00palimpsesttravel stories and photosjezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-32884206376284856742014-04-23T11:28:00.000-04:002014-04-23T11:30:32.896-04:00Cancun WeddingI was corresponding with one of my former work colleagues when he told me he was getting married in Cancun in a few weeks. He had seen my photography and really liked my work. "I already have a photographer," he told me, "but what would you charge to shoot my wedding?" I assumed he was trying to figure out if he was getting a good deal from his photographer.<br />
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Since I don't shoot weddings anymore, I had to do a bit of research. I concluded that a cheap-but-good photographer might charge around a thousand bucks. Better photographers run two to three thousands and it goes up from there depending on what events the photographer shoots. I was freezing through a Quebec winter and joked that I would have shot his wedding for expenses alone, just to spend a few days in the tropics. The joke was on me because he wrote back saying he accepted my offer. Two days later he sent me my airline ticket and hotel confirmation.<br />
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Wedding photographers will get very upset at this point because I'm either not charging what I'm worth or that I'm undercutting their business. Not having shot a wedding in decades, I could not justify calling myself a wedding photographer so I could hardly justify charging a "proper" rate. I was doing nothing else at the time, so a few days hanging out with my pal and taking pictures somewhere warm would normally be a vacation. Here he was willing to foot the bill so it was a win/win as far as I was concerned.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZ2vVk0IYkukgrjAAJAYolxggwKQA8GSToaIMombLlQRHRCgidYN0riWxPnx7dfEeznPxGSvEQ_0A2xtHRJy_c33J4AX1BOwo4hrGNxSiCwjA8_eSVMCN1ZuKA7myeDviRiFOuIq5xiU/s1600/J130225_0177pb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZ2vVk0IYkukgrjAAJAYolxggwKQA8GSToaIMombLlQRHRCgidYN0riWxPnx7dfEeznPxGSvEQ_0A2xtHRJy_c33J4AX1BOwo4hrGNxSiCwjA8_eSVMCN1ZuKA7myeDviRiFOuIq5xiU/s1600/J130225_0177pb.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loving the beach!</td></tr>
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My flight left very early on a Friday morning. I arrived at the airport an hour early, not expecting to find thousands of people dropping off their bags and waiting to get through security. I considered the speed of the line multiplied by the number of people waiting and concluded that I would not make my flight. The weekend was not starting off well!<br />
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Sometimes they let people jump the line if their flight was leaving soon. I wasn't in the position now, but I would be before long. I took another look at my ticket and noticed that I had gold status. I'd not flown in nearly a year and assumed that I was back to steerage privileges. I quickly got into the gold line and checked in five minutes later. I still had to deal with the line entering the security area. I'm not talking about the security line, but the line to get into the line in the security area. There was still a risk of missing my flight.<br />
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Then I noticed the sign inviting elite fliers to enter through a different line ... a line with no one in it. I wasn't sure my gold status would qualify, but if I could skip past the two-hundred people waiting in line, it was worth a shot. The attendant scanned my ticket and waved me through. Victory!<br />
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Good fortune rained down on me once more as I discovered there was an elite line for security and only three people were in it. I got through security so quickly that I had plenty of time ... to go to the Air Canada lounge! My gold status enabled me to relax and enjoy cappuccino and muffins for a good twenty minutes before heading to my gate. The weekend was starting off well!<br />
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I hoped to meet Chris when I arrived at the Cancun airport, but his flight was an hour ahead of mine. I had to make it to Cozumel on my own. The taxi stand was a monopoly and they took advantage of the fact. A car to the ferry terminal cost 100 USD, a shared bus was $25. I later learned that the public bus was a fraction of this price and actually faster.<br />
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I piled into the bus with five other people. Just before we pulled away, another man joined us. When he shut the door he let out a big sigh. "You made it," I said, "you're here!" The other passengers laughed, recognizing that the worse part of our trip was behind us and we were now in the warmth and sunshine of the Yucatan. He said something about needing some music to get into the mood. Moments later, the van was filled with the sound "Margaritaville" blasting from his portable speakers. The weekend was getting better!<br />
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The van stopped at three big resorts to let off the other passengers, my stop was last. The driver could not take me directly to the ferry terminal, so I had to walk a few hundred meters through a square bustling with tourists and Mexican holidaymakers. I really wanted to take my time exploring, but all the guests were expected for dinner shortly.<br />
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During the slow ride across the straight, a remarkably good band performed contemporary hits, keeping us all entertained. I collected my bag at the terminal and started asking people the location of my hotel. No one ever heard of it. I knew it was within walking distance so I started down the main road hoping to spot it. Some time later, I realized I had the wrong hotel name.<br />
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By the time I checked in, the other guests would already be at the restaurant eating dinner. I quickly changed, collected my camera gear and caught a taxi.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2_lb6YMq3nqbkSkks9F30idIMGwd71DIaKrS-tiwXQnZQrOkKRiJcb1hAdo40wz844igR13ngSQKnJXluqrBrgrjPwZ9Fi8p4zeWWv0Kc-4nV2NJGmy5p4478Bf7FCdLtnaF55ZB7Xn8/s1600/J130222_0731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2_lb6YMq3nqbkSkks9F30idIMGwd71DIaKrS-tiwXQnZQrOkKRiJcb1hAdo40wz844igR13ngSQKnJXluqrBrgrjPwZ9Fi8p4zeWWv0Kc-4nV2NJGmy5p4478Bf7FCdLtnaF55ZB7Xn8/s1600/J130222_0731.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cozumel, I am here!</td></tr>
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A few people recognized me when I entered (it helped that I was laden with camera gear). Chris greeted me and introduced me to about twenty people taking up a long table. I was more concerned with taking pictures than eating at this point, but I still managed to get some food in me. I grabbed candid shots of any many of the guests as I could before everyone finished.<br />
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The restaurant was also a distillery. After eating, we sampled some of their various tequilas. Some were ideal for making cocktails, but the finer quality distillations were as smooth as cognac.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXvY3KcrP-yXOKHYfaeOOQ9HG9ZWb17vXq_wiM0P_0EFoLAZx9tFY8zNoT5wLCp6BP5qAJuMGxXYJ9PDz2GTJzBSwEQw3fcJ_r1HHKCM9ehtSDuzLxrKm3GU9niOWPXHnFT11AUzJAUY/s1600/J130221_0132.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXvY3KcrP-yXOKHYfaeOOQ9HG9ZWb17vXq_wiM0P_0EFoLAZx9tFY8zNoT5wLCp6BP5qAJuMGxXYJ9PDz2GTJzBSwEQw3fcJ_r1HHKCM9ehtSDuzLxrKm3GU9niOWPXHnFT11AUzJAUY/s1600/J130221_0132.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone tries the tequila!</td></tr>
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I arranged to meet Chris and Monica in the morning to get some shots of them prior to the ceremony. I woke early enough to grab some breakfast, scout out the area, and to get some photos of the hotel.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzoCbjgfHoJY2Wvr7TB6c9p2axN7liDr5plVUH3_WT-3nlPy8QX-dn6xlunQeMGWkFDWqosKJO4q1lTxfEXnnQSWIdN1sBfjIo2e2SLaLWByedguvDXc1rqS6TzTHdLH5vtnjBUFuOZHU/s1600/J130222_0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzoCbjgfHoJY2Wvr7TB6c9p2axN7liDr5plVUH3_WT-3nlPy8QX-dn6xlunQeMGWkFDWqosKJO4q1lTxfEXnnQSWIdN1sBfjIo2e2SLaLWByedguvDXc1rqS6TzTHdLH5vtnjBUFuOZHU/s1600/J130222_0004.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pool terrace faces the straight, but this image was more appealing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmlF0QSdPiNNor3s0NVbXgoJQ7F7jYf-xNwVQwxg4ARrhYVXjZECaGerEe2niLjneAJBiKf7G9xZCW4GBynHtu4yu8TW_mJQyY4SkvNvuKrtZqsb9nRYnsX0Pw2NQ3GSaYy1AfpaiYTrU/s1600/J130222_0038b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmlF0QSdPiNNor3s0NVbXgoJQ7F7jYf-xNwVQwxg4ARrhYVXjZECaGerEe2niLjneAJBiKf7G9xZCW4GBynHtu4yu8TW_mJQyY4SkvNvuKrtZqsb9nRYnsX0Pw2NQ3GSaYy1AfpaiYTrU/s1600/J130222_0038b.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris and Monica</td></tr>
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With camera, strobe and tripod, I arrived at the bride and groom's room, ready for a fun shoot. The plan was to get romantic shots of them waking up together, looking out the window, wondering what the new day would bring ... romantic stuff.<br />
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We started with them in bed then in robes on the balcony. Although the sun was behind us, the white finish of the hotel bounced the light around and made an excellent high-key setting.<br />
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They choose Cozumel for their wedding when they visited the town on a cruise holiday a few years earlier. I managed to pose one photo to make it appear as if they were on a cruise ship.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnffS3l7nCpSsLMf_hm3TcWD7tJkCpgyn1-mLjhM4RKglhYMicmYMkT2wWU_i8jV0f-dfCxcAN11KuIkglCODdulDo0kUxveBwPLDQ0aNl_ZI7LWKM8zcUQr454YLeZIFJXJJOmKuUl8k/s1600/J130222_0089p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnffS3l7nCpSsLMf_hm3TcWD7tJkCpgyn1-mLjhM4RKglhYMicmYMkT2wWU_i8jV0f-dfCxcAN11KuIkglCODdulDo0kUxveBwPLDQ0aNl_ZI7LWKM8zcUQr454YLeZIFJXJJOmKuUl8k/s1600/J130222_0089p.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This angle is reminiscent of a cruise ship balcony.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkaWNnUdN78STKXWO_2M7PCskJ9bk11li8JEFiWec5mwvNzdofPzrs9g_jUdomT14qaZKMB4lktz69Nz_RMcEnFBZP1SR44urEIatlbZvwsaXa6dtPGRGo_Rig913pQsZWqK-4Jx1bQRo/s1600/J130222_0148p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkaWNnUdN78STKXWO_2M7PCskJ9bk11li8JEFiWec5mwvNzdofPzrs9g_jUdomT14qaZKMB4lktz69Nz_RMcEnFBZP1SR44urEIatlbZvwsaXa6dtPGRGo_Rig913pQsZWqK-4Jx1bQRo/s1600/J130222_0148p.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcdQTj1Z_kDXRpNMCek05pBNwXIhphrK0MyNBinr7JbW-tH5Rm3n31pHCfmXSVfEukm5SOgexkxm6f2b4lo_6D91iKS2jGSBoPZF4tCDQvWWvZvQLIQ58RT288_fEyvK5UCBnB5Vvqd6Y/s1600/J130222_0234p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcdQTj1Z_kDXRpNMCek05pBNwXIhphrK0MyNBinr7JbW-tH5Rm3n31pHCfmXSVfEukm5SOgexkxm6f2b4lo_6D91iKS2jGSBoPZF4tCDQvWWvZvQLIQ58RT288_fEyvK5UCBnB5Vvqd6Y/s1600/J130222_0234p.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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Leaving the couple to get ready, I tracked down the best man and a few of the guests to test the light on the terrace. Since the couple had only about twenty people in attendance, I wanted to get one good shot of each person at the wedding. During the course of the day, I succeeded.<br />
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When Monica and Chris came down, I did another set of photos with them in their wedding attire. Monica looked exceptionally nice ... especially against that beautiful sea!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweUkg42yRyjTJA9CY3bLm2a9bRS6bRu7X9gL8x7O7t18CxkC2Tgl9YdDTgNqkH1MNoEGedgwEV08g82Il1k0aI4QIs4jKRtkcxfLqofm1U_Co5JNPItdmPTbdoao0lvTPHqzT6ZRTK5o/s1600/J130222_0345p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweUkg42yRyjTJA9CY3bLm2a9bRS6bRu7X9gL8x7O7t18CxkC2Tgl9YdDTgNqkH1MNoEGedgwEV08g82Il1k0aI4QIs4jKRtkcxfLqofm1U_Co5JNPItdmPTbdoao0lvTPHqzT6ZRTK5o/s1600/J130222_0345p.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very relaxed bride!</td></tr>
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To get to the wedding, the couple arranged a jeep safari. While we waited for the vehicles, I set up some of the guests for an informal group portrait. Their colors coordinated brilliantly.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpUqAfdL_4E0f3cQ-d7soBr-RotCZWGJKiC_LRi36HuwAAELCd7DUhXUCoj03Jl_EHDoR0MeKbw9BpEYAeHfRf-ROlQjDYGqwB7v69jB_AK2em7ztut7YVKHmys6CkgFkA-Sst0Kcph0/s1600/J130222_0375b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpUqAfdL_4E0f3cQ-d7soBr-RotCZWGJKiC_LRi36HuwAAELCd7DUhXUCoj03Jl_EHDoR0MeKbw9BpEYAeHfRf-ROlQjDYGqwB7v69jB_AK2em7ztut7YVKHmys6CkgFkA-Sst0Kcph0/s1600/J130222_0375b.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pastel colors, perfectly coordinated for a tropical affair.</td></tr>
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The wedding was held on a breakwater at the sea's edge. My attention was immediately drawn to the floral arrangements.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5-r4FSDYyX6NoP_uXd6RREU2z4JXAkJG3V1aHF9xtvnxXrgl5m1r_4E1E65zkZOq3wcDoFI7CCcGmBnIh6dwSb4bbsRnM-cFMYWp98nO8Awv73PoQY2QhyQbMQKnT6GlC6JH3RJw4ys/s1600/J130222_0413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5-r4FSDYyX6NoP_uXd6RREU2z4JXAkJG3V1aHF9xtvnxXrgl5m1r_4E1E65zkZOq3wcDoFI7CCcGmBnIh6dwSb4bbsRnM-cFMYWp98nO8Awv73PoQY2QhyQbMQKnT6GlC6JH3RJw4ys/s1600/J130222_0413.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flowers were aplenty at the wedding.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigtUeARrluES8BkQD1QaBEm4O55q0t8shOjcIlumNELMCSYn3txJII5VR2cSxd_K6r7jf0kmdEEOyi_kaFFmoNrsiqSRmWKRGgAtCVloWSDzKtyzcRhbloEuq97E0E91MYGZ9p2b0IGWY/s1600/J130222_0468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigtUeARrluES8BkQD1QaBEm4O55q0t8shOjcIlumNELMCSYn3txJII5VR2cSxd_K6r7jf0kmdEEOyi_kaFFmoNrsiqSRmWKRGgAtCVloWSDzKtyzcRhbloEuq97E0E91MYGZ9p2b0IGWY/s1600/J130222_0468.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ceremony was a splash of pastels against the blue sky and sea.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZdDIaaS032mx_3yQlbSabH-5eyneKmY6V1SjakENeNzb21YSjGVHcsBYGkaLn95Kt5RMV6IUapReLUoGOxrg8L8yRVV2_BF9Sy5r0XIKF6bzUh_Y04dbDKzTqkhMvX14GBVP_p80JSU/s1600/J130222_0558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZdDIaaS032mx_3yQlbSabH-5eyneKmY6V1SjakENeNzb21YSjGVHcsBYGkaLn95Kt5RMV6IUapReLUoGOxrg8L8yRVV2_BF9Sy5r0XIKF6bzUh_Y04dbDKzTqkhMvX14GBVP_p80JSU/s1600/J130222_0558.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hitched at last.</td></tr>
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Beneath an archway of flowers, the couple exchanged vows. This being my first wedding this century, I had never seen anyone using a computer tablet to read their vows. Well, tears of happiness were shed by more than a few people present.<br />
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Part of the ceremony included pouring two different colors of sand into a bottle, signifying two becoming one. Monica and Chris then walked down the peddle-strewn isle of sand where they greeted their guests once again, this time as husband and wife.<br />
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Everyone moved to the restaurant next door seafood lunch. On the agenda was making toasts, making speeches, making merry, eating cake ... and making more merry.<br />
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After eating and carrying on, we got back into the jeeps and drove the road around the island, stopping at a couple of tourist traps. Everyone had to try one of the bizarre, alcohol-laden, coconut cocktails.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2mj_vK07cGUaRdzughEZ1-3ZS6YPyRlkVFCAfS9mjqJPntM8nyJa52fuY1qKncJGDk5UFuHQQF7a-b__7on8mxkSwKM8FAV-JiJ2PvIDioM_Qr4VGJbE89aS3ZeR0-oCl-E5gGA2fKcI/s1600/J130222_0630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2mj_vK07cGUaRdzughEZ1-3ZS6YPyRlkVFCAfS9mjqJPntM8nyJa52fuY1qKncJGDk5UFuHQQF7a-b__7on8mxkSwKM8FAV-JiJ2PvIDioM_Qr4VGJbE89aS3ZeR0-oCl-E5gGA2fKcI/s1600/J130222_0630.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It tasted as delicious as it looked.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5t-DFuofygPEW7B0jF1v64_Bvlm4nwAYmRXDDcmEMqoYFMmEQTR5He1jrO4R5hFSh_RImJnESB1eQwOp7lg6R8KwF7XfGPwSl-bLVZtnSgD1Q_O4xIYcHAXCwcRaOLEYVqT3-h6qQAa8/s1600/J130222_0732.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5t-DFuofygPEW7B0jF1v64_Bvlm4nwAYmRXDDcmEMqoYFMmEQTR5He1jrO4R5hFSh_RImJnESB1eQwOp7lg6R8KwF7XfGPwSl-bLVZtnSgD1Q_O4xIYcHAXCwcRaOLEYVqT3-h6qQAa8/s1600/J130222_0732.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grasshoppers made of dune grass. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvR7L4YksCoeEhZpgxUBgHnWMnyLkm3clVGfEoVoMBEurQywFDpkqqsjyB2UvwIVu03KllYrWuOgV0SsLQD24MlJdcBfhZcSOAZck_qNQVPJCZKcdEONheLhOaUJLYxw_VIBhrVeU3Vk/s1600/J130222_0776.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvR7L4YksCoeEhZpgxUBgHnWMnyLkm3clVGfEoVoMBEurQywFDpkqqsjyB2UvwIVu03KllYrWuOgV0SsLQD24MlJdcBfhZcSOAZck_qNQVPJCZKcdEONheLhOaUJLYxw_VIBhrVeU3Vk/s1600/J130222_0776.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bride and groom spend some time with local iguanas. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjboXmrdqNxH7eo_ejxF5myLG_pfj4EQH-bKuA-yU8Y0xBq7eHGf4k0TxonufsTO9ZSzUBr4QnFCFiAGaG-pwLH0okwByg9fhFQ_7rBeazRkNjCmR-5Aak9dA7PRqHAXKAUjsABGMdyntM/s1600/J130223_0050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjboXmrdqNxH7eo_ejxF5myLG_pfj4EQH-bKuA-yU8Y0xBq7eHGf4k0TxonufsTO9ZSzUBr4QnFCFiAGaG-pwLH0okwByg9fhFQ_7rBeazRkNjCmR-5Aak9dA7PRqHAXKAUjsABGMdyntM/s1600/J130223_0050.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Party time in the honeymoon suite.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2kLw8xUo8ab6fqz2H17StfISdePv3949qF0I5fUEWisUnVWtaij7ULuVCDY348DIzN38B6425fVzP7B0DHb1hfzLmJZX8lG_KpD_D3JOkgqSZexolSx8osxg1BxGcw9Bfms_64dk8LwE/s1600/J130224_0116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2kLw8xUo8ab6fqz2H17StfISdePv3949qF0I5fUEWisUnVWtaij7ULuVCDY348DIzN38B6425fVzP7B0DHb1hfzLmJZX8lG_KpD_D3JOkgqSZexolSx8osxg1BxGcw9Bfms_64dk8LwE/s1600/J130224_0116.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jumping for joy!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEKeFwF8BZ9f98Fqy8VFFaXHKOW-HVyIU9_suFSdinj-IxBxNmU_sbQTmJSFIYU6agJD4TrZ10qXapZRNpvJtIy3H1UNOvxtx4esmRbq52tSLRQE18n2VqIIYQbL5n6UGvYBuB26avKE/s1600/J130225_0013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEKeFwF8BZ9f98Fqy8VFFaXHKOW-HVyIU9_suFSdinj-IxBxNmU_sbQTmJSFIYU6agJD4TrZ10qXapZRNpvJtIy3H1UNOvxtx4esmRbq52tSLRQE18n2VqIIYQbL5n6UGvYBuB26avKE/s1600/J130225_0013.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching the sun rise over the sea.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRD6b4y-YIlByL5dnHMoHST8jYeqyUSZGrhGc0_DuLK71L-nJ1-cY-zINuJGKPaI2A69_nqxmCVrfhyphenhyphenJFg3Zp457cDLiFFqMkV7jCqWRGNZcRGtarqnuKMmdKnnn1dYwSPorZcsA5ooY/s1600/J130225_0060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRD6b4y-YIlByL5dnHMoHST8jYeqyUSZGrhGc0_DuLK71L-nJ1-cY-zINuJGKPaI2A69_nqxmCVrfhyphenhyphenJFg3Zp457cDLiFFqMkV7jCqWRGNZcRGtarqnuKMmdKnnn1dYwSPorZcsA5ooY/s1600/J130225_0060.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my favorite poses.</td></tr>
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<br />jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-71425276977164412432013-03-29T04:41:00.001-04:002013-03-29T04:42:46.110-04:00The Second Laziest Place on Earth: Pulau WehThe largest Indonesian island is Sumatra. An hour's ferry ride northwest of Sumatra is the volcanic island of Pulau Weh. It's lush, jungle-covered hills are surrounded by a sea prized by any diver lucky enough to get here. I'd planned to visit the place ten years ago, but the Banda Aceh region was closed by the government due to "rebel activity." After the tsunami took 150,000 lives, government and residents put aside their differences and international aid flowed to the region. The tourists soon followed.<br />
<br />
It cost me less than fifty bucks to take the evening flight from from Medan, Sumatra's largest city, to Banda Aceh. Finding a place to sleep was a bit more troublesome as the small city is not equipped to accommodate backpackers. Every driver wanted to take me to the expensive hotels (rooms costing $70 or more). I managed to find a budget hotel after a good hour of roaming the streets with a perplexed motorcycle cab driver who spoke no English.<br />
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I'd planned to spend two nights in the city, but by the middle of next day I was ready to leave. The devastation of the tsunami had been repaired but there were no really interesting places to see. I packed my bags and took the last ferry across the straight to the island of Pulau Weh.<br />
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From the pier, I joined a shared mini-bus to get across the island to the village of Iboih. The narrow road winds and twists along the steep hills and the driver had to negotiate his way past numerous motorcycles on the route. The road was in particularly good condition, with what looked like new paving. What struck me most was the method the islanders used to create fences; planting thin trees right next to each other and connecting them with wire. The result is a living fence that will not rot in the moist tropical air.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Indonesia/Pulau-Weh/28121283_P3BRhd#!i=2405941297&k=h4rsHgq&lb=1&s=A" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title=""><img alt="" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Indonesia/Pulau-Weh/i-h4rsHgq/0/M/JEZ59554-M.jpg" height="266" title="" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note the construction of the fences.</td></tr>
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At the end of the road we found a small set of shops and restaurants and a single mosque, all facing the tranquil beach. The five of us grabbed our bags and made our way along the street to the path leading up into the jungle. All the budget accommodations are located here.<br />
<br />
The trail starts with a set of stairs that goes up along the tree-covered hill. Along the path are scores of wooden and concrete huts, ranging in price from five bucks to thirty. The places next to the shore are more expensive than those up the hill and air-conditioned rooms are the most expensive. Instead of leaving my bags at a friendly restaurant and exploring unencumbered, I hauled my kit along the path until I was nearly exhausted. I elected to skip the very last set of bungalows; a decision I later regretted because they had impressive views.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIx3hFpJa92a1N9mGCIO-0jafCab3HL_Roye6p6zevDEOc_HbBGHBhy97tZKSbdUm_6jdpiUeai1a139qGTfabAAm6b79bR5Q2LHAe8sj_CYX-puLpu8pBI3yY2W4XqPlUqa-fIR2vMg/s1600/JEZ59428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIx3hFpJa92a1N9mGCIO-0jafCab3HL_Roye6p6zevDEOc_HbBGHBhy97tZKSbdUm_6jdpiUeai1a139qGTfabAAm6b79bR5Q2LHAe8sj_CYX-puLpu8pBI3yY2W4XqPlUqa-fIR2vMg/s1600/JEZ59428.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beautifully maintained Yulia's Bungalows.</td></tr>
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<br />
I spent the first night in a cabin right next to the path. It was great for meeting fellow travelers, but not particularly comfortable. I decided to check out but was unable to find the proprietor. I left a message with two other guests about my plans. I returned later and missed the owner again. Over the course of four days, I managed to miss the owner, Eric, every single time. When I finally caught up to him, he was pleased that I had not skipped town before paying my bill (of less than ten bucks).<br />
<br />
My new accommodation was further along the path, a cabin right on the water's edge. I had eyed this particular spot the day before and could not believe my luck in getting it. At high tide, it was almost possible to dive into the sea from the balcony.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Indonesia/Pulau-Weh/28121283_P3BRhd#!i=2376567825&k=93zHksb&lb=1&s=A" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title=""><img alt="" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Indonesia/Pulau-Weh/i-93zHksb/1/M/JEZ59402-HDR-M.jpg" title="" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My home for nearly a week.</td></tr>
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While the outside was beautiful, the interior was rather spartan with a simple bed and a single shelf unit. The mosquito net was a welcome addition and, despite being right on the sea, the fan was entirely necessary to sleep at night. After having used a communal facility the night before, I was pleased to learn my new room had an indoor toilet.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbeISTnmv04MJQMCs4bjd_a5bzIQ1twUlin3tl_o1pAhqbLBNxQHiq0F4qDiGcqeuzwFvqbcE1NDuHNxWx7rh1WRmnrrE2XR6QbyQW0JFFD_lahxMnG0wjkcCPpmcOH1EpL6tjBnI-EY/s1600/JEZ59436j_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbeISTnmv04MJQMCs4bjd_a5bzIQ1twUlin3tl_o1pAhqbLBNxQHiq0F4qDiGcqeuzwFvqbcE1NDuHNxWx7rh1WRmnrrE2XR6QbyQW0JFFD_lahxMnG0wjkcCPpmcOH1EpL6tjBnI-EY/s1600/JEZ59436j_1.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bungalow interior.</td></tr>
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The best part was the hammock hanging on the front porch. Over the next few days, that became my home. I'd wake up in the morning, go for a swim, wash, go to the beach restaurant for breakfast, then lounge away the rest of the morning. I'd sometimes go for a dip in the afternoon if it was particularly hot.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Indonesia/Pulau-Weh/28121283_P3BRhd#!i=2420952322&k=xFKMVWt&lb=1&s=A" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title=""><img alt="" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Indonesia/Pulau-Weh/i-xFKMVWt/0/M/JEZ59757-M.jpg" title="" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the island's original inhabitants.</td></tr>
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There was a curious mixture of animal life on that part of the island. First and foremost were the cats. Every bungalow complex seemed to have a family of domestic felines roaming around. Most welcomed a scratch behind the ears, but the place up the hill from my room had a kitten that delighted in attention. Every time she saw me on the path, she'd come running. Occasionally, I'd carry her around on my shoulder. Once, I took her to the next door neighbor's complex, where I was planning to eat, and the local cats did not take kindly to this intruder, hissing and snarling. I ended up having to carry her back home.<br />
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I was quite surprised to discover a family of monkeys in a nearby tree. They'd come to the ground to gather fallen fruit, then return to the tree to eat. The local cats and dogs were very leery of the animals. The dogs are not particularly friendly, but mostly ignore the visitors. I had one that regularly slept on my porch. I noticed that a lot of other bungalows had their resident dog fast asleep on their porches as well.<br />
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The goats were my favorite. They're mostly shy and stay off the path, but now and then I'd run into a billy-goat that was happy to do some butting. This consisted of the goat charging my hand with his horns. I read about a guy who used to wear a helmet to to do headbutts with his pet goat.<br />
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I also spotted some wild pigs rummaging around one evening. I assumed they were domesticated pigs, destined for a future on the grill, until I remembered that the locals did not eat pork. Pulau Weh is a great place to be a pig.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Indonesia/Pulau-Weh/28121283_P3BRhd#!i=2387414820&k=HcgpCdN&lb=1&s=A" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="A tree-lined drive along the ridge of Sabang town. "><img alt="A tree-lined drive along the ridge of Sabang town. " src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Indonesia/Pulau-Weh/i-HcgpCdN/1/M/JEZ59713h-M.jpg" title="A tree-lined drive along the ridge of Sabang town. " /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the main boulevards of Sabang town.</td></tr>
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This is the sort of place that does not inspire, but pacifies. I rightly feared that I would have become a parody of Jimmy Buffet had I access to quantities of cheap rum. Banda Aceh province, though, is dry (although some restaurants do sell overpriced booze). My activities were limited in this little corner of the island, so I rented a motor bike to explore. The nearby town of Sabang offered the most interest. It was a harbor for the ruling Dutch a hundred years ago and much evidence of their occupation can be seen in the large houses built there. The Japanese took over just before the war and built numerous fortifications. These have mostly grown over or re-purposed, but a few remain as curious historic sites.<br />
<br />
In the harbor, I had an opportunity to examine the curious style of fishing boat used by the people of Pulau Weh. A tall prow and a flat-back stern, the wedge-shaped vessel is powered by a two-stroke engine. It's distinctive "putt-putt-putt-putt" sound could be heard long before seeing the boats. I am told that they are not particularly stable in rough seas. They have beautiful lines, however, and the lovely paint jobs applied make them even more so.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Indonesia/Pulau-Weh/28121283_P3BRhd#!i=2385698190&k=9n837gP&lb=1&s=A" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="The colorful and unique design of the Banda Aceh region fishing boats. "><img alt="The colorful and unique design of the Banda Aceh region fishing boats. " src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Indonesia/Pulau-Weh/i-9n837gP/1/M/JEZ59489-M.jpg" height="266" title="The colorful and unique design of the Banda Aceh region fishing boats. " width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The elegant design of Banda Aceh fishing boats.</td></tr>
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On the way back to Iboh, I explored back roads. I received curious stares from both adults and children. Some of these villages receive no foreign visitors. At one point, I discovered a quarry. In a nearby village, I saw piles of gravel sorted by size. Further along, I saw them making gravel ... by hand. Using hand hammers, they'd chip away at the small boulders to make bite-size pieces suitable for construction.<br />
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I did a few dives around Iboh, though the water was not as clear as I'd hoped. The place is teeming with brightly colored moray eels and friendly sea turtles. I quite enjoyed exploring a tugboat wreck, but of most interest was an underwater vent from the island's volcano. Over an area of fifty square meters, bubbles of sulfur gas peculate up through the sand. The result is like a rainfall, only in reverse and with bubbles rather than drops. Swimming through it was a curious sensation, but the visual effect was ethereal. More than ever, I regretted not having an underwater camera.<br />
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My days were too often spent lounging on my balcony hammock, reading or watching tourists splash around in the straight. I noticed that when the tide turned, the sea would rush past the dock like a river. I joined another fellow in jumping in and letting the current carry us along. We'd then walk back along the shore and jump in to do it again.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Indonesia/Pulau-Weh/28121283_P3BRhd#!i=2376555016&k=Wc4dSDd&lb=1&s=A" title="The view from a cabin on the small straight between Iboih village and Rubiah isle."><img alt="The view from a cabin on the small straight between Iboih village and Rubiah isle." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Indonesia/Pulau-Weh/i-Wc4dSDd/1/M/JEZ59445-HDR-M.jpg" height="265" title="The view from a cabin on the small straight between Iboih village and Rubiah isle." width="400" /></a><br />
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There is a very small island about 200m north of Iboh. I had stopped there during a diving session. I could see the remains of concrete foundations. I was told the island was used a stopping point for Indonesians on the way to the middle east doing their Haj. One day, I thought to take a boat across to the other side and do some photography in the jungle there. After much investigation, I learned that a round-trip ticked cost fifteen bucks! Well, that's one way to make sure the island gets few visitors.<br />
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Pulau Weh only ranks as <i>second </i>laziest place because first is taken by relatively nearby Nias island. While in Iboh, I was required to walk five minutes to the nearby restaurants. Living on the beach on Nias, the fishermen would walk by and show you that morning's catch. Pick a fish and they deliver it to the guest house owner, who then cooks it and delivers it to you bungalow. Combine that with inexpensive Bintang beer, and you might not ever leave.<br />
<br />
I did manage to escape Pulau Weh's grasp, eventually. I spent another morning in Banda Aceh where I took a short tour. During the tsunami, a large ship was washed well inland and a fishing boat came to rest atop of a home. These two sites have been turned into tourist destination, including a viewing pavilion adjacent to the ship. It felt strange, looking at these two anomalies and how they'd been transformed. I guess there are not many good things to commemorate from that horrible event, so they choose these oddities.<br />
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See more photos from Pulau Weh <a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Indonesia/Pulau-Weh/28121283_P3BRhd" target="_blank">here</a>.jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-67288941372602209912013-02-17T22:24:00.001-05:002013-02-17T22:24:20.661-05:00Return to Phi Phi IslandEvery time I return to a place of happiness, I'm disappointed by how much things have changed. I don't know why I continue to pursue these threads of dreams, but there I was, fending off the touts as I tried to sort out my ticket from Phuket town to Phi Phi island, a place I'd not visited since 2003 (scant weeks before the tsunami struck). Where before there were only a couple of average size boats going to the island, now there were half a dozen ships departing the dock ... all at 8:30 in the morning, for some reason. The ships were tied to each other so some passengers had to walk across the deck of one craft to get to the other. Then we had to wait for the outermost ship to depart before our own vessel could cast off. Why not stagger the ships in fifteen minute intervals? I would have been very happy to leave at 7:00.<br />
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Despite the slightly staggered departures, the ships arrived at Phi Phi's wharf at slightly <i>more </i>staggered times as some cruised faster than others. Still, we had to wait for the earlier boats to unload before we could berth. After paying a 20<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">฿</span> water tax, we pressed through a gang of hotel touts to get to the "downtown" of the island. The mob packed into that first intersection looked like a strange combination of Times Square New Years celebration mixed with refuges fleeing some great disaster. The vast majority of the backpack-laden travelers were Europeans in their late twenties, sporting the most casual of beachwear. </div>
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Chinese New Year is a not a good time to visit Phuket Island. I had tried to get reservations at my favorite hotels, but they were booked solid. A travel agent got me a room in a complex that consisted of little huts clinging to the steep hillside. The price was nearly sixty bucks a night, but it sounded delightful. So, I paid in advance, something I have never done before ... or ever will again.</div>
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The hotel was a hike from the pier and I needed to get directions a few times. Phi Phi had changed so much I had no idea where I was as I maneuvered through a twisting warren of shops and restaurants. My "hotel" looked lovely, each little cabin with its own little balcony, perched on the steep hill. I ignored the fact there was a large stinky catch-basin right at the foot of that hill. I handed over my voucher and was led back down the hill and presented a room right across from that very pond. The room was only slightly larger than the bed. Had this been going for ten or fifteen a night, I might have accepted it, but for nearly sixty bucks, I expected a view at the very least. The hotel assured me they had no more rooms available and offered me a free cancellation I ended up in a nearby guesthouse complex with a rather large room and a view of the little valley for only 1500<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">฿</span> per night (about $45). I could have just as easily have obtained a quiet room for half that price, but I was too lazy to wander around with my bags.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Mvzr-R_XCzFZzxkWg3iNu9G6VwdoJeoplQHq5dUZO5qVtgjq8p5rbCuhquPkGeu3XOWXKsdQWZ9SWicADLQKCwgfFq3ouL2iAIxg82nehK5BazPnduen_JCV2wNEWjjDqC4D725bwOg/s1600/JEZ59112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Mvzr-R_XCzFZzxkWg3iNu9G6VwdoJeoplQHq5dUZO5qVtgjq8p5rbCuhquPkGeu3XOWXKsdQWZ9SWicADLQKCwgfFq3ouL2iAIxg82nehK5BazPnduen_JCV2wNEWjjDqC4D725bwOg/s1600/JEZ59112.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New cottages are piled upon each other</td></tr>
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Phi Phi has changed quite a bit since my last visit; the proof of that was in the shiploads of tourists arriving twice each day. They all had to sleep somewhere and beautiful guesthouses were crawling up the slopes like concrete creeper vines. The number of accommodations had easily quadrupled since the disaster and there were plenty more buildings under construction. I was concerned mostly about the infrastructure. How were they getting fresh water? How was the sewage and garbage being treated? Speaking of garbage, there was plenty of that to go around. Look over any wall and you'll see either a lovely hotel garden, a ramshackle local's habitation or a garbage heap. Get up into the hills and the gardens and walls go away; there are just shacks and midden piles. </div>
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The hills and beaches are the most pleasant parts of the most densely inhabited part of the island. I refused to pay the extortion rates the local boat drivers demanded to visit other parts of Phi Phi and I was happy enough to explore on foot. By the look of the little shops, a vacationer will spend most of their time eating, drinking, SCUBA diving, dancing and getting tattoos—in that order. I wasn't planning to eat or drink much, but I was rather keen to dive. Having snorkeled here before, I knew the waters were beautiful. After surveying half a dozen of the seventeen(!) dive shops, I concluded that they all offer the same two dives, charge the same prices and leave at about the same time. I picked the one that left a bit earlier than the others.</div>
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All of my diving companions were completing some part of a SCUBA course. I was the only one doing a "fun dive." I took exception to this label and insisted they call it a dive, "If you call it a fun dive, it sounds like you're not serious." They said the other dives were for classes so my dive was for fun. "You mean people don't have fun in the courses?" They could not refute my brilliant logic and gave in ... at least when I was in earshot. </div>
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As the only diver not taking a class, I had my own guide. I hoped this would enable us to explore different areas, but we just did standard dives going to the same places as the classes. The locations themselves were good, but nothing terribly exciting. The guides assured me that the habitat had not changed much as a result of the tsunami, so perhaps my memory of beautiful corals and shoals of colorful fish were slightly embellished by time.</div>
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Phi Phi consists of two islands. The second, uninhabited island, is famous for having a small bay with a small beach that inspired the movie "The Beach." On my first visit with on a snorkeling tour, we visited the beach alongside a couple of other boats. The place was rather nice. When our dive boat entered the bay this time, I was reminded again how much things have changed. There were at least a dozen medium to large size vessels anchored in the cove. The small sandy shoreline was crowded with scores of beached speedboats on one side and numerous long-tail boats on the other. That left only a quarter of the beach for tourists to ... well, "enjoy" doesn't seem like the right term. Experience? I can't help but wonder how many of them saw that movie and imagined a beautifully secluded beach where they might frolic in the surf unmolested. Reality might suck, but once upon a time, that beach really <i>was</i> secluded and frolicable. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnsC8ztoAUkhV3XHHYf_fV3JJ29id8XbCen7laQYNXH4II3r7dLcI9v6QCrmJsVHhYokm-HjAiPEu8S16k5GjDGf5aH0HH75lQmiyhI3Yiq-Hfqx7N-NztAEhlnM_I3xDuZUL4vGtU9ck/s1600/JEZ58992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnsC8ztoAUkhV3XHHYf_fV3JJ29id8XbCen7laQYNXH4II3r7dLcI9v6QCrmJsVHhYokm-HjAiPEu8S16k5GjDGf5aH0HH75lQmiyhI3Yiq-Hfqx7N-NztAEhlnM_I3xDuZUL4vGtU9ck/s1600/JEZ58992.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tourists flood over the side of the boat to splash around in the deeps. </td></tr>
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Back on shore, I walked the north side of the beach. It's filled with groovy hot spots to sit and drink while watching the sun set behind the hill to the west. The food at such places is pretty mediocre, but you're paying for the view and the style, not the food. At night, they put on fire shows to entertain the patrons. Further along the shore, there are still fishermen going about their jobs and a few Thais have set up their own little out-of-the-way beer stations. That side of the island is the most affected by tides; it's barely knee deep at low tide so the boatmen can repair their craft.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taxi boats, pulled up on the beach, awaiting tourists.</td></tr>
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The island really should be called Kitty Kitty island for the startling number of friendly cats inhabiting the place. They lounge outside the shops and homes and welcome a scratch behind the ears. Dogs are not as common here as in the cities, oddly enough.<br />
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I decided to leave the island after two nights. I figured that the 9:00 boat trip would be the least crowded as so few of the party-goers would get up so early. I was very wrong. There was quite a mob at the docks, though not as crowded as I had experienced in my arrival. There were only two boats going out. I realized then that theses two had remained on the island overnight and the great flotilla was only now leaving Phuket town. With our baggage piled up in the stern, we crowded aboard these two boats and cast off. Our boat stopped just at the edge of the harbor. Racing toward us was a long, slim ship. The crew gestured to us to get away from the side of the boat. Apparently we were going to hook up with this vessel. They transferred a few dozen bags and then passengers from a nearby island climbed aboard our already crowded boat.<br />
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Surely we'd be on our way now? No. Another high-speed boat was racing in from another island. Their bags were piled on the lower part of the stern and few score more travelers joined us. There was no room inside so the newcomers were at the mercy of the sun for the next two hours.<br />
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Hopefully, this will be my last trip to Phi Phi. I could not bear to see it get more crowded.<br />
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jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-3824185238597458752012-12-27T00:28:00.001-05:002013-04-22T12:41:21.710-04:00Fortress Kandahar<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My flight into Kandahar descended through pale grey clouds to emerge into a darker grey of drizzling rain. I couldn't see much, but I did notice that the land was a patchwork of small farms. I don't know why I had the impression that the place was mostly desert, but if the wooden shacks had been houses and the cart paths been dirt roads, the place could have been mistaken for any arid farm country. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The flight out of Dubai started with little promise as we exited the terminal and got on a bus to get to the plane. Plenty of airports use this technique, so I didn't think much of it until the bus took a wide turn and stopped at a plane that was a stone's throw from the terminal door. While I might have appreciated the ride, I could have walked the distance in about thirty seconds. Adding insult to slight injury, we waited on that bus for fifteen minutes, looking at our plane, before they'd let us out to board. The aircraft was a commercial plane, complete with video entertainment, so the trip was pleasant enough. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On the ground in Kandahar, we were ushered into the airport terminal; a structure of brick arches that looked much older than it probably was. We listened to a scripted welcome/warning lecture from a young Afghan national and then a soldier collected our identification cards. There was no one to meet me so I waiting in the rain for a bus that supposedly came by every once in a while. I struck up a conversation with a contractor working in the terminal and he offered to help. After a few phone calls, my contact was on his way. The two of us had to wait another half hour while one of his colleagues tracked down a vehicle to get us to the billeting office. I was prepared to walk in the rain if need be. Fortunately, he objected to this plan as most of the fort was covered by deep mud after the rain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I collected my room assignment and we proceeded to the dormitory. I share my room with three other contractors, one of whom was sleeping when I entered to drop off my bags. I was lucky not have gotten a tent as they often house half a dozen or more people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The only green in this fort is the uniforms worn by the various soldiers. There are a few dust covered trees that look like hairy ferns, but there's not a patch of grass to be seen. There are a few paved roads and sidewalks, <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">but most of the ground consists of mud the texture and color of fine
humus, with patches of gravel</span>. When it rains, workers drop pallets in the low areas so we don't have to slog through too much mud. More permanent muddy areas have broken concrete slabs to act as stepping stones. The mud is extremely fine. When it's dry, it raises a very fine dust that hangs in the still air and coats every exposed surface. I fear for my camera gear and my computer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Afghanistan/Kandahar/27206148_DDdRVk#!i=2287849943&k=WCXqjPp&lb=1&s=A" title="Troops going about their business in the dusty afternoon."><img alt="Troops going about their business in the dusty afternoon." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/photos/i-WCXqjPp/0/M/i-WCXqjPp-M.jpg" title="Troops going about their business in the dusty afternoon." /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've only visited a few areas in the fort so far, but from I've seen, the place is made up of concrete walls with metal buildings interspersed. There are a few brick buildings though. Nearly all the metal buildings incorporate a rather clever design: they are surrounded by tall concrete slabs protecting them from explosives and weapons fire. Metal buildings are as safe as cardboard and a projectile can shred through several of them with ease. The great monoliths of concrete prevent projectiles from penetrating more than one building. They can also be easily rearranged with a crane.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The slabs are perfect canvases for graffiti "taggers," but only stencils appear on the walls. Some of them are quite excellent. I've been keeping my eyes out for a "Kilroy was here" mark, but so far, nothing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">While the concrete slaps afford some protection, there are also concrete bunkers where everyone takes shelter during an attack. I've heard them referred to as Soviet bus shelters. Some have sandbags stacked around them for even more protection. A few folks have taken to decorating their home away from home away from home with paint and crude furnishings.</span><br />
<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Afghanistan/Kandahar/27206148_DDdRVk#!i=2285612968&k=ph4Gd3b&lb=1&s=A" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title=""><img alt="" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/photos/i-ph4Gd3b/0/S/i-ph4Gd3b-S.jpg" height="425" title="" width="640" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are shipping containers everywhere. Some are ready-built for specific needs like refrigerators, toilets, accommodations and electric plants, but most are obviously converted from shells to laundromats, offices, and storage facilities. They are either sitting alone or grouped with a few others or stacked up. There are a few compounds that consist of nothing but a wall of shipping containers. I have no idea what's behind them, but they are the modern equivalent of medieval keeps inside a castle.</span><br />
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<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Afghanistan/Kandahar/27206148_DDdRVk#!i=2286786494&k=6TXrVZJ&lb=1&s=A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Some compounds consist of stacked shipping containers, making them resemble ancient castle keeps."><img alt="Some compounds consist of stacked shipping containers, making them resemble ancient castle keeps." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/photos/i-6TXrVZJ/0/M/i-6TXrVZJ-M.jpg" title="Some compounds consist of stacked shipping containers, making them resemble ancient castle keeps." /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The roads are occupied by SUVs, delivery vehicles and buses. <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">There's an odd mix of right-hand and left-hand drive trucks and vans</span>. On more than one occasion, I did a double-take when I saw a vehicle with no driver, only to realize that it was a British or Australian truck piloted by someone in the "passenger" seat. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are also great brooding monsters, tactical vehicles, that sit alongside the road like predators digesting a recent meal. Occasionally, a small convoy of these machines roll out on a mission. I was amused to watch one of them wait patiently for traffic to clear the street and pedestrians to move out of the way before it pulled onto the main boulevard. I dare say if it had appeared on any North American road, everyone would pull to the side in awe and fear. Here, it had to wait it's turn, yielding to vehicles that are little more than golf carts. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Afghanistan/Kandahar/27206148_DDdRVk#!i=2285627299&k=3ND4QVT&lb=1&s=A" title=""><img alt="" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/photos/i-3ND4QVT/0/S/i-3ND4QVT-S.jpg" height="267" title="" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was told to prepare for cold weather, so I brought my cold weather gear. On my third day, the sun came out and I was walking around without hat or jacket it was so pleasant. A few days after that, I walked to the gym with only shorts and t-shirt. Some contractors were dressed in cargo shorts. The nights do get chilly, but so far I've seen scant evidence of frost. I was quite disturbed when I noticed a small swarm of mosquitoes near one of the large puddles. Malaria is a real problem here, but in December? Not good.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are soldiers from many countries here and I make a game of identifying them based on their camouflage pattern. The US Army makes up easily eighty percent of the uniforms, but there are some marines and navy personnel mixed in. The second largest contingent is the Romanians with their lighter colored uniform and larger patterned camouflage. Their neighbors, the Bulgarians, don't seem to have camouflage but what can only be described as dressy fitness attire. My office has a few Australians so I've learned to recognize those. The Afghans have the sharpest uniforms, looking like WWII airmen in their short wool jackets. The United Arab Emirates soldiers I saw wear digital patterned sand-colored material while the two Singapore soldiers striking green camouflage in a similar digital form. The solitary Portuguese pilot I met wore dressy khakis. The British have a very practical green camouflage. I spotted a New Zealander and a Canadian but didn't have a chance to examine their attire. Contractors, oddly enough, are permitted to wear camouflage uniforms, but must include a "contractor" tag and obey all dress regulations. Like most of the civilian workers, I'm sticking with work clothes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My first few days were spent tracking down documents and missing requirements so I spent a lot of time waiting for other people to get back to me. That gave me an opportunity to take different routes when walking around the compound. One time I passed a group of soldiers shoveling a pile of gravel into buckets and wheel barrows. The shovels hitting the gravel made a delightful sound and it reverberated around the concrete walls. Having been sitting at a desk for a few days, I was up for a bit of exercise. I walked backed to the soldiers and asked that they identify the hardest working shoveler. They pointed to one of their fellows and I demanded his shovel. I explained that as an office worker, I seldom had an opportunity to perform honest labor, then I started in on the pile. They were quite amused at this and I insisted that I was serious. I spent almost half an hour, helping to fill half a dozen barrow loads and twice as many buckets. That was enough for me! They had been at work for at least an hour and spent a few more hours labor moving the gravel. I really think that desk jockeys should be required to spend one day of every five doing physical labor.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My dorm is quite near the Romanian compound. It provides me with one of the best landmarks for finding my way home: an Eastern Orthodox chapel. When I first saw it, I thought it might have been left over from the Russian occupation. I later learned it was prefabricated and put together soon after the war began. Some of the other countries wanted it gone, calling it a target, but the Romanians held to their guns, so to speak.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Afghanistan/Kandahar/27206148_DDdRVk#!i=2285610334&k=Wk2nPdP&lb=1&s=A" title=""><img alt="" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/photos/i-Wk2nPdP/0/S/i-Wk2nPdP-S.jpg" title="" /></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The fort is really a small town. In addition to office buildings and residences, there are recreation areas, barbershops, two gyms, a few large dinning facilities, and a "downtown" consisting of a ring of shops and restaurants. Yes, there are restaurants, including a Kentucky Fried Chicken and a TGI Fridays. All the restaurants are expensive, but people go there for variety. Inside the ring is a soccer pitch build by the Brits (and used by the Americans for football), a basketball court and a hockey rink (courtesy of the Canadians).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The recreation halls and gyms offer activities for down time. The recreation center is equipped with half a dozen large screen televisions attached to gaming systems. It is a very odd experience to watch four camouflaged soldiers, their rifles and machine guns on the floor beside them, intently playing "Call of Duty." Actual warriors playing soldier on a computer in a </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">combat</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">zone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Some of the rules and regulations around the base are a bit frustrating. At night, we're required to wear a reflective belt. I don't like that, but I support it a hundred percent as the lighting here is terrible and it's quite easy to get run over. We're supposed to wear protective goggles when outside and most people comply with this (though I've forgotten mine on more than a few occasions) . At night, we're also supposed to have a "battle buddy" when walking around (I call them "pacifist pal" or "shrapnel shield"), but my schedule is totally different from anyone else. Fortunately, they don't enforce this so much (plus I try to walk within spitting distance of anyone going my way to placate the MPs). We're not allowed to wear gym attire in the mess hall. I can see them wanting to keep the place professional, but not being able to eat while wearing sweat pants or shorts is inconvenient. We can't take a bag into the gym or into the mess hall, so we don't even get a chance to change. We must go back to our room. Bags aren't allowed in the recreation center and that means no computer bags. We can't even take our computer in a plastic shopping bag or transparent sack. Everyone has to walk with it under their arms; Great for the mini-tablet crowd, but I'm using a </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">manly</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">17" computer that's more desktop than laptop.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I missed a USO tour where three athletes and a runner up on American Idol did some sort of meet and greet (where's Kathy Griffin when you need her?). I did manage to catch an Air-Force rock band called "Total Force." I was surprised at how good they were. While most rock bands wear hip clothing, they wore their camouflage fatigues. They would do well in some of the more rowdy American venues; they performed while wearing their sidearms. No one was going to throw a beer bottle at <i>this </i>band!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />A few days later another Air-Force group performed. It was a ten-piece pop/rock band accompanied by a score of singers. One of the security soldiers told me that he was impressed with this particular group because not only did they put on a <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">show, but they were responsible</span> for setting up all the lighting and sound equipment and then breaking it down and stowing it afterward. Their show consisted of a medley of rock and pop songs. One or two singers would take the stage backed up by the rest of the musicians and singers. Those doing backup performed a dance routine worthy of any variety show on TV or Vegas. Unfortunately, they were dancing in their fatigues and that really bordered on the absurd Still, they did a great job, putting 100% into the show. I'm glad they weren't wearing pistols, that would have been too much.<br />
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</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">There are lots of soldiers walking around and most of them are armed with a rifle or machine gun and often a pistol as well. Between the domestic and foreign forces, there's quite a variety of weapons. I must admit that it was quite unnerving to have so many guns wandering about. What's even more unnerving are the people holding them. I expect to see some serious, hardened, bad-ass soldier walking around, and there are a few of those. Most of the guys look like regular Joe's with baggy clothing and hair cut too short. For them it's a job and a job that requires they carry around a weapon. It's the women who really throw me off. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for women serving in the military and while I have reservations about them serving in combat (that's a discussion for a different time and place), that's not what bothers me. What throws me is extremely good looking women walking around in camouflage fatigues toting killing machines. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I never look at a guy and think "That dude looks awesome, he should be on the cover of some fitness magazine," but I do look at some of the women and think they should be in Vogue or Glamour (seriously). Anywhere else, I'd be tempted to approach them about doing a photo shoot, but doing so here might get me a ticket home (fraternizing of any sort is frowned upon). So, I'm biased or prejudiced or something, but at least I'm aware of the fact. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">One of the shops on the boardwalk sells "tactical gear," military clothing and accessories. I noticed that they have a calendar of hot babes, often wearing a bikini top, brandishing assault rifles and sub-machine-guns. All the models have a generic look that leaves me cold. In one afternoon I could recruit a score of more worthy "models" who are better looking and are actually capable of using their weapons.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The fort is really an airfield, Kandahar Air Field, but it's really a fort with an airfield. Some afternoons we hear, then see, fighter jets doing low-level passes over the airfield (which begs the question of why we need fighters here, but that's another topic). The jets are tremendously loud, but it's nothing compared to some of the large cargo planes taking off. Stuck behind concrete walls, I can never see them, but they make a sound that I'm sure is very similar to being close to a Saturn Five rocket at liftoff. They often take off while I'm asleep. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My dorm is probably about a kilometer from the airport, but sometimes it feels like I'm sleeping in a hangar at the end of the runway. I'm convinced there is some sort of atmospheric conditions or acoustic properties of the base that amplifies the volume. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The previous occupant of my bed tried to make it more comfortable by stacking a second mattress atop the first. The result is very soft, but that's not particularly comfortable. You see, the mattresses here are essentially bags of springs formed into rectangular shapes. A softer mattress affords those springs more opportunity to poke into me. I plan to get rid of the second mattress and obtain some sort of pad as soon as it's feasible. Meanwhile, I'm usually so exhausted by the end of the day that I fall fast asleep by 9:30. It's not like there's much to do here in the evenings, so sleep is welcome!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My roommates are quiet and we all pretty much keep to ourselves. Unfortunately, two of them snore occasionally. One sounds remarkably like an old single stroke fishing trawler ("putt-putt-putt-putt-putt ... putt-putt-putt-putt-putt ..."). The other sounds <i>so </i>much like a coffee peculator that I was convinced he was making coffee on the other side of the dividing closet</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"> ("Khhhhh ... khhhhhhh ... khhhhhhh ..."</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">)</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">. They have no idea why I call them Tugboat and Captain Coffee.</span><br />
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jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-6490349192804177222012-09-22T20:08:00.001-04:002012-09-22T20:08:09.169-04:00Ponhpei, Micronesia<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I could tell you that Pohnpei is an island a couple thousand kilometers northeast of Papua New Guinea, but that would probably not tell you much. There are thousands of islands in that part of the Pacific, but few have a population large enough to warrant an airport. Pohnpei boasts a population of 34,000 and is the capital of the Federated States of Micronesia.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW#!i=2072031545&k=Lk2Wn4W&lb=1&s=A" title="Arriving on the island from sea, the first thing you notice is Sokehs rock."><img alt="Arriving on the island from sea, the first thing you notice is Sokehs rock." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/i-Lk2Wn4W/1/S/JEZ42593-S.jpg" title="Arriving on the island from sea, the first thing you notice is Sokehs rock." /></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Although it’s a volcanic island, after a few hours of exploration you’d think it was made primarily of mud; Pohnpei is one of the wettest places on earth. The rich, well-watered soil gives rise to lush vegetation covering the entirety of the land. The place is an emerald expanse of green foliage. The inhabitants must constantly fight back the encroaching jungle plants.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Although the town of Kalonia is large, it lacks a distinct “downtown.” I spent a few hours wandering the streets, looking at shops and trying to find a restaurant open before 5pm. The shops were surprisingly well stocked with goods from the United States, China and Japan. There were no local products of any significance, unfortunately. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a downtown="downtown" href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW#!i=2077398642&k=THpkBjq&lb=1&s=A" kolonia.="kolonia." title=""><img alt="" downtown="downtown" kolonia.="kolonia." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/i-THpkBjq/0/S/JEZ42654-S.jpg" title="" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The island was discovered in 1595, but no European set foot there until the early 1800’s. The native population discouraged any visitors. Some did eventually manage to settle there and by the late 1800’s, the Spanish held claim to the island. The name of the capital, Kalonia, <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">is derived from the Spanish word for colony</span>. The Germans possessed it for a while then the Japanese took over in 1920. While the previous occupiers built churches and trade missions, the Japanese established a military presence. American forces all but ignored the island during the war, however. Japanese citizens were forced to leave after the war and their works were abandoned.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Despite being surrounded by the Pacific Ocean, Pohnpei does not have any beaches. The hills come down to the water’s edge where mangrove swamps take over. A barrier reef surrounds the island, protecting the coastline and discouraging the early explorers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With a diameter of about twenty kilometers at its greatest point, it does not take long to drive the road encircling the island. Getting into the hilly interior, though, requires a considerable trek. I contented myself with road travel. I made a few sorties off the main road to find waterfalls, though. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Missionaries were the first to make any real inroads on the island, and their presence is very clear today. Ever few miles, there is a large church. Some are easily a hundred years old while other are large, modern and pristine. Only two radio stations can be picked up on the island (and only on the north side). One plays music while the other is a mix of Radio Australia and American televangelism broadcasts. Sadly, the televangelists get more airtime. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW#!i=2077330450&k=3Lszj5f&lb=1&s=A" title="A typical old church."><img alt="A typical old church." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/i-3Lszj5f/0/S/JEZ42685x-S.jpg" title="A typical old church." /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some of the touristic sites have signs indicating their presence, but once off the road, you’re on your own. Finding my first waterfall required dealing with a forking road. Thankfully, there were usually a few locals nearby to point the way. The path to the falls was well marked with a sort of monument. No sooner had I left my car when a man approached me and asked if I was going to see the falls. He then asked me to pay the one dollar entrance fee. I upped the ante by asking if he had coconuts for sale. He agreed to three coconuts for a dollar. They would be a welcome drink after my hike to the falls.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The entrance fee was well worth a dollar if only for the well maintained path. The caretakers had planted broad, red leafed tropical plants and flowering </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hibiscus </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">on both sides of the narrow trail. It was a pleasant, although wet, walk.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The falls consisted of two cascades. The upper falls poured into a large basin that looked just right for swimming; in fact, there was a ladder leading up from the bowl. One end of the edge of that basin, however, dumped into the next falls, making the edge rather dangerous. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lower falls were easier to photograph as I was able to get close to the water’s edge. There’s something so alluring, so primeval, about a jungle waterfall.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW#!i=2071279156&k=w6vVjtT&lb=1&s=A" title="Liduduhniap waterfall is a gem in the jungle."><img alt="Liduduhniap waterfall is a gem in the jungle." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/i-w6vVjtT/1/S/JEZ42675b-S.jpg" title="Liduduhniap waterfall is a gem in the jungle." /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I drove along the western side of the island, moving slowly over the old pavement, avoiding people walking alongside the road. Much of the road had jungle growth creeping onto the surface, which made for an interesting visual effect. Wherever a few homes clustered close to the road, there was usually a little convenience store, which was little more than a booth with a window from which to pick the items you wanted. They sold only the basics, no sign of touristic crafts or local products.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I spotted the sign for the pepper farm in time to turn off the main road and head down the side road. The intersection had a few homes so I expected a full scale plantation. Eventually, I came to a small sign that said “Pohnpei pepper farm.” I was still in the jungle and the only building was a family dwelling not much more advanced than a shack. The road continued, however, so I kept driving. I came upon a low stone wall, so that was very promising, although the plant life had remained unchanged. The road came to an end at what was obviously a farm. It was a poultry farm, however. There were no signs of any farmers and no signs of anything that looked like a pepper vine. Mind you, I’m not <i>exactly </i>sure what a pepper vine looks like, so I could have been standing in the middle of grand pepper station. With no one around to speak with, I drove back out to the main road.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My next stop was the abandoned city of Nan Madol.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When Europeans found it, some thought lost Greek sailors built the place more than two thousand years ago. Admittedly, the stone structures are impressive, but nothing like anything built in Europe. </span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Constructed with of alternating layers of prismatic basalt, it looks like something made with old Lincoln Logs.</span> <span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Archeologists date the structures to the thirteenth century or older. This long-abandoned city consists of a series of small, artificial, stone islands adjacent to the island of Temwan. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Getting to the location was a bit of an adventure by land. I managed to find one sign leading off the main road, but had to get assistance from locals after that. When I found the final sign leading to the site, an old woman came tottering out of her home looking for a one-dollar entrance fee. It seemed a bit cheap, but I didn’t argue. She instructed me to drive down the road to the site. A few minutes later, I found a sort of parking lot with two other vehicles. The only thing I saw was a large farm house and several people milling about. One of the men approached me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Is this Nan Madol?” I asked. He smiled and said it was. “I was expecting something ... older … and made of stone,” I said, gesturing to his house. He laughed and told me I had to take a path on the other side of his house. He then asked me for three dollars. “I already paid the woman up there.” Apparently she was collecting tolls for driving over her land, not for the entrance fee. “So, how do I know there’s not someone down there looking to collect more money from me?” I said, pointing down the path. He shook his head and smiled. I paid the three bucks and began my hike. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I walked only a few paces down the jungle path when I noticed the first wall, overgrown with vegetation. It was high and dry on land, not in the water. Did they build on land, or has the water receded leaving this bit high and quite dry?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW#!i=2103099837&k=SR9LhLP&lb=1&s=A" title=""><img alt="" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/i-SR9LhLP/0/S/JEZ42694x-S.jpg" title="" /></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I continued down the path of built-up stone and coral. I knew my three dollars was a good investment as this walkway took some considerable effort to build. In some places, there was water on both sides and small wooden bridges to let the briny water pass through. Despite the afternoon sunshine, it was quite dark in that mangrove swamp. The occasional fish that splashed and darted away as I approached, turned out to be mud skippers. They would climb onto the rocks to sun themselves!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally, I broke through the trees and saw some of the Nan Modal structures rising up from the water. The path took me directly to the largest of the walled islands, a sort of temple burial site. I could see a couple of tourists on the island, but I was a stone’s throw distance away on the mainland with no boat apparent. The canal was only waist deep, but I did not trust wading across with my camera gear at risk. I hoped that there was a boat somewhere nearby which I could employ for a tour. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW#!i=2101907644&k=GHZ8SLk&lb=1&s=A" title="One of the mysterious islands of Nan Madol."><img alt="One of the mysterious islands of Nan Madol." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/i-GHZ8SLk/0/S/JEZ42703-S.jpg" title="One of the mysterious islands of Nan Madol." /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The two tourists came into sight and called out to me to cross over. They had waded across and assured me that it was navigable. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The local woman with them waded across to help me with my camera bag, but I was still apprehensive. I capitulated and, with my bag balance on my shoulder, waded across the warm water to the steps of the islet. It was then that the local woman asked for three dollars as the site entrance fee. “What about the three dollars I paid to the guy back there?” She told me that was just for walking across the land. Sheesh. I gave her three bucks and began my exploration of the ruins.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW#!i=2103197276&k=DmrHxws&lb=1&s=A" title=""><img alt="" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/i-DmrHxws/0/S/JEZ42706x-S.jpg" title="" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The island had a large outer wall and smaller inner wall, surrounding what looked like a small tomb (which I later learned was the case). The large wall held a number of openings, which had either collapsed or had been filled in at some point. The central tomb had a very small passage leading to the water, from what I could see. Outside the inner wall, I saw further evidence of this water passage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Beyond the little island on which I stood, smaller structures rose from the water, now overgrown with vegetation. Some had stone walls; others were just platforms where, I imagine, wooden structures once rested. I could see the surf beyond the boundary walls. I wondered how much effort it took to collect the great stones around me, sail them to this little corner of the island, and construct these great structures with no metal tools. The Polynesians were masters of watercraft and the island provided an abundance of food, but the scale of the project was daunting. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I knew there was a Japanese battery somewhere near Nan Modal, but I saw no clues indicating where it might be. I stopped some teachers on their way to school and discovered that I was very close. They told me to take a road just a stone-throw away. The road was not very road-like. It was more a cart path leading into a very dark jungle. The ruts were not too bad, though, so I ventured in. I drove carefully for about a kilometer when the road branched. The path leading up the hill was much too overgrown while the path leading down was cluttered with large rocks. I started down but soon abandoned my car to go on foot. Just around the bend, I discovered two homes; a normal island-style house and a more traditional "outdoor house" that was open on one side. I asked the fellow there if the Japanese guns were somewhere nearby. He went to the other side to fetch his brother-in-law, the owner. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW#!i=2072030990&k=mgZVVTX&lb=1&s=A" title="Robert, my guide, stands inside his outdoor house (a three-sided living and working enclosure)."><img alt="Robert, my guide, stands inside his outdoor house (a three-sided living and working enclosure)." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/i-mgZVVTX/1/S/JEZ42843-S.jpg" title="Robert, my guide, stands inside his outdoor house (a three-sided living and working enclosure)." /></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Robert, a police officer on the island, agreed to guide me to the battery. I didn't think a guide was necessary, but I was very, very wrong. We walked back past my car to the road leading up the hill. It was so overgrown that he needed his machete to cut through. When we reached the top, he pointed out the first of four gun emplacements. It was totally hidden by the jungle but the </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">entrance</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> through the overgrown </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">concrete </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">was a visible. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW#!i=2101917933&k=LpfxHz7&lb=1&s=A" title="Abandoned Japanese battery overlooking the southern part of the island. "><img alt="Abandoned Japanese battery overlooking the southern part of the island. " src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/i-LpfxHz7/1/S/JEZ42820x-S.jpg" title="Abandoned Japanese battery overlooking the southern part of the island. " /></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We toured the other three batteries. I wondered at the effort it took to build the fort and haul those great guns up the hill on an island that was mostly jungle seventy-five years ago. Although it was nothing like Nan Modal, it still took considerable effort. In the end, the guns were never fired. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Robert pointed out what I thought was a mound. It was a mortared stone cone with steps leading up the side. From the top, I could see the hollow, </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">unfinished</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> interior, but it's purpose escaped me. My guide didn't know either. We took a different jungle path down, Robert whacking the jungle back with every second step. He lead me to an ammo bunker built into the hillside. The walls were a foot thick and it once had heavy steel doors. The interior was small, maybe the size of a small bedroom. It was now the home of a few hundred bats ... who excited flew out as I approached.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We continued back toward his home were we saw a small artillery piece and what could only have once been a shrine. The Japanese had also left him two great </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">cisterns. One had a hole blasted in it's side—apparently the soldiers had converted it into a defensive position—while the other was still being used to store water for Robert's home. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not far from the Nan Madol site, I found the </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">gorgeous Kepirohi waterfall. It was a short walk through the jungle and well worth the trip to the other side of the island to see.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW#!i=2101906576&k=BrK2h7k&lb=1&s=A" title="The gorgeous Kepirohi waterfall on the south side of the island."><img alt="The gorgeous Kepirohi waterfall on the south side of the island." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/i-BrK2h7k/0/S/JEZ42732b-S.jpg" title="The gorgeous Kepirohi waterfall on the south side of the island." /></a></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_XExBkaZ0xzwI5RrTnUCDgFQPKb67wcE1_qur1s3qiwRgL9Jqdxhrc2-hUOCw3sYPPLH2BLi69T7_2VNOOj5TaM-6LmfyT3xyCwTVjKVL0wVzefy0Mxn7vz_omdan4UPZSXkra6XL3I/s1600/JEZ42583.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_XExBkaZ0xzwI5RrTnUCDgFQPKb67wcE1_qur1s3qiwRgL9Jqdxhrc2-hUOCw3sYPPLH2BLi69T7_2VNOOj5TaM-6LmfyT3xyCwTVjKVL0wVzefy0Mxn7vz_omdan4UPZSXkra6XL3I/s320/JEZ42583.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The dive master relaxing after the first dive of the day.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the biggest attractions of Pohnpei is for the diving. The atoll has many beautiful coral formations and I was fortunate enough to get two days of diving in while I was there. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the first trip, my fellow divers and I drifted through an underwater grand canyon near Ant Island. The tide was flowing so we had only to hover in the water and let it carry us along that great wall of coral. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We stopped on the island for lunch afterward. We were in the middle of nowhere. There was no sign of civilization from horizon to horizon. I was just starting to appreciate this degree of isolation when another boat came around the island. The beached and a dozen locals decided to picnic right next to us, ha, ha! </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ36Hh9auQzJrKqr1EYo9s_CTcJBH7OxQD9cXP38ewIeQ503isI-J46EPw-JGHvQPHAsaZDrdjMqVkqBSWDxY8yR-XxK0J1Pi1f6eFpdD13t3CWcxk02CS-qYulBsTnVsc99-idwg35vE/s1600/JEZ42590b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ36Hh9auQzJrKqr1EYo9s_CTcJBH7OxQD9cXP38ewIeQ503isI-J46EPw-JGHvQPHAsaZDrdjMqVkqBSWDxY8yR-XxK0J1Pi1f6eFpdD13t3CWcxk02CS-qYulBsTnVsc99-idwg35vE/s320/JEZ42590b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being on Ant, I had an opportunity to explore a real deserted isle. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I made my way into the interior, I spotted the biggest hermit crab I've ever seen crawling over a fallen branch. His shell was the size of a baseball. I grabbed him to take him back to the beach for a proper photo. While most hermit crabs are somewhat shy, this one wasted no time coming out and letting me know what he thought of my plan, by grabbing my fingers with his pincers. Before he could grab me, I tossed him toward the beach, but he fell short. I spent the next several minutes trying find him in the brush, but he </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">eluded</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> capture a second time. That was one impressive crab!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It's tough to know which is more photogenic, the island ...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW#!i=2072033712&k=9T3vrkc&lb=1&s=A" title="Inside a Pohnpei jungle."><img alt="Inside a Pohnpei jungle." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/i-9T3vrkc/1/S/JEZ42574-S.jpg" title="Inside a Pohnpei jungle." /></a></span>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">... </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">or the surrounding atoll.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW#!i=2073802802&k=8TGr7K9&lb=1&s=A" title="Spectacular sky over a mirror-calm sea."><img alt="Spectacular sky over a mirror-calm sea." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/i-8TGr7K9/1/S/JEZ42780-S.jpg" title="Spectacular sky over a mirror-calm sea." /></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Despite its famed diving, Pohnpei does not get many tourists (mostly due to the excessive cost of flights). The hotels are rather worn and the choice of restaurants is limited. One exception is The Village, an eco-hotel built back in the seventies that is still going strong. The rooms are individual huts built along a ridge. The result is that each cabin feels like it's alone in the jungle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW#!i=2072036702&k=M6Lpqwf&lb=1&s=A" title="One of the jungle dwelling of The Village hotel."><img alt="One of the jungle dwelling of The Village hotel." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/i-M6Lpqwf/1/S/JEZ42610b-S.jpg" title="One of the jungle dwelling of The Village hotel." /></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">See more photos of Pohnpei <a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Pohnpei/25221858_B6zVvW" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></div>
jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-60027878862768263232012-07-29T01:00:00.000-04:002012-09-24T23:59:56.298-04:00Kwajalein Atoll<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
Kwajalein Island feels like the creation of a bad novelist. Picture this setup: the American government takes over a few palm-tree-laden Pacific coral islands on which to conduct missile experiments and track spacecraft orbiting overhead, building antennae and futuristic domes everywhere; yet there is a small town atmosphere as people happily wave to each other as they ride their bicycles to work and children play in the streets. It's downright surreal. </div>
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The main island of Kwajalein is a squashed J-shape. A large airport runway sits on the elongated base of the "J" while the community part of the island inhabits the ascender. The runway is flanked by a nine-hole golf course on the bottom and administrative, scientific and support buildings on the top. The inward side of the "J" is the lagoon, the inside of the gigantic coral ring that is the Kwajalein Atoll, part of the Marshall Islands. There are a few swimming beaches on the lagoon side. The seaward side is ringed by a reef, preventing the impressive surf from striking the shore, but also preventing swimmers from venturing out (I tried and bear the scars in witness).</div>
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<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2#%21i=1865198152&k=vXQRDrx&lb=1&s=A" title="The sun sets on the most popular swimming beach."><img alt="The sun sets on the most popular swimming beach." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/i-vXQRDrx/0/S/JEZ39280-S.jpg" title="The sun sets on the most popular swimming beach." /></a></div>
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The Marshall Islands were settled by Polynesian people. Various European governments claimed ownership to them at different times in the past few hundred years, but the Japanese held the Kwajalein islands prior to WWII. They fortified the place thoroughly. Americans shelled and bombarded the islands then fought a hard land battle to wrest them away. They've kept a military presence ever since.</div>
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<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2#%21i=1868498703&k=wC7vbcV&lb=1&s=A" title="The rusted remains of a Japanese gun emplacement still looks out over the sea."><img alt="The rusted remains of a Japanese gun emplacement still looks out over the sea." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/i-wC7vbcV/0/S/JEZ39368-S.jpg" title="The rusted remains of a Japanese gun emplacement still looks out over the sea." /></a></div>
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Today, Kwajalein Island is inhabited by a small administrative military contingent supported by a much larger group of American contractors and their families. A large workforce of Marshallese also support the outpost, but they all live on a neighboring island and commute by ferry.</div>
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The residential neighborhoods are what fascinate me the most. While single people live in the college dormitory-like buildings, there are four different styles of family dwellings. The oldest homes, built in the mid-fifties, are one- and two-story duplex units built of cream-colored concrete block. The design is squared off, but the architect did a great job of giving the buildings style.<br />
<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2#%21i=1979449421&k=2RJDBG2&lb=1&s=A" title=""><img alt="" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/i-2RJDBG2/0/M/JEZ41767b-M.jpg" title="" /></a> <br />
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The most unusual neighborhood consists of futuristic dome-like structures built of white fiberglass, or some similar material, with domed windows and doors that, at a glance, resemble airlocks. </div>
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<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2#%21i=1898022625&k=q7t369X&lb=1&s=A" title="One of the surrealistic housing units on the North end of the island. "><img alt="One of the surrealistic housing units on the North end of the island. " height="265" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/i-q7t369X/0/S/JEZ39987-S.jpg" title="One of the surrealistic housing units on the North end of the island. " width="400" /></a></div>
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The place is literally bristling with coconut palm trees. There is a slight danger of getting conked on the head by a falling coconut, so work crews go out and remove the nuts and the dying fronds. The result is that even the undeveloped areas look beautifully groomed, like something out of a Disney film. What troubles me is that the coconuts are discarded. No one seems the least interested in harvesting this crop to drink the coconut water or consume the meat inside. It pains me to see all those coconuts and not be able to drink any of them.<br />
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There are a couple of other types of trees here, but they're not as plentiful as the palms. There are two types of pines, massive low-limbed trees (perfect for climbing) and another sort of palm that puts down addition roots from its trunk. My favorite, though, is the fragrant frangipani tree. When you're down wind, there is no mistaking its sweet scent. Sometimes, while walking around, I'll catch the smell of other flowering plants, but have yet to identify them. <br />
<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2#%21i=1865198310&k=frZBd72&lb=1&s=A" title="Fragrant Frangipani trees can be found everywhere."><img alt="Fragrant Frangipani trees can be found everywhere." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/i-frZBd72/0/S/JEZ39267-S.jpg" title="Fragrant Frangipani trees can be found everywhere." /></a></div>
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Perhaps I watched too much "Gilligan's Island" as a child, but I really expected to find bamboo shacks and bamboo tables and chairs and all sorts of other things made out of bamboo. Unfortunately, there are no bamboo groves on the island. Plastic chairs and tables abound. </div>
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I had hoped for at least one or two local restaurants or shops selling locally produced food, like my longed-for coconut water. However, only American-style food businesses are permitted on the island (to adhere to domestic health regulations, I'm told). The result is a very limited selection of dining options. In addition to the chow hall, there is a sort of food court with a pizza place, Baskin Robbins, Subway and Burger King. I had longed for fresh fish, but I was having none of that here. There is a grocery store, selling primarily frozen food, but my dormitory-like room was equipped only with a microwave. </div>
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You might think that this sort of installation would be very military in its organization, with operations being run by the army instead of a civilian workforce. The remote location would have precluded families from spending more than a few months at a time here. However, it has become a small, isolated town, with a general store, a library, a bank, a gym, and schools. In some ways, the place reminds me of the village from the old TV show, "The Prisoner," only not nearly so colorful.<br />
<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2#%21i=1867737564&k=nqwPgmx&lb=1&s=A" title="A father and daughter on their way to a dive."><img alt="A father and daughter on their way to a dive." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/i-nqwPgmx/0/M/JEZ39309-M.jpg" title="A father and daughter on their way to a dive." /></a> </div>
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I don't know what kind of grass grows here; it's green and soft underfoot and it makes for nice lawns. I see crews mowing the stuff occassionally, but it rarely grows more than a few inches in hight. Kwajalein gets hit with a torrential shower every few days and the grass does very well. That doesn't stop some peculiar residents from using sprinklers, though. Oh, I neglected to mention that there is no source of fresh water here.<br />
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When not working, I head out to one of the beaches or coconut groves and sling a hammock in the trees. I've managed to get through quite a few books this way, while enjoying the breeze and sea air. Unfortunately, it's also rainy season. During most of the year, the rain is a brief torrent, but now it can last for hours ... and usually waits until the weekend for the really long rains. </div>
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<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2#%21i=1869903639&k=P2kx4h7&lb=1&s=A" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" title="A hermit crab enjoys the bounty of fast food snack."><img alt="A hermit crab enjoys the bounty of fast food snack." height="320" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/i-P2kx4h7/0/M/JEZ39458-M.jpg" title="A hermit crab enjoys the bounty of fast food snack." width="213" /></a>Sometimes, I'll set up my hammock an hour before dawn and watch the sun rise over the Pacific. My timing is usually bad because I've missed the most spectacular sunrises. Because I am taking my camera from my cold room into the warm moist air of the island, condensation on my lenses is a huge problem. It takes a good hour before I can take photos. When waiting for the sun to rise, I like to catch a few hermit crabs to see what sort of shells they have acquired. If I have a snack, I'll coax them out to feed. They are particularly fond of snack food. I tried keeping a few as pets, but my room is too cold for them and they spend their time huddled in a corner (as effectively as a crab can huddle). I've yet to find a coconut crab. That's the one creature I must see before I leave.<br />
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One day, it occurred to me that there were no seagulls. I'm used to
seeing those birds everywhere, even well inland, but there are none to
be found around Kwajalein. There are other seabirds, terns and boobies
and a rare crane, but no gulls. </div>
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In addition to conducting its own programs, Kwajalein Island supports other island installations with their various radar and antennae arrays. One of those is Roi Namur. It was originally two separate islands, but the Japanese occupiers brought Filipino workers to merge the two into one. This island is home to one of the largest tracking devices I've ever seen. This monster towers above the trees and focuses on a different part of the sky every few minutes. It takes only a few seconds for it to swing from one horizon to another.</div>
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<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2#%21i=1871677568&k=kvxGL6N&lb=1&s=A" title="This gigantic antennae sweeps the sky day and night."><img alt="This gigantic antennae sweeps the sky day and night." height="266" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/i-kvxGL6N/0/L/JEZ39545-L.jpg" title="This gigantic antennae sweeps the sky day and night." width="400" /></a></div>
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Roi is practically overrun with rats; they live in the trees. At one time, feral cats roamed the island, keeping the rat population in check. Some commander deemed them a non-native species and had the cats eradicated. The non-native rats have since flourished. The workers on Roi refer to themselves as Roi rats, for their tenacity.</div>
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There's also a small population of chickens on the Namur side of the island. Every time I scooted by in my golf cart, they'd come running out of the brush, thinking that I was going to feed them. I had a very funny flashback as I looked in the side mirror of my cart, watching the chickens chasing me; I was reminded of the scene from "Jurassic Park" where the jeep was being chased by a dinosaur. </div>
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The Namur side has an haunting collection of Japanese pillboxes and blockhouses. They are all heavily damaged from the battle, but time has taken the greatest toll. The concrete walls, more than a foot thick, are a crumbling ruin. The grid of reinforcing steel inside has been exposed to the salt air, creating spider webs of corrupted metal. </div>
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<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2#%21i=1869908632&k=ZrbCC68&lb=1&s=A" title="The interior of a bombed out Japanese blockhouse on Namur."><img alt="The interior of a bombed out Japanese blockhouse on Namur." height="266" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/i-ZrbCC68/0/M/JEZ39433-M.jpg" title="The interior of a bombed out Japanese blockhouse on Namur." width="400" /></a></div>
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There are no families on Roi, so no schools and no standard housing. Everyone lives in dormitories. Lacking personal space to relax, some residents set up areas about the island from which they can swim or sit and enjoy the sunset after a long day. Collections of curious shells, discarded buoys and flotsam decorate these areas. They're great places to meet the local workers on the weekend. Roi also manages to have the best beaches.</div>
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<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2#%21i=1868497908&k=ThvbQrw&lb=1&s=A" title="Roi island beach."><img alt="Roi island beach." height="267" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/i-ThvbQrw/0/L/JEZ39373-L.jpg" title="Roi island beach." width="400" /></a></div>
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As on Kwajalein, the local Marshall Islanders commute from off-island. I decided to take the ferry across to see how the locals lived. Ennubirr, usually referred to as Third island, is small ... <i>really</i> small. It's a flat trapezoid of an island, 300m by 400m. It's packed with ramshackle huts built of scrap lumber, concrete block and aluminum sheets. The homes are clustered together with no semblance of organization save for the crude paths of crushed coral between them. The island has a small school, a small clinic and three churches. Nowhere on the island is there evidence of craft or industry.<br />
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<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2#%21i=1871676342&k=qgF3tbd&lb=1&s=A" title="Many of the graves on Ennubirr island are imports from a more crowded island elsewhere in the atoll."><img alt="Many of the graves on Ennubirr island are imports from a more crowded island elsewhere in the atoll." height="266" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/i-qgF3tbd/0/M/JEZ39556-M.jpg" title="Many of the graves on Ennubirr island are imports from a more crowded island elsewhere in the atoll." width="400" /></a></div>
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There's no water on the island. It's brought over from Roi-Namur in whatever containers people have at hand. Some water is shipped in to the island, though, as I saw a converted tanker truck trailer dispersing water to plastic drums near the center of the island. </div>
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The island has two tiny one-room shops. I tried to buy a bottle of water but they were out. The goods available are primarily packaged and canned foods. </div>
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On one corner of the island, I found the garbage tip. Piles of cans and assorted scrap metal lay on what might have once been a baseball diamond. The pile had been burned at various times as the metal was blackened. Next to the heap, in the shade of a few trees, I found the rusted remains of three tractors. Did they once grow food here? I saw no vegetable gardens, let alone something that would once have required a tractor. The trees are not as plentiful as on Roi-Namur, but there are still some coconut palms, including one species with nuts within easy reach of the ground. Kids were climbing another species of tree, gathering a soft, unattractive-looking fruit. I learned that it is boiled as part of another dish.</div>
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After a hour of wandering around, I had seen everything twice. I went back to the dock. The ferry would not return for some time. Had there been someplace to sit down and have a drink, I might have stayed longer and contemplated what life might have been like on the island at the turn of the last century. I found a few fishermen heading over to Namur and caught a ride with them. Back to "civilization."<br />
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Local workers on Kwajalein island all commute from nearby Ebbe island. A ferry plys the water between the two islands, running six to ten times a day. The trip takes about half an hour and is much more pleasant than being stuck in traffic.<br />
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<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2#%21i=1883649738&k=x9qTKfM&lb=1&s=A" title="The boat from Kwajalein island prepares to dock at Ebbe island. the wharf here was once rammed by a careless ship, but never repaired."><img alt="The boat from Kwajalein island prepares to dock at Ebbe island. the wharf here was once rammed by a careless ship, but never repaired." height="266" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/i-x9qTKfM/0/M/JEZ39786-M.jpg" title="The boat from Kwajalein island prepares to dock at Ebbe island. the wharf here was once rammed by a careless ship, but never repaired." width="400" /></a></div>
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Ebbe has a regular island shape, but is much smaller than Kwajalein. Like Ennubirr, the island is crowded, but it has proper streets and sidewalks along with large stores and houses. What surprised me most was the number of cars. I walked around the entire island in an hour, but people have cars shipped there so they can drive. I later discovered that the island is connected by causeways to other islands, but these are also small. I was further astonished that no one rode bicycles on Ebbe. Everyone either walks or climbs into the back of one of the pickup trucks that serve as taxis. <br />
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The houses of Ebbe are not quite as ramshackled as Ennubirr, but they are still very makeshift in appearance. On my tour, I saw three large stores, several small snack shops serving convenience food, one restaurant a couple of schools and too many churches to recall. I saw no sign of any fishing industry, no trade-craft, no artistry; only construction and marine salvage operations seemed to offer any employment. There is a large medical clinic, but it was closed the day I walked past. There is a water treatment plant, but I am told that it breaks down frequently and workers from Kwajalein are the only ones who can fix it.<br />
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At the north side of the island, I found the scrap heap. It had the usual plastic trash and empty cans you'd find anywhere, but I was suprised to see automobiles and even a bulldozer in the rubbish. The lagoon side of the island has its share of discarded scrap metal wallowing against the rocks. Overall, a rather depressing sight.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPEQZV7Fz49fGJsLOQm_-Q4Bk6zeTV5NNvkC2spk6UALoU9nzELxp-ItXAIiBtlRiqB5SKqpOKQLbsNwv6QW13x-BFPnTGWfWVB5ThGiMbNEX1cox8a1j8J-jgLgvRv1IVXbf-dNI-UrI/s1600/JEZ39782b2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPEQZV7Fz49fGJsLOQm_-Q4Bk6zeTV5NNvkC2spk6UALoU9nzELxp-ItXAIiBtlRiqB5SKqpOKQLbsNwv6QW13x-BFPnTGWfWVB5ThGiMbNEX1cox8a1j8J-jgLgvRv1IVXbf-dNI-UrI/s400/JEZ39782b2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I decided to go back to Kwajalein. I had an hour to kill before the ferry arrived, so I visited the one and only restaurant on the island. The menu had a lot of choices, far too many considering the availability of ingredients available. I went with some fried rice and garlic bread. They didn't serve beer, sadly. The fried rice was acceptable, but the garlic bread had been prepared a few days earlier and warmed in the microwave (which did nothing to reduce the hardness of the bread). <br />
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To get around on Kwajalein, most people use bicycles. I was privileged enough to get an electric golf cart. Every time I get into the thing, I mentally reach for the non-existent seat-belt. Once I get it moving, I mentally reach down to turn on the non-existent radio. These mental routines are tough to break! I have to plug it in to recharge overnight. That's a new game for me: find a plug that works. So many of the outdoor plugs crap out in the salty air that it becomes a challenge to find one with current.<br />
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Being immersed in a military environment, the inhabitants take on some of the bad habits of the military, namely abbreviating things needlessly. Where in the real world we might refer to someone as a visitor or temporary employee, they use DTY for temporary duty. Instead of calling the recreation center the "rec center," they spell out A-R-C (adult recreation center). When someone leaves the island, they don't "leave the island," they PCS They don't even refer to it as "leaving" but "PCS'ing." I have no idea what PCS stands for, but instead of having a moving sale, they have a PCS sale.<br />
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Things that don't require a name are given names. There's only one grocery store on the island. Rather than simply calling it "the grocery store," it's "Surfway" (a tongue-in-cheek homage to Safeway). It's not like you're ever going to have specify <i>which</i> grocery store you're going to on this island. The convenience store is another example. I forget what it's called today, but no one calls it "the convenience store." It used to be "10-10" because it was open from ten o'clock in the morning until ten o'clock at night (a homage to 7-11). Some people still call it 10-10, but 1010 is also an important administrative building on the island. They call that building "1010" instead of "Missile command." <sigh></sigh><br />
<sigh><br />
My favorite thing about the island is the casual environment. You know how some offices have casual Fridays where you can wear a golf shirt to work with khaki pants? Well, in Hawaii, they get to wear the traditional Hawaiian shirt at the end of the week. On Kwajalein, the Hawaiian shirt is <i>everyday </i>work attire ... along with shorts and flip-flop sandals. You half expect to see a waiter walk by with a tray of pina coladas. Any time you spot someone in slacks or long-sleeve shirt, you know they've just arrived and didn't get the dress code memo. This is the most laid-back <i>looking</i> place I've ever seen. Work certainly gets done, though, and everyone takes their job seriously. It's worth noting that only the civilian administrative staff are so tropically attired. The military personnel wear their uniforms and those working outdoors dress appropriately for their job. </sigh><br />
<sigh><br />
</sigh><br />
<a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2#%21i=1897063306&k=2mcpf8s&lb=1&s=A" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" title="Don't know where to go? This will help."><img alt="Don't know where to go? This will help." src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/i-2mcpf8s/0/S/JEZ39875-S.jpg" title="Don't know where to go? This will help." /></a><sigh>Most of the people I've met have been on the island for a few years and expect to move on to another post before too long. Some, however, have been here for more than twenty years. Their kids have never lived anywhere but here. I can't imagine what it's like to grow up here. It's not the same as being in a small town because here there are no other towns you might choose to visit ... unless you take a very expensive flight. One of the firemen told me that some guys will arrive on the island for a job, spend a few days and take the flight out. </sigh><br />
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<sigh>This degree of isolation is not for everyone. It's made easier with internet access, but the long-term residents are still on dial-up connections! That alone would deter me. Still, for a few months, the experience is like none other and I intend to make the most of it.</sigh><br />
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<sigh>See more photos <a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Kwajalein/23151152_TZQRz2" target="_blank">here</a>. </sigh></div>
jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-49319416721742693692011-11-10T17:33:00.000-05:002011-11-17T14:25:49.805-05:00Tokyo<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
My first trip to Tokyo, was a brief, one-day experience. I had arrived early in the morning, after an overnight flight. I don't recall much of that trip. Although I was wide-eyed in wonder, I was also sleep deprived and much of that wonder may have been hallucination. Having over a week in and near the city meant that I could really see it ... or so I thought. </div>
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My adventure began in my hotel. Instead of a terrycloth robe hanging in my closet, I was provided with a traditional yukata. I wasted no time in trying it on. Although beautifully appointed, the room was certainly the smallest I'd ever seen in the Marriott chain. I was not planning to spend much time there, so I didn't much care. Interestingly, it had the smallest bathroom I've ever seen outside an airplane. It was just large enough to accommodate a sink, toilet and shower stall. Again, not a place where I spend a lot of time ... until I sat down on the toilet. It was one of those famous automatic toilets. While American hotels concentrate on adjustable beds and televisions with a hundred channels, the Japanese put their efforts into toilets that make you happy to be awake. I was compelled to explore every option on the device's repertoire. I was not disappointed.</div>
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The other interesting thing about my hotel was the birds. There weren't any birds, but there were bird songs. Hidden speakers located near the ceiling played the chirping of birds, just audible over the other ambient noises of the hotel. The sounds were remarkably real and delightfully relaxing; especially since their source could not be easily identified. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ginza district at night.</td></tr>
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I spent my first morning exploring the nearby <a href="http://jezsik.blogspot.com/2011/05/tokyo-fish-market.html">Tokyo Fish Market</a> and the area around it. Although I saw no "sights," everyday life in Japan is enough to pique my curiosity. In the afternoon, I explored the Ginza district. To my delight, they had closed off the street to traffic and there were cafe-style tables set up. Unfortunately, there was no coffee or tea being served and no market shops set up. Still, it made for great people watching.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ginza district closes the street to traffic.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbZWnL5HvAQ1Yr44WzEzXBIPPyORLs5ihdQszVadHqCsIUHHOjh7Fn-PLnzfF6_tO_dZTDET3lz_UEYX19gcs5iMeY6JAjJdfj2idcIWOLTfP3U0ztkGD_KFUbci4DaazfhHkQeNrGRQ/s1600/IMG_6465b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbZWnL5HvAQ1Yr44WzEzXBIPPyORLs5ihdQszVadHqCsIUHHOjh7Fn-PLnzfF6_tO_dZTDET3lz_UEYX19gcs5iMeY6JAjJdfj2idcIWOLTfP3U0ztkGD_KFUbci4DaazfhHkQeNrGRQ/s400/IMG_6465b.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Side streets lit by neon signs.</td></tr>
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In the evening, I took the train to Akihabara Electric Town, hoping to acquire some interesting electronic gadget. Getting off the main street, there are numerous side streets and passageways, packed with stores and closed to traffic. I popped into many of the electronics stores but was, quite frankly, bewildered by the displays. With the exception of high-tech rice cookers, there was nothing there that I didn't think I could find back home. There may well have been marvelous items, but not being able to understand the labels and promotional text, I had no way of knowing. What few devices I knew well, camera equipment mainly, I could buy more cheaply on the domestic market. The specialization of the stores impressed me, though. For example, one store sold only lights. Not table lights and floor lamps, just bulbs and their fixtures. Every imaginable bulb shape and color. </div>
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The layout of these stores is what really intrigued me. Even the larger department stores had limited street space, so they build the shops tall. A store that would pass a quaint boutique-size shop anywhere else, is equipped with escalators that enabled expansion to seven and more floors. Each floor is then dedicated to a different type of product. Mind you, these are all electronics products, so there's a lot to see!</div>
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Much like the Ginza district, "Akiba" is lit primarily by neon signs, the most colorful (or annoying) of which belong to the pachinko parlors. These places are overwhelmed by sound: music from the parlor public address system, the music from the individual machines and the sound effects each produce. On a busy evening, it is all but impossible to speak without yelling. I've been to quieter rock concerts.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzVvQr3MjGXAq7qHN2148V-GD59dIsb1wVfOCkOiJMAufFV6J80PaR7oH8l5rFMFmPSdf5OMQupJpDILltVG-NVJ2yRj-5hzAfiAGwZPZE0-uH48OW_HFE9A_C8mBCNvantzl2jDKhQQ/s1600/IMG_6460b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzVvQr3MjGXAq7qHN2148V-GD59dIsb1wVfOCkOiJMAufFV6J80PaR7oH8l5rFMFmPSdf5OMQupJpDILltVG-NVJ2yRj-5hzAfiAGwZPZE0-uH48OW_HFE9A_C8mBCNvantzl2jDKhQQ/s400/IMG_6460b.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside a pachinko parlor</td></tr>
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Cute girls, dressed in alluring clothing, handed out fliers in front of many of the larger establishments. I spotted a clutch of girls dressed in provocative maid attire. Something tugged at the back of my mind and I knew I had to see whatever restaurant they were promoting. After making my way up some dark, narrow and slightly scary stairs, I stepped into a brightly lit room with small tables with a score of customers and maids rushing about serving them. I recalled reading about a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maid_caf%C3%A9" target="_blank">maid café</a>, but never expected to see one in person. It's like a regular café, but served by women who act like household maids, garbed in a caricature of English or French maid attire. There's nothing untoward about the place, just a novel dinning experience. I later learned that it was the very first ever maid café I discovered. I so wanted to photograph the place, but they were adamant about their "no photography" rule, so I left empty handed.<br />
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The next morning, I walked past the Ginza district and made my way toward the royal palace. The city abruptly came to an end at a moat with a stone wall, beyond which was a serene park. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking at the city from across the moat.</td></tr>
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I had no idea what time the palace opened for tours, so I wandered through the splendid grounds until I found what looked like an entrance. It was at that time I learned that the emperor lives in the palace and that he didn't really care for visitors. With so many royal palaces open to the public, it's too easy to forget that there are still royal personages living in some of them! I contented myself by enjoying the grounds and watching the numerous locals use the cobbled road around the moat for their morning exercises.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As close as I came to the royal palace.</td></tr>
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Near the palace, I discovered a garden park. It was fairly quiet at that early hour of the morning, but there were still people there exercising and enjoying the beautiful light.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/14861598_m3DLDd#1110215832_XxCvK-A-LB" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Sun beams make the growth glow green."><img alt="Sun beams make the growth glow green." height="266" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6556b/1110215832_XxCvK-M.jpg" title="Sun beams make the growth glow green." width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The early morning light in Hibiya park.</td></tr>
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Hibiya park is an interesting mix of things. There are areas that appear as sacred shrines, there are tennis courts, there are ponds, there are semi-feral house cats, and there are lovely gardens. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful fall colors.</td></tr>
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I walked back to the Ginza district to find some breakfast. Unable to find anything suitably appealing, I settled for a coffee and danish at a very Parisian looking cafe, attended by some surprisingly Parisian looking patrons.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYJXxeIP0qVbxc1FVJadNgWTDqD1EZtYOi3n8-_-k5eZdFD4AnGDbP40rVesytVeZpXPdhke-4cpPghwjjEXvGeGT6Be6ivuPKbD4_oSODIaYgitiJV5n_EE71QRC-lGsdVopJsIQWly8/s1600/IMG_6562c.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYJXxeIP0qVbxc1FVJadNgWTDqD1EZtYOi3n8-_-k5eZdFD4AnGDbP40rVesytVeZpXPdhke-4cpPghwjjEXvGeGT6Be6ivuPKbD4_oSODIaYgitiJV5n_EE71QRC-lGsdVopJsIQWly8/s400/IMG_6562c.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Having coffee in the cafe.</td></tr>
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In the various department stores I visited, they all had a special section with gift items. In some stores, it would take up an entire floor. The gifts were unusual in that they were so heavily packaged. The most common were consumables, including dried fruits and nuts and coffees. Each was packed in a beautiful container and wrapped in layers of colorful plastic and foil. The prices, of course, reflected the care each product was given. I learned that our western Christmas roughly coincides with a gift-giving time in Japan. The gifts tend to be on the elaborate side and are very often given to bosses.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNl_CaL1l8fbF_oJlW7AQ-iNHGzGeHwKB838RK_Y_jqFTlQbbm23_b_oo4NQJkwJ5yntYOB3zA1VaQtP1gW5mBjVc53nsV078er_jYosP51rrFv-2GYQ8yM1tI5VjjM0CORdjh2i5xURM/s1600/IMG_6573b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNl_CaL1l8fbF_oJlW7AQ-iNHGzGeHwKB838RK_Y_jqFTlQbbm23_b_oo4NQJkwJ5yntYOB3zA1VaQtP1gW5mBjVc53nsV078er_jYosP51rrFv-2GYQ8yM1tI5VjjM0CORdjh2i5xURM/s320/IMG_6573b.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Liz Lisa boutique.</td></tr>
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I continued my exploration of the shopping spaces. Most of the larger centers had boutiques inside that sold particular brands. Each of these boutiques were decorated in that brand's style ... and some were particularly stylish ... with a very Japanese style.<br />
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I thought it might be a good idea to buy a kimono. The shop I visited had a selection of the robes on display. They were beautiful. They would better decorate a wall than any painting or photo. I looked at the price and had to look again. My rough mental calculation of yen to dollars suggested that the particular kimono I was examining was in excess of $500. It was way more than I wanted to spend, of course, but it was certainly worth that price. It wasn't even the most impressive or most expensive, but it was the one that most appealed to me. There was a gentle click-click-click as my brain slowly chewed over the cost, then there was an almost audible "bing!" This kimono was not five hundred bucks, this kimono was more than five <i>thousand </i>bucks. I would not be hanging this kimono on my wall ... but I thought briefly about a fur tapestry.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6612b/1115119446_JnXvg-L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6612b/1115119446_JnXvg-L.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Romantic streets.</td></tr>
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That evening, I stopped at the Sagami-Ōno train station on the way to my accommodations. The shopping area near the station is as typical as one can find in Japan. There were no tourists in sight, just people going about their business, shopping, etc. I was mostly looking for interesting souvenirs and good food.<br />
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What I really like about Tokyo is the fact that cars are not the rulers of the city. The area where I was walking around had almost no cars. There are plenty of bicycles, of course, but few cars getting in the way of everything. The roads were practically alleys, they were so narrow, and people walked through the streets like Americans walk through the mall corridors. <br />
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Having experienced crowded trains on the weekend, I could not imagine what the weekday commute is like. On a Saturday morning, I took the train to Asakusa to see the most famous shrine in the city, Sensō-ji. The train was packed with people. I got off the train too soon and found myself in the middle of ... well, wherever I was in Tokyo, but probably not the middle. I was fortunate to fine a policeman who knew enough English to point me in the right direction. In the end I was lucky to have exited when I did as it afforded opportunity to see more of the city.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/14861598_m3DLDd#1124304860_jiAzc-A-LB" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Outside the Ban Dai headquarters. One of the most welcoming corporate headquarters ever."><img alt="Outside the Ban Dai headquarters. One of the most welcoming corporate headquarters ever." height="320" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6898b/1124304860_jiAzc-M-1.jpg" title="Outside the Ban Dai headquarters. One of the most welcoming corporate headquarters ever." width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside the Bandai headquarters</td></tr>
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One of the first things I stumbled upon was the headquarters of Bandai, Japan's biggest toy manufacturer. I was not alone in admiring the building. Many Japanese tourists stood with their noses pressed against the glass, looking at the showroom lobby. Outside the building stand many oversize versions of Bandai's characters (including my childhood hero, Ultraman). <br />
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When I arrived at Sensō-ji, I was a bit overwhelmed. After passing through the first enormous gate, I found myself in a lane leading up to the shrine, each side of which was crowded with shops. I was actually pleased to see so many potential souvenir items in one place, but I thought it a bit odd that a sacred place would be so commercial. I later learned that since ancient times, the merchants had been allowed to set up their small shops in exchange for looking after the temple grounds.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6923b/1124759568_dbmyr-M.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6923b/1124759568_dbmyr-M.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Visitors pull incense smoke toward themselves near the shrine gate.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I barely made it to the first gate when I was approached by three college students. They wanted to be my guides at the shrine because it gave them an opportunity to practice their English. I was quite suspect, but dropped my guard when I realized they were sincere. As they told me about the gate we were standing beneath, I was distracted by small groups of people walking with, what looked like, fishing poles in bags. I asked my guides to help me figure out what they were doing. We learned they were all coming from an archery tournament held at a recreation center near the river. This was my chance to see one of Japan's most famous art forms! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjnxzIoD0hly4VwObvofSMqmJzXhjFyq69dlNik-DeZ5e6ZSR3eL4DVThCNrkXf4-CFdfeSghc690txjCxN9jvsMG-jZkSsOQ9wIGxdZr_h3__LpPhFeyZxmgl3SNu5ncgF2d2QSE6ktI/s1600/IMG_6991b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjnxzIoD0hly4VwObvofSMqmJzXhjFyq69dlNik-DeZ5e6ZSR3eL4DVThCNrkXf4-CFdfeSghc690txjCxN9jvsMG-jZkSsOQ9wIGxdZr_h3__LpPhFeyZxmgl3SNu5ncgF2d2QSE6ktI/s320/IMG_6991b.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The archer's equipment.</td></tr>
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I told my guides I was changing plans and they offered to accompany me. We spend a good bit of time trying to find the tournament. It was being held in the largest recreation center I've ever seen. Such places in the US are spread out over acres of land. In Tokyo, the only way to expand is to go up. The building looked like a huge office block. We climbed about five floors to find the archery competitors, all dressed in traditional outfits, preparing for the competition.<br />
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In a room as long as a bowling alley, a group of six immaculately dressed archers methodically took their place at the shooting area with their great seven-foot bows. They went through a bit of a ritual as they knelt down to prepare their arrows, then slowly stood to take their shot. With the help of my interpreter guides, I gained permission to photograph them unobtrusively.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/14861598_m3DLDd#1124760138_FY7ox-A-LB" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="The competition begins as the row of six archers draw their arrows."><img alt="The competition begins as the row of six archers draw their arrows." height="266" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6948b/1124760138_FY7ox-M.jpg" title="The competition begins as the row of six archers draw their arrows." width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Preparing for the shot.</td></tr>
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I spent as long as I dared, not wanting to distract the competitors with my presence as I moved behind them, looking very out of place with my western garb. My guides took me back to the shrine and we continued where we left off.<br />
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Once we had completed the tour of the shrine, my young guides <i>asked my permission</i> to return to the entrance so they could meet more more English speakers. I was quite taken aback by this, but they were the epitome of politeness. I was worried that I ran them off their feet, but they admitted that they had fun. They wished me good luck and took off through the crowd, back to the first gate.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfUoOR8hH7QC9njTboLTTSpYDVKOYBNiezY7Lfpnu6-kh4hmQuaEcyNIIh0QCJ4b8ZU_czEkZzB4hIIvBrR6T4KpaCNpdip_Ulsd0XRgVkSHRCLENOw8OAKW6_IQ_tEq3BtnqXenmV1w/s1600/IMG_6999b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfUoOR8hH7QC9njTboLTTSpYDVKOYBNiezY7Lfpnu6-kh4hmQuaEcyNIIh0QCJ4b8ZU_czEkZzB4hIIvBrR6T4KpaCNpdip_Ulsd0XRgVkSHRCLENOw8OAKW6_IQ_tEq3BtnqXenmV1w/s400/IMG_6999b.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My guides.</td></tr>
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My next concern was for money. My guides were unable to locate a usable bank machine or money changer, so I headed in to the heart of Asakusa, in hopes of finding services catering to foreign tourists. I could find nothing.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjM607GnHZRsvG5FtYMhp5jlnrWPCoI8BEuWzm_Cbd_oNloIfegoQTmCYYVD1ZpcoPEVAbskmH_4-kjfyTvI90Ry8K0FqfNk2cLjvBL4GiiKIZgsVrkypYy3AaMVXlhWherKv0O3MnzWk/s1600/IMG_7038b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjM607GnHZRsvG5FtYMhp5jlnrWPCoI8BEuWzm_Cbd_oNloIfegoQTmCYYVD1ZpcoPEVAbskmH_4-kjfyTvI90Ry8K0FqfNk2cLjvBL4GiiKIZgsVrkypYy3AaMVXlhWherKv0O3MnzWk/s320/IMG_7038b.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have no idea what he was selling.</td></tr>
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Japanese shops compete for customers through various techniques. My favorite was
the giant plush-toy character. You would think that an enormous cute
creature would be promoting products targeted toward kids, but these
things were touting everything from refrigerators to gambling halls.<br />
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While I did not see a lot of them, the ones I did see were very
professional looking. Any one of them could have an entire animated TV
program dedicated to them, but here, they were the American equivalent of sign flippers.<br />
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I stopped a young couple as they were entering some sort of bank. Fortunately, they spoke English. The bank, as it turned out, was a karaoke place ... so much for my powers of observation and deduction. He pulled out his smart phone and used the map application to identify bank machines. The three of us followed the directions, going from bank to bank, all of which lacked the service I required.<br />
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I was impressed by the guy's stylish attire and asked his girlfriend if he was a musician. She assured me he was. "Ah-ha, he is a singer in a rock band, isn't he?" I claimed. The two of them laughed. She said he was a singer, but that he sang opera. Now it was my turn to laugh, but she assured me that he sang opera. To test him, I (badly) hummed the opening bars of my favorite aria, Nessun dorma. He picked it up right away and began singing the lyrics in a quite, but powerful, voice. I stopped dead in my tracks. He really was an opera singer!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQ2_2MgIdsRyeDCnFmWEMA6X-djNXSi45sr6AeqwnA4Uph5UJqKxczwObr2c-MllJyMnHNUag8YlUJviSurcAHFdqi8oIRqh0qNJuiBn2RWnS9sowoxkkTHZKpLYdpBB9coCjLjdJcX8/s1600/IMG_7040b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQ2_2MgIdsRyeDCnFmWEMA6X-djNXSi45sr6AeqwnA4Uph5UJqKxczwObr2c-MllJyMnHNUag8YlUJviSurcAHFdqi8oIRqh0qNJuiBn2RWnS9sowoxkkTHZKpLYdpBB9coCjLjdJcX8/s400/IMG_7040b.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Opera singer and girlfriend.</td></tr>
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By this point, I'd taken up a lot of their time and did not want to further intrude on their evening. I'd yet to find somewhere to change money, but he suspected that I could do so somewhere near the train station. I bid them a good evening and eventually did get some money. Time to shop! <br />
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I returned to the shrine, and picked up some souvenirs. Then, I headed back to the bar areas of Asakusa. I was unable to find a restaurant that really appealed to me, but was entranced by the many hole-in-the-wall eating establishements in the many alleyways.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6nhLJWRUTvPYZwEQHfVnXvZXImcKhGhbdgYNazsVIvNlJgEAngy43fEMacZ-29a3E0f1F6FqFjzleBOR83eM4f2y3Tl4anmOYM5ytWDVk0cgp3fuaKZTnWsLBXiHrYmEE2-ajRAOpvc/s1600/IMG_7096b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6nhLJWRUTvPYZwEQHfVnXvZXImcKhGhbdgYNazsVIvNlJgEAngy43fEMacZ-29a3E0f1F6FqFjzleBOR83eM4f2y3Tl4anmOYM5ytWDVk0cgp3fuaKZTnWsLBXiHrYmEE2-ajRAOpvc/s400/IMG_7096b.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many little bars in Asakusa.</td></tr>
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Still hungry, I returned, yet again, to the shrine. With the sun down, the place looked magical. Although there were fewer people, there were still a lot of people and the shops were still doing business.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQFmXr-o1YLkR00v_z_A9U-RazIiILPl6Txs-d4xDmAv7bWL5wBClWF5lfmdm4RSd2u1B_zeQl7d7_eW15BRQCNrTj908oirsQTwv_hhDhezQ1YCkd859ahSRaPQbwukqRPYkh7vfHdPw/s1600/IMG_7125b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQFmXr-o1YLkR00v_z_A9U-RazIiILPl6Txs-d4xDmAv7bWL5wBClWF5lfmdm4RSd2u1B_zeQl7d7_eW15BRQCNrTj908oirsQTwv_hhDhezQ1YCkd859ahSRaPQbwukqRPYkh7vfHdPw/s400/IMG_7125b.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sensō-ji at night.</td></tr>
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The next day, it was time to leave Japan. I took the train to the airport and arrived early enough to wander around the shopping area. There were plenty of interesting things to buy, including this unusual flavor of Kit Kat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPXzEC82NfIanSYvA8B22WI202w4TRAnPCzUhWMlfOouF5kwSXUfF4L9nn2rpO-WZ45N4TpR_psSaEwhe0PMOkAm7MbN7LqnvTo2Ct_BrXR_gpwSWbR270QjfcxTCYFZDyb7de8dFweIs/s1600/IMG_7148b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPXzEC82NfIanSYvA8B22WI202w4TRAnPCzUhWMlfOouF5kwSXUfF4L9nn2rpO-WZ45N4TpR_psSaEwhe0PMOkAm7MbN7LqnvTo2Ct_BrXR_gpwSWbR270QjfcxTCYFZDyb7de8dFweIs/s400/IMG_7148b.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soy sauce flavored Kit Kat bars? Only in Japan</td></tr>
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See more photos from Tokyo <a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/14861598_m3DLDd" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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<br /></div>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-16067004107098405622011-11-02T16:57:00.001-04:002011-11-05T21:29:24.141-04:00A brief tour of Shōnan, Japan<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
My two colleagues and I had a free day to explore. They had discussed the idea of going to Kyoto, but the logistics were cost and time prohibitive. We settled on a trip south, to the region of Shōnan. My knowledge of the area was as lacking as my knowledge of the rest of Japan's geography, but I knew there would be plenty of opportunity to learn.</div>
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The way to travel around the Tokyo region is by train. According to my calculations, it would take about an hour and half to get to Enoshima island in Sagami Bay. Of course, that would be a ninety minute trip for people who knew where they were going and how to get there. We arrived at the train station and relied on the gracious ticket agents to explain how to get to our destination. The trip required changing trains at a nearby station, then changing railroads at another station. This required another patient ticket agent to assure us we were on the right track, literally and figuratively.</div>
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Looking out the windows, we watched as the buildings changed from apartment towers and office blocks to smaller row houses. We were approaching the coast.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the front of the train as we rode toward Enoshima.</td></tr>
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Leaving the train station, we crossed a bridge under which dark brown water churned its way to the bay. The river was flowing so quickly, I was half convinced the boats tied to the concrete channel might be swept away. We walked across the causeway leading to the island.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Care for some tasty little fish?</td></tr>
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It was clear that Enoshima was a tourist destination. The road at the end of the causeway was lined with shops and restaurants. I learned that the culinary specialty of the area was a sardine. We soon found a restaurant specializing in this dish, but I was intrigued by whatever it was that they were offering free samples. It appeared to be some sort of short, white, noodly substance. Customers were buying bagfuls of the stuff. The restauranteur proffered me a spoonful as I asked him what it was. After a few attempts, I learned that it was the very sardine I had been told about. The little white noodle was actually a very tiny, fully formed, fish. I expected it to taste fishy, but it tasted more like a noodle than anything. I'm not a big fish eater, but I figured this was an opportunity that should not be passed up. My colleagues agreed and we went inside to have lunch.</div>
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The restaurant included simple wooden tables but also a closed-in area with mats on the floor. Our hostess wisely didn't bother to ask us if we wanted to sit on the mats. We were fortunately that the menu included pictures so we were able to pick out what we wanted to eat. Out meal consisted of rice or noodle with the sardine and other items. It was tasty, but not particularly memorable. </div>
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Afterward, we headed up along the commercial street on the hill to the shrine. On the way, I engaged a friendly cat. Moments later, a man approached me, holding a calico cat, laughing and saying "Ah, a present for you!" and handed me the cat. His colleagues chortled at this and I went along, accepting the furry gift. The cat purred as I held it and scratched it behind the ears. </div>
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A young woman, who noted the exchanged, came up and told me I had a very beautiful cat. "Oh, a present for you!" I said, and handed her the cat. She accepted it with a smile. The other shop keepers gave laughing approval. </div>
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I spotted a group of girls eating something on skewers. It looked like meat, but it could just as easily have been a sweet of some sort. As I tried to ask them what it was, they looked at my camera and giggled in delight then posed for a photo! I never did find out what they were eating, but I did manage to get them to hold them for the picture.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know what they were eating, but it looked delicious.</td></tr>
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The stone stairway and cobbled walk leading up to the shrine was lined in red banners. By ignoring the fact that the banners were nylon and hoisted on plastic poles, I could imagine that I was walking back in time. Near the entrance, worshipers were engaged in a cleansing ritual. They used a dipper to wash their hands and some took a sip and spit it on the ground. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ritual cleansing fountain. </td></tr>
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Shrine attendants sell souviners and items of adoration to worshipers at a sort of kiosk done up in very traditional style. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A shrine attendant patiently poses for my camera. </td></tr>
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There were areas where people tie wishes to a fence or attach wooden charms to a frame.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A frame with wooden charms left by worshipers. </td></tr>
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We wandered around the island, looking at the various viewpoints and passing through the tall trees and lush bamboo stands. There was not enough time to enjoy the parks and other diversions, though, as we wanted to see more of Shōnan.</div>
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We walked back across the causeway. The wind had picked up and the surf was churning. Some brave and foolhardy surfers were enjoying the chilly water. We returned to the station from which we arrived and discovered that we had to go back across the bridge and walk to an alternate railroad line. That gave us more opportunity to see the town. </div>
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The other train station had a unique feature. There are four metal birds attached to the railing at the station. Someone takes the time to dress them up according to the season.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birds on the station railing, all dressed up for Christmas.</td></tr>
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The train from Enoshima runs along the water, so we had an excellent view of the bay. There was not much to see but windy waves. Our next destination was Kamakura, home to one of Japan's most memorable landmarks.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The enormous statue sits imperturbable.</td></tr>
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The great bronze Kamakura Daibutsu stand (sits, really) more than thirteen meters high. Standing on the grounds around the statue, it's difficult to imagine what it was like back in the thirteenth century. Back then, it was inside a temple. That structure was destroyed by a tsunami and it has sat outside for nearly five hundred years. </div>
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I stood at the foot of this serene giant and watched the shadows crawl up as the sun descended behind the hills. It's hard to know if he's got his eyes closed or watching the people walking up the stone terraces through slitted eyes. I imagined how he looked when the waters flowed around him so long ago. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ginkgo leaves carpet the pavement.</td></tr>
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As imposing as the statue is, it was the grounds around it that caught my attention. The leaves of the ancient ginkgo trees were turning yellow and dropping to the ground. Old women in bonnets were sweeping the leaves with gigantic brooms made from reeds. Little pools and fountains were scattered among the decorative foliage and walls held doors to secret places forbidden to tourists. </div>
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We decided to stop by another shrine before returning to the train station. This was a forested hill with numerous statuary dispersed throughout the gardens. I would love to see the place in the spring, but the autumn colors were something to behold.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Shonan/IMG6839-HDR/1136063438_gJwXc-L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Shonan/IMG6839-HDR/1136063438_gJwXc-L.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miniature stone monks stand serenely.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cadillac of rickshaws.</td></tr>
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Outside the shrine, I discovered which career I would next like to have: rickshaw driver. The gentleman who was pulling this beautiful cart was as fit as any athlete. Just think, create and deliver training for eight months of the year and spend the summers getting in fantastic shape! When he told me that his rickshaw cost as much as a small car, I admit that I reconsidered this career option. Still, it would likely last longer than most gym memberships.<br />
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As the sun went down, we made our way back to the train station. After a brief visit to a soba noodle shop, we return to our domiciles and to a well-earned rest.<br />
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See more photos from Shōnan <a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Shonan/15186867_6j37Wm">here</a>.</div>
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<br /></div>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-58525155320905088312011-05-19T15:58:00.002-04:002011-11-02T16:58:09.696-04:00Tokyo Fish Market<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6323b/1108918361_t9V2o-S.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6323b/1108918361_t9V2o-S.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">A fishmonger stalks the cobblestone interior of the fish market.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The hotel desk clerk gave me some pointers about where to go in the morning. He thought that the fish market might be a bit far to walk, but I was keen for the exercise and the sightseeing. It took a while to get there, but only because I was gawking at the buildings and poking my nose in the various shops along the way. The entrance to the enormous Tokyo Metropolitan Central Wholesale Market (Tsukiji Market) is a bit deceiving; it is, essentially a big parking lot and drive way. Trucks of all shapes and sizes were going in every which direction. The building itself was an industrial looking thing, that actually consists of s series of building. Most of the vehicles were belching forth from the various entrances around the paved area. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Inside was organized mayhem. People and vehicles were moving in every direction and at every speed. Motor carts honked, men yelled, boxes crashed to the floor. There were large boulevards through which small vehicles moved. Branching from those were smaller "streets" separating the various fish stalls. These passageways were crowded with buyers, sellers and a few tourists. I've been in plenty of crowded markets and figured I'd seen it all when I stopped in amazement at the sight of this thing. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6308b/1108917993_Qr7mF-M.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6308b/1108917993_Qr7mF-M.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">One of the many motor carts hauling fish through the market.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6314bJPG/1108917980_DKiGQ-S.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6314bJPG/1108917980_DKiGQ-S.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Inspecting a fine piece of tuna.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">This unusual cart hauls fish between the large roads and the smaller stalls inside. The bed is standard enough, as far as motorized carts go, I suppose, but the drive mechanism is ingenious. The barrel shape at the front houses both the engine and the drive wheel. To drive, the operator pushes down a large ring at the top. A sturdy outer ring serves as the wheel. It can turn 360 degrees, enabling it to navigate the narrow passageways between the stalls. I did my best to find a driver willing to let me try it out, but I was unsuccessful. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I arrived at the market much too late to see the fish auction. The tuna is laid out around 4AM and everything is over within a few hours. I later learned that the auction has been closed to tourists. I did get a chance to see the tuna being processed, however.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6289b/1108917712_VtaNc-M.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6289b/1108917712_VtaNc-M.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">A fishmonger uses a sword-length knife to slice the tuna.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It was still mid-morning, but the shops were actively closing down. The fish had been prepared and packed and the buyers were few and far between. The merchants were cleaning up and settling their accounts. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6318b/1108918107_NMujz-M.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6318b/1108918107_NMujz-M.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">A vendor completes his bookwork for the morning's sales.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Outside the market, Styrofoam boxes were being collected in a large pile. These were fed into a hopper where they were melted into blocks for recycling.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">There were still seafood delights to enjoy nearby. Only a couple of blocks from the Tsukji market is a consumer market, complete with fish stalls, restaurants and shops. I wandered through the alleyways of the market, on the look out for delicious things to eat and potential souvenirs. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6242b/1108916673_frTFo-M.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6242b/1108916673_frTFo-M.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Horrifying in appearance, but surprisingly delicious. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I was determined to have some fresh, authentic sushi. The little shops in the market were <i>really</i> small, sometimes seating only a dozen people. I found one shop that looked promising and squeezed in at the counter. I ordered three pieces of sashimi and a small saki. The bill came to over twenty bucks! Yes, Tokyo is certainly expensive.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6413b/1108920096_K2HB9-M.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/IMG6413b/1108920096_K2HB9-M.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">While a lot of Western tourists go for traditional Samurai swords as a high-end souvenir, being more practical, I was interested in picking up a sushi knife. There were a few shops selling them, and even making them. I took the time to inspect the various types of knives on offer. The prices were staggering, so I consoled myself with an organic brush instead. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I enjoyed sampling the various teas from the friendly vendors. They had a staggering assortment of green teas ... all of which tasted, well <i>green</i>.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Like most markets, the vendors are more than happy to let you sample their goods. Some make elaborate displays to do so. What I most enjoyed, was listening to this woman invite passersby to sample the shop's seaweed paper.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/txypuOBb3k8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">See more photos of the fish market, and Tokyo, <a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Japan/Tokyo/14861598_ynfMV">here</a>.</div>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-27192223671932121372011-05-17T15:14:00.008-04:002014-05-23T06:52:35.496-04:00Visiting Hoi An, Vietnam<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="400" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/y3jWgCxWWpI-IQBYuIIWrlevxiE1YZKrNQiFHQ_w89KEvKLTw0W4-vZG1vn0w_lSwW-6sKqo-VHYO4pOiz2NMUb_RolbAXqiH2FLQv1uT4QYTpNtPA" style="color: #cccccc; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="266" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Train workers take a break</td></tr>
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<span style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></span><span id="internal-source-marker_0.8457205586922842" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Getting to Vietnam was more difficult than I had expected. Their visa policy required a specific start date and had to be purchased in advance. This is great for a tour group, but rather inconvenient for the Bohemian tourist. This provided few opportunities for creative adventuring. </span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I arrived in Ho Chi Min City in the early evening. The plan was to take the train to Hanoi. Years earlier, a traveling companion raved about the wonderful train ride, complete with real linen in the sleeper cars. I was all about sleeper cars so I booked a ticket the moment I arrived. The train departed two hours later so I saw little of city.</span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I settled back in my bunk, turned on the little light provided and read my pocket book. The train pulled out around 11pm and I was ready for a good sleep. The train stopped a few times during the night, but I was content to wait for sunrise before exploring the rest of the train.</span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">In the morning, I wandered up through the train to see the other cars. The coach section looked quite comfortable, but the restaurant car was rather utilitarian.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The dining car.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;">The view out the window was interesting, but didn't change much; mile after mile of rich green rice farms. When we stopped later that morning, I gathered my belongings and made my way through the station. The train is some distance from </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;">Hoi</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;"> An. Having no clue about local buses, I negotiated a taxi ride. We drove through the town then past beautiful China Beach before turning in to </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;">Hoi</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;"> An.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tranquil streets with ancient trees.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;">The town is a glorious throwback to a bygone age. The somewhat rundown colonial buildings have the traditional South East Asian pastel colors. I decided to go with the first appealing hotel I saw, the </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;">Huy</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;"> </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;">Hoang</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;"> Hotel.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many lovely little hotels.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silk lanterns in the market.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The town has numerous restaurants and little shops. Most of those commercial establishments cater to tourists, both foreign and domestic. There were many tempting options for eating, including one shop that served frothy draft beer. The shops carried the usual touristic <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">kitsch</span>, but there are also much more interesting options like artist galleries. I was most interested in the silk lamps. As tempting as they were, I could not risk damaging them during the rest of my trip and had to satisfy myself with a few photos.<br /><br />The town is fascinating with it’s oil painting worthy views, its narrow streets and tiny building. In the middle of the day, the high overhead sun was too harsh for really good light. However, I found the river harbor had some very interesting from a photographic perspective. Numerous wooden boats were tied up or anchored. Only a few fishermen were at work and I took full advantage of the photo opportunities.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A fisherman attends to his nets.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Come evening, the lights come on in the town. There is little traffic, so walking in the street is usually an option. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The streets are aglow with fairy lights from the many shops.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;">I paid another visit to the lantern shop to admire their colors as they lit up the street.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful lanterns light up a shop stall.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;">The next morning, I woke well before dawn. The streets were already busy with people going to work and preparing the market. My interest was seeing the beach. I had never seen the sun rise over the Pacific, so I hoped on my motor bike and headed east. I was not surprised at the amount of traffic on the road, but I was quite surprised to see so many people on the beach at that early hour.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">When I parked the bike and walked through the trees to the water, I could see dozens of people walking and exercising on the shore. There were a few sitting down, waiting for the sun to rise. In the water, I could see a few people swimming! Understand that the sun had yet to rise at this point. The locals were certainly taking advantage of the beach.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise on Vietnam.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;">I had only a few hours remaining in </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;">Hoi</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;"> An. I returned to the hotel and explored breakfast options. There were a few places catering to western tastes, so I made the most of them (food on the train is limited to rice, noodles and snacks). On the street, I met a guy on a motorcycle who offered to take me on a tour. I declined, but agreed to him taking me to the train station. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It was a bit tricky getting the two of us on his motorbike with all my gear, but he balanced my backpack on the front and held on precariously in the back. We made a stop at the local marble quarry and another stop at China Beach. </span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I arrived at the station too early to board, so I wandered around the neighborhood. I bunch of locals offered me a beer as they relaxed on the sidewalk. The beer was as warm as the welcome I received. I did my best to converse with my new pals, but none of them understood English. As the train departure time drew near, I bid goodbye to my pals and got back to the train.<br /><br />See more images <a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Vietnam/Hoi-An/12204440_R7qjF">here</a>.</span>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-7248437175044539892010-05-01T22:51:00.001-04:002010-05-01T22:52:48.299-04:00Phnom PenhArriving in the city at the bus station, I hopped aboard one of my favorite vehicles, the three-wheeled Phnom Penh cyclo. <img id="uu.8" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_8895xwvg3fw_b" style="float:right;height:480px;margin-left:1em;margin-right:0pt;width:320px">My goal was find an inexpensive guest house. I'd had such great luck at one particular place. It's on a side street behind a monastery and only a short walk from the main road along the river. What was, two years earlier, a hidden gem of a guest house, was now a bustling tourist hotel. I negotiated a reasonable rate and walked up the four flights to my room. <br><br>I didn't intend to spend more than a couple of days in the city. I'm rather fond of Phnom Penh, but only because I remember how run-down it was on my first visit in 2002. I'm a big fan of old and decrepit (which is a good thing as I'm personally destined to be both). Fortunately, the railroads have remained untouched for decades (which is also unfortunate because it's almost impossible to take a train trip anywhere).<br><div id="vb0k" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_890hcststcw_b" style="height:319.8px;width:480px"></div><br>Life on the other side of the river hasn't changed much. There are more houses, but the ramshackle buildings held up by bamboo poles still cling to the riverbank.<br><br><div id="jvcy" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_891grhtcmfv_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br><img id="y_ec" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_892dt2cczgb_b" style="float:right;height:480px;margin-left:1em;margin-right:0pt;width:320px">Driving along another side street, I saw a makeshift pavilion. Recorded music was being blasted out through public address speakers. It was not until I got close that I realized I'd stumbled upon a traditional wedding ceremony. Well, maybe it's not quite traditional because I have no idea what sort of traditions might have been supplanted by western ideology, but the jewelery and silks were most certainly Khmer. <br><br>I really wanted to hang around and see if I could get a formal pose of the bride and groom. However, they did have a young photographer shooting the wedding and another doing video and I didn't want to impose. Ideally, I would have assisted the fellow in getting good poses (I used to shoot weddings), but I was unable to explain to him my idea as his English was so poor. <br><br>One type of individual I can always count on for a good pose is the stone statue. There is a studio right on the street near the national museum. It's a great spot for pictures just after sun rise.<br><div id="ud4m" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_893gk6k8xgt_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br>There is a large park near the Royal Palace. At sunset, many people gather here at the riverbank to buy food from the street vendors or buy offerings for the shrine there. It's also the time when the local semi-professional photographers try to get locals to buy a posed photo. I turned the table on these two gentlemen, insisting that I photograph them. They were most pleased to comply with my request.<br><div id="jmh7" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_895c3zr4rcx_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br>Monks are always a popular subject. I chatted with these fellows for several minutes. They appreciated the opportunity to practice their English.<br><br><div id="i-jm" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_894fkbfzscb_b" style="height:319.8px;width:480px"></div><br>The next day, it was time to bid farewell to Cambodia. I had one more tour through the streets on my cyclo before boarding a bus to Vietnam.<br><div id="frwh" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_896rsmt76f6_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br>See a few more photos <a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Cambodia/Phnom-Penh/12030348_vpyBd#853607133_Z9Fvz" id="lvty" title="here">here</a>.<br><br>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-16022932773505058162010-04-10T20:16:00.001-04:002014-05-23T06:41:59.938-04:00Kuang Si Waterfall<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqDJT8xfkZqILeLVDgcEenxZcBKUmBQg4S5wSSoPl164ztLlKPaDpNKZjSYTUjHGaLEtBK_juustAH9JBNU570rrVHCf0BsUEpOPBRX5bqxqDv4zcC8Zshf9FOQlrxwPNmvsFQEF7kQ0I/s1600/IMG_0390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqDJT8xfkZqILeLVDgcEenxZcBKUmBQg4S5wSSoPl164ztLlKPaDpNKZjSYTUjHGaLEtBK_juustAH9JBNU570rrVHCf0BsUEpOPBRX5bqxqDv4zcC8Zshf9FOQlrxwPNmvsFQEF7kQ0I/s1600/IMG_0390.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The main cascade is a good 50m high!</td></tr>
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Walk to the outskirts of downtown Luang Prabang and you might find a little shop that rents motorbikes. Be sure to get one with a basket, though, it's much easier for carrying your picnic supplies (or camera gear). Next, get directions to Kuang Si waterfall ... or just "the waterfall," everyone knows which one you want to see. <br />
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Kuang Si is nearly thirty kilometers south of the city. It's not that hard to find as there are helpful signs along the way. If you're not sure of your directions, it's easy enough to follow one of the many tuk-tuks or little tour buses heading that way. Any vehicle packed with young Caucasians is heading to Kuang Si waterfall.<br />
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At the end of the road there is a large parking lot and many kiosks selling souvenirs and snacks. Walk up the hill and pay about a dollar for entrance to the site. A mud path leads through the underbrush beneath the huge trees. You'll walk over a few streams on your way to the first pool. It looks inviting, but keeping going up river.<br />
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You will pass half a dozen inviting cascades flowing into murky turquoise pools. The formations are the result of a high limestone content in the water. The mushy looking surface is actually hard rock. It's safe to walk through the water. In fact, the pools are terrific for swimming. Wear sandals though, because the riverbed has numerous rough rocks beneath the surface.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the beautiful cascades downstream from the main falls.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The travertine rocks make the falls look so gentle.</td></tr>
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When you arrive at the main cascade, you'll recognize it immediately. It flows fifty meters down the hillside, in a series of falls, short and tall. On a breezy day, the wind kicks up a fine mist and blows it everywhere. At the bottom of the falls there are a number of vantage points to admire the cascade. The locals have provided short bridges and even picnic benches on which to relax and admire the view. My favorite view is to climb to the top.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The principle falls with tourists for scale.</td></tr>
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The toughest route to the top is on the north-west (right hand) side. The path is not maintained and can be very slick from mist. Good footwear and steady footing is required to climb the steep path. The top is most rewarding, however. There are many shallow pools that converge to pour over the side of the cliff. The top is also a nice to place to explore if you want to wander through some untouched Laos jungle.<br />
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After walking through the pools on top of the cliff, going down the south-east side of the falls is a breeze. The locals have maintained the path with steps and even a couple of benches for resting. You can access some of the pools right on the cliff face, as well. Although signs strenuously advice against it, you can occasionally find daring Europeans going for a thrill swim near the precipice.<br />
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After exploring up and down the falls, I went for a swim at the bottom-most pool. Here, a tree extends out over a large, and reasonably deep, pool. It makes for an excellent diving platform. Someone took the trouble to tie a rope to one of the upper branches making a rope swing. This is where most of the tourists swim. It's a great spot to catch up on the news of the world with other backpackers ... or just take in the sights.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rope swing adds incentive to go for a swim.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swimming is not permitted in the sacred pool.</td></tr>
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See more photos of the falls <a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Laos/Waterfalls-of-Luang-Prabang/11775603_QhywJ#831609881_rRuaJ" id="vnve" title="here">here</a>.</div>
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<br />jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-31759384679513019762010-04-07T21:53:00.001-04:002010-04-10T20:17:11.305-04:00Morning Monks of Luang PrabangSometimes you want to sleep away the morning during your travels, but sometimes you simply <i>must</i> wake before the dawn and greet the sun. That's the photographer's life, but more so when in Luang Prabang. The ancient capital of Laos is the monastic heart of the country and every morning countless monks go through the streets collecting alms.<br><div id="ek:q" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_871csdv26fd_b" style="height:270px;width:480px"></div><br>Shortly before sunrise, the monks gather at the courtyard of the various monasteries and temples as they prepare for their walk. The younger boys mill about, passing time making sure their fellows' robes are twisted and draped properly. The air is cool at that early hour, but they are all barefoot and uncomplaining. <br><br><img id="ync5" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_872d5gvdzf6_b" style="float:right;height:480px;margin-left:1em;margin-right:0pt;width:320px">On the street, meanwhile, individuals and small groups gather on the sidewalk. They roll mats on the pavement and kneel, or just bring along a low stool. With a basket of rice beside them, they await the arrival of the monks. <br><br>Back in the temple grounds, the monks line up in single file. On some signal I failed to witness every time I witnessed the event, the monks quickly walk from their gates to meet the waiting offerings. As they file past the locals, they open their begging bowls to receive a small portion of rice, barely a mouthful. While seemingly a meagre amount, the number of offerings soon grow. With tourists taking part in the offering ceremony, most monks are actually overburdened and pass much of their collected food to someone who distributes it to the needy.<br><br>The tourists certainly do get involved. The main rode is practically clogged with kneeling foreigners, traditional sticky-rice provided by their tour leaders. An army of photographers also greet the procession.<br><br><div id="hx1k" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_873ct9qcqc5_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br>The tourists can hardly be blamed for their enthusiasm. There are some terrific photo opportunities here.<br><br><div id="tw6c" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_874cjw3n7fv_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br>Although the most interesting background, the white wall, is on the main road, the side roads offer fewer crowds to get in the way.<br><br><div id="zuyc" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_875d5zzzjg3_b" style="height:270px;width:480px"></div><br><img id="t17m" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_876c8pm3bcb_b" style="float:right;height:427.617px;margin-left:1em;margin-right:0pt;width:320px">Once they finish their tour through the town, the monks return to their monasteries. Within sight of their home, they visibly relax, no longer walking stiffly, but almost ambling the final few hundred paces to the gates. They finally break the silence of their march and begin to talk quietly but animatedly among themselves.<br><br>They have a bit of free tie prior to their morning studies. This is the best time to get photos of the young men. Many of them find a quiet spot to meditate before attending class. I surprised more than a few as I explored some of the areas around the various temples. Of course, it's not all seriousness for these fellows. I would often meet boys eager to practice their English skills. These make particularly good photo subjects because they're all too happy to pose.<br><br><img id="ec0_" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_877c4hrjmfg_b" style="float:right;height:480px;margin-left:1em;margin-right:0pt;width:320px">A few years ago, I managed to get a nice shot of two monks in front of their temple. On the off chance I would run into one of them, I packed the photo with me. Sure enough, some of the monks at the monastery identified him and searched the buildings until they found him. He was a bit perplexed over the image. I wasn't sure if he'd ever seen himself photographed. When I finally made clear to him that the photo was for him to keep, he was quite pleased. I handed out a few more photos during my trip, but most of the people I sought could not be located.<br><br>With morning break over, the monks settle into the classrooms. The younger ones study, the elders and laity teach. <br><br><div id="bmmw" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_878gp5qzdzw_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br>See plenty more photos of the monks of Luang Prabang <a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Laos/Luang-Prabang-Monks/11695794_kfHF8#825232310_CrgmA" id="gqyh" title="here">here</a>.<br><br><div id="igus" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_879c3wnjmfd_b" style="height:319.8px;width:480px"></div><br><br>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-18521841978033966152010-04-02T19:20:00.003-04:002013-07-23T10:47:59.817-04:00Luang Prabang - Ancient Capital of the Kingdom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Luang Prabang is like no other city in South East Asia. Where the Nam Khan river meets the Mekong, a sort of peninsula is formed. a tall hill dominates the skyline here. The town is centered at this spot, consisting of four main roads and numerous intersecting alleys. The architecture is a fusion of French provincial and traditional Asian style. The town is also home to numerous monasteries and temples. There are few vehicles in the city, but this will soon change as more and more tourists discover this location.<br />
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My bus pulled in shortly before sunset. That gave me little time to find a decent place to spend the night. I headed through the town center to the back alleys I had explored a few years earlier. The high-end hotels are located at the north-east part of town, but there are some equally expensive places squeezed between the other streets. I managed to find a place that served primarily as a tour group restaurant that had a couple of nice rooms in the back. I negotiated a reasonable rate and dumped my stuff. On the way out I met my immediate neighbors. A couple of guys sitting on the floor of their room playing cards. I always think of playing cards as something you do when you have absolutely nothing else to do. I could not understand how cards could hold more appeal than just standing on a street in Luang Prabang. I mean, you can play cards anywhere, any time, but you can only do Luang Prabang stuff right <i>now</i>.<br />
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The main drag, Sakkarine Rd., is one of my favorite for a stroll. It is lined with guest houses, temples, curious shops and restaurants. At night, a large portion of the road is cleared of traffic and a night market established. Here can be found some of my favorite silk scarves in all Asia. I did a quick tour of the place just to get familiar with what was being produced. It had the usual fabrics, t-shirts and knickknacks as well as some nice handicrafts and antiques.<br />
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The bank to the river is very steep. The townspeople manage to produce gardens in the rich muddy soil during the dry season. Enterprising restaurateurs build terraced seating on the top of the bank so dinners can enjoy the spectacular sunset every night. This is where I spent every supper hour.<br />
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I planned to spend a few days in the town, so I was no rush to get anything done. I did have a plan, though. Every morning was dedicated to following the monks, every evening exploring the market. Day times were mostly open, but I was determined to visit the local waterfalls. To this end I had to rent a motor bike. After a couple of days of exploring, I ran into trouble with the local constabulary.<br />
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I had just turned off the main road and took a side street to another road leading to another part of town. A small group of policemen had gathered at the intersection. I proceeded toward them with some suspicion. I could see no reason why they were gathered there. Bike inspection? They waved me over and I pulled up. Through waves and gesticulations, they alerted me to the fact that the road was one-way. Of course, there was no sign indicating that the road was one-way and I politely pointed out this fact. Furthermore, there were plenty of locals dashing up the road not fifty meters away. Would I be let off with a warning or was this a plain ol' shake-down? I brought up the camera to confirm my suspicion. <br />
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Yeah, they did <i>not</i> want proof of who was conducting freelance tourist assistance. I asked how much they wanted; twenty bucks. Aside from being <i>way</i> too much, I had no small bills in my wallet (otherwise I'd hand over a five dollar bill and be on my way). I decided to stand my ground. I sat on my bike, shrugged my shoulders and pointed out the local violators. To the only cop who spoke English, I complained of the lack of signage. After several minutes of me not handing over any cash, he got fed up and had me follow him on his bike. I figured we were going to the main police station (fine by me), but he took me to the far end of town where a "don't turn here" sign was posted. Some lot of good that did when almost no one came up this far. I had him follow me to the road I came down, where there was no signage at all. He wasn't interested and kept driving. Now I'm on my own. The cops might still be staked out at the bottom of the hill, so I made my way around the other way and drove off into the countryside. <br />
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Arriving back in town at the end of the day, I decided to return the motorcycle in case I should run into that lot again. <br />
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See more photos <a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Laos/LuangPrabang/11695664_suEzp#825224145_Y4qgK" id="e5n1" title="here">here</a>.</div>
jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-22717853911472923652010-03-13T13:17:00.001-05:002010-03-14T16:37:36.829-04:00Vang Vieng - Party Capital of LaosA few hours bus ride north of the Laos capital is the little town of Vang Vieng. Visually, it is quite interesting; karst hills jut from the landscape like moss covered teeth. The streets are also interesting if you're looking for fun. <br><br><div id="tsjf" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_852ks3j5gg_b" style="height:319.8px;width:480px"></div><br>During the Vietnam war, the US built a runway in the valley and used it as a supply depot. Today, it sits unused, testament to troubled past. Instead of airmen, the town is frequented by backpackers looking for the opposite of war. The town is full of guest houses and funky restaurants where visitors lounge away the day watching DVD's of American TV shows or prepare for expeditions into the nearby countryside. The beach-town feel to the place is heightened by the numerous young people decked out in in shorts, sandals and t-shirts. <br><br><div id="d-ba" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_856gwz2h9gj_b" style="height:321px;width:480px"></div><br><div id="kee1" style="text-align:left"><div id="qv79" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_859g97kbtgw_b" style="height:270px;width:480px"></div><br></div>It's not the airstrip or hills that attract them, but the river. Vang Vieng is now the inner-tubing epicenter of Laos. In the morning, trucks loaded with tubes, kayaks and party-goers head up-river to release their charges into the river. A few hours, and quite a few drinks, later, they arrive back in town, wet, sunburned and happy ... and nearly unable to walk. <br><br><div id="b1.s" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_858ckrvmxgb_b" style="height:270px;width:480px"></div><br>The river is on the far side of town. It looks quite peaceful during the dry season, but during the rainy season it can move very fast. In response to the popularity of the town with visitors, the locals have expanded by building guest houses on the far shore; while some distance from the "action," they tend to be more quiet. A rickety bamboo bridge facilitates the crossing.<br><br><div id="n3qu" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_853q85f9cgb_b" style="height:270px;width:480px"></div><br>The far side of the river is rural farmland. The rice paddies are dry, but cows and water buffalo make the most of the minimal grazing opportunities. <br><br><div id="izlp" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_855hkf54hd5_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br>Of particular interest to me were the obvious shell craters in the middle of fields, another reminder of the country's recent history.<br><br><div id="ltuf" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_854dmdkrqf6_b" style="height:270px;width:480px"></div><br>A terrific place to chill out for a few days, Vang Vieng is an ideal stop over between more adventurous places in Laos. <br><br>See larger photos <a href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Laos/Vang-Vieng/11481201_nsuji#807757154_VJmqV" id="x_5x" title="here">here</a>.<br><br>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-26938715972783072482010-03-08T20:59:00.001-05:002010-03-10T20:52:17.949-05:00Vientiane - Capital of Laos<br><img id="thaa" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_850gvncwjgx_b" style="float:right;height:480px;margin-left:1em;margin-right:0pt;width:320px">I had visited the capital of Laos once before, but I was not impressed. A lot of people really like the place, but it doesn't do much for me. However, flying in from a cold week in China, I was just happy to be somewhere warm with good food. I hung around the airport waiting for another backpacker heading into town so we could share the cost and swap stories. Unfortunately, the flight was full of business people or package tour types and everyone was being met at the airport. I met a Scandinavian couple on their way to their flight when they realized that they left something important back at their guest house. We jumped into a cab and they told me about their experiences. They thought, as I did, that Vientiane was not particularly interesting. I vowed to stay only a single night.<br><br>It seems that Vientiane had taken on a new popularity after the trouble in Bangkok. There were many new shops and restaurants open. Most of the guest houses were full, but I did manage to find one after a few interviews with other backpackers.<br><br>That evening, I attended a local dance troupe's performance. A group of about twenty young dancers put on a show to demonstrate Laos dancing and music. The auditorium is a large open room where everyone sits on makeshift seats and where the stage is just the polished wooden floor in front of the seats. Backstage is just the area behind a heavy red velvet curtain, the theater's most notable decoration. Before each musician or dancer takes the stage, a young woman reads from a cue card in faltering English to explain the next act. The performers are quite talented and give it their all despite an audience smaller than the troupe itself.<br><br><div id="zo-2" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_8469s89dxch_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br>After a few weeks of buses and trains and taxis, I was ready for some personal transportation. The next morning I outfitted myself with a rented motorbike and scooted around town to take in the sights. Even with the new development, it was still somewhat run down, but pleasant enough. Now, there are a lot of interesting and unusual things in Vientiane, but I was not particularly inspired on this trip and the typical snapshots just don't do the place justice. For example, Laos most sacred pagoda is in Vientiane, but it's not very interesting looking and makes for a lousy photo. Really. Just look at this. I can't work with this.<br><br><div id="o11b" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_838dcphknck_b" style="height:319.902px;width:480px"></div><br>Now, I have seen good shots of the place, but they were at night during important Buddhist ceremonies but I wasn't planning to stay that long.<br><br>I checked out the used book store, visited the market (that was slowly being converted into a western-style mall), checked e-mail and ate some good food. As I paused on one street, I noticed a typical street dog confronting a kitten on the sidewalk. The kitten was puffed up and hissing and spitting for all it was worth. I decided to rescue the poor thing from it's assailant. The dog quickly backed away as I approached and I scooped up the kitten. I didn't think it was possible that it could get even more frightened and angry, but it cranked up the hissing and spitting a notch. Then it bit down on my thumb. Hard! The little hellion drew blood - if it wasn't hanging on by fang and claw I might has dropped it as I suppressed a scream. I extracted myself from its grip and set it up on a short wall out of the dog's reach. The dog was looking at me with a "better you than me" look. The kitten, now safe, never let up on the hissy fit. I squeezed my thumb to draw out more blood, ever so wary of infection. One thing I noticed about the cat was that it was awfully skinny. I had no food and there was nowhere to buy anything close by. This one would have to be satisfied with what little sustenance it got from me when it tried to eat my thumb.<br><br><div style="margin-left:40px"><font size="1">While I was slightly concerned about infection, it didn't occur to me until later that that would be a minor inconvenience. I started wondering why that kitten was <i>so</i> angry ... mad even. Mad? Was it rabid? You must get a rabies shot within a certain number of days of being bitten. I didn't know how many days, but I knew the shots were hard to get and very, very expensive. I lost sleep calculating the slim probability of being infected against the very real probability of suffering physically and financially as the result of getting shots (even if I could find a clinic who could provide the service). I took the chance ... and survived!</font><br></div><br>After my tour of the town, I rode south along the river through villages that rarely see foreigners. I didn't stop for much other than photographic opportunities like a group of monks being invested into the community monastery.<br><br><div id="mq-l" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_841fb5f4fcc_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br>Local fishermen catching the tiny riel fish from the shore using an ancient technique.<br><br><div id="yr8c" style="text-align:left"><div id="uwd8" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_843mgxkqmdw_b" style="height:319.8px;width:480px"></div></div><br>I was most interested in seeing the Buddha park somewhere south of the city. I drove down the highway, past numerous industrial parks making everything from cement to beer, until I found the bridge to Thailand. I knew the place was somewhere nearby. I found a train station (I didn't even know Laos had a train) then I discovered something with a wall and gate that looked like it could have been a park. It was closed, however. There was a narrow side gate that was open, so I drove the bike through and entered the lost world.<br><br><div id="np-s" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_839c4smcmhf_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br>This was not the Buddha park some sort of theme park that had long ago been abandoned. Little theme restaurants were scattered about large picnic grounds with cement cast tables and benches done in a rustic wooden motif. There were several buildings outfitted as traditional Laos dwellings, one for each of the major ethnic peoples, and the shell of a exhibition center that was suppose to represent a palace or ancient wat. It was all so very Laos. What I saw next really took me for a loop.<br><br><div id="lqob" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_845f3srfgd9_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br>Seeing those statues, there was no doubt that I was not in the Buddha park. Although a bit corny looking, I have to admit that the work was pretty impressive. That monster on the right was a good four meters tall. <br><br>The park had a pretty heavy investment in it, obviously, but I never learned what happened. I never found the Buddha park, either, but my lost world was plenty interesting.<br><br>Back in the city, I decided to spend one more night. The thing to do in the evening is grab some supper on the river and watch the sun go down on Thailand. There are a dozens of little outdoor restaurants on the Mekong bank. They all have the same view so you base your choice on what they've got cooking. I placed my order and stretched out on the bamboo mats.<br><br><div id="qp3." style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_847ff9cdwhb_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br>The next morning, I did manage to get a nice shot of the presidential palace.<br><br><div id="o-6j" style="text-align:left"><img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_848d7z4xncf_b" style="height:320.4px;width:480px"></div><br>Vientiane is a nice spot for lounging, but there's a much better place just north of the city. I made plans to leave for Vang Vieng that afternoon. <br><br>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-81836217406168982542010-01-28T12:40:00.001-05:002010-04-02T19:25:26.826-04:00Life on Inle Lake<img id="f3g4" style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_8289c8rgn4z_b">Between a ridge of mountains, on the Eastern side of Myanmar, lies a long and shallow lake divided into two parts. Like all lakes in temperate climes, it is home to many people on its shores. Inle is unique in that it has communities living <i>on</i> the lake in stilt homes and artificial islands.<br><br>Another unusual characteristic of Inle is the lack of wind. You might see at least one sailboat on any other good-size lake, but not on Inle. To get around here you need an engine or a paddle. The Inle people have developed an unusual paddling technique. By standing and wrapping a leg around the paddle, they can get additional leverage denied to a seated rower. The standing position also enables them to see over the low vegetation separating many of the canals, making it easier to navigate.<br><br><div id="r6l_" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 271.2px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_829dm7g29cg_b"><br><font size="1">A man demonstrates the leg rowing technique.</font><br></div><br>Fishing, naturally, is the principle pastime of the lake people. In addition to traditional method of catching fish such as nets and lures, the shallow water provides for another technique. When a fisherman spots movement in the water, he will drop a cone shaped basket over the area and spear the fish on a pole. <br><br><div id="nid9" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_830fqz5v7fp_b"><br><font size="1">This young man is pleased to display his recent catch.</font><br></div><br>Fishing this way can be an individual undertaking, one boat stalking individual fish, or a group effort when several men try to herd the animals.<br><br><div id="jc:c" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 270px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_831dxn86wd8_b"></div><br>One of the more curious fishing expeditions I witnessed on the lake brought the workers a boat-load of ... mud. <br><br><div id="mjw5" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_832qhcvz6ct_b"><br><font size="1">By the time they are done, the boat is full to the gunwale with heavy mud.</font><br></div><br>Using baskets on long poles, they dredge up the rich sediment mud on the lake bottom. This is used to fertilize their gardens. Of course, they don't exactly have normal gardens in the lake. While some homes have small island plots, most create floating rafts of vegetation to grow produce for the markets. These are arranged in neat rows and staked to the lake bed with long poles. The farmers attend to their crop by canoe.<br><br><div id="ibur" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 270px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_833hnbkbgdf_b"><br><font size="1">A boy makes his way from the floating gardens beside his home.</font><br><br>The homes on the lake are typically modest. They are constructed with bamboo framework covered by woven mat walls and a thin thatched roof. There are many solid wood homes and businesses on the lake as well, but the bamboo hut is the most prevalent.<br><br><div id="l4t." style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 270px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_834g4vb43dv_b"><br><font size="1">Drying shallots.</font><br></div><br><div id="h621" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_835gw7q4ddj_b"><br><font size="1">Paddling past one of the grand old homes of Ywama village.</font><br></div><br></div><div id="qum_" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_836c3x7j4f3_b"><br><font size="1">Walk to school? Not in Inle!</font><br></div><br>There are many, many more photos of Inle Lake <a title="here" href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Myanmar/Inle-Lake/11066193_wZVab#774690024_PW3gX" id="d4-8">here</a>.<br><br>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-31553255284859842252010-01-24T20:47:00.003-05:002010-01-24T20:53:23.502-05:00Craft workshops of Inle Lake<img id="tt0g" style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_814n64wdhgq_b" />While the people living on Inle Lake primarily fish and grow vegetables, there is a thriving crafts trade as well.<br /><br />One of my favorites is silk spinning. Much of the raw silk is brought in from China (and possibly Thailand). On the lake it is dyed and woven into scarves and shawls. The silk weaving shops are easy to find; the sounds of the large looms can be easily heard from the canals. Once you've heard the rhythmic wooden clack of the loom, you'll not forget it. The weavers also tended to be in large wooden structures (as opposed to the more prevalent bamboo buildings found everywhere on the lake).<br /><br />Young women typically operate the looms while the crones spin the dyed silk on to spools (note the old bicycle wheel).<br /><br /><div id="f:yg" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_815g73sd4dg_b" /></div><br /><img id="tfze" style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_816dgfb2wgh_b" />Inle has another type of silk - lotus silk. The stems of the lotus flower are cut and a fine silk thread is pulled from its core. The resulting result is a brownish thread that, when woven, looks like fine burlap. The texture, however, is that of raw silk. This fabric is typically used to create monks robes or ceremonial wraps for the Buddha images.<br /><br />I was rather keen to posses the fabric - I could imagine myself in a lotus silk monk's robe - but they had none in stock. They did have simple scarves, however. Once I learned the price (over sixty dollars), I decided to go with a tasteful silk design (as modeled by the shop clerk here).<br /><br /><img id="dgl7" style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: left; margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 1em;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_818gkkjr3cb_b" />The village of Ywama, in addition to its famed <a title="floating market" href="http://jezsik.blogspot.com/2010/01/floating-market-of-ywama-village.html" id="z-1x">floating market</a>, is home to a number of cheroot shops. These rough looking green stogies are individually rolled by young women sitting on straw mats.<br /><br />The cut tobacco is placed in a shallow basket on their laps. They take the green wrapper, rolled in white paper, and stuff it with the loose leaf before tamping it down, trimming it with industrial-strength scissors and folding over the ends.<br /><br />The finished cheroots are packed into bundles of ten, fifty or even a hundred, then sent off to market.<br /><br />The non-touristic cheroot shop is a very relaxed set-up, with women sitting haphazardly. The tourist cheroot "factory" is quite orderly with walls lined with souvenirs and fancy wooden boxes stuffed with row upon row of stogies.<br /><br /><br /><div id="roz3" style="text-align: left;"><div id="lahz" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_819mz43nxcn_b" /></div><br />I have to admit that the tourist shop had much better lighting conditions for the photographer, if not for the workers.<br /><br /><div id="c.d-" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_820gx4fq8gh_b" /></div><br /><img id="kyf-" style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_821fsk6k6dz_b" />I see boats of all sorts in South East Asia. Most of them look like they've been around for decades (if not centuries!). So it was a surprise to find a shipyard (to use the term loosely) that built longboats for Inle. They start with long logs about a foot in diameter. A team of men, one above and one below, saw the logs in to rough but straight planks. Different carpenters carve the planks and form them into a boat. The unpainted craft is splendid. It's a pity they're all painted black (although some have red or green trim). It never occurred to me to ask why all the large boats on the lake were black.<br /><br /><div id="ohnr" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_822gd4r25dg_b" /></div><br />Another common craft on the lake is silver-smithing. There are a few in Ywama village. The shop I visited specialized in an articulated fish (intended as necklace, charm or earring). These shops are also the best place to get money changed. The shops are usually one quarter smithy and three-quarters display case. The pieces are typically rich in filigree - and set at prices for tour-group tourists.<br /><br /><div id="s.qg" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_823sn2vrqcp_b" /></div><br />One of my favorite crafts of Inle is the old fashion blacksmith. I saw no full-size forges on my travels, but the market usually has one stall set up with a true smith. The bellows consists of two bamboo cylinders with plungers made of chicken feathers. By moving them in rhythm, the bellows produce a steady air flow into the small furnace where the smith prepares his metal. His anvil is a cylinder of steel wedged into a log.<br /><br /><div id="eugf" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_825fz9gx8cn_b" /></div><br />While walking near the lake one afternoon, I heard the distinct putt-putt-putt of a single stroke gas engine. It sounded like an ancient fishing boat, but I was too far from the water. Making my way through a bamboo grove, I discovered a small sugar mill.<br /><br /><div id="b7.r" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 319.8px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_824cr5fcwgf_b" /></div><br /><img id="m.kx" style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_826fdczxgfw_b" />Hand cranked cane juice extractors can be found all over South East Asia, but this was the first time I'd seen an industrial process like this. The sugar water was fed into a series of bamboo vats. The liquid boiled in the first then is routed to the next in a cascading series. Once it's reduced to a certain degree, the thin syrup is poured into a metal drum.<br /><br />The whole process is powered by the dried out remains of the crushed sugar cane. A metal pole is used to shove the fiber into the small furnace that boils the liquid.<br /><br />There were so many more craft workshops to visit, but there simply was not enough time. On my next trip I intend to see the straw weavers, potters and wood carvers at work.<br /><br />See more photos <a title="here" href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Myanmar/Inle-Crafts/11018733_YrDre/1/770643894_vAMrw" id="usfb">here</a>.<br /></div>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-91664637168944908812010-01-21T09:18:00.001-05:002010-01-21T09:19:47.923-05:00Khaungdine Market<span class="title" id="albumTitle">The closest village to <a title="Nyaung Shwe" href="http://jezsik.blogspot.com/2010/01/nyaung-shwe-gateway-to-inle-lake.html" id="t0qy">Nyaung Shwe</a> on Inle Lake is Khaungdine. It's in the north-west corner of the lake. While I did not explore the village itself, I did get the opportunity to visit during market day. </span><br><br>The dock is located beside the village monastery, some distance from the market. This means anyone arrive by water has to haul their goods by hand. These two women struggled with baskets second only to those found hanging from hot air balloons. Fortunately, they were filled with rice cakes and much lighter than they looked.<br><br><div id="wfxf" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_806ddchkrgs_b"></div><br>The market is on a bit of a slope. The market area consists of a number of metal-roofed concrete pavilions. It was obvious that this is a long established market. Presumably the regular vendors set up shop in their usual spot, but plenty of merchants lay out their goods on whatever space is free. Vegitables farmers camped out on the top of the slope, fish mongers lay out their catch between pavilions and lining the road at the bottom of the hill were a number of villagers with rolled up woven floor mats. I dearly wish I could have purchased some, they have a delightful texture.<br><br><div id="c3fm" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_807f29tffgh_b"></div><br>Khaungdine had more fish than any other market I'd seen. Strings of small fish are laid out on plastic or banana leaves waiting for buyers.<br><br><div id="e4fu" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_808cnkhpgfr_b"></div><br><img id="at-n" style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_809c325zkcv_b">The market certainly gets plenty of tourists - there were a number of tables set up with various tourist trinkets - so I didn't attract much attention. This enabled me to sneak around and get candid shots. Most people were oblivious of getting their photo taken, but I got caught plenty of times. Fortunately, getting photographed is seen as a good thing by the natives.<br><br>This market had the most diverse looking people of any I'd seen on the lake. Not that I can tell the difference between the various tribes, but in terms of characters, Khaungdine had them all, from young to old.<br><br><div id="q3_v" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_810c9x38jhp_b"><br><br></div><div id="hfqj" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_811d8srph4q_b"></div><br>After browsing and shooting, I decided to give in to the pressure of the souvenir vendors "No buy, OK, just looking!" I found a distinctive necklace made up of five silver coins. I later learned that the coins were not Burmese, but Indian, and bore the effigy of George VI. <br><br><img id="ln:t" style="width: 320px; height: 426.667px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_812cbm7n7c2_b">Before returning to the boat, I visited the monastery. It was typically quiet, but I soon discovered that one of the local families had arrived to have a picnic with one of the young monks; presumably a sibling. They sat on the floor and shared food brought in metal cylinders. Meanwhile, the other monks went about their studies.<br><br>See lots more photos <a title="here" href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Myanmar/Khaungdine-Market/11006387_PMFGY/1/769615404_3M7HM" id="ur.-">here</a>.<br><br>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-40023693966635986632010-01-18T23:57:00.003-05:002010-01-19T09:03:15.848-05:00Jumping Cat Monastery<img id="pm_9" style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_799g4bc5zgh_b" />Nga Phe Kyaung is one of thousands of monasteries in Myanmar and dozens on Inle lake. It's a place of reflection for the people living in the nearby village. In recent years it has become famous - not for meditation or spiritual guidance, but for cats that jump through hoops. About twenty years ago, a monk with a bit of time on his hands, decided to train a few of the cats. For some reason, cats are found in just about every monastery in South East Asia.<br /><br />What started as an idle hobby for one monk soon became a movement as more and more cats earned their meals by leaping through a hoop. As word got out, more tourists started to visit the monastery to watch the show. As part of <a href="http://jezsik.blogspot.com/2010/01/floating-market-of-ywama-village.html">Ywama</a> village, the only way to get to monastery is by boat.<br /><br /><div id="wy1b" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_802hhqff8dx_b" /></div><br />I arrived at a particularly good time. A meditation session with the head monk was in progress. I quietly made my way to the back of the crowd. The villagers, mostly women, were seated on a the floor in front of an open space before the monk. He was intoning and chanting and the congregation sat with heads bowed. On the vinyl-tiled floor about a dozen young cats sat as if deep meditation.<br /><br /><div id="fg9g" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 270px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_800hh653sgb_b" /></div><br />The session the monk broke up around the time a tourist laden boat arrived. As the villagers offered their thanks to the monk and chatted as they wandered out, the tourists sat along the wall and waited. A tour guide spoke to a woman and she began to organize the feline circus.<br /><br /><div id="a1w5" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_801ggxw32xp_b" /></div><br />She shook a small can of dry food and the cats approached. It didn't take much effort to get them to jump. She mostly organized them so they would each get a turn and rewarded the small group whenever a cat leaped through the wire hoop she held out. The audience applauded every effort. The cats were primarily interested in eating. Once the cats had completed their show, everyone hung around to meet the performers. Like most temple cats, they were not particularly friendly and rebuffed every attempt to pet them.<br /><br />On my last trip I managed to get some spectacular shots of the show, but this time I created a video, so no shots of cats in action. Not that they were particularly active. A few years ago, the monk who directed the cats had them jumping a lot more. Those cats were also more mature. These cats were quite young. I learned that the cats had all died a few years ago and the monastery had to train a new batch. You'd think it would be a bit frivolous, but the monastery was well aware of the draw of the cats and the tourist dollars they bring. In addition to the donations, a sizable tourist market was now established on the monastery grounds.<br /><br />I asked a monk about another monk I had met on my last trip. It turns out that he had left the order. That's not particularly unusual, most Buddhist monks may serve only for a few years and go back to secular life.<br /><br /><div id="n.s9" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_803hkd6xzcw_b" /></div><br />The cats, on the other hand, serve the order for life (at least one of nine, presumably).<br /><br /><div id="oguj" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_804gnw57zdj_b" /></div><br />See larger images <a title="here" href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Myanmar/Jumping-Cat-Monastery/10974071_fJDsD/1/766991168_2dJYW" id="e5bl">here</a>.jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-70848743190423785472010-01-16T21:42:00.001-05:002010-01-19T08:55:29.492-05:00Revered Thaung Tho PagodaThere are lots of pagoda complexes and monasteries on Inle Lake, but one caught my eye a few times. It appeared so similar to <a title="Indein pagoda" href="http://jezsik.blogspot.com/2010/01/shwe-indein-pagoda.html" id="czo4">Indein pagoda</a> that I was convinced my pilot had guided our boat there by some inconceivable back way. Like Indein, Thaung Tho sits on a low hill, is surrounded by white stupas and has a long covered walk leading to the summit. However, it is considerably smaller.<br><br><div id="ci7b" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_791cp5vmkgn_b"></div><br>Getting off the boat, I noticed numerous bamboo stalls beside the shore. Just like <a title="Chaing Kham market" href="http://jezsik.blogspot.com/2010/01/chaing-kham-market.html" id="o:vw">Chaing Kham</a>, from where I had just come, this site is part of the rotating market on the lake. It looked abandoned. I made my way up the covered stair, missing the vendors that were so prevalent in Indein pagoda and stepped out into an immaculate pavilion.<br><br><div id="zf4o" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 270.6px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_792gjds8rc5_b"></div><br>Where Indein is nearly a ruin, Thaung Tho is lovingly maintained; the stupas all in good order and the paths were regularly swept clean. Although weather-beaten, the white paint was brilliant under the noon sky. The gold paint trimmings were particularly nice.<br><br><div id="p5_d" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_795gn2n4hf5_b"></div><br>Of greatest interest to me were the beautiful crowns (called hti) atop each spire. They were intact and resplendent with bells. Unfortunately, there was no breeze to make music at that time of the day.<br><br><div id="g06-" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_793dj2tnhgd_b"></div> <br>It was obvious that Thaung Tho was used on a regular basis. It's not surprising given the number of people living in the area. I later learned that the site is host to two annual Buddhist events. On a nearby hill, I could see workers repairing another stupa.<br><br><div id="unxk" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_796fcrj5jcc_b"></div><br><img id="nnqf" style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_797gqrbpmdp_b">Even though the site is frequently used and well maintained, there was evidence that nature had no problem getting a toe-hold on anything constructed by humans in this environment. I wondered how long those plants had been growing from the tower (and what sort of damage it might have caused beneath the surface). Keeping this place in good shape is a serious task and a time consuming one for people who spend their days hard at work.<br><br>See more photos <a title="here" href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Myanmar/Thaung-Tho-Pagoda/10963909_T9Sje/1/766147622_4x8JC" id="d-u6">here</a>.<br><br><br>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-10413986601651026122010-01-13T12:24:00.002-05:002010-01-13T12:25:44.999-05:00Chaing Kham MarketAt the south eastern shore of Inle Lake is Chaing Kham. I woke well before dawn one day to travel to the town in order to see one of the more isolated markets on the lake. Getting to Nampan was a bit of an adventure. In addition to being so far from <a title="Nyaung Shwe" target="_blank" href="http://jezsik.blogspot.com/2010/01/nyaung-shwe-gateway-to-inle-lake.html" id="qbdc">Nyaung Shwe</a>, a heavy mist lay across the surface of the lake, making navigation a serious challenge as we maneuverered through what could best be described as a swamp with channels. Out of the mist, the market appeared on the shore.<br /><br /><div id="scbp" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 270px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_776f687v7ds_b" /></div><br />The Chaing Kham residents typically arrive at the market with tobacco leaves, enormous bamboo poles and firewood; resources requiring land. They trade with the Ywama villagers, and others living on the lake, for produce, fish, cheroots and other finished goods.The market is divided into two parts. Near the water's edge, the larger items are exchanged. Things like firewood and bamboo are loaded from ox cart directly to the boats.<br /><br /><div id="alwu" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 270px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_777gdkc6pd4_b" /></div><br /><div id="wrfb" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_778ct2dtkfp_b" /><br /><br /><div id="okq5" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_783fc4vsjd6_b" /></div><br />About 25m from the shore, the bamboo stalls mark the traditional market with all the smaller goods and services.<br /><br /><div id="y8il" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_779fv7z8zhh_b" /></div><br /></div>I recognized most of the goods on sale. Some products, like the bundles of green grass, were of questionable utility, but at least I recognized them. What mystified me, however, were peculiar brown cones. They had a distinct uniform in shape, were pliable, but held their shape as they were moved and picked up; I was able to pinch off the material if required. They were also odorless. The gentlemen selling them were unable to make clear their purpose. I was quickly informed that they were not edible as I mimed taking a bite out of one. They laughed and shook their heads vigorously. The mysterious cones remain a mystery to this day.<br /><br /><div id="jgnf" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_780fpmm67gm_b" /><br /><br /><img id="yt1e" style="width: 320px; height: 426.667px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_781hmnchgcn_b" />Chaing Kham is so appealing because it really feels like a crossroads between the land and the lake. It also has the least number of items apealing to tourists. There are few handicrafts and no antiques at all. Instead, you get lake people and hill people coming together to trade goods with each other.<br /><br />It's also a good time for catching up on gossip and getting access to service. The market has at least one pharmacist, a couple of restaurants, a barber and two seamstresses. This woman sat in the hot sun all morning working away on her foot powered sewing machine, stitching sacks together. Before I left the market, I gave her my baseball hat to keep the sun off her head. I was rewarded with a big, thankful smile.<br /><br /><div id="rjxe" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_784dp3v6kkj_b" /></div><br /><div id="vfsm" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_785d9jvt2hk_b" /></div><br />As I wondered toward the residential area of Chaing Kham, I met a group of women coming from the market. They were obviously heading home and smiled as they passed by. Assuming they were not traveling too far, being on a narrow path and not a road, I decided to follow and see their destination.<br /><br /><div id="sg6i" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_786znr546dx_b" /></div><br />Despite being loaded down with market goods, and having a stride considerably less then my own, these women were soon pulling ahead of me. I gave up after twenty minutes and watched them quick march through the village. I had to sit down to catch my breath.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><img id="j_iq" style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_782wjdzvjds_b" /><br /><br />I happened by a monastery on the way back. The monk in charge was barely twenty years old. He had a crew of at least a dozen novices.<br /><br /><div id="ev_v" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_7875xffzkg3_b" /></div><br />As mid day approached, the market was slowing down and people were heading home. It was time to see what other mysteries lay on the shores of Inle Lake.<br /><br /><div id="jz_x" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_788fxsjcscq_b" /></div><br />See lots more photos <a title="here" target="_blank" href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Myanmar/Nampan-Market/10910013_PNtNT/1/761718666_cpqEB" id="lgpz">here</a>!<br /></div><br /></div>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-53076625463915256992010-01-10T17:55:00.003-05:002010-01-11T19:17:51.793-05:00Floating market of Ywama villageInle, like many lakes, has numerous communities surrounding it. What makes it unusual, however, is that it also has communities <i>on </i>it. On the western side of the lake sits the Venice of Myanmar: Ywama. The local people have built their homes and buildings on wooden piles and bamboo poles driven into the lake bed. Some are, admittedly, rickety affairs, but there are also beautiful teak buildings of one and two floors.<br /><br />One morning, on my way to <a title="Indein Pagoda" target="_blank" href="http://jezsik.blogspot.com/2010/01/shwe-indein-pagoda.html" id="he_i">Indein Pagoda</a>, I had the good fortune to pass through when the village hosted the rotating market. Because no single village can realistically maintain a daily market, each community takes a turn. Ywama's market is particularly appealing to tourists because much of it takes place in boats on the water.<br /><br /><div id="kv83" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_763g7r45ncr_b" /></div><br />I was undoubtedly the first recognizable foreigner to arrive because the women in boats made a beeline for my craft. I was quickly surrounded by merchants presenting their various handicrafts. All hope of getting through was lost when I made the fatal mistake of mentioning that I was looking for a necklace. They were clambering over one another to present their best necklaces, one even climbed into my boat with a arm load of them. Eventually, I settled on two necklaces from two merchants.<br /><br /><div id="dunm" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 270px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_764g9qxs2dm_b" /></div><br />During the haggling, a couple of other tourist-laden boats came through the channel and were quickly pounced upon. Their pilots, more comfortable in the situation than mine, pushed through the picket and put their boats ashore.<br /><br />The Ywama community is not quite without land. Over the years, some villagers have piled up the soil from the bottom of the lake to make islands. Several of these are used for monastery and pagoda complexes. Ywama's market is held beside the land occupied by one of these.<br /><br /><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_774gpp8pwcd_b" /><br /><br />People selling food items gather near the shore while durable goods (and tourist items) are found closer to the temple, away from the lake. The merchants near the water stake out their territory with bamboo mats or vinyl tarpaulins. They would then carefully arrange their produce and wait for customers.<br /><br /><div id="mw.:" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_771ddqdqk5v_b" /></div><br /><br /><div id="pl4-" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_7657wwkrf45_b" /><br /></div><br />In addition to carvings and other locally produced items, the market is also a good place to acquire exotic antiques. I was quite fascinated by the collection of ancient records. Some were clearly from India, but did Burma once have a major recording industry? It certainly does today, but it would have been interesting to hear the music on those platters.<br /><br /><div id="r9gu" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_766g49mrzf8_b" /><br /></div><br /><img style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_767ghjxscc6_b" />My never-ending quest for interesting necklaces lead me to a woman with something unlike any of the others I'd seen. Most of the necklaces on the tables and in the boats were of the same styles. This one, however, was quite different. It consisted of heavy porcelain beads with primitive designs. My understanding was that it came not from Inle, but from the Chin people, far to the west. To this day, I'm still suspect of my understanding and wonder if it's not, in fact, from the nearby Shan people in the east.<br /><br />We settled on a fair price and I acquired a new treasure. I put it around my neck and continued my walk through the market area. I immediately noticed a change in the people when they saw my necklace. I received approving smiles and nodes as they pointed to my new acquisition. "Ah, you Chin man!"<br /><br /><div id="kcu4" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_768cfncxpfp_b" /><br /></div><br /><img id="z8zv" style="width: 320px; height: 426.667px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_769gsmndzf2_b" />While the market was the typical frenzy one comes to expect, I was surprised at how quiet things near the monastery. Except for the Buddha in the middle, the building was vacant. The smoothly polished floor indicated that it was used frequently. In the grounds around the building, small groups of people lounged in the shade or ate their breakfast around the stupas. The most prevalent item in the picnic baskets, or on every tables, was a thermos of tea.<br /><br />By the time I completed a second circuit of the market, more tourists had arrived. The sun was getting higher and it was time to explore more of the lake.<br /><br /><div id="p0c4" style="text-align: left;"><div id="v55g" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_773d57hb6cx_b" /></div><br /></div>See more photos <a title="here" target="_blank" href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Myanmar/Ywama-floating-market/10898008_UHCSD/1/760766517_kM4fv" id="j8oj">here</a>.jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-25494695216078799162010-01-08T21:18:00.001-05:002010-01-09T10:56:21.792-05:00Shwe Indein Pagoda<div style="text-align: left;">One of the most impressive pagoda and stupa collections outside of Yangon is located on the west side of Inle Lake: Shwe Indein Pagoda. Getting to Indein village requires navigating a boat up a winding stream. This trip is well worth it if only for the slice of life views as the boat passes small farms and homes. Farmers draw water from the stream, kids swimming and water-buffalo cooling off. The rich soil on this flat level land is testament to the receding shores of the shallow lake. It has been slowing silting up over the centuries, leaving behind a very fertile valley.<br><br><div id="oj20" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_746cmgbcsdk_b"></div><br><img id="dezq" style="width: 320px; height: 426.667px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_745hfvd9hdj_b">As the stream narrows, it becomes more rapid and unnavigable. As a result, the dock serving the community is some distance from the village. A few tourist shops have established themselves here, hawking local souvenirs. This is also where villagers take their goods for transportation to other markets. <br><br>As I arrived, a troop of ethnic Intha women were hauling great bundles of reed to the dock. I saw this material at the market, but had no idea as to its purpose. I wondered how they cut it to such precise lengths.<br><br>The grounds just beyond the dock area are set up for Indein's market. On my arrival, the bamboo stalls were vacant and the ground littered with the refuse of a previous day. A few merchants made permanent shops on the road to beside the village.<br><br><img id="ah9r" style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: left; margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 1em;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_748h8mkrcg6_b">Wandering through the abandoned market, I happened upon a local woman making her way from the stream. She carried an empty basket. I have a great affinity to well used baskets and, through pantomime, convinced her that I really wanted to buy her basket. She was ecstatic with her windfall of about ten dollars (more than a few days wage), but became formal when I asked to take her photo.<br><br>I crossed the short bridge and made my way past the monastary. Here, an impressive covered walk, about 800m in length, leads up the hillside to the pagodas. I saw similar structures in Bagan and Sagiang, but in no other country. Merchants make use of the space to display various handicrafts and antiques. The covering makes for a much more pleasant walk, out of the sun, and the decorative arts on display make for a much more interesting walk as well.<br><br><div id="ofst" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_747hnwjc5dg_b"></div> <br><br>Looking between the columns, the first impression of the Indein pagoda complex is intriguing. Vines and brush had covered most of the monuments over the years, but much of it has been cut back to reveal beautiful designs. <br><br><div id="sm8w" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_759gmq62qcp_b"><br><br><div id="v-wy" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_760c5kjcng3_b"></div></div><br>Unfortunately, years of neglect had reduced most of the monuments to bare brick and, in some cases, rubble. They are still, however, impressive. The damage at least revealed how they were built. The stupas have a brick base upon which cement has been applied and molded into rings, patterns and designs. This was then painted white or gold, then topped with a metal crown. <br><br><div id="bl:m" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_749n8fgvghn_b"></div><br><img id="ftmm" style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_750ss9j47gw_b">Given the alternating tropical and arid climate, it's difficult to know just how long it takes for the local jungle to overtake the works of humankind here, but it has certainly done a good job. Although there are no massive trees growing from the ruins as is the case in Angkor, there's no denying mother nature isn't trying. <br><br>I'm quite sure that the popularity of the site among tourists helped spur the local officials into cleaning up the ruins. The growth had been cut away from nearly all the structures. While some stupas further down the hill are choked with vegetation, just keeping the plants trimmed on the cleared areas is a significant undertaking. Wandering around the ruins I saw several people busy at the task.<br><br><div id="ffy9" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_751gvfzr2fn_b"></div><br>They are also working hard to restore the structures. Small teams are busy repairing the brick and mortar of the bases while others apply fresh paint and new trimmings. With bamboo scaffolding up the sides, the deteriorating metal crowns are also replaced.<br><br><div id="h.7j" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_753gq63x3gj_b"></div><br>The finished work is remarkable.<br><br><div id="cfli" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_754dwvdkhgd_b"></div><br><img style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: left; margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 1em;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_755gf8dzcgc_b">It also makes for some impressive photos.<br><br>Walking between the ancient stupas is an interesting experience. The structures closest to the top are the first to be restored, but a few others have been singled out for reasons unknown. The top is my favorite place to wander as I hope for a bit of a breeze. <br><br>Hanging from the gold-colored crowns are tiny bells. A slight movement in the air will cause a few of them to tinkle. Trudging around, looking for things to photograph, I didn't pay any attention at first. My ears kept picking up the gentle sound until I paused and took notice. After that, I walked quietly and enjoyed the experience. Few of the stupas have crowns. I could not help wonder how nice it would sound if they were all so equipped (as they had been in the past).<br><br><div id="c2l_" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_756cwdbp6cg_b"></div><br>In the pagoda at the top of the hill, I met a number of gentlemen sitting on the woven-mat floor having tea. I politely made my way past but they gestured for me to join them. No one spoke English, but as I shared tea with them, I managed to let them know where I was from and what I was doing. They were particularly interested in knowing if I had any children. At a loss as to how to converse, I fell back on a favorite technique and sang the Canadian national anthem for them. They seemed not in the least bothered by my inability to carry a tune! <br><br><div id="vi7-" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 319.8px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_758gvfrfngs_b"></div><br>Back outside, as I walked back through the complex, I saw an unusual sight: a young monk with an umbrella. I see a lot of monks and I see a lot of umbrellas, but I rarely see monks using an umbrella such as sold to the tourists (and <i>never</i> a young monk). Well, such an opportunity should not be wasted! <br><br><div id="vnfk" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 319.8px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_757f78n2rfs_b"><br><br>Moments later, the three boys were followed by a fully kitted-out European photographer and his two local guides. I recognized him as a fellow I saw on the boat ride way into Indein. He was shooting monks jumping into the creak. It then occurred to me that I saw him a week earlier in Bagan during the <a title="Ananda festival" target="_blank" href="http://jezsik.blogspot.com/2009/07/ananda-festival-morning.html" id="c3bf">Ananda festival</a>. While myself and the dozen other camera jockeys were running around, looking for the best shots, he stayed in one place, seeming to concentrate on some specific type of shot. It was apparent he was a pro and had arranged for this boys to have that umbrella so he could shoot them among the stupas. I never thought to simply hire people to help arrange photographic opportunities. I was struck dumb by the idea. It feels like cheating, but why? I'd seen plenty of obviously arranged shots on my travels; they were quite impressive. Why do I feel a need to shoot something "natural?"<br><br><img id="q380" style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_761dv245qfx_b">On my way back to the boat I noticed a few women washing up after the day's labors. I thought about how I might choose to set up such a shot and how I'd go about arranging it. Perhaps I would get lower to the ground or closer to the subject or go somewhere with a different background. Maybe include a water buffalo. Perhaps I might select young models for my photo. I could have had them splashing each other in play. So many possibilities. Before long, only one woman was left. She stood up and poured a ladle of water over her face and down her front. Not a perfect shot, but perfectly inspired.<br><br>See more photos <a title="here" target="_blank" href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Myanmar/Indein/10891494_MsfW9/1/760247956_yx4sj" id="nfir">here</a>!<br></div><br><br></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br><br><br></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><br>jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-393712778861711395.post-26116478257260931092010-01-06T22:16:00.003-05:002010-01-06T22:25:18.985-05:00Nyaung Shwe, Gateway to Inle Lake<img id="cv8r" style="width: 240px; height: 360px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_738dgqqd3hh_b" />Inle Lake is one of my favorite places. It's a large lake located between low mountains to the northeast of Yangon. To get to the lake, you must first visit the town of Nyaung Shwe. While it's possible to find accommodations on the lake, it's usually expensive and you're then at the mercy of the hotel for dining and at the mercy of the overpriced boatmen serving the overpriced hotel. I spent a few days exploring the town between excursions to the lake.<br /><br />Nyaung Shwe consists of one main road with several side streets. Along the road are several restaurants, numerous small shops, three large stupas and a market. At the end of the road, a bridge spans the channel leading to the lake. The principal means of transportation in the town is bicycle.<br /><div id="o6vp" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 270px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_730fncjnwck_b" /></div><br />It's the largest town on the lake and many businesses cater to the tourists who visit. Rooms can be had for as little ten dollars a night. This is also the place to hire a boat for the day. These fast long boats are equally cheap, going for ten to fifteen dollars a day. The best time to get out on the water is well before sunrise. Those early hours are chilly and a heavy mist lays over the water until dawn, creating an unearthly feeling.<br /><div id="hklf" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 319.8px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_733djbg6ngn_b" /></div><br />Walking through the back streets, I was not surprised by all the kites in the sky. I <i>was </i>surprised, however, at who was flying them. These gentlemen were intently coaxing their kite to a height that easily drew out 400m of chord from the reel. The paper kite is only two hand-spans across, so it was in impressive feat!<br /><div id="u6mj" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_731dt29p7cn_b" /></div><br />Meeting locals is easy. Many speak English (once essential to the country's education system). Conversation, on the other hand, is quite difficult. People seem to know only rudimentary English and could rarely venture beyond commercial transactions.<br /><div id="toxd" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_732f4tjdmgd_b" /><br /><br /><div id="hz.5" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_735d2q643cf_b" /></div><br /></div>The further you wander from the tourist track, the greater the opportunity to catch the locals in action - literally. I wandered into an abandoned factory to find a troop of monks at play.<br /><div id="at4h" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_734f8nxq6f5_b" /></div><br />Although each of the largest villages around the lake has a market, there is a main market that is hosted by each town in turn. This scheduled roaming market caters to locals and attracts people from other parts of the lake. The market at Nyaung Shwe is the largest. Boats from around the lake arrive well before sunrise, the nearby villagers arrive by bicycle and foot.<br /><div id="ktrl" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_737cb2ttsdb_b" /></div><br /><div id="ap7:" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_736hcxbsncz_b" /><br /><br /><div id="zu1b" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 320.4px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_7399hs5txcj_b" /></div><br /></div><img id="hwij" style="width: 300px; height: 450px; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 0pt;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_742gxg35c3t_b" />The market has two main components: there is the typical market that caters to just about everyone, but there is a wholesale area beside the canal leading to the market that tourists rarely see. Here, local farmers bring in bushels of tomatoes and other produce destined for the distant towns and cities. Young men carry the goods from the boats and load them onto trucks.<br /><br />The regular market takes place inside a square ring of shops and walls. Vendors take up the central space with stalls constructed from bamboo and tarpaulin sheeting overhead. From here they sell a variety of items, but produce and flowers are the most prominent.<br /><br /><img id="bnh:" style="width: 320px; height: 480px; float: left; margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 1em;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_741cr5hz4dp_b" />I'm used to seeing monks in South East Asia, but nuns are an unusual sight. As I wandered around the market I noticed pink and orange-sherbet clad young women with shaved heads making their way between the stalls. They used a small plastic water bottle to collect a bit of oil from each vendor. A saw another small group collecting a bundle of white flowers from one of the sellers. Others were acquiring vegetables. While monks might have to rely on handouts, the nuns, apparently, cook for themselves.<br /><br />By early afternoon the market has winded down, the shoppers heading back to their homes and villages. In the evening, there are few restaurants open, but the town gets very quiet. These folks are morning people.<br /><div id="o6gz" style="text-align: left;"><img style="width: 480px; height: 319.8px;" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dd3687bf_743cmhgftgj_b" /></div><br /><br />You can see a <i>lot</i> more photos from Nyaung Shwe <a title="here" target="_blank" href="http://jezsik.smugmug.com/Travel/Myanmar/Nyaung-Shwe/10866839_5dGim/1/758252786_bdyVj" id="cu.w">here</a>.jezsikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14234703330052351129noreply@blogger.com0