A BoBo's Muse
Sharing my world from New York to Paris to LA to my latest stop in ThailandArchive for March, 2010
Surfing Indonesia
I’m just chilling out in this beautiful cabana I’ve just happened to be offered. The pool is right below me and the beach is out in front. The swells were amazing this morning. I was up at 7 am getting pounded by waves. I’m not the best surfer, but I’m still out there getting in front of waves, nosediving and getting put through the washing machine. And for me, being out there is what makes it fun.
Ever since my very first experience surfing in Cape Cod, I have always had a passion for it. Cap Cod in summertime made it pretty magical. It was an adventure. I spent my 22nd birthday on a surf trip around Rhode Island. And I was sung Happy Birthday in a wet suit near the Wishing Well surf spot with a donut and a piece of wax wood for a candle.
The ocean is an irresistible body to me. I could never be close enough to it. I suppose surfing was a reason to be in the ocean for hours at a time. It’s a bonding experience where you go out there with a group of people, and it’s all about the high fives when you nail a wave and the group jokes and empathy as you get tossed around by a particularly large swell. It’s one of the most serene places to lay down on the board in the break waiting for the next round of swells.
Yesterday was my first time back in the surf in 6 months. When I ended up on my own I decided I should definitely spend my time surfing. People travel far and wide for the world class surfing on this particular island of Bali. And I didn’t want to waste an opportunity. So, I met some local surfers and tagged along for their daily ritual of morning and evening surfing. I found it’s also a way to find the good breaks and they usually have an extra board to lend out. Despite everyone being a short boarder on this island, I got lucky when Ketut just happened to own a 7’5”.
I spent the first half hour getting my surf legs back. Then I just got pounded by waves for the rest of the time. I caught a couple good ones and when I surfaced from the water after the first caught wave I gave a big whoop! and the little balinese kids who were hanging five whooped me back. It took me a second to realize they were whooping because my bathing suit had unfortunately re-adjusted itself, not because they were celebrating my victory. I promptly ducked under the next wave.
After a good surf session this morning despite being sore from yesterday evening’s tossing, we cooked some fresh fish on the beach over a coal fire. The fishermen had gone out last night as all the surfers were coming in. They had arrived just as we had gone out again this morning with a whole batch of just-caught fish.
Another good reason to hang with the locals: You get to keep some amazing memories. Sitting around a fire with a bunch of Balinese at 10 am eating the freshest fish of your life.
Not A Religion, But A Way of Life
The title of this post are the words of our Balinese driver, Sony, today as he brought Emily and I to Gunung Kawi, the holy ruins and rice fields of the Tampaksiring Village in northern Ubud. It was hundreds of steps up and down, through massive rice terraces against backdrops of waterfalls. It’s hard to explain the visual and even harder to capture in an image. It exhausted my descriptions of the color green. Despite living in tropical Thailand, nothing comes close to the lush jungle colors of Bali.
Gunung Kawi Entryway
Sony took us to the holy waters of Tirta Empur temple. The Balinese enter the water covered in sarongs. They ritually soak their head under the very first fountain to cleanse their spirit. Each person goes down the row from fountain to fountain until the very last fountain, which is supposed to get rid of bad dreams. The fountains have banana leaf baskets with burning incense at the tops and you inhale the scent and the smoke as you dip under the falls.
Emily and I put our sarongs on and got into the water. Sony had told us to avoid the two second to last fountains because they are used to cleanse dead people and for that purpose alone. Initially, Emily and I misunderstood and thought that the Balinese brought dead people into the water at this fountain bath, before cremations. Upon this thought we looked at each other, gave the surrounding waters a glance, shrugged, and continue to pray in our own way underneath the holy waters.
Holy Fountains at Tirtar Empur
What is obvious is that religion isn’t a word that is used to describe their practices. As I watch the local Balinese preparing for Oga Oga and making the final touches on their huge Barong paper mache giants, this is the glue of their community. Spirituality is their way of life: family life and community life. Their beliefs are what binds them together. I’m just glad I get to be a part of it in a small way.
Bali Time
Bali has taken over my life. It has wrapped around me like a gentle coil and under its sway induced me into it’s composition.
Balinese offering procession
I stepped off the plane and was picked up by Kadeck, Mary’s driver and taken to meet her friends, all of whom are craftsman in Bali. I have found out that every Balinese citizen has a craft that they practice each day. I asked a young wood carver how many hours a day did he practice his craft. He explained, “We don’t keep track of hours. We stop when we get tired.” Everyone is an artist in Bali.
Traveler Tip: Traveling around Bali is done through taxi and private driver, Bemo’s, the local public transportation, have slowly been shuffled out.
Ubud is my homestay for the moment, and it is the cultural zone of Bali. Where tourists descend in hopes of seeing the traditional dances, viewing the many art galleries, taking nature walks, and lazying around in cafes.
The Balinese start their day early in the morning. Around five am this morning, I was treated to a musical Hindu offering procession for Malasti. Drums beating and people singing Hindu chants. I could just visualize the women carrying offering boxes balanced confidently atop their heads. Each village has their own Malasti ‘parade’ at different times in the days before Nyepi (New Year). The Balinese make their way carrying gold-gilded offerings towards the closest ocean to their village and pray with the high priest, Brahman, before they dip their offerings to the deities in the ocean. The aspects of light and dark are always present. Everyone and everything has a spirituality that includes light and dark. This speaks to the mystique of Bali and the magic that is practiced on this island: Black and White. I am just beginning to grasp this mysticism.
Another unique aspect of Balinese life is the way they approach childhood and the care-taking of children. Babies, are revered because they are viewed as having been so recently in the divine presence of God. Therefore, they don’t allow babies to touch the ‘unclean’ earth until 3 months old and are carried through those initial months of life.
I have been staying with a wonderful fashion designer/artist, Nadya. Since I have arrived I’ve been staying in her houses in Ubud and Sesse soaking in the artistic exhibitions that are her homes. Every detail is fascinating in it’s intricacies. It has been a sensory experience so far. I’ve also met an paper-maker who uses collects rubbish from the beaches and recycling it in an in-studio ‘cooking’ process. Some might think it mundane, but it’s actually quite fascinating to see something that began from nothing as the well-oiled home-grown machine that it is now. Cally Sari, the paper-maker, is actually creating the photo albums for Obama’s family reunion that will be held in Bali two weeks from now. I was able to see some original photos of the family, which I thought was quite cool.
So, I arrived just in time for Nyepi, the Balinese New Year, which asks for a day of silence and stillness. It is preceded by Oga Oga, where the fabled Barong is seamlessly crafted by each Balinese family in huge erections of his image and used as the centerpiece in a ceremony where Barong scares the evil spirits away from the island of Bali. Barong is actually quite terrifying.
Recreation of Barong
Indonesia is in itself a difficult place to describe, let alone understand. It is comprised of more than 7,000 islands and is the largest Muslim nation in the world. However, Bali, amdist this Muslim nation is 90% Hindu. I’ve been reading Pico Iyer’s essays on Bali, and the veil is slowly beginning to lift, but just as a new veil descends. One thing is absolute about Bali: there is a magic about this place. Spirituality is a part of their daily consciousness. As you watch them pray five times a day in front of their homes and businessess, despite the enveloping tourism around them, it is done with a deep focus.
As I walk the streets of Bali the smell of soft incense, perhaps frangipani, greet me at every door. Remnants of their prayers. As I sit here now looking out amongst the rice fields there exists a peacefulness in this, some might consider, lost paradise. Bali is the old pro of tourism in Asia. Though, still there is something untouched in the midst of this rather crowded room.
As soon as I am able to upload photos, I will do so. I will continue to write as internet becomes accessible. But for now, I prepare for a day of fasting and prayer in Bali.
A New Decade on Koh Phi Phi
Initiation and a New Decade on Koh Phi Phi
Open waters of the Andaman Sea
Since landing in Thailand, so much of my time has been spent in observation. Just attempting, I suppose, to live vicariously through other travelers I’ve seen wandering the streets of Rambuttri Road and Khao San. In meeting some of these travelers I’ve come to conclusions about what I want to do and what I see myself accomplishing when my time came to explore.
This was it. The time had come for a longer taste of what life would be like as a rolling stone. It was finally happening. I don’t think there is really anything that can cause as much excitement and anxiety as looking forward to a solo travel expedition, never mind throughout New Years. It’s a holiday that, in most cases, is planned out thoroughly and significant sums of money is usually spent in preparation for making it the greatest night of the year.
I’ve never been one for the customary holiday celebration. Since, I was on my own in all the ways that counted, I decided to spend the this celebrated night on Koh Phi Phi.
I walked off the Tonsai dock, surrounded by the bustling business hagglers, and headed straight for the Rock Backpacker, as I heard it was the cheapest lodging one could find with a “community atmosphere”. Laden with my pack and freshly released onto Thailand’s islands, I walked through Tonsai Village and finally towards the mountains.
As I stared up the precariously erected stairs towards this ramshackle dive built into the cliffside, I had a vision of a treehouse where adults came to live out their childhood fantasies. I soon realized how accurate my first impression was. That was what this place was and everyone who came treated it as such. It possessed that “Never Never Land” vibe. I recall seeing a few stragglers hanging out in the outdoor hallway of the dorms, a place that would become very familiar over the next several days. The walls were plastered with graffiti messages of past “Rock” dwellers, not a spot remained unmarked. One of the more eccentric messages was: Zimbabwe’s rabbit sounds of the 80’s”. Inspired? Perhaps. I couldn’t glean any meaning from it, but felt that it had exist deep within the cinderblock. We would undeniably leave our own mark on the place. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.
The Wall, where we spent evenings
The next few days and nights were spent getting to know my new and very temporary roommates. Living bunk to bunk with 20 other people can create a familiarity with each other like nothing else I’ve experienced. For the most part we were all spending New Years together. There was an earnestness, but also an ease with which we got to know each other. Familiarity was inevitable.You can call it a product of proximity. But there was more to it.
Evenings began with dinner at the local dives in Tonsai Village, Papaya or Garlic, prior to congregating for buckets at our hostel before rallying to party down at all the beach clubs set up on the sand. There was something magical about the Rock. Maybe it was the characters that had come to travel and had found a temporary home there: Prince of Persia, the Argentinean brothers, Nicki the mischievous, hooriding Brit, “the Husband and Wife”, a fellow burner from NorCal whose been coming to Phi Phi since the tsunami. The list goes on.
I affectionately became known as Katmandu, which was decided by Farhad or Persia, as we came to know him, the first evening at the Rock. The most important thing to know is that no one was here for comfort. I didn’t stay for the digs. We were all here because of all the people around us loving life, cracking jokes and partying with fervor. Weary or not from traveling, we all came to Phi Phi to get comfortable and go a little wild. It varied whether we made it back before dawn. Many of us did and the last one to make it back usually after falling asleep on the beach took some immortal snapshots of those of us whose stamina faltered.
Cliffs at Monkey Beach
Limestone Cliffs
Maya Beach Path
Arrived through back lagoon at Phi Phi Ley
Morning was a time to see the view off the Rock at it’s most tranquil. Getting up to brush my teeth at the outdoor sink, which overlooked the turquoise bay, were the quietest of moments. I would soak up those early hours of a new day.
Showers and Sinks
Overlooking the Tonsai from out Treehouse
A bunch of us would all rally for breakfast at Panda, while struggling to relieve ourselves of the previous night and follow through with the plans we made for that day: renting a long tail boat to explore the surrounding islands, hiking to quiet and isolated parts of the islands beaches, and diving and snorkeling around some of the most beautiful spots in Thailand.
We spent hours in the evenings at the Rock, talking about everything we could say. Talking with a kind of openness and intimacy that only people who have drunken quite a bit tend to display.
New Years Eve, the Rock was packed. A short while after the introduction of the New Years buckets, the Phi Phi Guru came over to pour in a bottle of Mekhong, whiskey that is best ascribed to lighter fluid in taste and effect, I can guess, and we all knew it was going to be a wild night. We partied and danced all over the Tonsai Bay and met up at a spot on the beach by the water ten minutes to midnight laughing, dancing, and falling over in fits of giggles. Already we were covered in liberal amounts of glow body paint (of which I still haven’t gotten remaining bits off my clothing). At the stroke of midnight we only knew because fireworks lit up the sky and they went off right above our heads. The fireworks came and they rained down on us.
Fireworks on New Years
There was an ecstasy to the night’s mood. Fueled by this riotous and unlikely gathering of people. We were together and free of all burdens. We were all just travelers. A universal purpose: to move from one place to the next, staying longer in the places where we found good people and good conversation. By the end of that week in Phi Phi, the Rock had become a home to all of us. We had hung laundry up to dry, taken communal showers, seen the bottom of too many buckets, and made endless conversation. It was one of those occurrences that people wait for throughout their travels. That they recognize as lucky to have been a part of even if only once: a miraculous convergence of people, time, and place. Everything sort of adds up and pure fun is the common end. We rang in the start of a whole new decade, from strangers to friends.
New Years Rock Crowd
New Years Eve
To employ a cliché: All good things must come to an end. Everyone was traveling. It was time to move on to the next spot, the next country. People slowly dispersed over the last two days. When we left it felt as though we were leaving summer camp, never knowing when we would see each other again. Privately, I grew quite sentimental with coming to terms with leaving the Rock. “Rock people” are unique in their open-mindedness. There’s no such thing as strangers but only new friends to be made. This is the culture of The Rock and its people.
David left Rock early, left us a note
I think David’s letter said it best. And there isn’t much more to add. His words so eloquently sum up what the week in Phi Phi was for all of us.
As the group of us who had moved in for the week got ready to move out, a new crowd of travelers came with the same mentality and attitude for the week ahead.
I did see the Rock people again. Shortly thereafter, a group of us met up for a reunion in Bangkok. And I bumped into Marieanne in Chiang Mai. We just happened to be staying right around the corner from each other. As for this post, I wrote this back in January when the memory was still fresh. I find that scrapping something that is truthful, despite it being maudlin, isn’t good for my psyche.
Rock Reunion in BKK
If you’ve never experienced this then you can never know its impact on a person. I think as a long-term traveler there is an imbibed poignancy to the memory. Thoughts that pass through my mind daily are in regards to my home and what I left behind. I am, at times, dreadfully aware that I don’t know when I will be coming home. I don’t know when I will see my family again. I terribly miss my good friends that reside in New York and Los Angeles. So, finding myself in this wonderful circumstance with some amazing like-minded people, was refreshing and heartening.
This lifestyle of travel I realize people find exciting and also it is viewed as quite a leap of faith. I don’t know exactly what to say when I hear that. In many ways I feel I have taken the easy way out. I have absconded the commitments of the western world to live in my own way. All I did was save up some money, find a job and buy a one-way ticket to Asia. Anyone can do it. It’s just a matter of how badly you want it. It’s a choice that you have to be entirely committed to. There is tremendous sense of freedom in the realization that I know exactly what I want in this moment. I am here now and I have this colossal, yet reachable foreign world at my fingertips. I can go anywhere.
Till Indo.
Indo: Bali-Bound
After one full day of packing and shifting stuff from the house that has been home the past 5 months to Emily’s apartment, I am ready to say goodbye to Ramon Park, Bangphli, Samutprakarn. What a long, strange trip it’s been. Difficult at times, but totally worth it all. I’m going to miss my kids. I’ll visit next semester for sure.
I feel that if there is one thing I am really good at its making a temporary sanctuary. It sounds really contrived but I feel as if I’m leaving some part of me behind here. I won’t be able to take it all away. It’s strange how much things have changed in such a short time. I remember when I first arrived: I was shell-shocked by it all. Now, it’s become familiar. I guess that’s part of why long-term traveling is so essential to some of us. Familiarity, perhaps. As you get more familiar, you don’t feel as inconsequential to the world as a whole. Bangkok doesn’t seem as far away from New York City or Venice Beach.
Tonight I stay up all night in Bangkok and depart for the airport at 3 am for a 5 am flight to Indonesia. One last drink with the teachers: Nate, Emily, Josie, Michelle, Ryan.
I don’t believe there is anything left to say. To be honest I’m feeling a little ambivalent about the whole day.
While I have no idea what to expect of Bali, it’s sure to bring some vibrant colors, and momentous sights and experiences. Also, I’ve heard the surf is awesome down there. I’ll be hopping on a long board again. I’ll let you know when I get there. As I usually do things: I’ll figure it out as I go along.
Till Indo.
Putto Meditation
The past few days after school ended Sathit Bangna organized a meditation retreat for all of the teachers. I think the motivator to go was pure curiosity. None of us had ever done strict mediation retreat or have spent all that much time meditating to begin with.
They began by giving us a introduction with a monk who spoke English well. We practiced two different kinds of meditation: sitting and walking. Sitting being by far the most difficult and painful. The sound of the bell would start the meditation and I think the majority of the time we all breathed a sigh of relief when the bell was rung to signal the end of that meditation session. It was rare that I wondered where the time had gone.
The women teachers all slept in one room that was adjacent to the Wat and had a massive shrine to the King. There were bamboo mats and a form of a pillow on the ground to be used as a bed. Wake up time was a prompt 4 am and bedtime was 9 pm. The sleeping provisions were actually quite alright with me. I’ve had some good practice growing up sleeping on floors. Staying every other weekend at my dad’s old ‘bachelor pad’ was equally as simple: sleeping bags on the floor. Something my dad must have gotten from my grandfather who served in WW2 was the nightly announcement to declare bedtime: “Hit the sack”. One of the more deeply embedded memories of my childhood.
Taking a nap during break
The reason I had trouble sleeping was there happened to be an infestation of cockroaches. I woke up with one by my head and two by my feet. Cockroaches are definitely a weakness for me. And we have had some large and nasty-looking bugs in our house. I can’t handle the creepy-crawlyness. And of course being Buddhists they won’t kill the bugs.
As we were heading into temple at 4 :30 am the first morning, I was in a dull trance from tiredness and didn’t see the cockroach underneath my feet and so I stepped right on it. Ugh. It was rather large too with fully grown feelers. Of course everyone freaked out. Not because they were grossed out, but because I had severely injured a cockroach inside the temple. One woman promptly picked it up with her bare hands like ” a candy wrapper” and brought it outside to die. This was my first introduction to temple and it wasn’t exactly the best impression to have given.
Natan peeking through our window
As far as the meditation practice goes, I think I need to lay some more groundwork. I have a hard time shutting off my mind. It was a unique experience to be with these monks and function the way they do. They rise and shine at 4 am everyday, which seems incredible to me. The head monk said that when a boy is ready to be a novice monk at around 12 or 13 years old they have to be able to go without eating after 12 noon. Then they are ready. Who knew food would be the determining factor. I would have thought sitting for hours in lotus position would seal the deal for anyone not fully committed to being a monk.
Regardless, it was a lovely and simultaneously boring experience. Perhaps, one that I might possibly try again. We’ll see.
Half the Sky
I wanted to use this opportunity to give another platform, albeit a small one, to the book, “Half The Sky”. As I read the stories of women all over the globe who are abused, enslaved, and killed, I was simultaneously horrified, angered, heartbroken. When I read what these women were able to accomplish with an education and a minimal bit of monetary assistance I was inspired and motivated.
If you are a woman, you must read this book. Knowing the truth about the trafficking of young girls from poor rural villages of Cambodia to brothels in Mayalasia and the gang-raping of women for the sake of ‘ruining’ them is a first step to understanding the ubiquity of crimes against women.
For just a bit of loose change, we as the fortuitous beneficiaries of the First World can educate young girls too poor to attend school. For $20 a month (we spend that on coffee at Starbucks) we can micro-finance a woman’s business idea to sell banana beer in the Congo or embroidery in Afghanistan that offers a woman the opportunity to control her own finances and her own future. Such a small sum of money can guarantee a woman heightened credibility in the community and within the home while securing the future livelihood of her daughters. Such minimal assistance as a sponsored donation to a woman wanting to start her own business can slowly change the fabric of these patriarchal (to their own detriment) cultures and can reap rewards that are unimaginable in these environments of oppression and abuse.
One of the most galvanizing conclusions to each anecdotal life experience was that education is the answer to maybe not so much as eradicate, but exponentially curb women’s violence, maternal mortality, infant mortality, AIDS, bride burnings, honor killings, sex trafficking, and child prostitution.
The horrors above are a resulting combination of poverty and ignorance mixed with an archaic culture of misogyny. Just read the book and you’ll understand why education provides the impetus.
Ephemeros
Everything is changeable, everything appears and disappears; there is no blissful peace until one passes beyond the agony of life and death. – Buddha
Buddha
There exists this habit when someone passes where people rattle off platitude-esque words as if they are supposed to be comforting, but in the end the person is still gone. As a collective, Westerners tend to think of death as being the final act. The West leans less towards the belief of reincarnation and more towards a final resting place. So for us the one who has passed on no longers consists of any life force, and their soul, if you believe, is of the unknown.
In Thailand, I have experienced two separate incidences in which the subject of death as been approached. It has been difficult to come to any sort of understanding of how this culture considers death because of it’s sensitive nature and a cultural/language barrier.
The teachers had gotten together for some beers a few weeks back and Teacher Nok was telling us about his sister. He was talking back and forth between Golf and us, so it was a hard to follow at times. As he was talking about his sister, and with a smile on his face he says, “dead”, and drew his finger across his throat (a seemingly universal gesture for “dead”). And he started laughing, so we did as well. Oh yes, “haha, dead. haha”. We were thinking it was some strange joke lost in translation to us and we were just sort of pretending to understand what was going on. This happens frequently. But soon we realized it wasn’t a joke and it wasn’t a lie. It was true.
Nok began telling the story is very broken English that his sister had been victim to a road theft. Down south, she was riding her motorbike at night and two thieves had pulled a strong but clear piece of string in the air across the road. The two stood on each side of the road and waited until she flew down at 60 mph and got tangled up in the string. She had died. Immediately, we didn’t know what to say. We were horrified because we had just laughed about it. But, what was most unusual to us was that he was laughing about it.
Thai people normally laugh about topics or situations that are uncomfortable. This laughter also reflects their avoidance of conflict or sadness. When our students miss class and we wear our stern looks, many times they will say, “Teacher, why so serious?” They don’t display ‘unfavorable’ emotions and they are curious and confused when others do. But I surely thought death would have been an exception.
As one could imagine, this left us feeling insensitive and completely in the dark as to how to proceed. They ended up changing the subject, but I couldn’t shake the nagging questions as to why this had been Nok’s reaction.
Then a similar exchange happened again. I was talking to Teacher Nhing about her pregnancy. I asked her, “Poo Yhing or Poo Chai?” I asked if it was a boy or a girl. She said, “No No. Accident. Gone now…away from me.” I could only take this to mean that she had had a miscarriage. And she was laughing. I apologized and she laughed. I felt without a compass as to what I should say. So, I didn’t say much of anything.
So, I’ve come to no real conclusions about why this is their reaction to death. But I find it confusing coming from the West, where the topic death is treated with care and people are mourned so deeply.
They must mourn, but it is private. It is as if they want to spare other people the discomfort. But, of course, Buddhism must largely influence their level of grief. That soul will move on to another life in a cycle of life and death. And so, there is comfort to find in that belief.
