Buddha Talk: Meditation and Mediation of Extremes

Hypertravel with Hardie #21: Malaysia and Brunei

2016 SARAWAK & BRUNEI First the backstory: I’ve been to Malaysia for almost as long and almost as often as any other place in the world, but it’s not always my destination. Because it’s usually over-shadowed by its big brother Thailand to the north or its big brother Indonesia to the south. And if that doesn’t seem to fit the statistics on foreign arrivals, then it’s likely because it straddles the megalopolis of Singapore, whose residents usually must only cross the nearby border to Malaysia to effect any sort of Foreign travel, that peninsular landmass that it once shared a government with, thanks to the British. But that was long ago now, and Malaysia has largely reclaimed its ethnic Malay ethnicity by leaving Singapore to its Chinese roots, tempered by the English language, something which brother Indonesia would never do. That peninsular landmass even includes a significant Thai population, centered on and around the northern border and the island of Penang. And I’ve been to many of those areas, including the Cameron Highlands and the eastern seaboard. But this trip is about the island of Borneo, which makes Malaysia almost as big or bigger than Indonesia or Thailand, albeit splayed out over the vast Pacific Ocean. But Borneo is still something of a revelation, and I can't help but think some backpackers are missing the boat here, literally. Malaysia was always cleaner and neater than its neighboring Third world countries, and now it's as cheap as Thai and Nepal, probably cheaper than Burma or Laos. So where are they all? They're not here, that's for sure. Outside of the resto-pub centers of Kuching, and probably Kota Kinabulu, too, there just aren't any. I didn't seen a white face for a week!!!Maybe it's because Malaysia is a Muslim country, but these people in Borneo are mostly Christians, and you know what that means: party! Yes, you'll have no problem finding a brew here, though coffee may be a different story. I'm accustomed to the local 'kopi' tasting great, but having no kick, so tend to compensate with the local Red Bull rip-offs, which have some vitamins, too, so a couple birds in the henhouse with only one buck (I do so hate to kill the local fowl)... In fact your main problem may be getting to sleep, since Muslims from drinkless f*ckless Brunei come here to get their rocks off, and the local timber workers have needs, too. The Chinese just do business, and eat eat eat. I've never seen people eat so much in my life! It seems like every meal has a dozen Chinese people around the table and the dishes just keep piling up—figure the tab later... And if you're the 'English only' type, then this is a real dialect of the language, not just the pidgin poop that passes for pahsah farang so many other places. But lingo is my Pokemon Go, my game of chance, though lingo should ideally be no game, but communication seeking its highest level, and this is not the best place for that, though better than the peninsula...At one point I was functioning at a low, but conversational level in Indonesia's similar dialect, but just gave up on the Malay peninsula. You know: you speak Malay to them, and they speak English back—brilliant. Chinese in this country usually speak three or four languages, and Malay is not their favorite, though they all have to learn it. I don't often duel with dual lingos any more, since somehow they're all connected, and I have bigger fish to fry now, like saving the species—no biggie... Warning: Window-less Rooms...I don't know where Malaysia, and the Phillipines, and Mexico, and maybe a few others, got the idea that rooms without windows are aceptable—but they're not. On Expedia, they're generally specified that way (no doubt from cruel experience), but hostel-booking sites may forego the detail. That's too bad, because I'm a hostel guy and now their WiFi isn't even reliable—and that's the reason I became a hostel guy in the first place! Not to mention the issue of fire escapes and proper egress, a technical term...So the first time it happened, I let it slide, foregoing the request to change. After three days of that I needed therapy, and arguably still do. Remember 'sensory deprivation' from the 60's? It's like that—or prison. This may prepare you for a bleak future, but I doubt it. They're air-conditioned, though, if that's your thing, so that's the trade-off. I'll pass. So I quit booking hostels here, and stuck to Expedia. Boo hoo. Of course, the problem with windows is noise from below, so pick your poison... The food is good, though—some of the best, but with some differences from Indonesia and other parts of Malaysia. Nasi lemak is a full-fledge dish in Sarawak, with full-size plate and special options for a higher price, while in Penang and KL it comes in banana-leaf packets for a quickie breakfast on the go, one of my favorites, spicy rice in the morning...And nasi campur, 'mixed rice', is a specific dish in Indonesia, but a category in Malaysia, similar to the 'nasi Padang' stalls in Indonesia, but not limited to spicy curries. In this they more resemble the kaow gaeng 'curry stalls' of Thaland, which is again a misnomer, because they have much more, specifically—vegetables, just like Malaysia. The trick is getting the right price, since they are seldom marked and open to much local interpretation, vis a vis portion size, etc...Some will even let you serve yourself, so here it gets really tricky, since you'll have no standard of reference. But they do, and they'll charge accordingly. Then there's the drink, etc. so much room for price variation. To be honest (pun), I can't say that I've ever been cheated, but there is plenty of room for questions. Prices will generally run $1-2 USD for a plate, so no biggie, just find a place you like...Malay servings are small in general, but Sarawak's are much bigger than Penang. In Malaysia's Chinatowns, especially Kuching, a restaurant is frequently 5-6 food carts rounded up into one space, each with its specialty. Did Chinese invent food courts? They did now. The local coffee tastes great, but doesn't have any caffeine to speak of, so you better look for a Starbuck's or such for that, probably doable in Kuching or KK... part 2 Only problem now is that I'm sick as a dog, far upriver in Kapit, need vitamins, need caffeine, and there seem to be none of my usual avenues for fulfillment. The caffeine part I can rig (pun), boil down Coca-Cola if I have to, with a needle and a spoon, and inject intravenously (joking). But then I find some old-fashion Nescafe, not that 3-in-1 coffee-milk that works for lady drinks. Just mix the two together, and it doesn't taste so bad, and kicks like a mule in heat (yes, I know)...Still I need vitamins. I'm sniffling and sneezing, whiffing and wheezing like a sludge pump that needs a grease job and a few new gaskets. This could get worse before it gets better, and is nasty, regardless. Where is a drugstore when you need one? Finally I find one, albeit with super-expensive vitamins, and I find a Red Bull knock-off, too, so God does provide, I'd say...Still I'm liking it. I go without a hotel reservation for the first time in 10 years, just get off the boat and start walking, just like the old days, before bus stations moved far out of town. But these boats are much better than their counterparts in Laos, especially on the Sibu end. Kapit is a little more primitive, with boats sidled up next to each other, while you pick your footing carefully to disembark...So here's the breakdown, town by town, as far as I know them: Kuching rocks with a knocked-out mocked-up waterfront and cruises in the river, picnics on the weekend and two separate Chinatowns both worthy of attention. This is a modern town, and ultimately a bit boring, reminding of Penang, and not really Sarawakian, great if you came for nightlife and sublime moments on the waterfront...Sibu has a rep as rough and tumble, and that's probably deserved, what with timber king and ladies of the night looking for a piece of the action, karaoke until almost dawn, and a night market to boot. Finding a room with window, but not on a noisy street, is the challenge, that and the fact that roads go off at all different directions, so easy to get lost. Central market is large, with goods from upriver and down...Miri is a combination of the two, not as slick as Kuching, but not as rough as Sibu—just about right, I'd say. And though not really a 'night market', there is a night boulevard of eateries, that is central, pleasant and refreshing. From here you can easily access Brunei, if that's an interest, not a bad little day-trip...And last but not least, Kapit is a small town upriver, where I am now while I write. This is small river-town Malaysia, with cars secondary to the plan. From here you continue upriver north to Belaga, or turn around and go back. If I'd known that I could go to Miri by this back route, then I might've done it, but no biggie. The place closes up at 6 pm sharp, but there are night food stlls up above; just tke the steps up by the Methodist church. Did I mention that these people are largely Christian? You know what they say about Christian girls... And there are longhouses around here, but I saw more on the ride Sibu-Miri, albeit nothing especially traditional-looking. The first time I saw one, I thought to be just a cheap apartment complex, though a rather long one. And others all in that vein, varying from modern decent to modern decrepit, defined by the fact that they're all connected...But I haven't found any of that near Kapit, though presumably they exist and are visitable on tours, the hows and wheres undetermined. Presumably you need a guide, but I've seen nothing of the sort, nor travel agencies nor tour operators. I suppose you have to ask around. But secretly I've always been in love with an imaginary riverboat town: timber and lumber keep me limber, I guess. There's just one problem: they don't exist any more...The romance of river life dates back to Mark Twain and the by-gone era when rivers were roads, and water was life, before all the automobiles and air-conditioners and convenience stores that are that but not much more. Those were simpler and better times, in many ways. The planet counted one billion people for the first time in the 1830's. Now we're over seven bil and still counting. Where does it all stop? We all know, but we can't say it, because it's bad for the economy...At day's last light you can have the cent on ral square to yourself and THOUSANDs of bats in random flight, apparently feeding the same hour's MILLIONS of insects. And then it's quiet, for most of the night, the sleep of the just, until it all starts over again the next day, at daybreak, just like God planned it—if there IS a God, and he gives a sh*t (I'm exaggerating to make a point—I'm Buddhist)...I reiterate: I think some backpackers are missing the boat here, unless you just love hanging in a little Khaosarn-like foreigners' colony in Vang Vieng or Luang Prabang or elsewhere, with hamburgers and fries and other frat-house-like commodities, and a tuk-tuk mafia of heartless bastards ready to spoil your trip. Here the guy with glasses still gets top honors and the top footballers still gets the cheerleader—and people are honest, mostly. It's refreshing... BRUNEI 301 Brunei is something completely different. Being one of the per-cap richest countries in the world, you don't have to worry about dignity, I guess, even if the wealth comes from one-off petrol pushing. Hey, if I can count layovers, then they can count oil. It all depends on what you do with it, and initial observations seem encouraging. I know these people are 'big-boned' and all, over-compensation for island dwarfism, no doubt, but these people aren't missing any meals... And there's no shortage of ostentatious flash, either, as befitting one of the richest men in the world. The domes of mosques are made of gold—nuff said. And though there is a squatter's village of 30K a five-minute boat ride from the gilded city, their cars parked on the land side show them to be no poor fishermen. Business is good. Yes, everything is subsidized, of course, that causing no shortage of tension—and strategizing—with neighboring Malaysia, but with no major problems... The hard part of visiting Brunei is just getting there, it effectively separating Malaysian Sarawak from Sabah. There is one—count 'em: ONE—bus crossing the border(s) and continuing on into Malaysia. Did I mention that you have to cross four borders? Yes, Brunei itself is bifurcated into two parts, and every crossing must get stamped, and baggazh reviewed... So I finally opted for a one-day tour, guide and all, leaving the Malaysian town of Miri at eight-ish in the manana and returning dark-thirty. AAACCCKKK!!! I'm a tourist! I feel so cheap and dirty! What would my mother say? One more thing: these were my one hundred fifty-fourth and fifty-fifth countries as defined by the UN list. I may or may not get to them all, but—who cares? The trip is the thing, not the destination... 2023 Still, all roads lead to Kl I’ve had some boring trips before, over the course of 155 countries and 50 years, but this particular incarnation of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, over three months in 2023 will probably take the fake chocolate cake for whatever it’s worth in some feeble attempt at satisfaction. But the fix was in from the start, of course, when the stated goal was ‘recovery from surgery,’ in this case bladder surgery, from the previous country, in this case Philippines. It only gets more complicated, to be sure, but the simple twist of fate is that Malaysia is the only country in SE Asia with 90-day visa-free arrival, and good healthcare, so it gets the head-bob nod, while all the others get the sleepy-head nod. After all, I’ve got an entire history in Thailand, yep, but only 30-day entries, though I’m sure that another 30 days in the Philippines itself woulda’ been no major sweat off the lobes. But my urologist in Cebu had already said he’s no fan of the surgery I’d’a preferred to start with in the situation where my bladder had ceased to function. But that’s another blog post. Bottom line: I’m looking around. With all the Filipina nurses, you might think that it might be a good med-tour destination. It’s not. I'm here now to tell you that KL DOES have good healthcare and good food and better English than BKK even on a good day, even if the nurses don’t smile quite as much. And that English that might even be better than Cebu, would probably still be less widespread. So why doesn’t Malaysia have the same level of tourism as all the nearby others? Well, the Quora Fora all hem and haw, but masjid bullhorns before dawn should probably tell you something. Long story short: you can get all the alkie you want, but anything more than that will probably involve much more surreptition... Fine by me, Buddhist scholar on a good day and slightly less on a bad one. I count my pleasures in conch shells, not conquests, and Malaysia has plenty to offer on those fronts, even if KL ain’t your cuppa. Still, it’s interesting. Malaysia is a sandwich, a cultural sandwich, with Malay bread on the bottom, roti, like rice, vast and unwashed, and Chinese sweetbread on top, dessert highly refined and not so concerned about what’s underneath. In between are dribs and drabs of this and that, Tamil Indians and tribal Austronesians and whoever else got lost in the neighborhood and couldn’t find a home elsewhere, except the Singaporeans. They can stay where they are. The point is: they don’t mix, not really. I suspect that my own command of Bahasa Malay is as good as many ethnic Chinese Malaysians. Chinese Malaysians don’t eat the Malay food and would appear on the surface to despise it—and them. And the feeling may well be mutual. But I can’t speak for anyone’s feelings. I only report what I see. The irony is that their deep ancestry is very similar; they are not a different race by any means. Fortunately, I did have the opportunity to see the community of ethnic Chinese Malaysians up close, since they have an old Buddhist temple on the warehouse/market street that I also inhabit, and so we became friends. The highlight of that friendship was the traditional tea ceremonies that I witnessed there in the temple with shifu and elsewhere as part of my guided tour. It’s fascinating and nothing short of amazing that such traditional aspects of the culture linger on into the present day. But isn’t Chinese culture nothing if not traditional? What I did not see—and I was looking—was any real connection to the Chinese mainland homeland itself—no. The Chinese-language TV shows come from Hong Kong and Taiwan, but no evidence of the looming lumbering CCP hovering in the background. Even perhaps more surprising was the relative lack of Singapore’s presence. Fortunately, I had been to Malaysia before, and KL, too, so nothing is really lost by my decision not to cruise, local or statewide, not when it’s very hot and rains almost every day, and I’m not strong enough to travel, anyway, not really. And the real drama is what’s going on in my body, which I’m writing up separately, but which I may or may not ever publish, haha. So my forays were pretty much limited to the Chow Kit area of KL in general, and the Jalan Raja Bot market area in particular, and frankly, that ain’t bad, not for an old hand, non-tourist. Food is ubiquitous, both Chinese and Malay, and the place lights up at night like a hundred-dollar whore who just got paid—with everything but the whore. This is a Muslim country, remember. It’s almost like parallel runways, Jalan Raja Bot is, with that main street of Chinese warehouses terminating into a large market area, bounded on the far opposite side by the evening eats area, which I haven’t seen late at night. The near opposite street is the midnight market, though, and really doesn’t shut down until about 3-4 a.m. This is all food and assorted merchandise, though, so not the booze-laden scene that Thailand becomes after dark, and much less than midnight. Still, it’s not uncommon for the scene to break out into song locally, and the vibe is generally good. What Malaysia adds to the typical SE Asian cuisine, beyond the typical Chinese and Malay offerings, is a healthy dose of Indian fare, also, especially south Indian, courtesy of the resident local Tamils and their descendants. So, it’s something of an Asian smorgasbord, everything but the girl. This ain’t Thailand. Still, people—including women—are friendly enough, if not meretricious, and that counts for a lot. A smile is still a smile whether under a veil or a thousand-dollar ‘do. But Malaysian is nothing if not one giant food court. Dishes and digs are significantly cheaper than big bro’ Singapo’, too, so no more than Bangkok, really, if not Chiangrai, jaow. Did I mention that hospitals are ubiquitous? I’ll be back.

Buddha Talk: Buddhism in an Imperfect World

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Hypertravel with Hardie #18: South Thailand

#18 South Thailand 2013 First the back story: my long coexistence with Asia, specifically SE Asia, is almost first and almost foremost with Thailand, beginning in 1992, mostly with Chiang Mai, to whatever extent anyone can truly circumvent Bangkok. That’s only logical, since CM is the main focus of Thailand’s handicraft trade, and that was my game back then, long since established, for at least a decade, in Latin America and looking to expand by this time. And, within five years, CM would be the central point of my business, even after I chose to live in Chiang Rai to the north. This is after spending almost half that same decade in Vietnam, and only gradually closing my business in Latin America. But my travel urge never really died, undergoing something of a minor peak around 1997, the year that I finally decided on Thailand, over Cambodia, China, Indonesia, Laos, and Vietnam already mentioned. The logical goal then is to see all of Thailand, and if the Isaan northwest is the first goal; after Bangkok and the north, then soon the south presents itself as an equal if not better choice. Note that it is almost impossible to see all of Thailand in any one trip, so this narrative reflects that, as the south gradually became most important to me there. So, this trip starts in 2013, and focuses on the Songkhla are, where I would eventually go to ‘monk school’ in 2017. Still, all roads lead to Bangkok, and so that’s where this story starts, with bars, clubs, and pubs, ho hum. Fortunately, there’s a train straight to Songkhla. Christmas in Thailand: Songkhla I hadn't been in Songkhla in a dozen or so years, so jumped at the chance to put it back in the itinerary. After successively postponing and/or canceling trips to Bhutan and Burma, I was left with a hole in my schedule, so this fits the bill nicely. It's different. Normally when you think of southern Thailand, you think of tourist mega-resorts like upscale Phuket or backpacker havens Koh Samui, Pha Ngan or Tao. Then there are Koh Lanta, Krabi, Phi Phi, and countless others. Or if you're thinking about the dangerous and rebellious Thai Muslim 'three southern provinces', then you're talking Yala, Narathiwat, Pattani, or some other places that've made big bad news in the last decade's separation struggles. Then there are the boring provincial Thai cities of Nakhorn Sri Thamarat, Surat Thani, or others best known as transit points. Songkhla doesn't fit any of these easy categories. It has tourist interest, but almost no one goes there, Thais included. For one thing Songkhla's difficult—but scenic—position between sea and inland lake have kept organic growth slow, and access cumbersome. For another, its beaches have pine trees, not palms, and its most frequent visitors are likely Muslims from Malaysia, picnicking on the beach fully clothed. Songkhla likes to advertise itself as Thailand's original southern resort city, but that must date to a time when Marseilles was France's and Acapulco Mexico's. There are plenty of Western foreigners here, but they're not tourists; they're offshore oil workers. That's Songkhla's claim to wealth and fame, that and fishing and rubber plantations. Those workers all need entertainment, of course, so this is your last chance for whoring and drinking before the fundamentalist Muslim south, more fundamentalist than its Malay-national cousins across the border, I reckon. Sometimes you have to overstate a case just to make a point, I guess. The Thai southern separatists are more about politics than religion, anyway, I think, ethnic Malays who find themselves on the wrong side of the line that divides countries. There are many Thai-speaking Siamese on the other side, too, including many who reject the term 'Thai' for their ethnicity, 'Siamese' preferred. It's complicated. Songkhla itself is not so complicated, though, just bizniz and fun as usual, with only a few references to Malay language to remind one that danger is not far away. There are Muslims scattered over most all parts of Thailand, and for the most part coexistence is peaceful. And until recently, at least, with increasing fundamentalist sentiment, about the only distinction from other Thais was their refusal to eat pork, otherwise drinking and whoring with the rest. That has changed lately, at least somewhat. But Songkhla hasn't changed much, not from the first time I was here fifteen years ago, or the second time twelve years ago. That second time I fell in love and left precipitously rather than face the fact that the object of my affection was a special order for one of the local oil-field helicopter pilots. She needed money for her grandmother's hospital bill. By the time I knew what was happening, it was too late. She was an Isaan girl, and I'm sure long gone by now, but he may still be here. You never know. That little anecdote largely defines the situation here, foreigners with money all out of proportion to the locals' meager earnings, though earned locally, many of them Scots with experience in the North Sea, Saudi A, or even Nigeria. Fortunately I've done a stint as an oil-field roughneck, so I know the drill and the lingo. Most are pretty nice guys, too, albeit with usually only a tenuous relationship with the locals. So I gravitate to the bar with Nirvana on the play list, playing straight off of YouTube on a full-size screen, atmosphere more than making up for whatever the system lacks in fidelity. This is the Corner Bar, and Tom is the owner. He might as well be the King of Scotland, as far as I'm concerned. These guys are not stingy. For every drink I've bought, I think I've gotten at least two more free, often not even knowing who the generous donor is. I could get used to this, if I could get used to alcohol at all. I've been out of practice for years. There's only one rule: “No politics,” and that's probably wise, since there are US oil-field workers here, too. I doubt they voted for Obama. But after two nights of drinking, I'm in a daze. I really prefer an almost tee-total existence, like the last five years, but I also prefer some social intercourse, so you can't have it both ways. I'm teetering between a lost weekend and the dark night of my soul, uncertain as to how all of this plays out, while saving something for Christmas, at least, which should be interesting. It is, but I've had too much alcohol. These bloody Scots can drink me under the table. I should go see some more of the south while I've got the chance. Still it might be worth checking Songkhla out again, in a different season. If there's a dry season, then I don't know when it is. Floods were big in the news until recently, and even now it's cloudy and rainy much of the day... and hot. Any amount of exertion will yield an equivalent amount of water in the form of sweat, to the point that you might as well wash the item, since you'll have to wait for it to dry regardless. I do this two or three times a day, every day. It gets old. Thank God for air conditioning. Songkhla isn't perfect, but Thailand is something of a safe haven for me, and that's nice in many ways. I just have to define the terms. I'll be back. In South Thailand They Like it Hot... and Sweet The food down south, fierce and fiery, is renowned even amongst Thais for its spiciness. That includes yellow curries, and of course seafood, a welcome addition for us semi-vegetarians quickly backsliding into ovo-lacto-chicketarianism. Then there are the sweets, similar to the rest of Thailand, and heavily based on the use of coconut, or at least the 'milk' (not to be confused with the 'water'). This is native to the south, of course, and likely the point of dissemination toward the north, along with much of 'Thai' cuisine, curries originally from Malaysia, Indonesia, and the Indian sub-continent, in my theory, at least. There is also 'Muslim food', which is really not so much different, to be honest, and which I take to be vindication of my theory of southern origins. Still they make a distinction in numerous eateries, mostly in the oldest part of town. You won't find pork, there, though, that's for sure, and that's the main difference. BTW be careful with the coconut milk. Over-indulgence can have a constipatory effect, as I found out the hard way years ago during a brief love affair with sticky rice and mango. That's a triple whammy I don't want to repeat. That's What I Like About the South—Thailand, that is... If southern Thailand is a masala mix of tourism, ex-pats, rebellion, and boredom, then Trang somehow finds itself at the center of it all. And while it has few attractions of its own in the city proper, that in and of itself is one of the attractions. That is a Backpacker Principle: authentic is better, as long as it's not boring. Trang is not, though I have yet to see a go-go or 'dark side' (a la Songkhla) bar, good deal. It doesn't have the old-fashioned and well-defined Sino-Portuguese shop-house district of Songkhla, but that's an anomaly in Thailand peculiar to Songkhla. At the same time it's got more than the typical boring layout of 50's-era Stalinesque architecture, typically defined by a sh*t-stained white exterior that has obviously only been painted once in its stressed-out life. Trang reminds me a bit of Chiang Rai up north, actually, with a fairly well-defined center and tangents streaming off at all angles. And at that center is the railroad station, very convenient, and something hard to find in this day and age of remote transportation 'centers.' The problem for us authenticity-seekers is to find that authenticity and isolate it from all the rest of the mass-market BS. My favorite thing about southern Thailand, besides all the seacoast (not to be confused with beach), and the connections to neighboring Malaysia, are all the birds—the ones in cages. This seems to be peculiar to the entire region, and while the birds seem fairly ordinary, though quite audible, the cages themselves are very beautiful, wooden waxed and polished to a high sheen. And the connections to neighboring Malaysia are numerous, down to the curry-based cuisine and the tuk-tuks which look more like Indonesian becaks than Thai tuk-tuks. They also have two short benches in the back, more like Thai seelors or songtaews. I also like the little glimpses of history poking out from behind weathered teak, as much Malay and Chinese as it is Thai. There is even a sizable Christian presence here, which definitely precedes the current evangelical movement. Most of the tourist attractions here are centered around nature—caves and waterfalls, in addition to the beaches. That's nice enough, of course, but many typically look like most of the rest. I'm a culture vulture foremost if not first, and that's more prevalent in the cities. Though I love Nature intensely, if I focused entirely on that, then I'd be remiss. A visit to a rubber plantation might be nice, though, the product still known here by the Brazilian province the first trees were smuggled out of: Para. It'll wait I guess. I persevere in my search for authentic experience. Trang may not be the end of that search, but it's not a bad stopover. From here I catch the train back to Bangkok. P.S. I just realized something: I've only seen one 7-11 in Trang. I didn't notice until I needed one. This is huge! On the down side, this is the only place I've ever seen Buddhist monks smoking cigarettes, two so far; so much for non-attachment. Soon they'll be 'vaping', I guess. Meanwhile back in Bangkok, the ongoing political struggles between the two political factions best known as red and yellow, populist and royalist, only now increased by the blue and purple, probably best described as progressive and conservative. They all make good food. 2017 Fast forward to 2017 and I’ve not only done my first meditation retreat at Wat Suan Mokh in south Thailand, but I’ve completed my first semester at IBC Buddhist college near Hat Yai. I then converted to online study and am now on my way north to escape the torrential December rains and look for a place to hang semi-permanently, maybe Cambodia. But first there will be stops in Hua Hin, and Trat, almost on the seacoast border with Cambodia. That may have ended my flirtation with south Thailand, but it only started my flirtation with Cambodia. I cam back to south thailand the the defense of my master’s thesis in 2019, but I haven’t been back south since, only north, always a second home for me.

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Hypertravel with Hardie #20: North Thailand

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Hypertravel with Hardie #19: Laos and Southern China

#19 Lao/Yunnan xPhongsaly, Laos: at the end of a long lonely road... It may or may not be the 'end of the earth', but it definitely qualifies as the outback of Southeast Asia, for whatever that's worth, probably not much, so long as China keeps encroaching, as it surely will, not so long ago Vietnam probably the greater transgressor, with its oversized population, locked into such a narrow sliver of prime southeast Asian coastline, and punctuated by rivers, this the only country in the world, that I know of, that is self-defined by its water, i.e. 'nuoc Vietnam', Viet-water, as opposed to Thai-land, Ire-land, Green-land, or Switzer-land, for example (if you're familiar with Vietnamese fish-sauce, nuoc mam, then you might recognize that same word nuoc)... But that's Vietnam, and this is Laos, though you might not know it at the crossroads town of UdomXai, a town of literally no more than a few tens of thousands, but with buses heading to all the four corners, i.e. China, Vietnam, and Thailand, every neighboring state except Burma, Myanmar, and locals can even go from Phongsaly to Luang Namtha, one part of Laos to another, via China, would that this option were only open to foreigners, and you might have a resuscitation of the backpacker market in this region... Which has largely left China out of that equation, not that they'd even know or even care, given the swarms of their own locals that have largely taken over tourist sites once almost the exclusive private reserve of foreigners. But that won't likely happen any time soon, much less the 'Five Chiangs' concept, of somehow re-configuring that original Tai-land... ...proto-state, with one visa for it all, splayed now over four national territories and the upper Mekong River, same as it ever was: Chiang Rung, Xieng Tong (Luang Prabang), Chiang Rai, Chiang Mai, and Kyaingtong, which failed to thrive until reconfigured as Lan Na and Lan Xang, long before the modern states of Thailand and Laos came into existence... And the hills of Phongsaly sit overlooking much of that. But first you have to get there, and the fact that the bus driver's helper hands out little plastic bags before the trip should give you a clue. Hint: the bags are not for trash. And so it goes, up and up and up, but not so high, really, just twisting and turning, past the non-descript little burgs of Boun Tai (lower) and Boun Neua (upper), where much of the modern infrastructure of government is being relocated, apparently, as Phongsaly itself retreats further into the clouds... Confirmed upon arrival, the curly twirly road transforms into a curly twirly town, with no real center, much less a red light, or anything fancy like that, just a few key intersections holding place notation, for what constitutes the definition of a city, a place where roads meet and business is transacted, long before houses will be built and babies will be born, far less an entertainment district upon which to flail oneself and desires shamelessly... But the temps are cool, so this would be quite nice in the hot dry season March-May, while all the lowland dogs are dizzying with parched eyes ears nose and throat. And this is still the rainy season, too, though theoretically petering out, but I'm not so sure, as the third day grows torrential, and I'm worried about that patchwork road, and it's not so dirt cheap here, either, much less spectacular, the tribal peoples a bit dogged and tired-looking, a bit the worse for wear... So I leave after four nights, after a long 6-8km/4-5mi hike down down down a long country road and back back back the same way I came, Ban Chantane I believe was the name, calves now aching from the long uphill, and after torrential rains, and forecasting more of the same, figure I might better hoof on out of the woods while I still can, 'cause if that road washes out, then I'll be at the mercy of ditch diggers and tractor drivers, while all the fun is going on down below in the the green beautiful valleys... Ha! Luang Prabang, maybe, the pearl in Lao's oyster, but not UdomXai, just a hard-scrabble crossing, of roads and peoples, but that's okay, 'cause once it gets that groovy 'travel vibe', then it loses whatever authenticity it may once have had, but hard to calculate, because it's just too fluid and changing to measure with any accuracy, the comings and goings of peoples on landscapes, further confused by the dimension of time, and Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, which makes it impossible to calculate position and momentum simultaneously... And sure enough it happened! We get stuck! Or almost, anyway, the bus unable to climb the muddy hill without sliding into the ditch. So it'll take a wench and a large tractor to get us back mobile, and on into UdomXai before nightfall, rooms at the ready, unlike the previous stop, some four days before, after midnight and all rooms full, just Mary Magdalene roaming the streets looking for something and I not about to be the one to tell her either yes or no... It's better this way, I recovering my travel legs after two months of four walls, steeling myself for the re-entry into China, m*therf*cking China, full of face and lacking in grace and as inevitable as it is unfathomable. And that is my fate. But there is no rush, so first I'll go to Luang Namtha and Muang Sing, the latter apparently fallen from grace since its heydays of the 90's, last time I was there, too, so we'll see... If nothing else, it'll be worth it for the Tai Dam peoples, one of my favorites, and the start of any serious discussion of Tai history and culture. After all I can speak this language, and that's the Holy Grail of travel, chatting up the locals, especially here and Thailand, where people are infinitely chattable. So that's what's for supper tomorrow. And what did you do today? Time-Travel: A Tale of Two Towns in the Laotian Outback... At age 64, and after 155 countries and more than forty years of travel, it's all time-travel now, going back to see something I once saw before, and seeing all the changes that time has wrought, rather than seeing it all virgin-like for the first time, like a gap-year giggly-mouthed googly-eyed greenhorn, that prototypical wide-mouth chin-dropping awe that inspires sales of toothpaste and fashion, featuring credit cards and deodorant, dreams of midnights and long flights, and carrying prophylactics, just in case... But it's all different now. What was once exotic is now just chaotic, and International Standard Pidgin English ensures that you're not likely to miss a meal, unless you really want to. Hard-core travel cowboys consume geography like chocolate cake on Sunday, apps logging miles and journals logging impressions, with an index, and a table of contents, and an itinerary to be followed.... But once upon a time the mark of a true backpacker was his ability to get lost, and find the remotest track to the remotest border crossing in the remotest neck of the remotest woods of the remotest God-forsaken country, with a pristine people and a pristine attitude and a pristine culture, just so that we can change all that, in exchange for some sustenance in the form of a few crusty loaves and a pocket-full of tissues... But most travelers now it seems just want to party, the more the better, vast quantities of alcohol to help ease the transition into a once-foreign culture, locals reduced to extras in their own movie, culture and language just a sideshow for evening entertainment, to hold ones interest between the main acts of daily sightseeing and nightly binge-drinking... But before all this there was pot, grass, weed, joints, spliffs, reefer, marijuana, whatever, you smoke it and it gets you high, or so I hear. And for the really adventurous there was even opium, vestige of the old days here in outback Asia, religion of the masses back when not much else was available, and cash crop for many when the market got excited about heroes and heroin back in the late 20th century flowering of youth culture, and related fashion accessories... And that's where Muang Sing fit right in, a few years before Y2K (remember that?), as Laos re-entered the world after its aborted Communist nightmare, and travelers rushed in to enjoy cheap rooms, cheap highs and all the Lao beer one could drink. So when I stumbled in to Luang Nam Tha around '97-'98 from China, that's where all the travelers were heading, Muang Sing, a couple hours away, and nestled up against a Chinese border crossing that foreigners weren't allowed to use, still aren't... There were hill-tribe peoples there galore, and revolution in the air, Laos still proudly Communist, even if dependent on a helping hand from distant cousin Vietnam, while capitalist big brother Thailand stayed far in the background. I was buying crafts, and they were making them, so plenty of reason to hang around, just to see if something might make a splash in the market... And when I came back around 2002 it was even better, Tai Dam people coming in to the area from over-crowded Vietnam, and inviting me in to their houses, just as if I were one of them, ostensibly to look at crafts, maybe even buy, but no big deal, just chill with or without a deal. And Lao people from all over were coming in, too, just to catch the buzz, and hopefully make a few bucks... Back then Luang Nam Tha was just a stopover on the way there, nothing much to see or do, a provincial government center, and not much else, first stopover on the way in from Yunnan province, China, or connection point up from Huay Xai and Chiang Khong, Thailand, down on the Mekong, all secondary to the main tourist business a day away in Luang Prabang, and another day to the capital Vientiane... But that's all changed. For some reason Muang Sing has dried up, while Luang Nam Tha has made steady gains, if no big deal, but still steady. All the major latter-day-hippie trade in tricks and treats has moved far south to Vang Vieng, between Luang Prabang and Vientiane, and even farther south to the 4000 Islands, near Cambodia... There's little or no indie travel to China here now, even though the road from Thailand is now good, but the travel scene in China has largely dried up, too, for indie travel foreigners, that is, not the Chinese hordes, who have largely repopulated the groovy destinations that backpackers once put on the travel map. Meanwhile the travel scene that barely existed in Cambodia in 1997 is now near saturation, between foreign indies and those same Chinese hordes... And it's impossible not to compare with another prime location some twenty years ago, already written up in these pages a few posts back, i.e. Yangshuo, China, which is now totally overrun by the aforementioned hordes, to the extent that it is now imminently avoidable, and hopefully forgettable, as I struggle to erase it from my short-term memory before it writes itself into long-term. This is the extreme opposite of what has happened in Muang Sing, and honestly, I don't know which is worse, uh-huh. I persevere... YUNNAN 828 Leaving Laos, Enter the Dragon... So the nice lady at the Boten-Mohan border between Laos and China in the far Southwest decided to hassle me about my latest entry into the Kingdom—my fourth over the past year—inquiring as to my motives. “Tourism,” I respond, just like it says on the form. But that doesn't seem to satisfy her. “Sight-seeing,” I add, since I know I'd seen that word on the form, also. I have a ten-year tourist visa, BTW, so 3650 days, plus two or three for leap years, maximum 60 days per entry, so some 600 entries possible (but who's counting?)... Then she asks, in English, if I speak Chinese, so I shrug and respond, “a little.” That's what she wants to hear, I figure. If she wanted to speak Chinese, she'd've asked in Chinese. So she fumes and fusses and calls someone over, who quickly green-lights the entry, but just for a final 'f*ck-you' she holds my passport up to my face as I pass, as if to verify my identity. The passport and picture are less than a year old, so not much has changed, but that's not the point, is it? xTai Bizarro World in China? If I didn't know better, I'd almost swear that on some cosmic drafting table in some corner of the universe there is a blueprint for the Tai diaspora out of China from a couple thousand years ago, or maybe outta' North Vietnam in half that, in which the northern and southern flanks of this proto-Tai state are laid out on either side of what would become Laos like a mirror image of each other, in which the northern Tai towns of Jinghong (Chieng Rung), Mengla, and Mohan (Bor Han) would become Chiang Mai, Chiang Rai and Mae Sai, respectively... And it will take me a cool year or two to become fluent in Mandarin, no matter how hard it try. So Mengla has been my makeshift home for the last three weeks, while I finish my current term for online studies, and plot my next move. Frankly I really don't want to travel much in mainland China, due to the difficulties of indie travel there, here, mostly in the booking of rooms, but that is not so much of a problem here. I've been at the same place for three weeks and never even registered! That would be unthinkable elsewhere, where foreigners are often not even allowed, especially in the cheaper digs, and always thoroughly registered, complete with color glossy photos or at least smartphone pics. Remember that in case you need to 'lay low' somewhere sometime. But don't expect a 'travel vibe' here, as I have yet to see another western soul the whole time. I'm sure Jinghong has more, but not much... The bloom is off the rose in China, and rightfully so, as it ain't so cheap any more, and the hassles are endless. But that's next stop. Fortunately in this neck of the woods cheapie hotels are ubiquitous and not hard to find, so kinda' like the old days where you get off the bus and just start walking, Lonely Planet optional. Forget the booking sites, except for reference, or just to book the first night and then take it from there... Jinghong is perfect, so similar to my erstwhile digs in north Thailand, that they almost share the same language, if you care to take the time to learn it. And no I'm not talking about the lingua franca of Chinese, but the original Tai Lue dialect, so similar to northern Thailand's kam meuang... But these Tai ladies still wear the traditional rags, so as to distinguish themselves from the predominant Chinese, I suppose, something you'd only see in northern Thailand in such out-of-the-way villes as Pai or Mae Sot, where a northern Thai majority is not assured, and so becomes a matter of pride, similar to the African dress of Trinidadians, where a black majority of the population may or may not exist, and where such clothing doesn't exist elsewhere in the Caribbean where blacks indeed do have the majority... But Jinghong resembles Chiang Mai more than Chiang Rai, if only for the larger population and greater stategic importance, even if Jinghong is much more attractive, really, with its tree-lined streets, of mostly palm, something any place in Thailand could only dream of, that and clear clean sidewalks, which you do have to share with the occasional motorbike, unfortunately, but still... So my new project now is to learn the Tai Lue alphabet, so as to learn the Tai Lue language, half of which I know already, but I just don't know which half, and to learn Chinese characters, also, except in the case where I already know the Chinese character, so compare it to the Tai Lue script, to see if I'm right or if I'm wrong, or if it's a phonetic transcription of the Chinese character, or a definition thereof, or if by luck there's some Latin letters, too, then I'm in alpha beta heaven, no quibble between us where there's no stones to be thrown, Rosetta stone, that is... And so for kicks I go to the nearby town of Menghai, which apparently hasn't seen a foreign Westerner in many many years, judging by their reaction to me, ranging from fear, to endearment, to outright befuddlement, but the city's no beauty, and the altitude guarantees a chill, so I put it on the back burner for the hot season, just in case I have no other way to beat the heat... And that’s just about a wrap, for me, at least, with probably six months in China over the previous two years and with most of that in Yunnan, including the Tai far south and the Tibetan far north, in addition to Sichuan to the direct east and Guangxi and Guangzhou to the far southeast, all the way to Hong Kong. Still my favorite day was in the Xishuangbanna town of Mengla, already mentioned, when and where I was invited to attend a wedding celebration between two local Tai youths tying knots and what-not while I watched as Buddhist monks presided over the ceremonies and I spoke Tai Lue as best I could with the peeps, the final swirl to the linguistic dressing of Tai dialects that I’ve been rehearsing over my many years there. The same is true for the Kingdom of Laos. There isn’t time or space nor easily available pictures to rehash it all here, but much , if not all is available on my Backpackers/Flashpackers blog on Wordpress. There won’t be many more video episodes of Hypertravel with Hardie for better or worse, but i can put it all in book format, if the demand exists. Please like and subscribe.

Buddhism in the End Days, Empathy and Sympathy

Buddha Talk: Buddhism and the Conundrum of Change

Hypertravel with Hardie #17: Cambodia

Buddhism and the Saving Grace of Suffering

Buddha Talk: Buddhism and the Stockholm Syndrome

Hypertravel with Hardie #15: Myanmar (Burma)

The Name Has Changed: It's Myanmar now, not Bummer... I've been to the Burmese/Thai border-town Tachilek many times on visa runs, and so have had my eye on the country for years, while never having a pressing need to collect the stamp, just to satisfy my personal mandate to visit every country in the world before I die—or it does... And I've been to the Thai-Burmese border town of Mae Sot a few times, too, and even though it's on the Thai side, while the other is officially Burmese, it always felt more truly Burmese to me, Muslim Burmese mostly, refugees I suppose, and complete with nearby violence and cross-border excursions from Karen (no, not her) tribal violence in the area... But I finally got serious about visiting the real Myanmar a few years ago. So did everyone else, and demand suddenly exceeded supply to the extent that not enough rooms were available, and those that were were pricey. Think a dozen or two Expedia listings for Yangon three years ago, a hundred or two now... So far it feels good, here in Yangon. I'm flashing on Hanoi 1996, but it could just as easily be Viangchan 2000 or Phnom Penh 2004, that sweet spot between development and primitiveness, when there are enough amenities to allow indie travel, as opposed to fail-safe group tours, but not so overrun with travelers that it spoils the reason you came in the first place. Or maybe Chiangmai, Thailand 1992... That means that you'll get a lot of smiles without too much trying and a lot of scammers trying to get their hands in your pants—pockets. It also means a lot of signs in a language you don't understand, and very few in the international language—English—such as it is. So what there is for foreigners are few and far between, and higher-priced, to boot... But that assessment should be qualified. Prices are higher in the most obvious tourist gathering places, such as Bogyoke Market, which is otherwise very interesting and nice, a central market for crafts and local products, the likes of which are getting harder to find in this world of malls and suburbs. But menus without prices in the down-and-dirty comedores? Not a good sign—but not to worry, whew, buck and a half with green tea included, my kind of deal... Ironically you can find some very reasonable prices in very sanitary conditions in some of those very malls that I otherwise abhor, like good-quality espresso for little more than half a buck USD, which would cost almost twice that in the fancy places near the central market. Go figure. Moral of the story: avoid the touts and loud shouts, as the best things in life are quiet, sweet and discreet... And the Burmese are sweet, notwithstanding the seemingly random violence that still haunts the country along its edges and among its minorities. So Myanmar has the dubious distinction of being the only Buddhist country with overt religious violence, at the same time that it has a reputation as the strictest of countries in the Theravada school of Buddhism, a major interest of mine... So I went to check out a Buddhist meditation center called Dhamma Joti, and it looks pretty good, ten day retreats available that apparently are free, and with room and board. Of course, you're expected to meditate most of the day every day, but that's what you want, right? Yeah, right. This is not Buddhism lite... I personally would only hope that there would be some temple life to go with that, which may or may not be the case. Many Westerners don't want any religion to spoil the flavor of their 'wellness' broth, so that could conveniently be missing. And there are others, too, yet to be thoroughly sussed. Apparently Myanmar is getting a reputation for such centers. If the price is right, the tourists will bite... Shwedagon Pagoda is the big tourist draw in Yangon, gold and glittery and crawling with tourists, I mean 'pilgrims', golden spires to inspire you and money-changers right there in the temple to relieve you of the extra pounds under your belt. There are also many lesser sites if you want to get totally stupa'd with them, a Buddhist bang for your buck, five quid a head and the palatial estate is yours—and theirs—for the day... They even have Christian churches with meetings on Sunday, helluva deal. There are ATM's everywhere, and nobody gets too hot and bothered by a creased banknote now, very civilized for a country on its way to the tourist big-time. There is a Chinatown and a downtown, but I can't tell the difference. But this is still Old Asia, and you'll see things here that long ago disappeared elsewhere, things that only poverty can produce. Enjoy it while it lasts, next stop Bagan... Angkor What? Anchor this: The first thing you notice on the bus up from Yangon to Bagan is that the entire countryside seems empty. As Gertrude Stein put it so aptly when describing Oakland, CA: “There is no there there.” Now this may indeed be the new road, so avoiding the population centers directly, but still: in Thailand every available parcel of land would have a 'For Sale' sign before the road was even finished, and there would be new developments springing up as fast as the equipment could be trucked in from China... But when we finally do get off the main road and into some villages, then you see why. It's poor, dirt poor. If Communism stopped a clock for those countries that only began ticking again in 1991, then 'Burmese socialism' stopped a clock which is only now beginning to tick some quarter century after its Commie neighbors in SE Asia. Better late than never, I suppose. But you'll see things here that have long been rendered obsolete elsewhere in the world, like horse-drawn carts—for locals! At reasonable prices! And ox-carts, too, in the countryside. And taxis in general are reasonably priced, for that matter, no small miracle in a non-Uber part of the world. And those teak-wood storefronts that you occasionally see in small outback Thai towns are still de rigueure here, where almost all houses in small villages are still that stilted wooden variety... The town of Nyaung Oo serves as support base for the nearby ruins of Bagan, but there isn't much to it, truth be told, just a long strip of funky shops, banks, airline offices, hotels and tour guides that feel like they landed here from another planet, which they did, I suppose, after the government ran all the locals out of what is now called 'Old Bagan', the densest core of ancient temples and ceremonial structures... It's all pretty loosely organized and if you're serious about temple spelunking, you better hire a guide. Otherwise, you can wander around on bicycle or e-bike and just get a sense of the splendor of it all, which is what I did. It lacks the intricate detail of Angkor Wat in Kampuchea, but makes up for it in sheer size and scale of the 42 sq. mi. splay of antiquity. If you want the money shot of 'Balloons over Bagan', then you might need to ride in one yourself, but it likely won't be cheap... Aside from the field of dreams itself, Mt. Popa is another convenient and nearby excursion for pilgrimages to the mountain-top temple and its nat-filled haunts, full of local pilgrims and a few tourists, too. Now I don't know what you've heard about Myanmar/Burma's emergence onto the tourist scene, but I assure you, it ain't too late. No, it's not the cheapest place in SE Asia, but neither was Vietnam back in 1995 or Laos in Y2K. That takes time, and by then it'll be overrun and the locals will be jaded... Get it? This is the last domino to fall, and Old Asia will be just a pleasant memory, of coolies with canvas sacks on their backs, water buffalo plowing fields, crowded 'wet' markets piled high with produce and dry ones with clothing and crafts and antiques and such, women—and men—with balance beams across the small of their backs with two heaps of something or other in baskets carefully balanced so as not to kill the messenger... This is Burma. This is Asia. This is planet Earth. This is 2017. Everything changes, not some of the time, but all the time, and the things that are gone will not come back, except in memory. There's only one catch: without those memories, you're limited to your immediate field of sensory perception and nothing else, and that's poverty, my friend, poverty of the worst kind—unless you're Buddhist, and/or lost in meditation. Word to the wise: see Burma before it all changes and something classic is lost forever... Burma Up North: The Road to Mandalay... ...sounds romantic and all, but it isn't so much, really, just asphalt and gravel, like anywhere else. Fortunately there are other options, like the train, plane, or boat. I'd like to say that the boat ride to get here from Bagan makes it all worthwhile—but it doesn't, not really, though admittedly it is more comfortable than pot-holed roads and betel-chewing Burmese drivers... At any given moment the average Burmese working stiff is working a wad of chew that would make a Cincinnati Red pitcher green with envy. But don't startle him or he may accidentally unload a dollop of spittle your direction that just might ruin your day. At least they don't drive like the maniacs in Thailand. Burma is chilled by comparison—and the roads simply won't allow it... But the river trip really has nothing much to see, not until you get to Sagaing, and that's an easy day-trip from Mandalay, anyway. It's not like there are loads of cool river villages and towns to view along the way. There just aren't. So I'd say the river trip is optional—at best. Burma is not cheap, anyway, so save your money for something more worthwhile, like paying your entry fee to selected sites, like the archaeological zone at Bagan or the human zoo at Inle Lake—free sarcasm available upon request... But I don't think Mandalay deserves the bum rap that it sometimes gets. Sure, it's a big busy city, but I've seen worse. At least it's walk-able, something you'd have difficulty saying about Bangkok, Jakarta, or many other places in SE Asia, or the world, either, for that matter. And what it lacks in charm, it makes up in open space, including a massive palace complex and a commanding hill-as-pilgrimage-site like only Burma really knows how to do it—okay, so maybe China, too... What I don't like so much about Mandalay is that the quality of refreshing innocence available elsewhere seems to be singularly lacking here. And of course, that's most easily measurable amongst the taxi drivers. Whereas in Yangon the first price quoted is pretty accurate and honest, God bless them, in Mandalay that doesn't hold true, and in fact they can be as rape-atious as anywhere in the world. They beat me on the price from the boat landing to my hotel, so I was on guard after that... After the long walk to Mandalay Hill AND a long confusing walk up to the top, I somehow managed to come down a different path, despite my best efforts. So that kind of disorientation is always a good time to hail a taxi, so I proffered offers from the local moto-boys. The first one asked 30,000 kyat (about $25), at which I suggested he needed psychological help, and responded with an offer of 3000, which I figured to be about right, walking away to make my point... ...which is what you have to be willing to do, of course, if you want the right price. Anyway, I walked over, so I figured I could walk back, so that helps. Another bike-boy came up and did the trip for 2500. It also helps if you the name of landmarks in the local tongue, correctly pronounced and with the right tones. The main market is zeigyo, pronounced zay-joe not ziggy-o. Don't f*ck with me, m*otherf*cker... So yes, Mandalay is guilty of the same crimes as Paris and the same samsara pitfalls as Kathmandu, but it ain't all that bad, really. But no, Mandalay is not a place to fall in love with, more like a place to bide your time, a place for life to happen while you make other plans... Those plans could include excursions in any direction, though Shan state to the east is the big lure for me, with close relations to ethnic Tais in Thailand and Laos and China, too, the Far east of the state arguably more 'Thai' than Burmese, and an open question for me as to whether and how well I might be able to communicate, what with my knowledge of standard Thai, Laotian and northern Thai dialect... The Burmese and Thai language have little or nothing in common, unlike Khmer and Thai, unless you count the similarities between the Thai and Burmese words for two-wheeled conveyances, 'mo-to-cy' in Thai and 'mo-to-by' in Burmese, apparently deriving from a common Sanskrit root. Oh well, I guess it'll have to wait, unless my meditation retreat in Yangon falls through, something Burma has become known for, apparently, though not the inspiration for this trip. But that's where I'll go after a brief stop at Inle Lake, and that's worth more to me than all the travel in the world. Mindlessness or mindfulness? Tough choice, yeah, right... Inle Lake: It's a Wet Dream.... For the first time, I'm annoyed at Burma, probably even pissed, at having to pay an entrance fee to the tourist complex at Inle Lake, based in Nyaungshwe. I mean: preservation of an archaeological zone is costly, and expensive, too, but Inle has none of that, and Nyaunshwe is a bit shabby, if you don't mind me saying, a coat of dust covering the entire affair, tourists included. What are we paying for, anyway? But the main offense is the mere proliferation of tourist amenities, albeit without the aforementioned infrastructure. This is something that has been lacking—refreshingly—so far in Burma, and really the reason to justify the higher prices, like paying a premium bride price for a virgin. And the main marketing pitch seems to be toward millennial malingerers, looking for alcohol and a place to drink it... But my fears are largely misplaced, for now at least. This is hardly Vang Vieng in Laos of a few years ago, or Siem Reap, much less Khao Sarn Road, or, God forbid, the Full Moon party

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