A Look Back at an Amazing Adventure
Six months, two sisters, 10 different countries, and many flights and bus rides later, our journey has come to an end.
With any change comes uncertainity, and I feel a mixture of emotions; sadness, happiness, fear, courage. The new year presents more changes and opportunities.
While my sister plans on teaching English in China and has flown to Southern China to prepare to start the programme, I’ll fly home to Bermuda. I’ve been longing to sleep in my own bed, hear sound of tree frogs chirping in the background, and taste my mom’s cooking. I need to see family and friends again and to reconnect with home.
In this post I want to look back at the highlights of our adventure, and what stands out six months on. I’ll keep this space active with posts about our travels, and I’ll also share some general tips and advice for traveling in Southeast Asia based on our experiences.
When did it all begin?
We started travelling in July 2011 in Hanoi - Vietnam’s steamy, capital in the height of the monsoon season. The highlight of Vietnam, and there were many, was travelling to spectacular Ha Long Bay below for a night on board a Chinese junk ship. We cruised a watery world of limestone peaks and islands, many which are protected nature reserves inhabited by monkeys and eagles.
Undoubtedly the highlight of Cambodia, the Angkor Wat temple complex, is a fusion of Hindu and Buddhist art which you could spend days, if not years exploring. One day we decided to do something different. We rented cycles and biked a few miles outside town. We met a young monk at a local Wat and spent an afternoon learning about his life in a monastery, growing up in dirt poor Cambodia as the country recovered from the tragedy of the Khmer Rogue.
In Thailand, we got back onto the tourist trail in Chiang Mai and spent a day training to be a Mahout – elepant rider – on board Christina, a pregnant elephant with an obsession for sugar cane root. It was the dream of a lifetime to ride and bathe her…even if she was more interested in her food than us.
In multi-cultural Malaysia we seemed to spend most of our time eating. Everywhere we turned street hawkers offered mouth-watering treats, freshly cooked and all for just a dollar or two! Penang, the center of food and culture, is also a great place to visit working, authentic Chinese Buddhist temples outside of China. Just a few streets away foreigners are also welcome in the many Hindu temples and shrines (in India most Hindu temples do not allow foreigners to enter).
The sparkling clean, pleasantly-paranoid city/state of Singapore, is the center of Southeast Asia and home of the world’s busiest port. We viewed the city from the roof top of the Marina Sands Hotel..expensive but well worth it!
Raw and a little-rough around the edges, Indonesia’s natural beauty tempts travellers from around the world. Instead of heading straight to Bali we explored Java’s active volcano – Mt. Bromo and the Ijen Plateau. After a steep, early morning hike, we came across an unexpectedly beautiful panorama – a steaming, hot, sulphuric, turquoise lake surrounded by lava craters. Ijen surpassed all our expectations.
I thought of myself as a nature lover until I arrived at the Sacred Monkey Forest in Ubud, Bali. Greedy, cunning, and flea-bitten, these creatures refuse to make friends unless you feed them. We fed the beasts and spent the day getting out of their path, in the mystical, moss covered forest. We spent a fantastically fun day exploring the rice paddies outside town and riding rented mopeds out to Mt. Batur.
In Myanmar (Burma) we met Southeast Asia’s most generous, kind-hearted people. We were invited into stranger’s homes for tea with a warm smile simply because we were guests in their country. In Burma most people live on the poverty line, but they never stop smiling, facing each day with courage and hope. We spent three weeks exploring the magical plains of Bagan, scattered with thousands of dusty, 12th century temples, but it’s the people who stood out.
While my sister rates her tour of a water village outside of Shanghai as a close second to hiking on China’s Great Wall, for me the Wall, stole the show. Featuring challenging hikes, rugged, mountain landscape, and an overnight stay in an authentic Chinese farmhouse with Mom Dad, Granny, and baby, the Great Wall was greater than we imagined.
Despite arriving in the middle of a public taxi strike, South India’s charm grew on me. Intoxicating, overwhelming, complicated, and confusing, I had a bit of a love hate relationship with India. Not only did I become a yoga teacher in India – I learned to challenge my limits and ideas of what I could and could not do…getting up at 5.30am for a month to meditate, learning the headstand, climbing the side of a cliff at dawn to watch the sun rise over Kerala’s Western Ghats and watching one of my crazy classmates walk down the cliff in a handstand!
We saved the best for last. Laos is a green jewel of Southeast Asia, a peaceful country characterized by the lazy pace of life on the Mekong River. Not only did the rare Ayerrwaddy Dolphins surprise us by swimming past our boat, Luang Prabang’s beautiful Wats and its nightly craft market – the biggest, and cheapest we came across in Southeast Asia, earned the city a title from us as the best place in Southeast Asia to spend Christmas.
In six months we’ve seen so much, traveled thousands of miles, met new people and learned new things about ourselves and other cultures. At times we tested our bond of sister-hood, but a sister is always a friend. I was lucky to be travelling with my fesity, beautiful sister who made me laugh in the most challenging of times…and she is very, very good at reading maps, unlike me!
It would be impossible not to change as a person after spending half a year so far from home. I have new goals and dreams, and a different approach to life.
My time in Southeast Asia has given me many things, and I’m carrying home several priceless gifts; inner peace, strength and love.
Dolphin Watching on the 4,000 Islands
I find it a little ironic that my sister and I travelled all the way to Laos to spend a couple of days on an island - a tenth of the size of Bermuda.
Measuring exactly 7.2km long, Don Det Island is one of the 4,000 islands located in the southern Mekong River.
There isn’t much to do here but enjoy lounging around in a hammock drinking a Beer Lao and watching the beautiful scenery.
In the last few years the 4,000 islands have become popular places to vacation for their ‘laid back’ island vibe, inexpensive bungalow accommodation and the beautiful river views.
We’re also here to see the Irrawaddy dolphin which swims in a deep part of the river close to Cambodia. The dolphins are one of the Mekong’s most fascinating creatures, and it is estimated there are only 100 left.
Laos is a beautiful, unspoilt country. We heard many good things about it from our lovely friend Petra. It offers natural scenery, outdoor activities, culture and history, good food and friendly people – for half the price of Thailand or Cambodia. We have two weeks over the Christmas season to explore some of the country before I fly home to Bermuda and Arantxa returns to China to teach English.
To get to Laos by land (this is much cheaper than flying) we took the sleeper train from Bangkok to Nong Kai on the Thai/Laos border. After crossing through customs and paying one of the highest visa fees ever (equivalent to $50USD – only cash is accepted) we took a rick-shaw to the city center of Vientiane to purchase bus tickets for Pakse. This town is the main stop-over point to get to the 4,000 islands. Strangely, instead of seats we get ‘bus’ beds. This is an overnight sleeper bus taken to a whole new level with beds in individual compartments.
Once in Pakse, we fall into our beds at the Residence Sisouk – a French colonial mansion converted into a boutique hotel. Despite the good reviews on Trip Advisor the reception at the hotel is disappointing. There was no receptionist to greet us even though we informed them we would be arriving early on the night bus. An older lady who we assume to be the owner bustles in and checks us into our superior room. The room is clean, but, I can’t shake off the feeling that I’m unwelcome here. I do look a little like a backpacker after travelling for six months, flip-flops, yoga mat and stuffed backpack, but what kind of hotel would presume I can’t afford to pay? If they are so worried they should pre-charge my credit card.
The next morning we catch our minivan to get on a boat to Don Det Island. The minivan ride is a little over 2 hours, and it takes about 5 minutes to get out to the island. As soon as we arrive we set out to find bungalows in a quiet part of the island away from the main road. A few years ago this may have been easier but these days the building trade is booming, and bungalows line every side of the island. After an hour we find the perfect one in a quiet spot with river views and private bathrooms for only $4 a night!
After stopping by Adam’s Cafe for coffee and wi-fi, we walk around the island watching the locals sleep in the shade of palm trees. In the late afternoon we go back to our hammocks for the rest of the day… moving out of them hours later for dinner and sunset views at the Little Eden restaurant.
The next day begins with a ’dolphin watching’ expedition. Most of the tour agencies on the island can arrange trips to see the Tat Somphamit Waterfall (below) and the Irrawaddy dolphins for between $18-20US. This does not include transport over the river to Kratie, Cambodia but it’s only $2 extra to cross over – and you have a better chance of seeing the dolphins since the boat driver will take you into the deeper part of the river.
We spend the better part of an hour looking for the dolphins. Thankfully, they are free to live in the wild as nature intended, so seeing them can be hit or miss. The Irrawaddy dolphin is also facing an uncertain future. In some parts of the river they have been trapped in fishermen’s nets, or have died from water pollution. This deep water zone is a protected area where they can swim freely. Today, the Laos and Khmer don’t hunt the dolphins as they are believed to be reincarnated humans, but the 1970s hundreds were killed by the Khmer Rouge who wanted the oil for their war machinery.
After another hour the water is as still as a looking glass. We head back to shore, but suddenly the driver cuts the engine. The locals on board have x-ray vision and they spot a school of dolphins swimming just under the surface a few feet away from our boat.
A pair of dolphins surface. We can see their bodies which are almost black, bulging foreheads, and small dorsal fins as they chase after school of fish. In silence we watch them swim and play just a few feet from the boat…they are so close that we can hear the deep wistling noises they make as they come up to the surface to breathe. Then, in minutes they are gone, swimming away to another side of the river, frightened by a boat engine.
Once back on shore we head for the hammocks- more rest and relaxation. We feel very lucky to have caught a glimpse of the rare, mystical dolphins of Laos.
On the way back to the mainland the next morning we have an eventful journey. An irate Scotsman on our boat claims he paid his guest house in Pakse for a return boat ticket (costs about $1.50 each way). He keeps shouting going red in the face and refusing to pay up - the boat doesn’t budge. We’re getting worried, we have a bus to catch. After sitting here for after 30 minutes,, I realize if Arantxa and I chip in for his ride we can actually catch our bus without breaking the bank. The boat moves only after we pay, but the Scot is angry at us for paying. “It’s a matter of principle,” he yells. I agree with principles, but for $1.50US don’t embarass yourself or the locals.
Back in Pakse, we run into a skirmish with the Residence Sisouk Manager. We were supposed to stay at their sister property – a coffee plantation in central Laos. He has booked a driver for us but despite email communication failed to inform us it costs a ridiculous $150 for transport to their hotel. (I checked later and other hotels will arrange transport for about $30US each way (Tad Fane Resort is one of them).
Next – thanks to this terrible standard of service in Pakse, our plans have changed and we’ll be flying to the historic city of Luang Prabang tomorrow evening.
Happy Birthday to Me in Coconut Bay, South India
I have a lot to celebrate this week. Yesterday was my birthday and I have earned the title of (certified) yoga teacher! My friend Violet and I arranged for a driver to take us and our luggage – piles of yoga mats and text books – from the ashram at Neyyar Dam – to Kovalam Beach so we could spend the day relaxing in the sunshine, eating eggs and toast, and drinking coffee.
After a month without all the usual luxuries, Violet I feel spoiled when we check into the room at our guest house. It feels strange to have a TV after all this time. We’re bit disoriented for about five minutes… until we see the many wonderful hand bag, clothing and scarf shops along the beach.
I met Violet during the first week of the TTC course. Although only 5 foot tall and very slim she stood out from the crowd. Violet grew up in South India, and worked in Mumbai for many years on Bollywood movie sets. She is the perfect travel buddy as she has the wonderful knack of ordering people around without being unpleasant. I have yet to perfect the art of the Indian wrist flick and head wobble, but Violet is teaching me. In India, it’s important to learn to give orders clearly and loudly to waiters and rickshaw drivers so you can get what you want quickly – otherwise you could be waiting around all day.
The beach is quiet today. Kovalam’s popularity has been replaced by Varkala, the new beach hot spot in Kerala. This afternoon I move to another hotel – the Coconut Bay Beach Resort, 6km from Kovalam Beach, for two days of rest and relaxation. This is one of the best areas to vacation in India since Kerala is the country’s most peaceful, prosperous states. With the Western Ghats to the east, and networked by 44 rivers, Kerala boasts beautiful beaches, wildlife and hiking destinations, ayurvedic spas, good food and plenty of cultural and religious sights to keep you busy.
Violet’s flight to Bangalore leaves in the evening and I’ll be alone for the first time in more than a month…it feels daunting since I have shared my space with 135 other people for the last month.
Coconut Bay Beach Resort is everything it promises to be. Hidden away from the main road in a lush coconut grove, the resort features private villas a few steps from the Arabian Sea. I have an air conditioned villa with hot water set in a well-maintained garden. I feel spoiled when I see the big television and soft bed, not to mention the steamy hot shower. I really, really hate cold showers so this is a wonderful gift! The room is simple and spacious with hardwood furniture and plenty of big windows to let in the light.
After saying goodbye to Violet, I take a walk around the resort before heading to the spa to check out the Ayurvedic treatments. Ayurveda is an ancient science of health and wellness discovered thousands of years ago in India. It establishes wellness with a holistic combination of proper diet, lifestyle, and natural beauty treatments to suit certain constitutions or ‘doshas’. Judging from the amount of German guests at the hotel it must be really popular. Almost everyone is walking around in bathrobes with orange turbans on their heads and green powder on their arms. It looks even weirder than the ashram uniform of a yellow t-shirt and white pants.
I get a simple facial with cucumber, aloe vera, and a black herbal powder that clears up my skin almost instantly and gives it a nice glow. I can hear the waves crashing on the floor as I relax on the table, and in a few minutes I’m fast asleep.
After a dinner of fresh fish, coconut rice and salad, I sleep deeply until the
following morning. I give myself a yoga class (and save $10US) at the outdoor yoga hall which is empty except for Lalita, the yoga teacher who lives close to the resort. Lalita is Sivananda Hatha Yogi like me and comes over to say hello. Not many guests manage to make it to the 6.30am morning class but I promise to attend the hour class tomorrow.
I’ll spend one more night here before flying to Singapore and then to Bangkok to meet my sister. We’ll spend Christmas together at an organic mulberry farm in Laos. At the moment I’m only partially ready to leave India- the other part is sad that my time here has come to an end. After my rough introduction, I’ve grown to love this country. I’ve made many new friends from around the world and built a bond that comes through our practice of yoga. India helped my body to become stronger, my mind peaceful, and my heart happy. For more about Coconut Bay visit www.coconutbay.com.
Heaven or Hell? My Week at an Ashram in India
At the Sivananda Yoga Ashram in Kerala there is no coffee, no eggs, no meat, no alcohol, no cigarettes (thankfully I don’t smoke and I’m vegetarian) no sex, no music, no singing, no dancing and no cell phones! This is the life of an Indian yogi.
When the middle aged Indian man who sat next to me on the flight from Chennai heard I would be spending a month at an ashram in Kerala practicing yoga and meditation, he almost choked on his soda.
Giggling, he tells me that most Indians only go to ashrams if they want to avoid someone – like their mother-in-law. In India, as I discover, spending time at a yoga ashram is for western tourists.
Arantxa, deciding that she enjoys China’s fast paced, modern cities stayed on to explore Southern China. I came to India to practice yoga, to meditate, and to experience the true inner happiness that many believe is based on following the five points of yoga - proper diet, proper exercise, proper breathing, proper meditation and proper relaxation. I hope to emerge from the ashram a stronger, calmer person.
Swami Vishnu Devananda, an Indian Swami and Yogi, understood that goal. In 1978 he established the Sivananda Yoga Vendanta Ashrams in India and around the world as places dedicated to the pursuit of spiritual ideals. Ashrams are not cheap hotels, and if you stay at a Sivananda ashram you must follow a strict daily schedule based on exercise, meditation and chanting and selfless service.
When I arrive at the Trivandrum airport the public taxis are on strike, so I have to take an unmarked car to the ashram. As I exit the airport my luggage is taken from me by a tall, dark-skinned Tamil with gleaming white teeth and a cocky grin. I chase my luggage and force him to stop so we can agree on the price to Neyyar Dam where the ashram is located. It’s about an hour’s drive from the city of Trivandrum. We agree on a price – three times what it would normally be- and he speeds off down the street blaring his horn.
“I’ve been here before,” I tell the driver, after answering his endless stream of personal questions about my work, my husband and my children (I got married when the plane landed in India).
An unwelcoming face greets me at the ashram reception. “I’m closing now,” she says in a South American accent before slamming the door shut. “It’s dinner-time.” There are only two vegetarian meals served a day at all Sivananda yoga ashrams around the world, and Juanita, as large as she may be, is not about to miss this one.
We march over to the meal hall and sit on the floor, legs crossed, in front of a row of plates. The ashram staff place food onto our plates with metal ladles, and we eat lentil soup, salad and rice in silence.
Junita’s already bugging me about attending the mandatory ashram schedule. We will wake for chanting at 5.30am, followed by a tea-break at 7.30am, followed by a two-hour yoga class at 8am. At 10am we’ll eat a vegetarian brunch in silence. Then at 11am we’ll do almost two hours of karma yoga, or selfless service, followed by a short caffine-free tea break, another two hour yoga class, dinner in silence, and then more chanting.
My first task is to hide out so I can avoid the chanting session or ‘satsang’ as it is called. As I’m taking a shower, a fist bangs on the door. “Satsang, satsang,” shouts a lady with a French accent.
“Ok…” I respond faintly, hoping she’ll just go away. Ten minutes later the banging starts again. We’ve never even met, but Lise, from France, is demanding that I start my quest to attain nirvana tonight.
I come out in my towel - Lise is still there. I dress and follow her to the Siva Hall, feeling like I’ve signed myself up for life in a concentration camp.
After the chanting is over, Juanita, deciding that she hates me, has given me the chore of emptying the rubbish bins. I’m fuming especially since this is one of the most dangerous jobs you can do in India. Snakes, many of them the vicious and poisonous kind, end up lurking in the trash. I’ll tell Juanita tomorrow that she can find someone else.
Day 2… I Will Survive
A middle, aged German woman woke me up this morning chanting and pointing a flashlight directly in my eyes. I muttered something like what the f—-k, and she disappeared quickly to bother the girl in the next bed. I’m sleeping in a dorm with other yoga practioners from around the world, all who struggle out of bed at 5.30am for the morning satsang.
At around 6.30am I sneak in, unnoticed by the other guests who are swaying blissfully to the music. The ashram director, a 60 year old- South African yogi, leads us in chanting Hindu devotional hymns.
The director recently renounced his title of Swami to marry the lady on the stage next to him, I learn from Uma, an Indian/Canadian, who is at the ashram on a break from her job as the Education Officer for UNICEF India. Uma loves to gossip and tells me she is having trouble keeping quiet – at meal times and during the chanting.
I’ve had no coffee, my legs are stiff and sore and the sound of Hindu chanting gets under my skin. Why is everyone else so happy and content this morning? It’s infuriating. I just want coffee..what’s so bad about coffee?
Soon enough it’s over and we start the two hour morning yoga class. An Israeli drill sergeant leads the class, and he barks into his microphone, making sure that we hold each position including the shoulder stand for an excruciating five minutes.
Slowly my sore and tired body finds its pace. I loosen up, breathe deeply and start to enjoy the exercises. I feel good, moving into the sun salutations, the shoulder stand, the fish, and the forward bend. My my mind settles down and my body surrenders.
After brunch I have to perform the mandatory hour of ‘selfless service’ or Karma Yoga. Instead of emptying the bins, I help Hozumi to sort out shirts for the boutique. She’s a tiny, tense Japanese woman with a passion for organization. Her system for sorting out the shirts is overly-complicated and confusing. We bumble around trying to follow her instructions, laying them down, picking them up, and then carrying the shirts back and forth. I try to make a run for it when Hozumi blows up at one of her slaves for placing a t-shirt in the wrong place. Slowly, the group starts to find excuses and reasons to leave – me included.
There is no lunch at the ashram, but the boutique is open for snacks. A line of weary yoga students wait at the door for sticky date balls, peanuts and dry biscuits. Everyone looks hungry.
In the afternoon there is a lecture on yoga philosophy, followed by afternoon asana class, dinner at 6pm, and then evening Satsang at 8pm. The schedule is simple and the day goes by quickly. There must be some truth to Swami Vishnu’s philosophy that a steady routine, especially one grounded in a yogic lifestyle, brings peace and balance. Not to mention that I am sleeping really wel at night.
After dinner I try in vain to get online. A crowd has gathered and we all sit around in the reception area waiting for a miracle to happen. Then the power goes out and we’re plunged into total darkness.
Day 3
This morning I skip the chanting session. My back hurts and every muscle in my body is aching. I woke up last night choking on a spider. I put my hand under the bed to see where they were all coming from, and a part of the wood from the bed comes off in my hands. The morning yoga class gives me some energy, and I decide that the dorm, and ashram life, isn’t so bad after all.
At 10am we eat thin lentil soup, rice, and two small scoops of curried vegetables. At least I will lose weight here, I think, as my tooth crunches on a rock in the salad.
After brunch, I find a girl crying in the garden. This is Sarah’s first experience at a Sivananda Yoga ashram. She’s from Taiwan and finds the schedule here harder than her work schedule, but she can’t change her flight to go home early.
Today I feel irritated when a ‘goodie-two shoes’ staff member tells me to cover my chest. Tank-tops are forbidden in the ashram as they expose too much of your chest area.
I spend the day trying to figure out how much longer I can stay in the ashram. India, and its endless rules, infuriates me. A part of me wants to be here, to improve my yoga practice, and to enjoy the peacefulness of ashram life. The other part of me is plotting an exit strategy.
When I was a teenager my parents sent me to the Sivananda Yogs Kid’s Camp in Val Morin, Quebec, Canada in an effort to broaden my cultural horizons. An Isralie Swami used to chase us, rounding up the crowds of kids for chanting and yoga classes. It was one of the best times of my life since I met kids from all of the world, and made lasting friendships. Many of us keep in touch to this day. I think about all of the friends I’ve made through yoga. I’ll stick it out for a few more days.
Day 4
The routine of ashram life is broken by a celebratory ‘puja’ for Swami Vishnu’s birthday. Hindu pujas are loud, noisy affairs with lots of incense, lights and flowers. After blessing the Krishna statue, a group of shirt-less, pot-bellied priests carry it across the street to the lake to be blessed. The local people who live close to the ashram sit watching a group of blonde Germans, Swiss, a few South Africans, Americans, one Bermudian, Australians, Canadians and Swedes singing ‘Hare Rama, Hare Rama”, and waving their arms around in ecstasy.
A snake swims close to the shore, and everyone runs out of the water screaming in terror. It’s ok, shouts Nataraj, the director. He used to be a doctor and he tells us this snake is not poisonous, but no one gets back in the water.
When it’s all over we eat a vegetarian feast served on a bananna leaf. It’s surprisingly delicious. I would kill for cereal and a cup of coffee though. Uma tells me that in India most people eat sweets and white rice for breakfast, and like many countries in Asia, cereal is a novelty, reserved mainly for the rich.
I attend the afternoon lecture – a talk given by Nataraj on the five points of yoga. He explains the adverse physical effects of stress on the body – lack of sleep, hypertension, over-eating, digestion, etc. He tells us that 15 minutes of deep relaxation is equivalent to one hour of sleep. Nataraj makes a good public speaker and he holds our attention easily.
“Most of what we do in life comes from a desire to find happiness and we do this by connecting to things outside of us. The mind relates to external experiences to find happiness – exercise, eating, smoking, going out to the pub with friends. Yoga teaches us that everything we need to find happiness is already inside us.”
After the lecture I take a walk in the lush flower gardens. I pass a group of Indian school girls who stop to chat with me, and in true South Indian fashion they ask plenty of nosy questions. After they’re satisfied, they skip back to school. I sit quietly by the lake, surrounded on all sides by the silent, tropical splendour of Kerala’s Sahyadri Hills.
Today, I love India.
Day 5
The women were reprimanded this morning for making too much noise in the ladies dorm at night. “This is not a cocktail party,” says Nataraj sternly after the morning chanting session.
It’s true that most of us women talk too much -we like to share our stories of suffering, but according to Nataraj, our energies need to be redirected. The men are happy to keep silence broken occasionally with talk about sports and yoga. Uma tells me to meet her in the health hut in the afternoon as she wants to introduce me to Claire, a journalist for the Financial Times in London. Since we can’t talk in the dorm we have only one hour a night to chat. Uma and I break the rules and sit together at meals and talk out of the corner of our mouths.
After the chanting we watch a neti pot demonstration by the Isralie Drill Sergeant yoga teacher. Neti pot treatments are cleansing technique in which the warm salt water is used to clean the sinus passages. Yogis have used this age-old practice for centuries for its countless health benefits, but watching someone else use one is a bit like watching someone pick their nose. As he snors the salt water up one of his nostrils, a slimy goop slides back out of the other one. It’s so gross, I keep thinking about it at brunch and I have to leave the meal early.
I decided to make friends with Juanita last night and told her I would help her clean the toilets. She told me that she will give me the job of managing the internet cafe instead. My work now consists of watching other people use the internet and writing my own emails! Other people aren’t so lucky and they have to serve the meals for their karma yoga. Today one of the food servers, a hefty Australian guest, shouted at me for sitting at the end of the row as she has to walk further to serve the food. She gave me an extra small portion of rice.
Later on in the day I make an important decision. I am going to stay at the ashram until mid-December to train to be a yoga teacher. This week I’ve lost weight, I’m sleeping well, I feel stronger. I’m experiencing the man health benefits of yoga and I want to share them with my friends, family and the community in Bermuda. I’m excited, nervous and eager to begin.
A Night at the Great Wall
Every time I look back I can see the Great Wall of China. It runs over mountain peaks, snakes through valleys and zig zags across the horizon,an immense stone fortress built over 9,000 years ago.
It’s a cool, sunny day without a rain cloud in sight. We couldn’t ask for a better day to hike on the Wall and to enjoy standing on one of the world’s famous man made wonders.
While the wall is beautiful in itself, its main feature is its length. Although sections of it have crumbled and collapsed, the Wall is 8,000 kilometers long and covers most of Northern China and parts of Inner Mongolia.
We’re surprised to discover that we have to spend more time focusing on our feet than the view. Walking on the Great Wall of China is a trek requiring sturdy walking shoes, a walking stick, water, sunscreen, and a reasonably high level of fitness. Already some tourists in our group are lagging behind when they hear we have 10km to cover.
Our day started at 6am with a three hour bus ride from central Beijing to the Jinshanling- Simati section of the Wall. This is a little visited portion of the Wall featuring challenging hikes to watchtowers and ramparts, and rare Ming dynasty architecture. Shortly after starting, we’re already out of breath, and we stop for a break when we see 102 jagged stone steps looming directly ahead of us.
The men and women of ancient China mu been built like giants – as I climb I have to hold onto the step above to pull myself up. As we learn, the Wall was built as a defense mechanism. 
The steep climbs, towers and steps were designed to protect the Chinese empire from the Mongolian invaders. Troops could shelter in the watchtowers or throw down stones on the attackers below.
We were planning to sleep on the Wall in sleeping bags, as one day on the Great Wall is not enough. However, our hostel said it was simply too cold in October to spend a night on the Wall. The best time to sleep here is in July-September and not October, when temperatures fall below zero. Unfortunately, we can’t afford the prices advertised online either so we take them up on the best alternative -a two day hike on the Wall including transport to and from the Wall, one lunch and breakfast, and a night’s accommodation (basic) at a family farm house close to the Jinshanling Wall. All of this was arranged for us by the friendly and helpful staff 365 Inn.
After a day of heavy hiking over the watchtowers and crumbling, unrestored sections of the Wall, we walk back to the room to get settled for the night. The owners of the hostel - Mom, Dad, Granny and a little baby who is carried around like the last emperor - welcome us warmly and show us to our room. Dad tells us to keep the bathroom door closed as there is a problem with the plumbing. When I open it the stench of cabbage hits me like a brick wall. Choking, I retreat back to bed where I stay under the covers and decide not to take a shower until we get back to Beijing. Later, we go down for a dinner of stir-fried cabbage, rice and eggplant, and Chinese tea.
The next morning we wake shivering and ready for another day of hiking on the Wonder Wall. We put our clothes on the night before so we wouldn’t have to get changed in the cold morning air. Arantxa is sleepy and so am I but we perk up once we see the Wall again.
While we walked left along the Wall yesterday, today we decide to turn right. Sections are broken off and we have to climb around piles pf bricks to get back on to the main walk way. We meet several other hikers from Germany and Spain as well as a Chinese driver who has snuck onto the Wall and pretends to be our tour guide (to avoid the 50RMB ticket cost). He gets stopped by a ticket agent but explains to the agent that he is leading us on a tour. I laugh and tell him in my limited Mandarin that he can continue for the next two days for free!
It takes a while to finish our hike as we stop to take photos, and to rest. In the mid-afternoon we call it quits and walk back to the village to catch our bus to Beijing. Happy and satisfied we resolve to return one day to this incredibly beautiful place – in summer so we can actually sleep on the ancient stones.
My next post will be about the mountains of Wu Tai Shan in Shaanxi province.
Three Weeks In China
Beijing, 1.30am. We flew out of Thailand a few days before the floods hit Bangkok.
Tonight, after a 4 hour flight to Shanghai and another two hour flight to Beijing, all we can think about is sleep.
Our taxi takes us to our hostel in the heart of the city’s historic Hu Tong (alleyway) district close to Tiananmen Square. A Hu Tong is unique to China and thousands of these alleyways in Beijing are filled with quaint homes, good restaurants, and some of the city’s best youth hostels.
Our hostel, 365 Inn is conveniently located just minutes from Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. Our room is clean, and reasonably priced with a comfortable bed . We’ll need our sleep since there are a list of famous attractions to see this week including the Great Wall, Tiananmen Square, the Lama Temple, the Forbidden City, the Summer Palace, and a trip to the holy mountains of Wu Tai Shan. And then of course there’s the shopping. I can’t help but spot the H&M and Zara signs.
Even though it’s too late, I throw my rucksack on the floor and jump up and down on the bed with joy. I’ve been dreaming about coming to China since I was a little girl. We’re lucky as well since our lovely friend Sherry, who is originally from the Beijing, arranged for us to meet her friend Rebecca – another native Beijinger. We’re grateful to have a local to introduce us to China’s capital.
The Lama Temple
On our first day in Beijing we take the metro to the Yonghe Lamasery, or the Lama Temple as it is commonly known. Situated in the Dong Cheng district the temple is home to a 26 meter high and 8 meter wide Buddha in his Tibetan form. It’s so high you have to lean back to see the Buddha’s face properly. His golden toes are the size of pillows. It’s a Saturday and the temple grounds are crowded with visitors lighting incense and making offerings in front of the many Buddhist shrines.
It’s a bit like a family day out with Chinese tourists and locals praying in front of the Medicine Buddha and touching the motorized prayer wheels inscribed with the Tibetan mantra Om Mani Padme Hum.
Beijing’s metro gets us to the Lama Temple in about 15 minutes for less than $1 US dollar. The metro is the best way for backpackers to get around since it is connected to all the major tourist attractions including the Beijing Railway station, the Forbidden City, and the Olympic Stadium. You can even take the metro right into the main terminal of the Beijing International airport.
If you are not fluent in Mandarin it is advisable to use the metro as taxi drivers will try to set a ridiculously high flat fare to all major tourist attractions.
Peking Duck
Rebecca and her husband take us to dinner to try traditional Peking Duck – Beijing’s most famous dish. We are treated to a wonderful evening of Chinese food and hospitality. In China, when a group goes out to eat, one person takes on the role of the host. Rebecca’s husband orders about a dozen dishes and drinks for the table. I really like this style of eating - I can taste a bit of every dish rather than eating just the food on my plate.
Arantxa loves the tender duck meat and covers each piece with shallots and plum sauce before wrapping it up in a thin, wheat pancake - the traditional Chinese way to eat duck.
After dinner we go for a walk around Houhai Lake – a funky area of bars with live music, old couples dancing to ballroom music on the stereo, and outdoor food stalls. We sip local beers and watch the band. They’re incredible, and in Bermuda, they would be playing to a packed house.
Rebecca says they are a regular band in Beijing. While Arantxa and I consider them to be talented,in China, the world’s most populous nation, they’re just good. In this country you have to have an ‘extra’ edge to really stand out.
Over the next week, we’ll spend two days sleeping on the Great Wall, followed by a visit to Tiananmen Square, sightseeing at the Forbidden City, the Summer Palace and the mountains of Wu Tai Shan.
Bagan, Jumping Cat Monastery and Inle Lake
From my perch at the top of a crumbling red brick temple I can see thousands and thousands of pagodas scattered across the dusty plains of Bagan.
It’s not an exaggeration either. This is the most mesmerizing and astonishing view I have ever seen.
Cambodia’s Angkor Wat may be considered the most magnificent man-made wonder of Southeast Asia, but after spending five days in Bagan in central Burma I changed my mind. Angkor Wat was grand and imposing, but Bagan’s temples are more earthy and interesting.
It took a 14 hour boat ride in a plastic deck chair (from Mandalay) along the Ayerwady River to get to Bagan. We were told by a friend not to miss exploring this little known archiological gem, before it changes, or before the Four Seasons builds a hotel in the middle of the plain.
On our first day we rent bicycles so we can get some exercise and get off the beaten path. It turns out to be a good idea since the horse and buggy cart drivers inevitably take their passengers along the smoothest trails. 
After only ten minutes of cycling outside of Nyang U (a town where all of the budget travelers stay) temples pop up behind restaurants, gas stations, and convenience stores. These thousand year old wonders are literally right on our doorstep!
We ride along a muddy track outside town and climb up the side of a stupa for a glimpse of the view we’ve read so much about. It leaves us gobsmacked!
Today almost 3,000 Hindu and Buddhist stupas remain in Bagan. They’ve survived war, political upheaval and natural disasters including an earthquake in 1975 which damaged more than 1,000. Each temple is built in a unique architectural style and many are a fusion of Hindu and Buddhist art, containing Buddhist statues made of gold leaf, stone and cement.
Bagan was the religious and cultural capital of Burmal in the 11th century and some of the temples are considered older than Angkor Wat.
Inspired after our climb, we pedal on despite the sweltering afternoon heat. On a dusty trail about 20 minutes outside of town we almost collide with a bus load of Burmese pilgrims. They hang out of the windows and some are even sitting on the roof. The van stops and out they get, removing their shoes in lightning speed, prostrating before the Buddha, and then climbing effortlessly up the side of the temple in a matter of minutes.
We’ve just about taken one photograph when they jump back on the bus in their immaculate silk skirts and blouses and speed off down the road, Burmese music rap music blaring from the speakers.
Inle Lake and Jumping Cat Monastery
After spending five nights in Bagan, and exploring about 300 temples, we take the public bus to Inle Lake, another beautiful town in central Burma.
The bus is a cliche out of a backpacker’s adventure novel. Passengers sit on plastic stools in the aisle and at the front of the bus.The driver uses one hand to smoke and drive at the same time along the muddy mountain paths. After the many thousands of miles we’ve traveled by air and bus, I squirm uncomfortably imagining a long and painful death at the bottom of a deep ravine.Then I get too exhausted to care and fall asleep for the next few hours.
We arrive in Inle Lake around 1.30pm. This area is renowned for its beauty, but all we can see is drizzling rain, mist and water-logged bamboo houses.
The bus drops us off at Aquarius Inn and we get into bed right away to recover from the journey. The staff are lovely and make us complimentary tea and snacks before we get into bed.
The next day we wake to the sound of heavy rain. We can’t take a boat to famous Jumping Cat Monastery (yes the monks really do get the cats to jump for tourists) since it’s raining so hard, and it is pointless renting a boat to take us around the lake. The only place to find solace is in the hot spring bath (below) outside of town relaxing in steaming hot natural spring water.
After two days of non-stop rain in Inle Lake we decide it is time to leave Burma. The rainy season lasts into November, and after three weeks, with many rainy days, I need to walk on a dry path and to feel the sun on my skin.
As we prepare to leave I think about how much I will miss these kind and generous people who went out of their way to help us, to carry our bags without being asked, and to welcome us into their homes.
The owner of the Aquarius Inn gives us a gift to us before we left. “Please don’t forget Burma,” she asks as she presses the rice paper lantern into my hands.
There are many human rights groups that will discourage travelers from visiting Burma until the military government is abolished. Realistically, this could take many years. A large portion of the population in Burma survives on tourism, and they use your tourist dollars to educate their children. The people of Burma want you to experience their beautiful country and they will welcome you with open arms!
Next stop- we’ll fly to Bangkok and spend two weeks in the city before leaving in mid-October for China and our trek of the Great Wall!
Trekking to a hill tribe village with Mr Bean
It’s an 18km uphill trek from the town of Hsipaw to the hill tribe village of Pukam. Our guide, Mr Bean is a smiling 52 year old local who sips rice wiskey out of a purified water bottle.. constantly..and tells us that he hasn’t been sick in 11 years.
There must be something in the whiskey because he is fit, glowing with health and looks about 15 years younger!
Although his real surname is Bin he is nicknamed Mr Bean since he owns a bean shop in town and also likes the British actor Roland Atkinson. He also loves English football and talks about the sport endlessly as we climb through the rolling green hills.
The paths are steep and muddy since we are trekking in the rainy season, but unlike us, Mr Bean walks quickly ahead in a pair of trainers without any socks!
In Thailand we wanted to visit a hill tribe village, but we didn’t want to join a crowd of tourists. Burma offered a more authentic experience especially when we learned that we would be the only tourists staying overnight at Pukam village.
The hill tribe people have lived in the green mountains of the Shan state for almost 300 years. Mr Bean tells us they are descended from the Khmer people of Cambodia or from the Tibetans, however, no written record of their history exists, although they have a written record of their language.
We hike past a monastery filled with young monks who hang out the windows of a classroom shouting and waving. Fields of corn and mountain rice are drenched in a layer of morning mist. Shan villages dot a green landscape free of electricity wires. The mountain people of the Shan state have lived without modern conveniences like telephones, running water and computers as long as they can remember, and they seem to be quite happy without them.
After 6 hours of steep uphill hiking, we arrive at the gate to the village – an enormous banyan tree which has been growing here for 250 years. Mr. Bean leads us to the home of the ‘headman’ or village chief where we will be spending the night.
Made entirely of pine with a corrugated tin roof, the house is filled with smoke. There is a fire built into a clay pit in the center of the room. The family sit up when we come in and gesture to us to come over and join them for tea.
They are slim and beautiful with shiny black hair, olive skin, and almond shaped eyes. The men obviously are kings of the household – they are lying around drinking tea while the women run around cooking and doing chores. A baby sits up in shock and then screams when Arantxa tries to take a photo..uh oh, the scary white people are here.
We sip tea, while Mr. Bean chatters with the family in the Shan language. There is no electricity, running water, or furniture in the house. All of the conveniences which we would find in a home in Bermuda– televisions, blackberries, computer, telephones, a dishwasher and a washing machine are absent.
Everyone is smiling and joking, and although we aren’t speaking the same language I feel at home. They invite us to the table for lunch. We eat out of the same bowls of vegetables, salad and rice. The food is delicious but very plain. The meals are also vegetarian – more out of necessity than choice as there is nowhere to store meat. As eat we learn that everyone is fattening up a pig which the entire village will then roast and eat – all 700 villagers! Too bad we won’t be here for the
party.
The women don’t join us for lunch. They wash dishes, cook, clean, mind the children, and work in the fields. This farming community appears to be run by women, while the men relax and smoke by the fire. I feel annoyed – what western woman wouldn’t be? However, it is hard though to criticize them when they are obviously so happy.
In the evening we visit the village monastery. Little novice monks huddle in front of the shrine while two older monks lead them in the evening prayers.
At around 8pm we get ready for bed. Mr Bean tells us that’s why there are so many children in the village – there is nothing else to do at night!
We lie down on a mattress next to sacks of rice and peanuts. Once in bed I have to use the bathroom – a squat toilet in an outhouse in the garden. When I open the door I’m horrified. Flies and bugs cover the seat in a thick layer and I can hardly see the seat. A spider clings to the side of the wall. I can’t stand it so I run into the vegetable garden, and go as quickly as I can, hoping that no one else comes around the corner.
In the middle of the night I wake up screaming after dreaming that I have been suffocated in a bag of rice! Then, Arantxa wakes me up screaming about cockroaches crawling on her body. We get up and search the room trying to squash the intruder, but it gets away.
In the morning Mr. Bean wakes us up so that we can see the ‘procession of the monks’. In the monasteries of South East Asia, the lay community offer food to the monks to support the religious community and to receive good merit. A little novice monk rings the bell, and the village women present the monks with baskets of food and fresh flowers.
The rest of the morning is spent at the village school handing out pens, pencils and notebooks. The kids jump around smiling and waving around their new notebooks. It’s such a small, inexpensive gift and yet these children are so happy to get what most kids where we come from take for granted.
Then it’s back to the house for breakfast before leaving the village to walk another 18km back to town. We feast on steaming bowls of cucumber and corn soup, rice, green bean salad, pumpkin and okra and curried squash. Every time I finish what is in my bowl the kind, old man fills it with food, giving me a big toothy smile.
As we leave the village, we wave goodbye to our new friends. Although we are both happy to be returning to running water, computers and electricity, I’ll miss the many friends we made and the wonderful people who welcomed us into their homes with open arms.
The hill tribe people have taught me that happiness is more about contentment, spending time with those you love, and who love you in return. It has very little to do with what you look like, your job, the car you drive, and the latest designer hand bag.
The hill tribe have so little materially in comparison to us, and yet the happiness, peace and unity which exist in this community is priceless. Thanks to Mr Bean we had a great time and finished our trek with icy cold beers and betel nuts chews. If any of you have ever visited India or Burma you’ll know what chewing the betel nut feels like…absolutely disgusting!
Other travelers: If you are looking for a good place to stay in Hspiwa try the Nam Khae Mao Guest House which is cheaper than Mr Charles and offers clean rooms for a good price. Mr Bean is the resident trekking guide.
The Road to Mandalay
Hundreds of shaven heads are bent over in concentration. This is the last meal of the day at the Mahagandayon Monastery in the town of Amarapura, and the monks are savoring every bite.
They also patiently ignore tourists like Arantxa and myself who are taking photos of them eating breakfast.
The monastery is eleven kilometers outside of the city of Mandalay and is home to almost 2,000 Buddhist monks. The men live and study as monks for a few months, a year, or a lifetime. In the west men would consider this a punishment but in Burma it is actually a privilege.
They receive a free education, regular meals and a comfortable place to live and study. They also meet foreigners and learn about the west. In Burma the government does not provide free, public education and families have to make the decision between educating their children or feeding the family. As a result, young boys enter a monastery to study English, Korean, Chinese, meditation and Buddhist philosophy, and computers.
When the monks are finished eating they pick up their bowls and go to their rooms to study or pray. One young monk stops to remind me to remove my shoes in the monastery compound. He speaks excellent English and gives us a tour of the monastery including the kitchens where we tell him the names of each vegetable in English. We promise to send him foreign magazines and newspapers as he is hungry to read about current events and politics.
After our tour we walk over to the 200 year old U Bein Teak Bridge, built in 1782. This is the longest teak bridge in the world and it offers spectacular views of the Ayeyarwady River. 
Our next stop is Sagaing – the hill of 500 temples. We climb on a stone path carved into the hillside, and stop halfway up to take photos of hundreds of gold-tipped spires glittering through the tree tops.
This area is actually the center of Buddhism in Burma and is home to over 6,000 monks and nuns.
We hop back into the taxi and drive to the town of Inwa, or Ava as it was called by the British. Famous for its thousand year old temples and a walled city with some of the best silver and jade markets in all of Burma.
Our taxi rattles through the countryside towards the jetty where we’ll take a boat to Inwa. I’ve heard that many of these taxis crash or get flat tires on the bumpy country roads, so at the next shrine I’ll offer a prayer of gratitude that we’ve made it this far without any mishaps.
Inwa is located on a peninsula. At the other side of the river we can already see horse and buggy cart drivers waiting to take us around the town – for a fee of course! Arantxa and I decide to ignore them – I’d rather walk than pay $5 for a bumpy horse and buggy ride. It turns out to be a good decision since many of the ancient temples we visit are deserted and the other tourists go off in another direction.
At a crumbling stone temple a Buddha sits serenely under a banyan tree. Another is hidden away in an overgrown garden.
On the way back to the jetty, we meet a little girl with thanaka makeup on her face. She tries to sell us her necklaces in about five different languages and is so clever that I wish she was in school. Sadly, her parents can’t afford to send her and she will probably be selling necklaces into adulthood.
Later, we agree that this was one of the best day trips we’ve had in a long time. The beautiful surroundings and the warm and friendly people we’ve met have made this an unforgettable experience.
Next – I’ll write about our trek to a hill tribe village in the mountains of Hsipaw.
Burma Part I – Monsoon Days
We’ve arrived inYangon during the monsoon season.
Our guidebook didn’t mention anything about the rainy season, and I feel annoyed not having double checked on the weather before flying to Burma.
It looks like our arrival has also coincided with one of the infamous power outages that I’ve read about. Rich in natural resources, Burma sells most of its electrical power to China and every so often the country, especially the major cities, are plunged into darkness.
I feel depressed as I look around the lobby of Daddy’s Home Hotel. Arantxa starts coughing - the moldy air is bothering her throat. Our taxi driver puts down our bags into the lobby and speeds away into the rainy night leaving us in a hotel lit by candlelight.
The receptionist tells us that the hotel generator is just warming up – we’ll soon have lights in our room and we’ll be able to take a shower. After almost four months of travelling we’ve become used to these kind of surprises.
Tonight is the start of our three-week adventure exploring Myanmar, or Burma as it is commonly known. We’ll travel throughout the country visiting its temples, countryside and cities. In the west Burma is famous for the work of politician Aung San Suu Kyi, a winner of the Nobel Peace Prize, who has spent much of her life in Yangon under house arrest. Ruled over by an oppressive military junta, the Burmese people have not lost faith in Suu Kyi’s work to transform Burma into a modern democratic country. Looking around us at the crumbling buildings, flooded streets, and old Russian cars, we realize that this country is about 30 years behind the rest of Asia even though Bangkok is only a 1 hour flight away.
At the moment I am consumed with thoughts about my terrible choice of hotels. Our room is lit with a bare light bulb swinging from the ceiling. I check for bugs but don’t find anything hiding under the mattress…yet…
As soon as we go downstairs the staff jump up to attention. The men in Burma wear longyis – a sheet of cloth tied at the front in a knot. Their skirts are paired with sports t-shirts and sandels. Men and women wear a thick yellowish paste on their face called thanaka. The paste comes from the bark of a tree and is used as a natural sunscreen to keep their skin soft and to prevent aging.
The staff give us directions to a restaurant nearby. They are really friendly, and even follow us to make sure we are going in the right direction. After dinner we return to the hotel, but our arrival has attracted a lot of attention and people want to stop and talk. “Hello, hello! Where do you come from?” When we stop to buy bottled water and toilet paper a crowd gathers to observe the transaction, many of them coming close to stare at my sister’s fair hair and blue eyes.
It’s a dark and miserable night but everyone makse the best of the power outage, sitting out in the street, under umbrellas playing chess and chatting with friends. These are the poorest people I have ever seen in our travels in South East Asia, and many of them don’t even have running water or showers . I feel sad and a bit ashamed that I have always taken these luxuries for granted.
The Shewedagon Paya
Our visit to the Shewedagon Paya – one of South East Asia’s most beautiful temples - is interrupted by rain. The white marble tiles around the gold encrusted stupa become too slippery and dangerous for walking on, so we find a place to shelter from the rain. 
Arantxa says she can’t remember any other temple in Asia as beautiful as this one, and neither can I. The tip of the stupa is topped with 4,300 diamonds, and is coated with gold leaf and other precious jewels.
We join the locals and prostrate in front of one of the many shrines surrounding the stupa. I place a bunch of flowers in front of the shrine in memory of my father who passed away suddenly in a cycling accident in 2007.
Back at the hotel the staff have managed to locate seats on the bus from Yangon to Mandalay – leaving tonight! It will be warm and dry in the northern part of the country. At 9.30pm we arrive at the bus station and cram our Bermudian sized bottoms into the Asian sized bus seats for the start of the 12 hour ride!
At about 12.30am we wake to the noise of Burmese pop music and flashing strobe lights. Everyone jumps off the bus and sits down at a restaurant, gobbling down bowls of steaming noodle soup. We do the same – this means we won’t be stopping for a very long time!
Finally at 7am the bus pulls into Mandalay. We spend most of the day napping and go out in the evening for a walk around the grounds of the Royal Palace.
Next post – I’ll write about the city of Mandalay.
