How to piss Tiffany off:

I think Tiffany made the perfect introduction (see her post about what frustrates me), so I will just spill the goods:

How to piss Tiffany off, in no particular order:

1. Surprise her with the addition of Papaya to a fruit platter or mixed fruit plate (she hates Papaya, which grows like a weed over here)

2. Advertise a Coconut Pancake or Strawberry Shake and then say "No have..."

3. Fill a teacup only half full

4. Require that shoes be taken off to walk around brick and stucco temples, with bird poop and bugs and temple shards, and no cleaning crew in sight ... she doesn't feel that's what Buddha would have wanted.

5. Perform illogical security checks ... checking your ticket and passport at the airport door, then at security, then again at the gate, and so on, or similar situations with bags where carry ons are x-rayed before and after check in.

6. Raise a security objection to a safety pin pinned to her money pouch after it made it through security in 5 countries already. This happened in Cambodia just after we had been fleeced for $50 in departure tax and it was not pretty!~> read more

  Suffice it to say we carried that safety pin right on with us.

7. Make your cows or goats eat garbage or make your children sell knick-nacks

8. Explain just how fat your severance was and how that allows you to travel in New Zealand essentially as long as you want (this lady was with her mother, no less!)

9. Make a funky and fun fashion item in "one size" which translates as "asian size" ("Nooo Beeeg Siizee")

10. Make the women work and let the men loaf around all day

11. Break your vow as a monk to engage in no business and con her into accepting your guidance around a temple because you "want to practice your english," then demand money for guiding services when she tries to leave

Yes, when you see us again, try not to do these things to her. Somehow, I don't think you folks will be a problem :)

Thaiway Robbery

On the good-sized island Koh Samui in the gulf of thailand, the taxi and sawngthaew (pickup truck with seats in the back) drivers form what can only be described as a mafia. They charge exorbitant rates to all tourists, who want to visit the next beach or go out to a restaurant at night. This frustrating situation has the unfortunate side-effect of encouraging many foreigners who have zero experience riding motorcycles to rent them, with predictably bad consequences, but that's another story.

We had chosen to splurge on a nice dinner in the next town away, and paid the high price to ride on a bench in the back of a smoky pickup. Sometimes it feels difficult to find a chef in asia who will creatively step outside tradition, but we did really well that night at 'betelnut' in chaweng beach. After a nice meal, we decided to hell with the taxis, we'd walk back to our hotel and let our full tummies percolate. It turned out to be an amazingly longer walk than we thought, nearly two hours! But that's not the exciting part...

We had been walking close to an hour in a half in semi-populated areas, intermittently well lit by streetlights and getting fairly dark, though not nearly as dark as Myanmar streets with the power out. We were not too far from our hotel, around 1am. A car or motorbike would whizz by once in a while. Abruptly, A motorbike with two young thai men stopped just next to us on the side of the road. One said, "Lamai?" which was the name of the beach we were heading toward. I said, "Lamai, yes, just walking," and ignored the men, hardly looking at them and walking right by, assuming they had some sort of sales pitch. Tiffany watched them more carefully but moved ahead.

After we had walked a few paces, we heard the engine roar and the motorbike came right toward us facing into the shoulder, the front wheel coming right between us. The guy on the back of the bike hopped off, saying "I want your bag!"~> read more

 to both of us, but it was Tiffany who had a purse over her shoulder. We both screamed "No!" directly into the guy's face. Somehow, though we were tense and afraid, it didn't feel like a mugging, it just felt like any of so many other scams we had encountered along the way. The motorcycle had split Tiffany and I apart, but I just started walking toward the assailant agressively. Then, he pulled out a knife, not a crocodile dundee knife but a large box-cutting knife as was used in the 9/11 highjackings. Scarier in the moment than on the shelf in the hardare store, to be sure. I kept my distance, he started to run toward me and I ran backwards, watching him, but I kept his attention, he did not turn away. Tiffany, by this time, had made her way to the opposite side of the 2-lane road as the two men were distracted by my behavior.

We then had a grand stroke of luck. Nearly at the same time, a car taxi and motorcycle approached at cruising speed from each direction. Tiffany jumped out and stood in the middle of the lane, waving her hands in an X, SOS style in a clear sign of distress in front of the taxi. But... the taxi just honked! Tiffany practically had to dive into the ditch to keep from being hit. She then ran toward the other lane to wave down the approaching motorcycle driver, who stopped immediately for us. In all this commotion, the would-be muggers decided things had gone awry and hopped back on their bike and took off. The motorycle driver who had stopped was northern european and had his female partner on the back. They really didn't understand our frantic English, and stared at us with wide eyes. In any case we had no intention to start a high-speed chase and were glad our assailants had departed, so we thanked the europeans and sent them off.

Upon reflection, we feel that the most remarkable part of this whole scenario was our reaction to the muggers. After so many challenges to tough it out through, we reacted without fear, but with pure anger! This may signal that it is time to go home, but it was also empowering because we felt we won in a way. Our actions might not have been the smart choice, but we were fortunate to come out ahead. If you see one of us walking down the street, don't feel bad if we ignore you. We have had many challenges, from simple street hawkers trying to sell you a souveneir, to police pulling you over for a bribe (in more than one country). This incident, more than any other, taught us that we had become tough travellers, for better or for worse.

In broad daylight the next day, we witnessed a woman crying just after a motorbike had whizzed by, the passenger had cut her purse straps, and stolen the purse. From this, we pieced together that the not-as-intimidating-as-it-could-be knife was normally used for just cutting purse straps in a surprise attack. Tiffany had been very carefult to keep her bag on her side between us, not her side next to the road. We think that our muggers couldn't slash the strap the way they wanted, so they tried another method way out in the dark. But they weren't dealing with your average 2 week vacationers on Samui!!

Myanmar photos available!

You've gotten a few tastes of our photos from Myanmar with some of our posts, but now all is available to see. There are not as many photos as from some countries, but we got lucky with a few good shots! Please take a look, each photo is a gallery of its own from a different area:

http://bitjug.com/gallery/Myanmar

Myanmar Hospitality

Myanmar was mysterious for us before we visited, but we had heard good things from other travelers about the people of Myanmar. Honestly, having seen more temples than we can remember or count, the people were the part of the country we were looking forward to the most. They certainly exceeded expectations, which I will try to explain with a story.

We woke up at 5:00 am to rush over to the pier in Mandalay for a 12 hour boat ride down to Bagan. Early in the evening after this journey, we went on the hunt for dinner. Working from a terrible map that had just a few streets labeled, we got hopelessly lost just as it started to rain. Of course, we were without an umbrella, and moments later the rain became a downpour worthy of the monsoon season we were in. We were standing in front of what looked like a junkyard, but was in fact an outdoor body shop in front of a house. Within less than 5 seconds of the downpour starting, two young men rushed out from the junkyard area. They touched our shoulders with authority and said "come, come!" There was not the slightest doubt in their minds that they would shelter us from the rain in their home, despite our very unusual appearance, not necessarily respectable, by Burmese standards.

The young men brought us directly into the house and sat us down at what had to be the dinner table.~> read more

  Two women sat there, an older one who was likely the grandmother of the young men, and a plump middle aged woman with beautiful features. The young men immediately disappeared, but another family member delivered tea to us within less than a minute; in Myanmar a weak Chinese-style tea is kept warm in a thermos at all times, for any guest who might arrive or perhaps just for conversation. Given that the women at the table spoke essentially zero english, and we speak essentially zero Burmese, except to be able to say "thank you", which really came in handy in this situation, the conversation was slow getting started. However, we pulled out our hat-trick of language secret weapons. First, the pantomime. Yes, we've been playing pictionary all these months without you. Second, the limited dictionary in the back of the lonely planet guidebook. While we usually have no luck pronouncing anything, particularly in the burmese language, this dictionary also has the phrases written in the script of the country. So in combination with the pantomiming, it is possible to get a surprising amount of information across. The third element in the trifecta may surprise you. It is a photo of our cat, Mitten, laying in the sink. Showing this photo to people absolutely transcends language. Most people in most parts of the world have had an experience with a pet at some point in their lives, and they light up when they understand that you have had that too. It's a wonderful way to transcend the language barrier, and it just about works every time.

We were starting to get hungry since we had been on the way to dinner, but we didn't mention a word to our host family. Before long though, we were served an entire fresh juicy mango that someone behind the scenes cut for us. We didn't know how to thank them, but we tried to show our appreciation as well as we couild. Next, our hostesses broke out some family photos, showing one of the sons was a policeman, and a daughter who had been married in the last couple of years. Unbeknownst to us, the young men had gone to find the member of their family who spoke English the best, who must have been in another part of the town. She arrived soaked, but was quite eager to talk with us, and made it possible to explain all sorts of things since she could translate from both sides. We shared what the weather is like where we are from, which may sound boring but people who have never experienced such cool temperatures (like 70 degrees fahrenheit!) find it hard to believe. We also talked about our jobs and what countries we had visited, and the family shared where they were originally from and where some of the grown-up children were living, to work or with their spouse's family.

In most places where tourists bring their money, there are plenty of folks acting friendly just to get a piece of that money, and of course we had our share of such acts in so many countries. But when it so clearly comes right from the heart, and just small compensation for a mango is flatly refused, It brings straight to our heart the genuine kindness and virtue that can be found around the world. In Myanmar everyone waves at you just because you're a visitor to their country, and so many people go out of their way to help you. The people taught us a very important lesson about the good that can be found in people so different from ourselves.

My World Cup of Friendliness Runneth Over

Above: Myself with one of Myanmar's countless wonderful people

People of Indian descent were an astounding 53% of the capital city of Burma (now Myanmar) during the colonial period, when the British colonizers allowed people to pass freely between their colonies of India and Burma. This is surprising because no people of Indian descent are native to the country, though it has many other ethnic groups. Numbers of Indians in Myanmar have declined substantially, but there are still many Indians in Rangoon (now Yangon), though their families may have been here for generations. As you may have read elsewhere on this blog, the people of Myanmar are often amazingly welcoming and helpful, and this ethic seems to extend to peoples who have not inhabited the country for very long, historically speaking. This story is a perfect example.

It seems that more than one of my stories from Myanmar revolves around chapati. Having greatly enjoyed our chapati experience in Mandalay, we were hunting for a similar street-side flatbread and tea shop in Yangon. I saw similar establishments, with the paint can sized stools on the sidewalk, but such places never have a sign in any language, so my best option was to eyeball the cooking section, which usually involved a rickety looking table, a concrete bucket filled with red hot coals, and a huge cast iron wok filled with something or other.~> read more

  In one case, it appeared to be a fried rice concoction, and as I leered, a woman wearing a bindi in the middle of her forehead, indicating that she was most likely of the hindu faith which in the overwhelmingly buddhist country of myanmar, gently bid me to sit down at her stand, as her husband worked the coals.

I said I was sorry, that we were looking for Chapati, the only word of which she understood was "Chapati". She pointed to a hot dog cart style vendor selling just pirathas, which are a flatbread in the same family. I somehow convinced her that we wanted curries to go with our Chapati. When she realized what we were looking for, an intense discussion insued between her, her husband, and one or two men crouching on the paint cans drinking tea, I believe in the Tamil language of southeast India. A conclusion was reached as to where we could find what we were seeking, but our helpers had no words to explain the detailed directions. The woman spoke briskly to a man on sitting on a paint can stool. He jumped up, more than 6 feet tall with broad shoulders, a handsome dark-skinned gentleman in a longyi (ankle length skirt), and a nice gap knock-off short sleeved oxford shirt.

The woman said, "My brother take you!" I tried to resist, but he was already walking determinedly and urging us on. We walked a long city block, then two, then three, then turned, then walked two more. I tried to insist to the brother; pointing, trying to ask about which way to turn, that he should go back and let us try to find it. He did not always understand what I was saying, but he was convinced that he was going to take us all the way to the restaurant. We walk perhaps a mile through winding dark streets, the gentleman pressing ahead. Finally, he points around a corner to a halal tea shop, this one actually half inside a building rather than entirely on the sidewalk. He then says his first words to us just before we part; "Football 9:00." I do know what he is talking about, because the Burmese are mad for World Cup football. Through a series of pantomimes and persuations, saying the names of various teams and holding my fist up in cheer, or making a grumpy face, I determine that he prefers France over Spain for tonight's game, but is truly a fan of Brazil, who will play desperately late in the evening against Ghana. This interaction was an awesome way to share smiles and learn something about our ipromptu guide. I began to offer to give him something for his trouble and he flatly refused.

After a wonderful halal meal of bread and curries at the restaurant he led us to, We walked all the way back to the rice stall of the family who helped us. The bindi'd lady was still there, and we thanked her and her husband earnestly for their help. Her brother, however, was not to be seen. He was watching his football games, undoubtedly in the company of more than 10 other burmese huddled around a TV as we had seen. I'm glad he was watching, because both of his teams won!

Best meal in Myanmar: Unexpected!

Above: a more likely best meal, but not the one described below!

Our best meal in Myanmar may surprise you, as it did us. We went to a traditional burmese puppet show that ran late, until about 10:30. When the government rarely provides electricity, as in Mandalay, things close up early. So we asked our tri-shaw (like a motorycle with a sidecar, except the motorcycle is a bicycle and the sidecar seats two people back-to-back) driver where we could still eat, pantomiming slurping some soup. He understands, but looks puzzled as to what would still be open. We venture a guess, "Chapati?" (a style of bread from India), and since there are no lights on in the city, we can see the light bulb appear over his head so much more clearly! He says "Yes, Chapati, I know, still open!!" and pedals with a newfound resolve through the 20 foot long puddles left by the monsoon rain earlier that evening.

After turning through countless dark streets, it appears that half a block worth of sidewalk is lit up by flourescent tubes hanging haphazardly, no doubt run by a little generator engine. this sidewalk is covered in a lean-to of blue tarps and bamboo, to protect it from the still-drizzling rain. as we get closer, we can see open fires and numerous dark-skinned men in skirts huddling at tiny tables.~> read more

  Technically, they are wearing longyi, but it takes some adjustment seeing just about every man in a country in an ankle-length skirt. The trishaw driver points and drops us off, and we pay and thank him for his services. A dark skinned 12 year old boy, still in a skirt and white t-shirt, points us to a "table," which is just a few inches higher than the 8" tall plastic upside-down buckets that we pull up; they are what passes for chairs. When sitting/squatting on these little buckets, our knees easily exceed the height of the table.

We take a look around. There are several other pre-teen boys running in their flip-flops on a layer of thick but wet black street mud, so we try not to get splattered on, and marvel at how they don't slip and fall. Off my left elbow a few feet is a massive sooty and skin-searingly red hot charcoal brazier-boiler that is somehow involved in food production. Sitting back in the corner of the sidewalk is a slightly taller table surrounded by the only women in the area, aside from Tiffany. They have inky waist-length black hair, 6 of them around the table thwacking and pounding chapati dough flat, in constant motion.

We somehow communicate that we each want tea, chapati and some non-meaty curry to go with it. However, 2 sets of tea arrive, the weak chinese style tea that always arrives no matter what you order, and a teeth-curlingly sweet indian style tea for each of us, made by an apparent automaton of a man slinging a ladle of milky spiced tea into another 3 feet away in his other hand, at lightning speed. The chapatis were the pièce de résistance of this street stand, however. A thick flaky flatbread, pure unleavened doughy hot goodness practically tossed from the fire to your table. It made us miss India (which is saying something), and was every bit as good as the offerings from that country.

And indeed, the richness of experience was quite the opposite of the price. After 4 plates of savory potato curry, 2 sweet teas, several glasses of chinese tea, and the 2 huge and wonderful chapatis, our total came to......500 kyat, which is about 40 cents!!

It just proves that in Myanmar, the best experiences don't cost a lot.