Reflections on a Year Away

One year ago, I planned to leave Montreal to try something new. I wanted the chance to pursue some of my other interests that always seemed to be brushed aside because of my all-consuming involvement with the Tibet movement. Now I find myself back home, returning to the same work for Tibet that I was doing before I left. Running away from it all made me realize that I was on the right path – a path that will take me to India next, after my Christmas pit-stop in Montreal.

Being away from home and friends and lovers and all things familiar, gave me a lot of time for introspection and reflection on my view of life. It’s like being given a blank slate, and gives a strange sense of freedom because no one knows you. No one has conceptions of who you are and how you should behave. You can completely rid yourself of accumulated baggage – if you let go of it yourself.

One is able to construct everything: the life one wants, the people one wants to surround oneself with, and perhaps most interestingly, the person one wants to be. It’s a new context in which to give up old habits and hang-ups. It’s a situation that allows for introspection, to be able to pinpoint values, beliefs, desires and dreams, and to learn to live by them. The distance also affords one the clarity to learn from past lessons, experiences, and relationships.

I have learned that who I love and why I love them is a lot more important than who loves me. And I have learned that my love for people doesn’t diminish over distance or time.

Perhaps most importantly, I am more comfortable with the uncertainty in life because I have lived it and let it take me to places I never could have imagined.

Goodbye Bangkok

My last two nights in Bangkok were experiences on opposite sides of the infinite spectrum of those to be had in the City of Angels. In my mind, these two nights summed up my experiences and opinions of the crazy place I’ve called home for the last eight months.

On Friday, the girls from work took me out to see a bar run by a former Communist politician with house bands that play so-called “Thai Cock Rock.” I was looking forward to seeing a live band – especially with the promise that they didn’t play the usual blend of Thai pop rock. As the only white people in the place, everyone turned to watch as we walked in and sat down. According to Thai drinking customs, we ordered a bottle of whiskey and mixers. The bottle comes with a graduated sticker down the side – if you don’t finish your bottle, you write your name on it and get assigned a card with a number on it so that you can claim your bottle the next time you are back at the bar! It also comes with a server that hovers around your table, ready to top up your glass as soon as it drops below half full. This made it virtually impossible to gage how many drinks you’ve actually had! When the band finally took the stage, they convincingly looked like cock rockers. But unfortunately, they played the same not-so-exciting Thai pop rock that is every where else, with some extra guitar solos. The girls had a great time dancing (exciting the Thai men way more than they were aware) and I had a great time representing the Maple Leaf with my Canadian colleague, drinking way more than anyone else, and soaking it all in.

My last night was virtually the opposite. It was Loy Krathong, a festival where Thais float beautiful offerings made of banana leaves, flowers, incense, candles and money, apologizing for their sins and asking for good luck in the next year. Walking around the lake at Chatuchak Park, the city seemed so calm and beautiful. This was the beauty I first found wandering around Wat Po, but that is so easily forgotten when getting lost in a taxi and not being able to communicate, or getting out of breath walking up a flight of steps, or being constantly stared at by people in my own neighborhood. It was a perfect way to end my time there and reconciled me with the City of Angels.

In my darkest moments, I couldn’t wait to get out of Bangkok – the noisy, polluted city that I just didn’t click with. But in the end, I found myself not wanting to say goodbye… not so much to the city, but to the people I met, the immensely rewarding job I was blessed with, and moments of history in the Burma movement that I witnessed and in which I participated.

Saffron Revolution... last update from the frontlines

It’s been strange returning to my work for Burma after being submersed in everything Tibetan for two weeks. And like the last time I took some time off work, I missed a lot of exciting news.

While I was away, I received an e-mail from my friend who had been detained in Rangoon, and thankfully released. He couldn’t write much about his experiences, but he said that he is okay. For the last 2 weeks I have been compiling a list of all the people who have been detained or killed since the protests began in August. It made my work a little easier knowing that some of those released are okay, despite being seriously shaken up. However, being aware of the horrible detention conditions, I know that my friend’s definition of “okay” is very different from my own. Nothing about being detained for expressing a peaceful political opinion is “okay”, let alone the inhumane treatment of men, women, children and monks in detention centers around the country. The Burmese people’s bravery to continue the struggle for democracy and human rights is an inspiration.

The Telegraph recently published a great article about the monks and activists inside Burma, who have not given up on their Saffron Revolution, but who are regrouping and planning the next protests. There have been stories that people have been hanging pictures of junta leader Than Shwe on street dogs – a serious dishonor to the general… and to the dogs!! People have been handing out political leaflets at markets, and painting anti-junta statements on trains. And on October 31st, 200 monks protested again in Pakokku. They have not given up!

Two UN envoys have visited Burma to gather information on the crackdown and to promote genuine negotiations between the SPDC and Aung San Suu Kyi. My colleagues are cautiously optimistic – this is a step in the right direction, however the junta is not to be trusted. This could all be a face saving effort. The junta is definitely still spewing out the same fantastically horrible propaganda on Aung San Suu Kyi, the NLD party, meddling external agitators and “big countries”. For anyone with a cynical sense of humour, I highly recommend the state-run newspaper, the New Light of Myanmar, for a good laugh at the junta’s ridiculous propaganda. It has become a good source of entertainment here at my office.

For all the Canadians reading this:
Today, our government imposed complete sanctions on Burma (the only exception being humanitarian aid). While our country’s trade with Burma is quite small it is a perfect gesture. The more countries do this, the more crippled the junta will be, and the quicker change will come to Burma. Today, I am very proud to be Canadian – more than usual, of course!

Knowing that so much is happening in Burma – and that so much more is bound to happen in the near future – makes it hard for me to leave at this point in time. Part of me will miss this work very much. It’s been a fantastic opportunity for me to strengthen my skills, and an immense source of inspiration that change is possible… and right in front of us all!

Finally... Dharamsala

I decided to splurge and go to Dharamsala for a Tibet activist training camp in the last couple of weeks. Dharamsala is a place that I have been dreaming about visiting for over 7 years. This was the perfect opportunity to finally see it, meet up with everyone I worked with before I left Canada, make new connections in the movement, and prepare myself for the work that awaits me back at home.

I spent my first day in India wandering around the Red Fort in Delhi, literally breaking into huge grins every so often because I was finally there. That feeling was magnified a million times over when I arrived in Dharamsala. It was a completely new town to me and yet seemed so familiar. Arriving there felt like coming home.

The first week I was in the area I spent at the SFT India camp, on a beautiful farm owned by a very generous Indian family. I had attended many of the workshops at previous camps in Canada (and co-facilitated some too), but my time spent working on Burma issues made me see the movement in a much different light. Problems and strengths were much more apparent. But most of all, I was reminded of the endless passion activists have once they get hooked on the Tibet issue – this is exactly the feeling that brought me back to the movement!

After the camp, I got to meet up with Dekey, a friend from home who had moved to McLeod Ganj in May. One of her friends took me around on his motorbike to all the sights… which I had heard of in tons of stories from friends at home who either grew up or lived in the town. And just like everyone said would happen, I totally fell in love with the place. My first time walking through town, I stopped to say ‘hi’ to 6 different people I knew! I finally got to go to a Tibetan temple and spin prayer wheels, eat at all the restaurants I’d heard of and see a concert at TIPA. I was also fortunate enough to be in town when His Holiness arrived from his most recent travels. The entire town lined the streets in their best chubas to welcome Kundun home and congratulate him on receiving the US Congressional Gold Medal. As always, seeing His Holiness is an emotional experience, and I was grateful to be an inji squashed between old amalas, palas and monks as they prayed for him and for us all.

One of the key issues in Tibet is the threat of cultural destruction. As I walked around Dharamsala, I was impressed that the culture seemed so alive and vibrant. I know that there are a lot of people devoting their lives to preserve Tibetan music, art, and religion, but I had no idea that Dharamsala would feel so “Tibetan”. At the same time, seeing the Tibetan flag blowing in the wind made me sad, knowing that across the mountains it has not been seen for over 50 years. When we ended the SFT camp, we took a moment to close our eyes and imagine what a free Tibet would look like and what it would feel like. To me, Dharamsala is the seed of what an independent Tibet would feel like. I imagined people surrounding the Potala Palace to welcome the Dalai Lama home, with the Tibetan flag flying proudly on every flag pole. I imagined the market in Lhasa full of pictures of the Dalai Lama and the real Panchen Lama. I imagined monks and laypeople debating politics openly in public. I looked around at my Tibetan friends singing their national anthem, and I imagined them singing it in Tibet at the top of their lungs!

Tibet will be free. We have passion and truth on our side, and we will never give up!

Friends Detained

On Saturday, we received news that 3 key activists with the 88 Generation Students were detained. One of my colleagues knew them personally, and my heart sank as I watched him place frantic phone calls to friends and media.

Since the initial crackdown that ended the protests in Rangoon, the SPDC continues to arrest people in the middle of the night. These 3 activists, Htay Kywe, Mie Mie, and Aung Htoo, had managed to stay hidden and avoid being detained for more than 2 weeks. However, they are now among the estimated more than 3,000 monks and civilians who have been detained. It has been confirmed that at least 134 protesters have been killed, including many monks and a Japanese photojournalist. But both numbers are believed to be much higher.

The SPDC’s violent reaction to the protests continues. Kyaukpadaung Township NLD member Ko Win Shwe, who was arrested on September 26, died as a result of torture while being interrogated in Plate Myot Police Center near Mandalay. Protesters who have been released from various detention centers throughout the country report of horrific detention conditions, with no sanitation, little food and drinking water and rooms crammed full of monks and civilians. Protesters are being tortured and interrogated at the hands of police, Special Branch and Military Intelligence officers. Monks have been forcibly disrobed, and given their only meal of the day in the afternoon, which goes against their Buddhist vows to only eat in the morning.

Today, I found out that one of the people I met in Rangoon has also been detained.

All the stories seem so much more real and horrible when I imagine my friend there. And there is nothing I can do.

My Photos of Burma

The Saffron Revolution Continues

Today marks the International Day of Action for Burma. Protests have been held in over 30 cities all over the world and presumably still counting, since as I write this it’s only morning in most of North America.

The streets of Rangoon are no longer filled with protesting monks and civilians, however soldiers and barbed wire barricades remain. But the revolution does not stop here. The spectacular protests and violent crackdown that grabbed the world’s attention were the kick that got the ball rolling in the right direction.

This week we learned that in addition to the monks and protesters who were arrested during the demonstrations, the military has been arresting people from their houses in the middle of the night for participating in the protests, even for as little as standing on the street when it happened or clapping as monks and people walked by. Close to 3,000 people have been arrested, and it is believed that night time arrests continue. With the first night time raids and abductions of monks from their monasteries, people began to organize sentry duty to protect their clergy. Civilians are reportedly still guarding monasteries all over the country, armed only with homemade weapons, such as slingshots and arrows made out of spokes from the wheels of bicycles.

While the news emerging from Burma this past week may have slowed to a trickle, more will come. The junta’s shutdown of internet and phone lines has stopped a lot of information from getting out, but it will come out eventually. The SPDC cannot afford to keep communication lines cut indefinitely, journalists are finding ways into the country and there will undoubtedly be more people fleeing the country with stories to tell.

The media focus has shifted towards the next steps. Ibrahim Gambari returned from his visit to Burma, where he met with Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and then junta leader Than Shwe and then Daw Suu again, suggesting that he might have been carrying messages between the two. And most recently, Than Shwe announced that he would meet Daw Suu if she abandons her “confrontation attitude” and stops calling for international sanctions. Sounds like China’s demands that the Dalai Lama give up his desire to split up the motherland! I’m not sure that Than Shwe would meet with her even if she did agree to the ridiculous demands. It seems more like an attempt to show the world that he made an effort at reconciliation. Then he can blame Daw Suu when they never meet.

There are many theories about what could contribute constructively at this stage, mainly China stepping up and playing a key role. Personally, I don’t see that happening. If China were to take a leading role in Burma, it would be opening itself up for more criticism about its track record with the Falung Gong, Tibet, and even it’s involvement in the Sudan. At the same time, with the Olympics approaching, China may be more willing to participate in international action so as to avoid such criticism. Other possibilities include Singapore which has a lot of investments in Burma, and the Malaysian gas company, Petronas, who supposedly supplies the junta with all of its diesel fuel. If Petronas were to temporarily halt its shipments of gas, the SPDC would be crippled and completely unable to function! One company with that much influence in this situation!!

Burmese exiles and activists here say that people inside have not given up. They are hunkered down, trying to avoid being arrested, and waiting for the chance to regroup. The Saffron Revolution continues!!

The Tipping Point?

“It’s been a long time coming, but I know a change is gonna come…”

Otis Redding’s “Change is Gonna Come” has been running through my head for the week, as I have watched the events unfolding in Burma with amazement. What began as small scattered protests in mid-August against the military regime’s economic mismanagement and the population’s increasing poverty, have built into an all out confrontation between the people of Burma and the military junta. The monks’ initiatives have drawn more and more civilians out into the streets, initially to protect the monks and then as a defiant show of opposition to the junta. On September 22, the protesters even marched past blockades to Daw Aung San Suu Kyi’s house, where she appeared at her fence for the first time in 2 years.

News early last week that hospital and prison wings had been emptied was a warning of the impending violence. Police and soldiers wielding riot shields and guns filed into the street and fired bullets and tear gas into the crowds of protesters. Official reports say that only 10 people have been killed, but most assume that the number is over 200, including monks, children, innocent bystanders, and a Japanese journalist. Monasteries have been raided and looted with hundreds of monks being arrested in the middle of the night. There are stories of bodies being thrown in the river, and of cremations where even those still alive are being burned.

The international community has responded calling for the SPDC to be more respectful of the protesters and for the junta to engage in genuine dialogue for democracy – obviously some countries and regional organizations have been much more vocal and critical than others. Interestingly, China who has been a staunch backer of the junta has even taken a stance against further violent repression of the protesters. In another interesting development, the UN Envoy to Burma, Ibrahim Gambari, was permitted to visit with Aung San Suu Kyi for almost an hour today.

I’ve been on vacation with my mum for the last week, planned months ago and much needed, but which fell at such a bizarre time. For more detailed information, here are some links to recent publications:

BURMA BULLETIN - ISSUE 9 - SEPTEMBER 2007

FACE OFF IN BURMA: MONKS VS. SPDC

FUEL PRICE HIKES INFLAME BURMESE PEOPLE

From my overworked colleagues and everyone here, it really feels like this will be a tipping point in the history of Burma. Protests on this scale have not happened since 1988, when 3,000 people were brutally killed. Despite the junta’s efforts to block phone and internet communications, the world is watching this time and will not idly stand by.

Here are some online petitions that only take a moment to sign:

US Campaign for Burma

Amnesty International

Avaaz.org

More Protests… in Burma and Tibet!

Monks have been protesting in cities all around Burma since September 18. In Sittwe, there were reports that the junta used tear gas to disperse the monks.

This photo is from Rangoon, where they marched through the streets after being blocked from entering the main Shwedagon Pagoda.

There have also been two cases of Tibetans speaking out about politics in Tibet in the last two months. On August 1, Tibetan nomad from Lithang, Runggye Adak, was arrested after standing on stage at a ceremony for the 80th anniversary of the People’s Liberation Army (also the annual horse racing festival). This is an inspiring letter from his son and nephew, explaining what happened and calling for his release:

Lithang Rongye Adak: the man who spoke up for freedom

If he had not spoken up, the news wouldn’t have been made, but the suppression would have continued silently, the pain in the heart of every individual would have remained buried deep in the hearts and never spoken about, and everything would have been “normal”.

Lithang Rongye Adak, a deeply religious man at 53, broke the silence by speaking the truth, the truth that remained suppressed in the hearts of his fellow countrymen. Rongye Adak is a father who besides running his nomadic family acts as a social worker in his local community in Yunru Kha-shul area in Lithang, eastern Tibet.

Tibet, the country that has been invaded, occupied and colonized by China is today being ruled by a military regime and a set of law that dictates upon the native people the orders of the colonial Government of Han Chinese majority from Beijing. The sophistication of governance and the interpretation of it are such that the country is now being transformed from a land of virgin pastures and untouched fresh water and glaciers into a hugely urbanized and industrial area with rampant mining, damming and deforestation. Networks of roads and bridges built are now crisscrossing the country destroying traditional lives of the Tibetans, and all these are done in the name of “development”.

It happened recently on the 1st August, in Lithang where the annual horse racing festival had started and thousands of Tibetans had gathered from all over Kham region to witness the traditional Tibetan festival.

As the government officials sat in chairs in a big ceremony, Rongye Adak, a tall sturdy man from Khampa Lithang stepped on to the stage paying his respects to the local Lama, grabbed the mike and gave a surprise speech.

He began by asking fellow Tibetans to stop getting into petty fights among themselves for land and gathering yartsa gunbo, and asked all Tibetans to unite. And when he had the full attention of the crowd he asked whether they want His Holiness the Dalai Lama to return to Tibet. The audience that consisted mostly of nomads responded in unison that they all want their leader to return to Tibet. And everybody cheered, clapping and whistling.

He went on to ask for the release of Gendun Choekyi Nyima, the XI Panchen Lama who is in Chinese Government’s custody from 1995, ever since he was taken away at the age of six. The fire of truth raged and there is no stopping. He even demanded the release of Tulku Tenzin Delek who has been sentence for life for an alleged case of bomb blast in Sichuan.

And when the Chinese authorities sitting on the stage slowly realized what Adak was saying, Adak had already made his speech. The police grabbed him and took him away. This provoked the audience who was already agitated and moved by the powerful speech by their new found hero.

A strong crowd of six to seven thousand Tibetans demanded that Adak be released immediately. And when police reached for guns, hundreds of nomads took off their shirts and showing their bare chest challenged the police to shoot them. They said what Adak did was only an expression of dissatisfaction which the Chinese law permits as right to free expression.

The stand-off with the police authorities has been going on ever since the incident of 1st August. As the news of Adak’s courageous act of speaking up spread to other villages and towns, more and more people started pouring in to show their support. The police in Lithang are now barring people from traveling in order to control public mobility. Tension is only growing as more and more people are heading towards one destination.

The soft-spoken man, a father of eleven children who lived a simple nomadic life has suddenly become a political prisoner. With his wife taking ill and being hospitalized, his family is suffering. Three of his children are presently studying in different schools and monasteries in India.

This is an appeal to you to spread the message of freedom and justice and also to ask you to appeal to Chinese Government to release Lithang Adak immediately and unconditionally. We also request you to ask your Government and the United Nations to help.

Rongye Jamyang, son of Rongye Adak
Atuk Tseten, nephew of Rongye Adak
Drepung Gomang Monastery,
Mundgod, South India

In response to Rongye Adak’s speech, there has been an intense religious crackdown. Chinese authorities in Lithang (Eastern Tibet) have ordered local residents, including monks at the Lithang monastery, to attend a 'patriotic education' meeting on September 21st to denounce the Dalai Lama. Sign the online petition.

On September 7, Chinese authorities arrested around 40 students in Labrang county of Tibet for writing graffiti on police station walls calling for the return of the Dalai Lama and a free Tibet. Seven students aged 14 and 15 are still under arrest in an unknown location, and one boy was reportedly severely beaten.

To the people of Tibet, keep it up! There is a strong international movement backing you, and in the lead up to the Beijing Olympics, the whole world is watching. Now is your chance to tell the Chinese government that enough is enough.

Go Monks Go!

Protests erupted in Burma following the SPDC’s overnight hike of fuel prices on August 15, leading to a drastic increase in the price of essential commodities such as rice. While the protesters are from all walks of life, Buddhist monks are taking incredibly powerful actions.

One of the most impressive stories of courage and action to emerge started in the first week of September when several hundred monks protesting in Pakokku, central Burma, and were fired upon by SPDC Army soldiers. In the crackdown, some of the monks were severely beaten and three were arrested. The next day, a group of monks angered by the cruel treatment held about 20 SPDC officials hostage, calling for the release of the detained monks. The standoff ended that afternoon with both the SPDC officials and the monks being released.

This week a message came from the All Burma Monks Alliance, threatening to excommunicate SPDC personnel and their families if the SPDC does not meet a series of demands by mid-day today. The monks demanded that the SPDC apologize for the incident in Pakokku, immediately reduce commodity prices, release all political prisoners, and enter into dialogue with pro-democracy groups. Excommunication – the refusal to accept alms or provide spiritual services – would mean serious public embarrassment for the junta personnel. It could also increase internal pressure on the SPDC, since personnel are already resentful over the huge income gap between themselves and the military leaders.

Monks all over the country have said that they will march to the biggest temples in their hometowns beginning today – which also marks the 19^th anniversary of the Burmese military coup.

Since the protests began, I have been more encouraged and excited than I have been in months. As activists on the outside, sometimes I feel that there is only so much advocacy and protesting and writing op-eds we can do. It comes to a point when action is needed by the very people we are fighting for; the price hike and ensuing protests in Burma are one such moment. Every day I hope that the Burmese people continue to have the strength and the courage to persevere. To the people of Burma, we stand behind you and will fight to make your voices heard all over the world.

Having a Cold in a Hot Climate

Colds in Southeast Asia are a bizarre irony. At home, I was so used to curling up in a ball in my duvet with lots of warm tea and movies to nurse a cold or flu. But here, being sick is just one hot sticky mess. Even cranking up the air-conditioning so you feel cold enough for tea and a blanket doesn’t work. The second you step out of your freezer room, your body goes into shock with the surge of hot humid air. I don’t think the constant change from one extreme temperature to the next does any good… it seemed to only magnify my fever.

Meds… another battle. At home, you just grab some Tylenol Cold and Flu pills (night and daytime, of course) and a box Neo Citron, and you’re set. Here you have to dodge a million offers of antibiotics – Southeast Asian doctors’ favorite answer to any ailment, even if it’s not bacterial. You also need to be an excellent and unabashed mime (if you are somewhere where there isn’t so much English spoken) and you need to know exactly what you need. I felt like I was in medical school. I had to research the actual drugs in my favorites back home and find generic versions here, which were in weird doses and different combinations, obviously producing very different effects. I took a sinus decongestant that was 3 times stronger than anything back home, but didn’t have anything else in it. It also has the side effect of reducing my ability to sleep… obviously making recovery that much slower.

My advice to anyone planning on living overseas: take a bunch of cold medicine and pain killers with you! Nothing here compares.

Unexpected Changes

After a lot of soul searching and inner arguments, I’ve decided to follow my heart… back to the city and the movement I love. I tried to pull away from Tibet in order to find something that could lead to a career, but I know now that I cannot leave Tibet behind. When something is buried so deep inside you, it’s impossible to forget or even ignore it. In the upcoming year, which is so important to the Tibetan and Burmese movements, I have to be with “my first love.”

Only a month ago, I was desperately homesick. After seeing refugees being resettled to third countries and wandering around Buddhist wats and pagodas, I decided that I was going to overcome the longing. And I did. Once I started feeling comfortable again being here in this city, in this job, everything changed again. A friend on a mission visited and pulled me (willingly) back into the world I had left behind. A month ago, I never would have believed that I would be going home so soon!

Yesterday, I went to get my ticket. Because my boss needs to finalize details for the next period, I am making plans for THREE months down the road! This is a record in planning ahead for me!!

However, with the move now official, I'm a little apprehensive about returning to Montreal, sliding back into pretty much the same life I was leading before I left. What will be one whole year abroad has definitely opened my eyes to the world around me and the person I want to be in it. Am I taking a step backwards, or am I returning to the place I am meant to be for now? A friend mentioned a great quote from Nelson Mandela that really resonated with me:

“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.”

I can’t wait to see friends and family again, and to enjoy living in such an amazing city. But it will definitely be an interesting change.

The One Year Count-down Begins

Today marks an important day for two movements that have their own places in my heart and my consciousness.

August 8, 2008 (an auspicious Buddhist date) is an important date for the Burmese: it will be 20 years since the national uprising that lead to the killing of thousands of people and the imprisonment of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. The time I’ve spent with the Burmese human rights group here in Bangkok has been very interesting and has given me the opportunity to grow personally and as an activist. The bravery of the Burmese people – of those who continue to protest inside their country despite definite detention, and of those who have left their lives and families behind to campaign for democracy in exile – has inspired me.

August 8, 2008 is also the opening day of the Olympics in Beijing. Today Tibetans and their supporters have intensified their campaign against the Beijing Olympics, with only 365 days to go (www.studentsforafreetibet.org and www.beijingwideopen.org). Since Beijing put in its bid to host the 2008 games, human rights groups around the world have been vocal that such a country as China should not be given the honour because of its human rights record. The promises made by the IOC or Beijing have not yet been seen. The air quality is horrible in the capital, media reporting is not free, and millions of “ethnic nationalities” continue to live under the yoke of oppression. As my friends gather around the world to mark this important date, I wish I was there with them. I’m thinking of them and waiting anxiously for news that the “Great Wall 6”, and Lhadon and Paul, have been safely released from detention in Beijing.

One World. One Dream. Free Tibet!!

You have to check this out…

http://beijingwideopen.org

Initiation to the Rainy Season

I witnessed today the biggest and scariest thunder storm of my life. I am normally the kind of person who watches in wonder and is amazed at the force of thunder, lightning and intense downpours. But I admit, I was a little frightened by this one! The thunder cracks were deafening and the rolling ones seemed to last for minutes. The rain came down in buckets and in jets from the roof, flooding the entire garden. And all of this lasted for almost half an hour! My first GIANT Thai thunderstorm!

Homesickness and Mae Sot

It’s a beautiful drive out of the flat Bangkok area, past huge termite mounds and ancient igneous intrusions, and up into the mysterious foggy jungle-covered mountains. I descended on the other side, out of the fog and into the interesting border town. Mae Sot is a miniature version of Thailand, where the cultural diversity is so strongly felt because of the concentration of people, but which is granted an unmistakable Burmese feel by the golden pagodas, the men in longyis and women with thanaka on their faces. The town is buzzing with NGO workers and volunteers, who fill the restaurants and bars with interesting discussions of their work (especially over some wine at Canadian Dave’s) or smile as they ride by on their bicycles. Every time I visit, I meet the most amazing Burmese activists who have risked so much to be there. And who continue to put themselves at risk of being arrested, fined or even deported in order to attend capacity-building and advocacy trainings.

On my second trip to the town in 3 weeks, I discovered that the hotel where I was staying at was also the final stop for refugees being resettled overseas. All day long, there were people sitting at the entrance of the large hall, looking longingly into the distance and the mysterious future that awaits them. I know the resettlement process is long and these people have spent years waiting, but this is the last time they will be within eyesight of their country. They are approaching the moment when they will have to leave all familiarity behind and embark on a journey for which they are undoubtedly not prepared, despite the efforts of organizations like the IOM, UNHCR and IRC – for who is ever ready for such an uprooting? In comparison to the whirlwind of emotions they must be feeling, the homesickness that has overwhelmed me in the last couple days now makes me feel selfish and weak. I come from such a sheltered life and a country of remarkable freedom – free from soldiers, bullets, landmines, hunger, systemic rape, torture, forced labour and displacement. I left my home voluntarily and can go back whenever I want. As I watch these people, my ability to return to my comfortable life surrounded by the people and the country I love begins to seem like an excessive luxury that these people don’t have. They are leaving the life and everyone they know behind, and it will likely be years before they can come back. I can’t begin to imagine what homesickness must feel like when you know you can’t go home.

Bangkok Parties

Party note #1: I took Losang out for birthday drinks while he was here, and after our first bar closed, we decided to check out the only other club on the block that was still open. Little did we know it was a “girls’ club,” as one of the guys there told us – it was a gay bar with a transvestite show later on! I thoroughly enjoyed myself, watching all the gay guys check out my very straight friend, smiling at the transvestites, and getting hugs from gay guys welcoming me to the place and asking about my “friend.” I even ended up acting as a bodyguard for Losang so that he wouldn’t get his ass grabbed again! I guess one time was plenty for him!! Besides the hilarity of being there with a straight guy who was really uncomfortable with the advances on him, I was really struck with the strong sense of community. I have been to a couple of gay clubs in Montreal – good places to go dancing with the girls and not have to be annoyed by guys hitting on you! – but this was really different. Everyone was so into it and supportive and treating the “girls” doing their show on the stage like they were fabulous divas. It was really interesting and touching. I guess it makes sense in a place like Thailand where transgendered people are so widely accepted anyways.

Party note #2: Tourists are crazy! The white people in the clubs on Khao San Road tend to think that because they are on holiday, they can do anything. They grab random people, drink way too much, wear traditional Thai hats while pole-dancing on stage, say retarded things, and hit on prostitutes without knowing it (for more on this phenomenon, see Party note #3). There is a difference between having a great time and just being stupid! There are times when I am almost ashamed to be considered one of the white, horny, obnoxious, and rude tourist masses.

Party note #3: I hate to say it, but some of the stereotypes of Bangkok are not that exaggerative of the reality. Sex is for sale everywhere, from covert dens labeled “massage parlours,” to the Patpong area, to most nightclubs. On one of my latest outings, a coworker who has been here for a couple of years engaged me in a game: he would give me 10 baht for every prostitute I correctly picked out at the nightclub. It was really hard! First of all, Thai girls really enjoy dressing up when they go out. I’m sorry if I offend anyone, but a lot of the girls dress just like the prostitutes. Any guy who has been to a club in Thailand has surely been hit on by a prostitute, with or without knowing it. And I think that a lot of guys probably have stories of going home with a girl, only to find out after sex that he has to pay for it… I’ve heard a couple of stories of just that happening! Anyways, it took me a while, but after closely watching them interact with several guys, I found about 6. And I made friends with a couple of them who kept dragging me to go dance. I think they felt sorry for me, standing there alone. Little did they know that I was quite well entertained – I’m sure it’s been done, but an anthropological study of the sex industry in Thailand would be very interesting and very fun to undertake! That is, until you get into the sad reality of girls being forced to be prostitutes and the violence and disease that I’m sure go along with such an industry.

Party note #4: Thankfully there are some fun places to hangout, with a significantly lower probability of hitting on someone of the wrong gender or profession. Last weekend I discovered the Saxophone Pub, a smoky lodge-type bar with live music every night. The night that I was there started off with a cool blues band covering some Hendrix before bringing a rasta on stage to sing a couple of songs. They were followed by T-bone, a huge 10-member band that was playing a really impressive mix of ska, jazz, funk, and soul, with a touch of latin influence… pretty much everything! It was totally wicked and just the kind of place I was looking for :) Definitely better than the prostitute pick-up bars!!

An Improving Tour Guide

It’s interesting trying to show someone around a city that you don’t know that well yourself! We got lost way too many times, but I think I managed to show Losang a few fun and interesting parts of Bangkok. In the process, I also learned a lot about this crazy city that I call home for the time being.

I finally got to see Wat Arun, a temple that I’ve been admiring from afar since I got here. But my favorite stop with Losang was a Muay Thai fight – you’re right, Owen, it really is wicked! Fighting is definitely not my thing, but this really is a cultural experience that should not be missed. Each match starts off with the fighters praying and doing dances to their ancestors and teachers, before they proceed to elegantly kick and punch the crap out of each other. Some of the matches were brutally hard to watch, but thankfully the crowd was just as entertaining as the fighters! The matches started off to a calm but attentive audience. The people betting on the fight were occupied analyzing each kick and punch, deciding on which fighter they were going to put their money. As the rounds progressed the crowd got rowdier, yelling with the landing of a punch on their chosen opponent or moaning when their guy got kicked. In the midst of the rising tension, the gamblers started calling to one another and waving their fingers (in what I assume are the amounts of their bets). Passive watchers rapidly joined the vocal and passionate masses. And like a rollercoaster, it ended way faster than it started, only to begin again with the next match.

One of the matches was between a Canadian and a British man ­– cultural appropriation caught in the act! Just like the Thai fighters, the two Westerners started their match with the traditional prayers and dances and the anthropologist in me couldn’t help but wonder if these customs actually meant anything to them. At first, I thought that the crowd would not really be into this fight – the highlight of the evening was the previous match, plus it’s two white guys! I was immediately struck by how different their fighting style was to that of the Thai fighters. The Westerners were a lot bigger and clumsier, fighting mostly with punches; the Thai fighters were much more elegant and were equally good at punching and kicking their opponent. After the first two rounds, the crowd definitely got into it – the white guys were surprisingly putting on a good show. I even stood up in support of the Canadian, much to the amusement of the betting men in our area! In the end the Canadian lost, after way too many punches to the head. I’m really surprised that he managed to walk out of there at all, but I guess dignity would have been an important factor.

So, I’ve been initiated into the world of Muay Thai and being a tour guide… and I’m ready for my next tourist :)

One More Year

The news came out tonight that Aung San Suu Kyi’s house arrest has been extended by another year. I'm angry and disappointed and frustrated and sad all at once:

… thinking of this amazingly smart and spiritual and powerful woman, who means so much to so many people, but who is stuck in a house all by herself.

… wondering how long we will keep calling her detention “house arrest” when, even in jail, one is allowed to receive visitors.

… questioning when the time is going to come for the Burmese, and for the Tibetans too.

… hoping that we all have enough passion to keep fighting.

Intellectual Property?

It’s amazing how reading the newspaper everyday gives you new insight and depth to a place that would otherwise be missed. Although I am a long way from understanding politics in Thailand, I am starting to learn more about the coup and constitution-drafting efforts, the problem in the South and also about activists in the country—some of whom staged a wicked demonstration Saturday night on Democracy Monument.

In the last couple of weeks here, there has also been a big uproar over intellectual property rights and drug companies. Thailand recently announced compulsory licensing for all AIDS and heart disease-related drugs (including of the generic forms of those that are patented). The decision was taken in an effort to make drugs cheaper and therefore more accessible to the people who need them, and has since been proven to do just that. Pharmaceutical companies have been forced to lower their prices to compete with generic drugs. However, under the influence of its powerful pharmaceutical lobby, the US has put Thailand on its “Priority Watch List” due to the country’s supposed lack of respect for patents. While the US argues that Thailand has violated WTO’s Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property agreement (TRIPs), Thailand says that this decision was the only way for the country’s patients to access the invaluable drugs. This argument seems to come down to a debate between two ideals: intellectual property versus the individual’s right to affordable drugs. While I support the principle of intellectual property per se, I don’t think that upholding this notion should come at the expense of potentially millions of people in developing countries.

Another case of intellectual property rights that caught my attention is that of yoga. In February, India announced that it was creating a digital database of traditional knowledge, everything from ayurvedic remedies to construction techniques to yoga. This raises essential questions about the nature of traditional (or indigenous) knowledge and whether, when, or if it should be considered public knowledge. If it is public knowledge, then how can it be eligible for patent? India shouldn’t have to fight battles to revoke patents on their traditional knowledge, such as their legal skirmish over the US patent for the medical properties of turmeric, which India claimed to be common knowledge in its households. The US’s tendency to claim whatever it wants as its own is, however, making the protection of traditional knowledge necessary. In 2004, the US granted an Indian-American yogi a patent for a series of 26 asanas, despite the fact that they are a part of a tradition that is over 5,000 years old!

Is patenting traditional knowledge, as advocated by TRIPs, the best route to take in order to protect it? Would it be more effective to treat traditional knowledge as cultural heritage or as a collective human right? I guess that would depend on whether the economic implications of that knowledge are deemed to be more important than its intrinsic value and its cultural significance. In the case of the US and yoga, the patents, copyrights and trademarks are safeguarding a $3 billion industry. The US has obviously placed the importance on economic gains (as it did with the case of compulsory licensing of AIDS drugs in Thailand). One has to wonder what spiritual ramifications the patenting of traditional knowledge such as yoga would have for Indians themselves, and for the practice of yoga all over the world. After all, the notion of a universal mind—part of Indian beliefs, in general, and yoga—does not really seem to fit with the notion of intellectual property. In order to protect the intrinsic nature of yoga as a belief system, would this be an instance where the protection of this traditional knowledge should be treated as a cultural heritage or a collective human right? As a human rights activist, I hate to say it… but maybe money and patents speak louder than the more idealistic claims to cultural heritage and collective human rights.

I hope someone can prove me wrong.

I am all of these: Consumer. Invader. Crusader. Seducer. Self-hating Westerner. Buffoon.

A Traveller’s Response to “There’s No Such Thing As Eco-Tourism” by Anneli Rufus (http://alternet.org/story/40174).

I agree: colonialism isn’t dead. The dreaded word has crossed my mind on numerous trips in the past, but never more powerfully than in the last 5 months that I have been living in Asia. My relations to those around me have undeniably been affected by the notions of the consumer, invader, crusader, seducer, self-hating Westerner, and buffoon, all of which play into today’s form of colonialism.

I am a consumer of culture. I pay to see traditional dances and puppet shows, and to enter temples. I search out and relish new places, new experiences, and new foods. I may not buy typical souvenirs, but I avidly consume these new experiences. Similar to the way a fire consumes things, I have also destroyed the cultural essence of interactions by taking photos. As an anthropology student, I became really interested in the duality of photography as an art form and also as an ethnographic technique. While I can’t deny that a picture may be able to capture a ceremony or emotion, I have found that it often removes the human interaction that might have taken place in that moment. When I started being approached by tourists from Java asking to have their pictures taken with me, I understood just how alienating it can be to have a camera pointed in your face. All of a sudden, I was the odd one, the “other,” deemed to be so different and interesting that the mere act of me being there at the same time as them needed to be caught on film. I was really uncomfortable with the cameras pointed my way, openly or covertly. How then, can I turn around and expect people to let me take pictures of them? I can learn so much more about them (and they can learn more about me) by watching and asking the right questions.

I am an invader. This is not my place, and it never will be. Westerners in Bali may be able to speak Bahasa Indonesia, many become Hindu and eat local food, they may even marry a Balinese. But their skin will always be a different colour, and they will always be seen as a tourist once they step outside of their group of friends or the banjar (community) in which they live. I even found myself and my friends making that erroneous judgment. When I saw other white people, I instinctively thought that they were just tourists. It’s as if, because I lived there and hung out with mostly Balinese friends, I didn’t consider myself a tourist anymore. I have found that expats here in Thailand do the same thing. Loud, obnoxious and inconsiderate tourists make the farangs foreigners) living here sink down in their chairs, and exchange embarrassed glances with one another, as if they are different than the tourists. You can feel this sense of superiority at the Foreign Correspondents Club every night, where expats mingle amongst themselves. They seem to think that they have adapted to and joined the local culture, and that this distinguishes them from the tourists, making them less of an invader. A wolf who sincerely considers himself a sheep is indeed an interesting phenomenon.

I am a crusader and a seducer, even if indirectly. My way of life and fundamental beliefs about society and relationships come through very differently in another country. In Bali, I got the distinct impression that my generation is extremely envious of what they see as the Western lifestyle and the values that entails. They want it for themselves at the expense of their traditional way of life. They want to be free and independent and travel the world, rather than having the responsibility of taking care of their families and contributing to the banjar. So while I haven’t directly and vehemently promoted my beliefs, they are being adopted by the younger generations. I haven’t tried to seduce locals to my way of life, but I can see it happening.

I am a self-hating Westerner. In the face of my Balinese friends’ deeply rooted religious beliefs, I felt spiritually confused and almost envious that their spirituality was intertwined with their daily lives. An argument with a guy named Wayan at the local drinking hole makes an excellent case in point for my own spiritual uncertainty. One night, Wayan said that Rastafari was a fashion style and not a religion. Amongst a bunch of self-proclaimed Rastas who weren’t rising to the defense of their beliefs, I felt compelled to argue the opposite: Rastafari has a strong biblical and historical basis like any other religion, with deep beliefs that influence how people live their lives. Some Rasta beliefs, such as dreadlocks, have been adopted by some people who may not know the deeper meaning of the symbols that they wear. My main argument was that religion cannot be reduced to what a person looks like on the outside, but is more fundamentally about what is in his or her heart. I told Wayan that to me, he didn’t especially look like a Hindu, sitting there in jeans and a t-shirt. At this point, he got really mad and started accusing me of being a stupid white person who knew nothing about religion, and especially nothing about Hinduism. He said that I didn’t believe in any god and the more I learned about other religions, the more confused I got. I was taken aback by the anger in his voice when he said this, but I totally agreed with Wayan. Despite that, there was no way for me to convince him that trying to understand and learn from different religions was acceptable position for me to be in. I may have finally won over Wayan and everyone listening when I said that I believed god was in everything, but his point had been made: a lot of Westerners are spiritually confused and I don’t think that any of us really like to admit it.

I am a also a buffoon. From the moment I stepped into Thailand, I have felt like a stupid white person – and nowhere nearly as much as in taxis. Most taxi drivers here do not speak English, so when I go out on my own, I carry along a little map my coworkers had made with my address and all the street names written in Thai. Since I cannot speak Thai, I thought this would solve the problem of communicating with taxi drivers. On my first time going home alone from a market which I had already been to several times with coworkers, I got into a taxi and showed the driver my map. He nodded and smiled so I thought he understood and knew where he was going. After our first wrong turn, I told him he should have gone the other way. He said something that seemed like “this is a better way,” so I gave him the benefit of my doubt. After 10 minutes and passing several large overpasses, I knew that this was not a better way and after a similar experience in Kuala Lumpur, I assumed that he was taking me the wrong way to make me pay more money. I held my cool as long as I could because I had been warned that Thais think it’s funny when Westerners get upset. But eventually I told him that I knew this way was more expensive and that this was a bad thing to do to farangs. He said something in Thai and kept driving. After an hour on what should have been a 5-minute trip, I realized that he wasn’t trying to scam me and that we were lost because neither of us could understand one another. I must have mispronounced my street name – there are 5 different tones on vowels in Thai! – and on top of that he couldn’t even read the Thai on the map I showed him. This has taught me that it is totally unrealistic to think I could live here for the next 9 months without having to learn such a hard language. However, people here who are learning Thai have pointed out the catch-22: while I want to learn so that I’m not such a stupid buffoon, my undoubtedly horrible pronunciation will only make me more of a buffoon as I learn!

All of this begs the question: why do we have this quest to travel and to go on so-called “adventure” trips? I think that we, as a society, have become bored. And I don’t just mean Westerners. In my experience teaching English online, I met hundreds of Asians who loved traveling just as much as Westerners. I think that we are not happy with our lives at home so we feel that we need to leave in order to get our heart beating again. In a world that so highly values commodities and personal accomplishments, traveling also gives us more bragging rights.

The more I’ve traveled, the more I’ve realized how lucky I am and how great I have it back home. I am privileged to have grown up in a society that allows me to study as much and whatever I want at school and that doesn’t limit the importance of my life as a woman to the house I keep, how happy my husband is and how many healthy children I have.

Does that mean that I will never travel again? Probably not. But these ideas definitely change how I travel. Being in another country, I am aware every day that I am a part of a new form of colonialism that makes me a consumer, invader, crusader, seducer, self-hating Westerner, and buffoon, all in one. It’s all part of the humbling experience of trying to understand another culture, whether you are passing through as a traveler or are trying to settle in.

My first Thai Buddha

The reclined Buddha at Wat Pho in Bangkok.
Originally uploaded by jspan.

Ive posted a few last pictures of Bali. If you want more of Bangkok, you'll have to go here.

Starting from scratch again

I’ve been in Bangkok for a little over one week now and have experienced more emotions than I have the sights of the city. This isn’t the first time that I picked up and left my entire life behind, but it is definitely the most drastic and demanding. Every other time I’ve done this, there was always someone I knew in the new place, someone to help me acclimatize and settle in. This time there is no one. I am all alone. The processes lying in front of me now, of creating a new life here and building a social circle, seem daunting at times.

I feel lost sometimes. I have been physically lost, wondering around in circles, trying to find the place where I am staying. I can’t believe how close I can be to something without being able to find it. I am also socially lost; I am a social infant in the world spinning around me. The culture is new to me, the place is new to me, and the language is new to me. Not understanding things is intensely humbling.

I have also experienced intense satisfaction. I have the kind of job that I’ve been dreaming of for years! It may not be glamorous or well paid, but it is emotionally and spiritually rewarding. I am involved in helping people express themselves politically in order to improve their communities and country. This is exactly what I want to be doing.

I have been struck by a calmness here, one that I didn’t expect to find anywhere in Asia, outside of temples. Even walking down a busy road in front of the Grand Palace or shopping at a huge boutique mall, everything still seems to be in serene order. At 5pm, crowds of people wearing yellow shirts are lined up on the major boulevard. All of a sudden the traffic clears, a few policemen walk out into the street. Off in the distance, I see the flashing lights of a motorcade approaching. The police stand in salute and the people mutter small prayers as the King drives by. They laugh at me, the lone white girl, lost in a crowd of Thais. And then they all disperse. I soak it up in wonder.

I know there are more emotions than this to come. There always are. But I have gotten over the first hump and am left encouraged and inspired to keep going in this new life.

Nyepi – the day of silence

March 19th marked the beginning of year 1929 on the Balinese calendar. The ceremonies actually began two days earlier, with most Balinese going to temple or to the beach to pray that the evil spirits would not come to Bali and cause problems. The second day is for the ogoh-ogoh. Every community had spent the last couple of weeks building these giant statues that symbolize evil spirits. What began as a simple bamboo frame was built upon, layer by layer, until the finished product emerged – evil spirits ranging from traditional ones that you would see in Barong dances, to mohawked punk rockers waving their middle finger in the air, to a freaky thing that looked exactly like the creature from The Grudge! Each ogoh was mounted on a checkerboard bamboo structure and carried by a group of 12 to 15 young boys or men. They were carried down the lanes formed by the crowd that had gathered on the freeway. Traffic was backed up on the entire island as the ogoh-ogoh, accompanied by their own musicians, alternately danced, ran, and sauntered through the crowds on their way to the beach where they were finally burned. The whole ogoh-ogoh event symbolizes the banishment of the evil spirits that would take place the next day.

By midnight, all of Bali begins to settle down. For the next 24 hours, there is absolutely no human activity on the entire island! No one leaves their home. The sky above the island becomes a no-fly zone to all aircraft. Traditionally, no one is supposed to make any noise or use any artificial light. The day is supposed to be spent in meditation. During those 24 hours, the evil spirits return to Bali but when they see and hear nothing, they assume the island is uninhabited and they leave for another year.

We may have talked, used candles after dark, and even used electricity to listen to music for a while, but the silence and calm in a place that normally veers toward the chaotic was powerful. The birds and frogs were not drowned out by motorbikes or blaring music. You could actually even hear the leaves rustling in the trees. And the stars that night were remarkable – probably the best I’ve ever seen, and I was standing in the middle of a city!!! With absolutely nothing to do, I was more relaxed and at peace than I have been in a long time.

After such a beautiful day, the whole world seems so noisy in comparison. Part of me wishes that we could have Nyepi every month – imagine how peaceful people would be if there were regular relaxation periods with nothing to do!

Miscellaneous Thoughts and Observations

A couple of weeks ago, I finally got a motorbike! While a bit scared at first, I have found that driving here in Bali is much like driving on the road that is life, and I have learned a couple of very important lessons. In life and in driving, you must pay close attention to everything going on around you and be aware of changes – large and small. And you must not hesitate, just go or you may miss a perfect opportunity!

My mum and I took our pembantu (housekeeper), Iluh, to dinner one night on the tourist strip in Legian. We made “sweet memories” (i.e. we took way too many goofy posing photographs, with the Asian-style peace signs!) and got to learn about Iluh’s life outside of our home. After getting pregnant a couple of years ago, she was forced to marry the father of the child, Made. That child was eventually miscarried. Despite Iluh’s emotional suffering and her in-laws’ disdain at her inability to carry a child to term, she stayed with Made and eventually became pregnant again. Since their healthy daughter’s birth, Made has not been able to hold down a job, while Iluh slaves away at two. Iluh and his family argue constantly about how their daughter, Ninda, should be fed and clothed and educated, all the while Iluh is forced to give up all her hard-earned money to them. Iluh eventually left Made and went back to live with her mum, which has caused its own problems. According to Balinese custom, when a woman marries, she is supposed to live in the community of her husband’s family. Iluh’s mother’s banjar (community association) can therefore collect as much money as they see fit because she is not living where she should be. Iluh continues to fight with Made and his family, but divorce is not really an option as it is too expensive and can cause even more problems with both banjars of the people involved. Iluh hardly gets to see her daughter, as Balinese custom also holds that children are the property of the father and his family. Here I have been, complaining about what to do with my life, that I have too many options and don’t know what to do. I bet Iluh would do anything to be in my shoes; I have the entire world in front of me, with my “beautiful white skin” and my only limitations being my ability to dream. And unfortunately, Iluh is not the only person trapped in her life. I keep meeting Balinese people who have their own unhappy stories, having to go through life not being able to escape the lives set for them. I wonder if it is their contact with the West that has made so many Balinese realize that they are not happy with their lives, that there are people out there in the States or Canada or even nearby Australia, who actually get to chose their own destinies. Is this the new colonization? Spreading ideals of individuality and freedom that do not fit with traditional cultures? I feel almost guilty of my freedom, which allows me to sit in such a beautiful house, reading, swimming, not having to work, and spending my days instead daydreaming and researching possibilities for my future. How did I deserve this while Iluh doesn’t?

The cultural homogeneity here is striking. There are really only religious differences; there are Hindu, Muslim, Christian, and Buddhist Balinese. But physically, everyone looks the same. A fact that makes for a lot of attention as a white person – be it good or bad! Everywhere I go, I hear annoying offers of transportation, tours, and demands to look in people’s shop (Sun Chee will agree with this!). But no matter how tanned I get, my whiteness also makes it quite easy to make friends. I’ve quickly made friends with the DVD salesman on the beach, the servers at a couple of restaurants, and musicians at bars. There are so few white people that I guess those of us that stick around for a while are definitely recognizable – especially when we go to the same restaurants and shops all the time!! It’s such a stark contrast to Canada where everyone is different and yet still Canadian, and you don’t get a lot of attention just based on the color of your skin. It has definitely taken me a while to get used to the attention, but blocking out the bellowing hawkers is still a work in progress!

Several clubs and bars in Kuta (the really touristy part of Bali) charge Balinese a cover charge, and quite a high fee too if you take into consideration their average monthly income! And of course, white people get in free. My Balinese friends were rightfully quite pissed off about this, as was I. What are these bars trying to do? Piss off Balinese even more about the segregation between tourists and themselves? There is already an underlying (but very noticeable) tension about Balinese hanging out with tourists, and the cultural and economic differences between them. Keeping locals out of bars in their own country is only going to make people more angry about these differences, which, dare I say, are some of the same feelings that probably led to the two Bali bombings in the first place! I’m sure that the bombings are the reason for the cover charge for Balinese, but that’s blatantly discriminatory. And for the tourists, why would they want to hang out in a club that virtually blocks locals from entering (since most are not going to pay 1/10 of their salary just to get in!)? The tourists could be in a bar back home or anywhere else in the world and have the same experience! So I’ve started boycotting the clubs that demand a cover charge from Balinese and have opted instead to hang out at my Balinese friends’ local drinking hole… which is pretty literally that! Two pool tables, some chairs and a raised platform to sit on, and really cheap and good arak! A great night out there, with food and drinks and cigarettes (the most expensive of the three!), only comes to about 6 bucks! And it’s way more fun! :)

No longer a beach bum

I finally got a job! I’m going to be teaching online English conversation courses and subbing at an internationally-recognized school!! It sounds like a lot of fun. So I’ll finally be able to put my TESOL Certificate to use! It's funny though how quickly I've gotten used to not working. The idea of having a job again taking up so much of my time is a bit depressing. But at least I'm in a beautiful place to enjoy my time off!

Losar Tashi Delek!!!

HAPPY TIBETAN NEW YEAR!!!

I hope everyone has a prosperous and happy year of the fire pig, full of adventure and excitement! :)

Fittingly, I found a Tibetan Buddhist temple tucked away in the middle of rice paddies here in Bali! Driving past, I was surprisingly confronted and comforted by the 8 auspicious symbols and “Om Mani Padme Hum” written in Tibetan script on the front of the building. When I finally got the chance to explore the temple further, I found a strange combination of Tibetan, Chinese and Indonesian scripts and symbols. There were Chinese lanterns for the new year and out front of the temple was a small traditional Balinese Hindu temple (found in nearly every house and in front of important sites and buildings). On one of the alters inside, there was a picture of a Tibetan man standing with a monk, and a rack of books of Buddhist principles written by a Tibetan man (but only available in its Indonesian translation). The only person I could find at the temple spoke only Indonesian. My mum and I managed to understand that ceremonies and meditation sessions are held Sunday mornings, but the girl didn’t understand my question as to whether there was a Tibetan lama at the temple. I may just have to venture back with someone who speaks more Indonesian!

Surfer Girl!

I finally did it! I went surfing for my first time and it was SSOOOOOO much fun! We rented longboards (much easier for beginners) on Kuta beach and were practicing in the breaking waves (also easier for beginners!). I was so amazed at how fast it feels like you are moving and how huge and looming some of the waves are. I rode a lot of the waves because it was less scary to ride the big ones than to watch them approach and then have to go through them! In an hour, I managed to get up on my feet, but I was still hanging on to the sides of the board. Supposedly not bad for my first try – better than my mum at least!! I can see it being totally addictive, despite the liters of sea water that I snorted up my nose and I can’t wait to go again!

Arak Attack

Arak is a local rice wine that varies immensely in its quality. Some are really quite good, while others make you really sick. And at dinner the other night I ordered two “arak attacks” (arak mixed with sprite and grenadine)… normally a decent amount of alcohol comparable to two mixed drinks at home. But this was BAD arak. I was totally sloshed by the end of the first one – don’t ask me why I ordered another! And just like tequila, the effects just get worse over time. By the time I got home, I felt like I had drunk at least 6 drinks and smoked way too much!! I was sweating and nauseous and couldn’t even fall asleep I felt so shitty. They don’t call it an arak attack for nothing!

The next morning I swore that I wouldn’t drink arak anymore. But that didn’t last very long! That night, Shawna and I went out to a reggae bar and ended up drinking “jungle juice” (arak, vodka and passion fruit juice!) with a couple of guys from the band. At least it was good arak and no one was sick! :)

Back in Bali

We stopped in Kuala Lumpur on our way home – yes, I instinctively referred to Bali as home! – and it was strangely nice being in a developed city. Comforting, even. I think I kind of miss the luxuries and the familiarity of Western cities.

It is even stranger being back in Bali. It feels like being home, but it also feels safe and emotionally neutral in comparison to Cambodia – no recent and tangible memories of death. Well, at least nothing comparable to the widespread genocide under the Khmer Rouge. Despite how safe and comfortable Bali feels, Cambodia lingers on my mind. I applied for a human rights education position with Live and Learn, an organization works to promote access to land and forests for the Cambodian people. I felt grossly unqualified, but I know that my heart is in it and that I could learn fast enough to fill the position.

I didn’t think it would be Cambodia that would shake the human rights activist in me awake again. But it has. In my last months in Montreal, running away from my responsibilities with Students for a Free Tibet, I thought I had lost the passion and the drive to do human rights work. My experiences in Cambodia proved to me that my passion is still there. Maybe all it took was a break and a change of scenery to make me feel it again.

The darker side of Cambodia

On our second day in Phnom Penh, we decided to discover the history of the Khmer Rouge regime and headed to the Tuol Sleng genocide museum. Tuol Sleng is where the Khmer Rouge imprisoned, tortured and executed thousands of people in buildings that used to be a high school. Walking into the compound that was so obviously a school, I was struck by how much this didn’t seem like one. There was no laughter or positive energy, just a tangible heaviness and a whole lot of barbed wire. Building after building on all three floors housed classrooms converted into torture chambers, mass detention rooms and solitary confinement cells in both brick and wood. The old gym structure for climbing ropes had been used as gallows where the Khmer Rouge would hang prisoners from their backwards-twisted arms. When they passed out from the immense pain, the prisoners would be revived by being dunked into terracotta pots of stagnant water, normally used as fertilizer on the nearby fields. Other rooms housed rows of bulletin boards of photographs of prisoners, each with an expression of horror, sadness and fear blatantly painted on their faces. The next room was full of implements of torture and gory paintings of how the Khmer Rouge tortured Cambodian civilians. The paintings were not very well done, but seeing the images of brutality that were described in the book I read by Loung Ung made it all sink in. The final room full of skulls and bones and pictures of the Killing Fields was too much and my eyes finally brimmed with tears. What would drive anyone to do something like this to fellow human beings? The last rooms of individuals’ testimonies were too much to bear – I had to get out. But being out, amongst the hoards of insincere tourists floating about, was nearly as unbearable. How could they be standing there, laughing, making plans to go shopping, when we had just seen such brutality? I just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.

On the surface, Cambodians come across as positive, friendly and easygoing, but it doesn’t take much effort to see the negative effects genocide has had on them. Everyone has stories from the war and there are amputees everywhere. Cambodians cannot escape their collective past, but they are living with it and trying to cope the best they can. Like the Cambodians have done for the past three decades, I had to continue with my day, albeit slightly more conscious of the possibility of evil in regular people but also of the beauty in the living. The folded paper crane I found sitting on a cold metal torture chamber bed and the frangipani flowers on a mound of stained and tattered prisoners’ clothing were powerful and touching reminders of the past and stand in my mind as a sign of hope for the future.

Phnom Penh

We had the funniest ride back to Phnom Penh from the east. Over the course of the 10-hour trip, we must have stopped a million times, and for quite a few of them we were the last ones on the bus. At one stop the assistant to the driver came to get us at the bathrooms! And when we got on the bus the driver was jokingly shaking his finger at us. At the next stop we were standing around munching on fresh cashew nuts when he came up to us and pointed his finger to the bus as if it was time to get back on. I said “really?” and the guy starts laughing and walks away. As we were standing around, a group of boys came up to us, asking for money for food. One of them noticed Kendra’s tattoo and started laughing hysterically. He kept saying “cobra, cobra” – I guess he thought Kendra’s tattoo looked like a cobra. His hysterics got the whole bus laughing at us. On the bus, there was also an endless supply of Asian pop karaoke. They kept playing one awful song which had a couple phrases of horribly-pronounced English. Even though we moaned each time it came on, Claire and I learned the English parts pretty quickly and started singing along. The driver and his assistant started playing it on purpose just to see our reactions, and it got the whole bus laughing at us again! I swear, my family is a freakshow wherever we go!!

Everywhere I went in Cambodia, I found a striking resemblance between several locals and some of my Tibetan friends back home. A man on the bus back to Phnom Penh reminded me so much of Rinchen, in build, the way he laughed and the way he tapped his foot as we drove, waiting anxiously for his next cigarette – the resemblance was so uncanny my sister and I kept giggling. And I think the guy knew that I kept looking at him. Our bus driver even reminded us both of Tawang, my boss at Shambala. There were others too who reminded me of Tawang’s wife, and our friend Tashi. Weird, but a very nice reminder of home! :) (HI to you all!!!)

Most of our time in Phnom Penh was spent shopping at one of the gazillion markets and eating – both of which totally satisfied the conscious activist in me. There are shops everywhere set up by non-profit organizations working for HIV/AIDS patients, landmine victims, orphans, etc. You name a social problem and there is an organization for it in Cambodia. Kind of sad, but the situation provides a million possibilities for a person like me looking for a job or volunteer opportunities. A couple of the restaurants that we went to were set up by an organization called Mith Samlanh (Friends), which has set up housing, health services, counseling, primary education and vocational training for over 1,800 street children every day. They have also set up two restaurants training older street children to be cooks, servers, and hosts, giving them the experience necessary to get permanent jobs in the growing Cambodian service industry. I was really inspired that there were such influential organizations functioning in a country with less than 10 years of relative stability. For more information about Friends, check out their website: www.streetfriends.org.

We also had a very interesting glimpse at the underbelly of Cambodia one evening. Lured by a flyer for “buy one, get one free drinks” at a romantically titled lounge, Bogie and Bacall’s, we found only a seedy hostess bar with black lights and awful fluorescent posters of the actors in their heyday. Nothing at all like we had imagined from the name! This was also the first time we had ever been in a hostess bar, which put the sex tourism we had heard about in Cambodia front and centre! After the owner finally brought us drinkable drinks, we ate sweet popcorn from a vendor and giggled at another crazy scenario we had gotten ourselves into! That evening also made the sex tourism more obvious to me for the rest of the trip. Almost every evening I saw at least one or two white men – usually not so attractive – with younger and quite pretty Khmer girls. Funny that it’s so blatantly obvious what’s going on, even to me!

The dustier side of Cambodia

On the recommendation of friends, we decided to head out into the “wild east” of the country, along an increasingly bumpy and dusty road. Our first stop was in Kampong Cham, a sleepy town on the Mekong river. The wide waterfront walkway looked like the face of a town prepared for a boom in tourism that hasn’t yet happened. There wasn’t much to see other than a couple of temples (with monkeys!) which we avoided because we were all “templed out” after visiting close to a dozen temples at Angkor Wat (and because I still don’t like monkeys!!). The bamboo bridge across part of the Mekong was interesting – a shaky man-made structure built every year during the dry season to cross the shallow and un-navigable crossing to a large fruit bearing island in the middle of the river. It seemed like an aweful lot of work only to be washed away each year during the rainy season when the river swells to almost four times the size at which we see it.

At the end of the bright-orange-dusty and very bumpy road was Sen Monorom, set atop dry deforested rolling hills – hardly the jungle we had been told about. With our bags covered in the orange dust, we settled down two smartly dirt-coloured bungalows on the hills above town. In hindsight, our location was not so smart given the gusty wind, but at least we had solid windows unlike some of the other bungalows! I never thought I would be so cold in southeast Asia!!

The next day with a Cambodian Christian missionary and his two friends in the back of our truck, we set off on the even bumpier road to the Sen Monorom waterfalls. At his request, I posed for a picture with the Christian and his friends in front of the waterfall – normally something that I avoid doing. We exchanged e-mail addresses so I could send the photo to him, after which he called his wife on his handphone so that I could talk to her! In broken English, she managed to ask me if I was a Christian. When I replied “not really” I got a very sad “oh, sorry!”

A blind musician and his friend playing homemade instruments caught my attention next. They wanted to hear themselves so, surrounded by a couple dozen people attentively watching my camera, I videotaped them playing a song and then played it back to them. Kendra was on the other side of the crowd, similarly amusing some children by taking pictures of the group and then showing them. I think we must have spent close to an hour surrounded by Cambodians!

On the way back to the town, we stopped on top on a mountain and I was reconciled with my new Christian friend. He told us all about the deforestation of the mountains at the hands of large multinational corporations fed by the Cambodian government. He also told Claire and I his personal story of life under the Khmer Rouge. Claire and I have both been reading biographies of survivors from the war, but hearing it from a living, breathing survivor was so much more powerful. The emotion in the man’s voice was so captivating that we momentarily forgot the chilling gusts of wind blowing at us from all directions.

The next day, in our new Lacoste sweaters, purchased in the tiny town’s market, we set out on our elephant trek! Beautiful but very slow creatures. And not a very comfortable ride, but at least I can say that I did it!