We decided to compile a list of our favorite and least favorite places, people, and things that we've encountered during our travels. We are sad to say that it is our parting blog. I hope someone enjoyed reading these posts -- I can attest that we both enjoyed writing them, me a little more than Erin. I haven't been keeping a journal and this has been a good way to write down some of my thoughts. I think, in hindsight, I wish we would have brough a lap top along. There is wi-fi virtually everywhere (except Burma). And with a laptop we could have upload photos along the way, which speak much louder than any words of ours could convey, and we would have had more time to write. I have constantly felt hurried when writing the blog (as I've always paid for internet service along the way) or watched over my shoulder, which can be a bit discomfiting. In any event, it has been fun.
Favorite Country: Erin ("E") - Nepal Paul ("P) - Laos
Least Favorite: E - Karabagh P - Thailand (too disney worldish)
Favorite Big City: E - Bangkok P - Ho Chi Minh City (love the motorbikes and pho)
Least Favorite: E & P - Tbilisi, Georgia
Favorite Small Town/Village: E & P - Manang, Nepal
Least Favorite: E & P - Lukla, Nepal
Favorite Cuisine : E & P - Thai (by a wide margin)
Least Favorite: E & P - Nepali (by a wide margin)
Favorite Dishes: E & P - Aubergine with walnut paste (in Georgia), white snapper (Thailand), papaya salad (Thailand), lamajoon (Armenia), kausoi (Thailand)
Least Favorite: E & P - Dal Bhat that made us ill in Phakding, Nepal
Favorite Beer: E & P - Kazbegi (can't beat 13.5% alcohol content), Beer Lao (cheap and tasty)
Least Favorite: E & P - Everest (Nepal)
Favorite cordial: E & P - Ararat cognac (Armenia), tierbe (Austria)
Least Favorite: E & P - chang (Nepali home-made beer)
Most Friendly People: E & P - Burmese
Least Friendly: E & P - Armenians (sad but true)
Best mode of ground transport: E & P - Thai buses (they are luxury compared to buses elsewhere)
Worst mode of ground transport: E & P - mashruka (Georgia and Armenia)
Best bus ride: E &P - Mini van ride between Krabi and Chumpon, Thailand
Worst: E & P - the bus ride from hell between Bandahar and Kathmandu (by an extremely wide margin)
Favorite Active Place of Worship: E & P - Upper Pisang buddhist temple, Nepal
Favorite Ancient Temple: E & P - Anapat (Armenia). the Temples of Angkor (Cambodia)
Best Treatment of Animals: E & P - Thailand (by a wide margin)
Worst - E & P (Nepal)
Best Mountain: E & P - Ama Dablam, Daulagiri, Annapurna II (all in Nepal)
Best Refreshing Drink: E & P - Lime soda
Best Book Read During Our Travels: E & P - Shalimar the Clown, Salman Rushdie
Worst Book: E & P - So Close to Heaven (appalling bad)
Most Memorable Experience: E - Nepal treks P - Burma trek
Favorite Lodging: E - Halstatt room on the lake, P - monastery on Burma trek
Least Favorite: E & P - Yerevan homestay, Stepanakert guesthouse, Kangjuma teahouse (on Everest trek), Shangri-La guesthouse (Kathmandu)
Most Valuable Vegetable: E & P - Tomatoes, Eggplants, and Longbean
Most Valuable Herb: E & P - Mint
Most Difficult Place to Travel: E & P - Georgia and Armenia (by a wide margin)
Easiest: E & P - Thailand
Places we didn't see on this trip but that we'd like to see in the future:
1) Eastern Turkey (Western Armenia), including Erzrum and Mt. Ararat
2) Just Erin- Northern India (Dharmsala area)
3) Northern Vietnam (Hanoi, Halong Bay and Hoi Ann)
4) Other areas of Nepal (Manaslu, Makalu, Mustang, Dolpo, etc.)
5) Islands of Cambodia (before they get developed)
6) Just Paul - Svanetti, Georgia; Northern Burma
7) Just Erin- China (Udon and Beijing)
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Burma - Part III
The Trek.
Our trek took us from Kalaw to Inle Lake and it was, for me, the highlight of the trip. The trails we followed led us through a pastoral landscape of rolling hills and farms where every kind of produce was cultivated -- rice, tea, cabbage, ginger, onions, corn, wheat, etc. The first night we bedded down on the floor of a monastery, the second night in the bamboo hut of a family of 6.
There were five of us in all -- Erin, myself, a Swiss woman (who joined our group at the last minute), our venerable guide Meme, and our most excellent cook whose name regretfully escapes me. The trek passed through an area of the Shan State that is home to seven different tribes, each having their own language and customs. They were not accustomed to foreigners. They were as curious of us as we were of them. Whatever they were doing - picking chillis, harvesting ginger root, tending to a water buffalo, or hoeing the soil -- they invariably stopped and watched us passed, usually with a friendly smile. The kids always waved, often times running after us, and yelled "Goodbye," never "Hello." Neither kids nor adults ever begged of us although occassionally a child would ask for our empty water bottles which they used to carry water to the fields. Digital cameras fascinated them, their images projected on the LCD screen never failing to elicit enormous smiles and laughter.
The first night at the monastery will be emblazoned in my memory forever. The building itself was an airy, single story wooden building with tin tiered roofs shaped like a pagoda. We arrived at the monastery at twilight. As we entered, we saw on one side of the room our bedrolls laid out and on the other side a novice monk swathed in crimson robes sitting crosslegged on the floor underneath two open window frames, his bald dome lit up by the dying light like a golden stupa but the rest of his face cast in shadow, his posture and serene mein eerily remiscent of the noble Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now. He invited us to a cup of green tea. We sat on the floor before him and sipped our tea, always mindful to avoid pointing our feet towards him, which is an act of disrespect. As the light faded and a candle was lit I could see the rugged contours of his face. A purple scar ran across his right cheek. He was in his forties and built like an ox. He chewed stoically on bettle nut, occassionally leaning over to spit blood-red juice between the floorboards. No words passed between us (because he spoke no english and we obviously spoke no Burmese). Instead, he stared at me with his dark eyes for what seemed like an eternity, as if probing my soul to determine its worth. It was unnerving.
Then the head monk turned up. He shared none of the novice's perturbing traits. He was postively electric, owning the energy of ten men. He had decayed teeth, wild eyes and thin wild eyebrows -- the kind of eyebrows that work independently of each other and have the agility to contort into the full suite of trigonometric functions. He said nothing if it wasn't exclaimed with an ejaculation of ecstasy. Everyone was "happy" and we were all "brothers."
At dinner the wild-eyed monk joined us at the dinner table. Erin had already gotten up to go to bed. The monk sat next to the Swiss woman and began examining her from head to toe. She looked uncomfortable. The monk spoke to Meme in Burmese. Meme translated. Apparently the monk had the ability to read people's personality traits by looking at their facial features -- ears, mouth, lips, eyes, forehead and eyebrows. His power of discernment was acute, if not a bit creepy. The woman was incredulous as the monk read her like an open book.
At night we all slept in the same room. Us on one side of the room, our guide and cook on the other side of the room, and the monks behind the altar. The fragrance of incense filled the room. My age-worn blankets felt and smelled liked they been steeped in oil. A candle burned in front of the altar. The night air was chill. Erin was sick, battling another food-borne bug, waking up every hour or so to run to the outhouse which housed a large, no-so-kind-looking spider. Next to me were large burlap bags of rice, inside of which unseen animals nibbled away at the rice kernels, making a crunching noise in my ears. Rats in the cellar screeched and scratched at the floor boards. The tin roof creaked and groaned, as if seized by some outraged ghost. Every now and then one of the monks got up from his bed and crept across the room and out the front door to wander the grounds or use the outhouse, his slinking shadow projected against the wooden walls. At around 10 pm, a monk chanted the evening prayer while all of us laid still on our bedrolls in the darkness. The candle guttered and then went out. I couldn't sleep so I laid awake listening to the symphony of sounds around me, wondering when the rats would start nibbling on my toes. At around 11 pm the voice of our cook joined the din. He began talking in his sleep, jabbering away in Burmese (and sometimes in broken English even though he didn't know how to speak it during waking hours) and every now and then moaning like a disgruntled ghoul whenever someone made the least bit of noise. An hour later one of the monks farted (though neither one of them fessed up to it the next morning) and the floorboards rumbled. In response the cook moaned something terrible.
I got 2 hours of sleep that night I think. Erin slept less.
The next day I woke to the morning monk chant and a waft of incense. I put on my contacts and went outside to visit the outhouse. The wild-eyed monk was there sweeping leaves with a broom. He saw me out of the corner of his eye and held up the broom and exclaimed:
"In English, how say?"
"Broom," I replied.
Bram! Good! You happy?
"Yes, very."
"Good! Everyone happy here! America Good! Snow!"
"Lots of snow."
He began sweeping again, then paused, looked askance at me, raised his eyebrow in a perfect parabolic arch, then said: "Bram?"
"Broom"
"Yes, bram. Goooooood! Bram!" He waved the bram over his head.
He continued sweeping, muttering to himself, then stopped again and looked at me and said: Mikel Jockson! Yes Good! America!"
I had no idea what he meant. He said it again. Then I figured it out:
"Yes, Michael Jackson, American."
"Yes, Mikal Jockson, Gooooooood! But dead! Too bad! Everyone happy! Look around! Everyone happy!"
Later that morning I saw him crouching in the monastery, his back to me, his entire body lit up by the morning light pouring into the room from the two eastern window frames. He was muttering what sounded like the word "pussy" over and over again. So as not to disturb him I crept over to my bedroll to pack up my things but he saw me and turned his head, his right eyebrow nearly floating above his head, and exlaimed with utmost pleasure: "Pussy Cat!" I heard a cat meow and then lay on its back under the monk's robes. The monk rubbed the cat's belly and exclaimed again: "Pussy Cat!" I assured him that it was indeed a pussy cat, and a pretty pussy cat at that.
The second day we lunched in a small village where piles of recently harvested red chillis dried on tarps spread out here and there on the ground. The name of the village and tribe escapes me. The women of the tribe wore orange and red turbans on their heads. After lunch the Swiss woman, who had the brilliant idea of bringing balloons along the trek, began blowing them up for the little kids who had gathered to watch our freak show come through the village. It turned into raucus fun, the kids swatting at the balloons, the parents and teenagers watching on with wonder and amusement. I think half the village was there, standing in a semi-circle around a pile of dried chillis, laughing and carrying on.
Later that day, we approached the village in which we were to sleep that night. It was the end of the day, the sun on the verge of setting over the rolling hills to the west. All of the villagers were coming home from the fields and pastures, converging on the lone road which led into the the village. Small children rode on the back of water buffaloes, Brahman cattle pulled carts laden with ginger root, young girls with red and orange turbans carried hoes twice their size on their shoulders, and woman balanced baskets of ginger root on their heads.
We spent the night in a hut of a family of six. We slept on mats on the floor in the main room (which served as the dining room and living room). The room next to us, separated by a bamboo mat, housed the family, including among others the grandfather who had to be carried to the kitchen fire by his grandson, a novice monk, because he was too infirm to walk.
We arrived at Inle on the third day. Inle is an idylic lake hemmed in all sides by mountains similar in shape, size and feel to the Sangre De Christos. Floating gardens of tomatoes and other produce fringe the margins of the lake, and among these gardens villages of bamboo huts stand on skinny wooden stilts 20 feet above the water. In the middle of the lake fisherman balance precariously on one leg on the back of canoes, their other leg wrapped around an oar, which serves as the rudder and mode of propulsion, while their hands are busy casting nets into the inky, placid waters.
I could go on but I need to see some more of Bangkok before we jet.
Our trek took us from Kalaw to Inle Lake and it was, for me, the highlight of the trip. The trails we followed led us through a pastoral landscape of rolling hills and farms where every kind of produce was cultivated -- rice, tea, cabbage, ginger, onions, corn, wheat, etc. The first night we bedded down on the floor of a monastery, the second night in the bamboo hut of a family of 6.
There were five of us in all -- Erin, myself, a Swiss woman (who joined our group at the last minute), our venerable guide Meme, and our most excellent cook whose name regretfully escapes me. The trek passed through an area of the Shan State that is home to seven different tribes, each having their own language and customs. They were not accustomed to foreigners. They were as curious of us as we were of them. Whatever they were doing - picking chillis, harvesting ginger root, tending to a water buffalo, or hoeing the soil -- they invariably stopped and watched us passed, usually with a friendly smile. The kids always waved, often times running after us, and yelled "Goodbye," never "Hello." Neither kids nor adults ever begged of us although occassionally a child would ask for our empty water bottles which they used to carry water to the fields. Digital cameras fascinated them, their images projected on the LCD screen never failing to elicit enormous smiles and laughter.
The first night at the monastery will be emblazoned in my memory forever. The building itself was an airy, single story wooden building with tin tiered roofs shaped like a pagoda. We arrived at the monastery at twilight. As we entered, we saw on one side of the room our bedrolls laid out and on the other side a novice monk swathed in crimson robes sitting crosslegged on the floor underneath two open window frames, his bald dome lit up by the dying light like a golden stupa but the rest of his face cast in shadow, his posture and serene mein eerily remiscent of the noble Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now. He invited us to a cup of green tea. We sat on the floor before him and sipped our tea, always mindful to avoid pointing our feet towards him, which is an act of disrespect. As the light faded and a candle was lit I could see the rugged contours of his face. A purple scar ran across his right cheek. He was in his forties and built like an ox. He chewed stoically on bettle nut, occassionally leaning over to spit blood-red juice between the floorboards. No words passed between us (because he spoke no english and we obviously spoke no Burmese). Instead, he stared at me with his dark eyes for what seemed like an eternity, as if probing my soul to determine its worth. It was unnerving.
Then the head monk turned up. He shared none of the novice's perturbing traits. He was postively electric, owning the energy of ten men. He had decayed teeth, wild eyes and thin wild eyebrows -- the kind of eyebrows that work independently of each other and have the agility to contort into the full suite of trigonometric functions. He said nothing if it wasn't exclaimed with an ejaculation of ecstasy. Everyone was "happy" and we were all "brothers."
At dinner the wild-eyed monk joined us at the dinner table. Erin had already gotten up to go to bed. The monk sat next to the Swiss woman and began examining her from head to toe. She looked uncomfortable. The monk spoke to Meme in Burmese. Meme translated. Apparently the monk had the ability to read people's personality traits by looking at their facial features -- ears, mouth, lips, eyes, forehead and eyebrows. His power of discernment was acute, if not a bit creepy. The woman was incredulous as the monk read her like an open book.
At night we all slept in the same room. Us on one side of the room, our guide and cook on the other side of the room, and the monks behind the altar. The fragrance of incense filled the room. My age-worn blankets felt and smelled liked they been steeped in oil. A candle burned in front of the altar. The night air was chill. Erin was sick, battling another food-borne bug, waking up every hour or so to run to the outhouse which housed a large, no-so-kind-looking spider. Next to me were large burlap bags of rice, inside of which unseen animals nibbled away at the rice kernels, making a crunching noise in my ears. Rats in the cellar screeched and scratched at the floor boards. The tin roof creaked and groaned, as if seized by some outraged ghost. Every now and then one of the monks got up from his bed and crept across the room and out the front door to wander the grounds or use the outhouse, his slinking shadow projected against the wooden walls. At around 10 pm, a monk chanted the evening prayer while all of us laid still on our bedrolls in the darkness. The candle guttered and then went out. I couldn't sleep so I laid awake listening to the symphony of sounds around me, wondering when the rats would start nibbling on my toes. At around 11 pm the voice of our cook joined the din. He began talking in his sleep, jabbering away in Burmese (and sometimes in broken English even though he didn't know how to speak it during waking hours) and every now and then moaning like a disgruntled ghoul whenever someone made the least bit of noise. An hour later one of the monks farted (though neither one of them fessed up to it the next morning) and the floorboards rumbled. In response the cook moaned something terrible.
I got 2 hours of sleep that night I think. Erin slept less.
The next day I woke to the morning monk chant and a waft of incense. I put on my contacts and went outside to visit the outhouse. The wild-eyed monk was there sweeping leaves with a broom. He saw me out of the corner of his eye and held up the broom and exclaimed:
"In English, how say?"
"Broom," I replied.
Bram! Good! You happy?
"Yes, very."
"Good! Everyone happy here! America Good! Snow!"
"Lots of snow."
He began sweeping again, then paused, looked askance at me, raised his eyebrow in a perfect parabolic arch, then said: "Bram?"
"Broom"
"Yes, bram. Goooooood! Bram!" He waved the bram over his head.
He continued sweeping, muttering to himself, then stopped again and looked at me and said: Mikel Jockson! Yes Good! America!"
I had no idea what he meant. He said it again. Then I figured it out:
"Yes, Michael Jackson, American."
"Yes, Mikal Jockson, Gooooooood! But dead! Too bad! Everyone happy! Look around! Everyone happy!"
Later that morning I saw him crouching in the monastery, his back to me, his entire body lit up by the morning light pouring into the room from the two eastern window frames. He was muttering what sounded like the word "pussy" over and over again. So as not to disturb him I crept over to my bedroll to pack up my things but he saw me and turned his head, his right eyebrow nearly floating above his head, and exlaimed with utmost pleasure: "Pussy Cat!" I heard a cat meow and then lay on its back under the monk's robes. The monk rubbed the cat's belly and exclaimed again: "Pussy Cat!" I assured him that it was indeed a pussy cat, and a pretty pussy cat at that.
The second day we lunched in a small village where piles of recently harvested red chillis dried on tarps spread out here and there on the ground. The name of the village and tribe escapes me. The women of the tribe wore orange and red turbans on their heads. After lunch the Swiss woman, who had the brilliant idea of bringing balloons along the trek, began blowing them up for the little kids who had gathered to watch our freak show come through the village. It turned into raucus fun, the kids swatting at the balloons, the parents and teenagers watching on with wonder and amusement. I think half the village was there, standing in a semi-circle around a pile of dried chillis, laughing and carrying on.
Later that day, we approached the village in which we were to sleep that night. It was the end of the day, the sun on the verge of setting over the rolling hills to the west. All of the villagers were coming home from the fields and pastures, converging on the lone road which led into the the village. Small children rode on the back of water buffaloes, Brahman cattle pulled carts laden with ginger root, young girls with red and orange turbans carried hoes twice their size on their shoulders, and woman balanced baskets of ginger root on their heads.
We spent the night in a hut of a family of six. We slept on mats on the floor in the main room (which served as the dining room and living room). The room next to us, separated by a bamboo mat, housed the family, including among others the grandfather who had to be carried to the kitchen fire by his grandson, a novice monk, because he was too infirm to walk.
We arrived at Inle on the third day. Inle is an idylic lake hemmed in all sides by mountains similar in shape, size and feel to the Sangre De Christos. Floating gardens of tomatoes and other produce fringe the margins of the lake, and among these gardens villages of bamboo huts stand on skinny wooden stilts 20 feet above the water. In the middle of the lake fisherman balance precariously on one leg on the back of canoes, their other leg wrapped around an oar, which serves as the rudder and mode of propulsion, while their hands are busy casting nets into the inky, placid waters.
I could go on but I need to see some more of Bangkok before we jet.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Eating our way through SE Asia- Food Blog!
Its about darn time for a food post as eating has been one of the greatest pleasures of our travels! I think we would be remiss if we didn't take a moment to tell you about our culinary adventures of the past couple months. When we landed in Bangkok for the first time we were almost drooling with the thought of Pad Thai and really any type of food other than Dahl Bhat (which has left quite an impression on us). Now that we've sampled Thai, Lao, Khmer (Cambodian), Vietnamese and Burmese food, I can say that Thai is our overwhelming favorite. Mostly I think we love it because the Thais are not afraid of their chili and neither are we! Yum!
Things that we've enjoyed throughout Asia include lime soda (discovered in Nepal actually) which is simply soda water with fresh squeezed lime and just might be the most refreshing beverage ever invented. We since plan to bring this favorite home. Another fortuitous find is that, despite the unfortunate consequences of colonization by the French, excellent crusty baguettes can be found from the streets to the bus stations in Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam.
Starting with Thailand, some of our consistent favorites have been the Pad Thai (duh!) which is different from home in that it doesn't have cilantro and you can usually get them to mix some fresh chilis in as well as the papaya salad which is usually hot enough to knock your socks off. Another wonderfully ubiquitous treat is the fruit lassie, a yogurt shake with ice and fruit, and every kind of fresh tropical fruit imaginable- pineapple, mango, coconut, banana, paypaya...these tasty fruit snacks come in convenient plastic baggies, pre-cut with a toothpick as fork.
Paul's favorite meal, recently consumed at Koh Yao Noi, was grilled white snapper with its head still intact, served with garlic, chili, and veggies. My favorite was our thanksgiving meal at a vegetarian place in Chang Mai. We ate papaya salad that made my nose run, spring rolls with tofu and carrot sauce, Pad thai with bean sprouts and tofu, and Kausoi which was a complex yellow coconut curry with soft and crispy noodles and spice that made my nose run even harder. We finished off the night with a glass of boxed wine and some killer pumpkin pie.
In Laos I think its fair to say that our favorite was the Lap which is called a "salad" but is served with rice. Lap is a savory and sour treat of shredded beef, chicken or pork ( or tofu which wasn't as good) mixed with mint, lime, and secret spices. So good! I also really enjoyed their curries especially over a bowl of long beans, squeaky green eggplant, tomatoes, pumpkin and potatoes. The Lao curry that I sampled was always coconut based and excellent in a straightforward way. Other notable Lao dishes that we sampled were sautéd wild mushroom salad, the Laung Prabang salad with watercress, hard boiled eggs and dijon dressing, and pumpkin soup. We found mexican-quality margaritas at Rosellas Cafe, enjoyed with the chef on the banks of the river in Luang Prabang.
Cambodia- Khmer cuisine wasn't my favorite, they eat tarantulas there! But some notables were the Amok which is basically a coconut curry baked and served in a coconut with veggies and rice. Cambodia is also where I decided to stop eating chicken after a very sad encounter with a half conscious chicken and a butcher block in the market. I haven't eaten any meat since, we'll see how long it lasts when I get in the vacinity of Blakes Lottaburger. The beat thing we ate in Cambodia was crabs on the cost in Kep drenched in curry and famous Kampot pepper. I received eating wounds trying to dig every last morsel out of my crab legs but I was certainty in my element!
Vietnam was tricky for us I had very high food expectations that were bound to be dashed by the reality of tourist food on Phu Quock island. Lucky for us we found the night market and feasted on bowls of vermicelli with mint, basil, bean sprouts, lime and fresh shrimp. Heaven! At long last, the food we had dreamed of! Things improved for us in the food department when we got to Ho Chi Minh City. In HCMC we found the Pho and ate it for every meal one day including a snack. Pho is a big bowl of rice noodles with whatever type of meat (or none) that you desire and its served with the "salad" of basil, bean sprouts, chili and awesome chili sauce. Other Vietname delights were found at a veggie restaurant; mushrooms and tofu sautéd in a claypot, vietnamese pancake filled with yummy veggies and the fresh spring rolls with mint and other herbs. Vietnamese coffee, while renowned and sipped everywhere, is not my favorite. I don't care for the Lao or Thai versions either as condensed milk is just too sickeningly sweet for me. It all comes that way even if you ask for fresh milk.
For me the highlight of Burmese food was the tomato salad with onion, peanuts, sesame seeds and garlic covered with peanut oil. Very tasty. We had four excellent nights of Indian food in Bagan at the Wonderful Tasty restaurant where we could get lentil soup, veggie curry, fresh chipati, rice and sauteed veggies for 5$. A great deal and served by the very sweet toothless owner. I also enjoyed the Shan noodle soup, which is heavy on the sesame seeds, and noodle soup with coconut milk, veggies and an egg on top, as well as the fresh "mountain" rice that we were served on our trek. As far as I could tell mountain rice is akin to brown rice with the skin intact. Unfortunately for me I got a violent case of food poisoning from an unconfirmed source in Kalaw and wasn't able to enjoy the seemingly delectable dishes served by our guide Meme on our trek.
We are on the way to Bangkok at the moment and I've been combing the restaurant reviews to find a suitable place for our last SE Asian meal before we head back to the land of enchiladas, real pizza, burgers and salad, oh yummy greens how I crave you! As much as I'm ready for my favorite American foods and their hygienic preparation, we are making plans to do some serious shopping at the asian food market in Albuquerque before we head north, we already know that we will miss this fantastic food!
Things that we've enjoyed throughout Asia include lime soda (discovered in Nepal actually) which is simply soda water with fresh squeezed lime and just might be the most refreshing beverage ever invented. We since plan to bring this favorite home. Another fortuitous find is that, despite the unfortunate consequences of colonization by the French, excellent crusty baguettes can be found from the streets to the bus stations in Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam.
Starting with Thailand, some of our consistent favorites have been the Pad Thai (duh!) which is different from home in that it doesn't have cilantro and you can usually get them to mix some fresh chilis in as well as the papaya salad which is usually hot enough to knock your socks off. Another wonderfully ubiquitous treat is the fruit lassie, a yogurt shake with ice and fruit, and every kind of fresh tropical fruit imaginable- pineapple, mango, coconut, banana, paypaya...these tasty fruit snacks come in convenient plastic baggies, pre-cut with a toothpick as fork.
Paul's favorite meal, recently consumed at Koh Yao Noi, was grilled white snapper with its head still intact, served with garlic, chili, and veggies. My favorite was our thanksgiving meal at a vegetarian place in Chang Mai. We ate papaya salad that made my nose run, spring rolls with tofu and carrot sauce, Pad thai with bean sprouts and tofu, and Kausoi which was a complex yellow coconut curry with soft and crispy noodles and spice that made my nose run even harder. We finished off the night with a glass of boxed wine and some killer pumpkin pie.
In Laos I think its fair to say that our favorite was the Lap which is called a "salad" but is served with rice. Lap is a savory and sour treat of shredded beef, chicken or pork ( or tofu which wasn't as good) mixed with mint, lime, and secret spices. So good! I also really enjoyed their curries especially over a bowl of long beans, squeaky green eggplant, tomatoes, pumpkin and potatoes. The Lao curry that I sampled was always coconut based and excellent in a straightforward way. Other notable Lao dishes that we sampled were sautéd wild mushroom salad, the Laung Prabang salad with watercress, hard boiled eggs and dijon dressing, and pumpkin soup. We found mexican-quality margaritas at Rosellas Cafe, enjoyed with the chef on the banks of the river in Luang Prabang.
Cambodia- Khmer cuisine wasn't my favorite, they eat tarantulas there! But some notables were the Amok which is basically a coconut curry baked and served in a coconut with veggies and rice. Cambodia is also where I decided to stop eating chicken after a very sad encounter with a half conscious chicken and a butcher block in the market. I haven't eaten any meat since, we'll see how long it lasts when I get in the vacinity of Blakes Lottaburger. The beat thing we ate in Cambodia was crabs on the cost in Kep drenched in curry and famous Kampot pepper. I received eating wounds trying to dig every last morsel out of my crab legs but I was certainty in my element!
Vietnam was tricky for us I had very high food expectations that were bound to be dashed by the reality of tourist food on Phu Quock island. Lucky for us we found the night market and feasted on bowls of vermicelli with mint, basil, bean sprouts, lime and fresh shrimp. Heaven! At long last, the food we had dreamed of! Things improved for us in the food department when we got to Ho Chi Minh City. In HCMC we found the Pho and ate it for every meal one day including a snack. Pho is a big bowl of rice noodles with whatever type of meat (or none) that you desire and its served with the "salad" of basil, bean sprouts, chili and awesome chili sauce. Other Vietname delights were found at a veggie restaurant; mushrooms and tofu sautéd in a claypot, vietnamese pancake filled with yummy veggies and the fresh spring rolls with mint and other herbs. Vietnamese coffee, while renowned and sipped everywhere, is not my favorite. I don't care for the Lao or Thai versions either as condensed milk is just too sickeningly sweet for me. It all comes that way even if you ask for fresh milk.
For me the highlight of Burmese food was the tomato salad with onion, peanuts, sesame seeds and garlic covered with peanut oil. Very tasty. We had four excellent nights of Indian food in Bagan at the Wonderful Tasty restaurant where we could get lentil soup, veggie curry, fresh chipati, rice and sauteed veggies for 5$. A great deal and served by the very sweet toothless owner. I also enjoyed the Shan noodle soup, which is heavy on the sesame seeds, and noodle soup with coconut milk, veggies and an egg on top, as well as the fresh "mountain" rice that we were served on our trek. As far as I could tell mountain rice is akin to brown rice with the skin intact. Unfortunately for me I got a violent case of food poisoning from an unconfirmed source in Kalaw and wasn't able to enjoy the seemingly delectable dishes served by our guide Meme on our trek.
We are on the way to Bangkok at the moment and I've been combing the restaurant reviews to find a suitable place for our last SE Asian meal before we head back to the land of enchiladas, real pizza, burgers and salad, oh yummy greens how I crave you! As much as I'm ready for my favorite American foods and their hygienic preparation, we are making plans to do some serious shopping at the asian food market in Albuquerque before we head north, we already know that we will miss this fantastic food!
Friday, January 14, 2011
Burma - Part II
Before I pick up the Burma thread again I need to take a moment to brag. The seafood in the Thai islands is something to make a whole trip out of -- and if there is one dish not to be missed it is the fried white snapper (whole) seasoned with garlic and thai chillis. I'm still in a swoon.
Back to Burma. I don't really know what to say about the government other than it felt like there was a secret, concerted effort, perpetrated at the highest levels, to deceive foreigners into believing that everything is on the up and up. We obviously knew better, as do most other travelers there, which made it all the more bizarre.
As for witnessing first hand the terrible atrocities inflicted upon the people, or the insidious acts of Big Brother, or even the subtle or not so subtle day-to-day oppression, we saw nothing of the kind --- except, of course, we did have a policeman take a photograph of us while crossing a busy intersection in Yangon on our first day there. That threw me into a brief fit of paranoia.
We became immediately aware, through the people's unwillingness to broach the subject, that talking about the government is not copacetic. We heard offhand comments about how the "government is bad but the people are good," but we never felt comfortable (and the guidebooks expressly tell you to stay away from the subject of politics as it could put the local with whom you are speaking at risk of governmental persecution) to delve any further.
Some interesting things about Burma:
1) The capitol of Myanmar used to be Yangon. Now, thanks to General Than Shwe's astrologer, who thought it propitious to move the capitol somewhere else, the capitol is Nay Pyi Taw, a god-forsaken place in the middle of nowhere. It is totally off-limits to foreigners (as is vast swaths of the Karen, Kachin, Chin and Shan states).
2) The same astrologer who convinced the reigning general to move the capitol to Nay Pyi Taw also apparently convinced him that it was bad luck to have currency in denominations of 10, 20, 100,etc. So, at the behest of his trusted adviser, he changed the currency to multiples of 9, issuing notes worth 45 kyats and 90 kyats.
3) The internet in Burma is at least ten years behind the rest of the world in terms of speed. Access to a political websites, as well as otherwise harmless sites, are blocked. Access to our blog was blocked.
4) There are no ATM machines in Burma, world-wide economic sanctions forcing multi-national banks to leave the country. My guess is that Burma has to be the only country in the world without an ATM.
5) No one takes credit cards. Plastic is worthless.
6) Because there are no ATMs, and credit cards are worthless, you have to take with you into Burma all the money you will need for your travels. The money needs to be US dollars, and they need to be crisp and clean and newly issued. If there is the slightest imperfection -- a wrinkle or fold or bend in the bill -- or if the bill has an old serial number, it will be rejected, with no explanation as to why it was rejected. It is extremely amusing watching the Burmese examine a US bill with the same kind of scrutiny a jeweler would apply in examining a precious gem to determine if it was real or fake.
Moving on to the people: They are poor. Dirt poor. Which makes it all the more amazing that they are so kind and friendly. At times it felt like Erin and I were the leads in a remake of the Truman Show.
All the women and children smear thanaka (a thick, tan cream made from an indiginous tree) on their cheeks, and sometimes their foreheads, to protect their skin from the harmful rays of the sun. The combination of the thanaka and their sad and wistfull eyes makes them look like ghosts. The men wear longyis (a man skirt), and everyone, including grandpas and grandmas, chew the betel nut, which causes their teeth to turn red and then decay in lovely jagged patterns, lending their smiles an air of goofiness.
As I mentioned before, they are devoutly Buddhist -- the wellspring (I think) from which they draw their strength, patience and compassion to be such gentle and equable people. Every man is required to serve in the monastery as a novice. The minimum time is a week but many Burmese stay in the monastery for months.
Monks are abound in Burma -- you see them every morning taking alms from the people on the streets and in the shops.
Back to Burma. I don't really know what to say about the government other than it felt like there was a secret, concerted effort, perpetrated at the highest levels, to deceive foreigners into believing that everything is on the up and up. We obviously knew better, as do most other travelers there, which made it all the more bizarre.
As for witnessing first hand the terrible atrocities inflicted upon the people, or the insidious acts of Big Brother, or even the subtle or not so subtle day-to-day oppression, we saw nothing of the kind --- except, of course, we did have a policeman take a photograph of us while crossing a busy intersection in Yangon on our first day there. That threw me into a brief fit of paranoia.
We became immediately aware, through the people's unwillingness to broach the subject, that talking about the government is not copacetic. We heard offhand comments about how the "government is bad but the people are good," but we never felt comfortable (and the guidebooks expressly tell you to stay away from the subject of politics as it could put the local with whom you are speaking at risk of governmental persecution) to delve any further.
Some interesting things about Burma:
1) The capitol of Myanmar used to be Yangon. Now, thanks to General Than Shwe's astrologer, who thought it propitious to move the capitol somewhere else, the capitol is Nay Pyi Taw, a god-forsaken place in the middle of nowhere. It is totally off-limits to foreigners (as is vast swaths of the Karen, Kachin, Chin and Shan states).
2) The same astrologer who convinced the reigning general to move the capitol to Nay Pyi Taw also apparently convinced him that it was bad luck to have currency in denominations of 10, 20, 100,etc. So, at the behest of his trusted adviser, he changed the currency to multiples of 9, issuing notes worth 45 kyats and 90 kyats.
3) The internet in Burma is at least ten years behind the rest of the world in terms of speed. Access to a political websites, as well as otherwise harmless sites, are blocked. Access to our blog was blocked.
4) There are no ATM machines in Burma, world-wide economic sanctions forcing multi-national banks to leave the country. My guess is that Burma has to be the only country in the world without an ATM.
5) No one takes credit cards. Plastic is worthless.
6) Because there are no ATMs, and credit cards are worthless, you have to take with you into Burma all the money you will need for your travels. The money needs to be US dollars, and they need to be crisp and clean and newly issued. If there is the slightest imperfection -- a wrinkle or fold or bend in the bill -- or if the bill has an old serial number, it will be rejected, with no explanation as to why it was rejected. It is extremely amusing watching the Burmese examine a US bill with the same kind of scrutiny a jeweler would apply in examining a precious gem to determine if it was real or fake.
Moving on to the people: They are poor. Dirt poor. Which makes it all the more amazing that they are so kind and friendly. At times it felt like Erin and I were the leads in a remake of the Truman Show.
All the women and children smear thanaka (a thick, tan cream made from an indiginous tree) on their cheeks, and sometimes their foreheads, to protect their skin from the harmful rays of the sun. The combination of the thanaka and their sad and wistfull eyes makes them look like ghosts. The men wear longyis (a man skirt), and everyone, including grandpas and grandmas, chew the betel nut, which causes their teeth to turn red and then decay in lovely jagged patterns, lending their smiles an air of goofiness.
As I mentioned before, they are devoutly Buddhist -- the wellspring (I think) from which they draw their strength, patience and compassion to be such gentle and equable people. Every man is required to serve in the monastery as a novice. The minimum time is a week but many Burmese stay in the monastery for months.
Monks are abound in Burma -- you see them every morning taking alms from the people on the streets and in the shops.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Burma - Part I
We're back! We're now in Thailand, on an island called Koh Yeah Noi in Phang Nga Bay in the Andamar Sea, where jungle-clad limestone karts jut serenely out of the turquoise sea. This is our respite before our return to the states -- which is only 6 days away. How time flies!
I'll preface my thoughts on Burma by saying that Erin and I had serious reservations about going to Burma -- not so much because of the recent elections and the possible upheaval it could have caused, but because we were reluctant to give any of our money to the Burmese government, which (as everybody knows) isn't known for being kind to its citizens. In the end our curiousity about the place was too much to ignore and we hopped on board a flight to Yangoon. I can say now that we made the right decision. I knew it every time we bought something -- anything at all -- from a person on the street and their face lit up with gratitude. The people are so affable, kind and quick to smile - they are quite simply the friendliest people I think I've ever come across in my travels. Giving them money made my heart sing.
Moving on to the trip: In short, Burma was fascinating. Because there is so much to recount, I'm gonna have do it in installments. For now I'll just do a brief summary of our trip. We started in Yangoon and spent a couple of nights there. Yangoon is an engima, and I'm still trying to get my head around it. The northern fringe of the city is home to upscale resorts (that looked virtually abandoned) for the package tourists (which apparently consist of nearly 90% of the foreigners who travel to Burma), well-manicured parks, and wealthy suburbs. The rest of the city is a carcass, a pathetic example of the government's complete and utter neglect of it's obligation to the people. The infrastructure is decrepit, the buildings are crumbling, and the sidewalks are laughably hazardous, with gaping holes that could swallow you whole if you don't pay close enough attention. The buses are relics, built in an era predating the dawning of the dinosaurs. They should be mercifully enshrined in the Museum of Contraptions and Conveyances of the Sick, Sadistic and Perverse. The highlight of the city is the Shwedagon Pagoda, a glimmering golden stupa about 10 stories high that can be seen from pretty much anywhere in the city. It is the country's beacon of Buddhism -- the religion which predominates throughout Burma. There are some muslims and christians and hindus but they are a very very small minority.
From Yangoon we flew to Bagan and spent four days riding rickety bicycles to old buddhist temples and pagodas strewn across an arid plain, hemmed in on three sides by mountains and on the fourth by the Irrawaddy River. There are about 4000 temples and pagodas in all, many of which you can scramble to the top of and get jaw-dropping, 360-degree views of spire after spire after spire jutting through the trees.
From Bagan we took a 10-hour, bone-rattling, chicken-bus ride to a small town called Kalaw where we hired a guide to take us on a three-day trek to Inle Lake. The trek and Inle Lake (where we spent another 4 days) will be the subject of another installment -- as there is far too much to tell and, if I went into depth about it now, it would keep me here in front of the keyboard the rest of the night -- but, in short, it was one of the highlights of our trip. In fact, I'll be so bold as to say it was the highlight of the trip (Erin loved it too but I think she's still clinging to the Annapurna trek -- and rightfully so -- as her personal fav.)
After Inle, due to time constraints and GI issues, we decided to fly back to Yangoon where we spent one more night prowling the pell-mell streets. Two flights later and a boat across the bay, we're now getting our much-sought-after beach time.
Maybe tomorrow I'll have time to blog about the Burmese people some more, the government, and our trek. Hope all is well.
I'll preface my thoughts on Burma by saying that Erin and I had serious reservations about going to Burma -- not so much because of the recent elections and the possible upheaval it could have caused, but because we were reluctant to give any of our money to the Burmese government, which (as everybody knows) isn't known for being kind to its citizens. In the end our curiousity about the place was too much to ignore and we hopped on board a flight to Yangoon. I can say now that we made the right decision. I knew it every time we bought something -- anything at all -- from a person on the street and their face lit up with gratitude. The people are so affable, kind and quick to smile - they are quite simply the friendliest people I think I've ever come across in my travels. Giving them money made my heart sing.
Moving on to the trip: In short, Burma was fascinating. Because there is so much to recount, I'm gonna have do it in installments. For now I'll just do a brief summary of our trip. We started in Yangoon and spent a couple of nights there. Yangoon is an engima, and I'm still trying to get my head around it. The northern fringe of the city is home to upscale resorts (that looked virtually abandoned) for the package tourists (which apparently consist of nearly 90% of the foreigners who travel to Burma), well-manicured parks, and wealthy suburbs. The rest of the city is a carcass, a pathetic example of the government's complete and utter neglect of it's obligation to the people. The infrastructure is decrepit, the buildings are crumbling, and the sidewalks are laughably hazardous, with gaping holes that could swallow you whole if you don't pay close enough attention. The buses are relics, built in an era predating the dawning of the dinosaurs. They should be mercifully enshrined in the Museum of Contraptions and Conveyances of the Sick, Sadistic and Perverse. The highlight of the city is the Shwedagon Pagoda, a glimmering golden stupa about 10 stories high that can be seen from pretty much anywhere in the city. It is the country's beacon of Buddhism -- the religion which predominates throughout Burma. There are some muslims and christians and hindus but they are a very very small minority.
From Yangoon we flew to Bagan and spent four days riding rickety bicycles to old buddhist temples and pagodas strewn across an arid plain, hemmed in on three sides by mountains and on the fourth by the Irrawaddy River. There are about 4000 temples and pagodas in all, many of which you can scramble to the top of and get jaw-dropping, 360-degree views of spire after spire after spire jutting through the trees.
From Bagan we took a 10-hour, bone-rattling, chicken-bus ride to a small town called Kalaw where we hired a guide to take us on a three-day trek to Inle Lake. The trek and Inle Lake (where we spent another 4 days) will be the subject of another installment -- as there is far too much to tell and, if I went into depth about it now, it would keep me here in front of the keyboard the rest of the night -- but, in short, it was one of the highlights of our trip. In fact, I'll be so bold as to say it was the highlight of the trip (Erin loved it too but I think she's still clinging to the Annapurna trek -- and rightfully so -- as her personal fav.)
After Inle, due to time constraints and GI issues, we decided to fly back to Yangoon where we spent one more night prowling the pell-mell streets. Two flights later and a boat across the bay, we're now getting our much-sought-after beach time.
Maybe tomorrow I'll have time to blog about the Burmese people some more, the government, and our trek. Hope all is well.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Burma
We're now in Bangkok. Our plan was to come here and see what we could do to get a visa for Burma, thinking it might take a few days to process the application (or that we might not get one at all). We got the visa in two hours - no hassle whatsoever. We booked our flight and we leave for Yangoon tomorrow. We'll be there for two weeks, coming back to Bangkok on January 12. We've heard rumors that there is internet access in Burma now so I may be able to blog from there (that is, if this site isn't blocked). Our rough itinerary is to fly to Mandalay in the north (or somewhere near there) and work our way south over land and by river toward Yangoon. We're both really excited. Everyone, have a very happy new year!
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Pho and Mopeds
I think it's worth a trip to Saigon just to eat pho every breakfast, lunch and dinner and watch the moped brigades clog the streets at rush hour. In the morning and late afternoon, when the brigades are at full strength, the busier streets are flooded with a mass of humanity akin to the chaotic surge and squeeze of the thousands of marathon runners on the Verezano Bridge at the start of the NYC marathon. It is no less a spectacle than seeing the largest mountains in the world.
I realized today that my blog yesterday about the food markets may have been somewhat ambiguous. There are the food markets where raw produce, meats and fish are sold -- that is the kind of market to which I referred yesterday. The other kind of food market which are pervasive throughout asia are those where delicious asian meals like pad thai and pho can be bought for dirt cheap. We've had some of our best meals in the markets, for a mere dollar or two.
I realized today that my blog yesterday about the food markets may have been somewhat ambiguous. There are the food markets where raw produce, meats and fish are sold -- that is the kind of market to which I referred yesterday. The other kind of food market which are pervasive throughout asia are those where delicious asian meals like pad thai and pho can be bought for dirt cheap. We've had some of our best meals in the markets, for a mere dollar or two.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)