Asia Archives

Death Highway and War: A Tour through the Eyes of the Vietnamese

Arriving in Hue, Central Vietnam, I can immediately see the difference from the north. It’s calmer, more relaxed, the people are friendlier and the streets cleaner. Hue is a huge city with a lot of history, specifically regarding the Vietnam War. I am a little wary on how they would receive Americans, as one should be in every country that has been hit with about seven million tons of American bombs in a ten year period. I sign up for a personalized tour of the city on the back of a motorbike for $10, and thats how I meet Bill.

Bill picks me up on the biggest motorcycle I’ve ever seen sporting an American flag and a huge smile. The local tour company, Easy Riders, had connected us. Easy Riders employs Vietnam veterans to take tourists around the south and tell them their story. At 21, Bill became a translator and advisor for the US marines from 1966-1973. He worked for the Americans, he is very clear about that. When I ask if he was also a part of the southern Vietnamese army, he yells, “No, American only!” His boss was American, his fellow marines were Americans, but he is Vietnamese. He didn’t say so, but I have a feeling his real name is something quite different, but Americans couldn’t pronounce it so they started calling him Bill. He’s quite proud of his past, and considers himself an American citizen. However, I can sense some underlying bitterness towards America as well. When the war ended, the south had surrendered, the American marines packed up their stuff and took off in helicopters, leaving a complete mess of the surrounding region, and leaving Bill. As he watched his fellow marines fly to freedom, he was imprisoned for several months. After being released, he wrote to the US embassy in Saigon for five years, asking for a visa to move to the States, and never heard back.

He takes me to all the major sites in Hue, which aren’t very impressive. Not Hue’s fault, the Americans had heavily bombed the city, and its famous imperial citadel where the Viet Cong hid out. Bill shows me a local farming village where an older woman demonstrates how rice is made. I also visit an artist studio; like in other communist countries, art is a way to disguise political opinions. I end the day sipping beer with Bill and his friends. I am glad to ride on the back of his motorcycle, because in this crazy Vietnamese traffic, you wouldn’t want to drive.

But the next day I rent a motorcycle of my own and follow Bill and another girl to the DMZ, which is about a three hour ride outside of Hue, on Highway One or what tourists call the “death highway”. I quickly discover why, as semi trucks pass each other taking up both lanes of a bridge while bikers squeeze to the side. When a truck passed me coming so close it brushed my elbow, I decide that this is a terrible idea. The DMZ, or Demilitarized Zone, was the dividing line between the north and south during the war, at the “17th parallel”. No combat was to take place here, (although the Americans dropped three thousand bombs on it). Military leaders could meet and have negotiations here, families could reconnect in this area safely.

As we walk around the 17th parallel bridge, Bill explains that even today it is still dangerous to speak positively about the south; twenty dissidents were imprisoned recently, and as he explains this he looks over his shoulder. Around the DMZ are the Vinh Moc Tunnels, a complex that stretches about 2,000 meters long and 30 meters

deep, with seven entrances and three different levels, all underground. Five hundred Vietnamese soldiers lived in these tunnels with their families, children were born here and an entire village thrived underground. The tunnels were a fascinating aspect of the war to explore, and as an American, I found it really important to see first hand the impact of our wars.

~ By Teresa Murphy of Tess Travels. Murphy visited the Thaipsum Festival, a Hindu ritual that takes place every year in the Batu Caves outside of Kuala Lumpur.

The Antiquity of Modernity

The minute I step out of my hostel, I’m engulfed in a tightly packed crowd lining the sidewalk. I push my way through, passing parents hoisting their kids up on their shoulders and volunteers passing out food. Bewildered, I crane my neck to peer through the crowd and see the procession passing. Flashes of multi colored saris, metallic shrines and bundles of flowers make up the parade. A loud splitting crack sets off thunderous cheers and I look up to see fireworks illuminating the night sky. It was midnight and the celebrations of the Thaipusam Festival had begun as the devotees begin their pilgrimage on foot to the Batu Caves, eight miles north of Kuala Lumpur.

Thaipusam Festival devotees at Batu caves in Malaysia — Thousands of devotees ascend the 280 steps leading to the Batu Caves

Thaipusam Fesitval is a Hindu celebration that is held each year during the full moon in the tenth month of the Hindu calendar. Primarily held in the Tamil-speaking communities, the festival in Kuala Lumpur is one of the largest ones outside of India, with over 1.5 million attendees. I wake at dawn the next morning and catch a train to the caves to witness the arrival of the pilgrims. As the train pulls into the station, a gate blocks hundreds of people waiting the arrival of their friends and relatives. Many hold baskets of food and water with bright jewels on their foreheads keeping an eye on their children who run around with their faces covered in paint. I weave through the crowd finding the base of the mountain where a carnival has been set up, featuring loud music and stalls selling everything from saris to fruit juice to souvenirs. Arriving at the path entrance, I stop and peer up at the steep, 280 steps leading up to the caves. Watching over the thick crowd is a golden statue, measuring 47 yards in height, of the god Subramaniam. The festival is dedicated to this god and marks a day of penance and thanksgiving.

As a form of penance or sacrifice, many carry “kavadis” which literally mean “burden”. These burdens range from jugs, coconuts, oranges and even floats. The objects are attached to the bare backs of the devotees through metal hooks and piercings. Others carry floats above their heads and the stilts dig into their sides. Some have hooks with strings attached that pull on the skin on their back. Women carry jugs on their heads or pierce their mouths shuts with a spear going through each cheek and out the other side. They sacrifice their bodies to piercings and metal hooks, carrying these burdens on the eight-mile journey from Kuala Lumpur to the base of the mountain, then up the 280 stairs to the caves. In return, they are hoping for favors from their gods. Both men and women ascend the mountain, carrying these burdens, in the scorching heat, chanting prayers as they go.

pilgrims insert hooks into their backs during the Thaipusam Festival in Malaysia — The kavadis, or “burdens” are metal hooks that pierce into the skin on the pilgrims backs

On my way up I pass people of all ages who have stepped to the side to take a break. The humidity paired with the steep stairs make the climb treacherous. I finally reach the mouth of the caves that opens up into a large entrance hall. As I press through the crowd I pass shaman-type healers who are performing a ritual of removing the spears and piercings from the body of the sacrificees. They are chanting and pouring white powder as they slap their backs after each removal. Not a drop of blood is spilt during the festival.

In the back is a temple with several alters where pilgrims of all ages stop to pray. The caves are packed to the brim with the devotees, pilgrims, friends and families, which would be a fire hazard in any other country. However, no one worries about that. In fact, this day perfectly shows how Malaysia has held on to its history and culture while stepping into the modern world. It’s this thousand of years old ancient Hindu ritual that takes place in a cave, on a mountain overlooking the skyscrapers of Kuala Lumpur’s financial district. And it’s this very fusion of cultures and ethnicities; religions and rituals, antiquity and modernity that best represent Malaysia.

~ By Teresa Murphy of Tess Travels. Murphy visited the Thaipsum Festival, a Hindu ritual that takes place every year in the Batu Caves outside of Kuala Lumpur.

Myanmar: The Buddhist Life

A bell tolls from a nearby temple, welcoming the rising sun as it seeps through the valleys, illuminating one pagoda at a time. Dawn marks the hours of alms for the novices that inhabit the hundreds of monasteries and nunneries of Sagaing, the holy center of Myanmar. I watched through the bamboo thatches of my hut as the novices at the IBEC (International Buddhist Education Center) descended the hill with their bowls, some balanced on their head, others falling into their hands. The younger novices struggled to keep their robes tied properly around their shoulders as they ran to keep up with the monks. They were heading to the town to ask the villagers to contribute “alms”, gifts to the monastery. It is these alms and contributions that the holy centers survive on.

I had been living and teaching at the IBEC for two weeks now, participating in the daily rituals of the novices and learning about the pillars of Buddhism. As one of two westerners, and the only woman at the monastery, there is a lot to learn quickly. The principal, a highly respected monk, welcomes me and thanks me for coming. When addressing the principal, one must sit lower than him, with their feet tucked in, as a sign of respect. When he walks through the monastery grounds, people bow on the ground to him. Every morning the monks and nuns come to pay their respect from neighboring monasteries. They kneel before him and bow their heads three times.

The IBEC gives free education to children from all over Myanmar. A lot of poorer families will send their children to become monks because it is the only education they can receive. Walking around the monastery, the children hang out of the windows exclaiming, “hello teacher, hello!” The novices range in age from three to eighteen. They wake up every morning at 4am for their morning chants and alms, go to school until 5pm, study from 5-9pm and pray until bedtime. It’s a tight schedule with little playtime. Teachers are highly respected and the young novices are extremely eager to learn. At the end of every class, they repeat, “thank you teacher, see you tomorrow teacher, thank you teacher.” The nuns also attend various classes at the monasteries. These bashful girls always sit in the back of the classroom and are easily identifiable with their bright pink robes and shaved heads. The boys and girls move in and out of the classroom separately. Gender roles become increasingly apparent when you go into town. Only men are seen eating at the restaurants and women are assumed to be home working.

The local teachers are mostly women and eager to practice their English. Each day they rub thanaka on my cheeks, a white paste made from a tree root, used to protect skin from the sun. In town, the villagers welcome the teachers with open arms. During a “food festival”, each house cooks an enormous meal and participants wander from house to house as a way to socialize with the village. When someone shares a meal with the Burmese, they are considered part of the family. I join over 30 families during my time in Myanmar.

The Burmese culture is infamous for their warm smiles and generosity. A once isolated country; its borders have now been opened to businesses and tourists alike. Aside from teaching novices, I help Burmese immigration officers improve their spoken English. They are required by the government to learn English to prepare for the influx of foreigners. At the end of my two weeks there, I am showered with gifts from my students. I leave the center feeling that I had received much more than I had given to them. This is quite common in Buddhist and Burmese culture, that is the spirit of giving more then you receive.

~ By Teresa Murphy of Tess Travels. Murphy spent three weeks living and teaching at a Buddhist monastery in the holy capital of Sagaing, Myanmar.

Read more about volunteering abroad.

Burmese Days

A country in the midst of a political transition and geographically placed along the Himalayas, sharing borders with India and Bangladesh and linking a “Golden Triangle” with Thailand and Laos, Burma, now Myanmar, is a fascinating country with the friendliest people in Asia.

Yangon

I stay near the Sule Paya, a golden pagoda set in the middle of a busy traffic intersection. The first thing I do upon landing is head to the bank to exchange my uncreased, unmarked US $100 bills that originated after 2006. Foreign credit cards are not accepted in the country and the banks and black market are extremely particular about foreign currencies. After this extraneous process, I wander Yangon, weaving my way through the activity on the sidewalk; the plastic stools where men drank tea, the noodle stands and the open aired markets. Men use wooden crates to make their “cheroot”, betel nut and chewing tobacco rolled in leaves. I continue on to the infamous Shwedogan Pagoda, said to house eight hairs of the Buddha. The Pagoda is breathtaking at sunset, as the tower turns crimson and the monks begin their chants. A group of monks came over to practice their English and one spread his arms and said, “I wanted to thank you for choosing to come to my country, and welcome to Myanmar!” That would be the beginning of many welcoming gestures from the Burmese people.

Two men coating the Mahamundi Buddha with gold

Bagan

We pull into Bagan at 4am just in time to see the monks, dressed in crimson robes, walk the town for the morning alms. We are greeted at the bus station in the pitch black with horse-carts. Sitting on a wooden crate on wheels being dragged around town by a horse, I feel as if I have found the wild wild west. At 5am, we take bikes and flashlights and set out to the city of temples, finding one, in time to see the sky change from black to purple to a light blue, and then slowly a golden orange, as the sun began to seep through the valley, illuminating each temple as it went. It is calming, majestic, and even spiritual. After a day of biking through the temples, I hop on a bus to Inle Lake.

Inle Lake

Inle Lake thrives with communities of villages that use it as a life source. It serves as a transport hub, with wooden canoes lining the canals to enter the lake each day. Villagers go to work by the lake, boats take children to school each morning and businesses moving goods, ship their items over water. It’s a source of food, with floating gardens and farms, and fishermen who wake in the early dawn. Its a religious center, housing floating temples and pagodas. And it serves as a town center, with floating markets bringing the villagers together each day to buy food. Craftsmen’s stilted stores line the lake, preserving age old professions like blacksmiths, weavers, seamstresses and basket makers. Each day comes to a close in Inle with a boat full of monks floating by, doing their evening chants. I fall so in love with Inle that I choose to ignore the creeping influx of tourist offices and western restaurants.

Mandalay

North of Inle, lies the busy, noisy, congested, dusty city of Mandalay. The city’s grid system is set up around the Mandalay Palace, the last royal palace of the Burmese monarchy. I visit the Mahamundi Buddha, a large Buddha painted in gold every day, and the historic teakwood Shwenandaw Monastery. On the way, my taxi driver is eager to discuss the political situation in Myanmar. With the release of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, the country is at a crossroads and, as the US lifts some economic sanctions, tourists continue to flow in. This transition is seen in Mandalay’s financial distract, as men go to work wearing a dress shirt and tie, with a longyi, the traditional cloth wrap, on the bottom.

Produce market in one of the villages on Inle Lake

Although the country is undergoing rapid changes, it’s essential to preserve the centuries old customs and traditions that make Myanmar such a unique cultural gem.

~ By guest blogger, Tess Murphy. Tess has traveled extensively through Europe, Asia and Australia, keeping a travel blog everywhere she went.

Fried Tempeh in Sweet Sauce

Tempeh is a soy based product, similar to tofu, that originated in Indonesia. Traditionally used as an alternate to meat by vegetarians, tempeh has a firm grainy taste that takes some getting use to. It is made from whole soybeans and has different nutritional and textural characteristics from tofu. Tempeh is a rich source of protein, fiber and vitamins. It can be found at health and speciality grocery stores, such as Whole Foods in the US.

Before cooking tempeh, you need to slice it and soak it in salt water or brine for a few minutes. Then use it for any recipe from tempeh pizza, burger, stew, chili, sandwich, stir fry, chips…the possibilities are endless!

Here is a recipe for an Indonesian style deep fried tempeh Go Eat Give volunteers learned to make at the Paon Bali Cooking School in Bali.

Deep Fried Tempeh in Sweet Soy Sauce

SERVES 4-6

Ingredients

2 packets of tempeh
10 red chilies
5 tablespoons Indonesian sweet soy sauce, Kecap Manis
4 shallots
8 cloves of garlic
1 spring of onion
5 kaffir lime leaves
¼ liter coconut oil for frying
Salt and pepper

Instructions

Slice the tempeh into thin strips. Boil the coconut oil in pan, add the tempeh and deep fry until golden brown then remove and set aside.
Slice the red chilies and remove their seeds. Slice the garlic, shallots, spring onion and red chilies; heat about 3 tablespoons of coconut oil in another pan and sauté then until they are light brown.
Add the deep fried tempeh to the pan of garlic, shallots, spring onions and chili and mix, adding the Kecap Manis and broken kaffir lime leaves. Stir well to coat tempeh in the sauce.
Serve hot as a main course.

Volunteer Guides in South Korea

The best way to see a place is through the eyes of the locals. Whenever possible, I avoid hop-on buses and express tours. I like to explore cities by simply walking around and getting lost. But its always best to have a local person who speaks the local language and is familiar with the streets show you around.

Continue reading “Volunteer Guides in South Korea”

Arriving on Kuningan in Bali

I arrived in Bali during an auspictious time. The streets were decorated with bamboo poles and prayer offerings were everywhere. I saw processions of women carrying towers of food and flowers; groups of kids of all ages playing the gamelan; and processions taking Barong (mystical beast) through the streets. In fact, every home and business had its “penjor” (similar to a Christmas tree), but outdoors and decorated with fruit, coconut leaves and flowers. Continue reading “Arriving on Kuningan in Bali”

How to avoid travel scams

On the train from Rabat to Fes — Tying a whistle around my wrist to ward off the con man

I have heard numerous stories over the years about how people have returned from a vacation with sour stories of stolen passport, money or expensive items. And then there are others that fall victims to con artists and willingly fall into the trap of giving it away free willing. In fact, some people have a business of scamming tourists and are pretty good at what they do. If you have watched the movie Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, you know what I am talking about.

If you want to avoid a travel scam, the first rule is to be smart and alert at all times. You are relaxed, on vacation, want to make friends, talk to strangers, so it’s easy to let your guard down. But this is when you can get into trouble! Never leave your luggage unattended, even in a taxi or a bus. If I have to go to the facilities, I look for a family or a large group that I have observed for a while, then politely ask them to watch my bag. Don’t ever hand over your passport or important documents to anyone. If they need to make a photocopy (for whatever reason) demand that you go with them.

When I went to Morocco, I was forewarned by numerous people about the famous con artists I would encounter there. I would say I managed to stay away from all but one. While on the train from Rabat to Fes, one of my girlfriends was approached by a young man who pretended to be affiliated with a tour guide company. He offered us a train station pick up, a tour of the city and return transportation, all arranged before we reached our destination. After much discussion and contemplation, we decided to not take a chance of being stranded in the Sahara! Follow your instincts at all times.

Other signs of a scam in progress are when someone approached you from nowhere, is making an extra effort to convince you, or is offering a really good deal that is hard to refuse. Scam artists will never give you (even if they promise they would) receipts, addresses or brochures that have a price on them. It would always be a verbal contract, tailor-made especially for you. When in doubt, don’t do it.

Another time, while walking down the shopping area in Hong Kong, a shopkeeper saw me admiring the high-end watched in the showcase. He asked me to come inside so he could show me his sale items. Next thing I realized, I was walking through alleys and stairs, walking into a tiny office in one of the buildings. As soon as we reached this place, I walked out without taking a look at the items. If your gut tells you something, listen to it.

Scams during shopping are the most common. You may enter a store and pay the full asking price for an item, only to realize that the person before you paid a fraction of that. Do your research by asking locals, checking in different shops and parts of town and bargaining when the culture demands. Having some knowledge of the local language and not coming across as a complete tourist also helps.