Travel

Pulau Langkawi - from the old AdventureWorldTravel.com

2012-01-17T19:12:00.001-08:00

Langkawi means "eagle" in the Malay language.
We sailed on a South African catamaran named "Angel" around the 99 islands of Pulau Langkawi.

We sailed for 5 days, fished 3 times and cought 3 baracuda.

Man showed us how to remove the huge scales and clean the fish before we tried to figure out how many different ways we could cook up baracuda.

There are many marble caves and cliffs around Langkawi.

Just on the other side of those cliffs is a fresh water lake, not more than 100 meters from the sea.

We trolled around this little island twice before catching a huge baracuda.

Man

The following photos were previously posted to this page.

A small fishing village on the west side of the island was hit pretty hard by the tsunami. I was there just 2 days after the tragic event.

This is what's left of some of the beach-front houses.

Aparently no locals were killed, but many must now rebuild the rubble that is left of their homes.

I know this is no comparison to photos you've probably seen with huge boats sitting on buildings, but still, it's a mess to clean up.

The rest of Pulau Langkawi was largely uneffected by the tsunami, other than some lost sea equipment such as boats, jet skiis and windsurfs. Thank goodness the motorcycles are okay.

Water buffalo in the middle of the island.

Rubber is a major industry in Malaysia. There are many rubber tree plantations all around the island.

The art of rubber tree tapping.

Quiet beach, found only by cruising roads and trails on motorcycle.

The fishing must go on!

You can't really see it in this picture, but there were a few smashed sail boats on the tiny island in the background.

Kuala Lumpur - from the old AdventureWorldTravel.com

2012-01-17T19:10:00.000-08:00

Malay girl waiting outside masjid during prayer time.

Malaysians for Peace in Little India section of Kuala Lumpur.

Making roti canai. My favorite!

Hanuman statue at Batu Caves.

Cliff sculptures at Batu Caves.

Above the stairway at Batu Caves.

Cooking lemang (coconut sticky rice) in bamboo.

The virtually blind artist in front of China Town.

The Blind Artist:
A man was sitting on the sidewalk drawing pictures with pastels of city scenes; city trains, a bus crash, houses and buildings. All with great color and detail. The man holds his one eye, with which he can see just a little, about one or two inches away from the picture he is drawing. When it's time to pick a new color, he olds the tray of crayons up close to his eye so he can see what color it is. When he gets a tip from passers by, he holds it close to his eye to see the color of the bill and its denomination. For sure this man cannot see far enough away to draw these images from what he sees. He must be drawing them from memory. The perspective, angles and colors are almost perfect.

House next to Dang Wangi city train stop.

Same house.

Reflection of Mosque from roof of car.

Small village in the jungle, about 20 minutes drive from downtown Kuala Lumpur.

Village front porch.

Shop in Little India, Kuala Lumpur.

Lake Titiawangsa (actually it's more of a puddle).

One of many mosques in Kuala Lumpur.

Bangsar Mosque

Waiting for dad to pray.

Another mosque.

Monkeys in the city.

National Mosque

National Mosque and K.L. Tower.

Chinese Buddhist idol build into wall surrounding house.

The photographs below were previously posted to this page.

Here's a little glimpse of my neighborhood.

KLCC Shopping Mall at the base of the Petronal Twin Towers. And no, the size of this mall is not unique to this city. Man do people love to shop here!

Serve yourself! This is the standard buffet style food hawker stall.

What kind of dried and salted shrimp do you like?

Yum! (not really)

It's Ramadan right now. Everyday at the restaurants at about 7:00pm, the Muslim people fill their plates and and wait patiently for the exact moment when the music is played over the loudspeekers announcing that it's time to break the fast for the day. Selamat berbuka puasa! (Happy break fasting)

The top three floors of the colorful building in the middle is Le Village Guesthouse. The ground floor is good cheap Indian eats.

Why the Self-Appointed Parking Lot Attendant is Better than the Employed:
The self-appointed parking lot attendants always have a smile on their face. Give them a tip and they will do some little trick to keep the parking meter full while you are away in order to avoid getting a ticket. They even do traffic control while you're backing out of your spot. If there is no spot available when you arrive, never mind. You can just double park and they will come get you to move your car into a spot when one comes available.

Inside Le Village. They guy in black is my co-worker Iggi.

More inside Le Village

Fruit stand behind Le Village

Malaysia Grocery

Masjid Jamek (Jamek Mosque) with KL Tower in background

Pulau Perhentian - from the old AdventureWorldTravel.com

2012-01-17T19:06:00.000-08:00

Contact Zul Seman, our recommended local licensed boat captain and tour guide!
In Malaysia call 013.9264.899.
Zul was born and raised on Perhentian Island. He has worked most of his life as a rescue diver, boatman and fisherman. Zul knows the islands, above and below the sea level. He knows the people, the customs, the geography, the flora and the fauna! Zul's 24 foot speed boat with 115hp engine, sun canopy and cushioned seats can comfortably carry 12 passengers.
Call Zul to arrange your snorkeling trip, fishing trip, around the islands site seeing, or to other neighboring islands such as Redang, Lang Tengah, Susu Dara and Rawa! It doesn't matter which resort or beach you're staying at, Zul will give you boat-to-beach service anywhere on the islands!

View of Pulau Susu Darah from banana plantation on Pulau Perhentian Kecil.

Just off Peninsular Malaysia near the Thai border, two small specks of tropical paradise sit side-by-side. The two islands are collectively known as Perhentian Island (called Pulau Perhentian in the Malay language). A lookout point hovers in a steep banana plantation on the side of the mountain of Perhentian Kecil (Small). Peering between two papaya trees, I can see the deep blue horizon spotted with small islands in the distance. I weave down the face of the mountain through the bananas and occasional mango tree in hopes of finding a mouth-watering, tangy mango treat. Large, flat pits are strewn about beneath every mango tree while their branches bare no fruit - evidence of the others (mainly monkeys) who obviously beat me to the punch. I descend from the heavenly perch to the sugary white sandy beach of the quaint fishing village below. There is no reason to deny the urge to submerge myself into the warm and clear water of the sea garden. Just a short 20-foot swim from shore and you'll be amidst table and tree choral of various shades of red, orange, green, and blue while parrot, clown, angle, puffer, and other vibrant fish glide around you in an explosion of color. The channel running between the two islands and the surrounding reefs are a scuba diver and snorkeler's dream come true.

Perhentian Kecil is small enough to kayak around in four or five hours, yet rich enough to make you never want to leave. Visit us at Long Beach to rent a kayak for the afternoon or to schedule some time on water skis, a wakeboard or a towable tube. We've got some fun lined up for all levels of adventurists. When you come back to the beach, enjoy a nice cup of local coffee or mango juice and don't forget to arrange a guided snorkel trip by boat for the next morning. Be careful though, it's hard to prepare yourself for the excitement that comes when small black tip sharks quickly pass by or when you swim neck-and-neck with the enormous green turtles as they surface for air. These magnificent turtles' population has been declining in recent years, so please do your part in preserving their health and well being by keeping your hands to yourself.

Azmie wakeboarding in front of Perhentian Island Resort on Pulau Perhentian Besar.

Azmie snorkelling at Coral Garden.

Banana plantation on mountain side of Pulau Perhenitan Kecil.

School at Kampung Pulau Perhentian (Fishing Village).

Giant green turtles are a protected species at Pulau Perhentian.

Azmie and his boat.

Azmie's boat and his dad's fishing boat.

Azmie wakeboarding in front of Perhentian Island Resort at Pulau Perhentian Besar.

Snorkel trips to Coral Garden.

Snorkeler feeding reef fish at Coral Garden.

Pulling fist traps with dad. These traps are made by hand from rotan from the jungle surrounded by chicken wire.

This boat can also be hired out for private fishing trips.

Emptying out the fish traps.

Resetting the fish trap.

Not great, but not bad, for one trap.

Fish are taken to the Fisherman's co-op at Kuala Besut, on the main land about 10 miles from the island.

The best catch of the day was this red grouper.

Squid fishing boat parked at Kampung jetty. The big lights are used at night time to attract the squid.

Fishing boat at Kampung jetty.

View of Pulau Perhentian Kecil from banana plantation on mountain side.

View of Kampung (Fishing Village) at Pulau Perhentian Kecil from Pulau Perhentian Besar.

Jetty at Kampung Pulau Perhentian.

Scuba diving course in front of Long Beach and view of banana plantation of hillside of Pulau Perhentian Kecil.

A Day in the Life

Normally I wake up around 7 or 7:30. I take a quick shower and make coffee. If there's time, we drink it on the balcony and make breakfast or eat at a restaurant. If not then we get takeout and put the coffee in a thermos to take on the boat. It's the tail end of monsoon and there are still big waves at Long Beach so boats are not parking there. Instead they are parking on the other side of the island at Coral Bay and you have to cross the island to Long Beach by taking a 15-minute walk on a jungle trail while listening to birds, chipmunks, and crickets that sound like thousands of ringing bells. The trail is a good place for wake and bake. Some days I only cross once or twice. Other days I cross 4 or 5 times.

If we have customers for snorkeling then we round everyone and their gear up and head out to look for sharks, turtles, and an array of reef fish. Sometimes I relax on the boat and sometimes I lead the customers to find the good fish spots in the water. If we have a sporty type on the boat, usually we can talk them into going wakeboarding. If Azmie is riding the wakeboard then I am usually driving. Otherwise, Azmie normally drives unless he needs to do some fiddling with the engine while it's running or something. During the snorkel trips we try to find a nice, quiet and secluded beach to stop at for relaxing and swimming. After we return to the island, we shower, sometimes nap, maybe surf or canoe, or maybe gather up wood for our bungalow... Oh, by the way, did I tell you we're building a bungalow?

Guided snorkel trip around Pulau Perhentian Besar and Kecil.

Parrot fish at Coral Garden, Pulau Perhentian Besar.

Our Water Sports shop out in front of Yussof's Souvenir shop at Long Beach, Pulau Perhentian Kecil.

Wakeboarding at Long Beach, Pulau Perhentian Kecil.

Me, Zul and Zam heading back to the island after sunset on dad's fishing boat.

Kuala Besut is mainland port to Pulau Perhentian.

This bicycle rickshaw was the cargo hauling service to get our corrugated sheetmetal roof from the shop in Kuala Besut to the jetty, so we could load it on our boat and take it out to the island.

Kids at Kuala Besut.

Walking back to Long Beach from Coral Bay. The waves are too big at Long Beach this time of year to park the boats there.

Pulau Perhentian Kecil Lighthouse

Azmie diving off the very top level of the light house at Pulau Perhentian.

It's hard to hold back the smiles.

Dawna pulling Azmie wakeboarding.

Clint wakeboarding.

Azmie pulling Dawna wakeboarding.

Watermelon picnic at Pulau Rawa after a day of snorkeling.

The following photos were previously posted to this page.

Life's a beach! So better get up early and watch the sun rise.
View from Long Beach on Pulau Perhentian Kecil.

It's a rough job to get up every morning and go out wakeboarding in order to promote the business. When tourists see us having so much fun then can't help but open up their wallet to us so they can join in the fun too.

The rental shop.

Hard at work at my other job, making jewelry.

Stopover at Pulau Latengah on our way back to Pulau Perhentian from Pulau Redang. Man there's a lot of beautiful Pulau (Islands) around here!

This view is from the balcony of a cafe on a short day trip to Pulau Redang.

Taking tourists to Pulau Redang is a rough job, especially when they want to relax on the beach for an hour or two and we have to find something to entertain ourselves with while waiting.

Pulau Redang

And here's another beach!

The Perfect Storm (but it was not storming)

Azmie and I had spent the day on mainland waiting for Zam and his wife in Kuala Besut and then with the boat mechanic in Kota Bharu. By the time we were finished with our business and back at the Kuala Besut jetty, ready to head back to the island it was already late in the afternoon. No more fast boats were leaving for the island that day because the wind was strong and the sea was too rough. The captain of a large, slow boat was seriously contemplating whether he would head home and take the 30 or 40 people who would otherwise be stuck in Kuala Besut for the night. The slow boat finally boarded the people and headed out. Azmie spent about 30 minutes watching the waves at shore, the white caps on the horizon, and the wind before deciding that we would go for it rather than spending the night on mainland where extremely conservative culture would not permit us to share a hotel room or even hold hands. He asked if I was okay to go to the island or if I was scared and wanted to spend the night in Kuala Besut. Since I had never crossed the rough sea in a small boat, I had no idea what we were in for. So I said that I would trust his decision to go or not.

The wind was mellowing and it was still a couple of hours until sunset so we dropped off the car with Azmie's uncle and picked up the boat from the secret parking spot. The easterly winds from the South China Sea pushed waves and current towards mainland, which would add time onto our journey as if pushing up river. As we pulled out into the river and then into the open sea our speed went from slow and steady to fast then stop, fast then stop, fast then stop. Azmie drove against the waves by gunning it to climb the front of the wave then pulling back the throttle at the peak to try not to jump the entire boat out of the water. If that happened at too sharp of an angle the boat could crash down too much in the back and enough water could crash into the boat to tip it or sink it. The amount of concentration required by Azmie was comparable to that required of driving in a blinding blizzard of freezing rain on steep and sharp turning, slippery, narrow mountain roads. The waves didn't come at us all from the front or in any sort of pattern. Some were small and mild and others were easily five or six times higher than us, and they came at us from the front and both sides. When a big one approached, the valley that proceeded put enough water around us that we could not see the horizon in any direction. Azmie was aware and his reflexes were fast. My job was easy; hold on, and occasionally scoop water out of the back that had crashed in over the sides of the boat. Other than the kidney jarring bumpiness of it all I felt safe like Azmie had control of the situation. However there was a moment there when my heart pounded a little faster than usual as a huge wave approached. Azmie said, "Oh shit!" and hit the throttle all the way to get to the top of the wave without getting pummeled. The boat jumped entirely out of the water and at the same time another peak of a huge wave hit us from the side, which tipped us enough to make me grab tight onto something. While in mid-air the engine cut out. If the boat turns sideways against a wave the boat could easily be tipped. Azmie quickly restarted the engine, pushed the throttle and turned the boat into the oncoming wave. Whew!

After that incident the sea floor got deeper and the waves were smaller. A drive that in normal conditions takes 20 or 30 minutes with that kind of a fast boat, that day took us an hour and a half. Now I know what Azmie really meant all the times he told me he had to "fight the choppy".

After we were safe at the island we reflected back on how dangerous and scary the drive home was. I told him that when the engine cut out was the only time I was scared a little bit. I trusted his judgment because he had lived here most of his life and had to weigh that same decision many, many times before. He told me that his father always told him that he must trust his heart. If he thinks he can make it then he must go and he must make it. If he has a doubt, then he must not even try because turning back once you're mid-way can be even more dangerous than continuing on course.

Tour Malaysia - from the old AdventureWorldTravel.com

2012-01-17T19:05:00.001-08:00

If traveling to Pulau Perhentian Malaysia, contact Zul Seman!
Zul is our recommended local licensed boat captain and tour guide!
In Malaysia call 013.9264.899.
Zul was born and raised on Perhentian Island. He has worked most of his life as a Rescue Diver, Boatman and Fisherman. Zul knows the islands, above and below the sea level. He knows the people, the customs, the geography, the flora and the fauna! Zul's 24 foot speed boat with 115hp engine, sun canopy and cushioned seats can comfortably carry 12 passengers.
Call Zul to arrange your snorkeling trip, fishing trip, around the islands site seeing, or to other neighboring islands such as Redang, Lang Tengah, Susu Dara and Rawa! It doesn't matter which resort or beach you're staying at, Zul will give you boat-to-beach service anywhere on the islands!

Click here for more information on the Perhentian Islands.

Two-week Travel in Exotic Malaysia!

Would you like to explore a new and exciting land with the comfort of a knowledgeable and friendly guide? This travel package offers you some of the best sites and activities in Malaysia while allowing the flexibility to customize your itinerary for a fun-filled experience that is laced with adventure!

Malaysia is a tropical paradise rich in color and diversity. Her intriguing images leave visitors in awe. Malaysians are legendary for their warmth and hospitality. The sun-drenched beaches, enchanting islands, diverse flora and fauna and magnificant mountains are among the best in the world. Discover these and Malaysia's other attractions: a nature lover's paradise, a shopping haven, land and sea adventure, rich and varied culture, and much more.

Pulau Perhentian is a group of islands in the South China Sea near the border of Thailand. There are two main islands - Pulau Perhentian Besar (Big Stopover Island) and Pulau Perhentian Kecil (Small Stopover Island) - plus several smaller islets, all heavily forested, ringed with white sandy beaches and surrounded by healthy vibrant reef. The area is rich in coral and marine life such as rays, moray eels, nudibranchs, puffer fish, angelfish, clown fish, parrotfish, and giant green turtles.

Perhentian is one of the best diving spots in Malaysia, and is also excellent for snorkeling and jungle trekking. Its laid-back atmosphere makes it the perfect getaway.

Kuala Lumpur is the cosmopolitan capital city of Malaysia. It is an international crossroads and a stronghold for business and technology investment. This modern urban center is also a shopper's haven, with night markets, arts and craft bazaars and shopping malls. The extensive city rail allows fast and convenient transportation to countless activities and destinations.

Package price $990 includes:
All hotels and beach chalets
Ground and water transportation
Entrance fees to museums and parks
Dinner at KL Tower
3 breakfasts at hotels in Kuala Lumpur
English and Malay speaking guides

Package prices does not include airfare, drinks, meals (except dinner at KL Tower and 3 breakfasts) or optional activities such as scuba diving, fishing, etc.

Optional Activities:
(All prices are in addition to travel package price and are estimated based on 2003 season.)

*Scuba diving ($25/dive, including equipment rental)
*PADI certification courses $210/4-day Open Water (includes equipment rental)
*2-island snorkel trip ($12)
*4-island snorkel trip & lighthouse ($14)
*Deep sea fishing ($84 for the boat, 5 people max)
*Night fishing ($70 for the boat, 8 people max)
*Squid fishing at night ($42 for the boat, 4 people max)
*Kayak rental ($5 for half day)
*Nightly beach volleyball
*Boat taxis to other beaches
*Jungle hikes across island & to banana plantation
*Express yourself. Make a batik!
*Swimming and snorkeling
*Shopping craft and night markets

Example Itinerary

Day 1: Depart USA
Lose a day when crossing International Date Line (From West Coast U.S.A.)

Day 2 Kuala Lumpur:
Arrive in Kuala Lumpur
Take a taxi from the airport to Grand Seasons Hotel
Check into hotel by 3:00 pm
Sight seeing and window shopping
Mono rail
Dinner at KL Tower: rotating restaurant

Day 3 Kuala Lumpur:
Guided tours to attractions such as Orang Asli (Aboriginal People) Museum, Snake charmer by Gomback River, Batu Caves: Hindu Temples, Indian banana leaf lunch, Relax at hotel: swimming pool and gym.

There are other optional activities available in Kuala Lumpur, such as the bird park and the butterfly park. If you so desire, please inquire with your guide who can arrange transportation.

Day 4 Kuala Lumpur:
National Mosque
Islamic Museum
National Museum
Orchid garden
Overnight train to East Coast

Day 5 Pualu Perhentian:
Ferry to Pulau Perhentian
Check into chalet
Beach lounge

Days 6-11 Pulau Perhentian:
Activity options such as:
4-day PADI scuba diving course
Snorkeling
Beach lounging
Island hopping
Fishing
Kayaking

Day 12 Kota Bharu:
Ferry to mainland
Shopping
Cultural Show
Overnight train to Kuala Lumpur

Day 13 Kuala Lumpur:
Site seeing
Night market and craft center

Day 14 Depart:
Depart Kuala Lumpur at any time
Arrive USA same day
Gain a day when crossing International Date Line

The tour information listed on this page is for example purposes only. Pricing listed here was effective in 2005. We at Adventure World Travel are focusing our efforts on our new business Zuki Imports, LLC, home of www.ZukiImports.com & www.ZukiOutdoors.com. We are still available for private and small group tours. Contact us for more information.

Money conversion:
One US Dollar is approximately equal to 3.6 Malaysian Ringgit.
There is 100 sen in 1 ringgit.
Travelers checks and U.S. dollars can be cashed at banks and hotels in the city. Visa and Mastercard credit and debit cards can be used at ATM machines in the city.
Travelers checks and U.S. dollars can be cashed at the resort on Perhentian Island, but the exchange rate is not as good. It is recommended that you exchange your money for ringgit before arriving at the island.

Jelly Fish

Bali - copied from the old AdventureWorldTravel.com

2012-01-17T19:00:00.000-08:00

We arrived in Denpasar, Bali on January 18th and stayed in Kuta for a couple of days, walking around in the labyrinth of sidewalks between high walls. To get from our hotel to the beach anywhere else you had to go right, then right, then right, then right, then leftor you could go straight, then left, then right, then left, then left, then right againall through a high-walled maze past Hindu temples and statues with people cruising past on motorbikes with surfboards. We took surf lessons one afternoon. With our surfing guru pushing our boards to help us catch the wave, I was actually able to stand up three times. I however have not yet caught a wave by paddling myself fast enough. Everyone we've met asks how long we've been in Indonesia and when I tell them this is my first time here, they ask why I can already speak bahasa Indonesia so well. Sweet! The language study is really paying off.

Naptime Express from Lombok to Bali.

Two-Pot Tuesday

Sometimes when you're driving around in the mountains and it gets dark, you just have to stop at the closest villas for some dinner and a place to sleep.

Driving up over the volcanoes of Bali, we passed a funeral procession.

Going tubing, again! Made dropped us at the starting point in the river near Ubud.

Fountains at Goa Gajah Temple near Ubud.

At some temples you can buy beer out front and relax for a few minutes before going inside.

This Hindu temple is 1001 years old and carved right into the stone wall.

Ceremony procession that happens once or twice a year.

Jewelry makers in Ubud.

The Kecak Fire Dance in Ubud.

Monkey Forest

Hauling Dirt

The End of www.AdventureWorldTravel.com

2012-01-17T18:41:00.000-08:00

We're ending our ownership of the URL www.adventureworldtravel.com. Most of it's content has already been posted in this blog anyway. Here is the last little tidbits from that website. On to bigger and better...

We at Adventure World Travel are focusing our efforts on our business Zuki Imports, LLC, home of www.ZukiImports.com & www.ZukiOutdoors.com. We are still available for private and small group tours. Contact us for more information.

ZukiImports.com offers unique hand made jewelry and art including:
*Sterling Silver Jewelry
*Natural Body Jewelry
*Ethnic & Traditional Jewelry
*Large Gauge Jewelry for Stretched Piercings
*Home Decor Imports
*Original and traditional paintings

ZukiOutdoors.com offers innovative and earth-friendly outdoor gear, travel accessories and emergency preparedness supplies.

Check out our online blogs!

http://innovativeandecofriendlyoutdoorgear.blogspot.com/ We are proud to present our new line of outdoor products - Gear and accessories for outdoor activities and travel.

http://largegaugejewelryforstretchedpiercing.blogspot.com Large gauge jewelry for stretched piercings including lots of unique, natural, tribal and ethnic jewelry from around the world.

http://zukiart.blogspot.com/ Art and Home Decor Imports - Original and Traditional Paintings and Art from around the world.

http://zukitravel.blogspot.com/Travel, Jewelry & Art Blog

Check out our Profile Pages and connect with us!

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The following are some of our featured landscape shots from Utah, Idaho and Washington.

Harvest time in Juniper, Idaho.

Didn't quite beat the sunrise going out on the Ebey Slough to the Puget Sound for salmon fishing.

Causey Reservoir near Huntsville, Utah.

Lodore Canyon at Jones Creek in Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado.

Vernal, Utah

Lake Powell, Utah

Wasatch Mountains between Park City and Salt Lake City, Utah.

15% OFF End of Year Inventory Reduction Sale

2010-12-16T10:47:00.001-08:00

End of year Inventory Reduction Sale!

Get 15% OFF Everything until the end of 2010! This is a great time to pick up the gear and accessories you'll need for your next traveling adventure!

Enter the Discount Code "happyholidays" during checkout to get your 15% off!
Valid at www.zukiimports.com and www.zukioutdoors.com

Green River, Lodore Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado/ Utah

2010-10-06T21:05:00.000-07:00

Transporting kayaks from Gili Meno, Intonesia to Pulau Perhentian, Malaysia

2010-10-06T20:33:00.000-07:00

Did I ever tell you about the time I dropped a couple mil (Indonesian Rupiahs, that is...which is about 200 dollars) on 2 canoes at Gili Meno, off the northwest coast of Lombok and then took them back to Malaysia with me? Well...

We paddled the canoes from Gili Meno to Gili Trawanggan.

Gili Trawanggan to Bangsal, Lombok.

Horse ride to the bus stop.

Taxi boat from Senggigi, Lombok to the ferry to Bali.

Taxi boat from the ferry to Bali.

Bus from port to Legian, Bali.

Taxi to Bali Airport.

Bali Airport

Kuala Lumpur Train Station

Kuala Besut, port to Pulau Perhentian.

Whew! We made it!

Last leg of the long journey from Gili Meno, Indonesia to Pulau Perhentian, Malaysia.

Thailand

2010-10-06T20:32:00.001-07:00

This is the Floating Market at Patchapuri, outside Bangkok.

Lunch, Floating Market style.

Ready to go shopping!

Azmie and I met up with Holly, Todj, Brook, Yaga and Michael in Bangkok and Changmai.

Driving in the rain.

Typical transportation in the back of a small pickup truck.

On the train in Southern Thailand.

Tuk tuk is the cheapest way to get from the train station to anywhere in Bangkok if you need to carry luggage that won't fit on a motorcycle taxi.

Azmie

Lombok and Gili Trawanggan

2010-10-06T20:30:00.000-07:00

Clint and I rented motorcycles in Senggigi to travel around the west and north sides of Lombok Island. This is the main intersection in Bangsal. From here you can catch a boat to three small islands off the northwest coast.

All along the road side on the cliff's edge, corn is roasted for an evening snack.

Rice padi fields are flooded in the planting season and drained as the harvest season approaches.

Petrol Station

Taxi ride from the bus stop in Bangsal to the marina to catch a boat to Gili Trawanggan, the largest of the three islans off the northwest coast of Lombok.

Canoe/Snorkel trip around Gili Meno, the middle of the three islands.

Ice Cream Man

Small village farm on Gili Trawanggan.

Hangin' out with Lenny.

Sunset from the hill on Trawanggan, which is covered with old Japanese cave hideouts from WWII.

Back to Lombok from Trawanggan.

Backporch at Senaru on the foothills of the Rinjani Volcano.

Walking to the Senaru Waterfalls.

Coffee

1st falls

2nd falls

Clint and our guide, Joe.

The innaugeral float of the Senaru Irrigation Canal.

Fruit Man in Senggigi

Hotel in the middle of the village in Senggigi.

We took a taxi to the port town of Padanganbai, Bali, where we caught a 4-hour ferry boat to Lembar, Lombok. It was already late in the afternoon and too late to catch a boat straight to Senggigi, but we decided to rough it and try to get land transport from Lembar to Senggigi after dark. On the ferry we met a Japanese guy and his Sesak wife from a kampung close to Senggigi. They were also headed to Senggigi and the husband was going to stay in a cheap hotel while his wife went to stay with her family for Hari Raya Haji. Lucky for us, cuz I can only imagine what a nightmare and how expensive it would have been to negotiate ourselves transportation from the ferry to Senggigi. The Sesak wife negotiated the ride and took us straight to a cheap (30,000 rupias, about $3) but nice place to stay in the middle of the kampung close to the beach.

The next morning after breakfast, we rented motorcycles and cruised up to Senaru to check out the waterfall but just got information enough to know that we needed to come back when we had more time. Because after the 3-hour drive there, we still needed time to return to Senggigi before dark in order to avoid the bug in the face attack that is a serious consequence of driving a motorcycle in Lombok at night. The drive from Senggigi to Senaru and back is an amazingly narrow, windy and steep up and down road with vista views of the ocean, cliffs and sandy shorelines, the rice padi fields, farmers and villagesall the while dodging goats, chickens, cows, children, other bikes, and cars that are too big to fit in the lane that was just a nice size for motorcycles. The drive would not have been nearly as fun in a car.

After 2 nights in Senggigi we took a bemo (like riding in the back of a covered pickup truck, basically) to Bangsal where we rode in a horse cart to the marina to catch the public boat to Gili Trawangan. We had to wait a while for enough people to arrive to fill the boat.

After dinner, our first night on the Gili Trawangan, we took a little stroll down to the end of the jetty to sit on the edge and watch the water and sky. I coughed a little and a Trawanggan woman who was also wasting some time on the end of the jetty came over and started doing some black magic/prayer/healing physical therapy to me. She was right in my face and talking very fast and loud in either Sasak or Indonesian language. It was difficult to remember how to speak in Bahasa, although I could pretty much understand what she was saying to me. She massaged my head and neck and hands and prayed multiple times facing each direction, then took my scarf and twisted it up and wrapped it around my head and pulled it tight while mumbling some voodoo mantra. While sitting on the jetty with my legs straight out in front of me, she pushed on my hips with her foot while pulling and moving my leg around with her hands. Then she asked me if Clint was my boyfriend or husband. I said no, just friends. She looked at my palm then ran over to Clint who was sitting quietly in the corner by himself, grabbed his hand and checked his palm. All the while she was talking loud and fast, and of course he couldn't understand a thing she was saying. She came back and told me that I must marry him because our palms are the same. She continued to tell me about herself. It was hard to understand, but what I got out of it was that she was married and her husband was at mainland with another of his wives. So she was alone that night just killing some time on the jetty, helping sick tourists.

The next morning after breakfast we headed down to the beach with our snorkel and fins. After swimming around for a while, checking out the fish and coral, I saw a guy paddle by on his canoe and decided I'd rather be on top of the water rather than in the water. He cruised by and asked if I wanted to rent his canoe for 20,000 rupiahs for the whole day. So I took it. I paddled around for a little while and then went back to check on. We sat on the beach for a few minutes looking across the way to the next island, Gili Meno. I thought since I had the canoe and all, I might as well head over there and check it out. As I was preparing for my voyage, the 'Pard' Ketut, who I rented the canoe from came by and asked where I was going. ('Pard' is a hick talk nickname meaning 'pard-ner' given by Clint to all the people who went way out of their way to help us.) I told Ketut I was heading to the other island, and he asked if I wanted him to go with me. I didn't mind the company and the supervision, so I agreed and we paddled out across the channel. Rather than just going straight across, Ketut wanted to go all the way around the island. It took a few hours to get around, so by the time we got back to Clint, I was pretty pooped.

The next day we moved down to Ketut's guest house and hung out with his friends for a couple of days. We decided to canoe around Gili Meno again, but this time bring Clint along for the ride. We stopped for lunch at Meno. While relaxing in the gazebo and looking at the sea and Gili Air, I got the bright idea to buy two canoes and take them back to Perhentian so I could play with them there and also rent them out to customers while I'm busy wakeboarding. I just so happened that someone next door to the restaurant had some canoes that they wanted to sell. So that was the day that I dropped a couple mil (rupiahs, that is) on 2 canoes. Pard tied them to his canoe and towed them back to Gili Trawanggan with us. We were about half way back when Clint had the painful realization that we were going to have to deal with hauling them all the way back to Pulau Perhentian. Together with Pard's friends, we brainstormed a few options for shipping the canoes to Malaysia in order to avoid having to haul them ourselves.

We headed back to Lombok the next day to rent motorbikes and go back to Senaru to check out the waterfalls. Pard asked to come with us in order to take us to some cargo shipping companies in Mataram and we said okaythat was a mistake. We rented 2 bikes in Bangsal. Pard Ketut rode on the back of my bike, which I think was a little too exciting for him. When we arrived in Senaru, on the beautiful foothills and rice paddies of a huge volcano, Pard Joe, whom we had met several days earlier at the Senaru marina, saw us cruising up the hill and led us to the guesthouse where he worked. The porch of our room overlooked a deep canyon of rice paddies and had a great view, when it was clear, of the volcano.

Joe took us to the waterfalls on a trail that hugged the steep canyon wall with an irrigation canal running along side. More than half of the canal went through tunnels in the cliff side, with windows built all along the way so that the tunnel diggers could see what they were doing. The first waterfall was pretty, but had no swimming hole, so we continued on to the second falls. This one was probably the best waterfall I've ever seen. It was truly amazing, with a couple of great swimming holes and nice rocks to jump off. As we were walking back down the trail, Joe asked if we wanted to walk through the tunnels. Of course the answer was yes! As we walked in the canal through the dark tunnels with the occasional bat flying past our faces, Clint and I got the bright idea of floating the Senaru canal on inner tubes. So that afternoon Joe took me into town to buy some tubes in preparation for our inaugural float of the Senaru canal the next morning. Everyone at the mechanic's shop where we filled the tubes told me I was crazy. I just smiled and said it's true.

There was a bit of an incident when Ketut woke up in the morning and couldn't find his wallet. We searched the room to find nothing so he went and got Joe. Joe came in the room for a minute to help us look, then went and got his boss. The boss came down. I randomly decided to lift up the mattress because sometimes that's were I put my valuables, and low and behold, there was his wallet. Ketut freaked out and threw it against the wall. Joe and boss left and the crisis was over. Ketut asked if I had put the wallet under the mattress. I'm pretty sure I did not. So he thought that Joe took it and then when he complained that it was missing, Joe put it under the mattress when he came in the room to help us look for it. I had given Joe some U.S. dollars as a partial payment for the canoes. Later he told me that $20 was missing, so I'm not sure if Joe was the offender or if Ketut was the offender.

After breakfast we headed back up to the waterfall with our tubes and floated most of the way back down the canal. It was like a spook alley water park ride, and a really long one at that. That inner tube float was definitely worth the 5 bucks it cost for the tubes!

From Senaru, we decided to take the scenic route to Mataram, around the north and east side of Lombok and up over the high volcano mountains. It was an amazing and beautiful drive, with incredibly steep and windy, narrow roads through the jungle and over the mountains. It was amazing and beautiful up until we hit the cloudburst. We and all of our belongings were soaked within seconds. My hands started to get so cold that my fingers were going numball the while with Ketut still on the back of my bike. We were pretty much out in the middle of nowhere and there was no shelter to stop and wait out the storm so we just kept driving.

Finally the rain cleared up, but the roads were still wet, my fingers still numb. Far from any villages and high in the jungle-covered mountains, as we cruised up over a steep slope and around a sharp bend, three guys jumped out in the middle of the road waving their arms and shouting, "Stop! Stop!" I thought they were up to no good because they had no vehicles there with them. I wasn't going to stop and just cruise by until Ketut said to stop. When he said that, I turned my head back to look, thinking that maybe they actually needed help or something. As I turned my head back to the front, I was heading straight off the road. I couldn't straighten the situation out fast enough to keep from crashing. The bike went down and I landed on my side. Ketut landed on top of me. I know because I heard his helmet hit mine. I was laid out flat in the middle of the road. The first thing that hurt was my hip that had been broken before in my car accident and I thought, "Great, what did I break this time." Clint drove up around the bend to find me lying next to my tipped over bike. It took me a few minutes to gather my senses and stand up. A couple of guys came by on their bikes and stopped to help me pick up the bike and move it off the road. As I squatted next to the bike, warming my hands on the exhaust pipe, Ketut was up talking to the 3 guys. I asked the guys that helped me with the bike why those guys had stopped us. They told me it was because they wanted to take our money. Then Ketut came back down and took out his Leatherman, pulled out two of the blades and hid it in his jacket before heading back up to talk to the guys some more. Clint and I didn't know exactly what was going on, but the situation was getting a little less than comfortable. A few vehicles passed, including a bike with a family and a car with the village elder inside. They stopped to see if we were okay, and I think that caused the offenders to back off a little bit. I just wanted to get the hell out of there so I told Ketut to get on and let's go. We hauled ass down off the mountain to the nearest village to relax, warm my hands on a cup of hot water and clean up my wounds (which aside from the black and blue on my hip and thigh, only required one bandage). Everyone in the village gathered around to find out what happened to us. Man, has the sunshine never felt so good.

Due to that little delay, we didn't make it to Mataram in time to check out the cargo shipping company, which was the whole reason we brought Ketut with us in the first place, so we just headed straight back to Senggigi for the night. I slept while Clint and Ketut went out to party it up with the locals. The next morning when I woke up, I found Pard sleeping on the floor and foaming at the mouth so much that it was bubbling up in an inch high dome out of his mouth. It almost made me hurl, but then it was pretty funny later when I told Clint about it.

We headed back to Gili Trawanggan to pick up the canoes. We stayed there for one night, rigged up the canoes with sarongs as shoulder straps to carry them, and headed out the next morning for Bali. We loaded them onto the public boat early in the morning, then onto a horse cart at Bangsal, then onto a mini bus to Senggigi, then onto a small boat out to a bigger boat, then on the big boat to Bali, then on another mini bus to Legian, where they stayed for a week while we cruised around Bali.

Bali

2010-10-06T20:26:00.001-07:00

We arrived in Denpasar, Bali on January 18th and stayed in Kuta for a couple of days, walking around in the labyrinth of sidewalks between high walls. To get from our hotel to the beach anywhere else you had to go right, then right, then right, then right, then left or you could go straight, then left, then right, then left, then left, then right again all through a high-walled maze past Hindu temples and statues with people cruising past on motorbikes with surfboards. We took surf lessons one afternoon. With our surfing guru pushing our boards to help us catch the wave, I was actually able to stand up three times. I however have not yet caught a wave by paddling myself fast enough. Everyone we've met asks how long we've been in Indonesia and when I tell them this is my first time here, they ask why I can already speak bahasa Indonesia so well. Sweet! The language study is really paying off. Click here to see images from this trip.

The Perfect Storm (but it was not storming)

2010-10-06T20:20:00.000-07:00

Azmie and I had spent the day on mainland waiting for Zam and his wife in Kuala Besut and then with the boat mechanic in Kota Bharu. By the time we were finished with our business and back at the Kuala Besut jetty, ready to head back to the island it was already late in the afternoon. No more fast boats were leaving for the island that day because the wind was strong and the sea was too rough. The captain of a large, slow boat was seriously contemplating whether he would head home and take the 30 or 40 people who would otherwise be stuck in Kuala Besut for the night. The slow boat finally boarded the people and headed out. Azmie spent about 30 minutes watching the waves at shore, the white caps on the horizon, and the wind before deciding that we would go for it rather than spending the night on mainland where extremely conservative culture would not permit us to share a hotel room or even hold hands. He asked if I was okay to go to the island or if I was scared and wanted to spend the night in Kuala Besut. Since I had never crossed the rough sea in a small boat, I had no idea what we were in for. So I said that I would trust his decision to go or not.

The wind was mellowing and it was still a couple of hours until sunset so we dropped off the car with Azmie's uncle and picked up the boat from the secret parking spot. The easterly winds from the South China Sea pushed waves and current towards mainland, which would add time onto our journey as if pushing up river. As we pulled out into the river and then into the open sea our speed went from slow and steady to fast then stop, fast then stop, fast then stop. Azmie drove against the waves by gunning it to climb the front of the wave then pulling back the throttle at the peak to try not to jump the entire boat out of the water. If that happened at too sharp of an angle the boat could crash down too much in the back and enough water could crash into the boat to tip it or sink it. The amount of concentration required by Azmie was comparable to that required of driving in a blinding blizzard of freezing rain on steep and sharp turning, slippery, narrow mountain roads. The waves didn't come at us all from the front or in any sort of pattern. Some were small and mild and others were easily five or six times higher than us, and they came at us from the front and both sides. When a big one approached, the valley that proceeded put enough water around us that we could not see the horizon in any direction. Azmie was aware and his reflexes were fast. My job was easy; hold on, and occasionally scoop water out of the back that had crashed in over the sides of the boat. Other than the kidney jarring bumpiness of it all I felt safe like Azmie had control of the situation. However there was a moment there when my heart pounded a little faster than usual as a huge wave approached. Azmie said, "Oh shit!" and hit the throttle all the way to get to the top of the wave without getting pummeled. The boat jumped entirely out of the water and at the same time another peak of a huge wave hit us from the side, which tipped us enough to make me grab tight onto something. While in mid-air the engine cut out. If the boat turns sideways against a wave the boat could easily be tipped. Azmie quickly restarted the engine, pushed the throttle and turned the boat into the oncoming wave. Whew!

After that incident the sea floor got deeper and the waves were smaller. A drive that in normal conditions takes 20 or 30 minutes with that kind of a fast boat, that day took us an hour and a half. Now I know what Azmie really meant all the times he told me he had to "fight the choppy".

After we were safe at the island we reflected back on how dangerous and scary the drive home was. I told him that when the engine cut out was the only time I was scared a little bit. I trusted his judgment because he had lived here most of his life and had to weigh that same decision many, many times before. He told me that his father always told him that he must trust his heart. If he thinks he can make it then he must go and he must make it. If he has a doubt, then he must not even try because turning back once you're mid-way can be even more dangerous than continuing on course.

A Day in the Life

2010-10-06T20:18:00.000-07:00

Normally I wake up around 7 or 7:30. I take a quick shower and make coffee. If there's time, we drink it on the balcony and make breakfast or eat at a restaurant. If not then we get takeout and put the coffee in a thermos to take on the boat. It's the tail end of monsoon and there are still big waves at Long Beach so boats are not parking there. Instead they are parking on the other side of the island at Coral Bay and you have to cross the island to Long Beach by taking a 15-minute walk on a jungle trail while listening to birds, chipmunks, and crickets that sound like thousands of ringing bells. The trail is a good place for wake and bake. Some days I only cross once or twice. Other days I cross 4 or 5 times.

If we have customers for snorkeling then we round everyone and their gear up and head out to look for sharks, turtles, and an array of reef fish. Sometimes I relax on the boat and sometimes I lead the customers to find the good fish spots in the water. If we have a sporty type on the boat, usually we can talk them into going wakeboarding. If Azmie is riding the wakeboard then I am usually driving. Otherwise, Azmie normally drives unless he needs to do some fiddling with the engine while it's running or something. During the snorkel trips we try to find a nice, quiet and secluded beach to stop at for relaxing and swimming. After we return to the island, we shower, sometimes nap, maybe surf or canoe, or maybe gather up wood for our bungalow... Oh, by the way, did I tell you we're building a bungalow?

Pulau Perhentian, Terengganu, Malaysia

2010-10-06T20:15:00.000-07:00

Boat Guide at Pulau Perhentian, Malaysia

2010-10-06T20:07:00.001-07:00

Southern India

2010-10-06T19:44:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was a little girl I have had a strong desire to visit India. I've always felt a respect for Indian culture; at least the little bit that I had sampled in the United States. After 23 hours in the air from San Francisco with a stopover in Hong Kong and a six-hour layover in Singapore, my friend Syamala and I arrived in Chennai (previously known as Madras) on the late evening of Wednesday, April 17th. At long last, here I was on the East Coast of south India, where it is hot and humid. My favorite climate! My lungs felt good, my skin felt good, and everyone was smiling.

Syamala's mother and brother-in-law greeted us at the airport. We loaded all of our bags into a van taxi and drove into town. The streets were filled with cars, trucks, two-wheelers, three-wheelers, pedestrians, cows, goats, and bicycles. A man driving a motorcycle or scooter, with a woman wearing a beautiful sari, sitting sidesaddle on the back, was a common sight. Many of the vehicles on the road were auto-rickshaws, which are bright yellow little three-wheeler, partly enclosed taxis that usually seat three people in the back. The driver steers with motorcycle-like handlebars. Most of the rickshaws and large trucks were highly personalized. They had decorative paintings or words, often religious in nature, all over the back, sides, and front of the vehicle.

It was a mad system of vehicles closely weaving in and out of each other that miraculously got us from the airport to the Venkateswara Swami Temple guesthouse where we spent the night. Many Hindus travel around the country to visit temples; so many Hindu temples had facilities to accommodate these travelers. Syamala's brother-in-law, Prasad worked in Tirupati, Andhra Pradesh at the Tirmula temple. Tirupati is the birthplace of the God, Venkateswara Swami. Since Prasad works at this temple he can stay at other temples' guesthouses for free.

Many Indians are vegetarians at some level, so all of the restaurants are conveniently labeled as, "Vegetarian", "Non-Vegetarian", or "Veg/Non-Veg". Syamala and I changed into some fresh clothes and we all went out for dinner at a "Veg/Non-Veg" restaurant. We rode in two auto rickshaws: Syamala, her mother Rani, and myself in one and Prasad following closely behind in another one. We arrived at the restaurant and parked next to a cow that was foraging for food in a trash pile on the side of the street. Across the street, a woman was sitting on the ground, selling garlands and fragrant jasmine flowers for tying in hair. We walked up a narrow, cement stairway to be seated in the restaurant. The servers laid down a huge banana leaf in front of each of us. Prasad poured a little water down and swished it around with his hand to clean and rinse off the leaf. The rest of us followed his example. We gave our orders and soon an entourage of male servers brought our food in steel serving bowls. One man scooped rice with a small plate onto our banana leaves. Then other men served our requested curries. Even though I only ordered one veggie curry, which I shared with Rani, they gave me a sampling of all of the spicy vegetarian curries they had prepared that night. What a treat!

Back at the guesthouse, the three of us women slept in a double bed. The following morning I bathed by dipping a cup into a bucket of water and pouring it over my body, lathering up, and rinsing off with the same cup method. The toilet there was the squatter kind, a porcelain hole in the ground with two platforms for your feet. I didn't use, or even see any toilet paper the whole time I was in India. Instead, a bucket of water with a cup for dipping was kept beside the toilet for washing.

Syamala and Prasad took me to the temple for pooja (worship) before we went to breakfast. Per Hindu tradition, Rani did not go with us to the temple because she was menstruating, nor did any of us touch her before we went. We walked inside the front entrance of the temple that was decorated with intricately carved statues of various Hindu deities. The idol of Venkateswara Swami was housed at this temple. He was dressed in a robe and covered in so many flowers that all you could see was his face and feet. The worshipers stood with their palms together facing the idol while the priest performed the ceremony. He chanted and passed a plate of fire around to the worshipers. The people moved their hand over the flame then touched their eyes and chests, receiving blessings from the light of the flame. Syamala's husband Pradeep later told me that fire is the purest form of nature. Everything can be destroyed and cleansed by fire. Therefore, much in the same way followers of some Christian religions partake in the sacrament, the Hindu worshipers are cleansed of their sins by the flame. The priest also passed a spoonful of coconut water to each person's hand for drinking. This water had been used to bathe the idol. Drinking it was thought to bestow blessings of good health. Syamala and I stepped up to the front. Syamala told the priest our names, including Pradeep, who was in the U.S. at that time. The priest said some prayers in our names then cut some flowers from the altar. He gave the flowers to us in a plastic bag that had an image of Venkateswara Swami printed on it, to carry good luck with us throughout the day.

We left the temple and met Rani in front to go out shopping. Again, three of us in one rickshaw and Prasad following in another. He was a very good sport and escorted us around all day. We went to a few tailor shops and picked out fabric to have several salwar kamees (long dresses with pants) and dupatas (scarves) custom tailored. The cotton material cost anywhere from 200 to 800 rupees ($4 TO $16 U.S.) and up, plus 50 rupees (about $1 U.S.) for one-hour tailoring service. They took our measurements and specifics about things like dress length, pant style, and neck line style. We went out to some other stores and came back an hour later to pick up our 15 custom tailored outfits. Now that's service!

After we were done shopping, Prasad escorted us to the Chennai train station where we boarded an overnight train to Syamala's village, Kaikalur. We pulled up to the station in an organized line of yellow auto-rikshaws. We hired a few men to carry our baggage. Even though some of our bags had wheels, they carried them all on their heads. We made our way through the crowds, past several platforms with docked trains, to the very last platform where the train to Kaikalur was docked. I can only imagine what a mess I would have been in if I had tried to locate the correct train by myself.

Chennai is in the state of Tamil Nadu. The mother tongue there is Tamil. Since it is a big city with people living there from all over the country, the signs there are printed either in Tamil, English, or a combination of the two. I went to sleep on the train in the land of the Tamil language and woke up in Kaikalur, Andhra Pradesh, where the mother tongue is Telugu. All the signs in the small village of Kaikalur are printed in Telugu, which has a completely different alphabet than Tamil.

We arrived at the single-platform train station in Kaikalur around 5:00 am and were greeted by Syamala's father, Venkateswara Rao. Dawn was just starting to break, birds were calling, and beautiful prayer music was playing over loud speakers. There were about ten rickety, old looking bicycle rickshaws waiting in front of the train station. These rickshaws were bicycles that pulled a covered cart that seats one or two people (under normal circumstances). Syamala stopped to say hello to one of the rickshaw drivers. She told me that he used to give her rides to school when she was a child. Since we had baggage we rode in a car taxi, instead of the rickshaws, a couple of kilometers to Syamala's family's house. We passed many small houses, dodging goats, chickens and pedestrians the entire way. The British style taxi appeared to be from the 60's, as did most of the car taxis I saw in Andhra Pradesh. They were so old that the seat belts were not functional or were non-existent... not that anybody seemed to mind.

Syamala's grandmother, her sister Vimala, and Vimala and Prasad's kids, Gnanasa and Adithya greeted us when we arrived at their home. Vimala and her family were visiting from Tirupati. Syamala's grandmother lives there with Rani and Venkateswara. She hasn't left the house, out of respect for her husband, since he died more than 20 years ago. She also happens to be Syamala's father's sister. So technically speaking, she is also Syamala's aunt.

Soon after we arrived there, I walked with Vimala across the street and the bridge over the canal to the hospital. Vimala was going to have a cyst removed. The hospital consisted of a waiting room, an office room with a desk, and an exam room. The exam room didn't seem to be very private, because another patient was taken in while Vimala's procedure was in progress. The whole thing took about 20 minutes. While I waited, I noticed a poster on the wall that illustrated several people, mostly women and children, lined up behind a water well. It was the kind of well that had a lever that had to be pumped up and down to get the water to pour out. One person was trying to pump water into their bucket, but barely a droplet of water was coming out. The poster warned people to conserve water, a message that should be heeded by all of us.

Early Sunday morning we hired a cab driver and his car for the full day and left for Vijayawada. It was a two-hour drive from Kaikalur to Vijayawada, passing through many small villages, fish farms, and rice fields. I saw many strange looking milk cows, that I was informed were actually buffalo. There is a canal running along side the road for a good portion of the way to Vijayawada. People were bathing, buffalo were drinking, men were fishing with nets, and women were doing laundry, all in this slow-moving canal.

Their process of doing laundry was something new to my western eyes. They swished the cloth in a bucket of water or in the river, beat the cloth on a rock, then swung it around and over their head as water flew everywhere from the centrifugal force. Then they beat it on the rock again. This repeated over and over again until the garment was beaten clean.

There must have been a method to the madness of driving on the streets of India. Some roads had a center line dividing one direction of traffic from the other, but that didn't seem to mean a whole lot. Horns were used constantly. Many vehicles had the words "Please sound horn" decoratively painted in English across the rear bumper. In a kind of go-if-you-dare driving environment like this, making your presence known to other drivers was of utmost importance. Following distance, what was that? It was a miracle that we didn't hit another vehicle, a person, or even a cow. To make it more confusing for me, we drove on the left side of the road and the steering wheel was on the right side of the car.

We passed many temples on our way to Vijayawada, one of which our driver stopped at and went inside to do some pooja for a brief moment while the rest of us waited in the car. We went to Vijayawada because it was a festival for the wedding anniversary for Lord Rama, arranged by Syamala's aunt and uncle. As we drove into town we passed several small parades of people playing wind instruments and hand drums in celebration of the anniversary.

When we arrived at Syamala's aunt's place in Vijayawada, I was not allowed to enter through the front door with everyone else because I had started my period. Syamala went with me to the back door entrance into a bedroom, where I remained until we left the house. I could not join the other guests in the main part of the house for breakfast, but her aunt served me in the bedroom. Some of the women and children stayed in the bedroom to keep me company. Syamala's uncle came in to say hello and welcome me to his city and home. Because of my period I was not supposed to go to the ceremony, but it was obvious to them that I was disappointed so they set up some chairs at the back of the function so that I could observe. Syamala's aunt and uncle each played parts on the stage that was a reenactment of Lord Rama's wedding ceremony. After the ceremony ended, we went back to Syamala's aunt's house for lunch. Again I was served in the back bedroom.

A little frustrated and embarrassed, I tried to understand some of the reasoning behind this tradition. It was not until after I returned to the United States that I became more open to the idea of staying isolated while menstruating. I learned that the intent of staying in the bedroom and having food brought in is for the woman to have rest and to be served for three to five days each month, when otherwise, her daily activities call for her to be actively working. Even Native American women would follow a similar tradition by staying in her tipi and being served by sisters during this time of rest. When considering my own normal daily tasks, I would appreciate a few days each month just to rest and relax.

Back in Kaikalur one evening, Syamala and I rode in a bicycle rickshaw and Vimala, Gnanasa, and Adithya followed us in another to the only movie theater in the village. The theater was old and the chairs were uncomfortable, but the movie was good at least what I saw of it before I fell asleep. I have a hard time staying awake during American movies, which usually last an hour and a half. Indian movies often run for three or four hours, with lots of songs and an intermission. The movie ticket cost 15 rupees, which is about $0.30 U.S in money.

Fatima is the lady who came daily to clean and do some food prep work at Syamala's house. One day after she finished her work there, before she went to work at another house, she took me out for a walk through Kaikalur to show me around. She showed me her small, one-room house made of mud walls and a palm leaf thatched roof. Fatima is a Muslim, as are all of her neighbors on that street. As we walked through the narrow streets all of her neighbors wanted to know who I was and where I was from. Though Fatima does not speak English, big smiles and the few Telugu words that I know were enough for us to communicate. We visited three houses where her sisters lived, then the house of a woman named Lakshmi.

From the rooftop of Lakshmi's house you could see many fishponds on the outskirts of the village. We had arrived at the rooftop in time to watch a glorious red sunset fade into dusk. As the brilliant colors of the sky were fading many children gathered as news traveled that I was visiting there. Most of them spoke English quite well and called me Auntie. They introduced themselves to me and told me what grade they were in. Lakshmi and her college-age son also spoke English quite well. In the course of the conversation while getting acquainted, Lakshmi casually asked if I was "married or a virgin". Since I was single, and understanding how important a woman's reputation was, my only option to answer was "virgin". By the end of the evening my cheeks ached from smiling so much because of the warm welcome that was extended to me by the people of this beautiful village.

Early the next morning we left for Venkateswara's fish farms. Syamala, Vimala, Venkateswara, Gnanasa, Adithya, and I rode in a taxi for about 30 or 45 minutes on a narrow road through several small fishing and rice farm villages. It was the same driver who had picked us up from the Kaikalur train station, and who had driven us to Vijayawada. Most of the houses we passed were made of stick and mud walls with thatched palm leaf roofs. The dried mud walls of the houses were decorated with white designs all around the outside, especially around the entrances and around the foundations. The rice fields looked as if they had been recently harvested. Now the farm workers were gathering the rice straw into bundles and carrying them on their heads to large piles. As we drove on past a few more villages, the paved road turned to dirt and gravel. Workers there were mostly women. Rather than carrying straw, they were walking down the road carrying plastic bags full of water and fish. They were transporting grown fish in water-filled bags from the ponds to a packinghouse where they would be packed in ice and shipped away to be sold.

We turned off the road onto a dirt car path that separated two fishponds. Each pond was approximately one acre square. It was summer time so the water was low, about six feet deep. When full, they are probably about fifteen feet deep. We drove back into the property, past a few ponds. One of the ponds was dried up. In the middle of it they had built a shade structure to house several buffalo for milking. The car path ended at a large straw pile and a shade structure with a roof of palm leaves. A few chairs had been set up under the canopy for eating and resting. As we got out of the car a woman named Lakshmi and her family greeted us. They worked for Venkateswara, taking care of the ponds and property, and had been doing so for fifteen years. We walked on a footpath past ponds filled with fish and tiger prawns. We reached a remote corner junction of three ponds where we sat in the shade of coconut trees and had a breakfast picnic of idlis (steamed cakes), ginger pickle, and freshly harvested coconuts. We were in paradise! A couple of the men threw out their nets to pull in some prawns and fish to show us. They weighed some of the prawns to see how big they were getting and how many rupees they would bring. Rather than walking back on the footpaths, Ravi, one of the employees, took us back in a boat that he pushed along with a bamboo pole. As we rode across one pond and arrived at the bank we would leave the boat behind, walk across the bank to the next pond and get into another boat.

When we arrived back at the camp area, Lakshmi escorted me to the dry pond. It was time to milk the buffalo. Two small girls and a man stood with us while Ravi milked the buffalo. Ravi squatted down and held a steel bucket between his knees to catch the milk as he squeezed it from the buffalo's teats. In the few Telugu words I know, and a lot of body language, I explained that I used to milk cows when I was a child. I don't know if I got my point across or not, but it didn't really matter. We were all happy just to be in each other's presence.

As we started the return trip to Kaikalur, we stopped at two houses near the ponds. The families of Ravi and Lakshmi lived there. The women there gave Syamala, Vimala, and I each a piece of cloth as a welcoming gift. We would have sari blouses tailored out of the cloth. They put red saffron powder dots between our eyebrows for wishing of happy life and to express that we are always welcome to come to their houses. We also stopped at a temple that was out in the middle of a rice field. There were no lights inside, except for a plate of fire for the ceremonies. Syamala stayed in the car because she was menstruating, and Vimala because she had not taken a bath yet. So I went in the temple with Venkateswara and the children for pooja.

Beautiful songs were played every morning over the loud speakers at the Saibaba temple across the street from Syamala's house. The music could be heard from inside the house. Syamala's mother, Rani took me with her to the temple early one morning for pooja. Before we entered we removed our slippers and circumambulated, or walked around the outside of the temple one time in a clockwise direction. Inside was a large altar and statue of Saibaba. In each of the top corners of the backdrop of Saibaba was a swastik (swastika) with the points facing the opposite direction from each other.

For thousands of years, Hindus and many other cultures and religions around the world, including Native Americans, have used the swastika as a symbol of devotion or other spiritual representation. It is unfortunate that to many Americans the swastika carries negative connotations associated with Hitler and the holocaust, as he stole it to represent something that was never intended for that symbol.

On each side of the Saibaba statue was a statue of a lion-like creature. There was a small statue of Ganesha on the left side, a picture of the three-headed deity with the faces of Brahma, Vishnu, and Maheshwara on the right side, and another small statue in front. Under the small statue was an image of two feet, representing the feet of Saibaba. In this pooja we turned circles three times with our hands held together. The priest handed us each a flower and said a series of prayers in each of our names, then held out a plate for us to put the flowers back on, along with some rupee coins.

After Rani took me to see Saibaba, Fatima came to take me to Lakshmi's house. First we stopped in at Fatima's house and were quickly greeted by her neighbors, a few women and several children. Most of the children asked me simple questions and introduced themselves to me in English. We only stayed at Fatima's for a little while then she took me to Lakshmi's house. Lakshmi and I sat in chairs and talked with Fatima, who sat on the floor because she is a maid, not because of her caste. In fact, Fatima is not part of the caste system at all because she is Muslim. The caste system is part of the Hindu religion.

Fatima returned to work and Lakshmi's husband came home for lunch. Lakshmi gave me a photo book to look at while she served lunch to her husband. He was very friendly and gave me some sweets and old rupee coins. After he ate and went back to work, Lakshmi and I ate lunch, which included a wonderful, spicy, mango fried rice. After lunch I played a board game with Lakshmi and her son. Some nephews and friends came over to visit. One of the younger boys, who was in the other room with some other children discussing what questions they should ask me, came out and asked what caste I belong to. I explained that I do not belong to a caste and that we do not have a caste system in the United States. With a puzzled look, he ran back into the other room to tell the other children my answer.

A couple of the boys took me across the street to see the Vasavi Kamjaka Parameswary Temple that houses the Goddess of the Vysyas caste. This was the caste of Lakshmi's family. As we entered the front gate of the temple grounds, a man was shoeing away a cow that had been nibbling from some mango branches and leaves that were hung to decorate the entrance. This temple had been built with money from one of the boys' grandfathers, so that grandchild should always enter and complete his pooja before the others. Two women at the temple invited me into the kitchen to show me where they were cooking large pots of vegetarian food over gas flames in preparation for a large feast.

Across the street in the other direction from Lakshmi's house was the Sri Syamalamba temple, which I visited another day with Rani and her friend, Uma. Lakshmi said that Syamalamba's body was found at that site, so the temple was erected there. This was the Goddess who Syamala was named after.

Lakshmi took me to her cousin Lakshmi's house where I took an actual shower, with water running from the showerhead! Lakshmi and Lakshmi dressed me up in a beautiful silk sari; six meters of fabric tucked and folded in all the right places. There are no buttons or clasps to keep these beautiful dresses on, but if folded and tucked correctly they will stay on all day, whether for a special occasion or for work. Over the sari they dressed me in bangles, a necklace, a bindi sticker on my forehead, and fragrant jasmine flowers freshly strung by Lakshmi for my hair. We went to the rooftop and took photos of ourselves in the sunset with fishponds and cranes perching in palm trees as our backdrop. After dark Lakshmi walked with me through the narrow crowded dirt streets back to Syamala's house.

Every morning Syamala's grandmother would make me a delicious steaming hot cup of coffee that could accurately be described as a buffalo's milk latte. Breakfast usually consisted of idlis (steamed cakes) with peanut or coconut chutney or ginger pickle, or dosas (thin pancakes) stuffed with curried vegetables. Lunch and dinner nearly always included one or two vegetarian curries, a non-vegetarian curry, rasam (tomato soup), white rice, and homemade yogurt. The food was always spicy and always delicious! For desert we would usually eat sweets freshly made by Grandmother, mango slices, or freshly squeezed mango juice. Mango season was just beginning. Reportedly there are over 100 varieties of mangos that grow in India and they are the best in the world. Lucky for me because mangos just happen to be my favorite fruit and the "king of mangos" grows in Kaikalur! These mangos were very large, about the size of a small cantaloupe, and firm. Their skin was green and the flesh on the inside was a mellow yellowish-orange. The flavorful taste was tangy with a little bit of sweet! Venkateswara would often cut slices from one of these large mangoes and walk around the house, passing them to each person for an afternoon snack.

One morning I went with Rani and Uma to Machilipatnam (a.k.a. Bandar) for a ceremony to worship the Goddess Lalita Devi. One of the men at the function told me that when the Universe was created the "ohm" sound was made. Ohm is often chanted in songs of pooja for Lalita and other Gods and Goddesses as well. The man said that it was because of Lalita's wish and doing that the Universe was created and that is why we were there celebrating her being. When we arrived at this function, several girls were sitting on chairs. Women, perhaps their mothers or grandmothers, were sitting on the ground in front of them. The older women washed the young girls' feet then decorated them with red saffron powder, yellow turmeric power, and blossoms as part of pooja. Then they and some other women prayed to the girls' feet. One woman told me that in this ceremony the girls were worshiped as if they were equal to Goddesses. After that part of the ceremony, the women sat on the ground in two rows facing each other. Pooja implements were passed out to everyone. While all of these activities were going on, a group of women were chanting songs to Lalita Devi. This chanting went on for seven full days and nights. Women would rotate in shifts to keep the chanting continuous.

I participated in the pooja with Rani and Uma. I didn't know what I was supposed to do so I just did what they did. We responded to the priest's chants by sprinkling grains of rice, saffron powder and blossoms in a pile over a printed card depicting Lalita Devi and Sri Chakram. The pooja involved cracking a coconut, burning incense and an oil candle, dipping a blossom in coconut water and sprinkling it over the pile, and so on. At one point Uma stopped me from using my left hand, otherwise I must have been doing it the right way.

Next, people gathered around six ornately decorated fire pits. As their priest chanted over the loud speaker they poured spoonfuls of cow ghee (clarified butter) and handfuls of grain called "mix of nine" into the fire. Then they would circumambulate the fire pit an odd number of times. People would rotate in and out of the circle so that everyone could have the opportunity to receive the blessings bestowed by participating. It seemed to go on for a long time because it got very hot and smoky. We were outside, seated under a huge colorfully decorated shade canopy. Large fans were set up around the perimeter of the canopy to blow fresh air into the fire pit area. But instead it created a circulation that kept the smoke confined around us all. After the pooja was complete, lunch was served to everyone. We dished up our plates buffet-style, and as always, ate with our hands.

After lunch, Syamala's uncle told me that they don't know why these rituals work, nor do they need to know why. He explained, "Hinduism is the oldest religion on earth and these rituals have been taking place for thousands of years". He said they know so well that these rituals work that to them, it is scientific.

On our way back to Kaikalur we stopped at a very old, large temple. We were a group of about 10, including teenagers and children. It was a long way around the perimeter of the temple. I thought for sure that I would have blisters on the bottoms of my feet from circumambulating the temple on the scalding hot sand. My feet were tougher than I thought. This temple housed several different statues of deities, including idols of Lakshmi, who is the Goddess of wealth and Ganesh, who is the remover of obstacles. The temple was made of large stone blocks. There is no electricity on the inside. Oil candles burned near the idols.

On the drive back to Kaikalur we passed kilometer after kilometer of rice fields. It was harvest time and I saw the whole operation over the course of the drive. Pretty much everything was done by hand. First the rice grass was cut by hand then it was bundled and tied. The bundles were hoisted up onto men and women's heads and carried - sagging down over their heads and shoulders - to one large pile. After it was piled up someone drove a small tractor around in a circle on top of the pile, spreading it out, apparently to loosen the grain from the chaff. Then people came back into the center of the pile and sifted the grain from the chaff using hand-woven baskets. The grain piled up in the center as they pushed the straw to the outside to form a ring around them. They made a large container to place the grain in by twisting the straw into a 2-inch thick rope and coiling it around into a giant-sized basket. These hand-made baskets were roughly eight feet in diameter, six feet tall, and ended up being heaped full of rice. The rice was then shoveled into gunnysacks, piled onto a tractor-trailer, or more commonly, a cow trailer, and hauled away to market. The straw was piled onto another trailer and hauled to a nearby brick making station. We passed several piles of freshly made bricks that were stacked high and wide. Many had smoke rising from a fire underneath the pile to dry them.

While driving through the countryside I saw several cow dung collection piles. Dung "patties" were uniformly shaped by hand then slapped on the side of a tree to dry. Usually they were placed in a nice spiral design that wrapped around the trunk of the tree. After they were dry they were stacked into piles on the side of the road, awaiting their resourceful use as cooking fuel.

In the evening, just before we left Kaikalur, I went with Uma, her husband, and two of their friends to a temple on the south side of the village. The man who drove us was the secretary for that temple. There was a statue above the entrance with a three-faced god standing with his companion cow, but it was too dark to see the details. First they prayed to a statue of Ganesh so that he would not allow obstacles to come in our way. They also prayed to the feet of the Swami who constructed that temple. When circumambulating inside the temple, they showed me an image of \ that had appeared by itself on the backside of the life-sized photo of the Swami. The worshipers believe that this proves the Swami's divine power. After pooja we all sat in front of the idol for a few minutes until we had that God's permission to leave.

After visiting the temple, they drove me to the north side of town on the road to Eluru and stopped on a bridge over a lake that is a bird sanctuary. We got out of the car so that we could absorb the scenery around us. The moon was full and very large, as it was low in the sky. The sunrises, sunsets and low moons were a beautiful dark red. Because of pollution in the air they often faded into and out of sight while above the horizon line. There was a wonderful feeling in the air that night that made me shiver with joy.

Later that night after Uma dropped me at home Rani, Syamala, and I caught an overnight train to Visakhapatanam (Vizakh for short) on the East Coast of Andhra Pradesh. There were no air-conditioned compartments on that train, which was better because you could see out the windows, but they didn't provide a pillow or sleep sheet. If I'd have known that ahead of time I would have been prepared with my neck pillow. Instead, I used my hard, lumpy backpack as a pillow and didn't sleep very much at all.

Syamala's cousin picked us up at the Vizakh train station at 4:30 in the morning. He and his family lived in an apartment across the street from the East Coast beach of the Indian Ocean. I went out for the last part of the sunrise with their two kids, Smiley and Sunny, who both speak English very well. As I sat there watching the sun rise and fade from a dark red into brilliant existence above the Indian Ocean, I couldn't help but think that this is where Columbus thought he was when he mistakenly called the Native American people Indians.

Syamala's cousin took us for a drive down the beach a little way to a naval area. There were three hilltops at the mouth of the naval inlet, one with a Catholic Church, one with a Muslim Mosque, and one with a Hindu Temple. Since Vizakh is a naval town, people from all over the country live there. The mother tongue is Telugu, but unlike the villages, the signs here are printed in Hindi or English more than Telugu.

For 35 rupees per person (less than $1.00 in U.S. money) we went for a boat ride around the inlet where we could see naval shipbuilding operations, and out into the ocean far enough to get a good view of the coastline of the city. A few dolphins raced and jumped ahead of us as the boat traveled along. It felt refreshing to be on the water and breathing in the sea air!

All of the houses that I had an opportunity to visit, with the exception of Fatima's, had a pooja room, or at least a closet or cupboard for daily pooja. Some were more extravagant than others were. Some had a few idols or images and some had many. Uma's had many shelves full of photos and statues in a small room devoted just to the daily pooja. Syamala's cousin even had a little pooja cupboard in his restaurant.

We went with Syamala's cousin's family and neighbors to a beach resort on the south side if Vizakh for a picnic. It was a beautiful day and the ocean water was warm and inviting. I did not take clothes for swimming, but one of the women there lent me a salwar kamees to wear in the water. Men wore regular bathing suites. Some even wore Speedos. Women wore full salwar kamees dresses, without the dupata.
A few days later I took an overnight train to Hyderabad, the capital city of Andhra Pradesh. As the train pulled into the Hyderabad station I looked out the window to see a family of monkeys walking in a line along the top of a brick wall. Pradeep's father Rao greeted us at the train station and took us to his home in the neighboring city, Secunderabad.

I went with Pradeep's mother, Bharathy to the school where she is Principal. I waited outside with our driver, within the school grounds while Bharathy attended to some business. It was summer vacation so no classes were in session, but some teachers and administrators were there working. A beautiful woman with a very warm smile came out of the building and said hello. I admired her jewelry, particularly a pair of silver earrings that she was wearing in her upper ear lobes. This was one of few times where my only option was to try to communicate just in Telugu. Apparently I got my point across about how much I liked her earrings, because the next day, Bharathy came home from school and presented me with a pair of earrings exactly like the ones that I had admired so much on that woman. Bharathy told me that the woman had sent for her daughter to bring this pair of earrings to give to me from their village where they were made.

Bharathy and Rao's maid Lakshmi had only worked in their house for a couple of months. They met when Rao and Bharathy started construction on the upstairs room of their house. Lakshmi, who was 25 years old, was one of the laborers working with the construction crew. She had been married, but her husband left her. So now, her family would only feed her one meal per day. "If her husband has left her, why should they feed her?" Bharathy felt badly for Lakshmi so she asked her to stay at their house and work for them. Although they didn't have that much work and already had one maid, at least they would know that Lakshmi's belly would be full.

Pradeep's sister Radhika invited me to stay at here house for a few days in Hyderabad with her husband, Sai and her kids, Chaitanya and Mayuaka. Early one evening Radhika, her kids, her maid Rekha and I went to a shopping center in Hyderabad. While we were eating dinner in the food court, all sitting at the same table, Radhika told me that normally people will "show the maid her place" by not allowing her to sit at the same table or eat from the same plate when they go out. Still, when at home Rekha sits and sleeps on the floor and eats separately. She has been with Radhika's family for several years and is like a nanny for the children. Radhika feels bad to exclude her and to treat her like a lower class, although her friends and neighbors think that she should show the maid her "place".

Many houses in India have intricate decorative designs drawn on the ground in the entrance way called Rangoli (Hindi) or Muggu (Telugu). According to Radhika, the husband is the king of the house and should leave each morning with a good feeling that the house is kept clean. The Goddess Lakshmi also likes houses to be kept very clean and tidy. So, each morning, after everything is swept clean they will draw a design on the ground at the front entry to the house. Radhika lives in an apartment and her entry is made out of tile, so she uses chalk sticks to draw her designs. A lot of houses, especially outside the city, have dirt entryways. People that live in these houses will mix cow dung with water and put it down over the dirt to keep bugs out of the house. Then they will draw their designs by letting a narrow chalk powder or rice flour line fall from their hand. These designs let the Goddess Lakshmi know that this house is clean and it invites her in. Radhika said, "Since this is the entrance to the house it should be beautiful. In the same way that the face is the entrance to the body, the bindi sticker is put as a decoration to enhance a woman's beauty."

Radhika told me some things about Indian families and about how much she was missing her brother who had been away for four years working in the U.S. She said that children are entirely dependent on their families until marriage. Even then, if a son, he will continue to live with his parents along with his new wife, unless his employment requires them to move away. They live together, eat together, sleep together, and console in each other. Siblings have very strong friendships. When an Indian is married, his or her siblings can feel jealous of the new spouse because they are used to having so much of his or her attention that now will be focused more on the new spouse.

I saw that parents would often tie strings around their children's waists, worn underneath their clothes. Radhika said that it was to ward off evil. She said that some men also wore them and that they were probably originally used to tuck a diaper or loincloth into. But today its use has continued for superstitious reasons. Another Indian family tradition that Pradeep told me about is that youngsters would touch their elders' feet to seek their blessings before stating anything important.

During one of our philosophical discussions at Pradeep's parent's house, about how the universe carries on and how the human mind gains knowledge (actually Rao told me stories and I listened), Rao said that there are 14 nationally recognized languages in India, including English. There are fifteen languages printed on the rupee notes, plus the English numerals of the denomination. That's a lot of languages for one country! My friend Prabhat once told me that in India you can travel a few hundred kilometers from your home and feel like a foreigner in your own country because there are so many different languages and cultures. I can't help but think that maybe that is how the native tribes of America would have developed and co-existed had they been uninterrupted by European settlers.

Radhika's eight-year-old son Chaitanya speaks Telugu at home, Hindi with his friends during a cricket match and English at school. He is comfortable with all three of these languages enough to freely communicate in any one of them. Vimala's children Gnanasa, who is four years old and Adithya, who is seven years old are also learning languages. Adithya is learning to recite historical facts about India in English. Gnanasa can write the Telugu alphabet and the English alphabet in cursive and manuscript, along with some simple English words. What a contrast to growing up in a society where we are required to learn only one language. It is inspiring to see what potential we have for learning, adapting, and communicating.

I stayed my last night in India at Rao and Bharathy's home in Secunderabad. Their maid Saavitri, who had been with them for several years, decorated my hands and feet with henna as a farewell gift. This was traditionally done on the hands of brides, but not necessarily restricted to such occasions. She painted intricate designs freehand by squeezing henna from a cone made of a plastic film. It looked as if she was squeezing icing onto a cake. I slept that night with my fingers and palms outstretched with the dark green mud drying on my skin and impressing its image there. As I had to catch an early flight, before the sun came up the next morning I awoke to Saavitri gently cracking and rubbing the dry mud off of the tops of my feet to reveal a dark orange-brown design that she had so carefully laid down the night before.

For as long as I can remember I have been attracted to Indian cultures, even to the extent that at times I have joked that the stork dropped me in the wrong place (except that I wouldn't trade my own family for anything!). I am thankful for the opportunity given to me by my friends who showed me around, and who took care of me during my stay in India. I learned more than I could ever have imagined. All of my senses have been tantalized! My memories of India are as vivid as the colorful daily aspects of their lives. The beautiful people I met there will always hold a warm memory in my heart. I can hardly wait for the day when I can return to this beautiful country to explore other areas, languages and cultures and visit my friends again in Andhra Pradesh.
(Spring 2001)

Terengganu Song

2009-11-10T10:18:00.000-08:00

Check out this freaking awesome unofficial song for the state of Terengganu, on the east coast of Malaysia.
This is my husband's home state.

Thanksgiving Sale eCoupon

2009-11-09T18:03:00.000-08:00

Online orders get 10% OFF everything at www.ZukiOutdoors.com until Thanksgiving Day!
Enter the discount code "holiday35" to get your 10% off!

Malaysian Borneo magazine article

2009-10-29T11:25:00.000-07:00

MALAYSIAN BORNEO STORY

By Suzan Crane
November, 2004
Published in KLM Airlines in-flight magazine
Photos by Dawna Zukirmi

I am hot, sweaty and itching like a dog with fleas, the insidious little creatures known as sand flies having marked their territory on every inch of my body. Slipping and sliding down steep muddy embankments, progress impeded by fallen trees and the aggressive attacks of prickly-skinned bushes, we venture deep into the bowels of Malaysian Borneo's primeval rainforest.

"I take you to a hidden paradise," Jok, my Kayan driver, says as we walk further into the bush. Then I see them, barely visible amidst the dense jungle foliage: several primitive dwellings constructed of ragged tree branches and torn bark welded together by thin strips of rattan. Intentionally eschewing the well trodden tourist track I have collided with an extraordinary parallel universe.

Curious eyes and toothless smiles greet our arrival at the camp of this small group of Penan nomads, the most remote of Sarawak's 27 indigenous tribes and amongst the last remaining hunter-gatherers on earth. Into an archaic world where time has no meaning and people don't know their age, daily life consists of simply finding food: blowpipes with poison darts to hunt wild boar, monkeys and mouse deer; bamboo baskets to collect sago, their dietary staple. Dirty-faced toddlers wearing beaded bracelets around their spindly legs peer out from behind loin-clothed men and topless women while elders puff away at banana leaf-wrapped cigarettes. A cooking fire is burning in one of the open-sided lean-tos to which pet monkeys are tethered. According to custom I present the chief with smoking tobacco, a well-received gift. I quickly sense that I am in the presence of a dying civilization. Imperiled by globalization and deforestation, survival of these illiterate peripatetic Orang Ulu (upriver people) is tenuous. An estimated 40 percent of this dwindling tribe has resettled into government provided housing.

With more than 45 dialects spoken in Sarawak communication is limited to smiles and gestures. Regardless, I am grateful that I made the 350 km four-wheel drive journey over dusty logging roads to visit these elusive drifters. That night is spent on the floor of a Penan family's one room electricity-less wooden hut. We prepare our evening meal on the banks of the river, paddle across it to retrieve fresh spring water and do our morning ablutions in the privacy of our own bush.

My excursion through Malaysian Borneo started several weeks earlier in Kuching, the historic, heterogeneous capital of Sarawak, Malaysia's largest state and one of three that comprise the island of Borneo (Sabah lies to the north and Indonesia's Kalimantan to the south; Brunei is a sultanate). Upon arriving visions of Borneo as an untamed frontier quickly evaporated. The world's third largest island is a study in contrasts where contemporary urban sensibilities fuse with tradition. KFC and Starbucks vie for space amongst local markets and heritage sites, venders wearing Nirvana t-shirts hawk durian and dried fish, and young people leave their rural longhouses for opportunities in the cities. Customs such as filial piety (ancestor worship) persist, but many Dayak (Iban and Bidayuh) have combined their animistic beliefs with Christianity.

Kuching is charming, but I'm eager to head upriver. Nine hours, two boats and few Westerners later we land in Kapit, the "gateway" to the upper Rejang and Baleh Rivers (the latter providing the backdrop to Redmond O'Hanon's book "Into The Heart Of Borneo.") A vibrant port town where Dayak and Orang Ulu (Kayan, Kenyah Melanau, Penan, Berawan, Punan, Kelabit) converge, we arrive during the annual Kapit Fest. Underscoring Sarawak's cultural cacophony, tattooed Iban and Kayan people peddle larvae and home-grown produce in the market followed by traditional tribal performances in the town square. It is here that we meet Mr. Philip and secure an invitation to his wife's remote Iban longhouse, a communal society unique to Borneo's indigenous groups.

The road is unfinished and smells of wet tar. It threads through a wooded interior scarred by the Iban's slash and burn padi fields. A year ago this secluded area was accessible only by longboat, a four to six hour journey from Kapit. The end of the road feels like the end of the earth. Precariously balancing our loaded backpacks, we negotiate a clear shallow stream, the cool water dancing around our knees a welcome reprieve from the incessant tropical heat. Up rickety wooden stairs to our awaiting hosts on the veranda above, the perfume of the forest commingles with the strong scent of burning plants.

We are ushered inside and drop our packs in the vast common area known as the "living room." A phalanx of kids scurry out from behind closed doors like mice scampering out of their holes, reticent smiles pasted on their faces. Small groups of women sit together weaving and preparing vegetables for sale in the market. Squares of natural rubber dry in the sun, roosters crow from afar. Several elders join our party. Most do not speak English. Our hostess, Jega Anak Keling (Jega, the child of Keling), leans down beside me. "They want to know if you are a man or a woman," she chuckles. Now I'm no Pamela Anderson, but I'm fairly certain that my gender is apparent. "It's because you have a tattoo on your chest," she explains. In Iban society only men tattoo the chest. The women adorn their arms. Using carbon from a kerosene lamp, tattoos - particularly the customary depiction of brinjal flowers on a man's upper torso - are executed by hand with a bamboo apparatus. Tattoos on the throat - applied when a boy is about 15 -- and later on the back (believed to frighten the animals in the jungle) are signs of a warrior and a way to lure the ladies. "If a man didn't have tattoos, a woman wouldn't fall in love with him," I am told. For women, tattoos signify ranking and skill. Only the elders still don conventional designs as young people prefer contemporary body art. Again, I make a mental note. When the seniors pass, so goes more evidence of a tribe's history. The same holds true for the traditional ear stretching of Kayan and other Orang Ulu clans where women once used brass weights to lengthen their earlobes. Today, even the elders have surgically cut the lobes back.

After partaking of the customary welcome drink tuak -- fermented rice wine -- we bathe in the translucent river clad in sarongs. Later we trek through a rocky creek enveloped by thick jungle to harvest vegetables from the small plot of land belonging to the family. Our hostess Ngana picks leafy greens and corn. She then throws a few ears on the fire started to keep the mosquitoes at bay. This is life in all its delicious simplicity. Dinner that night consists of vegetables and rice, chicken, deer, and python snake, which my friend Ian describes as "chewy and surprisingly boney." Although not on the menu, the locals also feast on a variety of insects, including cicadas and grasshoppers, fried or steamed in leaves. After dinner we meander through the 22 door (ie: 22 family) longhouse. Looking skyward we are greeted by mummified trophies of the community's ancestors: several groupings of heads encased in bamboo "cages" hang in front of doors. Once a year the descendants of Sarawak's largest and most fearsome headhunting tribe make ritualistic offerings to the heads for good luck.

We sleep encased in mosquito netting in the front room with our host family. When we awake at sunrise most of the residents of the longhouse are already out. Images of a folkloric past conjured by the many imparted tales and legends linger when we depart.

Another long journey to Miri, the northern-most city of Sarawak With my friend Dawna heading back to Kuala Lumpur, I engage Tropical Adventures to jettison me deeper into Borneo's interior. An overnight stop at a modern Kayan longhouse in Long Bidian precedes my visit with the Penan. Here I meet old women who as adolescents stretched their ears and tattooed their arms, hands, legs and feet as means of "beautification." Kelabit women sport different images on their appendages, believing tattoos are beacons that "glow like mushrooms in the jungle and lead them to those who died before," explains Hendrick Nicholas, a Kelabit artist. From there, it's off to the recently anointed world heritage site of Mulu National Park - noted for adventure caving and its fabled "Headhunter's Trail" - and onto Sabah.

Nicknamed "The Land Below The Wind," Sabah was formerly known as North Borneo and passed through many ruling hands before joining the new country of Malaysia in 1963. Its preponderance of natural resources has long been exploited by palm-oil plantation owners, land barons and logging industrialists and parts of Malaysia's poorest state are still under dispute by neighboring Indonesia and Philippines. Unlike Sarawak, Sabah's sense of history and culture is muted. Although an astounding 80 dialects are spoken, its indigenous peoples (including Kadazan-Dusun, Murat, and Bajau) melt inconspicuously into an ethnic pot of Malay, Chinese, Indonesians, and Philippinos.

Sitting on the edge of the South China Sea's turquoise waters overlooking coral-fringed islands and the towering Crocker Range, the skies are crying again today in Kota Kinabalu, Sabah's capital. It's rainy season and at least once a day a downpour blankets Malaysian Borneo. A local bus drops me in the little kampung of Gum Gum from where we are transported to Sepilok Orang Utan Rehabilitation Center and the fertile Sungai Kinabatangan floodplain. I spend the next several days at Uncle Tan's wildlife camp

"Help," I shriek in a tiny voice as I tumble into a ditch. A wild elephant is in hot pursuit, apparently spooked by our close proximity. Trekking through the mangrove-fringed jungle we have encountered a small band of pygmy elephants that eventually chases us down to the riverbank. Back at camp we find that stealthy macaque longtail monkeys have absconded with daypacks from our door-less stilt huts and food from the kitchen. The resident bearded pigs are wallowing in mud pools while a massive lizard languishes nearby. A jewel in Sabah's crown, this lush valley is home to an abundance of animal and plant life. During our night river safaris, the glowing eyes of crocodiles peer up from inky water on which a brilliant starry sky is mirrored. Wild cats agilely skulk through the low grass of the wetlands while owls and kingfishers nobly perch on branches above. Endangered proboscis monkeys swing high atop the trees, otters scurry near the riverbank and hornbills soar overhead. Traversing the jungle on foot a nocturnal world alights. Scorpions, snakes, bats, giant centipedes, luminous butterflies, frogs, and hordes of spiders stir in the peaceful darkness.

I begrudgingly leave the serenity of Uncle Tan's for Sipidan, a small island renowned for spectacular marine life and the unfortunate Abu Sayyaff kidnapping incident of 2000. Descending just meters below the aqua waters of the Celebes Sea, a kaleidoscope of color, shape and patterns jump-starts the senses. Enormous turtles appear to fly through the underwater universe while mysterious tropical fish cruise calmly by. Sipidan is amongst the world's best dive spots, but even with snorkel and fins the vista down under is superb.

The small city of Semporna is not much more than a link to Sipidan and a stop off for the citizenship-less Sea Gypsies - the aquatic equivalent to Sarawak's Penan nomads -- who roam the waters off the coast. But on this day of Hari Raya which marks the end of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, the mood is festive. Praying and singing at the nearby mosque has been audible throughout the night and everyone is bedecked in finery. Not a good day to travel, I discover. With buses running sporadically, I must rely on an extortionist Chinese taxi driver to get me to the airport for my return flight to Kota Kinabalu. Memories etched indelibly in my mind I consider my experiences on this bountiful island where -- despite travel advisories -- I always felt secure in the warm embrace of its gracious inhabitants. "The people take you into their hearts and family without hesitation," comments Australian tourist Maxine Thomas, echoing the sentiment of most travelers I meet.

Malaysian Borneo's cities are sometimes dirty. Its rainforests have been raped, its politics dubious. However, despite copious eco-treasures and adventure options - caving, trekking, rafting, climbing, mountain biking, diving -- it has yet to succumb to the temptations of full throttle over-commercialization. Malaysian Borneo beckoned me once. I suspect it will call again.

SIDEBARS:

THE REIGN OF THE WHITE RAJAS
Sarawak boasts a history worthy of Hollywood. Controlled by the sultanate of Brunei between the 15th and early 19th centuries, Sarawak was amidst a rebellion by local Malays and Bidayuhs when Englishman James Brooke arrived in 1849. Successfully quelling the uprising, Brooke was rewarded with land and in 1942 installed by the Sultan of Brunei as the White Raja of Sarawak. Thus began the 100 year Brooke family reign which ended with Japanese occupation during WWII. Upon his death in 1868, James Brooke was succeeded by his nephew, Charles Brooke, who in 1917 was followed by his son Charles Vyner Brooke - the final White Raja. In 1946 he ceded Sarawak to the British. Resulting protests supported by his nephew and heir apparent Anthony Brooke culminated with the assassination of Sarawak's governor by a Malay student in 1949. In 1963 Sarawak joined Sabah and Malaya to form the new country of Malaysia.

HEADHUNTING
Headhunting is the practice of cutting off and preserving the head of a slain enemy and has been employed by many cultures throughout history, some as recently as the early 20th century. Most tribes believed the head was related to the soul and weakened the power of the enemy. The act intimidated one's enemies and served as tokens of courage and manhood. For Malaysian Borneo's Dayak and Orang Ulu people, headhunting was associated with prestige and honor, the number of brave warriors' heads acquired determining the level of status. Young women would not consider a man who had yet to prove himself by taking a head, sometimes encouraging the act. Headhunting in Malaysian Borneo ceased in the 1900s during the reign of the White Rajas. Today, the legendary headhunters of Malaysian Borneo live peaceful agrarian lives. The important Gawai Dayak Festival (Harvest Festival) is testament to the harmonious relationships that now exist between once warring factions.

To see more info and photos about Borneo and other Southeast Asia locations, visit our web site at: www.AdventureWorldTravel.com

2008-11-07T09:53:00.000-08:00

My inlaws at Perhentian

2008-11-07T09:42:00.000-08:00

Visiting my inlaws at Pulau Perhentian involves 30-some-odd hours of planes, taxis and boat rides.

Background

2008-11-07T09:23:00.000-08:00

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