Welcome to Nairobi.... rarrr!

It was a successful afternoon here in Nairobi, Kenya:  I got dressed, ate lunch, and got a marriage proposal from a taxi driver.  Believe me, these are wins. Lofty wins at that. You see, it's been a bit of a rough week so far for me in good old Nairobi, some might say a bit hellish in fact.  Let me recap my week for you.

SATURDAY morning:

• Previously scheduled 4:45am airport taxi doesn't show.  Luckily 5am isn't a busy time for them.
• At the airport, I proceed to the Lufthansa counter which is completely empty except for a sign directing me to the Continental desk.  
• At the Continental desk, I wait in line for 45 mins.  When I finally reach the counter, the agent prints out my baggage tags and says "NBO? Where is that?"  Nairobi... as in Kenya.  "Oh, well these tags look different than ours.  We're merging with United; things are still getting worked out.  I'll check your bags in through to Nairobi, but you have to go all the way down to the United counter to get your boarding pass."  Are you kidding me?   
• Another 45-minute line later, I am standing in front of a very grumpy United ticket agent who looks at me and says (no joke), "What do you want? Do you need something?" Yeah I need something. I need for United/Continental/Lufthansa to get their shit together, I need to get to my gate, I need about 6 more hours of sleep, and I need you to be nice to me, bitch. She proceeds to scold me and 2 other passengers on how we should know to get to the airport extra early on holiday weekends.  I politely inform her I've been her since just after 5am. 
• I get to the gate just in time to see my travel companion and colleague, Mark, looking oh-so-calm, cool, and collected. Made it! Whew, it all worked out. I'm sure everything will go smoothly from here....

SUNDAY evening:

• After 24 hours of travel time (about 16 of which I was in a drug-induced coma - thank you, Benadryl), we arrive in Nairobi.  An easy pass through immigration and I am waiting patiently for my bag at baggage claim.  One by one, our travel companions collect their bags and one by one I am left there without my bag.  Damn it.  Really?   
• So I make a little visit to the baggage counter.  When I give them my claim number issued to me by United just 24 hours earlier, they look at me and say something about San Francisco on August 5th.  Uh, what? It seems my baggage number was previously assigned to a passenger who lost his/her bags in San Francisco a month ago and they have no record of my bag.  Great. 
• They give me a phone number to call the next day at this time to see if my bag arrives on the next flight.
• On my taxi ride from the airport to the hotel, my driver informs me of two things: 1) God is great.  And, with Him, my life will be great.  2) His (that is, the taxi driver's, not God's) wife tells him he is like a lion.  Why? Because after he eats, all he wants is one thing... sex.  Uhh, raaarrrr. 

MONDAY:

• I spend 2 hours talking to numerous people from United Airlines and Swiss Air (they operated the flight from Zurich to Nairobi), to learn that the bag never got on the flight in Seattle.  Shocking.  
• United issues me a new bag number and says they put it on the next flight and that it got to Zurich.  They expect it in Nairobi in the evening but I need to check with Swiss Air (they too are partners but they can't see each others baggage claim files).  
• Swiss Air then tells me they have no record of my bag, ever, but that they will start looking for it and suggest I be in touch with the airport baggage desk; they can't help until the bag has been missing for more than 5 days.  Perfect, I'll be on my way home then. 
• Not having too much faith in my baggage investigative team, Mark and I head out to go shopping for some necessities in the event that the bag doesn't show up that night. Apparently, Woolworth's is the Nordstrom of Africa. My bill for 2 meeting-appropriate outfits: $230.  Hello!  I'm a Target-OldNavy-Ross girl! I don't spend that kinda money on clothes.... damn it.
• In the evening, I call the number the baggage desk gave me only to receive a "This number has been switched off."    
• Suddenly I'm not feeling so good.  Not good at all.  Fever and chills, horrible stomach pain.  Nooooo!  Who knows if it was food or water related, or something I contracted on the plane, but I am sick.  Really sick.  
• The only energy I have is expended over the next 24 hours on moving from my bed to the bathroom to violently throw up every hour.  Somebody kill me please.

TUESDAY:

• Violent retching continues.
• Attempt to call the baggage desk again, same message. Aaaaahhhhh!
• Finally, in the evening, I make it downstairs to meet up with Mark to hear how the meetings I was supposed to be in went. Mark has now met Travel Sara and Sick Sara.  He is surely gaining appreciation for Work Sara. The hour long "outing" to the hotel lobby bar takes everything out of me, and I pass out immediately upon returning to my sickroom. 

WEDNESDAY morning:

• 6am: Ear screeching alarm goes off informing us that there is an emergency evacuation of the hotel. Okay, am I in a movie or something?
• Something feels funny on my face, specifically on my eye, and it kinda hurts. What's that? A mosquito bit me on the eyelid? Of course it did.
• I decide to make a trip to the airport to see for myself if my baggage arrived.  When the taxi driver pulls up to take the parking ticket at the entrance, the machine suddenly goes 'out-of-order' forcing us to make the line of cars behind us back up one by one and all transfer to the other line. He seems dumbfounded; I don't.  This is my life right now.   
• The baggage desk attendant informs me that there is "no information in your file, ma'am" meaning that my bag has not arrived in Nairobi, nor do they have any record of it in Zurich.  She doesn't know what to tell me, other than to just go back to my hotel and call tonight at 7:00. Uh-huh.

So, see... getting dressed, eating lunch, and being proposed to really are wins in this week for me. And directly after that, I made it to 2 meetings.  Progress!  Maybe it's a sign that my remaining 2 days in Nairobi are looking up. Excuse me while I go try that baggage desk again....

Chally Watson 1927 - 2011

Eight years ago, when Grandpa and Grandma came to watch me celebrate my biggest accomplishment then to date – that was, graduate from college – I was overwhelmed with gratitude. For their support over the years, their constant interest in what I was studying, the sweet notes and occasional box of zucchini-chocolate chip cookies that would unexpectedly arrive at my dorm-room doorstep, and not the least of all for simply making the 600-mile trip up to Bellingham to witness something I had worked so hard for.  

After taking the necessary photographs, I asked a favor of Grandpa.  I asked him if I could photograph his hands.  He looked at me with that twinkle in his bright blue eyes and chuckled.  “Why would you want a picture of these beat up old things?” he asked, holding out his hands, turning them over a few times.  I told him because of all the hands I had ever seen, his were my favorite.  They were the most recognizable, the ones with the most character, and most of all – they were (and continue to be) the most comforting.  Chuckling again, he succumbed to his granddaughter’s crazy request.  If she wanted a picture of his hands – whether he understood it or not – she could have it.  And so I led him to my rickety kitchen table, set him in the light just so, loaded my camera with the highest quality black and white film that I could afford on my dwindling student loan budget, and snapped 3 shots.  It was a quick act; one that some could easily forget, but one that would go on to be a moment in time that I think about on a regular basis.  

You see those hands that I photographed that day, are not just any ordinary hands.  They are the hands that we all – his brothers, his sisters, his wife, his children, his grandchildren, his friends – all recognize. 

They are big and strong; they are warm and soft; they are helpful and handy.  

They are the hands that built the foundation of a well-respected and healthy family.  

The hands that volunteered time, care, and enthusiasm in this community, serving on the city council, leading a search and rescue, gathering the posse, and even flipping pancakes at the annual Easter egg hunt.  

They are the hands that held his beautiful young wife’s hands as they started a long and admirable life together; the hands that would envelop hers as they watched their sons grow into men and later watch their grandchildren and then great-grandchildren come into this world.  

They are the hands that we as small children ran hurriedly and excitedly to and the hands that scooped us up into the big bear hug that always awaited us.  

They are the hands that snapped pictures of everything, everyone, all the time no matter the occasion, many times for no occasion.  

They are the hands that clapped and cheered on his sons and later grandsons at ballgames.  Those hands took his granddaughters fishing, put that gross worm on that hook, helped us reel in the really big fish, and helped us hold up our catch while we squealed in excitement. 

They are the hands that shook the hands of others, loved ones and strangers alike.   

And, they are the hands that held his granddaughter and grandsons in their darkest hour as they mourned the untimely and tragic passing of their father, the passing of his oldest son.  

Those are the hands that held mine last month, and gave me strength to write these words and stand up here today to honor and celebrate my grandfather’s memory.  

And, finally, those are the hands that even in the last days still squeezed ours to let us know that he was still there, still loving us, still our brother, our husband, our father, our grandfather, our great-grandfather, and most of all our friend. 

Challen John Watson 

1927 - 2011

Mike Wang - how you can help

As many of you know, I work for PATH and you may also know now that we lost a colleague and friend two weeks ago in a horrible hit-and-run accident on Dexter and Thomas. The police are still in search of the driver of the vehicle that hit Mike Wang on his bicycle. To that end, I have been trying to do my part, as small as it feels in this horrific time, to get the word out in the community on the search as well as communicate ways to support Mike's family in this tragic time.  It dawned on me last night that while I've contacted several blogs and publications that I didn't even think to add it to my most accessible place: here.  While I have no way of identifying my readers, I suspect that a large majority either reside in locales other than Seattle, and those who do live here are most likely already aware of this information. But, it certainly doesn't hurt to do so anyway.

On July 28th, on his way home from PATH, riding his bicycle to his home in Shoreline as he did most days, Mike was struck and killed just 1 block into his ride.  The driver stopped only for a second before speeding away; he or she has yet be to be found.  The latest description of the vehicle is: a mid-1990s to 2000, beige to brown American-made SUV, possibly with tinted windows and a silver luggage rack.

Colleagues of Mike’s have been actively working on ways to support both Mike’s family and the search for the driver.  There has been a fund set up for co-workers, friends, and members of the community to donate funds to help his family in these immediate days, weeks, and months following his death (he was the sole income earner for 4 dependents).  A PayPal account has also been set up for easy online donations.  On the Send Money page of PayPal, donors can address payments to: mikewang.memorial@yahoo.com.  I encourage anyone who can spare even $10 to donate.  Every little bit in these situations make a difference.
 
My heart goes out to Mike's family and close friends. While I didn't know Mike well, I did find him to be a much appreciated constant in the daily life at PATH.  I also am increasingly aware of the impact he had on a large number of people's lives, either through his helpfulness on sometimes random needs of coworkers or through his unmatched talent behind a camera.  PATH will never be the same without him.

More information on the accident can be found here.  I also encourage you to read about Mike and the legacy he leaves at PATH (and beyond) here.   

confirmation and elaboration

my whole life i've been empathic. extremely so. almost to a fault at times. many have told me that sometimes when i look into their eyes they feel as though i can see things deep inside them, things that they are not saying, things they have kept hidden from most. some have told me that the first time they felt it that it made them shiver, sometimes shudder. i rarely offer a confirmation or elaboration on what the professors of this feeling are describing. while i cannot deny completely the feeling that they sense, it is not quite as they suspect. i do not see images, i do not hear voices - i am not a clairvoyant in disguise. i am not extracting their deepest darkest secrets. its different than that. what they sense is more like an inhalation of emotion. a simple transfer that lasts only a split second.

but for you tonight, as someone who recognized this feeling again recently, i will offer the rare confirmation and elaboration: behind your eyes, i do see your pain. i've seen it before; never this present, never this raw, but i have caught a glimpse of it once or twice in our continuum. then, it was only during deeper, more intense gazes and mostly took me by surprise as i was not aware of the cause of its existence. this time, however, it is expected and this time i understand it. this time when i see it i feel it more strongly than i have ever felt it. this time with just one shallow glance, something much thicker than ever before washes over me slowly and yet suddenly at the same time. what i can't help but wonder - no, what i can't help but hope - is that during that moment of transfer, that moment of inhalation, you are granted a moment of reprieve from your pain. a moment when your ache doesn't necessarily disappear (as i cannot do that for you - not in this situation, not in any situation), but gently lifts itself ever so slightly, allowing you to breathe a little more freely and deeply for that one moment.

Drunk on sunshine

I am drunk on sunshine.

It blinds me and makes me think of all the good things. Makes me remember all the better things. Makes me crave all the best things.

It dances upon me and makes me shiver. Makes me feel a little lost. Makes me feel a little risky.

It warms me and distances me from winter. Distances me from salt. Distances me from ache.

It kisses me and makes me consider forgetting. Makes me consider forgiving. Makes me consider returning.

I am drunk on sunshine. And all I want is more.

Around the world in 30 days

Well, its hard to believe I've been back a month. Not so hard to believe, however, is the fact that my blogging kinda fell off the face of this earth. Sorry about that. Its been a big month. I just sorta hit the ground running and somehow summer just filled right up.

I'll be back to the insomnia soaked rambling soon (slightly different than trip blogging), I'm sure. But until then, here's the final compilation of photos from the trip: https://picasaweb.google.com/saracwatson/AroundTheWorldIn30Days

Week in Review: yep that just happened....

Ok, so as any of you who know either Megan or me (and even more so if you have the honor of knowing both of us) would guess, there were way too many "yep that just happened" moments to include in detailed blog posts. "Hey, just think… it's material for the blog" quickly became the quote of the week. And so, as we get ready to leave Bangkok, we have compiled a Week in Review for your entertainment. It's a long list, so grab your popcorn, tequila, and mangosteens, and enjoy!

PHNOM PENH

• Saturday 5am - wakeup call from Himawari hotel front desk. "Ma'am, I find driver for you to Siem Reap today. Only $70. He here at 1pm." Awesome. Thank you for calling us at this ungodly hour.
• 10 mins before we are to meet our driver in the lobby, Megan decides she must see Phnom Penh's Royal Palace. "I'll be right back!" 20 mins later, a running Megan returns to the lobby just in time to make us only fashionably late. This also marks the point of possible heatstroke number 1.
• Two hours into our drive to Siem Reap, Sara yells "Stop! Stop! Stop!" at our frightened driver who screeches to a halt just in time for Megan to jump out and leave her breakfast (mmmm, mangos...) in an unsuspecting family's yard... all 8 of them watching the event. (Also known as The Mango Incident)
• "You wait 3 mins" our driver says to us, while apparently he takes care of the real reason he is coming to Siem Reap today: a special delivery of several boxes of surely benign goods. (Also known as The Mules Incident)
• Driver informs us he does not in fact know how to get to where we are staying. But! His friend "Richard" does. So, doing exactly what our mothers would advise us not to do, we transfer our bags to Richard's tuk tuk (in the dark). Richard chants USA! USA! USA! all the way to our guesthouse.

ANGKOR WAT

• Guide Cha Cha educates us on Cambodian ancient history. We educate him on Nirvana, Brangelina, and a variety of American slang. I really wanted to explain "that's what she said" but I managed to hold back. However the fact that he loved "let's make like a baby and head out" leads me to believe he'd also love a good TWSS.
• Halfway through temple 1 of 7, Megan and I become more than a little concerned about possible heatstroke number 2. When we simultaneously sit down in the middle of one of Cha Cha's explanations, he smiles and asks "What? You hot?"
• Mid-lunch monsoon: decidedly better than possible heatstroke number 3.

SIEM REAP

• Dinner at Red Robin of Siem Reap that included a "Cambodian traditional dance show" and a bucket of a drink called "the aloha screwdriver" which earned us a t-shirt that says "Khmer and proud of it" (HH group: watch for a debut from Megan in the weeks to come...).
• “You want fish massage, madam?" (you sit in a tank and let fish suck on your feet...). Uh… no, thanks.
• "Wardrobe malfunction" in guesthouse pool. You may now refer to Megan as Janet Jackson.
• Yet another example of "America is everywhere": there's a Dairy Queen at the airport. IN CAMBODIA.
• Bangkok flight cancelled, booked on the next one leaving in 5 hours. Good thing there's so much to do and see in this airport.... Food and bevvie voucher for quite possibly the most disgusting noodle dish ever to have touched our lips.
• On the flight to Bangkok, Sara decides to move to one of the completely empty exit rows. She is quickly informed to move to a different seat by a very bossy flight attendant. Apparently we don't need anyone to assist in the case if an airline emergency, those doors will open on their own.

BANGKOK

• After 5 hours, 3 travel agents (one of which we went to twice) and an hour in the hotel's internet café we decide to go to Koh Samet.
• Enter new BFF, Sherry from Canada. Directionally challenged (even more so than us!), she asks for directions every 3-4 mins. Each time, her informant wouldn't even wait for her to specify where we were going. "Jim Thompson House… that way!" Apparently, 3 sweating white women could only be headed to one place.
• Bangkok nightlife: approached by several men hoping to pique our interest with "Sex show for you? Pussy pingpong?" We can’t help but wonder what type of consumer branding bracket we fell into on this one.
• Sara is called a "bad bad woman, a bitch" in the Patpong Night Market, after explaining very nicely that she didn't want to pay more than $3 for a pashmina (because I know you get them for 40 cents!). Oh c'mon, lady! Like she hasn't been called THAT before!

KOH SAMET

• After a four-hour joy-ride with “fun” people (ahem, enough character for a hit tv sitcom) in a minibus (ahem, 9 passenger van), we board (ahem, jump on) a ferry (ahem, old fishing boat) with 30 cases of liquor (and God knows what else). On other side, we climb into taxi (ahem, back of a pickup truck) with 9 backpackers (ahem, dirty 22-year-olds who think they are living the dream).
• First massages of the trip… DO. NOT. LOOK. AT. SARA. DO. NOT. LAUGH. DO. NOT. LOOK. AT. MEGAN. DO. NOT. LAUGH.
• Megan is challenged to a game of Connect Four by the owner of a beachside bar. He wins. Over and over.
• After dinner fire dance show by 10 hot, half-naked men (also known as Sara’s “kid in a candy store” moment).
• Sara orders a “Bicardi Breezer” thinking it’s a cocktail. Its not; it’s bitch beer. After 3 of them, she decides they aren’t too bad.
• At another beachside bar, Megan is challenged again to Connect Four, and again gets her ass kicked... over and over. Sara paints her nickname on the bar with neon paint while enjoying tasty 2 for 1 margaritas.
• Megan leaves for 3-hour tour, returns 6 hours later, sunburned and telling strange stories of “wild bunnies on islands.”
• Race to the other side of the island to see sunset. Completely cloudy, leaving no sunset, only 2 white girls suffering from possible heatstroke number 4.
• After pulling away from dock, Megan asks gentlemen next to us: “This boat is going to Ban Phe, right?” His response: “No idea.”
• Mini bus driver thinks he can scam us by dropping everyone off on a random Bangkok corner and requiring us to pay and extra 300 baht for ride to our hotel. Via a mixture of playing dumb and being American bitches, we get him to take us to the hotel (as originally agreed to and paid for). Upon arrival, he asks for money. We get out, yell “We already paid!” and run off.

BANGKOK, ROUND 2

• Pedicures fuel small anxiety attack. “Uh, yeah… I’m guessing those tools weren’t sanitized….” Thank god for the two tubes of Neosporin Sara brought.
  
• Last massages of the trip…. How can a woman that small be that strong? And are we supposed to cry and do Lamaze breathing through it? And, the bruises… are they normal?
  
• Flower market at 7am: perfect photo opp… complete with rats the size of cats.
  
• Last stop before airport: Wat Pho to see Reclining Buddha. Sara plays stick game with old man at foot of standing Buddha, resulting in following fortune: Just like an uprooted tree, life seems cheerless. Watch for mismating. No lucks. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Oh what a week! What a perfectly exciting and nothing-but-fun week!

American Bitches

Saturday marked our last full day of vacation (imagine sad face here). We started the trip back from Koh Samet to Bangkok around 11am. It consisted of a trip almost identical to the trip over, save for a few small exceptions, and a rather dramatic ending.

The boat was packed with travelers this time. After we pulled away from port Megan had the thought to confirm that this boat was in fact going to Ban Phe. Perfect, right in front of us was a gentlemen whose chances of speaking English seemed quite high. "Excuse me, this is going to Ban Phe, right?" "No idea." Fabulous. I suddenly felt like the 2 German guys on our ride here who couldn't be totally sure the van was going on to Cambodia. Luckily for us, we did end up at the right place and jumped off the boat onto the dock like pros. Psh... 22-year-old backpackers have nothing on us.

After locating out mini bus driver, we were informed that we had about an hour to wait until the van would leave. Now some would suggest we walk around a bit, but we had a plan (we've done this before!): we were going to be the first 2 people on that bus if it's the last thing we do. No back seats for these ladies (we don't need another mango incident afterall).

So we waited and politely engaged in conversation with our competition while I kept one eye on the driver at all times. As soon as he moved an inch, I was on my feet and Megan and I were at the van door. Bam! Take that bitches!

Unfortunately a 130 departure time meant that we didn't get into Bangkok until the height of rush hour (yeah on a Saturday). Just inside the city, the driver pulls over and says "Ok! We here!" Uh, no we not. We paid for a ride to the hotel, thank you. As the rest of the van piled out, Megan and I made the decision not to be nice (dumb) tourists on this one. Looks like our American Bitches hats will need to come out. I must give most of the credit to Megan though. She led the conversation that got our driver to start driving us to the hotel. As he drove he started explaining in a mix of very little English and very grand hand gestures (he'd be a good charades partner...) that he had a small baby to feed, and that we should pay him an extra 300 baht. The minuscule amount of sympathy I had for him quickly vanished when he started yelling at traffic and driving like a crazy man. Damn it! How can there not be seatbelts in here?!?!? When we got to the hotel, it was my turn to wear the AB hat: as we got out of the van and he turned and said "money", I yelled "We already paid!" and slammed the door. We quickly walked away (me shaking, both in relief that we didn't die in a car accident and just because I always shake when I have to yell) and megan reassuring me it was ok. After crossing the street, we looked at each other and said "good blog story."

Sssssssssssunset

The rest of our time on Koh Samet wasn't much different than the first day: laying in the sun getting up only to go get a massage or ice cream (or both!) during the day and going out to a beach bar for dinner and drinks. And it couldn't have been more perfect. We would be ultra-relaxed by the time we got back to Bangkok the next night.

One day, though, Megan decided to mix it up and take a tour to see some neighboring islands. "Have fun!" I yelled from the comfort of my beach mat where I was at the mercy of a Thai masseuse yet again. I was perfectly happy seeing just this island, from just this spot.

Seven hours later when I woke from my sun-soaked slumber at 6pm and saw that there had been no sign of my travelmate, I assured myself everything is fine. Megan had been talking about wanting to watch the sunset on the other side of the island; I had assumed she would stop in and get me first but given the sun would be setting in about 20 mins, maybe she decided to go on her own.

Fifteen minutes later, just as I'm starting to go through the possible next steps for a Thai-Island search and rescue, I see Megan speed walking up out of the sand and saying something in a frantic matter about the ridiculously long time it took for that tour. I start to ask more when she speeds past me saying we have 5 mins to climb this hill to the other side of the island to see the sunset. Ok! Here we go! About halfway up, I have flashbacks to our Angkor Wat climbs (you know, when we thought we might have a heatstroke). At the top of the hill we start back down through a forested trail. Now some of you know of the one major phobia I have and if you are of that lot, you can probably guess the level if panic that starts running through my blood at this moment. Hmmm... a forested jungle-like setting on an island in Thailand. Fabulous. I'm sure there aren't any snakes hiding out in here.... Oh God, just breathe Sara, just breathe (which, by the way, would be much easier to do had we not just booked it up this hill). 90 seconds into our jungle trek, and about 60 seconds into my failing panic-reducing breathing, we see the west side. I have no doubt that the view at sunset would be amazing here. However, it seems that tonight the west side of the island is under a bank of clouds leaving the sun nowhere to be seen. That's it! I'm not going any further... In minutes it's going to be dark and the thought of walking back through this surely infested area with no light is not doing anything for my current state of panic (Megan: "Don't worry, I have my keychain light." Uh....). I hand Megan my camera and tell her to snap away. I'll see her back here in a minute. So much for "ultra-relaxed"....

Shockingly (I know!), we made it back to our beach bungalow without any snake sightings and a few hours later my breathing and heartrate returned to a more normal state. We enjoyed our last night on the island with... yep, you guessed it: a nice meal and tropical drinks on the beach, followed by a riveting game of Connect Four.

New Thai specialties: massage, fire dancing, and Connect Four

Ah yes. Now this is what I call vacation. Waking up from our little beach bungalow, stumbling out to the sand, and setting up camp for the day. Agenda item #1: soak up some sun and lots of it. Supplies needed: 2 beach towels and SPF 8, 15, 30, 55, and 70 (I'll let you guess who used which). Agenda item #2: massages. Thai massages. On the beach. Supplies needed: 300 Thai baht ($10).

Neither of us had never had a Thai massage. They say they have a lot of health benefits and I can see why. It was amazing. Granted, at times it can feel like you're getting the shit kicked out of you by a small bony child, but afterward, you feel pretty awesome. It's actually lot like yoga (or hot yoga if you're on the beach!), only better: you don't have to do any of the work. (Note to self: explore insurance coverage and PATH fitness reimbursement for Thai massages when back home) And so, it quickly became a daily necessity for both of us. "What should we do now?" "I know! Thai massage!"

After feeling sufficiently loose (Uh yeah, that's what she said) and nice and crispy (don't worry it evens out into a nice tan later), we decided to head into town. $7 and a ride in the back of a pickup truck ("songathew" or something like that) later, we were in town ( also known as a busier area of the beach). After shopping a bit ("you know, Sara, we only brought our backpacks to the island...."), we found what looked to be a happening little spot on the beach for dinner. And happening it was! Complete with a live band and fire dancers. Music and half-naked men about to play with fire (funny, this was exactly agenda item # 3...), excellent!

Now this brings me to important Asia observation #836 (also known as random rant warning): what is wrong with the music here? Most of the time you just hear some horrible rendition of a 1980s flashback tune (Richard Marx seems to be a favorite) arranged for a saxophone solo with a keyboard backup. But tonight we got a special treat: a Jamaican-Thai cover band playing a range of American classics. And by classics, I mean Shakira, Usher, Jason Mraz... From the performance, Megan and I gathered that we could def make it as musicians here. Talent doesn't seem to be a requirement. (Ian, Alisa, Mark, and Norman: you woulda had a heyday here... And then you woulda needed some quality time with Bob, Ryan, and the Beatles to wash it all away). Anyway, when we've done all that we can do at PATH, we will call on a few of you to join us in our musical endeavor (no auditions necessary).

When the band announced that it was their last song and that the fire dancers were up next, we cheered a silent cheer. And then when I saw these fire dancers, I all but jumped off my beach mat in excitement. The previous night we had seen a group of 3 boys fire dancing on the beach near our place. And by boys I mean like 6 year olds (apparently male responsibility with fire starts at a younger age here than at home). But these were no 6 year olds. Oh no, these were men, like 10 men. And we had a front seat. Hello boys (er, I mean men), come to Mama!

On our way back to our beach bungalow, we decided to make a quick stop at Naga bar to see if our friends, Andy and Lina, from our trip over were out and about. Sadly they were not (and we quickly said a little prayer in hopes that they were not at the local hospital stitching up yet another piece of cute little Lina). However, we did find something equally ad entertaining: a buy-one-ge-one-free happy hour and Connect Four. Now while neither of us had played Connect Four in years, this was the second night in a row that the game was presented to us. Who knew the game was so popular in Thailand!?! And so while I thoroughly enjoyed the happy hour special (a margarita or two would surely cool me down from fire show), Megan thoroughly had her ass handed to her by a bartender who had clearly perfected his Connect Four strategy.

Vanpooling in Thailand

Wednesday we made our way to Koh Samet. It was, as expected, an interesting journey. One that consisted of one "minibus" (IMB, much like Blue Lightning, actually!) transferring us to another one, in which our fellow travel mates consisted of the following:

-- A man in his early forties from Pensacola (whose sons supposedly made up the Motown records' band The Boys (anyone heard of them?)... He now travels every couple of months to Shanghai and Bangkok for god knows what. Oh and he later, during a discussion on the things PATH works on, divulged to us and the rest of the van that he had a women's condom in his bag...). Uh, yeah....
-- An angry American man (supposedly from Hawai'i... But I found that hard to believe given his temperament) traveling with his tiny Asian wife who spoke no English and their 2month baby. When we got to the ferry we got to witness the height of his anger when several 4-letter expletives flew from his mouth upon seeing the quality of our floating accommodation.
-- Two German men who were apparently heading to Cambodia and had a slight (ok maybe 2-hour long) panic attack when their language barrier with our Thai driver made it fantastically difficult to get any reassurance that this van would in fact continue on to Cambodia.
-- A mid-twenties girl in the front seat that didn't say a single word the entire 3 hour trip
-- A man and a woman, who we assumed - based on the fact that they were passed out on each other, waking up only to make out every so often - were a couple. About 2 hours into the drive, when they had had enough sleep I guess, they woke up and started talking, or rather trying to talk. She was British or Australian and I have no idea where he was from, but he spoke little to no English. Clearly they had just met.
-- And, finally, in the back row with Megan and me, were seemingly the only 2 other somewhat normal people: Andy and Lina, who also had just met (he from Germany, she from Korea). The circumstances of their meeting were quite entertaining actually: they were both out at a club in Bangkok three nights ago. She, after having a little too much to drink and wearing heels, managed to trip up a flight of stairs, bruising both knees and cutting open her mouth to the point where an ambulance was called. Andy helped her out the door only to find that the "ambulance" was a woman police officer driving a motorbike. So like any gentleman would do (or so I hear) he got on the bike behind the driver and Lina (neither having anything to hold onto) and the sped through Bangkok to a Thai hospital where reportedly 2 highschool-aged girls stitched her up and sent them on their way. All, by the way, for 800 Baht (a little less than $30).

Yes,one could say this van heading to the Koh Samet ferry (and then onto the Cambodian border, don't worry, guys!!) was much like the vanpool I used to take from Queen Anne to Olympia each day: we had lots of character.

Upon arrival at the ferry dock we were escorted to the boat that would be transporting us to the island. Sadly I do not have an iSara photo of this, but when you do see it in the compilation post-trip, you might understand Mr. Angry's need to use the f-word a few times. We however embraced our inner-adventurer and hopped on alongside the cases and cases of liquor being loaded on to the boat.

Toto, we're not in Canada anymore...

Due to some intel I gathered while in Phnom Penh that Koh Phangan may have been severely hit by mudslides last month, and the fact that we couldn't seem to get a hold of the hotel we planned to stay at, we decided to revise our Thailand plan (though since then we have learned all is well in Koh Phangan). After a good nights sleep that we clearly were in need of (slept til 10!), we started the planning process. We decided Koh Samet was a good choice, as it was relatively close and would offer some solid beach time, but wanted to talk to a travel agent. 5 hours, 3 travel agents, and 1 Internet session later, we were booked to travel the next day via "minibus" and boat to the fairly nearby island. Yeah not exactly the most efficient day of our trip, but we had a plan!

With that taken care of, it was time for some Bangkok sightseeing. We had two must-sees on our agenda: Wat Pho and the Jim Thompson House. However it now being close to 4pm, we had a dilemma: which one to see today and which one to save for the one day we have between Koh Samet and coming home? Lucky for us (or so it would seem at first) a Canadian woman made the decision for us. How would we have known that asking a simple question like "do you know where the Jim Thompson Silk Outlet is?" would land us a new BFF for the rest of the day? Before we knew it, there were three of us going from the silk outlet (she did know where that was) to the actual Jim Thompson House. Now new BFF, Sherry, was a delightful woman from BC, but as the day wore on, I found her a little too delightful. As some of you have witnessed, my tolerance for annoying people greatly diminishes as my level of exhaustion increases. So by the time we had trekked across town, only to go in the wrong direction - not once, not twice, but - three times, you can imagine my tolerance level. Everytime Sherry decided to stop to ask for directions, we didn't even have to specify our hopeful destination. Apparently 3 sweating white women could only be heading to one place.

The last tour if the house was set for 5pm and we arrived at 4:55. Yes! Just made it! And it was a good tour. We learned all about Jim Thompson, a man who was apparently instrumental in putting Thailand on the silk making map. And clearly a man with plenty of money to do so: his house, situated right on the river (though surely more peaceful and it is today with the speedboats roaring by), is actually made up of 5 houses, all redecorated in a mix of western and Thai style. He lived there for just 8 years before mysteriously disappearing, never to be found (cue dramatic music). It was beautiful and I'm happy we saw it, even if our journey there with our new Canadian friend was a bit taxing on my patience.

On our way home we faced yet another small dilemma: which way did we come from to get to the sky train? Hmmm... Aha! I remember the KFC! Look for the Colonel, Megan!

Later that night (KFC proved to be the right way) we went out on the town... Ok, maybe that makes it sound a little more wild than it was... We went out for dinner, drinks, amazing dessert, and a shopping trip to the nightmarket (at which we were offered several pussy pingpong shows - not to worry, we declined - and I was called a "bad bad woman, a bitch" - apparently $3 for a pashmina is an unfair price).

All in all though, it was a good day. And the next day we headed out to Koh Samet!

A perfect goodbye to Cambodia

We ended our time in Cambodia with a bang. A bang so loud that it will will probably keep my ears ringing until I someday return to this country I have fallen in love with.

What I failed to mention in the last post was that Cha Cha's full time job isn't a tour guide. He is a teacher. And not in a local high school or grade school. You see, Cha Cha's parents were killed in 1978 by the Khmer Rouge, orphaning him at just 3 months old. As a result, he would spend the next twenty years a monastery where he was raised by Buddhist monks.

At the monastery, Cha Cha and other orphans got a rich education in math, history, and literature something that is priceless and uncommon in Cambodia both then and now. As an adult, Cha Cha left the monastery, taught himself English and Japanese (and a little French and Spanish too!) and started farming in a nearby community. But with him he took maybe his most important lesson of all: the compassion and motivation to make life better for others.

Cha Cha currently operates a school for orphans and extremely impoverished children in rural Siem Reap. There he teaches English to these children to better their chances of getting good jobs that will help pay their family's cost of living. His students range in age from four to twenty-four.

After spending nearly two days together, Cha Cha educating us on the history if his home country, town, and religion, and us educating him on important topics such as Nivana, Brangelina, and a variety of American slang, Cha Cha enriched our experience even more: he invited us to visit his school. And so, on our way to the airport on Monday afternoon, we stopped in to see him. Upon our arrival a woman in her early twenties met us at the top of a muddy lane. She had a severe limp that we would later learn was a result of polio years prior. Her English was near perfect and she was excited to chat with us on the 3 minute walk to the site of the school. We rounded a corner and went behind a modest Thai home raised up on stilts to find close to 60 children sitting classroom-style at wooden table on wooden benches, all intently listening to their teacher at the front, Cha Cha.

The kids seemed to all be between the ages of 5 and 13 and their smiles spread wide across their face as we walked up. Cha Cha said something to them in Khmer, presumably introducing us without our names. Suddenly hands went up in the air. One by one several of them asked us questions. "What is your name?" "Where are you from?" "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" "What are their names?" Then in unison, they spelled each of our names and ended it my saying "We like Sara and Megan." Chills ran up my spine and I looked over at Megan and knew instantly she had the same feeling. Next, all 60 sang us two songs... Two songs, in fact, that we could sing along to: If You're Happy and You Know It, and The Itsy Bitsy Spider. In fact they knew both better than Megan and I knew either.

The final bit of our too short visit entailed a photograph of the class, both with their teacher that we were so happy to have met (for his great guiding skills and maybe more so for the rewarding experience we had just had) and a picture with us.

Unfortunately I only have those photos on the Nikon and so I will not be able to upload until my return. However, here are is a classic-Sara photo we took together with Cha Cha at the top of the last temple we visited on Monday.

Good luck, Nirvana, with those stretch marks...

Our two days in Siem Reap were, as we expected, not nearly sufficient in terms if time. But we made use of the time we had well, peppering it with a good mix of temple-touring, nightlife, and some relaxation in the guesthouse we absolutely loved (thank you, Carly!).

Thanks to another coworker, we secured ourselves quite possibly the best tour guide in the area. His name is Cha Cha and proved not only to be informative, but also quite entertaining. His English is very good (complete with a nice Kiwi accent) and on many occasions we enjoyed exchanging a variety of slang phrases and comparisons between US and Cambodian cultures.

Cha Cha arrived at 9am on Sunday and not surprisingly Megan and I were running just a tad late. But we gathered up our day's necessities and headed out. Our first stop was the largest temple, Angkor Wat. And large it was. My descriptions of these temples will not do them justice and so I am hesitant to even attempt to describe them for you; instead I think a better option will be to post photos for a better view on picasa and scribble here the hopefully somewhat entertaining inner thoughts of yours truly. At the end of this post you will find a quickly compiled picasa album of the photos from iSara.

We spent about two and a half hours at Angkor Wat and I was fascinated. Cha Cha explained the history, graciously repeating it once or twice (ok, maybe three times in some cases) so that his slightly ADD guidees could grasp it between the FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY ONE photos that one of them would take and the periodic wandering off of the other one.

Upon our arrival to the top level of the the temple, Cha Cha explained difference between heaven and nirvana. And we took this opportunity to explain the Nirvana that we know: Mr. Kurt Cobain and his still living compadres. Cha Cha asked what kind of music Nirvana played. Hmmm... How exactly will "grunge rock" translate? We settled for "kinda angry" at which Cha Cha laughed loudly and said "irony". Yes, you're exactly right, Cha Cha, angry music played by a band call Nirvana: very ironic. Suddenly I couldn't help but question my own intelligence as it dawned on me that never once throughout my tenure love affair with the band had I made that ironic connection.

Because as Kurt Cobain's name usually does, this revelation led to a discussion on suicide, in which Cha Cha asked the simple question: "Why?" We tried to explain that Kurt was depressed. Simple question #2: "What is this 'depressed'?" Hmmm... Megan and I looked at one another trying to think of a good way to explain that Kurt was probably conflicted and extremely sad about his life both personally and professionally... his life, that is, which no doubt from a poverty-stricken culture could only look outrageously privileged. And so, I think one of us said stress. And with this Cha Cha moved onto question #3: "What is this 'stress'? A symptom if depression?" Usually the other way around. But stress can be caused by many, many things. And all stress doesn't result in depression, and all depression doesn't result in suicide (sigh of relief inaudibly exhales from my lungs). "Hmmm, I don't really understand" Cha Cha says with a smile. And so with that we continued our climb to the top level of the temple, representing nirvana.

At the top a short little rest in the shade of 4 perfectly carved apsara dancers was necessary. While we were downing the bottled water as fast as Cha Cha's driver could hand it to us, Megan and I were not entirely convinced we wouldn't have a heat stroke by the day's end. Let's just say there were a few "Cha Cha, we just gotta sit down for a second" moments. After explaining that we come from a home where it's currently 12 degrees celsius and here it's 35 degrees, he laughed amusingly and said he understood. And our rest was a perfect time for a little quiz. "One of these dancers are married, can you tell which one?" Hmmm...they all looked the same to us. No special head dresses, no special clothing, and most certainly no special ring on the left hand. "You see here?" Cha Cha asked as he pointed to the right-most dancer's belly. "This one is married, she has stretch marks signifying that she has had a baby." Ohhhhh! Of course... Stretch marks equal child birth. What were we thinking? I mean, why else would a woman have stretch marks, right?

In total, we saw 4 temples that day, the fourth and final being Ta Prohm, home of the sight we both had been looking forward to: the highly photographed banyan tree. It had rained just before we got there so the air was cooler and the bright blue sky was painted perfectly with white fluffy clouds.

As we walked through the grounds, it was quiet, despite the other tours in process. Cha Cha's route was perfect, seeming to always miss the next group flawlessly, and he paced it with exactly enough time for his camera happy guidee to get in some good shots.

On our way out, Cha Cha asked us if we believed in luck. Uh, yeah...! And I need all of it I can get. He led us into a chamber where we leaned up against the wall and pounded our chest with our fist. The echo was that of a bass drum (Mark, I'm sure you would have been able to analyze the hell out of it) and Cha Cha nodded that we now had good luck. Yessssssss!

A handful of Angkor Wat photos via iSara: https://picasaweb.google.com/saracwatson/AngkorWat2011

Non-driving to Siem Reap

Megan arrived in Phnom Penh safe and sound on Friday night and after finishing up my work on Saturday morning (hasta la vista laptop!), we were on our way to Siem Reap. Vacation time, here we come!

Now, about two and a half hours into the drive, it clicked for both of us that our driver wasn't exactly a "real" driver (in that he probably didn't do this for a living). Instead, I'm pretty sure that he was just a friend of the hotel receptionist who was going to Siem Reap already and this way could make some extra cash ($70 to be exact). But given we were already halfway there, we shrugged our shoulders and agreed that was just fine. And two and a half more hours later, after a sudden stop for Megan to purge her mango breakfast into an unsuspecting family's yard (where they all sat watching, btw) and an unexpected stop for the driver to drop off some goods at a somewhat shady looking market ("you wait 3 mins okay?") we were in Siem Reap. (Mom: don't worry, I'm sure we were only mules for cigarettes and beer...)

Upon arrival, after the aforementioned delivery, a slight dilemma was presented to us: apparently our non-driver driver didn't actually know where our guesthouse was (which, honestly, wasn't exactly surprising at that point). "You no worry. My friend know. He take you." Uh okay. And so, with that, we drive up next to a tuk tuk where our new very patriotic friend ("USA! USA! USA!"), Richard, happily transfers our stuff from the car to his tuk tuk. And after acknowledging that this is precisely the scenario that our mothers would strongly advise us against, we were on our way... yet again.

Now quite frankly, after the ordeal we had just been thru (yes, while benign in the end, it was a bit unnerving), Megan and I were feeling a bit skeptical about the quality of our guesthouse. At this rate, we fully expected those photos on the Internet to have been doctored to hide the most likely scarred resemblance of the "villa" they advertised. And so when we drove up to the Villa Loti, you can only imagine our absolute ecstatic sigh of relief when we saw exactly what bad been presented to us online: a gorgeous candlelit guesthouse set amidst a lush garden. Ah yes, we made it and the mild adventure leading here was totally worth it.

Phnom Penh photos!

Its taking me a little longer to post this week - iSara is a little more work on the blogfront (Uh, yeah, just lost an entire post) - but I'll try to be better about it.

For now, here are the PP photos from my week there: https://picasaweb.google.com/m/viewer?source=mog&hl=en&gl=us#album/saracwatson/5608065515614432865

Enjoy!

Because clear doesn't mean clean

Today we are at the home of a Cambodian family in the rural province of Kompong Spue. We are welcomed by the family that lives at this house, as well as by the community leader.

We are here to watch one of our "Clean Water Experts" both educate the community on the importance of safe water and to sell a product to them that will achieve that clean water. The product is expensive though, $22 each, more than most of theses families earn in a week. Therefore we are working with an MFI to test out the viability of using small consumer loans to help families with this purchase. This particular loan will allow them to pay the $22 over the course of 2 years, making the filter much more affordable.

As it was with India, we are warmly welcomed into their community. The presentation is set up outside under a raised home, with several platforms pulled out for the attendees to sit on and watch from. We are quickly offered chairs and the fascination with our white skin is more than clear. Another fascinating thing? The fact that i am 30 and unmarried (apparently grandma isn't the only one afterall). Unlike India though I am not the only source of distraction today. Kendra is here and another American colleague named Ben.

There are about 45 attendees; all but 4 are women. In addition to that there are about 15 children present. And they are adorable.

Connecting with the community leader is extremely important in the sales process. And that connection has clearly been made. A man, about my father's age introduces us and the Clean Water Expert. He smiles a lot and while I don't know what he is saying, I know he is supporting the reason we are here.

Throughout the presentation I move around the space and snap photos. Again I am assured that the photo-taking is more than okay. Children actively pursue me, effortlessly making there way into the frame. Mothers proudly turn their babies to me and smile broadly.

While I am unsure whether I can divulge the actual number of filters that were sold at this single gathering, I can say that it was a successful 90 mins... For sales, and more importantly for education. Even those who could not afford the product, microloan or not, they still walk away with something powerful: the knowledge that clear water isn't always clean water, and that there are ways to prevent the health issues that they and more frequently their children are facing.

Smile with your eyes

My first impression of Cambodia? Quite possibly the friendliest, warmest place I’ve ever been. And I’m not talking about the 90+ degrees and the 80+ percent humidity. These people are so lovely, so nice, so smiley. And it’s no wonder that I feel so comfortable and welcomed here: I, too, am often described as smiley, myself.

However, what I can’t help but wonder though, is how is it possible that a country that has been through so much grief, so much tragedy, so much injustice be so warm and welcoming? How can a population that has faced the brutality and inhumanity that they have find the courage to smile so much?

My first day in Phnom Penh was a free day. In the morning I met up with Kendra (I couldn’t believe she actually made it!) and after catching up on all things work- and nonwork-related, we made our plan for the day. The first stop was a heavy one: the Killing Fields at Choeung Ek. One might wonder why I chose to make this my first place of visit here. One might suggest that I wait a bit, enjoy some “happier” places first. But, this was what had fueled my desire to come to Cambodia for the last 10 years. Not because I’m fascinated with death or injustice. Not because I have a masochistic desire to subject myself to such sadness and tragic remembrance. But, because I am inspired by the survival and recovery (though not nearly complete) that the people of Cambodia have progressed through. Just as the Tutsi people of Rwanda somehow miraculously found the compassion, the vitality, the sheer strength to persevere through the horrific genocide in the 90s only to come out with the unbelievable motivation to reconcile with their killers, the Hutus, Cambodia has managed to somehow find joy in a world that was ravaged with insurmountable hate, violence, and transgression.

While it has been a place at the top of my list of sites to visit and pay respect to, I really didn’t know what to expect at Choeung Ek. I only knew a surface level of the history and facts surrounding the events that took place between 1975 and 1979; I had never visited a place such as this. The documentaries that I had seen contained images 20+ years old, and the influential Hollywood film, The Killing Fields, is now close to 30 years old.

What I encountered was a very well-done, extremely informative, and down-right impressive place of respect, memory, and tribute. During our exploration of the memorial, we saw a film that gave us a 20-minute overview of the events leading up to and following the 4-year massacre. It provided the context for which we were about to see on our walk around the grounds: mass graves, weapons used for torture and slaying, remnants of children’s clothing, and the display of the bones of thousands of victims. While I choked back my tears, I embraced the information fully, trying my best to memorize not only the history that I was learning, but also the emotion that this experience was evoking in me.

And, later, as I walked through the streets of Phnom Penh, and the next day through the paths of a rural village, I was (and continue to be) astounded and inspired by the smiles – not only on the faces, but in the eyes – of the people before me. I am compassionate, I am forgiving, I am happy; but, can I honestly say that I know in my heart that I would be as compassionate, forgiving, and seemingly happy after a tragedy such as this? I simply cannot. And so, in that uncertainty, I can only aspire to be like the Cambodian people, to have the capacity to love, to persevere, and to smile – not only with my face, but with my eyes and with my heart.

More than just a Kodak moment

Friday's alarm went off at 5am, and we were on the road at 6am. A quick stop at a place "Sara should definitely not eat at" (thank you, Nature's Valley!) and we were on our way.

The early hour didn't matter one bit to me; this is what I had been waiting for for the past 3 years (hell, in a way, for my whole life). I had no idea what to expect, but I surprisingly wasn't nervous (well, aside from, yet again, the possibility of dying on the drive there).

Upon arrival to the village, we were welcomed by maybe 10-15 members of the community. That number would dramatically increase over the next 10 minutes. Word quickly spread that there were some new people here; and it wasn't long before we realized I was the main attraction.

The first part of the visit was a village meeting, held on the front steps of a family's home; the purpose to discuss how the water filters that had been purchased via an MFI a few months back were working. Through the translation I learned that the overall functionality was working well, save for some minor complaints. The main point of concern was, not surprisingly, the price. Those without the filters would be more apt and able to get one if they were cheaper.

It was here that my worries that photographing might be offensive were dismissed. It quickly became apparent it was quite the opposite: they wanted to be photographed. Children, as well as adults smiled and moved into the photo's frame each time I lifted my camera to my eye.

After the meeting, we were invited into four homes to view the filtering device and discuss any feedback the family members had for us. While the father or mother of the home actively engaged with JVG, Tanya, and reps from the MFI, the children became more and more fascinated by me, and increased their effort to be the subjects of my picture-taking. One little boy not only successfully managed to join almost everyone I photographed, but seemed to be gathering other kids to join him in his efforts.

By the time we arrived at the fourth house, we had accumulated quite the following. Tanya remarked that they generally piqued interest and curiosity but this was "unprecedented" and estimated most of the village to be there, following us from house to house.

Quite possibly my favorite moment of the visit came when we were gathered around a large wall painting that was advertising the filters. Surrounded by kids, JVG asked them if anyone knew what the painting said. The boys were quiet, but a girl maybe about 12 years old or so emerged from the crowd and explained that the filter created clean water, which helped people drinking it to feel better. I don't think she knew word-for-word what the sign read, but she knew the reason it was important. She looked at me and beamed a smile, her way of showing her hope that this near-perfect explanation would earn her a photo-op. I happily snapped her photo and smiled back at her.

While all of the attention was obviously very foreign to me, I felt completely honored to be welcomed into this community. I had worried in the weeks, months, years leading up to this moment that I would feel sad or overcome with a sense of guilt for my overly-privileged life when exposed first-hand to the poverty at which my fellow human beings are living at. However, the sense of community witnessed and the warm welcome I received brought about a different, more motivating feeling than I expected; it brought about compassion. Compassion that fuels the love and appreciation I have for the fortunate opportunity to be doing something, even if only something small, to improve the lives of people around the world.

Just a little bit of spice

On Thursday, after a very productive two days in the office, we set out on a day of travel: a two-hour flight to Hyderabad followed by a four-hour drive to Warrangal. Accompanying me on this journey were 3 of my India colleagues: Sidhartha, JVG, and Tanya.

The flight was uneventful, except for the observation that flying domestically in India is so much less of a pain in the ass than flying within the US. For starters, you don't have to get halfway undressed to go thru security. Nope, I walked through with my shoes, sunglasses, scarf, and jacket on. Had I been wearing a belt, my disbelief would have been even more exciting. Also, my hydroflask water bottle (thanks again BFF - it's been a life saver!) went through Xray - get this - completely full. They do ask that you not bring liquids and gels in amounts more than 100ml (which is how many ounces, again??), but no damn ziplock baggies necessary. I guess they use the Xray machine to gauge whether the amount of personal products (you know: shampoo, conditioner, lotion, breast milk, KY...) to gauge whether it's a threat to national security. Huh, what a concept.

Getting in to Hyderabad, was easy as pie (er, I mean: kulfi), and we soon had our bags and boxes of materials. After a quick stop into McDonalds (sorry Jai and Anna: I didn't do the Maharaja burger) we met up with our drivers and were soon on our way. Tanya and I were in one car, Sidhartha and JVG in the other.

As Tanya will attest to, my fascination (uh okay, maybe utter fear is a better description) with the driving in Delhi was taken to a whole new level here (yes, some Hawaiian eye candy would have definitely been helpful here). It was similar with one more thing added: extreme speed. I was quickly grateful to have Tanya sitting next to me and willing to talk about anything and everything to keep my mind off of what I wasn't entirely unconvinced might very well be my last day in life. We talked about work, differences in Indian and American cultures, our families, and of course relationships (it seems that men's inability to decide what they really want is true crosses cultural lines).

Two hours into the drive, we stopped at a restaurant in what I could only make out as "in the middle of nowhere". Had this scene been in a Hollywood movie, the music would have abruptly halted and all heads would have turned suddenly, mouths agape, to stare at the white girl entering. Doing my best not to notice the the distraction my presence was creating (little did I know this would be nothing compared to the following day), I followed my team to a table under the out-of-order AC. For lunch, Sidhartha, JVG, and Tanya all discussed what would be the "safest for Sara" option. They decided on something that I can't remember the name for at this late hour, but I must say, it was a decision that the three of them didn't seem completely confident in. I immediately thought of the Nature's Valley granola bar I had in the car. That could be sufficient.... "This will be fine, Sara," JVG said, this time a little more convincing. "And it won't be too spicy." Okay, I trust JVG. And then that trust was broken. Not too spicy? Really? Should my lips be on fire and should my eyes be watering this much? Not wanting to be the wimp though, I continued trying the different sauces. And then I looked up at Sidhartha to see him sweating profusely and then over to Tanya who was desperately chugging her water. Finally JVG said "Yes, this is the spiciest its ever been." Hallelujah! It's not just me.

After surviving that (though I wondered if my tastebuds and lips might launch a revolt against me), we continued our journey. I busied myself with playing with the camera, shooting at different shutter speeds out the window. The rest of the team slept. How am I the only one in this car that is at all concerned (and therefore not at all sleepy) that we may be the subject of a head-on collision?

After checking into our hotel in Warrangal, we met in the hotel bar for snacks (this time mostly mild, thank God) and some adult beverages. What, no tequila?!?! What kind of bar IS this? In the end, it was probably a good thing. With the early morning planned for the next day, the last thing I needed was a hangover, something one of my teammates would the next day wish he had thought of....

India Pictures!

Its been an amazing last 3 days, and I promise to share the details and random thoughts I had throughout soon. But, I'm exhausted and therefore must go to bed now. I leave for Cambodia in the morning (adventure #3, here I come!). If Bangkok has internet access during my layover, maybe I'll fill you in on the my field visits yesterday.

Until then, here's something that I know many of you have been waiting for: pictures! All 138 of them can be found at https://picasaweb.google.com/saracwatson/IndiaMay2011?authkey=Gv1sRgCKqc9PjJgoSNfQ#

And here are a few of my favorites....

Indian Wedding

When I woke up on Tuesday and looked out my window, the courtyard below was scattered with hotel staff (all wearing a hell of a lot of clothing for the nearly 110 degrees, I might add). They were busy grooming the garden, hanging beautiful white linen cloth from cabana-like structures, and sweeping the patio.

When I came back later that afternoon, more progress had been made. Tables and chairs had been set up and a stage was cleared at the top of the court. Aha! I recognize this: there is going to be a wedding.

Wednesday evening it was clear that tonight would be the big event, it had to be. When I got home from the office that afternoon, the place had transformed even more and they were starting to bring out the flowers.

Sure enough, around 8pm the festivities began. I sat at my window, watching and listening from high above. The sun had set and the courtyard was illuminated in tiny white lights, accented by splashes of larger colorful lights here and there. A parade entered to the right of the stage and I couldn't help but wonder how that managed to happen with no tragedies -- they were entering from that crazy busy street where I find myself holding my breath everytime my driver pulls out into it. How did 20 marching band members and another 20 dancers line up out there without someone getting plowed over?

And then I saw them: the bride and groom; he dressed in head to toe white and silver, she in a bold red sparkling with gold, the two of them surrounded by a swarm if friends and family. From there, they were led up on stage where about 2 hours of photos and videos were taken, their guests enjoying what looked to be an amazing dinner from not one, not two, no not even three, but from FOUR different buffets.

Children dressed in brilliant colors ran around, laughing, playing, and doing what children do best: enjoying the present moment completely (something I often feel adults would greatly benefit from doing more of).

Having never attended, and certainly not coordinated, an Indian wedding before, I kept thinking that the ceremony had to begin soon. And that was something I wasn't going to miss. In fact, I wonder if it would be ok if I went to the veranda outside the lobby and watched? There were chairs, and a full view. When I got down there, camera in hand of course, I watched for a good 15 mins without snapping a shot. Was it rude to take a picture of these people's big day? Was I being invasive? Disrespectful? Should I even be out here? Finally, after convincing myself it was okay, I turned on the camera, held it up to my eye, and began framing the shots. After an hour of watching and taking only a few photos (it still just didn't seem quite right), I headed up... still having yet to witness anything resembling a ceremony. I'd have to catch it from my high rise view. I was pretty certain I was beginning to feel the mosquitos feasting on my legs (deep breaths, Mom, deep breaths).

At midnight, I turned off the light deciding I must have missed the ceremony or maybe it had happened somewhere else before the party came here? My jetlagged body was able to fall asleep just fine even through all of the commotion below. However, at 330am jatlag was no longer enough to keep me asleep and I could hear a trumpet (or something sounding like such) playing solo in the courtyard; I imagined the party still going on, with this being some sort of final performance. I lay there half wanting to get up and go to the window and half willing myself with all my might to go back to sleep (afterall it was going to be a full day of travel to the villages in the south). But of course, as those of you who know me would expect, I went to the window. Much to my surprise the courtyard was empty, the lights taken down, curtain-draped cabanas disassembled, and not a chair or table in sight. Two men sat on the stage talking, one with a horn in his hand. They looked exhausted. There was a brief why the F are you playing music when it's over thought that flashed through my sleepy head, but then I remembered: I, too, often feel the need to be soothed by the sound of music after working a big event.

The next morning, I learned from my India teammate, Tanya, that the ceremony actually happens at 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning, after most of the guests have left (and uninvited onlookers go to bed) and only close immediate family and intimate friends remain. And you know, I kinda like that idea.

New Delhi oranges...

Well, I made it! I've spent my first night and first day in New Delhi. Both were a success. Okay, the day maybe more so than the night. I got off the plane, got my bag, changed money, and found my driver just fine. Checking into the hotel went relatively well, except that they had me arriving yesterday (so I had to hear all about that). Sleeping, however, was as expected a little more difficult. While it made the flight go super fast, sleeping at least 8 of the 14 hours probably wasn't the best idea. I woke up every hour last night and finally around 3:30 am just got up and did some work.

The first day in the office, though, was a GREAT success. My India colleagues are fabulous. I had met a couple of them already when they came to Seattle last year, but it was so nice to interact with them here and meet the rest of the team. They are so funny... literally. HILARIOUS (and I come from a very comedic family so my standards are high)! I laughed pretty much the entire day... even after my usual "I'm nervous so I'm laughing too much at everything" phase passed. Training went well and we actually covered everything in topic number one is less than the allotted time. WOW! What a concept!

I haven't had any "free time" to explore yet (somehow a 3 hour nap this afternoon snuck up on me), and sadly no photos yet, but I do have some first impressions and somewhat ironic things to report on:

1. I knew that riding in a car here would be an experience. "Total chaos" is how it was described to me, and that's exactly it. What confuses me is why do they even have lines on the road? I mean, it clearly doesn't signify anything. Not even the center line! You know that game Chicken? You know... the one that Kevin Bacon plays on a tractor to prove his badboy status in Footloose. Well, we played that today on my way to the office. No joke. As someone whose commute is a dull 4 and a half minute walk, these 5 mins in a car between the hotel and the PATH office were quite exciting!

2. My vocabulary is greatly lacking. While I haven't had any time to go out and explore dining options, I have ordered room service a couple of times. The problem? I don't even understand the descriptions of the dishes on the menu. What the F is "clotted cream"? And what does it mean to be "redolent" in it? That does NOT sound appetizing; it sounds like something I need to ask my doctor for a Rx to clear up. Or "piquant"? That does not tell me anything about how that is going to taste, but it must be good, considering piquant is a used in several of the descriptions.

3. When I got to the office today, I found out that we were having a farewell lunch for 3 of our India staff. Ooh, yes! I bet I'll get to try some good Indian food at that.... When lunch came around, I was introduced to... wait for it, wait for it.... Pizza Hut. :) I had to laugh. And you know, it did taste a little different than at home.

4. Due to that 3 hour nap (okay, so maybe it was closer to 4 hours....), I ended up ordering room service for the second time today. And, due to my inability to decipher what any of the traditional India dishes are on the menu, I went for something simple: fried rice with chicken (apparently Chinese is a specialty here in the hotel). It was really good actually. But, I think the server thinks I'm funny (and not in the India team is hilarious kind of way). Both times I ordered just one thing and he asks "Is that all ma'am?". Yes, that's all. "Nothing to drink, ma'am?" No, I'm happy with water. And then when he brings me the rice tonight, he asks again "No dessert for you? No fruit?" No, I think I'm okay. He then notices that I have not eaten the 2 apples he left earlier for me. "Do you want oranges instead, ma'am?" No I am okay. "I will bring you oranges and something sweet later." I give up: Okay, great. I'd LOVE some oranges." An hour later, he knocks on my door with 2 cute little oranges. I'll let you know if they are anything like Hawai'i oranges. He tells me tomorrow I will get mangoes.

5. The hotel I'm staying in is quite nice and comfortable, save for one small thing. They're clearly doing some remodeling or something. Something, that is, that involves some heavy duty glue or something. Don't get me wrong, after I get through the first 30 mins of feeling somewhat lightheaded and nauseous from the smell, everything seems euphorically pleasant, and I feel so relaxed and carefree. Is it weird that I saw a neon pink tye-dyed elephant in my room?

Okay now that it's 12:30am (I know - its a miracle - I'm up past midnight... and SOBER), I better get to bed. Luckily an email just came in letting me know that my first meeting was delayed 2 hours. I might get to sleep in!

Hope you all have a piquant night!

PS... I just noticed that blogger has an added feature when you connect in India. It seems that I could, if I knew how to, type this entire thing in Hindi, Kannada, Malayam, Tamil, or Telugu. And you think its sometimes hard to figure out what I'm saying here now... :)