Full Circle (Batu Caves, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)
Yes, I am back in the States, but I'm taking advantage of the down time here in Indianapolis (where there's not much to do) to finally grab the heel of some of the thoughts that have been flying through my head while I flew around the South Pacific and Southeast Asia. The next few entries will be some flashbacks for you. Enjoy.
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Kuala Lumpur, 19 December, 2006The air conditioning on the bus that sat at the curbside in Kuala Lumpur made my quiet yet eager anticipation all the more visceral. A shiver ran through me, as I sat wishing I'd brought a jumper. But who knew you'd need something warm on a bus in a tropical country like Malaysia? Even in the so-called third world, the joy of modern air conditioning was still felt. At this point in my travels, I was still learning.
Finally, after a few more
farang hopped on board, the bus pulled away from the curb. As we rode out of the city, in unusual fashion, I paid no heed to the scenery flying by outside of the bus. Instead, my thoughts turned to a cold winter day in Attleboro, Massachusetts, as I sat behind my computer during my 15 minutes of lunch at work, munching on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and reading my friend John's blog.
I had met John the previous summer, in true 21st century fashion, and in the only way we 20-somethings seem capable of befriending people in our hometown these days: through that glorious vehicle known as myspace. We both have a strong love for travel, and I remember sharing in his excitement as we sat at Border's and he talked about his forthcoming plans to travel the world over coffee. Along with Monika and Dara, John was one of 3 friends of mine who set off on their own to embark on long-term journeys around the world. I was envious of their guts in taking on a challenge that seemed as daunting, scary and lonely as it was exciting. I was also incredibly proud of them.
Back to that cold March day in my dark, dusty, claustrophobic classroom, where I munched on my sandwich happily and read John's account of the Thaipusam festival in Kuala Lumpur. Thaipusam is the Hindu festival of penance and is celebrated worldwide. In Kuala Lumpur, tens of thousands pour out of the city and walk the many miles out to the Batu Caves, many with needles piercing their tongues and noses, some with hand-constructed papier mache altars hanging from hooks in their backs. John's description of the bloody, sweaty, entranced masses making their way in states of religious ecstasy up the many steep stairs into the Caves took my breath away. Whatever breath remained was sucked out by his incredible pictures of the event. I got goosebumps and my heart started beating more rapidly as I stopped chewing and marveled at how amazing and colorful and vibrant life can be. I remember going to the back of my classroom to check on my world map where Kuala Lumpur was. I sat back at my desk and read John's entry again.
"Wow," I thought to myself, overcome by this refreshing and incredibly alive humanity, "I wish I could experience something like that one day."
And that was it. That was the seed of the dream. Of course, I've had the travel bug for my whole life, though it lay dormant until the life-changing summer of my 16th year, where I boarded a trans-Atlantic flight for the first time and spent 2 weeks in London and Madrid. The next 4 years were interspersed with longing and planning to one day get back, and I finally did, during my junior year at university. I remember sitting in my bedroom at that time in Madrid, spending hours upon hours reading my Let's Go Europe, full of so much wonderment and anticipation that at times my eyes would spontaneously fill with tears of joy over the utter sense of amazement I felt upon contemplating humanity and this planet. There's so much! Just so much!
After a bit of a depressing foray into the world of solitary travel around that same time through France, though, I was a bit off-put by the idea of traveling alone, and figured myself just simply not resourceful or brave or extroverted enough for it. I just wasn't cut out to travel by myself. The idea of embarking on a journey like the one that Monika, Dara and John had set off on just left me feeling scared and nervous.
At some point, though, while reading that entry about the exotic-sounding Thaipusam festival in the very far away and equally exotic-sounding Kuala Lumpur, something changed. I had been hoping and planning to go to Thailand with my friend Nate for a couple of months, but that had unfortunately fallen through. I felt disappointed and depressed: what in the world would I do now? I NEEDED to travel. The need was visceral; I could feel it pulsing through my veins. But the reality was that if it was something I truly wanted to do, I would have to do it alone. While the idea frightened me, there was too much out there that I needed to see and feel and experience to miss out on simply because I was nervous to go it alone.
So, one day in June I walked into the STA travel office and booked some tickets. After that, I just went with the flow, and dealt with life as it came to me, step by step.
And now, here I was, on a bus heading out of Kuala Lumpur to the Batu Caves. I had done it. I was here, I had come full circle and arrived in this far-away, exotic-sounding place that was much more familiar that I had expected it to be.
As the bus pulled up outside the Cave and temple complex, the scene was familiar; I'd seen it in John's pictures. There was the enormous golden statue of Lord Murugan, the ceaseless-appearing staircase up into the caves, and the monkeys that cavorted on the railings. I shivered a bit as my mind again returned to that day behind my desk on the other side of the planet.
My experience at the Batu Caves was of course much different from John's: I arrived well before the Thaipusam festival, and instead of hordes of worshipers, the caves were infused with a sense of tranquility and quiet. I was happy to have the solitude and peace inside the caves, reflecting on dreams and their immense possibilities, as I looked up at the open ceiling, dappled sunshine bathing the lush, damp foliage that draped the upper walls of the cave.
You actually can live your dreams. And it's pretty easy, at that. Who knew?
Labels: Batu Caves, Malaysia, RTW
A very long night (Saigon to Mui Ne, Vietnam)
A quick jerk forward of the bus jarred me awake from a brief nodding off. My tired eyes opened and looked out the window. The traffic was just as hopeless as before. Groaning, I stretched and looked at my watch. Two in the morning. We were supposed to be in Mui Ne 2 hours ago, but a 4 hour bus journey had already grown into 6, and, stuck in the midst of this absolutely hopeless traffic jam, I foresaw no ending near.
I flopped back into my seat and entertained myself by observing the bus next to us, the same bus that had been stuck next to us since we stopped moving. How long has it been since we moved now? An hour? That bus was jam packed, motorbikes piled on top of its roof and people piled on top of each other inside-- 4 to a seat, plastic shairs lining the aisles, people standing where ever they could squeeze themselves in.
As I sighed and turned myself sideways, throwing my cramped legs (there is never enough leg room in SE Asian buses, even for short-legged people like myself) over Karel's lap for some brief relief, I tried to reflect on the positive. At least I'm on a tourist bus. I may have paid 20 times what it costs for a local bus, but the extra cost is worth not having someones ass crash into my head as their hammock, strung above the seats, sways with every movement of the bus. Being in a hammock myself, though, that would be nice.
Before we had even left Saigon at 8 that night, there were already signs that this would be a very long night. The bus showed up 45 minutes late, and then, once we'd finally boarded, it proceeded to circle around the same block a number of times for another half hour. It took us over an hour to even leave the city. It was pure mayhem. This was not good. I had figured traffic would be busy, given it was Tet, the ten day long celebration of the New Year in Vietnam. However, I hadn't known that the day we'd chosen to move out of Saigon was the day that every Vietnamese person also left the city, en route to visit relatives. We'd chosen the busiest travel day of the year, in a country where plane flights are expensive and thus inaccessible to the bulk of the population, and where multiple lane highways simply do not exist. The main route running north/south in Vietnam is a 2 lane road, one lane for either direction.
Now, however, owing to the heavy flow of traffic and the frustration over the late hour, 2 lanes had turned into 4. In the space at the edge of the road where normally only motorbikes had enough space to form a second lane in either direction, large trucks and buses intruded on front yards and trampled vegetation to create 2 lanes in either direction. The vehicles jockeyed with each other to get ahead, causing an even greater mess than would have occurred naturally. When the main traffic lane came to a halt, drivers would rush to move into the extra lane on the side, cutting each other off and swerving haphazardly. Inevitably, somewhere down the road, an obstacle would block the path of the extraneous lane, and the vehicles that had passed would now hold up the main lane of traffic in order to cut back into the column. Typical story, but an atypical situation in a country where motorbikes normally rule, and people aren't used to negotiating this type of traffic. Our driver, cranky to begin with, would agitate easily, and he and his aide (there was always an assistant driver on all the buses I took in Vietnam), sitting in the back, would yell at each other in Vietnamese, a very nasal language that can be grating to the ear even when spoken at a normal level, jarring any who'd managed to fall asleep awake.
After we'd left the mayhem of Saigon, we'd had about 45 minutes of smooth travel. This situation, however, had been transpiring since our second hour of travel. At first I found it vaguely entertaining. Now, though, we hadn't moved more than 50 meters in over an hour and I was just tired and sick of being on a cramped bus. The situation was hopeless. Our driver had even turned off the motor and gotten off the bus. Some people were playing hackey-sack over to the side. I watched as a young woman emerged from the bus ahead of us and popped a squat next to the vehicle to relieve herself. The lack of modesty in certain matters in Vietnam always amused me. I perked up as I noticed the hammocks strung up in the bus next to us sway suddenly. Our neighboring bus started moving forward. Our driver ascended the stairs and turned on the engine, and we followed suit, only to stop again. I don't think we'd even progressed a meter. I sighed as the driver turned the motor back off again.
Sharing the headphones of my iPod, Karel and I tried to drift off into sleep. I lost track of the time and our progress, but somehow, somewhere, the traffic became unsnarled and we finally began to move again. As we raced through desolate streets, the driver attempted to make up for our 4-hour tardiness (it was now nearing 4 in the morning) by driving like a madman. I was too tired to care.
Finally, we reached Mui Ne, and passengers started getting off as we passed guesthouses and resorts. Karel and I moved up to the front seat. I followed our progress on the map in my Lonely Planet. Almost there, to a nice, comfortable bed! About 5 kilometers from our bungalows, the bus stopped. We were the only remaining passengers. The driver and his aide got off the bus. Oh no. I looked around, hoping to see someone dozing on his tuk-tuk or cyclo, or even his moto. No one. The entire area was desolate.
A young Vietnamese man, who'd been standing, smoking a cigarette in front of the cafe/ travel agency where the bus had stopped, boarded the bus. The driver and his aide didn't speak English well, so they'd elected him to explain to us that this was where the bus stopped and that we needed to get off. We begged, pleaded, offered to pay more, as much as the journey itself had cost, to have the bus drop us off down the road. The driver, a surly curmudgeon, snarled "no". The English-speaking Vietnamese man apologized genuinely, saying he was just visiting and didn't work for the agency, so couldn't help us. Resignedly, Karel and I got our packs from the bus, loaded up, and started on our very long 5 kilometer journey, with at least 20 kilos weighing each of us down. Not what I'd choose to be doing at 4 in the morning, but we saw no other choice.
Before we'd even progressed half a kilometer, a motorbike pulled up beside us. It was the kind, English-speaking Vietnamese guy from the bus. "Five kilometers too long. Hop on." We eyed the bike. Motorbikes in SE Asia are much smaller than the motorcyles we're used to. There was no way Karel and I were going to both fit. "But we won't both fit," I explained, nearing the point of inconsolable. "Yes you will. Trust me. I drive motorbike long time. Watch." Our new friend took my pack off my back and put it in front of him, between his seat and the handlbars. I grabbed our daypack and shoulder back, balancing myself with one on each side, and sat behind the driver. Finally, Karel squeezed on behind me, his big pack still on his back. And off we went.
Thank god our new friend had come to our rescue--as we rode on and on and on, we realized how long 5 kilometers really was. Finally, we arrived at our destination. We thanked our guardian angel profusely, and asked his name. "My given name is Phuc. My parents name me that because it mean 'happy'. My family name is Vinh. That mean 'forever'. So I am Vinh Phuc, Forever Happy." I laughed and smiled with him, the first smile that had come to my face in hours. Of course your name is Forever Happy. It couldn't be anything else. We thanked Phuc again, offering him compensation for his effort and wishing him a Happy New Year, along with a silent thank you to fate for sending Mr. Happy our way.
We made our way down the driveway into our resort. It was dark but I wasn't too worried; I'd made a reservation, precisely because of the lateness of our arrival, and had received confirmation. While we were much later than anticipated, I hoped they'd understand, given the circumstances. We just had to find someone awake. We crept around a bit, looking for a light or sign of life. We managed to find a few dogs, whose barking we'd set off drew out a sleepy Vietnamese man. As he rubbed his eyes, I tried to explain clearly that we had a reservation, and were meant to be here at midnight, but the bus had been late. He beckoned us to follow him up to reception, where another tired Vietnamese man, who'd been asleep on the couch, seemed more promising. I explained the situation again, saying I had emailed. He shook his head. "No," he said, "Sorry." "But we emailed," I persisted. "No, cannot help you. Wait until 6." We tried a few more ways to explain, to no avail.
We dejectedly headed back down the driveway. What were we going to do now? All around us, restaurants, guesthouses, cafes, houses; everything was dark. "Find a spot on the beach for a nap?" Karel suggested. I saw no other option. We decided to head down the road, to find a break in resorts or vegetation, and a path down to the beach, hoping against hope to find an open guesthouse on the way instead. As we walked, a Vietnamese family approached: an older couple, with their daughter, probably in her early 20s, in front of them. Karel paused and asked if she spoke English. When she nodded yes, he explained our predicament and asked if she knew of a hotel that would be open at this hour. "You have hotel?" she asked. "We had one reserved, but they turned us away." "So you don't have hotel? You can come to my family house and sleep there until hotels open," she offered, very kindly. As her parents approached, and she explained the situation, they looked us up and down, and the looks on their faces showed they were not as comfortable about the offer. We thanked the girl profusely, but, not wanting to put her parents out, and spotting a light not too far in the distance, we told her we'd go walk up the road a bit farther and, if we didn't find anything, turn back to find her again.
"Please please please," I thought to myself as we approached the light. The Sea Gull Resort. Great. Given the fact that I was attacked by a seagull that stole my grilled cheese sandwich at Narragansett Beach a couple of years ago, I didn't look upon it as a good sign. The gate to the resort was locked, but there was a guard booth, and the guard was awake. He didn't speak much English, but understood that we needed a room and opened the gate for us. As we followed him into the seemingly deserted reception, we nearly fell down as a young man jumped up from behind the counter. He had been sleeping there on the floor. We explained our situation as he listened blearily. "You have reservation?" he asked. "No," I replied, eying the board full of keys for available rooms. Only 2 were missing. "I call my manager," he said. After he explained over the phone in Vietnamese, he handed the phone to Karel. Finally, after much explaining and re-explaining, along with apologies for the hour, we had a room!
The tired young man from reception led the way. As we passed through beautifully landscaped grounds that wove through a number of bungalows, a pool hall/ bar, a restaurant, and a pool, we marvelled at our luck. This was even nicer than the place at which we'd made a reservation, and cheaper! Finally, the sound of the lock clicking open as the young man turned the key, the flick of a switch, and a sigh escaping from both Karel and I as we released the 20 kilo burdens from our backs. I looked at my watch. Five AM. I looked at Karel, the same thought on both of our minds. We've been up this long already, why not? We headed across the grounds down to the beach, just in time to catch the sun rise over the South China Sea.
A minor restructuring...
Hello all. Just to keep you updated on what's going on in my world, as some of you already know, I've decided to restructure my trip a bit by stopping home briefly in March/ April. I'll actually be moving my trip to India to next fall/winter (depending on the weather there) so I have enough time to do everything I truly want to do in that area; namely, apart from travelling throughout all of India and spending some time in a couple of ashrams (something that warrants at least 2 months, if not 3), I'd also like to have time to head north to Nepal and perhaps even Tibet, south to Sri Lanka, and east to Myanmar (Burma). Also, quite honestly, I'm a bit burnt out (Dara, I don't know how you did it!!) and have reached the saturation point, the point where I think, "Oh, yay, yet another pagoda. Hurrah." I definitely don't want to head into India with that attitude, nor do I want to spend more of my very-hard-earned accident money on apathetic travel, so I think it's time to rest my bones, organize my thoughts, start writing (which I've found difficult so far when I'm moving so much and my mind is constantly on the next step), perhaps get something published, organize my photos and become a better photographer before I head off again, this time better-prepared. In the 2 months that I'll be home, I'll also be moving to Indianapolis.
I'll set off back on the road in early to mid-May, to South Africa, before I meet up with my former colleagues and students in Paris to chaperone a school trip through to Madrid. I'll be stopping in Italy (and, maybe, depending on funds, England and Iceland) before heading home (Indianapolis this time) again to make some money to fund India.
I've learned a lot of lessons on the road, and one of the major things is that this trip has led to me to confirm what I had considered in the first place: leaving the States in September was not just the beginning of a finite year-long trip, but the beginning of a lifetime and lifestyle of travel.
So, for my loved ones at home, I'll see you soon. And for the rest of you, I'll see you out there in the world!
