K’bal Spean

Posted on March 8, 2012 by annie

The Khmer Empire is known for its carvings in sandstone seen in the temples such as Angkor Wat.   They were carved along temple walls or on lintles over massive doors.  They depict major scenes in the Hindu script or in Khmer history.  But it wasn’t in a temple where my favorite carvings are.  Those are in a river.  It was one of the first places we visited in Cambodia.  We liked it so much, the kids and I returned there toward the end of our month in Siem Reap.

At the top of a waterfall are most of the carvings.  The majority are of a reclining Vishnu with an occasional bull or crocodile.

Apparently during the rainy season the carvings can be completely covered, lost under the river.  In the dry season most of the carvings are exposed.  The river continues to run, however, over the thousand lingas carved into the riverbed.  Lingas are a symbol of Shiva.  Linga is really another word for phallic symbol, that is, the phallus of Shiva.

One of my favorite carvings we found only by letting one of the guides lead us around.  On top of the hill, far above the river, is a carving of Ravanna, with his 20 arms and his three stacks of four heads.  Ravanna is the evil demon who kidnaped Sita, Rama’s wife, in the Ramayana.  It was a story we saw performed or painted or sculpted many times so far in our travels.

Some of the carvings are solely of animals.  Monkeys were underwater, carved along the wall of a deep pool.  A large frog sat on the edge of the waterfall.

We loved exploring the carvings, but the main reason we returned to the river was to spend time in the jungle.  To get to the carvings it’s a 1.5 kilometers hike, in the shade of the trees, past many vines good for swinging.

We stopped for a picnic lunch with a view of the canopy and the heavy veil of humidity.

We sat by the river.  Cat discovered the fish would nibble her feet when she dangled them in the water.

 

But the real joy was under the waterfall.  The day was hot, and the water was cold.  Butterflies came to enjoy the water as well.

 

To see real happiness click on the videos to watch each of us under the waterfall.  Cat going under.  Hank going under.  And me.

Posted in Cambodia | 2 Comments

Picnic in a War Zone

Posted on March 8, 2012 by annie

 

Preah VihearPreah Vihear is an ancient Khmer temple on the border with Thailand. It was built high on a hilltop in the ninth century near the beginning of the Khmer empire.  It took us about five hours of travel to get from Siem Reap to the start of the trail up to the temple.  We drove several hours through the Cambodian countryside, stopping for breakfast in a small roadside cafe.  At the bottom of the hill, we handed our passports to the tourist police and paid five dollars for a motocycle ride up a very steep road to the trailhead.  Why, you may ask, would one need a passport to visit a temple?  You see, there is a struggle between Cambodia and Thailand over who owns the temple.  In fact, there are full-on military skirmishes with missiles flying and soldiers dying.

The temple is on the Cambodian side of the border with Thailand, but the Thai believe it belongs in Thailand.  Apparently, a bit over 100 years ago, a map was drawn delineating the border.  The border was to follow the watershed, along the ridge of a mountain. If the ridge was followed, Preah Vihear would have ended up in Thailand. Yet when Siam and the French colonists of Cambodia drew  the map, the border made a marked deviation around the temple placing it in Cambodia.   The Siamese at the time did not object.  Of course, the Cambodians believe the temple is part of their cultural heritage.  It was built by the Khmer Empire which was defeated by the Siamese only long after all the temples were built.  The Cambodian 2000 riel bill even bears a picture of the temple.

In July, 2008, the temple became a UNESCO World Heritage Site, a designation designed to help preserve cultural sites around the world.  The flags of UNESCO fly over the temple implying harmony between nations. But in October, 2008, the military clashes began.  Multiple soldiers have died on both sides.   A village at the base of the temple burned during one of the battles displacing 300 people.  Land mines are scattered under the ground surrounding the temple.  People still find them accidentally with traumatic results.  Cambodia swears it is no longer placing land mines.  Who knows?  There is certainly animosity from the Cambodian soldiers toward the Thai soldiers.  Bill asked the soldiers if they ever had a beer with the Thai.  They couldn’t even conceive of the idea.  No, they will shoot us, they said, we shoot the Thai soldiers if we see them.   They then asked if America could send them some missiles.

As we walked the trail, soldiers followed us.  Their presence implied we were protected.  Really it was just to get a dollar or a pack of cigarettes as a tip. The main temple is on the top of a hill involving a lot of climbing.  After only a short climb, our driver told us the soldiers were done and needed a dollar.  Easy enough.  Glad to be rid of them. We also had a “guide” in the form a  member of the tourist police, but he spoke little to no English and knew no history of the temple.  A little later, he got a dollar.  On our own we found the carving of the Churning of the Sea of Milk.  It was rudimentary compared with the famous one at Angkor Wat, but it seems to be a theme among the temples.  We felt we had met our goal when we found it.

It was then time for lunch.  We chose a spot overlooking the Cambodian broad, flat countryside and over the border to Thailand.  It was beautiful.  I laid out  the picnic on the sandstone blocks of the temple.  We enjoyed crackers and cheese, sandwiches and watermelon.  After we ate, we watched as tiny ants struggled to move crumbs of crackers toward their home in the cracks between the blocks.  Crumbs easily ten times the size of each ant were hurried along, often by two or three ants at a time.  They moved together so quickly for such a big job.  They didn’t approach the crumb from one side, but surrounded it on all sides.  One pushed forward, one pushed sideways, and one pulled backwards.  They’d constantly spin around holding onto their crumb, but they always moved forward.  Somehow they worked in unison toward their goal.  The ants at the temple acted as a team.  Too bad the humans haven’t.

 

Posted in Cambodia | 2 Comments

Working in Cambodia

Posted on February 26, 2012 by annie

I knew better.  I had read the books on Cambodian culture.  I knew how I was supposed to behave while working in there.  For example, from the book Culture Smart: Cambodia:

Any difference of opinion or any criticism must be conveyed in indirect and respectful terms…Confrontation would be counterproductive, and it is you who would lose face and respect…It is not polite to get straight down to business…Keep your remarks favorable and uncritical…Cambodians conceal anger and frustation, often behind a smile that may indicate incomprehension, disagreement, nervousness, or irritation…The Cambodian approach may appear frustrating, time-wasting, and indecisive, but speaking frankly and forcibly…will be counterproductive.

I thought I could be demure.  I thought I would be able to spend a week or two of my four weeks just watching and asking questions.  I thought I could wait to question decisions, suggest changes, and make plans until I had gained trust and respect. Turns out, I couldn’t.

On the first afternoon while on ward rounds I questioned the chief doctor in front of all of the residents.  He wanted to get an x-ray that would be considered unnecessary in the States.  The residents actually agreed with me so I kept arguing the point.  After two or three minutes I realized I was being stupid.  I found a way to save face and agree with the chief.  He, luckily, forgave me.  He must be used to the volunteers.

My goal in volunteering at the hospital was to help with quality improvement.  After only one day reviewing charts I had my project.  I had decided that the medical team needed to work on discharge planning and toward shorter lengths of stay.  All kids need to spend the minimum amount of time possible in the hospital.  Hospitals are not safe places unless you absolutely need them.   There are nasty germs and big needles.  In Cambodia I jumped in and started talking to everyone I could about how to reduce the length of stay.  I ran to the library to look up information, filling my time with useful work.  It took me about a week to realize that a sick Cambodian kid has different needs than a sick American kid.  In Cambodia, the hospital just may be a safer place to recover than home.  It was a complex problem that needed more insight than I could gain in four weeks.

So I changed my plans and quickly latched onto a new project.  The mortality numbers had just come out.  In reviewing the numbers it was noted that kids were sick for awhile before any action was taken.  This is a common problem not unique to Cambodia.  I wanted to introduce a pediatric early warning system which is used in hospitals around the world. I presented the basic idea to the Cambodian chief doctors and charge nurse.  After an hour of talking, the new system was rejected.  Not hands down, mind you.  It’s not done that way in Cambodia.  But respectfully, with a lot of thank yous, saying that all the decisions needed to go through the proper channels. It would need further approval.  This was not a decision they alone could make.  Maybe after review it will get implemented.  Just slowly.  After I’m gone.

Actually, that meeting didn’t bother me much.  I don’t mind my projects being rejected or delayed. I was really frustrated, however, when my suggestions on patient care were rejected.  I tried so hard to convey my concerns about a child who’s status never improved during my time in Siem Reap.  I don’t know if the junior doctors ever really understood my concerns.  Maybe they couldn’t understand my English.  They smiled and nodded their heads, but little change ever happened.   And I didn’t have the insight to realize that the vice-chief might not really understand the problem I believed the child to have.  I didn’t have his trust to get him to listen closely to my thoughts.  Every suggestion was met with rebuttal.  The child’s care did not change during my visit.

I love the practice of pediatrics.  I love the perfect little bodies and the smiles.  Pediatric physiology fascinates me.  I love thinking through the problems and questioning the answers.  I get very excited when caring for a sick child (odd, I know).  I love the teamwork that’s involved between the nurses, the doctors, and the parents to make a child well again.  I jump in when there is a problem to be solved.  Unfortunately, I forgot what the book told me about Cambodia, “It is not polite to get straight down to business.”    I needed to spend more time just watching, being around, listening, and getting to know the medical staff.  Sitting in the ward, feeling bored and unproductive, but watching and being watched might have been the most useful way to actually get something done in the end.  In Cambodia the question is not whether to jump in feet first or cannonball.  The question is just how quickly to wade in.

 

 

Posted in Cambodia | 2 Comments

Life Lessons

Posted on February 10, 2012 by annie

Across the Siem Reap River from our apartment is a temple.  We see it from our balcony.  It’s a classic Cambodian Buddhist temple with lots of gables, peaks, and pointy serpents on the corners of the red tiled roofs.  We saw a lot of temples like this in Thailand, and there are a lot here in Cambodia.  But this one is unique.  Kittens live there.  As does a sweet, toothless, Buddhist nun who feeds them rice and fish.  They follow her around with devotion.  Catherine is there everyday, heading out on her own across the bridge to pet the kittens and hang out with the nun.  There are four kittens with variations on tabby.  They are definitely from one litter.  There are also two, tiny, wobbly, black kittens.  Or there were two.  The smaller one died.

When she first met the kittens, Catherine quickly attached herself to the smallest of the smallest kittens.  She has always been a champion for the underdog (or undercat in this case).  She would sit for over an hour in front of the nun’s small home with the little, black kitten curled up in her lap.  The cat would purr, and Cat would relish life.  But one day Cat told me there was something wrong with the kitten’s eye.  Her eye crusted with pus.  We took a wet washcloth and some eye drops to the temple.  Wiping away the pus I could see it was not an eye infection but an abscess above her eye.  Although the kitten had already lost weight, I told Cat to have hope.  The abscess was already draining.  That was the first step in healing.

We went back the next day with the wet washcloth and found the kitten weak and even smaller.  We offered her milk.  She didn’t want any.  We offered her water.  She wouldn’t drink.  We gave her a tiny piece of milk-soaked kitten food.  She spat it out.  In desperation, we shoved two pieces of kitten food down her throat.  I had hoped a wee bit of calories would energize her.  Then she might take some water and food on her own.  Later that morning Bill and Cat went back to the temple and searched for the kitten.  They found her under a bush.  She was breathing hard.  She couldn’t stand.  She was dying.  They visited a vet who only offered a vitamin shot should they bring the kitten in.  I came back from work to find my daughter at the temple crying, the nun standing by her side, both looking over the kitten.  The nun gave Cat tissues to wipe her eyes.  They didn’t share each other’s language, but they shared their sadness as the kitten grew weaker.  We finally convinced Cat to go home before the kitten finally succumbed.  The next day Cat went back to the temple to visit the remaining kittens.  The nun had buried the kitten next to a stupa.  She had placed incense and a candle over the grave.  It was so kind and so bittersweet.

We are in Siem Reap so I can work at a children’s hospital here.   I have been spending my mornings on teaching rounds with the residents.  One morning I had a long discussion with the team about a two month old baby with pulmonary hypertension.  The residents were content to say that the pulmonary hypertension was caused by the pneumonia   This just didn’t make sense to me.  The pneumonia had been brief and mild, not enough to cause pulmonary hypertension and the subsequent heart failure.  After trying to argue their case they agreed to get one more echocardiogram (ultrasound of the heart).  The baby had already had two, and no heart defect had been detected.  When I came in the next morning the baby’s mother was packing up to go home.  I didn’t understand.  The baby had been on oxygen the day before.  The residents at that time were arguing with me why the baby needed the oxygen.   The third echocardiogram, however, revealed a new diagnosis: total anomalous pulmonary venous return, a very serious heart defect.  This was the cause of the pulmonary hypertension and the subsequent heart failure.  And there was nothing to do for the child until the cardiac surgery team arrived in April.  Though they might not come until May.

There is another child whom I’ve fallen for.   He’s about five months old but weighs only 2.5 kilos.  His face and arms and legs are so skinny.  He looks like a little old man.  His father sits at the bedside with a worried look but smiles broadly when I sit down on the bed to examine his baby.  The baby first came to the hospital two months ago with diarrhea and was severely malnourished.  His belly was distended with gas.   He was fed in the hospital and then sent home with soy formula which the hospital supplied.  Then the hospital ran out of soy formula.  He was switched back to cow’s milk formula.  He came back to the hospital again with diarrhea and was severely malnourished.  His belly was again distended with gas.  My fear is that he may need an elemental formula.  Even if all he needs is a soy formula it’s available here.  Right now he’s doing okay with the cow’s milk formula.  I so hope it works.

I don’t usually get torn up about death.  As a doctor, I’ve seen quite a bit of it.  The kitten was small and weak.  Sure I wish the vet had more to offer, but even with good medical therapy, the kitten didn’t have much of a chance.  It sounds awful, but I don’t even get too upset by a baby who came to the hospital a few days ago dying.  By the time he came there really wasn’t any way to save him.  For me it’s the children we know how to fix, but we just don’t have the right stuff whether it’s the right people or the right equipment.  The baby with the heart defect may not be able to survive the two or three months until the heart surgery team arrives.  Another baby needs a special formula, but he just can’t get it here.  This feels so wrong.  And it makes me sad.

Posted in Cambodia | 4 Comments

A Day in Bangkok

Posted on January 29, 2012 by annie

The day was not as I planned.  In fact my plan was to wake up early and go to the Grand Palace and Wat Phra Kaew, one of the must sees in Bangkok. Everyone who visits Bangkok goes there. But Bill had to work that morning. So the kids and I started the day looking for breakfast on the street wanting to avoid the hotel restaurant. Unfortunately, it’s hard to find food on the street for Cat; she’s a vegetarian. But we were lucky and found some vegetarian   spring rolls and Thai iced coffee. We walked a bit further and found croissants, the best we’d had since leaving Oakland.

When we got back from breakfast, Bill still wasn’t ready, so without him we headed to a shrine. Bangkok was full of temples glistening with gold leaf, mirrors, and shiny, colored tiles. Even more common, though, were all the little altars placed throughout the city as stopping points for prayer. The shrine at Nai Lert Park was unique, however. Just getting there was different. We walked into the five star Swissotel and got directions from the concierge. He pointed us out the back to the swimming pool. There more hotel employees pointed us out the back gate into the parking lot. Another finger pointed us around the back of the parking lot to the temple.

Like any shrine in Thailand there were offerings of food laid out around the shrine, and the trees were wrapped with ribbons. But there was more to this shrine. We were greeted by a host of phalluses (phalli? phallae?). The first one that caught my eye was a monkey laying on his huge erection. His penis pointed way past his head. There were two penises with legs. Each had a penis sticking out the back with scrotum hanging below. Leaning against the trees were piles of wooden woodies. Some red, some brown, some yellow, some wrapped in ribbon, some studded. Hank loved it, and of course, he had to have his picture taken with several of the features. To my surprise, Cat also enjoyed the shrine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hank wanted to go back to the hotel to see if anyone was on Facebook (that 15 hour time difference with Oakland can be difficult), and Cat wanted to go to the mall.  (I have two adolescents, no?)  So we split up.  In Bangkok there were at least four different malls along a two kilometer strip, each at least five stories high. The malls shared many of the same stores with each other and with the malls in America. There were the designer Gucci, Hermes, Versace stores as well as the Gap, Guess, and Lacoste. You could buy a pretzel at Auntie Anne’s or a sandwich at Au Bon Pain. The malls were filled with merchandise, and there were plenty of people, mostly Thai, ready to buy. I needed some things after six months of travel. I thought the mall would be the place.  I couldn’t find a single thing. It was time for the next adventure.

It was time to meet Bill and Hank at the snake farm on the Thai Red Cross campus.  “The Red Cross and snakes?” were my first thoughts.  Those don’t go together. Ah, but they do. The snake handlers at the Red Cross milk the snakes for venom to prepare the antivenom needed throughout Thailand. The Thai live with fear of deadly snakes; there are king cobras, banded kraits, and blue coral snakes.  The list goes on. At the snake farm we were hoping to meet them all. When we got to the Red Cross we again had to ask directions from a security guard, follow some small signs past the rabies investigation lab (I so wanted to go in).  After the rabies lab we once again asked directions before we got to the entrance.

At the farm there was a wonderful museum with various snakes in cages. The snakes were beautiful. Some were hiding in their shelter, some were floating in the water, and some were coiled in the branches in the cages. Cat and I were amused and saddened by the frog trapped in a cage waiting to become snake food. Upstairs were exhibits with information on snake life cycles, snake anatomy, and envenomation. But the real treat was the snake handlers’ show. These are the handlers who brave the snakes to milk out their venom everyday. The most impressive handler was the grey haired guy who handles the king cobra. This snake was huge and mean. He came on stage being held by two men. When placed on the ground he immediately raised his head and spread his hood. He hissed. He lashed out. He was mad. Luckily his fangs never reached their target. When it was time to get him back in his cage, his handler approached him from the front. Their eyes were locked. The snake couldn’t see the hand that was above him. In a flash the handler struck down his hand right behind the snakes head and wrapped his fingers around the snake’s neck. Another handler came out to grab the rest of the snake as its long body thrashed around. Apparently, all of the handlers have been bitten. More than once. Fortunately, they’re in the right place for treatment.

After the snake farm, Cat and I again separated from the boys. They headed to a phone expo. We headed home.  We never got there. The clouds were thick and threatening rain. We decided to walk through a city park (Lumphini) as a short cut.  It was so pretty.  We came to the lake with paddle boats. No one was out on the lake. We decided to go out.  We were worried a bit about lightening strikes but only a little bit. We headed out on a yellow boat fronted with duck heads, one for each passenger. Carp and catfish were jumping all around us. Then a head sticking out of the water swam toward us.  We had no idea what it was.  We looked closer.  A turtle? He was joined by two others. They floated next to our boat looking up at us. They wanted food. When we got back to the dock Cat asked for fish food. For 10 baht we were given a bag of dry, flat slices of bread. We had to go back out. The carp and catfish were once again jumping. This time all over each other trying to get a chunk of bread. The turtles arrived but wouldn’t take the bread that had fallen in the water. The fish climbed over the backs of the turtles, dunking them to get to the bread. The turtles needed to be hand fed the bread. Cat learned to grab a larger piece of bread, lean over the boat, and place the bread in the turtles’ mouths. We had a couple of friends after this.

But then it was time for the movie. We had agreed to meet up with Bill and Hank at the mall one more time. We took the Skytrain, grabbed a bagel, and headed up to watch Tom Cruise shoot guns, drive fancy cars, and beat up the bad guys in Mission Impossible 4. On the big screen. In IMAX. With surround sound.  It was a huge exhibition, and there were maybe forty other people in the theater.  

We never saw the Grand Palace and Wat Phra Kaew while we were in Bangkok.  But we saw things unique and hidden within the city on this day.  Penises and snakes.  Turtles and boats.  The flashy and the simple.  Without the crowds.  Tourist or Thai.  A perfect day of travel.

 

 

Posted in Thailand | 1 Comment

Pi Nan and Mindful Farm

Posted on January 13, 2012 by annie

When Hank was in first grade, his class had some pen pals near Chiang Mai, Thailand.  They were kids from a small village attending a small school.  The school was run by a monk named Chinnaworn.  Our kids would send simple six year old drawings of life in Oakland with greetings in scrawled block print letters.  His kids would send back intricate pencil drawings of the Thai countryside with rice fields and elephants.  Small, neat Thai script would narrate the pictures.  One time Hank sent his own letter with photos of his sister and him.  In return he received his own package of letters and drawings.  Bill and I got a letter from Chinnaworn inviting us to visit the school and to even leave our kids with him for a couple of weeks.  This was our inspiration to visit Chiang Mai.

We learned before we left, however, that Chinnaworn is no longer a monk.  He has assumed the name Pi Nan which he told us means “Brother Monk” in Thai.  But he now runs an organic farm near the same village where he was born, grew up, and taught school kids as a monk.  He invites volunteers in to help work the vegetable beds and gives them food and Buddhist teachings in exchange. We decided to spend five days with him.

To get there from Chiang Mai, we took a bus, a Chiang Mai bus.  It’s really a small Toyota pick-up with a roof over the back and benches along the sides of the bed.  We started the trip with just our family in the bus, our backpacks on the top. After the first village we were fully packed in with old ladies, old men and babies as well as bags of groceries.  We stopped to let people out, let people on, or deliver goods from Chiang Mai to various people along the way.  The road was winding while riding in the back of a pickup.  It was difficult to not get carsick.  But the air was getting cooler, and the mountain scenery was beautiful.  When we got to our stop we had no idea which way to turn.  Our driver led us down a narrow path, over a bamboo bridge, and then pointed to a pile of structures across the rice field.  We made our way walking along the dykes, led by Daniel, a member of Pi Nan’s long term visitors.  Daniel is tall, slender and gentle.  He’s hoping to return to Germany to work on an organic farm.  It was young people like him that were visiting the farm.

The farm is part of the backpacker route. Pi Nan told us it’s in this month’s Backpacker magazine.  Many people, mostly 20-somethings, visit sometimes for a few days, sometimes for a few months.  We met young people from Britain and France as well as Daniel from Germany.  They were young and strong, ready for the work that needed to be done.  And there was a lot of work to be done.  The farm recently moved sites to an area close to Pi Nan’s hometown.   Mud bricks needed to be made to build mud houses, and gardens needed to be tilled, and plants needed to be tended.

We hoed, weeded, transplanted, fertilized, and vitamized the gardens.  I was a proud mama as I watched my kids, hoes in hands, turning the soil.  These are city kids.  Their work mostly involves pushing pencils and computer mouses.  It was wonderful to watch them never hesitate when Pi Nan gave them a chore.  Cat spent hours building a shade structure for a newly transplanted garden.  Hank carried old vines and weeds into the composting fire, channeling his inner pyro.  We all got blisters and splinters.  I got a sore back.  It turns out I’m not 20-something anymore.  I took on the role of the middle-aged mom and the chore of laundry. There are a lot of blankets on the farm.  Not many had ever been laundered.  It turns out, blankets are a lot of work to wash by hand.  I hope to never again wring out a wet polyfilled comforter.  They’re heavy.

What we got back for all this hard work was home cooked, vegetarian Thai food, some cooked by Pi Nan, some by his mother.  My favorite was spicy bamboo shoots and eggs.   It was nice to eat with vegetarians who ate eggs after a month at the ashram.  The visitors would cook as well.  I made pasta, fried rice, and Vietnamese style noodles.  We had tomato salsa, French toast and a lot of prik soy (our vegetarian version of the spicy Thai sauce with lots of chilis).   It turns out French toast is good with soy sauce, lime and chilis.  Most of the visitors ate it with sugar and fruit, though.

We also received an education in Buddhism.  Every morning as the sun was rising and the fog was lifting, Pi Nan would ask one of us read a meditation.  One of the readings told us to feel our feet massaging the earth with each foot fall.  We were to focus on our steps as we walked out into the fields.  When we got to a good place to sit Pi Nan would ring a bell, and we would try to meditate for 15-20 minutes.  I could last maybe three minutes.  Cat maybe 20 seconds.  Bill sometimes just kept walking and never sat down.  After the meditations Pi Nan shared with us of some of his Buddhist philosophies.

In the evening, after dinner, it was again time to meditate.  We walked out to the fields, this time in the light of the full moon.  The jungle made noises all around us.  The first night we wondered about snakes.   After that we began to trust the sounds of the night.  No longer afraid we just soaked them in.  There were different calls, different smells, and, of course, different light during the evening meditation than in the morning.  I still couldn’t hold my thoughts still, but I was certainly in a peaceful place.  When my focus drifted I soaked in the beauty  around me.  The moonlight illuminated everything with its silver light.  The few stars that were bright enough identified themselves as constellations: Orion, Cassiopeia, Canis Major.  I was surrounded by nature.  My soul was in its element.

Over Christmas in India we’d spent our time in five star hotels.  It was luxurious.  I really liked it.  It was cozy and comfortable.  It was clean.  There were no rats or geckos or frogs in our rooms.  The water came in bottles and never needed boiling.  The toilets flushed, and the showers were hot.  At Mindful Farm we slept on dirty blankets on the dirt in our mud hut.  Bill and I spent one night listening to something rummaging through our stuff.  I pulled a frog out of the hut before bed one evening.  I had to take Vicodin to sleep through the pain caused by the hard bed and the cold.  But I woke up in the morning and was ecstatic, so full of joy.  I had found heaven.  And I was learning to spend the moment in the moment soaking it in.  I was learning to be mindful.

 

I have to thank Lucy for introducing Hank’s class to Chinnaworn.  She knew a beautiful soul when she met him.  I got to experience his beauty and the beauty of the place where he lives because of her.  To see more about Pi Nan and his farm visit his website: http://www.mindfulfarmers.org/.  It’s a little out of date as he’s no longer in Doi Saket but rather his home village, Pang Term.  It’s past Samoeng.  It’s so remote and little the village isn’t labeled on Google maps.

Posted in Thailand | 1 Comment

Kathakali

Posted on January 11, 2012 by annie

Just before we arrived in the southern Indian state of Kerala I finished reading the book The God of Small Things.  From this story I learned about Kathakali, a form of dance-drama based on the ancient Indian stories of Rama and Krishna.  In the past the plays lasted all night, but to draw more visitors including Westerners, the performances now last two to three hours in the evening.  In the book some Kathakali players rush to the temple after their abbreviated performance to ask forgiveness from the gods for bastardizing the ritual for tourists.  In a drunken state they try to appease the gods.  For some reason that scene really stuck with me.  When I saw the poster for a Kathakali performance I had to go.

In an old part of the city of Kochi, we wound our way down a path, past a store and a restaurant to the small, wooden theater.  Fire buckets lines the edge of the stage.  This made me wonder what was going to happen during the show.  I looked for the exits.  I calmed as the evening began tamely.  We watched while the players put on their makeup, a performance in its own right.  An actor showed us how they made the makeup.  He took a red rock and ground it against another rock.  He then mixed the powder with coconut oil into a paste, and red pain appeared.  A yellow rock was used for yellow paint.  The green paint was made from indigo leaves and the yellow rock powder mixed together.  The players slowly, carefully applied it with a stick.  Each of the colors had meaning, the red for evil character, the green for the hero.  Beards and whiskers were paper cut outs applied with a vegetable glue.  The actor laid on his back as another artist sat crosslegged at his head.  The artist painstakingly  glued the multi-layered paper beard onto the actor’s face.  To make red, angry eyes, the actor playing the evil beast placed a seed in his eyes for several minutes which stained his eyeballs.  The whole process took over an hour.

Next a player came out to explain the method of acting in the Kathakali.  In addition to the actors there were drummers and a singer telling the story.   All of these performers had spent years in schooling to learn their craft.  The actors at least six years, the drummers at least three, the singers four years.   During the school years the actors learned to perfect the use of their hands, eye muscles, and facial muscles to tell the story.   There was no dialogue between the actors.  He showed us the power he had over his eye muscles.  The rapidity with which he could move his eyes back and forth or up and down was astounding.  He demonstrated such agility with his forehead, his cheeks and his mouth as well.  He also demonstrated hand gestures and dance steps each of which had a particular meaning.

The theater was decorated with chalk mandalas.  The stage was set with multiple candles (the fire danger?) and marigolds, no other props.  The play began with the drummers drumming and the singer singing the story in Malayalam.  There are 22 official languages in India.  Malayalam is one of them.  Spelled backwards: malayalaM.  There is little to no Hindi spoken in Kerala.  Hindi and Roman scripts are on a few street signs along with Malayalam,  so that everyone can find their way.  Otherwise it’s just Malayalam in Kerala.   Of course, it didn’t matter what language the play was in.  It was told with facial expressions, hand gestures, and dance steps.

We had also been given a written summary of the section of the Mahabharata to be performed, the “Baka Vadham” or “The Killing of Baka”.  The prince (in green face), Bhima, had been summoned by a villager, Brahmin (yellow face),  because an evil, murderous forest-dwelling demon (red face), Baka, who was had taken control of the village.  The first act involved Bhima and Brahmin discussing the scourge of Baka and Bhima’s promise to kill the beast.  The second act involved Bhima killing Baka.  It was the best death scene ever.  Bhima stabbed Baka with his knife.   The knife was held in place for a few seconds then turned. The evil beast was the only one to use his voice, making ugly cries and grunts.   Each time the knife turned a new grunt/groan filled the theater.  Baka fell toward the floor, gave his final grunt.  It was time for the final curtain.  The curtain was a blanket held up by two men in front of the actors.  It was, after all, a small theater.  And thankfully, there were no tricks with fire; the fire buckets were never needed.

I thoroughly enjoyed the performance.  We wouldn’t have seen the performance had I not read the book.  We were there only three hours, but it was long enough.  I know I could never have sat through an eight or nine hour performance overnight.  I appreciate the actors giving up their principles and showing us a shortened version.  I hope they didn’t feel the need to run to the temple and appease the gods afterward.

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Lukla to Namche Bazaar: Trekking in Nepal

Posted on December 16, 2011 by annie
      We didn’t intend to visit Nepal.  It wasn’t on the original itinerary.   We were thinking about the Himalayas, the tallest mountains in the world.  We wouldn’t be able to get there until late November.   We knew it would be too cold. But in Nairobi I met a woman from Kathmandu.  Her stories got me interested.  She told me the weather would be comfortable and the scenery would be unforgettable.  I looked online for tickets from Delhi to Kathmandu.  They were cheap.  I mentioned it to Bill, who hesitantly said okay.  That was enough for me to buy the tickets.
      We weren’t quite ready for Nepal, though.  We had only packed for warm weather.  We never dreamed we be hiking up at 3400 meters.  We borrowed coats, hats, and long johns.  We were happy we did.  Although it was almost December it was actually very pleasant…during the day.  At night it dipped below freezing, and the extra layers came in handy.  On the way home we got stuck for an extra day in Lukla because of rain.  Without the sun warming the mountains, we were cold even wearing our coats and hats in bed in the middle of the afternoon.
     Much worse than the cold temperatures were the runs.   Bill got two rounds of the stomach flu while we were up in the mountains.  He had to hike much of the time while sick.  The kids each got sick as well.  But all this suffering did not dampen the emotional effect of Nepal.  It is truly an awe inspiring place.
      We hiked from Lukla up to Namche Bazaar from where you can see Mt. Everest.  Below are the photos.  Unfortunately, the photos, as beautiful as they are, just can’t do justice to these mountains.
      To get to the trailhead in Lukla we had to fly into the mountains, not literally, but at times it really looked like we might.  The runway slants upwards by 10 degrees to slow the plane on landing before it crashes into the side of a mountain.
We found the air sickness bag on the flight quite amusing.  I love that she’s wearing a sari.  Luckily we didn’t have to use it.  That came after the flight.
The trail is approximately 16 km long.  Mostly uphill along the Dudh Koshi River that runs from the glaciers of Mt Everest.  We had to cross over the river many times.  This was the first of many suspension bridges we walked over.  It was the scariest of all of them as it was in the worst condition.  Most of the bridges went over the river of milky blue water.  The rush of the water underneath created intense vertigo.
Yes, vertigo.
The turquoise color of the water was phenomenal, though, and I found myself just stopping to stare at the water.  I was awe struck thinking that this water ran off of the tallest mountain in the world to flow under my feet.
The yaks had the right of way over the bridges.  These are actually not true yaks but a hybrid of cattle and yaks called zopkyos in Sherpa.
Prayer rocks (manis) were frequent along the trail.  The words “om mani padme hum” are painted or carved over and over and over again on the rocks.  The prayer spreads good will over all who pass.  It was a difficult hike, and we needed all the good will we could get.  One’s supposed to pass on the left. We tried to always pass on the left.  Sometimes this meant extra steps.  Sometimes it just wasn’t possible.
Our second day of hiking was even more difficult.  We climbed over 600 meters in about 5 kilometers.  Sure we weren’t packing the 60-80 kg this guy was, but Bill and Hank were packing a stomach bug.  The walk was slow.
On the trail up we caught a glimpse of Mt. Everest.  The prayer flags were also spreading more of that good Buddhist good will as they flapped in the breeze.
Even when we made it to Namche, we still had a fair amount of climbing.  Our hotel was near the top of this bowl.
We made it, though.  Here is a view of Namche from above.
Same view with children.
This is what we saw from our hotel room.  The fog rolled in almost everyday in the afternoon, and the temperatures dropped.  It was kind of like Oakland in the summer.   Only colder and more spectacular.
This is in the courtyard of the temple above our hotel.  There is a museum here that explains the evolution of the Sherpa culture in the Khumbu Valley as well as the  practice of Buddhism here.  Although Buddha was born in Nepal and was enlightened in India, Buddhism came to Nepal from the north in Tibet.  There is still free trade of goods allowed between China and Nepal through this mountain corridor.
This path is lined with a collection of spinning manis.  These manis, like the rocks, are carved or molded or painted with the words “om mani padme hum”.  They are spun, and with the spinning they spread good will.  We tried to spin them, always clockwise, whenever we passed.
We went on a couple of hikes once everyone was well.  With all our prayers being answered we got to see a little bit of wildlife like this herd of seven or eight mountain goats.  We looked for but never saw a yeti.  Bill took these wonderful photos of the Himalayas.  Admire the photos, then if you love mountains, go see them yourself.  They are far more magical than can be shown in the photos.  I can’t believe it took me almost 50 years to get there.  I hope to go back before another 50 years pass.
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The Jagran

Posted on December 14, 2011 by annie

Less than a kilometer away from Sri Ram Ashram is a small village, Shampyur.  It is so quiet compared with the big city, Haridwar, six kilometers away.  But one night the quiet was disturbed.  A family in the village hosted a jagran and invited their neighbors.  Rashmi, the director of the ashram, and a group of older kids planned to go.  My family was also invited as part of the ashram family.

During a jagran devout Hindus spend all night honoring the mother goddess, Durga.  Durga is remembered for destroying the evil forces who would have otherwise destroyed the other gods and thus, the world.  Her name means invincible in Sanskrit.  She is usually depicted riding a tiger who represents power, will and determination.    Her eight or ten arms represent the many directions in Hinduism.

We arrived at the jagran at about nine at night to a tent in the backyard.  A few family members were sitting cross legged on blankets. They were seated in front of a large alter with a life sized statue of Durga riding a tiger, her eight arms fanning out around her.  She was draped with necklaces of fresh marigolds and was flanked on either side by similarly large statues of many of the other Hindu gods including Shiva and Ganesh, Hanuman and Lakshmi.  Incense burned at their feet.  Strings of multicolored lights flickered around them.  There was a bit of glorious kitsch to the large, plastic statues with the flickering lights and the perfume of incense.

A slender, greying priest sang while seated in front of the statues, the hosting family gathered around him.  Devotion to Durga filled the tent as the priest prayed into the microphone.  More guests arrived, filling the tent.  Soon the musicians came.  They brought an electric keyboard, a mridangam (a tubular drum with skins on both ends) and an electronic drums.  The drums were set to sound like tablas but were played with drumsticks.  The new singer now stood, and the priest stepped aside.  The volume of the speakers was increased, and the sound board was set on reverb.  Catherine and I tried to move back away from the speakers.  Only then did the rear speakers start amplifying the music.  We were stuck between four loud speakers, and we had forgotten our ear plugs.

After two hours of trying to sit cross-legged on the floor while covering our ears we decided it was time to leave.  We knew we weren’t going to be able to stay the whole night celebrating Durga.  We thanked our hosts, but we couldn’t get past the fire where the food was being prepared.  Chairs were placed in front of us, cups of chai were placed in our hands, and plates of chick peas, aloo gobi, and puris were set down in our laps.  It turns out, in India, “No, thank you,” is not accepted as an answer when one is offered food.  At least not as we mean it in the West.  In India, it means, ask me again and then make me take what you’re offering even if I say no again.   We were only allowed to leave after we’d licked our plates clean.  It was well after midnight.

The next morning I peaked in as I was going on a walk.  I was pulled back into the ceremony by the host.  Many of the guests were still there, bleary-eyed but awake.  The same musicians were actively drumming and singing, loud and on reverb.  I sat down again among some of the girls from the ashram.   Sacred fire in a brass vessel was brought around the worshipers.  As it passed they placed their hands over the fire then ran their hands over their heads.  The holy Ganga flows not a kilometer away from the village.  Its water was sprinkled over the heads of the guests.  Our foreheads were striped with red tumeric paste with grains of rice pressed in giving us a third eye.  We were then fed again: a combination of sweet halwah (a semolina gruel) and spicy chickpeas.  This time I didn’t even try to say, “No thank you.”

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Sri Ram Ashram

Posted on November 30, 2011 by annie

I always thought an ashram would be full of austere gurus meditating for hours with their students then moving into yoga poses for the next several hours all while fasting on thinned cow’s milk.  The word ashram, however, means home or hermitage in English and applies to many different kinds of institutions in India.  Sri Ram Ashram is an orphanage, a home for orphan children with a family of over 60 brothers and sisters.   For the month of November, it was our home as well, and we were welcomed as part of the family.

It was comfortable at the ashram.  The orphanage is run by an American foundation, and the kids are well taken care of.  There were girls and boys dorms.  There was a large kitchen and dining room.  The kids played in the huge yard with swingsets, slides, and a trampoline (with adult supervision).  A new climbing rope was put up during our visit.  For the guests there was separate housing across the courtyard from the kids’ dorms.  Our family had two rooms, each with two twin beds and a bathroom with hot water.  There were ceiling fans for the hot days and thick blankets for the cool nights.  Mosquito repellent was plugged into the wall to keep the buggers off while we slept.  High speed wireless enabled Bill to spend the month working and my kids schooling.

The ashram kids’ days were were dictated by a gong.  The first bell was about 5:30 when the chai was ready and the kids got up.   Next bell was for breakfast at 7-7:30.  Lunch at 11:45.  Tea/snack at 3:00.  Prayer service at 6pm and dinner at 6:30-7.  So many gongs throughout the day kept the kids on schedule.  Only on Sundays did things run late and the kids got to sleep in…by half an hour.

Although we didn’t get up with the 5:30 am gong, our family paid attention to it.  After all, it told us when the food was ready.  We were fed three meals a day, and the food was very good: rice, a dal, a vegetable, chapatis, and a pickle (the spicy, Indian kind).  The dishes changed everyday so there was a great variety of tastes.   The milk was fresh from the ashram’s cows and always served boiling hot or in the chai.  Creamy yogurt was made from  the extra milk. In the morning there was hot, sweet (and I mean sweet) chai before breakfast.  In the afternoon sweetened and unsweetened chai was served.  On Sunday mornings a special bread was made by some of the older kids, sometimes aloo paratha, sometimes puris.  Very importantly the food and water were safe.  This kept the kids at the ashram as well as us healthy.  We took it for granted and had to learn through experience that it’s not true throughout much of India.

There was a dining room for the guests when we preferred not to eat with the ashram kids. In the kitchen the boys and girls sat separately from each other.  The kids ate sitting cross-legged on the floor (true Indian style).   They were supposed to eat in silence.  I tried to sit cross-legged on the floor with the kids and tried to be silent for a couple of meals.  I wasn’t so successful.  I was much more successful making friends with the visitors while sitting around the dining table in our dorm.  The visitors came from Germany, Australia, Toronto, New York, and, yes Santa Cruz.  We shared a lot of stories and, quite frequently, ketchup.  Bill called it “tomato chutney”.

With all the food, we needed exercise.  Now, again, this was not a yoga ashram.  Very few of the kids were practicing asanas.   Instead the kids are into Crossfit.  As I interpret it, Crossfit is a macho workout routine with intense calisthenics while lifting maximum weights.  About as un-yoga as you can get, and Hank has fallen in love with it.  It’s the first exercise regimen he’s actually gotten a high off of.  So we, in India only miles from where the Beatles studied with the Mahareshi, were doing clean jerks, not down dogs. We meaning Hank and I and Sunita.  Sunita was employed as a “mummy” for the children.  She fed, bathed, and clothed the babies and toddlers.  She slept with them in their bed.  She was there when they fell down, or needed their noses wiped, or their bottoms washed.  Except when it was time to do Crossfit.  Then she nagged Hank and me to get outside and workout.  She looked the part of a mummy, not of an athelete.  But she was committed, and she was fun. Her English was limited to “push-up”, “squat”, “wall ball”, and other crazy Crossfit terms.  But we laughed about these exercises and our poor ability to accomplish them with grace.  We needed no interpreter.   We bonded over pain.

With over 60 kids at the ashram there’s a lot of potential for friends.  My kids got the chance to eat, pray, and play with the ashram kids.  They took tabla lessons on the weekends during music class.  They shared a slide show of their travels with the kids.  They pushed the little ones on the swings, rode the scooters with the school aged ones, and arm wrestled the bigger ones.  On a campus where the kids are into Crossfit, my kids did not win at arm wrestling.  They were good sports, however, and continued to accept the challenge.  Both Hank and Cat spent a lot of time with the toddlers when the older kids were at school.  There was a constant refrain of, “Hank-bhai (brother), POOOSH!” as the two year olds sat on the swings in a line waiting to fly.

For me it was a delight to just be with kids.  They all avoided me when it came time for their immunizations, but when I wasn’t being quite so mean I got to be their auntie.  (Actually, everyone called me “Annie-didi” which means older sister.  Bill, on the other hand, was called “Bill-uncle”.  I guess it was the gray beard.  Poor guy.)  I loved my time with Sita, one of the cutest two year olds in the world.  Every morning I would pick her up to take her to the clinic to give her medicine.   She would wrap her arms around my neck.  I would melt.  I’ll never forget walking across the courtyard with a two year old on either side of me, each holding one of my fingers finger.   I was in heaven.  Sri Ram Ashram had become a new home for me.  Now I’m kind of homesick.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Y6_zjJ_V0g

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