The challenge of adapting to this new culture and language has been exhausting but amazing, and I have been impressed with my improvement, but constantly frustrated by being unable to communicate properly. It is difficult to explain how immensely annoying it is to have a simple thought to express to your friend, but to be unable to say it for lack of words. You have to explain around the idea, using the words you do know, until the person figures out what you are getting at, and tells you the proper word in Spanish. Sometimes, after minutes of struggling, you cannot even find the word or explain the idea. And if you can, by the time you've figured it out, you cannot remember your original reason for needing the word. Other times, the comedic timing is completely ruined. My jokes fucking suck right now, even worse than they do in English. And by the way, when you think something is funny in Spanish, you say jajaja, not hahaha. Think about it. Fucking hilarious.
Anyways, so that's been rough but fun. I joined a language school and they had difficulty placing me because I was able to communicate, but didn't know any grammar or verb conjugations (past, future, etc). They straightened me out on a lot of that shit, and I made mierda-loads of progress in my months in Uruguay. But my progress in communication was mostly due to evenings spent hanging out with my Uruguayan friends, rather than at the school. I ended up staying with two guys, Pablo y Guille, for almost a month, and man they were freaking cool. After a couple of days I was going to leave, but they insisted I stay. Out of a sense of honor I cooked big dinners and cleaned a bunch, and it seemed like a good arrangement. We all got along so good that it felt like we were old friends, or perhaps brothers. They're friends are amazing as well. We spent many evenings hanging around in the park (they like in a park that has 15-story-apartment complexes scattered around...they live on the 15th floor with an amazing view of the city) drinking mate, beer, and smoking a little bit, but mostly just talking and shooting the mierda. They can hang out like no other people I have ever seen, with an amazing capacity for holding marathon conversations. One night we played Risk until 5AM, which was kinda surreal. Other nights we moved it back to the apartment and turned it up a notch, throwing on the music and intensifying the inbibing. The stereotypes are true by the way; they can all dance excellently. I suck at dancing by US standards, and here it is just a joke. Every single person at a party can tango and salsa at least a little, and every single one has some sense of rythym. The good ones are amazing. I hope to learn to salsa or tango while I'm in South America, but I'm so busy who knows if I'll be able to make it happen. And another night, they plugged in their guitar and bass, and starting playing songs they wrote themselves (they have a band, called Buen Pregunta, or Good Question) which are absolutely amazing. Sort of in the Sublime/Rancid ska-punk realm. A lot of the music here has that sort of things going on, with definite fusion of many styles, almost always punk, ska, metal, and some latin influence.
On that note, I went to a concert on the beach the other day, this famous band that does the above described style, but with a heavy circus-music influence, and a pixies-like male/female double lead vocals. They were dressed up in orange insane-asylum outfits, it was pretty nuts. Oh, and their mosh-pits are like a formal dinner practically, so freaking polite and gentle. It was more like a gentle massage than the angry free-for-all that I am used to. But still very energetic and fun. That's a good microcosm to give a sense for Uruguay...musical, friendly, polite, and fun.
Honestly, I fell in love with Montevideo and Uruguay. I will go back and explore more. It was such a livable and lovely city, perhaps my favorite yet in the world, neck in neck with Portland, with Melbourne trailing a little behind the two. They are an amazing city and people, with so much culture. But it is all very understated, humble yet proud. It is a quiet pride that is held close rather than bragged about; if pushed, they will talk about how they are only a small country, overshadowed by neighboring giants Brazil and Argentina. This inferiority complex is misplaced, as their culture is distinct and easily on level with these other countries. They are certainly influenced by both...more of the beach culture of Brazil, some of the African culture from Brazil, the mate and wine of Argentina, the Catalan Spanish of Argentina, they hot girls of both...they have a relaxed and carefree approach to things that reminds me of Fiji in many ways, but they are not lacking in a sense of hard-work, punctuality, or dedication by any means. Buses run regularly, lines are formed, but no one taps their fingers or acts frustrated if things go slowly. People are helpful and patient, efficient but not manic or obsessed with time.
So it should be obvious now that I was sad to leave. I felt a need to see something else in Uruguay, the better to know the country and other parts of her, so I visited a small beach town, Punta Del Diablo, for a couple of days. It was a couple of days well spent, in a beautiful little town with an amazing beach with scattered sun-bathers and gigantic waves. I spent my time practicing my Spanish with an Uruguayan-born Portena (Argentine from Buenes Aires) named Julieta, who told me that Argentina is amazing, but will never hold a candle to Uruguay.
So, with that in mind, I had to hop on the bus and come to Mendoza, Argentina, to begin my seasonal work at the winery Vina Cobos. They have gotten amazing reviews from the American wine press, but are relatively new and unknown in their own country, as it turns out. Upon showing up I found out that the winery is still in construction, and harvest has already kicked in. I started almost immediately, and was working 12 hours straight off the bat. Since my Spanish is only passable, and I don't yet know the wine-related words, it has been really difficult to take any level of responsibility as would be fitting to my abilities in a winery. So while it has been long hours and physically exhausting (lots of heavy lifting and alwasy standing), it has been mentally relaxing, compared to my time in Uruguay, where learning Spanish was a very intense job.
As for my coworkers, the Argentineans are very cool. Several are interns themselves, either studying wine or recently graduated and looking for a full-time position. Others are experienced hands. They have a rougher sense of humor and are more intense than the Uruguayans, but very likable in their own way. But they talk way faster and do not enunciate their words very clearly, so I am having a hell of a time understanding them.
Meanwhile I am living with 6 other foreign interns, 6 of us from the USA. We all speak basic or in some cases no Spanish, and are at able the same position at work. At home, we live in tiny houses in the middle of nowhere, with shit-all to do and only one car to share. I share a room with two other guys. We have a tiny kitchen, and tiny dining room. But at least there is a pool, and a beautiful view of the distant mountains. Currently, we are struggling to figure out how to have a social life of anything outside of work. We are very isolated out here, and on our days off get a bit stir-crazy. I have been going on walks through the scarcely-populated countryside when I am not too exhausted from work. It is very beautiful, and I am at my happiest when able to slip into their culture a bit and observe their daily life, with kids playing in the streets and adults sitting around chatting and watching soccer on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
I hope shitty Spanish is charming
So it's my third day in Montevideo, Uruguay, South America. I came down here to learn Spanish, and amazingly, that's what's happening. I spent each day wandering the streets, mostly sans map or intent, making excuses to talk to people. I have asked directions, and what bus to take to go some place, and how much something costs, and so on, even when I didn't need the information. It has been good practice and while I occasionally faulter, mostly I am able to communicate on a basic level. My understanding is rapidly improving; early on I had a lot of difficulty understanding the accent, but this crazy moon-man gibberish is slowly coalescing into a comprehensible language. I walk around town all day with a freakishly large dictionary in hand, mumbling spanish to myself, so I probably look pretty nutty, now that I think about it, particularly with my long unkempt hair and heavy stubble.
But in spite of being a complete weirdo, I'm receiving much kindness and friendliness. The native Montevideans have pretended they can understand my Spanish and are willing to work with me on it, and are very patient. And absolutely gorgeous. Seriously, the rumors are true. It's not just Argentina and Brazil, their little sister Uruguay is quite a fucking hottie.
Yesterday was a big day for Carnaval here in Montevideo, with the streets teeming with drummers, dancers, and drunken revelers such as myself. It was a throbbing pulsing free-for-all of music and rhythm and public snogging, which I'm told is an Uruguayan tradition. It went on all evening but slowed down around 2AM, when I headed home for some much-needed sleep and rest for my knees (all this walking has been wreaking havoc on them). And besides, it's the same thing tomorrow, so I'm quite excited. Yesterday I met up with random fellows from couchsurfing.com, some of whom were natives and some being internationals currently sleeping on the couches of natives. A very cool group. I plan to meet up with them again today for more of the same. The immensely awesome guy whose couch I am using (although I prefer the beanbags honestly) might join tonight, we'll see. In any case, drunken revelry is always a good idea.
But in spite of being a complete weirdo, I'm receiving much kindness and friendliness. The native Montevideans have pretended they can understand my Spanish and are willing to work with me on it, and are very patient. And absolutely gorgeous. Seriously, the rumors are true. It's not just Argentina and Brazil, their little sister Uruguay is quite a fucking hottie.
Yesterday was a big day for Carnaval here in Montevideo, with the streets teeming with drummers, dancers, and drunken revelers such as myself. It was a throbbing pulsing free-for-all of music and rhythm and public snogging, which I'm told is an Uruguayan tradition. It went on all evening but slowed down around 2AM, when I headed home for some much-needed sleep and rest for my knees (all this walking has been wreaking havoc on them). And besides, it's the same thing tomorrow, so I'm quite excited. Yesterday I met up with random fellows from couchsurfing.com, some of whom were natives and some being internationals currently sleeping on the couches of natives. A very cool group. I plan to meet up with them again today for more of the same. The immensely awesome guy whose couch I am using (although I prefer the beanbags honestly) might join tonight, we'll see. In any case, drunken revelry is always a good idea.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Oregon to Sacramento
Harvest was actually pretty mellow. I worked a lot of the peak of harvest doing lab and computer related work, which was quite a change from the cellar-oriented stuff I had done the previous two harvests. It definitely broadened my understanding of the entire process, and allowed me to integrate a lot of my theoretical knowledge with the processes down in the winery. Also, working with a winery management software program allowed me to get a God's-eye view of the winery, understanding where processes fit in with each other. I was lucky to work with an extremely knowledgable team, between the Cellarmaster Cris and the Winemaker Lynn, both of whom are Davis graduates with a very deep understanding of how science fits in with winemaking. They were able to elucidate a lot of the intricacies that had seemed beyond the comprehension of previous coworkers at previous wineries. So though I missed cleaning tanks and driving forklifts, it was nice to see the other side of things for a season. It will do me well in years to come.
Meanwhile, we were eating fabulously. Our cook, Natalie was the tasting room manager, who created feasts every day. She'd downplay her chili or pastas, but couldn't help but admit that her best meals were excellent, like the seafood soup (you float a little crispy wafer with a chili paste on top, and only eat that part once it has soaked up the seafood boullian/broth)...mmm. Amazing. And everyone was really cool and friendly so harvest was extremely enjoyable. We didn't even work particularly long hours or for a long time, as it was a rather brief and moderate harvest, and we had many volunteers helping out.
While we had biked through the beautiful countryside to work during good weather (and from the hilltop where the winery sits, we could gaze upon the path we'd just taken), during harvest we had to carpool. The cloudy skies and regular rain dampened my mood at times, but good friends staved off the SAD. I can't emphasize too much how much fun I had with Doug Adam and Cris. It was amazing, and I'll never forget hanging out with those guys. Between biking Portland, touring breweries, watching movies, bitching about Newberg and work, and just shooting the shit, it was great times.
Meanwhile, I tried to explore Portland as much as possible. My cousin Becky was there and we were able to meet up a few times. My brothers came up and visited once, which was freakin awesome. I went to a weekend music festival around Portland and met cool people and saw awesome bands. In short, I fell in love with Portland. A beautiful city with cool and beautiful people.
Alas, it ended too soon, but I was happy to return to Sacramento and family. My dad took the train up and joined me for the drive home. It was a lot of fun walking around Portland and driving around Oregon with him telling me stories of his years spent in this part of the country. He worked the orchards, went to clown/mime college, and lived in Portland, variously. We together explored the coastline, staying in a teepee (actually a yurt, but close enough). Then headed inland to my Aunt Fran's cabin up in the mountainous regions between Eugene and Bend. Fran is a cool chick and we ate good food and enjoyed good conversation, as always with the family. Then we made our way through Bend, on to the California border and finally to the evil I-5 and back to Sacramento, in the nick of time for Thanksgiving.
The holidays were excellent, also with great food and conversation. I was lucky enough to pick back up my old waiting jobs in Sacramento, for the holidays, and make a bit of money to help fund the travels. But most of my free time has been spent hanging out with family and friends, and making some new ones. It has all been very fun and I've enjoyed Sacramento's social world like I never did back when I really lived here.
So in two days, Jerome and I head off for Fiji, aka paradise, aka second home. The joy is sneaky, and it rises up slowly as the day approaches. I can't wait.
After Fiji, I head off to South America. My job doesn't start until March 10, but I'm going down early because, well, I don't have a job any more here in Sacramento, and it's cheap down there, plus I need practice on my Spanish. And besides, who knows how much longer I can manage to maintain this lifestyle; for now I need to make the most of every opportunity.
Meanwhile, we were eating fabulously. Our cook, Natalie was the tasting room manager, who created feasts every day. She'd downplay her chili or pastas, but couldn't help but admit that her best meals were excellent, like the seafood soup (you float a little crispy wafer with a chili paste on top, and only eat that part once it has soaked up the seafood boullian/broth)...mmm. Amazing. And everyone was really cool and friendly so harvest was extremely enjoyable. We didn't even work particularly long hours or for a long time, as it was a rather brief and moderate harvest, and we had many volunteers helping out.
While we had biked through the beautiful countryside to work during good weather (and from the hilltop where the winery sits, we could gaze upon the path we'd just taken), during harvest we had to carpool. The cloudy skies and regular rain dampened my mood at times, but good friends staved off the SAD. I can't emphasize too much how much fun I had with Doug Adam and Cris. It was amazing, and I'll never forget hanging out with those guys. Between biking Portland, touring breweries, watching movies, bitching about Newberg and work, and just shooting the shit, it was great times.
Meanwhile, I tried to explore Portland as much as possible. My cousin Becky was there and we were able to meet up a few times. My brothers came up and visited once, which was freakin awesome. I went to a weekend music festival around Portland and met cool people and saw awesome bands. In short, I fell in love with Portland. A beautiful city with cool and beautiful people.
Alas, it ended too soon, but I was happy to return to Sacramento and family. My dad took the train up and joined me for the drive home. It was a lot of fun walking around Portland and driving around Oregon with him telling me stories of his years spent in this part of the country. He worked the orchards, went to clown/mime college, and lived in Portland, variously. We together explored the coastline, staying in a teepee (actually a yurt, but close enough). Then headed inland to my Aunt Fran's cabin up in the mountainous regions between Eugene and Bend. Fran is a cool chick and we ate good food and enjoyed good conversation, as always with the family. Then we made our way through Bend, on to the California border and finally to the evil I-5 and back to Sacramento, in the nick of time for Thanksgiving.
The holidays were excellent, also with great food and conversation. I was lucky enough to pick back up my old waiting jobs in Sacramento, for the holidays, and make a bit of money to help fund the travels. But most of my free time has been spent hanging out with family and friends, and making some new ones. It has all been very fun and I've enjoyed Sacramento's social world like I never did back when I really lived here.
So in two days, Jerome and I head off for Fiji, aka paradise, aka second home. The joy is sneaky, and it rises up slowly as the day approaches. I can't wait.
After Fiji, I head off to South America. My job doesn't start until March 10, but I'm going down early because, well, I don't have a job any more here in Sacramento, and it's cheap down there, plus I need practice on my Spanish. And besides, who knows how much longer I can manage to maintain this lifestyle; for now I need to make the most of every opportunity.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Recent Months
So now it's Oregon, family and self-assessment. Since I've been here in the second home of half my extended family, it's been a constant string of experience. I see why so many of them make Oregon a second home...Portland has the perfect balance of city life, bar scene and book stores with excellent walk-and-bike-ability, there are many interesting towns across the state, and the natural setting is magnificent, with every outdoor sport available in some season. It's like that Beatles song, If I Needed Someone, or whatever, except with states instead of people. It's been a good place to be.
A mild summer is leading up to a late harvest and so I've had ample opportunity to explore the northwest before long hours kick in. I went to a weekend festival in Seattle called Bumbershoot and saw tons of bands I didn't know and a few I did (Beck was solid, Monotonix got shut down 10 minutes into the show). I went to a music festival in Portland the next weekend amidst bottling at work (lots of coffee and mental focus). This time Monotonix did a complete show and the singer crowd-surfed within 5 seconds, and at one point I was helping hold the drummer and his drum set above the crowd, plus they played good hard-driving rock.
I've had a chance to hang out with various cousins, Becky quite a bit up in Portland and recently Toby and his wife Amanda down on the coast for some camping, and soon the Irish clan up at Fran's cabin, which I'm really excited about.
As for how I got here: Laos led to Cambodia and disappointing temples, then to Thailand and letdown, loss and difficult times, then coming home for too short of a time before starting the next new span of my life, in Oregon. Next is Argentina? I reckon the best path is to plan for boldness in order to mask indecision. I'm wearing myself out with filling my time with pleasure at the moment, so I'll enjoy the hard work of harvest and after that the comfort of Sacramento. And the excitement of Marcus having a baby. That's fucking awesome. I'm looking forward to reaping all the benefits of being an uncle without the resonsibilities of being a dad. That should be fun. Until I have something interesting to say, I'm signing out...
A mild summer is leading up to a late harvest and so I've had ample opportunity to explore the northwest before long hours kick in. I went to a weekend festival in Seattle called Bumbershoot and saw tons of bands I didn't know and a few I did (Beck was solid, Monotonix got shut down 10 minutes into the show). I went to a music festival in Portland the next weekend amidst bottling at work (lots of coffee and mental focus). This time Monotonix did a complete show and the singer crowd-surfed within 5 seconds, and at one point I was helping hold the drummer and his drum set above the crowd, plus they played good hard-driving rock.
I've had a chance to hang out with various cousins, Becky quite a bit up in Portland and recently Toby and his wife Amanda down on the coast for some camping, and soon the Irish clan up at Fran's cabin, which I'm really excited about.
As for how I got here: Laos led to Cambodia and disappointing temples, then to Thailand and letdown, loss and difficult times, then coming home for too short of a time before starting the next new span of my life, in Oregon. Next is Argentina? I reckon the best path is to plan for boldness in order to mask indecision. I'm wearing myself out with filling my time with pleasure at the moment, so I'll enjoy the hard work of harvest and after that the comfort of Sacramento. And the excitement of Marcus having a baby. That's fucking awesome. I'm looking forward to reaping all the benefits of being an uncle without the resonsibilities of being a dad. That should be fun. Until I have something interesting to say, I'm signing out...
Friday, June 13, 2008
Living in a Treehouse
So after a couple of weeks gorging on Thai food and massages, we picked up my old roommate Alex Torgovitsky at the Bangkok airport, and caught an overnight bus to the Lao border. To enter Laos, you have to take a small ferry boat across the Mekong River, which is the border between Laos and Thailand. The typical hustlers were there on the Lao side, attempting to convince us that we wanted what they were selling. We didn't, so we ignored them and started hiking around town looking for a place to stay. We noticed immediately that the stray dogs here are in much better condition (less mange, fewer rib bones visible), which we later learned is due to the fact that they are in fact pets, but allowed to roam the streets for the last few months of the dry season, until either bad weather or mating season begins, at which point they are brought into the yard. We bought a few beer Lao at a restaurant overlooking the river and enjoyed our introduction to Lao cuisine (similar to Thai food, but with a Vietnamese influence and less seafood).
Our destination was the jungle. We had paid the equivalent of a year salary for the average Lao worker for a once in a lifetime experience. After a 51/2 hour hike through small villages and jungle along muddy roads and paths, at steep grades both up and down, we arrived exhausted. We were given harnesses, and shown how to attach them to the steel cables. Then, we gave it a go.
The Gibbon Experience is essentially a network of three large treehouses (the biggest holds up to 8 people, and is three stories high), connected via a series of zip-lines and jungle trails. The zip-lines and treehouses are several hundred feet off the jungle floor, amidst the upper canopy. You hook yourself onto the zip-line and hop off the platform, and are taken for a ride, going perhaps as much as 20-30 mph, for distances up to 340 meters, aka 1000 feet. I was looking out at the jungle stretching in every direction, and I'm 100s of feet above it, the wind smacking my face for being fresh, and the mixture of fear and amazement is one hell of a drug. One of the slogans of the Gibbon Experience is "You don't need drugs...Remember, you are already very high." Of course, the employees make hippocrates of the organization.
You see, while the experience was amazing--living in a treehouse, zip-lining above the jungle, hiking jungle trails--the other aspects of the gibbon experience are seriously lacking. The "guides" speak almost no English, and do very little guiding. They were behind us during most of the hike, told us nothing about the local villages, culture, environment, flora or fauna. I don't think they knew anything to tell us, even if they had spoken English. They obviously hadn't been trained to any degree. They told us next to nothing about how to safely engage in zip-lining, and it was only by discussing it amongst ourselves that we really figured it out. We weren't given maps or any information about the surrounding region expect a few snippets about certain local animals. During guided walks to see the Gibbons, a guide led people into a bamboo dominated jungle area, which isn't even Gibbon habitat (another sign that they are not trained or knowledgable in the least). Food was provided, but at strange times (breakfast at 10AM, and dinner at 3 PM). We got the same food for every meal, consisting of several dishes of fried vegetables, and rice, extremely bland and apparently intended to cater to Western tastes, failing miserably and instead being bland crap. The water stopped running, and though we told the guides, they forgot. Two of our group had to zipline and hike to the guide's huts and ask them to fix it; the guides told them where the water tank was and how to fill it up, and made them do it themselves. The two guys at this point saw their various bongs and smoking paraphanalia for opium and likely weed smoking, which explained a lot. When the two guys went to fill up our water tank, they saw that the water was sourced from a local stream with no sanitation measures to purify or clean the water. I won't be surprised if we all end up with Ghiardia.
The Gibbon Experience markets itself as an Eco-Tourism project intended to support the local environment and people, but it does nothing for either. The local jungle is being cut down, burned and farmed at rapid rates--signs of these actions are everywhere. Obviously there is not sufficient action being taken to limit deforestation. Local villages looked as poor as I've seen anywhere in Asia. The workers were being paid roughly $2.50 US per day, while we were each paying $100 US per day for the experience, and there were 10 of us for 4 guides. Basically, it appears that Gibbon Experience is a fraud. It is an amazing experience for what it is: essentially, adventure tourism. But it is NOT eco-tourism or culturally or environmentally responsible.
In spite of the inspiration for this rant, the Gibbon Experience was awesome. It was like a childhood dream come true, and I had a big goofy smile on my face the whole time. The people we did the trip with were awesome, and we spent every evening playing cards listening to the three Canadian guys exchange hilarious banter. I would advise my friends to do the trip if they have the money to toss at a cool experience, but with the significant footnote of my above rant.
Our destination was the jungle. We had paid the equivalent of a year salary for the average Lao worker for a once in a lifetime experience. After a 51/2 hour hike through small villages and jungle along muddy roads and paths, at steep grades both up and down, we arrived exhausted. We were given harnesses, and shown how to attach them to the steel cables. Then, we gave it a go.
The Gibbon Experience is essentially a network of three large treehouses (the biggest holds up to 8 people, and is three stories high), connected via a series of zip-lines and jungle trails. The zip-lines and treehouses are several hundred feet off the jungle floor, amidst the upper canopy. You hook yourself onto the zip-line and hop off the platform, and are taken for a ride, going perhaps as much as 20-30 mph, for distances up to 340 meters, aka 1000 feet. I was looking out at the jungle stretching in every direction, and I'm 100s of feet above it, the wind smacking my face for being fresh, and the mixture of fear and amazement is one hell of a drug. One of the slogans of the Gibbon Experience is "You don't need drugs...Remember, you are already very high." Of course, the employees make hippocrates of the organization.
You see, while the experience was amazing--living in a treehouse, zip-lining above the jungle, hiking jungle trails--the other aspects of the gibbon experience are seriously lacking. The "guides" speak almost no English, and do very little guiding. They were behind us during most of the hike, told us nothing about the local villages, culture, environment, flora or fauna. I don't think they knew anything to tell us, even if they had spoken English. They obviously hadn't been trained to any degree. They told us next to nothing about how to safely engage in zip-lining, and it was only by discussing it amongst ourselves that we really figured it out. We weren't given maps or any information about the surrounding region expect a few snippets about certain local animals. During guided walks to see the Gibbons, a guide led people into a bamboo dominated jungle area, which isn't even Gibbon habitat (another sign that they are not trained or knowledgable in the least). Food was provided, but at strange times (breakfast at 10AM, and dinner at 3 PM). We got the same food for every meal, consisting of several dishes of fried vegetables, and rice, extremely bland and apparently intended to cater to Western tastes, failing miserably and instead being bland crap. The water stopped running, and though we told the guides, they forgot. Two of our group had to zipline and hike to the guide's huts and ask them to fix it; the guides told them where the water tank was and how to fill it up, and made them do it themselves. The two guys at this point saw their various bongs and smoking paraphanalia for opium and likely weed smoking, which explained a lot. When the two guys went to fill up our water tank, they saw that the water was sourced from a local stream with no sanitation measures to purify or clean the water. I won't be surprised if we all end up with Ghiardia.
The Gibbon Experience markets itself as an Eco-Tourism project intended to support the local environment and people, but it does nothing for either. The local jungle is being cut down, burned and farmed at rapid rates--signs of these actions are everywhere. Obviously there is not sufficient action being taken to limit deforestation. Local villages looked as poor as I've seen anywhere in Asia. The workers were being paid roughly $2.50 US per day, while we were each paying $100 US per day for the experience, and there were 10 of us for 4 guides. Basically, it appears that Gibbon Experience is a fraud. It is an amazing experience for what it is: essentially, adventure tourism. But it is NOT eco-tourism or culturally or environmentally responsible.
In spite of the inspiration for this rant, the Gibbon Experience was awesome. It was like a childhood dream come true, and I had a big goofy smile on my face the whole time. The people we did the trip with were awesome, and we spent every evening playing cards listening to the three Canadian guys exchange hilarious banter. I would advise my friends to do the trip if they have the money to toss at a cool experience, but with the significant footnote of my above rant.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Who's Thoreau?
He must have been at least a bit amused, seeing us struggling along the path. He must have had to suppress a chuckle, when we took 51/2 hours to hike the trail. I know I laughed at myself when I saw an elderly couple, bent almost horizontal at the waist from years of working in the rice fields, even now carrying a load on their hunched backs, pass us on the road at a speed significantly faster than our own. But Lian showed no sign of amusement at our lack of trekking abilities. Instead, he took our minds off the heat and humidity and slippery path by telling us about the jungle that surrounded us. He told us of how you could make a soup from the leaf of a common local plant (when boiled in water, it releases a milky viscous substance resulting in a soup resembling eggflower soup), or reduce swelling by rubbing the crushed leaves of another plant on a bite sting. We probed his knowledge with questions and kept him talking, not just to slow him down but because he had so many interesting things to say. Whenever he'd tell us about the bounty available in the jungle (which he referred to as his "supermarket"), he'd mention growing up with his grandfather.
"Please granddad, let me go! I want to come with you." Young Lian always went with his grandfather into the jungle on walks, but sometimes his grandfather would not want him to come along, and would refuse. But persistence usually paid off, and sometime Lian would just follow along until grandfather acquiesced.
Wandering through the forests in his clothes made of the bark of a local tree, pounded, dried, moulded, sewn, and pounded more into a suitable softness, Lian and his grandfather would mostly just walk. Grandfather was sometimes hunting, sometimes had a destination, and sometimes was merely walking because the jungle was home. Whatever the reason, these walks meant a lot to Lian. He learned which plants could be eaten, which used for medicine, which were useful for making fires, making shelters, and which were poisonous. Lian learned a little, but never as much as his grandfather knew. His grandfather knew so much, and was so accustomed to the jungle, that Lian's respect was immense.
One day after a long walk, Lian's grandfather sat on the porch, and look at the soles of his feet. It was typical that at the end of a day's walk, the sole of his foot would have a number of things stuck into it, such as sticks, rocks, and other things of the jungle floor. The callouses were so thick that they did not bother him, but nonetheless many of them were sharp and worked their way into his flesh. This time, there was a huge thorn that had made its way deep into the area under his ankle, near his achilles tendon. As Lian stared, his grandfather took out his machete and calmly cut out a huge chunk of flesh, without flinching.
Lian spent much of his early childhood with his grandparents, and the day came when his father, who was a preacher and the local Christian church, noticed that Lian was closer to his grandparents that to his own parents. Lian was brought home, and to watch over his son, the father stopped preaching at the church. "And that was the beginning of my long history with the church."
Soon after, Lian was sent into the big city of Miri to continue his schooling. Coming from jungle and villages, Miri was astounding the the teenage Lian. He said that his first purchase was to buy a pair of sandals like he saw everyone else wearing; he had never owned shoes. Soon, he had to buy dress shoes for school, but with feet unaccustomed to shoes, he soon developed severe problems, and had to be given time off from school for his blisters to heal.
After his schooling, Lian decided to stay in the city, where there was more of interest and more opportunity for a young man. But Lian had no work skills, and could only make money as an entertainer. He knew how to play guitar, and would work occasionally at local night clubs, playing American songs, country as well as popular music. One night, after playing "Suzie Q," Lian was grabbed by a fat man in a business suit.
"That was amazing! You are a great performer. What's your name? Can you play that song again?" Lian was taken aback a bit by the man's enthusiasm, but decided to play the song again for the man. After his set was over, Lian packed up and made to leave, but was again grabbed by the fat man. This time, Lian was taken to a large table full of fat man in business suits, and their wives. He was introduced all around, and then pulled into private conversation with the fat man.
"You really are an amazing performer. That song just moved me. Moved me! Lifts my spirits, hearing that song played with such spirit so far from home. But are you planning on just playing in clubs all your life? What's your plan for a career?" The man didn't really ever give Lian a chance to reply. He was extremely boisterous and enthusiastic. "How about working for Shell Oil?" The whole table was full of bigwigs from Shell Oil, and this man was one of the highest.
A week later, Lian entered the fat man's office, dressed in his full performance garb to ensure that he'd be recognized. He was given a series of tests in esoteric subjects like engineering, calculus, trigonometry, advanced chemistry. Lian didn't know how to answer the questions, but he knew how to bullshit, and he had a knowledge of basic mathematics and chemistry, so he did his best. The bigwig looked over the answers, frowned a lot, and finally offered Lian a job in electrical engineering.
"But sir, I have no experience in electrical engineering, and no interest." The fat man frowned more, and decided to place Lian in the pipe-laying department (not the technical term). After a few years of work, he became the manager, and learned such things as trigonometry and calculus and engineering. He learned how to do all the calculations and operations required to transport oil from offshore oil rigs under the ocean along the ocean floor, the the mainland. For years he worked for Shell Oil, rich by Malaysian standards, with a big home, cars, and money to spend.
"But the more I made, the more I'd spend. It seemed like I saved more at the beginning when my income was low than later, when it was high. And I smoked more, drank more. My friends were fake, just business friends. If I had stayed in that career, I think I'd be dead by now."
Instead, he quit. Upon questioning by his boss, he admitted that he had no real plan on what to do instead. Maybe farm, he said. His boss questioned him about farming, and as it turned out, he had been a farmer in Minnesota before the oil career. So he called Lian's bullshit and revealed that he didn't know how to farm.
But Lian ended up guiding tourists like me. He went home, bought a house with income left over from his old job, planted a large garden to help sustain himself, and supplemented it all with the income from guiding. His days were spent walking the trails and the jungles, hanging out with old and new friends, real friends, peaceful, back in nature and real life, happy, healthy. He's nearing 60, but looks 40, and could outwalk Ciara and myself easily, probably for the next 20 years. He's planning on buying some land out in the jungle and building a small hut, living in isolation, and living an even simpler life, as retirement. I asked him if he had ever read Walden by Thoreau, and his only answer was, "Who's Thoreau?"
"Please granddad, let me go! I want to come with you." Young Lian always went with his grandfather into the jungle on walks, but sometimes his grandfather would not want him to come along, and would refuse. But persistence usually paid off, and sometime Lian would just follow along until grandfather acquiesced.
Wandering through the forests in his clothes made of the bark of a local tree, pounded, dried, moulded, sewn, and pounded more into a suitable softness, Lian and his grandfather would mostly just walk. Grandfather was sometimes hunting, sometimes had a destination, and sometimes was merely walking because the jungle was home. Whatever the reason, these walks meant a lot to Lian. He learned which plants could be eaten, which used for medicine, which were useful for making fires, making shelters, and which were poisonous. Lian learned a little, but never as much as his grandfather knew. His grandfather knew so much, and was so accustomed to the jungle, that Lian's respect was immense.
One day after a long walk, Lian's grandfather sat on the porch, and look at the soles of his feet. It was typical that at the end of a day's walk, the sole of his foot would have a number of things stuck into it, such as sticks, rocks, and other things of the jungle floor. The callouses were so thick that they did not bother him, but nonetheless many of them were sharp and worked their way into his flesh. This time, there was a huge thorn that had made its way deep into the area under his ankle, near his achilles tendon. As Lian stared, his grandfather took out his machete and calmly cut out a huge chunk of flesh, without flinching.
Lian spent much of his early childhood with his grandparents, and the day came when his father, who was a preacher and the local Christian church, noticed that Lian was closer to his grandparents that to his own parents. Lian was brought home, and to watch over his son, the father stopped preaching at the church. "And that was the beginning of my long history with the church."
Soon after, Lian was sent into the big city of Miri to continue his schooling. Coming from jungle and villages, Miri was astounding the the teenage Lian. He said that his first purchase was to buy a pair of sandals like he saw everyone else wearing; he had never owned shoes. Soon, he had to buy dress shoes for school, but with feet unaccustomed to shoes, he soon developed severe problems, and had to be given time off from school for his blisters to heal.
After his schooling, Lian decided to stay in the city, where there was more of interest and more opportunity for a young man. But Lian had no work skills, and could only make money as an entertainer. He knew how to play guitar, and would work occasionally at local night clubs, playing American songs, country as well as popular music. One night, after playing "Suzie Q," Lian was grabbed by a fat man in a business suit.
"That was amazing! You are a great performer. What's your name? Can you play that song again?" Lian was taken aback a bit by the man's enthusiasm, but decided to play the song again for the man. After his set was over, Lian packed up and made to leave, but was again grabbed by the fat man. This time, Lian was taken to a large table full of fat man in business suits, and their wives. He was introduced all around, and then pulled into private conversation with the fat man.
"You really are an amazing performer. That song just moved me. Moved me! Lifts my spirits, hearing that song played with such spirit so far from home. But are you planning on just playing in clubs all your life? What's your plan for a career?" The man didn't really ever give Lian a chance to reply. He was extremely boisterous and enthusiastic. "How about working for Shell Oil?" The whole table was full of bigwigs from Shell Oil, and this man was one of the highest.
A week later, Lian entered the fat man's office, dressed in his full performance garb to ensure that he'd be recognized. He was given a series of tests in esoteric subjects like engineering, calculus, trigonometry, advanced chemistry. Lian didn't know how to answer the questions, but he knew how to bullshit, and he had a knowledge of basic mathematics and chemistry, so he did his best. The bigwig looked over the answers, frowned a lot, and finally offered Lian a job in electrical engineering.
"But sir, I have no experience in electrical engineering, and no interest." The fat man frowned more, and decided to place Lian in the pipe-laying department (not the technical term). After a few years of work, he became the manager, and learned such things as trigonometry and calculus and engineering. He learned how to do all the calculations and operations required to transport oil from offshore oil rigs under the ocean along the ocean floor, the the mainland. For years he worked for Shell Oil, rich by Malaysian standards, with a big home, cars, and money to spend.
"But the more I made, the more I'd spend. It seemed like I saved more at the beginning when my income was low than later, when it was high. And I smoked more, drank more. My friends were fake, just business friends. If I had stayed in that career, I think I'd be dead by now."
Instead, he quit. Upon questioning by his boss, he admitted that he had no real plan on what to do instead. Maybe farm, he said. His boss questioned him about farming, and as it turned out, he had been a farmer in Minnesota before the oil career. So he called Lian's bullshit and revealed that he didn't know how to farm.
But Lian ended up guiding tourists like me. He went home, bought a house with income left over from his old job, planted a large garden to help sustain himself, and supplemented it all with the income from guiding. His days were spent walking the trails and the jungles, hanging out with old and new friends, real friends, peaceful, back in nature and real life, happy, healthy. He's nearing 60, but looks 40, and could outwalk Ciara and myself easily, probably for the next 20 years. He's planning on buying some land out in the jungle and building a small hut, living in isolation, and living an even simpler life, as retirement. I asked him if he had ever read Walden by Thoreau, and his only answer was, "Who's Thoreau?"
Friday, May 16, 2008
Borneo
Ever watch that episode of the TV show Planet Earth where they show these crazy caves around the world? Remember the cave with friggin' millions of bats, where locals harvest the bats' nests for the making of bat's nest soup, an asian delicacy? I'm gonna be there in a couple of days, and I'm really excited, because so far, Borneo has been awesome.
After Bali and the Gili islands, I was fed up with developed tourist crap and food poisoning and basically tired of the aggressive tourism culture of Indonesia. I was reminded of John and I visiting Italy: after hardly a day in Rome, we realized we hated that city, and took the first train to Cinque Terre in the Italian countryside. We ended up staying in Cinque Terre for a week, and it is still my favorite place I have ever visited. With that memory in my head and Ciara being of the same mind, we ditched our plans to explore more of the Indonesian islands, and flew to Malaysian Borneo.
The difference was immediate. Within 15 minutes of landing, we had received our luggage, gone through customs and immigration, and were waiting for the bus into the city. The guy at immigration was very friendly and started chatting about how we were born only 10 days apart, and how he wanted to go to California, but then apparently remembered that there was a line of people waiting, and waved me through. The bus driver told us the ride was free even though there's officially a fee. While looking for a hotel, a guy asked us if we needed help finding a place to stay, and still being used to the aggressive guys selling accomodation in Bali, we replied with gruff No's and kept walking, but he said "just trying to help, sorry." We felt really bad, because from his manner and tone of voice, it was obvious that he'd actually just been trying to help, with no personal gain in mind. The first hotel we found, the guy behind the counter replied "Yes, we have rooms, but they are very expensive. You can look, but there is also a good hotel down the road that is quite cheap." And since we've been here, people have continued offering us help, saying hello and asking how we are, smiling, and laughing.
The food has also been better. The first night we went to a packed Chinese-Malaysian restaurant with no English on the menu or in the vocabulary of the waiters, and a nice lady just brought us food, realizing our plight. It was like 8 different dishes and tea that were damn good, though Ciara was less enthusiastic. The next night, we went to the market, where veggies, fruit, jewelry, fresh fish and packets of MSG (I bought some...tastes like Top-Ramen) were sold. But the best part was the giant barbeque being held. Maybe 40 different vendors had fish, cuttlefish, chicken, beef, damn near every kind of seafood, some sauced-up and ready to be cooked, some on the grill, all for sale for next to nothing. We got some amazing chili-lime sauce fish, and chicken and some other unknown meat (tasted like kidney) on sticks. I actually orgasmed on the spot, it was so good.
Though Kota Kinabalu was a nice city with good people and food, we had to keep on moving on. We'd planned to climb the huge mountain called Mount Kinabalu, but a single company has a monopoly over the right to climb the mountain, and they charge exorbitant fees and limit the number of climbers to a very low number, so you have to book way in advance, or else just hike up the mountain at risk of being sent back down halfway up. We talked to other travellers and the buzz was: fuck it, it's jut not worth it.
So instead, we decided to take a bus to Semporna, a small town that's the launching point for trips to dive at Simpadan Island, one of the top diving sites in the world. But we missed the bus.
Turns out this was great luck. Turns out that Sipidan is a national park and limits the number of divers, so you have to book in advance. If we'd just arrived, we'd have been fucked. Instead, now we could book diving for 4 days ahead, and in the meantime, do some jungle adventuring. So we headed to Uncle Tan's.
Uncle Tan's is a cooperative in a protected area on the Sungai Kinabatangan river, composed of a series of huts in the jungle, run by 15 or so young locals. But though simple, it is well arranged. They were great cooks (if you ever get the chance to eat Filipino prawn salad, do) and were amazingly knowledgable about ever plant, animal and bug within 20 kilometers. We hiked the jungle and rode the river searching for wildlife in a sort of low-budget, roughing-it safari. All told, I saw 3 baby crocodiles and one adult, 13 bearded pigs, 4 monitor lizards (these guys are about 3-4 feet long and look a bit like dinosaurs), 4 Kingfishers (crazy looking, colorful birds), maybe 100 or so long-tailed macaques (small, acrobatic, playful monkeyish fellas), some Proboscis monkeys (probiscis is latin for nose I think, and they have really big noses), a giant wolf spider, a fist-sized tarantula, a few species of frogs, some other unremarkable birds, and several million mosquitoes. The travellers we met were awesome fellas and so were the staff, and our last night, the guy who runs the place, Lan, decided to throw a part and declared beers free for the night, in celebration of the start of soccer season (the staff had a team who, according to Lan, were basically the under-funded totally amateur dark horse that nearly won the tournament last year) . So Ciara and I got really drunk for the first time in awhile, and had a lot of fun (Ciara was a star, with nearly every Malaysian guy wanting to take pictures with her...it's pretty overwhelming how much attention she gets here in Asia). It was pretty badass and the most fun we've had all trip, but by the end of it, we were extremely happy to take a couple buses to Semporna, where long hot showers and more good food awaited us, returning us to a human-like state. Tomorrow, we dive Sipidan, but tonight, we will rest, and recover from our adventure so far in Borneo.
After Bali and the Gili islands, I was fed up with developed tourist crap and food poisoning and basically tired of the aggressive tourism culture of Indonesia. I was reminded of John and I visiting Italy: after hardly a day in Rome, we realized we hated that city, and took the first train to Cinque Terre in the Italian countryside. We ended up staying in Cinque Terre for a week, and it is still my favorite place I have ever visited. With that memory in my head and Ciara being of the same mind, we ditched our plans to explore more of the Indonesian islands, and flew to Malaysian Borneo.
The difference was immediate. Within 15 minutes of landing, we had received our luggage, gone through customs and immigration, and were waiting for the bus into the city. The guy at immigration was very friendly and started chatting about how we were born only 10 days apart, and how he wanted to go to California, but then apparently remembered that there was a line of people waiting, and waved me through. The bus driver told us the ride was free even though there's officially a fee. While looking for a hotel, a guy asked us if we needed help finding a place to stay, and still being used to the aggressive guys selling accomodation in Bali, we replied with gruff No's and kept walking, but he said "just trying to help, sorry." We felt really bad, because from his manner and tone of voice, it was obvious that he'd actually just been trying to help, with no personal gain in mind. The first hotel we found, the guy behind the counter replied "Yes, we have rooms, but they are very expensive. You can look, but there is also a good hotel down the road that is quite cheap." And since we've been here, people have continued offering us help, saying hello and asking how we are, smiling, and laughing.
The food has also been better. The first night we went to a packed Chinese-Malaysian restaurant with no English on the menu or in the vocabulary of the waiters, and a nice lady just brought us food, realizing our plight. It was like 8 different dishes and tea that were damn good, though Ciara was less enthusiastic. The next night, we went to the market, where veggies, fruit, jewelry, fresh fish and packets of MSG (I bought some...tastes like Top-Ramen) were sold. But the best part was the giant barbeque being held. Maybe 40 different vendors had fish, cuttlefish, chicken, beef, damn near every kind of seafood, some sauced-up and ready to be cooked, some on the grill, all for sale for next to nothing. We got some amazing chili-lime sauce fish, and chicken and some other unknown meat (tasted like kidney) on sticks. I actually orgasmed on the spot, it was so good.
Though Kota Kinabalu was a nice city with good people and food, we had to keep on moving on. We'd planned to climb the huge mountain called Mount Kinabalu, but a single company has a monopoly over the right to climb the mountain, and they charge exorbitant fees and limit the number of climbers to a very low number, so you have to book way in advance, or else just hike up the mountain at risk of being sent back down halfway up. We talked to other travellers and the buzz was: fuck it, it's jut not worth it.
So instead, we decided to take a bus to Semporna, a small town that's the launching point for trips to dive at Simpadan Island, one of the top diving sites in the world. But we missed the bus.
Turns out this was great luck. Turns out that Sipidan is a national park and limits the number of divers, so you have to book in advance. If we'd just arrived, we'd have been fucked. Instead, now we could book diving for 4 days ahead, and in the meantime, do some jungle adventuring. So we headed to Uncle Tan's.
Uncle Tan's is a cooperative in a protected area on the Sungai Kinabatangan river, composed of a series of huts in the jungle, run by 15 or so young locals. But though simple, it is well arranged. They were great cooks (if you ever get the chance to eat Filipino prawn salad, do) and were amazingly knowledgable about ever plant, animal and bug within 20 kilometers. We hiked the jungle and rode the river searching for wildlife in a sort of low-budget, roughing-it safari. All told, I saw 3 baby crocodiles and one adult, 13 bearded pigs, 4 monitor lizards (these guys are about 3-4 feet long and look a bit like dinosaurs), 4 Kingfishers (crazy looking, colorful birds), maybe 100 or so long-tailed macaques (small, acrobatic, playful monkeyish fellas), some Proboscis monkeys (probiscis is latin for nose I think, and they have really big noses), a giant wolf spider, a fist-sized tarantula, a few species of frogs, some other unremarkable birds, and several million mosquitoes. The travellers we met were awesome fellas and so were the staff, and our last night, the guy who runs the place, Lan, decided to throw a part and declared beers free for the night, in celebration of the start of soccer season (the staff had a team who, according to Lan, were basically the under-funded totally amateur dark horse that nearly won the tournament last year) . So Ciara and I got really drunk for the first time in awhile, and had a lot of fun (Ciara was a star, with nearly every Malaysian guy wanting to take pictures with her...it's pretty overwhelming how much attention she gets here in Asia). It was pretty badass and the most fun we've had all trip, but by the end of it, we were extremely happy to take a couple buses to Semporna, where long hot showers and more good food awaited us, returning us to a human-like state. Tomorrow, we dive Sipidan, but tonight, we will rest, and recover from our adventure so far in Borneo.
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