Maui – The Wedding Ring Miracle (December, 2009)

Layover of about 6 hours in Tokyo, then on to Honolulu, another 3 hours, then on to Maui. Our little villa in Lahaina, just perfect for us, restoring ourselves for ten days after the recent hectic travel in Nepal, Cambodia, Thailand and Laos. The town of Lahaina is small and attractive, except, of course, for the usual knick-knackery and t-shirts. We found an excellent beach to visit, where we could read in peace – Sandy beach, but rocky sea bottom there, so we had to tread gingerly once we were ten feet into the water. A good route for running near our villa, so I could keep up the fitness. Did some Christmas shopping, of course. Met friends for dinner in Wailea one night.

Our last stop on sabbatical - the beach at Maui

Our days at the beach were relaxing and quiet – the beach was not crowded at all, especially since we would tend to go in the mornings, whereas most people go to the beach in the afternoon. We saw frequent paddle boarders on the water, riding the small waves, long paddle in hand like stickmen and stick-women against the blue ocean and the horizon. The only imperfections were the rocky bottom that started about fifteen feet out, and the proximity of the busy two-lane highway that went along the beach.

One typical day I happened to be sinking myself into the shallow water to cool off a bit, one hand resting on a large rounded rock and the other resting on the best smaller rocks I could find. Looking out at the ocean, I couldn’t see a single paddle boarder, actually, and up and down the beach few other pairs of people were stretched out on their towels.We seemed to be the only ones who had beach umbrellas we could stick in the sand – something so obvious that these Hawaiian beachgoers need to learn from their European counterparts, where small beach umbrellas are de rigueur, and widely available. I am sure someone has thought of it, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why people don’t use them in Hawaii.

All of sudden the calm was rent apart by a screeching of tires, a couple of deep, earth-pounding thuds, the loud sound of wheels on gravel, followed by some more screeching of tires. And then silence. I had been waiting for the sound of cars crashing, but it never came. I tore out of the water. Past our parked car to look out at the highway, where, on the opposite side, a car was steaming, facing the wrong way at the side of the road. It had come off the road on our side, taken out a road sign made of solid metal, skidded in the very wide shoulder (at least 25 feet wide before you go to the area where you could park a car for a day at the beach) and missed our parked car by about six inches, it seemed. The trail of skidmarks went just past the end our car, back toward the highway,  started to do a donut that obviously continued out on the highway itself, before the careening car came to rest, having done a complete 360 before coming to rest on the opposite shoulder. The highway was busy, but no other cars had been hit, which would have been devastating. Some bits and pieces of bumper and headlights and turning signals were strewn close to our car and along the shoulder on our side. The tall, sturdy road sign that had been taken out was lying about 15 feet from our car.

But everyone was okay, and all the damage seemed to be superficial. After a long breather, the car in question turned around and headed back to Lahaina, at a more chastened speed, clearly.

It wasn’t until several hours later, when I finished my run, that I realized I didn’t have my wedding ring any longer. It is a wide gold band, substantial enough to have an intricate Haida carving in it that Joan chose when buying it. I wracked my brain to figure out when I had taken it off, and checked or beach bags, and the bathroom counter and the bedside table  – any places that might possibly invite one to put down a ring. But I never take it off, and was genuinely puzzled. Then in one of those moments of epiphany, I realized that it had come off my finger when I tore myself out of the water at the beach.

The light of day was fading, but I knew the best thing would be to go back as quickly as possible and have a look, before the light died. In my favour was the fact that probably no one else would have been in the water since we left, the beach was that deserted. I went and looked, as carefully as I could, but the light was fading too fast, and I had to give up.

Back at our villa I found and washed out a diving mask to take with me the next morning. As soon as it was light, I was out at the beach, scouring the seabed where I was pretty sure I had been sitting in the water. The large rock I had been resting a hand on was distinctive. I tried looking through the diving mask, but it didn’t help, and actually the surface was smooth enough – no wind that early – that it didn’t make much difference. The ring wouldn’t necessarily have fallen off right next to the stone I was using for balance. In the violence of swinging my arm to get out of the water to make sure no one was hurt in the car accident, the ring could have flown quite a distance.

I hoped not. I gradually widened my search, methodically back and forth, gradually a few more feet out into slightly deeper water. I do have reasonably good eyes, and reading glasses do help. The seabed here consisted of a solid layer of small rocks and stones, mostly rounded, varying shades of gray and brown and white and black. It was actually a small bit of slightly duller rock that caught my attention. I was looking for something bright gold, but in the water, the carvings on the ring actually made the total effect of the ring’s appearance darker. I still wasn’t sure it was the ring. It was another three or four feet out. The care with which I stepped on the unsteady stones and slowly reached down was accompanied by holding my breath the whole time. It wasn’t till my face was right at water level that I was pretty sure it was my ring. I forced myself to extend my hand in slow motion, so that I didn’t dislodge it and send it down into the rock below. Success. Unbelievable. I stood up in the sunlight, breathing deeply, catching my breath. I could hardly believe how fast my heart was beating, how still and quiet the world was around me, in the midst of such private tumult.

Needless to say, breakfast was a happier affair than it would have been otherwise. Joan and I aren’t people who cherish “stuff”. But some stuff has more meaning than other.

dinner out

Bienvenue Bangkok – again 1/12/2009

We had had to re-organize our southeast Asia visit, to Thailand, Cambodia and Laos, partly because of the Indian visa fiasco, and partly because of the closing of the Pakse airport, whose runway was undermined by the monsoon. So we had a second stay in Bangkok.

We didn’t do much different this time in Bangkok, just settled more deeply into the life of this exotic, vibrant and multi-personality city.

Yes, multiple personality:
it is a huge, teeming city, where a traditional powerful elite woven from old families, wealth and the military maintain a tenuous and tenacious grip on the country, despite the pressures of the rest of the country which feels largely disenfranchised. At the time of our visit, the celebrations for the King’s 85^th birthday were imminent, and out of respect politicians of all stripes called off their violent squabbling, and the deposed Prime Minister elect, Thaksin, on the run from corruption charges of which he is probably guilty but certainly no guiltier than those who usurped him, mainly a cabal of army and traditional elite, is being hosted by the Cambodian government, who are using the opportunity to offend their Thai neighbours by welcoming the fugitive to make a point in a squabble about some disputed territory.

Multiple personality:
one morning on our way to the LRT station we shared the hotel tuk tuk with a wealthy Indian family whose daughter was going for an obscure operation (not our business, understandably) at the main hospital there, a hospital known throughout this corner of the world as the best. Christmas decorations adorned all the malls and department stores, enticing money from people’s wallets in a country where a tiny percentage of the population might call themselves Christian.

Multiple personality:
thousands and thousands, perhaps millions of workers from different rural provinces kept the city operating, cleaning it, maintaining it, driving tuk tuks, supplying the sex trade, and as the day wore on more and more food stalls appeared to provide these workers with a taste of home. The most exotic of which were the stalls selling deep fried locusts, slugs, wasps, for the migrant workers of the poorest province, Isaan.

Or:
Joan did a cooking class, a nightmare of a cab ride so that she had to re-schedule but eventually it happened, and she brought back her delicious production, nearly missing her spa appointment again through the total ineptitude of the cab driver. However I have learned that our cabbie experiences are far from the worst. Suffice it to say to future travellers to Bangkok: be ruthless and assertive with your drivers. There are exceptions, such as the one who took us to one of the large markets. I also think you are safe going to and from the airport. But generally, taxis seem to exist in Bangkok for drivers to take you where they want to go, not where you want to go.

cooking class - great colour!

And again:
Our last night, a cabdriver took us to the Banyan Tree Hotel, whose rooftop bare and restaurant, Vertigo,  is a spectacular collection of dining tables and a bar that looks down over the entire city of Bangkok. A famous hotel, and the driver didn’t know where it was. Fortunately, it wasn’t far from our hotel, and I had the address, and actually was able to direct the driver. It was a perfect, balmy night, and Bangkok lay below us with its grid, within which seemed to flow moving lights like those candle-lit flowers that the girls here place in the river to meander and disappear, extinguished somewhere out of sight.

lights of Bangkok from the Vertigo bar, top of the Banyan Tree Hotel

Luang Prabang 30/11/2009

The flight from Siem Riep to Luang Prabang, the old original capital of Laos, was about an hour. A van to our small hotel, the Lotus Villa. Driving into LP it was hard to imagine this country had more tonnage of bombs dropped on it (during the Viet Nam war) than any other country in history. Quaint and tidy, pleasant. The temperature was warm, perfect in the shade. The Mekong River snaked alongside. One street up from the river was our hotel, a charming place built around a courtyard, with our spacious, comfortable room giving onto the courtyard on one side and the street on the other. Our room wasn’t quite ready so we had some tea in the courtyard while some men chopped down branches from banana trees. Small bananas, the size of a large thumb, tasty, a little more fibrous than the ones we buy in the store at home. In our room, as in most hotels, there were the rules of accommodation, check in times, etc., but here the rules included a proscription on unmarried couples engaging in sinful activities. Remarkable. I don’t know how they enforced it, or why they bothered with such a law.

Joan in a garden at a Wat in Luang Prabang

Later that night, walking along the Mekong, exploring, dinner at a restaurant about 15 minutes away, where the niece of the hotel owner danced traditional Lao dances. A delicious dinner. The next day, visiting the market, lots of fabrics, textiles, silver, regional herbs and medicines. A woman cooking a small fish, like a sunfish, on a fire made from sticks and other refuse she had gathered. Continued walking, a circuit of the town, practically, a large temple – wats everywhere, beautiful places, some in the process of restoration. The main museum a busy place, showing some of the belongings and furniture of the last king of the country, deposed during the 1960s. Like the rest of the crowd, we took our shoes off before entering. Some remarkable historical pieces inside, old colonial and pre-colonial artefacts, pictures. One can’t help but wonder how things would have been different in the world without the great sweep of empire and colonization that rolled out of Europe, and later, the United States, exploiting and transforming. Would these unfortunate countries have carried on their self-contained, independent paths, developing and changing as they intersected with other countries, or would they have evolved to a state of imperialism and colonization themselves? History suggests, I think, that greed would have driven them to grasp, to possess. Before the Europeans, there were other empires – Egyptian, Persian, Mongolian, and so on. You look at the museum in Luang Prabang, where the resentment of the oppressor running dog Americans is explicit but restrained; you think of the thousands of unexploded bombs still in north eastern Laos, you think of the gentle kindness of the people we meet in Luang Prabang, and earlier, in Siem Riep, and feel sorry, you can’t help it. But, it is what it is.

Restaurant at the edge of the Mekong River

Lunch and then, later, dinner, at one of the restaurants hanging over the Mekong. The night market, where Joan got a great price because she was the first purchaser of the night, and the first purchase brings the stall owner good luck.

Bamboo bridge over the Mekong

Back to Bangkok, the LP airport the only place where my white temporary passport raised any questions. The tuk tuk we had ordered to take us to the airport didn’t show up; as we were looking for another one the monks were doing their dawn rounds in the city, begging bowls in hand, local citizens waiting for them by the side of the street with their offerings of rice or fruit or whatever else they had. In the quiet of the dawn this activity was like a layer of another world, a different plane that intersected the more mundane, quotidian plane where we existed. In Laos, generally speaking, the better education is found in the precincts of the Wat; therefore many young boys are sent to the Wat to school, where, heads shaved and berobed in faded saffron, they learn what they learn. Boys only: although in some places Buddhism has included females, here it does not. In Laos, Thailand and Cambodia, the official mainstream Buddhism is less flexible than you find in any of the countries north of this corner – in China, Tibet, Japan, and pretty well the rest of the world, actually. Here, the Buddhism is more ascetic, more traditional, and, to their way of thinking, purer. Fortunately, the vast majority of people do not become monks; their lives are lives of warmth, good nature and a sort of raw freshness that has emerged from horror into a hopeful post-apocalypse; over these lives their Buddhism lies like a mist of tender or more rigorous order. We loved LP, its tone, its smells and softness, its subtle, slightly sweet food.