South East Asia and India Travels

This was written on October 12, 2005.
Hello everyone:
To those who don't know (because you somehow missed my incessant bragging) I finished my year in Korea and decided to travel for two months before I go home to Michigan for Christmas. My itinerary is: Thailand, Laos, Malaysia, and India. Sigh. Whirlwind traveling. I've been on my journey for a week already and have thus far completed the first leg of my journey in Chiang Mai, a city in the north of Thailand. Oh, what a wonderful time. The first night there, I had a three hour Thai massage (yes, it's as good as it sounds) and then did a bit of shopping. Intended to get Christmas presents, but ended up with a lot for myself, too! Now, how did that happen? Don't worry, though. Sent a couple boxes of goodies home. But boys, you're hard to shop for. Daane and Chad- any suggestions?
Anyway, I managed to do more than shopping. I took a Thai cooking course (Mom: you and I will have FUN in the kitchen!), did a day-trek (riding elephants, went to nearby hill-tribes, and bamboo rafting), and went to Air's church. I really enjoyed those people. I spent Sunday with them (reminiscent of a typical WASP group Sunday!) and joined them for a Tuesday morning fellowship group before I flew out. Nice to be with other believers. Oh, John, you were right about meeting people. I've been shocked by how many people I've spent time with; I actually assumed I'd be alone. Instead, I've been with people I've met every day/evening except last night. Now I'm in Laos and I've decided to take time alone. (Oh, but mom: tell Jim I met a nice Norwegian gentleman today. had a nice chat)
How can I describe the breath-taking beauty of Laos to you? The people are much like the Thais: gentle, friendly, quick to flash a bright, genuine smile. But there's a care-freeness about the Lao people that I wasn't able to see in Thailand (possibly because this is a small town and thus less touristy... so I've met many Laos). Children play a multitude of games everywhere: in the fields, streets, and sidewalks. This may just stand out to me because I wasn't able to see this in Korea. The architecture is subtly beautiful: slowly aging French colonial homes. Think white-washed walls with decorative details on the window shutters and doors. Such a difference from the mindless sameness of big cities (my deepest apologies to those of you especially fond of cities). But it's really the setting that has captured me. Nestled along the Mekong river and surrounded by green, rolling hills, it feels a bit like paradise. It's so untainted and serene. Today I went to a spectacular temple, chatted with some monks, and walked up a hill (183 steps up, or so the signed said) to gain a spectacular view of the city. I'll try to send some photos in a different email. It's a pain and I don't want it to erase what apparently will be a book, it's so long!
I love it. Travel is safe and easy; even in more remote areas, everything is geared toward tourists. Being aware nonetheless. I'm keeping busy by seeing what I can, but the time to relax is magnificent (deep sigh of contentment). Exactly what I needed after a year of SLP (sorry Amanda, Gerard, Bel and Jill).
Love you all. I really look forward to spending time with you. Email if you get a chance. I'll write more (oh no!) later.
Love, Aub



This was written on October 18, 2005.
Hello again:
I can't believe it's been only two weeks since Korea! It feels like a lot longer. I've finished my time in Laos and somewhat reluctantly left to come to Malaysia. I was a little sad to leave such a stunning country. But I made the long, slow journey from Laos to Bangkok to Kuala Lumpur, capital city of Malaysia. I'm as of yet unable to rave about it because I was here less than two hours and had my camera stolen (oh, the tears I shed!). I can barely express the sadness I feel. It would be better if I'd been able to download or copy some of my photos, but with the memory card gone, I've lost many memories of Laos and Chiang Mai. This hurts to write. Also, my journal and my Bible were in the same bag, so I feel as if I've lost the most irreplaceable items from my trip. I immediately went to the police station to file a report, but she laughed a bit and shook her head with the "it's really too bad" expression. Nothing can or will be done, I'm sure. Facing yet another month and a half of travelling, I did the only sensible thing and immediately bought a new camera (after running around and searching/ filing the police report). I've spent quite a bit of what I'm supposed to live on for the next few months, so it looks like I'll have to forgo eating for most of my trip. No, only kidding. The most difficult parts of the loss are really my journal, penned memories likely sitting in a dumpster in this immense city, and the memory card. Pictures of Korea, the last days with my kids, the Honesty class party (Amanda, could you send me the ones you have?), and then my trip.
At the same time, it's been a good day, too. I was feeling so awful and at times was near to the point of a full-fledged panic attack (not joking), but all the people I talked to were so kind and tried to be helpful. The girl from whom I bought my camera (though she kept reminding me to be careful: yeah, thanks!) did her best to make me laugh and smile; it worked. Afterward, a gelatto seller sat down with me to chat and give me instructions about what I could do in the city. They were small acts of kindness which immeasurably improved my day.
Ok, time to make myself feel better (Pause to wipe away my tears... kidding again). You'll all have to be more patient with me; as I'm now missing my journal, you have now become just that. This is also to help me retain some memories. So I won't be offended by those who only scan. Laos, I have to say again, was so worth the trip. It's one of those places that you want to tell everyone about because it's just that beautiful, but you also want to tell no one because you don't want the secret to get out.
A couple days ago, I kayaked along the Nam Lik river by Vang Vieng. Picture-perfect. We went to a couple of caves, one of which the Lao people hid in during the surreptitious U.S. bombings from 1965 to 1973 in an effort to seek out North Koreans hiding there. Laos is actually the most heavily bombed country in the world. I heard from several people that in 1968, the U.S. spent 1.2 million dollars per day bombing them. There are vast areas of the country which are untreadable due to the existence of unexploded bombs. The people actually use some bombshells for more peaceful, functional purposes: plant holders, water jugs. At one Buddhist temple, one was converted to a bell for signalling dinner. To have met and spent time with these kind, gentle people caused me such sadness to think that anyone could intentionally harm them. As we Americans who go overseas so often do, I felt ashamed of my country. Yet never do you feel that the locals hold any sort of grudge or desire for revenge; I can learn a lot about forgiveness from such people.
Last week I took a 7 hour boat trip up the Mekong river from Luang Prabang to Nong Khiaw, a remote riverside village with a handful of guesthouses. When the sun sets at around 6:30, lanterns are lit and a sprinkling of glittering lights can be seen around the valley. It was almost as if you had happened upon an untouched community. Given that I had 7 hours on the boat just to watch the slowly passing scenery, I had plenty of time to muse (which I thankfully did not do in my now-misappropriated journal). Pardon me, because I'm going to subject you to some of those musings.The trip up the Mekong is worth any time or effort it takes to do so. Small villages, which from the abundance of boats one assumes they subsist on fishing, dot the shores of the river. There are signs of electricity and roads, but little else hints at the modern era. Children, naked or partially clothed, play on the banks and in the water. Unrestricted, unstructured playing: swimming, flipping into the water, jumping off of rafts (reminds me of us at Gram's cottage). And as you pass by in the boat, they all turn and wave enthusiastically, grinning with those wide, white smile showcased on their golden-tanned faces. Mostly, the banks rise steeply and are immediately covered with an abundance of trees and foliage, amassed together and rarely exposing the ground, apart from the times that a steep, rocky cliff juts above them. The river itself, a muddy brown from the thick clay-mud coating the banks and bottom, is at times smoother than silk and at other times playfully tosses the boat on mild rapids. Time becomes meaningless as you are absorbed into the infinite scenery. The entire experience points to holy God, omnipotent, omnipresent, and everlasting. Here, heaven flows down from the abstract and becomes tangible; I can see it and hear it, touch it and smell it. It brings to light the reality of heaven in our daily lives, how God's presence and his promises of everlasting life are part of our daily experience, to be enjoyed and experienced right now if we stop to notice them. Times like this transport us from the busyness and repetitiveness that meet us daily, giving you time to pause and reflect on the supernatural in the natural.My apologies for yet another lengthy email. But thanks for listening. I really needed to talk to you guys right now.
:)Aub

This was written on October 30, 2005.
Hello again everyone!
First, thank you so much for the emails of support and encouragement after I had my stuff stolen. I needed it more than you know.
I haven't sent a mass email in a while because there has actually been little to tell regarding what I've been doing. There was rain, rain, and rain in Malaysia with more rain predicted ahead. Given the cumulation of events, I decided now just isn't my time for Malaysia. So I packed it up and headed back to Thailand, the land of smiles. Only took me 24 hours on three separate buses to get from the Cameron Highlands to Phuket, which wasn't too bad until the last leg when a sweet Thai grandmother decided for me that I didn't want half of my seat, so she happily obliged. But it wasn't such a bad 8 hour ride. Better than, let's say, SLP, at least.I've done very little the past week except for lying on the beach, trying to tan, and... um, lying on the beach. Yes, lofty and important activities. Yet I'm now pleasantly suprised to discover that my skin actually can turn a shade darker than the pallid, ghost-like color I've sported for so long. I am finally distinguishable from a classroom whiteboard, though I jealously noticed that the "white sand beach" still has a better tan than I do. Well, it does get a bit more sun.
Also, I haven't spoken with anyone the past few days. Except I haggled with a tuk tuk driver and spoke with some dogs who came to check me out on the beach. (Oh, that's not a euphemism, either. They were actual dogs. There are a suprising number of canines roaming the beach.)
There's yet another interesting tidbit I've discovered about myself; not only do I attempt to have remedial conversations in French and Russian with myself, I also do the same in English, only I don a British accent, so it's more interesting and intelligent. "My, there are a suprising number of foreigners this evening!" or "I can't believe they charge 100 Bhat for Pad Thai. It's outrageous!" Ok, so maybe interesting and intelligent is overestimating myself. But doesn't it just sound better when you read it like a Brit? Wow. Think I'm half a step from someone having me committed. Hey, who are those guys wearing white lab coats and approaching me?Actually, I did do a few productive things this past week. I took a 3 day certification course to get my scuba diving liscence. Mom, I know you always used to call me a fish, but it was a whole different experience getting to actually BE one! I felt a bit like Ariel and would've broken out into my own rendition of "Under the Sea" had not the large air regulator in my mouth necessitated keeping it shut. Don't get any ideas.
Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I'm officially off to India tomorrow. And I did so rather succinctly, don't you think?
Love you all and I miss you more the longer I'm away (aww....). Ok, the doctors are telling me I really need to wrap this up so I can take my medication.
Cheers (British accent),
Aubrey


This was written on November 13, 2005.
Hello my dear friends:
I somewhat unexpectedly find myself in an internet cafe in Kochi, as the inclement weather has driven Jess and I from our sightseeing. The rain outside feels a little like Michigan in the summer; this, for some of you is meaningless, but for others... well, you understand. It makes me feel a little nostalgic for home (I'll see you so very soon!) but not enough to leave quite yet... I hope I can adequately describe it. Kochi is a coastal town in Kerala, a state in southern India. It's had a long history of occupation: first by the Portugese, then the Dutch (woohoo!) and the English. There is a distinct mix of faiths here; last night we walked through town and passed by a mosque, Hindu temples, the Jewish quarter, and a myriad of churches. In speaking to a gentleman today (we were out shopping, actually... he he), he told us of how in the history of this town, there was a peaceful coexistence of all the religions; they all celebrated eachother's festivals together. "Not like how it is today," he said somewhat sadly. It's a tragic commentary on the divisiveness we insist upon between different people and different faiths.
And I haven't spoken at all on India, have I? Wow... well, some of you on my list are here already (Jess, Bel, and Jill), so you can all relate to or disagree with my impressions. Let me know. India is a veritable explosion of colors, sounds, people, and history. I find myself greedily fingering my camera at all moments, plotting my next clandestine shot of unsuspecting locals going about their daily business. Normal, routine life for them; exotic and fully captivating for me. Vibrantly colored and intricately embroidered saris are wrapped elegantly around the women who flood the street with color. They wear half-shirts under the sari, which ensures that their shoulders are modestly covered while openly baring their midrifts. It points to an interesting difference in what our cultures deem provocative areas of the body. As the women walk past, the scent of jasmine emanates from the delicate white strands of flowers wrapped in their hair. Men are less elegantly dressed and more frequently in western style clothing. Although, we have seen many men in the south wearing a simple cloth wrapped around their lower body much like a skirt.
In the streets of India, whether in the city or countryside, you feel transported to another time, as though modernization has no voice in this country (to which I shout "hooray!" I'm so thankful that they retain their culture so strongly, moreso than many other countries. It's likely part of what gives India the reputation for being difficult to travel in; "difficult" is a covert way of saying "different." Yet I digress...). Cows, holy animals in India, wander aimlessly through the streets as traffic darts around them; drivers tend to be more cautious for the unfettered cows and goats than the pedestrians. The cows themselves appear somewhat indifferent to their status, lazily eating the garbage that covers the sidewalks or redirecting traffic merely by crossing the road. The working cows, a fewer number indeed, are attached to carts; owners drive them through streets to transport their wares. Other vendors walk the streets carrying baskets filled with merchandise on their heads. How their are able to balance them as well as manuever through the crowds blows my mind; I can barely manage making my way through the crowds.
There is seldom silence in the second largest nation on earth; the roar of cars and human voices ensures your ears are constantly occupied. Vendors shout constantly: "Madam, flowers!" "Madam, magic whistle, you like?" "Madam, chocolate?" The last one, you may have guessed, I easily succumb to. And being called "madam" so often either makes me feel old or like an aristocrat; I haven't decided yet. There is a pervasive politeness in this culture, and not just within the service industry. I took a walk early this morning (well, 7:30 felt pretty early to me) and had an incredible experience taking photos (cue "Mission Impossible" music) and talking with some locals. One family stopped me to talk: "Where you from? What is your good name? First time in India?" After answering their questions and chatting for a few minutes, I turned to go. "Pen? You give pen." A common yet very strange request. And so I did, bartering it in trade for a photo of them (which I would upload now and send to you, but I don't have the necessary connecting cable. USB? I'm not a computer person). A stark contrast to the current weather, the morning sky was a pure blue, a color that cannot be mimicked by any artist and could only have been born in the mind of God. (Sigh of contentment) India is thoroughly photogenic. And so, I'm constantly snapping the camera, or wishing that I were, to capture the myriad of images engulfing me. Yet I am able to partly rationalize stealing moments from the lives of the Indians, as we are constantly bombarded by requests for pictures. They act toward fair-complexioned foreigners with all the subtlety of the Chinese, cameras flashing as we walk past. Actually, like us, they usually do request a photo before taking one. And we usually do oblige, though often grudgingly when it happens for the umpteenth time. We are treated like something between stars and aliens here, a mixture of awe and alarm at our passing. A young boy yelped when he turned around to discover me behind him in line. He hid until his family left the store; I nearly fell to the floor with laughter.The hardest part is to see the very evident poverty that permeates Indian society. You have to harden your heart and avert your eyes as you are faced with hundreds of requests for money. Stories are told, quite common across the world, of children who are made to beg while their parents spend the money on alcohol. It's something that makes me feel powerless to affect and selfish in my other enjoyments.
Yet, as I've said, India is as overwhelmingly incredible as it is overwhelming. I journaled earlier "India transcends all cultures and places as if they've only taken pieces to imitate for themselves." It can be connected to any other place, yet no other place at all. I love India and the rest of my life here would not be enough to learn about this extraordinary society. But could I live here? Let's just say a frequent topic of conversation between Jess and I is what we'll do when we go home.I love you all very much. And I'll be seeing you very soon.
Thanks for reading,
Aub

This was written on November 28, 2005.
Hello everyone:
For anyone who's written, I haven't checked my email in a week or two, as Jess and I have found ourselves to be incredibly busy. So for some of you, I won't be responding (especially those of you who I'll see VERY soon). Yet that doesn't diminish my love for you! But before I get home or back to Korea again, I wanted to send you a short email (yes, I CAN write short emails!) just to whet your appetite for some stories... and to make you really jealous of me. Ahh, feel the love.
To give a quick summation of where we are, Jess and I finished our South India tour, then flew to Delhi on the 20th. From there, we began our tour of Rajahstan, a northern state west of Delhi. Here's a short list of the stories that you'll be begging me to stop telling in just a short while:

-- staying in an actual palace for the Maharaja (an EVIL Maharaja?) of Bikaner that was converted into a hotel
-- being invited and going to a traditional Indian wedding
-- going to a rat temple, home to thousands of freely roaming, deified rats
-- doing a camel trek into the Great Thar Desert, then sleeping under the stars on the sand with our friend William
-- spending time with a gypsy family
-- roaming a 1000 year old fort which currently is home to some 5000 people
-- overlooking the "blue city" from its magnificent fort (a different fort from the aforementioned one)

I'm now assuming that you're sufficiently jealous, so I'll say goodbye and that I'm inexpressibly excited to see you soon. India's just no match for you.
Got to go now! Need to add more stories to my roster! ;)
With love,
Aubrey

Welcome to my webpage. It feels strange to write that, as it's yet a foreign phrase to me. Oops. I think I just gave away that I'm still somewhat technologically challenged. Forget I said that.
I've created this on a whim. That and some encouragement from friends (thanks, Trace!) and family (thanks, Jen!). I'm told it will be easier to keep track of me, as I'm somewhat of a "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?" Please tell me that you understand the reference. I'm not that old or obscure, am I?
Currently (as in, this very moment) I'm in Grand Rapids, MI: the city I consider to be my hometown. In one week from today, however, I'm taking off for the city I consider as my second hometown: Busan, Korea. Good to be home, good to go back.
What I'll probably do is post my old emails about my very recent travels in Thailand, Laos, Malaysia, and India. I say probably because I always have very good intentions that often fail to become reality. I'm still looking for someone else to blame. If (IF!) I do that, I'll then attempt to put pictures on it. Once again, I'm being optimistic about my abilities. Anyway, that would help you to catch up on my life. The emails are long and laborious, but I have faith in your abilities. No, that's a lie; I'm just supposed to say that, right? If you can keep a secret, I'm just milking my opportunity for an attentive audience.
Subsequent postings will be in the form of my life in Korea; something I never had time to write anyone about when I was actually there the first year. Enjoy!
With love,
Aubrey