chinatown

Bangkok's Chinatown. Street.

jungle book?

Bienvenida a esta asquerosa parte del mundo, reza el subject de un mail desde Espanya. Gracias, pero todavia estoy en Bangkok. Con bienvenidas asi dan ganas de darse la vuelta y coger otro tren en direccion opuesta.

Bangkok, Khao San y el shopping. Estoy casi, casi en casa. Taxis drivers, rush hours, humos, tatoos, piercings, musica de moda?, pelos de todos los colores, texturas y longitudes. Carne y mas carne en exposicion. A la venta? Si, a la venta. Mas tatoos. En los craneos, las frentes, rodillas, gemelos, espinillas (uy! eso tiene que doler!) Me pregunto si se podran hacer tatoos en la lengua? Esto es la jungla.

******

Welcome to this disgusting part of the world says the subject of an email from Spain. Thank God I'm still in Bangkok. With such a welcome one thinks about turning around and taking another train in the opposite direction.

Bangkok, Khao San and shopping. I'm nearly home. Taxi drivers, rush hours, smoke, tatoos, piercings and music, hair styles in every colour, texture and lenght. Flesh on show. For sale? Yes, for sale. More tatoos. On the skulls, on the foreheads, knees, calves, shins (that hurts!) I wonder if they can make a tatoo on the tongue. This is the jungle.

miedo / fear

Hoy llego, llego pegando fuerte, a la altura de la boca del estomago. El miedo. Tan solo 48 horas y estare metida en un avion de vuelta. Comienza el panico de la vuelta, esto tambien es parte de todo viaje. Tambien es ¨disfrutable¨.

Miro las noticias en busca de nuevas acerca del pais que deje algun tiempo atras y al que vuelvo en un suspiro. Nada nuevo y sin embargo, todo parece extranyo. Una unica cosa llama mi atencion; En Madrid estan a 5 grados centigrados! Por Buda que alguien encienda la calefaccion central antes de que yo aterrice, no llevo nada de abrigo en la mochila!

*****

Today it arrived striking hardly at the stomach. Fear. In only 48 hours I will be sitting on a plane back. The fear of the return begins. This is also a part of the journey, also enjoyable.

I look at the news in search of something new about the country I left some time ago and to which I'm going back in no time. Nothing new and, nevertheless, everything seems weird. Only one thing catches my attention, in Madrid it's five degrees Celsius! I need somebody to turn on the central heating before I arrive, I don't have any winter clothes with me!

angelus novus

"Hay un cuadro de Klee que se llama Angelus Novus. En él se representa a un ángel que parece como si estuviese a punto de alejarse de algo que le tiene pasmado. Sus ojos están desmesuradamente abiertos, la boca abierta y extendidas las alas. Y este deberá ser el aspecto del ángel de la historia. Ha vuelto el rostro hacia el pasado. Donde a nosotros se nos manifiesta una cadena de datos, él ve una catástrofe única que amontona incansablemente ruina sobre ruina, arrojándolas a sus pies. Bien quisiera él detenerse, despertar a los muertos y recomponer lo despedazado. Pero desde el paraíso sopla un huracán que se ha enredado en sus alas y que es tan fuerte que el ángel ya no puede cerrarlas. Este huracán le empuja irreteniblemente hacia el futuro, al cual da la espalda, mientras que los montones de ruinas crecen ante él hasta el cielo. Ese huracán es lo que nosotros llamamos "progreso" ".

Tesis 9 sobre una filosofía de la historia. Walter Benjamin

*****

¨There is a painting by Klee called Angelus Novus. It shows an angel who seems about to move away from something he stares at. His eyes are wide, his mouth is open, his wings are spread. This is how the angel of history must look. His face is turned toward the past. Where a chain of events appears before us, he sees on single catastrophe, which keeps piling wreckage upon wreckage and hurls it at his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing from Paradise and has got caught in his wings; it is so strong that the angel can no longer close them. This storm drives him irresistibly into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows toward the sky. What we call progress is this storm.¨

From Walter Benjamin 1940 work, "On the Concept of History,".

a silly solo thought

To get in a country, Lao for instance, you pay an entry visa, around 30-35 US dollars for a month. To exit the country you pay a departure tax , 1 american dollar overland, around 10 dollars if you fly out. If you overstay your visa you have to pay a lot of money per day.

And I wonder why none of the countries gives back money if you understay your visa. Imagine you get to the border and the inmigration officer says, 'I see by the stamp on your passport that you still have some days left in our country... Do you wish to enjoy them or you´re sure to leave?' You answer that you want to leave and therefore the officer gives you back the corresponding money. Why don't things like this happen?

persiguiendo suenyos / pursuing dreams

Mi viaje comenzo atras, muchos meses atras, tantos que se pueden reunir y denominar de otro modo, anyo y pico. Anyo y 4 meses en Asia, con breve interludio en Espanya, visita corta y extranya. En este tiempo, me ha pasado casi de todo, de lo bueno y de lo malo.

Lei en algun libro de viajes que Viajar es perseguir suenyos y cuando eso haces no quieres hacer otra cosa distinta de la que estas haciendo ni estar en un sitio diferente ni con otra persona que no sea justo la que tienes a tu lado.

Todo lo que he escrito en estos meses son apreciaciones unicas, personales e imperfectas de los sitios y personas conocidos, de las experiencias vividas. Los hechos serian interpretados de modo distinto por cualquier otra persona. Nada es un unico relato verdadero, hay millones de relatos verdaderos sobre los mismos lugares y personas. No story contains the whole story.

*****

My journey started way back, many months ago, so many that they can all be gathered together and be called a year and something. A year and 4 months in Asia, with a short and bizarre interlude in Spain. During this time, nearly everything has come up, good things and bad things.

I read somewhere that Travelling is the pursuit of dreams and when you are pursuing your dreams you do not want to do anything else nor be anywhere else nor being with a different person next to you.

Everything I have written during these months are personal, unique and imperfect appreciations of people and places I have got to Know, of my experiences. These events might have been interpreted differently by others. Nothing is a true story, there are millions of true accounts of the same places and people. No story contains the whole story.

arde Baghdad / burning Baghdad

Mientras en el libro que leo durante estas ultimas jornadas en Asia la gente se afana en acumular comida y objetos utiles en el Baghdad de los primeros dias de esta guerra interminable, yo me afano en hacer y hacerme con todas esas cosas que se que en Occidente no me puedo permitir.

Mi lista comienza con el dentista, para una limpieza, la ultima fue tambien en Bangkok. Visita a la optica para hacerme un par de gafas nuevas. Los cristales que puse en India a principios del anyo pasado ya estan absolutamente rayados. Arreglarme una falda que me viene grande despues de tanto trote y tanto arrocito. Y peluqueria y, por supuesto, masaje. Se acabaron los masajes semanales.

Hoy visitare un templo, Wat Thamkrabok, famoso porque llevan a cabo desde mas de 40 anyos planes de desintoxicacion de drogodependientes. Esa es otra de las cosas que estoy haciendo sin parar desde enero, Viaje Religioso. Que consiste en visitar cada templo que encuentro y sentarme a meditar por minutos, a veces, horas en otras ocasiones.

Y mirar y mirar a la gente, las cosas, las tiendas, los mercados... e intentar grabar en mi memoria todos estos colores, olores, formas, sonidos... Y todo esto lo hago mientras en Baghdad siguen aterrorizados.

*****

While in the book I am reading during my last days in Asia the citizens of Baghdad ply to store up food and other essentials in the Baghdad of the first days of this endless war, I ply to do and get all those things that I can not afford in the West.

My list begins with the dentist. Visit to the optician to get a pair of new glasses. The ones I bought at the beginning of last year in India are already spoiled. Have a skirt mended as it doesn´t fit me any more after all the travelling and all the rice. Hairdresser´s and massage, of course. No more weekly massages back home.

Today, I am visiting a temple, Wat ThamKrabok, famous around the world because of their drugs disintoxication programs. This is another thing I am doing since last January, Religious Travelling. It consists of visiting every single temple I come across and sit down to meditate for minutes, for hours, sometimes.

And look at people, things, shops, markets...and try to keep in my memory all these colours, shapes, sounds, scents...And I do all this while in Baghdad people are still terrified.

cajon de sastre (13)

¨Sabio es el que se contenta con el espectaculo del mundo¨. Ricardo Reis

¨She´s only happy in the sun¨. Ben Harper

morning shower

Every morning images like this one repeat everywhere along the Mekong river. People bath at dawn and at dusk in the river.

if

If it weren't because people still speak a language I can hardly understand. If it weren't because they are smaller and thinner than me. If it weren't because they keep on eating soups with chopsticks... I would say I am back in the West. But I am not, I am just back in Thailand.

Coming from Lao, Thailand seems so stressful, busy, modern...western. I am happy I am here so in the time I have left in Asia I can actually try to get used to many things that I will have to face very soon back in Spain.

Lao is such a laidback, easy going country, that it is difficult to go back to the stream speed. I think I am not going back anyway.

Left behind are the Irrawady dolphins and the boat trips. Left behind the hammock hanging in front of my hut. Left behind my particular french clown, he made me laugh so hard. Ahead only future.

meditating monk

french clown

His manners, those of an old fashion gentleman. Hanging from his neck, an indian necklace, a reminder of his beloved Mother India. His hair, curly and black. His brown eyes, deep and penetrating.

The very first glimpse of him, he didn't look like it. He, actually, looked like a very serious and taciturn person. But coffee after coffee he grew on me and I began to appreciate his marvellous show. He would go around the island on an imaginary horse and dancing at the rythm of a personal silent tune. And I would enjoy observing him as he used to say he observed life. "My goal in life is to stop thinking" he told me. I think my french clown is absolutely right.

pensamientos de hamaca

Solo el motor de una barca perturba la calma del mediodia tropical. Las chicharras sirven de banda sonora a la siesta en las hamacas. Alla, desde la ultima choza, llegan las notas arrancadas suavemente a una guitarra. El lento balanceo de mi hamaca es como una nana que adormece y tranquiliza. El chasquido de un mechero a mi lado, otro porro de marihuana.

Las palabras fluyen espesas como lava de volcan en erupcion. El aire es demasiado denso para dejarlas volar fugazmente. El pensamiento es lento, tambien.

Una foto robada, un cachito de mi que se fue con su disparador. El instante de la muerte. Me tienes, muerta.

Espanta moscas con las manos y la voz acompanya de repente a la guitarra.

Si me dijeran que es absurdo hablar asi de quien nunca existio, responderia que tampoco tengo pruebas de que Lisboa haya existido alguna vez, o lo que yo escribo, o cualquier cosa, sea lo que fuere.

Fernando Pessoa

noe

Noe tiene 10 anyos, es la prima de la duenya de la guest house donde me alojo en Don Det. A Noe le gusta pescar y maneja su barca de madera con la misma destreza que cualquier adulto del lugar.

Noe se levanta la primera de toda la familia, al alba, justo antes de que aparezca el sol por el este con sus rayos abrasadores. Enciende el fuego con carbon. Pone a cocer el arroz y mientras las brasas cogen fuerza y los primeros huespedes llegan para desayunar, Noe barre el restaurante, vacia las papeleras y ceniceros. Friega los platos. Cuando llego a tomar el primer cafe del dia, Noe ya tiene el agua hirviendo y, muy seria, me sirve mientras lee en el menu lo que yo le senyalo que quiero comer. Noe no habla ingles. No todavia.

Hacia las 8, si tiene tiempo Noe va al colegio en su vieja bicicleta. Cuando vuelve a las 12 del mediodia, con el sol en pleno apogeo, Noe va a por agua. No esta lejos el rio, tan solo a tres escalones, pero la tarea no es por ello menos ardua. Hasta 10 cubos sube para los lavabos, los pollos, la cocina... para todos nosotros. Cuando deberia estar de vuelta en su pupitre, a las dos, Noe esta cortando ajos y cebollas. Cocinando.

Por la tarde, en las pocas horas de calma del restaurante, Noe coge la barca y sale a pescar. El otro dia me llevo con ella. No pescamos nada pero nos lo pasamos muy bien y vi, por fin, la sonrisa infantil que Noe no quiere o que no le dejan mostrar. Noe tiene tan solo 10 anyos.

*****

Noe is ten years old, she is my guest house owner's cousin in Don Det. Noe likes fishing and she handles her wooden boat as skillfully as any adult.

Noe is the first one in the family to wake up, at dawn, just before the sun appears on the East with its burning rays. She lits the fire with coal. She puts the rice to cook and while the embers gain intensity and the first guests arrive to have breakfast, Noe sweeps the restaurant, empties dustbins and ashtrays. Washes the dishes. When I arrive to have my first coffee of the day, Noe has the water boiling already and, very serious, she serves me while she reads on the menu what I point at that I want to eat. Noe can't speak English. Not yet.

Around 8 o'clock, if she has time, Noe goes to school on her old bicycle. When she comes back at 12, with the sun high on the sky, she goes to fetch water. The river is not far away, only 3 steps down, but the task is nevertheless arduous. Up to 10 buckets she carries on her shoulders for the toilets, chickens, kitchen... for all of us. When she should be back at her desk, at two, she is chopping onions and garlic. Cooking.

In the afternoon, during a few quiet hours, Noe jumps on her canoe and goes fishing. The other day she invited me to go with her. We didn't catch any fish but we had a great time and, for the very first time, I saw her childish smile which Noe doesn't like or is not allowed to show very often. Noe is only ten years old.

el pais de los pequenyos placeres

Ir descalza por la calle, comer con las manos, sentarse en el suelo, viajar al borde de la puerta abierta de un autobus, lenta, muy lentamente, apreciando todo el paisaje y disfrutando de cada parada, paradas gastronomicas.

Dormir la siesta en una barcaza en el rio al calor del mediodia. Observar la vida despertar con la aurora y volver a dormir con la puesta de sol.

Caminar despacio, al ritmo que marcan los grados del termometro, al ritmo tropical. Beber cafe caliente a la sombra de un arbol con los lugarenyos y jugar con sus ninyos maravillosos juegos: lanzamiento de palillos, perseguir una bolsa de plastico movida caprichosamente por la ligera brisa caliente...

Escuchar mil y un saludos de ninyos y mayores y admirar sus calidas sonrisas.

stupid questions to ask in Lao...

...that, of course, I have also asked...

When does the bus leave?

Buses leave any time between the scheduled time and the you-never-know time. So sit back, open your eyes and observe life going on.

When do we arrive?

We can arrive either in time, on the scheduled time or long after the scheduled time. We arrive when we arrive. On the way we can have a breakdown, an accident or a tyre punch, even everything in the same journey. So sit back, relax and enjoy.

attapeu

The Sekong river in the oven of midday.

sticky rice containers

savannakhet, la ciudad mestiza / mixed race town

Savannakhet, the second largest city in Laos (75.000 people), is one of these great places where "there's nothing to do", just the pleasure of a stroll by the Mekong at sunset or the taste of a sweet coffee in the early morning with the oldest ones who refresh their french with the few falang who are awake at this time of the day.

In Savannakhet the french flavour is stronger than in other places in Laos, not only can you feel it in its architecture but also in the food, the skins, the eyes... Many locals have french ancestors and that is noticeable in the physiognomies.

Colonial buildings are collapsing everywhere you look, this imprints the city a decrepit atmosphere that I adore. Long ago splendorous maisons are now empty and falling apart or reconverted into barber shops, restaurants or houses.

In this scenery it seems bizarre to contemplate the Buddhist monks in the almsgiving ceremony, they look out of place, because Savvanakhet has above all a caribbean air.

marketing

Phonsavan Market. Eastern Laos. One of the most heavily bombed areas in the world.

Secret War

un pais al borde de un rio

Jugando a la petanca en Luang Pra Bang, volvi a mi infancia de nuevo. Recordaba aquellas fotos que mis padres, especialmente mi padre, me mostraban de la pequenya Monica apuntando, muy seria, antes de lanzar la bola, todavia con un parche en uno de mis ojos intentando corregir un estrabismo incorregible. Fui una pequenya campeona de petanca durante veranos y vacaciones varias en el camping donde soliamos pasar los fines de semana y demas fiestas. Y me gusto mucho comprobar que no he perdido mi toque magico.

Jugar a la petanca en Laos, es como en Espanya, el billar. El juego esta abierto a todo aquel que pase junto a la pista, al borde del Mekong. Este tipo de juegos, populares, en que cualquier desconocido es bienvenido producen un efecto de companyerismo en toda la concurrencia. Todo el mundo opina y participa aunque solo 4 esten lanzando las bolas. Todo el mundo se lo pasa bien.

Jugamos en parejas. Ponsi, un guia turistico de la ciudad con un magnifico ingles, y yo contra otra pareja de chicos que, por no hablar, no hablaban ni en Lao. Mis primeros lanzamientos fueron timidos, inseguros, dubitativos. Pero a medida que el juego fue avanzando mi mano derecha gano confianza y Ponsi y yo hicimos un par de juegos excelentes.

La verdad es que se monto un buen alboroto, al borde del rio, con la falang jugando a la petanca.

khao niaw (sticky rice)

Souligna Vongsa united the LaneXang kingdom between 1673 and 1694. He made the distinction between Laotian people and Vietnamese as such. Those who build their houses on stilts and eat sticky rice and Padeck are Lao. Those who build their houses on the ground, eat with chopsticks and wear large pants are Vietnamese.

If in Thai language the word for "eat" means literally "eat rice", in Lao language the word "eat" means "eat sticky rice".

"This is Lao culture" ;-)

thai dam headwear

Thai Dam women wear this type of headwear once they get married.

magic

Just when I was beginning to feel pretty fed up with the "touristic approach of Luang Pra Bang", you know what I mean, 10.000 kip to enter this temple (UNESCO declared World Heritage), 20.000 kip to go into the museum, 2.000 kip to pee, 4.000 kip to cross the bamboo bridge, 50.000 kip to breathe......

Just then, magic appeared. Yesterday I was invited to the ceremony for the reincarnation of the deceased parents of a Laotian Lady who has been living in France for the last 30 years. The ceremony was held in a temple and consisted of two magnificent hours of chanting in Pali language. Nine monks plus all the villagers, the lady's neighbours, and I chanted along for almost two hours.

There's something in the Buddhist chants. They trance you, they wrap you up, even that you don't understand what they say, they still put a spell on you. They help to meditate. After the ceremony, we all ate together inside the temple, "this is Laotian culture" I was told.

And this morning, it happened again. After refusing to pay another 10.000 kip to go into a temple and see another Buddha image and bla, bla, bla... I came across a little "handicrafts' work corner", this is the best way I find to describe it. It was basically a small wooden table and two Thai Dam women plus some children making bracelets, the bracelets that they sell afterwards at the Night Market in Luang Pra Bang. These bracelets are made of tree seeds, coloured-crystal balls and pieces of Coca-cola cans.

I sat down at the table with them and after buying one of these pieces of art, I asked them to let me make one. And this was the starting point. They put me their traditional headwear, they took pictures of all of us with my camera and we chatted while making the bracelets for nearly two hours. In that time I managed to make 4 bracelets. In the market these bracelets will suppose a total of 90 cents of a US dollar earnings.

monastery life

The monks leave the brooms at the entrance of the monastery after the morning sweeping.

luang pra bang

Rice cookies drying in the sun. They are everywhere around the city.

french heritage

Les baguettes!

villager

We crossed our ways early in the morning. I was going to visit a cave where villagers hid out during the war from the american bombardments. I asked her if I could take a picture of her and she smiled broadly showing her golden front teeth and agreed.

nong khiew

El aire tiene el inconfundible olor de la lenya quemada, el olor de la montanya. Los lugarenyos de Nong Khiew pasan la mitad del dia entrando en calor y la otra mitad, intentando no perderlo, entre medias, llevan a cabo sus tareas diarias: cortar lenya, cazar...

La pequenya aldea de Nong Khiew esta situada entre el monte de la Princesa Durmiente, Phu Nang Nawn, y el rio Nam Ou, un afluente del Mekong. La vida de la aldea pasa toda por sus aguas. Por la manyana temprano, el rio es carretera flotante que transporta personas y mercancias rio arriba y rio abajo. Por la tarde, en las horas que van del mediodia al atardecer, las horas calientes, el rio se convierte en lugar de recreo para los mas pequenyos y en lugar de aseo para todos. Por la noche, el rio es reflejo de la aldea tranquila. Solo unas luces, las hogueras, los grillos y las ranas.

uxo

Unexploded Ordnance. Between 1964 and 1973 the USA conducted "secretly" one of the largest sustained aerial bombardments in history, flying 580.344 missions over Lao and dropping 3 million tons of bombs (US$ 2.2 million a day). Around 30% of the bombs failed to detonate, leaving the country with unexploded ordnance.

For people all over eastern Lao this is a part of their daily life. Between 1973 and 1996 there were 11.000 UXO accidents and even agriculture has been afected by the people's inability to use the land.

The British Mines Advisory Group began clearance work in 1994. Only a tiny percentage of the ordnance has been removed. At the current rate of clearance it would take more than a 100 hundred years to make the country safe.

*For more info visit the British Mines Advisory Group webpage.

petrol stations

The bus rides in South East Asia, especially in Lao, are a proof of one's patience. They take not only an unpredictable number of hours on the road but also an undetermined number of waiting hours before the bus departs.

One must arrive at the bus station at least one hour and a half before the scheduled departure time. Buses are always packed with people and they sell tickets not only for the number of seats on the bus but also for an undetermined number of places on plastic chairs, placed in the middle alley, and any spare spaces on the floor or on bags and any pieces of luggage. The price for any ticket, no matter where you finally travel, is exactly the same. Therefore you arrive one hour and a half beforehand.

After all the waiting at the station, when one hears the engine start, one thinks the journey is starting but there's one more step to take. The petrol station. No matter where you are or where you come from or where you're heading to, the first stop is always the petrol station. This is usually a few metres away from the bus station what always makes me wonder why they do not bother to go before all the passengers have boarded the bus. My guess is because they use all the money from the passengers' tickets to fill up the tank.

luang nam tha views

This morning I went out on my orange bicycle and these above are some of the things I saw.

On the left it's the pum pao, a game that you can find on every laotian road. You pay around 1.000 kips and you have to throw three darts to the balloons, if you are lucky enough to reach them then you get a prize that is usually some food or drink. This morning I didn't do too bad, I exploded 2 balloons therefore I got a couple of rice cookies. Delicious!

The next image is a picture of the "candies" the kids were having at the fair around a temple. They were crazy about them, every one had one and the lady who was cooking them had the largest queue in the whole fair.

At the bottom a young white water buffalo. The white ones are more bizarre than the black ones.

my bike

The bike I go around on.

on a laotian bus

The long, dusty and winding road from Huay Xay to Luang Nam Tha brings back memories of Burmese bus rides, though the Laotian ones are without music which makes them a little bit less intense.

Clouds of dust flying around the bus swallow us and wrap us up. Red, pink and white colours on both sides of the path. Red, pink and white covering all the shades of green, the green is not green any more.

The lady sitting next to me does not stop spitting out of the window. She does not talk. She does not look at me. She does not smile. She only bends a little to spit out of the window in 15 seconds' intervals and then comes back to the upright position. When she asked me with gestures to swap our seats, I thought it was because she wanted to vomit. No. She only wanted to spit once and again all the way from Huay Xay to Luang Nam Tha. Exactly, 5 hours and a half.

luang nam tha

Anoche dormi en Tailandia. Esta manyana cruce el Mekong y pase a Laos. En cuestion de minutos la realidad cambia a mi alrededor.

A este lado del Mekong, la gente aunque similar es distinta, las fisonomias, recuerdan un poco a las de los chinos. La dureza en las miradas y las pieles denota la dureza de la vida rural en el norte de Laos. La curiosidad de ninyos y mayores en cada parada del polvoriento camino, arremolinandose alrededor de la carraca de autobus que, a cada nuevo bache y cada nueva curva, uno piensa que no aguantara mas y el techo se colapsara encima de nuestras cabezas bajo el peso de tanta maleta amontonada en la parte superior.

A este lado del Mekong, la carretera no es carretera sino camino polvoriento. Aunque freneticamente se afanan en talar los bosques para abrir los claros necesarios y construir la nueva ruta que llevara mas rapidamente de Huay Xay a Luang Nam Tha.

stupa

The Stupa illuminated for the celebration of the Buddha Day. Buddha days are celebrated coinciding with every new moon, first quarter, full moon and last quarter.

temple dragon flies

The day before I left I adknowledge these two beautiful dragon flies. They were sunbathing in front of my room.

10 silent days

Around the Buddha My meditation corner

No talk. No eye contact. No reading, no writing, no listening to music, no drinking, no eating after midday and sleeping 6 hours a day. Only practice, practice and practice the Vipassana technique of meditation for 10 hours each day.

I have improved my concentration and I am calmer. But as my teacher used to repeat to me Practice begins after practice.

locuras tailandesas / thai crazy stuff

Hay tres cosas que vuelven locos a los tailandeses:

1. El aerobic, lo hacen al aire libre en explanadas con un escenario donde se coloca el profesor.

2. Su rey.

3. Comer, cosa que agradezco profundamente, se puede comer de todo a cualquier hora, barato y bueno.

*****

There are three things that make Thais go mad:

1. Aerobics, they practice it in the open air in yards where there's a stage for the instructor.

2. Their King.

3. Eating, which I love, one can eat anything at any time, good and cheap.

globalizada / globalized

Llevo los anillos de plata que compre en Koto Gadang, Sumatra, no mucho tiempo atras. Mi pelo cubierto con la panyoleta de batik que me hice en una sastra de Pekanbaru.

Los pantalones, tailandeses; la blusa, india, una de esas cosas que cada vez que te pones te das cuenta lo buena compra que fue.

En la munyeca derecha el brazalete de coco que compre a un joyero de las islas Andaman a juego con el anillo del dedo del pie, tambien de coco, que me regalo Chris.

La ropa interior comprada en Singapur, aunque hechas en China, reza la etiqueta.

La mochila, espanyola, otro regalo, de Sara.

Me pregunto si esto es otro modo de ser o estar globalizada.

*****

I'm wearing the silver rings I bought in koto Gadang, Sumatra, not long ago. My hair covered with the batik scarf I had made in a taylor's in Pekanbaru.

My pants are thai, the blouse, indian, one of those items you realize how good purchase it was every time you wear it.

In my right wrist the coconut bangle that I bought to a jeweler in the Andaman Islands, matching the coconut toe ring in my foot, a present from Chris.

My underwear bought in Singapore, but made in China, swears the label.

The backpack, Spanish, another present, from Sara.

I wonder if this is another way of being globalized.

breathe deeply, in, out
instants between the instants
live deeply, in, out

morning pai

the queen of the jungle

I guess it's true and I have good luck with the trek guides... Preesha guided me through the forest and garlic fields yesterday. For some hours he treated me like the Queen of the Jungle.

Not only he held my hand and helped me out every time I was about to fall down but he also made a couple of chopsticks and a cup from a bamboo for me to eat and drink. He made a bed with huge banana leaves for me to sleep on and he cooked the most delicious tea inside a bamboo on a fire lit with two bamboo sticks.

Preesha is from the Karen tribe and he has grown up in this area. He knows these mountains like the palm of his strong hands. Yesterday I was his queen, today he'll find a new one.

lisu

Two Lisu women.

your head, your temple

When the owner of the guest house I'm staying at has come up to me saying "Monicaaaa" I knew I had done something wrong. The look in his eyes was like that in my mother's when as a child I had broken something valuable in the house. I was right. Without knowing I was being disrespectul to Thais.

I had my wet underwear hanging on a bamboo stick behind my hut. That is not an ofense, there's nothing wrong in you hanging your underwear on a bamboo stick behind your beautiful, perfect bamboo hut. But if your underwear hangs above somebody's head level, then you are ofending them. In Thai culture it is impolite to hang one's underwear above the level of a person's head, because the head is the "temple" of a person, like in other Buddhist countries, and I guess somebody's underwear is just not good, clean and pure enough as to be hanging above anybody's temple.

trenes son amores / trains are lovers

Viajando en tren desde Lop Buri hasta Chiang Mai y luego en autobus local hasta Pai me he vuelto a reconciliar con Tailandia. La Tailandia sosa y trillada de repente se disipa y logro ver a traves o a pesar de tanto turista parte de la esencia amable y la belleza y amabilidad de sus gentes.

Viajar en tren en Tailandia, como en tantos paises de la zona, tiene algo de otro tiempo, algo de romantico. Y es que los trenes todavia traquetean de verdad, como antes, de lado a lado y de arriba abajo y su sonido recuerda al ritmico sonido de los muelles de una cama maltratada por dos amantes. Quizas sea eso lo que nos haga pensar que viajar en tren es romantico...

*****

Traveling by train from Lop Buri to Chiang Mai and afterwards on a local bus up to Pai, I have reconciled myself with Thailand. Thailand, the insipid, the commonplace, vanishes overnight and I can see through or despite so many tourists some of its kind essence and the beauty of its people.

Traveling by train in Thailand, like in many other countries of the area, has something of the past, something romantic. The trains shake seriously, like before, sideways and up and down and its sound reminds of the rhytmic sound of a bed mistreated by two lovers. Maybe that's what makes us think traveling on a train is romantic...

cajon de sastre 12

¨Yo creo que el cerebro humano se hace el harakiri a los 12 años¨ Javier, filosofo, fotografo, poeta, MAESTRO!, que me encanta porque dice que nunca dice cosas con copyright asi que se las puedo plagiar y escribir aqui.

*****

¨I think the human brain commits hara-kiri at the age of 12¨ Javier, philosopher, photographer, poet, GURU!, whom I really like because he affirms that he never says anything with copyright therefore I can write his words down here.

quien ha colocado estos cables...

lop buri

david filosofia de bar para ti

Es ser prepotente pensar que todos los que te rodean no hacen mas que tonterias?? Este pensamiento no lleva implicito el hecho de que yo piense que no las cometa, las tonterias, sobre todo a la vista del resto de seres humanos que no son YO, es decir, todo el mundo.

Solo aquellas personas a las que quiero y admiro me parece que hacen menos tonterias que el resto o como minimo me da la sensacion que las tonterias que hacen son mas logicas (a mis ojos). Lo cual me lleva a pensar lo siguiente: Esto solo lo pienso porque les quiero y les quiero por que tenemos cosas en comun, por que me gustan, por que me hacen sentir bien, por que compartimos aficiones, por que me hacen reir...es decir, porque veo un reflejo exterior de cosas que me gustan y con las que estoy de acuerdo. Es el amor a los otros simplemente un sentimiento "narcisista"?????

Creo aquello de "Te quiero no por quien eres si no por quien soy cuando estoy contigo". El amor a los otros es solo un reflejo del amor a uno mismo? ...Cuantas mas personas quieres es un reflejo proporcional de cuanto te quieres a ti mismo?

Solo aceptamos aquello que entendemos ...Quiza deberia decir solo acepto aquello que entiendo ...Cual es la base del entendimiento del mundo y de sus contenidos y habitantes? ...El entendimiento de uno mismo primero y con ello el entendimiento de lo similar y/o distinto que hay en los demas... Y el entendimiento de uno mismo esta basado en una mirada carinyosa y/o amorosa a lo que uno es y siente??... Por tanto el entendimiento del mundo pasa por el amor a uno mismo....

frangipanis

i tried to dream last night

My dreams' guru says I don't dream any more and I am terribly worried. Yesterday I was chatting with Mr. Wilson and he misses my dreams. I miss them too, Mr. Wilson! I try and I try but I just seem to dream no longer. Although I have the feeling that I have just waken up from a dream... a sweet, sweet dream...

no fotografiamos las cosas como son

fotografiamos las cosas como somos...


¨Las fotos buenas son las de los instantes entre los instantes¨. Javier, un amigo fotografo.

¨La fotografia tiene que ver con el instante eterno y ese instante es el instante de la muerte¨. Idem.

¨No fotografio nada solo fotografio cosas que tengo en la cabeza¨. Idem.

the dance of minds

Body. Noun. 1 a :The main part of a plant or animal body especially as distinguished from limbs and head : TRUNK

Mind. Noun. 2 a : the element or complex of elements in an individual that feels, perceives, thinks, wills, and especially reasons.

Minds and not bodies are what we feel attracted to. Beautiful minds are trapped in all sorts of different bodies, beautiful bodies, ugly bodies, young bodies, old bodies, men´s bodies, women´s bodies...

Minds are what we fancy not the size of a breast, not the colour of an eye, not the shape of a body... Minds are what turn us on.

Some days ago I met an incredible person who could be my grandfather. This type of meetings always make me think, if these people´s bodies were different, 40 years younger for instance, would my perception of them be different too...?

Do the bodies affect the minds or it´s only the minds which affect the bodies?

walt whitman

Hoy, antes del alba, subi a la colina, mire a los cielos
apretados de luminarias y le dije a mi espiritu: cuando conozcamos
todos esos mundos y el placer y la sabiduria de todas las cosas
que contienen, estaremos tranquilos y satisfechos? y mi espiritu contesto
No! ganaremos esas alturas solo para seguir adelante.

Walt Whitman

soul mates 2

She asked him why people met, he replied that to learn something from each other. In that very moment she knew he would become a special person for her.

The first time they met she needed to tie a slipknot. She asked him to do it, he didn't know how. The look in his eyes, frank, clear, deep blue. By a cosmical coincidence they both had decided to travel to the same islands on the same ship, on the same date.

The next time she saw him he was in a rickshaw in Madras. She spotted him when it passed her by on a sidestreet. He looked different this time, distant. She thought she might had been wrong.

She was excited. It was going to be her first long journey by ship: 3 days, 2 nights. Everybody had told her to take loads of pastimes because in the ocean the hours seemed everlasting. She only had what she always carried along the way: her little black book with her poems in and a book. The English Patient.

She got herself settled in her cabin and went outside to the upper deck. There he was again. "You made it!" She said with a broad smile on her face. They sat down at a table to share a drink.

She can't remember what they talked about. She only remembers that was their first drink together. There would be many more. He made her laugh. It felt warm, close, familiar.

They spent the whole day together going up and down and around the ship. Meeting people, playing cards, laughing.

He had a harmonica. He would play and she would walk at the rhythm of his notes.

She can't remember when she first missed him but it was already on board, probably lying in bed, at night.

He had a chess board and a bucket full of ideas and jokes. He would talk and she would walk with her feet a palm above the ground.

She didn't want to arrive in paradise, her paradise was right there. She could sense the end. She was crying helplessly inside. She wanted to yell at him: "Let's go down together" but she didn't manage to let it out so she stayed on board forever. In her own private paradise.

at the doorstep

the power of random

I left Sumatra a week ago and, during this time, rain has not stopped from pouring down. There have been landslides and floods all over the island.

In the Celebes a commercial plane has crashed. Nearly a hundred people have died.

Now I am in Thailand. There were six bomb blasts on New Year´s Eve in Bangkok and subsequently in other cities.

I am safe and sound although I cannot help thinking that I have been getting away all this time. I guess it´s not my time. Furthermore I say to myself that all the events I´ve been through have helped me out. Many others are not able to say so.

dutchmen

Why do we make the choices we make? Why do we open our guidebook and with our finger choose one place and not another? Why did I book that room in that guest house last week and not any other? Why do people meet?

I just happened to have met the most amazing couple of guys. They're dutchmen. Their age is a well kept mystery but my guess is they're in their seventies. They are the type of people you never grow tired to listen to. The kind of people that has a perfect story for every moment.

"If you can travel and you can dance, you never get old" one of them told me last night.

I think we meet people to learn from them.

minimal stories

I want to thank all those people who I have had the pleasure to meet last year, because they shared their minimal stories with me and those minimal stories are, in fact, very very big for me.

Eduard, back in India. I'd love to share his life philosophy and say things like "Nos vemos a posteriori!". He made me laugh so much.

Maria who is always preparing, thinking, doing, dancing, ....living... she reminds me of that "I don't have time to get depressed... I am too busy at the moment"

Chris and Yotam with whom I lived some amazing adventures on the Andamans.... our private paradise.

Babeth and Jean Paul who taught me a bit of French and many more things on that island...

James and Vere, the two half-Kiwies. One working part-time on the Antarctica, the other one, capturing life with his camera. James taught me to understand your own family better. Vere, Vere, with that name that actually sounds to me like "beer", by observing him i learned so much about me.

Mike and Rany in Sumatera. Two great people. As simple as that.

Jos and Arnold who had the kidness to share some of their wisdom and amazing stories with me and Cris. Some of those stories dated back to the Second World War and who danced and danced with us...

I feel so grateful. I am so lucky.