I got tired of Blogger.com's shenanigans, so I've set up camp at kopisusutwo.wordpress.com/. Check out new posts about London there!
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Sunday, May 11, 2014
The Worst Two Years: "A woman might pisse it out"
London in the 1600s was a jumble of wooden houses. The streets were so narrow, the overhanging gables of the houses often touched. Fires were not unusual, but they usually burned out after claiming a few streets. Firefighting pumps had just been invented and weren't very effective, but bigger blazes could be stopped by pulling down houses to create firebreaks.
So nobody was unduly worried when a baker’s shop in Pudding Lane went up in flames in the early morning hours on September 2, 1666. Mayor Bludworth, awakened from a drunken sleep at 3 AM, looked at the flames and said, “Pish. A woman might pisse it out.” But nobody called a woman to do so, and before long the fire, pushed by a strong wind, was raging out of control.
Several unfortunate happenings converged to make this fire special. In the first place there was that howling wind, which drove the fire across the city. Second, people in the path of the flames began pulling their belongings out of their houses in a panic. The streets were soon clogged with carts, piles of furniture, people carrying all their worldly goods on their backs, and refugees trying desperately to flee. That made it hard for responders to reach the fire.
Third, it had been a dry and hot summer, so the houses were primed to burn. And fourth, warehouses along the Thames were packed with pitch, oil, brandy and tar; in the wake of the Great Plague, merchants were stockpiling stuff to sell to residents moving back into the city.
The blaze moved so fast that when people pulled houses down to try to create firebreaks, the flames caught the ruins before they could be cleared away, and the fire roared on.
The aforementioned drunken mayor wasn’t much help. During the crucial early stages of the fire, diarist, naval administrator and man-about-town Samuel Pepys rode to the King and secured the help of soldiers to pull down houses. He rode back to transmit the order to the mayor, only to find him standing in the street, staring at the fire in a daze. “I am spent: people will not obey me,” Bludworth raved. So nothing was done.
The fire turned London into a different sort of Hell: while the Plague had left it eerily empty, it was now packed with half-crazed crowds and mountains of possessions. Some people threw their furniture into the river with the slim hope of recovering it after the fire; others went out on boats, which rammed each other in the smoke and even caught on fire when sparks blew over the water.
On the fourth day, the wind died down. At the same time, a response had finally coalesced, and men blowing whole streets up with gunpowder had succeeded in creating firebreaks. But 90 percent of the city’s housing had gone up in smoke.
The fire led to many improvements, including wider streets and more graceful houses of brick and stone. It may even have helped clear out the vestiges of the Plague. But after the year they'd just had, Londoners had to wonder what they'd done to bring another disaster down on their heads.
So nobody was unduly worried when a baker’s shop in Pudding Lane went up in flames in the early morning hours on September 2, 1666. Mayor Bludworth, awakened from a drunken sleep at 3 AM, looked at the flames and said, “Pish. A woman might pisse it out.” But nobody called a woman to do so, and before long the fire, pushed by a strong wind, was raging out of control.
Several unfortunate happenings converged to make this fire special. In the first place there was that howling wind, which drove the fire across the city. Second, people in the path of the flames began pulling their belongings out of their houses in a panic. The streets were soon clogged with carts, piles of furniture, people carrying all their worldly goods on their backs, and refugees trying desperately to flee. That made it hard for responders to reach the fire.
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| London in the mid-1600s was packed with wooden houses on narrow streets |
The blaze moved so fast that when people pulled houses down to try to create firebreaks, the flames caught the ruins before they could be cleared away, and the fire roared on.
The aforementioned drunken mayor wasn’t much help. During the crucial early stages of the fire, diarist, naval administrator and man-about-town Samuel Pepys rode to the King and secured the help of soldiers to pull down houses. He rode back to transmit the order to the mayor, only to find him standing in the street, staring at the fire in a daze. “I am spent: people will not obey me,” Bludworth raved. So nothing was done.
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| London Fire Brigade monument. A fire brigade would have been useful, but alas, it wasn't founded for another two centuries. |
On the fourth day, the wind died down. At the same time, a response had finally coalesced, and men blowing whole streets up with gunpowder had succeeded in creating firebreaks. But 90 percent of the city’s housing had gone up in smoke.
The fire led to many improvements, including wider streets and more graceful houses of brick and stone. It may even have helped clear out the vestiges of the Plague. But after the year they'd just had, Londoners had to wonder what they'd done to bring another disaster down on their heads.
Saturday, May 10, 2014
The Worst Two Years: “London’s Dreadful Visitation”
The plague hit London in 1664, but its great death machine did not get fully ramped up until 1665. It was a repeat engagement: London had suffered nearly 40 outbreaks of plague since 1348. But this was the most vicious bout yet, and it turned the city into a credible vision of Hell on earth.
The disease started by claiming a trickle of victims, but the toll from the “Dreadful Visitation,” as the official weekly death report called it, soon soared into the hundreds and even thousands per week. Early efforts to fight the disease may have made it worse. The moment a house was found to have a plague victim, the city sealed it up with all its occupants inside. Nobody was allowed out for forty days, during which time the illness often killed off every member of the family, one by one, and wiped out their servants for good measure.
This policy not only guaranteed prolonged close contact with the disease – it gave people a powerful incentive to hide signs of the plague. Deaths were recorded by indigent old women hired by the parishes as a form of welfare, so it was easy for a family to bribe its way out of a plague diagnosis. While some Londoners were locked up with their dying family members, others who were secretly infected were going about their business and spreading the disease around the city.
Leasor’s The Plague and The Fire argues that many victims could have been saved with proper medical care, but most of the doctors fled the city when the epidemic began, while others were more interested in peddling quack cures than treating fevers and cleaning sores.
“Plague nurses” sent to people’s homes sometimes provided elementary care. On the other hand, they sometimes decided to suffocate you and steal your belongings instead. They were a crapshoot, those plague nurses.
The disease started by claiming a trickle of victims, but the toll from the “Dreadful Visitation,” as the official weekly death report called it, soon soared into the hundreds and even thousands per week. Early efforts to fight the disease may have made it worse. The moment a house was found to have a plague victim, the city sealed it up with all its occupants inside. Nobody was allowed out for forty days, during which time the illness often killed off every member of the family, one by one, and wiped out their servants for good measure.
This policy not only guaranteed prolonged close contact with the disease – it gave people a powerful incentive to hide signs of the plague. Deaths were recorded by indigent old women hired by the parishes as a form of welfare, so it was easy for a family to bribe its way out of a plague diagnosis. While some Londoners were locked up with their dying family members, others who were secretly infected were going about their business and spreading the disease around the city.
Leasor’s The Plague and The Fire argues that many victims could have been saved with proper medical care, but most of the doctors fled the city when the epidemic began, while others were more interested in peddling quack cures than treating fevers and cleaning sores.
“Plague nurses” sent to people’s homes sometimes provided elementary care. On the other hand, they sometimes decided to suffocate you and steal your belongings instead. They were a crapshoot, those plague nurses.
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| Image: Wellcome Museum, London, on Flickr |
In the end, the sheer number of dead brought the city to its knees. There were hardly enough living people left to bury them all. Many were tipped into mass graves with no record taken of their passing. Victims in the last stages of delirium wandered the mostly-deserted streets, sometimes attacking a healthy passerby out of spite. Only the arrival of winter stopped the disease.
Thus ended Year One.
Thus ended Year One.
Friday, May 09, 2014
Museum of London
It was totally random that we ended up here on our first day – really, we were just wandering around looking for anything that would keep our eyes open until a reasonable bedtime. But visiting the museum early in your trip is a great idea and I highly recommend going there directly after the Indian YMCA.
London’s history is so vast, it’s hard to figure out where to begin. But here I found what became my obsession over much of the trip: the Great Plague of 1665 and the Great Fire of 1666.
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| The Great Fire: detail from an anonymous painting. (Image: Wikipedia) |
It was like a neutron bomb followed by firebombs and I think, short of war, it was about the worst two years any city could have. By reading up on them, and going out to see the associated sites, you get a stereoscopic view of life in London in days gone by.
Wednesday, May 07, 2014
How to Go to London
Depending where you’re starting from, take a plane or a train or whatever. On arrival, get on the tube, go directly to the Warren St. station, walk to the Indian YMCA, and get one of every dish at the canteen.
Devour everything, from the tender chapati to the symphonically spiced mutton curry to the controlled-incendiary chickpeas.
Have a nice chat with the super-friendly staff and tell them the food is sublime. Become a member of the clean plate club.
That is all.
(For historical accuracy, I should note that we didn't do it this way on this trip. But I plan to from now on.)
Devour everything, from the tender chapati to the symphonically spiced mutton curry to the controlled-incendiary chickpeas.
Have a nice chat with the super-friendly staff and tell them the food is sublime. Become a member of the clean plate club.
That is all.
(For historical accuracy, I should note that we didn't do it this way on this trip. But I plan to from now on.)
Friday, May 02, 2014
Going to London: Transit and non-transit
Hello Kopisusu2 fans! Nice to see you both (tee hee).
"But wait," you say. "Where have you been for the last 1,367 days? And what are you doing in London?"
More on the 1,367 days later. As for London, I'm here because my sister Cathy wanted to see some Chekhov plays, so she flew us both out on her frequent flyer miles - yippee! My other sister Beth and her husband John came along.
Cathy took the train up to New York. In the small space of time between her arrival and our departure at JFK, we squeezed in a trip to a day spa in Koreatown that had a steam room and a little sauna that looked like a troll house. It was far less extensive than the fabulous King Spa in Jersey, with its jade sauna and amethyst sauna and special mud sauna and ice sauna, which I'll have to write about sometime -- but it was great to get steam-cleaned before getting into that big tin can of germs known as the transatlantic jet.
We had cunningly planned our time in London to coincide with a transit strike, so getting to the rental apartment was a challenge. After much to-ing and fro-ing we managed to get on the Express to Paddington Station.
Paddington is not full of teddy bears, to the disappointment of certain members of our party. It has some pretty cool high windows, though, which reminded me of Philip Larkin.
It turned out our Tube line was running, huzzah! After a lengthy and bitter struggle with the Oyster card machines, which are VERY picky about how you put your credit card in and how you take it out, we got onto a packed train and then another packed train.
Soon we were dragging our rolly bags down the cobblestone streets of Southwark. We probably should have taken a cab, but we were suffused with transit victory and determined to reach our destination under our own steam.
"But wait," you say. "Where have you been for the last 1,367 days? And what are you doing in London?"
More on the 1,367 days later. As for London, I'm here because my sister Cathy wanted to see some Chekhov plays, so she flew us both out on her frequent flyer miles - yippee! My other sister Beth and her husband John came along.
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| Photo stolen from dayspas.com |
Cathy took the train up to New York. In the small space of time between her arrival and our departure at JFK, we squeezed in a trip to a day spa in Koreatown that had a steam room and a little sauna that looked like a troll house. It was far less extensive than the fabulous King Spa in Jersey, with its jade sauna and amethyst sauna and special mud sauna and ice sauna, which I'll have to write about sometime -- but it was great to get steam-cleaned before getting into that big tin can of germs known as the transatlantic jet.
I got pretty much no sleep on the plane because I was busy watching free episodes of GIRLS, which I love but am too cheap to pay for at home.
We had cunningly planned our time in London to coincide with a transit strike, so getting to the rental apartment was a challenge. After much to-ing and fro-ing we managed to get on the Express to Paddington Station.
Paddington is not full of teddy bears, to the disappointment of certain members of our party. It has some pretty cool high windows, though, which reminded me of Philip Larkin.
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| High windows. Photo: Wikimedia |
It turned out our Tube line was running, huzzah! After a lengthy and bitter struggle with the Oyster card machines, which are VERY picky about how you put your credit card in and how you take it out, we got onto a packed train and then another packed train.
 |
| Picky, picky |
Soon we were dragging our rolly bags down the cobblestone streets of Southwark. We probably should have taken a cab, but we were suffused with transit victory and determined to reach our destination under our own steam.
By then it was 10 AM London time, and the day was just beginning.
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
The luggage that meowed
I'll have some more Flores posts soon, but wanted to say we have all survived the trip from Jakarta to Phoenix more or less intact. Susu traveled in her new soft cat carrier, which she hates as much as she's hated her other cat carriers.
Still, it was scary standing there holding a squirming cat in an enormous and chaotic airport. The security people seemed remarkably clueless about this and would fire questions at us and demand documents while the cat freaked out and the cat carrier sat there on the scanner belt, already approved for flight but just beyond arm's reach.
Susu was anxious at the beginning of the journey, she was panting with her mouth open, which is a strange and disturbing thing in a cat. I can't say she really got adjusted to traveling but she basically wore herself out after several hours and fell asleep. When we got to the airport hotel in LA she pulled the Invisible Kitty act, vanishing for at least an hour before we figured out that she had climbed up inside the box spring. But by morning she had recovered enough to investigate the room.
After that it was just one more short flight to Phoenix and a well-earned rest for all concerned.
Flying Cat Tips:
1. I found putting a puppy training pad in the bottom of the carrier completely pointless. It just got wadded up in a big lump in the corner. Susu was so stressed out I don't think she could have emitted any waste products anyway. In fact, she had a hard time using the litter box even after we settled into the hotel; I think she got pretty dehydrated.
2. Bring something warm to put in or around the carrier (being careful not to block the cat's air supply). Planes are really cold.
3. Get a carrier with a reach-in zipper so you can pet your cat when s/he is anxious. That really seemed to reassure her.
Under the seat
The most worriesome parts of the trip were at certain security checks where we had to take her out and hold her while the carrier went through the scanner. We had put a kitty halter and leash on her, which she hated even more than the carrier.
Still, it was scary standing there holding a squirming cat in an enormous and chaotic airport. The security people seemed remarkably clueless about this and would fire questions at us and demand documents while the cat freaked out and the cat carrier sat there on the scanner belt, already approved for flight but just beyond arm's reach.
Susu was anxious at the beginning of the journey, she was panting with her mouth open, which is a strange and disturbing thing in a cat. I can't say she really got adjusted to traveling but she basically wore herself out after several hours and fell asleep. When we got to the airport hotel in LA she pulled the Invisible Kitty act, vanishing for at least an hour before we figured out that she had climbed up inside the box spring. But by morning she had recovered enough to investigate the room.
After that it was just one more short flight to Phoenix and a well-earned rest for all concerned.
Flying Cat Tips:
1. I found putting a puppy training pad in the bottom of the carrier completely pointless. It just got wadded up in a big lump in the corner. Susu was so stressed out I don't think she could have emitted any waste products anyway. In fact, she had a hard time using the litter box even after we settled into the hotel; I think she got pretty dehydrated.
2. Bring something warm to put in or around the carrier (being careful not to block the cat's air supply). Planes are really cold.
3. Get a carrier with a reach-in zipper so you can pet your cat when s/he is anxious. That really seemed to reassure her.
Sunday, August 01, 2010
The hungry turtle and other underwater delights
We were lucky to have an extra instructor along who came along on our PADI Open Water training just for fun. Sarah did some teaching and brought her new underwater camera along.
Komodo is famous for its strong currents, so most of our classes were in the gentle waters outside the park. But for our last dive, we went to Tatawa Island, where we got to see the kind of underwater environments that make the place exceptional.
As a snorkeler I’m used to seeing either beautiful coral or a lot of fish. Tatawa had both in ridiculous abundance. We floated along in the current through clouds of tiny glassfish, all moving as one. We found Nemo.
And we hovered over huge, vibrant reefs.
The best part was spending several minutes watching a turtle devour coral. He was really ripping into the reef, crunching pieces in his mouth and scattering coral crumbs everywhere. That’s something I won’t forget soon.
Chad and me. All photos in this post by Sarah, with additional editing by me, the Photoshop control freak.
Komodo is famous for its strong currents, so most of our classes were in the gentle waters outside the park. But for our last dive, we went to Tatawa Island, where we got to see the kind of underwater environments that make the place exceptional.
As a snorkeler I’m used to seeing either beautiful coral or a lot of fish. Tatawa had both in ridiculous abundance. We floated along in the current through clouds of tiny glassfish, all moving as one. We found Nemo.
And we hovered over huge, vibrant reefs.
The best part was spending several minutes watching a turtle devour coral. He was really ripping into the reef, crunching pieces in his mouth and scattering coral crumbs everywhere. That’s something I won’t forget soon.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Frogwoman 101
The amazing thing about learning to dive was how scary it wasn’t. I was prepared to be freaked out when it really hit me that I was breathing underwater and that I was not going to surface anytime soon. But when I got down to the ocean floor with all the gear on, it just seemed kind of normal.
Even the underwater skills we had to learn – how to find your air hose if it falls out of your mouth, how to breathe using your buddy’s extra mouthpiece, etc. – were more like games than chores. I think the fact that I’ve snorkeled a fair amount helped; it’s easier if you’re already used to breathing with your face in the water and clearing water from the hose just using your breath.
The truly scary part was getting out to the boat. The pier had partially collapsed (three years ago, a local guy told me) and never been repaired.
Going out and back required scrambling down one side using the gaps between boards as a ladder, walking over on three wobbly planks, and climbing up the other side. This got even trickier when the tide was up or somebody had dripped oil on the boards.
The payoff for all that, of course, was diving. On our last day we went to a pretty cool reef off Tatawa Island, in Komodo National Park. Photos in the next post!
Chad and I high-fiving like the people in the dorky PADI videos. Really. We're not actually dorks.
Even the underwater skills we had to learn – how to find your air hose if it falls out of your mouth, how to breathe using your buddy’s extra mouthpiece, etc. – were more like games than chores. I think the fact that I’ve snorkeled a fair amount helped; it’s easier if you’re already used to breathing with your face in the water and clearing water from the hose just using your breath.
Chad (lying down) demonstrates proper buoyancy control for the instructor while I (with the pink weight belt) monitor my air supply.
The truly scary part was getting out to the boat. The pier had partially collapsed (three years ago, a local guy told me) and never been repaired.
Going out and back required scrambling down one side using the gaps between boards as a ladder, walking over on three wobbly planks, and climbing up the other side. This got even trickier when the tide was up or somebody had dripped oil on the boards.
Dive instructor Sarah walks the planks.
The payoff for all that, of course, was diving. On our last day we went to a pretty cool reef off Tatawa Island, in Komodo National Park. Photos in the next post!
Friday, July 30, 2010
Oops!
We only planned to spend a night in Kuta, but fate intervened in the form of a stupid mistake. The morning of our onward flight to Labuan Bajo, we realized we’d both forgotten to replenish our supply of contact lenses. We were planning to dive and snorkel around some of the world’s most renowned coral reefs, and we would be as blind as two bats. It might be possible to get lenses on Flores, but we couldn’t count on it, and there wasn’t enough time to find out.
After agonizing, and checking with the airline, and agonizing some more, we decided to pay the penalty, delay the flight two days and get some lenses.
Staying in Bali wasn’t such a bad thing anyway. With the World Cup in its final stages, Kuta had a bad case of football fever.
I love World Cup time in Indonesia. Everyone stays up late to watch the matches in big groups, often clustered around TVs out on streetcorners. They spend the next day analyzing each team's performance and predicting the next-round results. It's a kind of sleepy happy madness, and it reminded me of our earliest days back in Jakarta, which feels appropriate for a farewell tour.
In another blast from the past, we brushed off our rusty surfing style with a couple of lessons. We graduated from the enormous foam boards and began to master somewhat smaller foam boards.
And finally, lenses in hand, we set out for Labuan Bajo.
The airport Starbucks was playing Johnny Nash's "I Can See Clearly Now." Seriously.
After agonizing, and checking with the airline, and agonizing some more, we decided to pay the penalty, delay the flight two days and get some lenses.
Staying in Bali wasn’t such a bad thing anyway. With the World Cup in its final stages, Kuta had a bad case of football fever.
I love World Cup time in Indonesia. Everyone stays up late to watch the matches in big groups, often clustered around TVs out on streetcorners. They spend the next day analyzing each team's performance and predicting the next-round results. It's a kind of sleepy happy madness, and it reminded me of our earliest days back in Jakarta, which feels appropriate for a farewell tour.
In another blast from the past, we brushed off our rusty surfing style with a couple of lessons. We graduated from the enormous foam boards and began to master somewhat smaller foam boards.
And finally, lenses in hand, we set out for Labuan Bajo.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Flores: Diving, dragons and digs
After Burma we enjoyed a lovely week in Jakarta, seeing friends, mailing boxes home, and untangling bureaucratic details . Or perhaps I should say bureau-cat-ic details, since many of them revolved around the absurd process of preparing to take Susu with us on the plane. Who knew that a former half-starved street kitten of unknown origins would require something as fancy (and expensive) as an exit permit?
Anyway, after getting things more or less organized we headed out for the last phase of the Southeast Asia Tour: Flores, Indonesia.
Why Flores?
First, there’s the diving, said to be among the best in the world. Second, there are Komodo dragons. What says “vacation” more than “island of giant reptiles”? Third, there are Hobbits. Or at least bones of Hobbits. Chad has wanted to do a story about the archeological discoveries there since before we came to Indonesia, and I promptly volunteered to be the photographer because I love hanging around dig sites.
So we set off for Flores. First stop: Bali.
Susu demonstrates the Flying Kitty pose, blissfully unaware that she will soon be a flying kitty herself
Anyway, after getting things more or less organized we headed out for the last phase of the Southeast Asia Tour: Flores, Indonesia.
Why Flores?
First, there’s the diving, said to be among the best in the world. Second, there are Komodo dragons. What says “vacation” more than “island of giant reptiles”? Third, there are Hobbits. Or at least bones of Hobbits. Chad has wanted to do a story about the archeological discoveries there since before we came to Indonesia, and I promptly volunteered to be the photographer because I love hanging around dig sites.
So we set off for Flores. First stop: Bali.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Best-T Honey toothpaste: Sweet!
I bought Best-T in Yangon. It does, in fact, look and taste like honey, and it lists real honey (not artificial flavoring) as an ingredient. It behaved like normal toothpaste, but an hour after I used it, my teeth always felt dirty again. As far as I could tell, I might as well be brushing with a Snickers bar. So it’s back to boring old Pepsodent for now.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Smackdown: Yangon vs. Jakarta!
Out of all the sprawling Asian cities we visited on the tour, Yangon (Rangoon) reminded me the most of Jakarta. I think most of the resemblance was infrastructural, if I may coin a word: the crazy traffic, the smog, the poorly-maintained roads and the rather sad pedestrian overpasses all felt like my beloved Jakarta.
Beloved? Yes, I do love Jakarta, as much as it drives me crazy. There is a great city locked inside Jakarta's chaos, and it would only take some good management to bring it out. It pains me a little that my adopted city so resembles the abandoned capital of a long-abused nation like Myanmar. But so be it. Without further ado, I present Smackdown 2010: Jakarta-Yangon edition!
STREET LIFE: We didn't have enough time in Yangon to do a thorough survey of markets etc., but I'd have to give the edge to Jakarta. It's hard to match the buzz of the Jak when it comes to people hawking, hustling or just hanging out on the street.
TAXIS: Advantage Jakarta, again. Yangon's taxis lack shock absorbers, and for some reason most of them have lost the inner paneling on their doors, making them look sadder than even the shabbiest Kosti Jaya in Jakarta.
TRAFFIC: Both suffer from poor traffic control and an absence of mass transit, but Yangon is the winner, simply because it's smaller and fewer people can afford cars.
AIR QUALITY: Advantage Yangon (see Traffic).
ROADS: Jakarta by a nose. Lots of potholes in both cities.
MONUMENTS: Sorry, Jakarta, but any city would be hard pressed to top the magnificence of Yangon's Shwedagon Pagoda.
The final tally? A 3-3 tie! That's pretty much how the experts have called it as well; the two cities have vied neck and neck in the lower tier of contestants on the annual Expat Quality of Life report.
Beloved? Yes, I do love Jakarta, as much as it drives me crazy. There is a great city locked inside Jakarta's chaos, and it would only take some good management to bring it out. It pains me a little that my adopted city so resembles the abandoned capital of a long-abused nation like Myanmar. But so be it. Without further ado, I present Smackdown 2010: Jakarta-Yangon edition!
STREET LIFE: We didn't have enough time in Yangon to do a thorough survey of markets etc., but I'd have to give the edge to Jakarta. It's hard to match the buzz of the Jak when it comes to people hawking, hustling or just hanging out on the street.
TAXIS: Advantage Jakarta, again. Yangon's taxis lack shock absorbers, and for some reason most of them have lost the inner paneling on their doors, making them look sadder than even the shabbiest Kosti Jaya in Jakarta.
TRAFFIC: Both suffer from poor traffic control and an absence of mass transit, but Yangon is the winner, simply because it's smaller and fewer people can afford cars.
Yangon traffic: not yet Jakarta, but it's getting there
AIR QUALITY: Advantage Yangon (see Traffic).
ROADS: Jakarta by a nose. Lots of potholes in both cities.
MONUMENTS: Sorry, Jakarta, but any city would be hard pressed to top the magnificence of Yangon's Shwedagon Pagoda.
The final tally? A 3-3 tie! That's pretty much how the experts have called it as well; the two cities have vied neck and neck in the lower tier of contestants on the annual Expat Quality of Life report.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Stupas in the sun
Bagan is Burma's answer to Angkor: some 40 square kilometers packed with more than 2,000 temples.
As you might imagine, it's a bit overwhelming. There are huge old impressive stupas like this one ...
But it was the small things that stayed with me, like a little teak statue
and a (thankfully unrestored) faded painting of a woman with an umbrella.
This being Myanmar, there is a sad side to the story: the junta has been criticized for forcibly relocating people from the area in 1990, and has been accused of degrading the structures' historical value by renovating them inappropriately.
Hawkers and would-be guides at the more famous temples can drive you crazy, but the town itself, Nyaung U, was pleasantly laid-back. Lots of restaurants sold the local yogurt, which was tart, rich, slightly lumpy, and exceptionally delicious. Apparently Leonardo DiCaprio has a fancy frozen yogurt machine in his office, but if I were a Hollywood star, I'd hire someone from Bagan to hang around making the fresh stuff for me.
As you might imagine, it's a bit overwhelming. There are huge old impressive stupas like this one ...
But it was the small things that stayed with me, like a little teak statue
and a (thankfully unrestored) faded painting of a woman with an umbrella.
This being Myanmar, there is a sad side to the story: the junta has been criticized for forcibly relocating people from the area in 1990, and has been accused of degrading the structures' historical value by renovating them inappropriately.
Hawkers and would-be guides at the more famous temples can drive you crazy, but the town itself, Nyaung U, was pleasantly laid-back. Lots of restaurants sold the local yogurt, which was tart, rich, slightly lumpy, and exceptionally delicious. Apparently Leonardo DiCaprio has a fancy frozen yogurt machine in his office, but if I were a Hollywood star, I'd hire someone from Bagan to hang around making the fresh stuff for me.
Friday, July 23, 2010
How to stuff a Jeep
We spent the third night of the hike in Namhsan, a cute and chilly little mountain town.
The guide booked us seats on a Jeep headed down the mountain to Hsipaw the next day. Chad and I were surprised when the little vehicle pulled up in front of our guesthouse. It clearly had space for only five passengers – one on the bucket seat up front and four on the benches that faced each other in the back. There were already four people aboard, so where were we supposed to sit?
It all became clear after the driver lashed our bags to the roof and gestured for us to get in. I got the remaining bench seat, with Chad on the floor at my feet and our tour guide on the tailgate. And that’s how it remained … until we stopped to take on more people. And more. And more.
In all, we crammed fourteen passengers and a driver into the tiny vehicle: four on the benches, three on the floor, four sitting or standing on the tailgate, two in the bucket seat and one lucky dude sitting sidesaddle on the hood – I kid you not – while clinging to the side-view mirror.
The dirt road down the mountain was swimming in mud. Work crews with hoes and shovels didn’t seem to be making a dent in the mess. The driver did a heroic job getting us to town without getting stuck, or, worse, sliding off the road.
It was a very long five-hour ride: Chad's feet went numb and I felt like I’d been spanked with a two-by-four. But our one-time bad experience is a routine occurrence in Myanmar, where public buses and vans are almost always overflowing with people.
As we stretched our legs at a rest stop halfway down the mountain, I wondered how many of our fellow travelers made this trip monthly or even weekly. Did they dread being crammed willy-nilly into the vehicle, or do you get used to it after the100th time?
As we stretched our legs at a rest stop halfway down the mountain, I wondered how many of our fellow travelers made this trip monthly or even weekly. Did they dread being crammed willy-nilly into the vehicle, or do you get used to it after the100th time?
Thursday, July 22, 2010
A night at the monastery
Pardon the long outage; we've been roaming around inner Flores, Indonesia, where the internet connections are too slow to upload photos. So, back to the hike from Hsipaw to Namhsan ...
On days two and three, we learned how lucky we'd been on day one. It started raining the morning the second day, and it really didn't stop for the rest of the hike.
Mist clung to the mountains until midday.
Motorbikes put chains on their tires to navigate the treacherous muddy sloughs.
When we arrived for our second overnight, our guide discovered the friend he planned to stay with had gone to Mandalay for business. We would have to bunk down at the local monastery instead. Our guide was rather downcast, since he wouldn't be able to drink, but Chad and I were delighted.
We were shown into the large central room at the monastery. Other than a wooden cabinet for plates and silverware, and some sleeping mats and blankets in one corner, there was no furniture. In the now-familiar Burmese style, there was a fire in the floor at one end of the room. Monks, nuns and travelers drifted in and out, plunking down by the coals to chat, drink tea and get warm. The high mountain location and the constant rain made the air quite chilly.
The monastery cat liked to lounge around by the fire looking outrageously comfortable. As the coals burned down she moved in closer and closer until she was in danger of singeing her fur.
The nuns spread the dinner dishes out on mats on the floor. It was marvelous food: in the front of the photo you can see some shredded local squash, with a simple tofu and herb soup, some wedges of omelet, and a bowl of greens behind. The tastiest dish looked like mashed hard-boiled egg yolks, with a vinegary-sharp taste and a rich, velvety texture. It turned out to be the liquid and bits of solids leftover from the tofu-making process, fermented and spiced with a bit of chili, onion and garlic.
Chad and our guide departed for the men's building, where they watched some World Cup before retiring. I slept on a mat in the big room next to the elderly Mother Superior; we went right to bed at 8:30.
On days two and three, we learned how lucky we'd been on day one. It started raining the morning the second day, and it really didn't stop for the rest of the hike.
Mist clung to the mountains until midday.
Motorbikes put chains on their tires to navigate the treacherous muddy sloughs.
When we arrived for our second overnight, our guide discovered the friend he planned to stay with had gone to Mandalay for business. We would have to bunk down at the local monastery instead. Our guide was rather downcast, since he wouldn't be able to drink, but Chad and I were delighted.
We were shown into the large central room at the monastery. Other than a wooden cabinet for plates and silverware, and some sleeping mats and blankets in one corner, there was no furniture. In the now-familiar Burmese style, there was a fire in the floor at one end of the room. Monks, nuns and travelers drifted in and out, plunking down by the coals to chat, drink tea and get warm. The high mountain location and the constant rain made the air quite chilly.
The monastery cat liked to lounge around by the fire looking outrageously comfortable. As the coals burned down she moved in closer and closer until she was in danger of singeing her fur.
The nuns spread the dinner dishes out on mats on the floor. It was marvelous food: in the front of the photo you can see some shredded local squash, with a simple tofu and herb soup, some wedges of omelet, and a bowl of greens behind. The tastiest dish looked like mashed hard-boiled egg yolks, with a vinegary-sharp taste and a rich, velvety texture. It turned out to be the liquid and bits of solids leftover from the tofu-making process, fermented and spiced with a bit of chili, onion and garlic.
Chad and our guide departed for the men's building, where they watched some World Cup before retiring. I slept on a mat in the big room next to the elderly Mother Superior; we went right to bed at 8:30.
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