US, US, baby

Guess what has two thumbs and is flying back to the US on May 12.

This girl.

Getting from Shillong to Agartala last week was quite an adventure, to say the least. Instead of giving you a full-on narrative, I thought I’d just compare my trip there to what a typical journey of equivalent distance would be in the U.S. for me…

India vs. USA

Approximate Distance:
500 kilometres vs. 310 miles

Mode of Transportation:
bus vs. plane or car/truck

Estimated Travel Time:
20-24 hours vs. 5 hours 10 minutes

Actual Travel Time:
43 hours vs. 5 hours

Escorts:
have to travel in a convoy through a high-insurgency area vs. only following the men with guns if you’ve been speeding

Finding a Place to Stay:
kicked out of first guesthouse because the state minister is coming and needs to sleep there vs. checking into a Marriott, Hilton, or Best Western

Finding a Place to Stay, part II:
go to the “party” building to ask the Communist Party of India (Marxist) — the ruling party of the state — if we can still sleep at the guesthouse…told “no” but they help find another room vs. um, communists in the US?

Road Food:
rice and vegetables eaten with the hands vs. drive-through food from Taco Bell (eaten with the hands, too)

Bathroom Break:
bamboo outhouse with a dirt-floor squat toilet vs. not needed for a 310-mile journey (but always have McDonald’s in an emergency)

Roadside Souvenirs:
USA handkerchiefs vs. “Someone Who Loves Me Went to X, and All I Got Was This Stupid T-Shirt” shirts

Growing up in the US, we kids always knew when a random holiday or declared observation day was: Grandparents’ Day meant a one-day project in art class, Earth Day meant a tree wrapped in paper towels to plant back home, and World AIDS Day meant a red ribbon given in home room.

But as an adult, we really know nothing (or is it just me?). However, now in India and volunteering with an NGO and now with a weekly article on development in the state newspaper, I’m knowing lots more of those days.

Saturday was World AIDS Day. The NGOs (Impulse included) organized a bike rally to raise awareness. Because, you know, nothing says learn about AIDS like a bunch of dudes riding their motorcycles. But sarcasm aside, it seemed to bring quite a few people out to the streets to see what all the ruckus was. And lots of people got information on HIV/AIDS.

Watching the bikers, though, I felt a bit like I was in America…except for the fact there were no Harleys. Lots of American brand clothing and helmets (that I’m pretty sure were “purchased” through a point program of Marlboro cigarettes).

Thought you might enjoy the pics, though…

I don’t know if you can see the Nike logo on the gold hoodie or the Marlboro logo on the helmet…but they’re there!
Oh, and random note, you wouldn’t see this in the nearby state…two men riding on a bike together is illegal…can you guess why?

The first time I flew Malaysia Airlines it was a pretty big deal.

Up to that point in my wee little life, I’d only made one other set of flights, and that had been a short hop to Dallas the summer before (I don’t count the whole baby-to-be-adopted-and-flying-from-Korea flight as I don’t remember it at all). So, this was definitely my first long-haul trip. In fact, up until I took that westward-flying jet, the furthest west I’d been was The Little Apple AKA Manhattan, kansas AKA The Armpit of America (or at least it smells that way). Needless to say, everything about the flight was impressive. (Movies? Cool! Food every few hours? No way! A Nintendo-like controller for video games? Super!) But by far the most impressive thing for me was that I’d been given a choice of either taking a four-hour layover in KL en route to Perth or a whole-day layover, in which case they’d provide me with a four-star hotel room. As you might recall, I chose the latter. (And loved my free room so much that I overslept the 4 p.m. checkout)

Nearly seven years later, I’ve done a bit more traveling in my life, racked up some frequent flier miles, and gotten a few more stamps in the passport. Am I still as impressed by Malaysia? Well, this time, the airline didn’t offer me seven free nights of hotel stays for my chosen layover, but the airline with its (I now realize) horribly small amount of legroom, still found a way to impress me. When my flight was delayed an hour and a half, unlike most airlines that just send you on your bored little way, they gave me a free meal at an airport eatery of my choice, which happened to be sbarro. Yummy, yum, yum in my tummy, tum, tum.

So, yeah, I’d say I’m still easily impressed. (And loved my free food so much that afterward I napped and nearly overslept my flight…woke up to last call)

I love that on the Great Ocean Road, a major tourist attraction and easily self-driven, there are signs everywhere that say “Drive on left in Australia.” It reminded me of being in Sydney where most curbs are painted with white lettering telling pedestrians which way to look before starting to cross.

Sure, these helpful bits are functional, and I can just imagine an all-too righteous American tourist exclaiming to the cops when they’ve come to write up an accident report, “But nobody told me that you all drive on the left here! Why should I have to be responsible for the accident?” But I hope the driver who has made it this far on a trip knows which side to drive on…that’s why I originally took the photo in the first place…a little more Jayna snark.

But then I realized that well, I probably could have used a few little other reminders myself when driving here. Specifically:
1. The driver’s side is on the other side of the car. (posted on the front passenger side window…or even above the glove box, if you’ve gotten in and stared at the dash wondering what’s missing)
2. The turn signal is on the right. No, your other right. That’s the windshield wipers. (posted on the windshield)

I think I’ll suggest those postings to the rental car company. Yep. They definitely need to add those to all cars from now on.

Away from the US, I’ve realized I really rely on my instincts to guide so many of my choices. In the end, I often shy away from things that are seemingly normal to others, or I’ll accept or do things that most people would never do. And in a foreign place where I don’t speak the language, sometimes my instincts are all I’ve got. In the end, I trust my instincts more than just about anything else. (And well, you know, I did once have a psychic tell me I had my own psychic abilities…)

Really, though. That’s why two days ago I peaced out on my room in Kanchanaburi before my reservation ran out, the first time I’ve done that on this trip. Something about my inability to fall asleep there that first night gave me the heebie-jeebies!

It’s also why I didn’t freak out at the Tiger Temple yesterday when a tiger cub pulled me down and started knawing away at my skin. Yeah, it hurt when he sunk his teeth into the back of my neck, but I knew he was just playing and not going for blood (the worried look on my face was due to the fact that I’d recently had my Missouri Football t-shirt go MIA…in Vietnam, nonetheless…and was afraid he’d bite a hole in this shirt, causing me to be down two good ones…).

And it’s why on my way to catch the bus back into Kanchanaburi, I accepted a ride with a group of Thai construction workers to the bus station. And why, when they looped back through on their way to Kanchanaburi 20 minutes later, I hopped back into the cab of their truck. The five men and one woman spoke little English, but something about them made me immediately aware I could trust them.

But as I got out and waved good-bye, I about died laughing. The four guys in the truck bed had slipped navy blue knit ski masks over their heads to protect their lungs from cars’ exhausts. Mmm…I have a feeling if they’d had those on before they picked me up, I may have doubted my instincts that riding with them would be OK…

1. Sweet Potato Pie and I…

Whoops! Wrong South!

But even though there’s no Mason-Dixon line here, there is the Ben Hai River that separated the North and South back in the day. And like you’ve known you’ve crossed into the previously separated South in the US, you definitely know you’ve crossed into the old South here, as well. How?

1. There’s a bit of Southern hospitality. At first, you’ll probably think it is just the whole being an American in Hanoi thing…but no, people just get friendlier the further South you go. Two Austrian students on today’s train confirmed it’s not just your imagination. They are nicer the closer to the equator you are here.

2. There are definitely more churches and temples.

3. Shopkeepers talk about their family in the US when you tell them where you’re from.

4. Other shopkeepers talk about how great the American doctors are who have come here to volunteer and help the locals.

5. You can visit a friend’s grandma’s house, a house that was renovated by your friend’s mom’s American GI fiancee back in the day.

6. You see “U.S.Army” stickers not just stuck up amongst other stickers representing forces here in the war but as the lone stickers (save one of the 101 Dalmatians dogs) in tourist vehicles.

7. Old Jeeps used as shuttles have been repainted with USMC to remind riders of where they came from.

I went to the Ho Chi Minh Museum before I left Hanoi. One of the exhibits there used “documents and artistic images” to explain how the world was during the Industrial Revolution. “These changes had a great impact on Ho Chi Minh’s thinking in his quest for national liberation,” explained the sign at the beginning of the exhibit.

What kinds of items represented the Industrial Revolution? A $34.95 buggy from Sears, Roebuck & Co., of course.

My newest travel rule:
The night before any journey, I must:
1) eat at a previously enjoyed restaurant OR
2) feel super-secure in the well-cookedness of my food (yeah, I think I just made up well-cookedness)

What brings on newest said rule? Well, the night before my flight from Luang Prabang, I was excited to find a restaurant serving Lao food. You’d think finding the local food wouldn’t be that exciting, but as every restaurant in Luang Prabang serves mainly western, Thai, or Indian food, seeing the small Lao menu was pretty exciting.

So I ordered up the one veggie dish on the menu. The green beans and rice came out at exactly the same time as a young girl approached me. She was hawking bracelets and dolls, and this was the second time during this sitting that she’d been in trying to sell her wares. Attempting as best as I could to humor her, I finally dug into the meal when she left. The beans were lukewarm and the rice room temperature. Hit by pangs of worry of eating food that hadn’t been properly cooked or that had been sitting out in the open for way too long, I dismissed my worries and convinced myself the rice wasn’t piping hot because the little pre-teen had talked for way too long.

Sadly, though, my stomach didn’t believe such convincing the next morning. Hours before my flight, I was curled up like a baby nursing a knot the size of Georgia in my stomach. Yuck. Not how you want to be feeling before hopping on a plane.

Finally I am in Laos. Getting here was quite the adventure but actually pretty fun because I got to meet loads of people. Saturday spent five hours on a bus. And Sunday and Monday about 8 hours each day on a “slow boat” putting along the Mekong River. Interestingly, though, on the over-crowded boat, I didn’t meet one American. There were at least 10 Canadians out of the about 100 people on board, yet not one Yank.