Desert Giant

Jodhpur’s afternoons swelter. It’s a heat that sneaks up behind you, wrapping a heavy, sweaty arm around your ribcage, covering your mouth and nose with its clumsy, chloroform hands. Moments in the grip of such heat leaves beer boiling, soda scalding. It is a heat that immobilizes, penetrates, permeates. It hangs itself around your shoulders, a winding shawl, demanding you pay it homage. Gallons of sweat, liters of water.

Rajasthan, India’s desert state, is a land of camels and turbans. It is dry and dusty, yet full of mystery and magic. Johdpur’s fort is no exception. Full of exotic twists and curls, flourishes and artifacts, the fort transports visitors to another era. It’s a time of Maharajas and camel caravans.

The fort is a massive behemoth. Rising out of rock and desert, strong and impenetrable, it looms over the cubic crumble and tangle of streets that makes up this blue city. And the giant, its courtyards and winding staircases full of history, sleeps over the blue city. Its nap drips shadow pools where people and dogs while away the blistering desert afternoons.

Canine Delights

Southeast Asia is chockfull of stray dogs. Apparently, especially in Buddhist countries, homeless animals aren’t given the poor treatment or apathy that they receive in the Western world. They are more like public pets; well-fed, oftentimes given collars and a place to sleep, stray animals do quite well in this part of the world. Among all the stray dogs and the care they are given, two phenomena strike me as absolutely delightful.

A bizarre canine trend has been popping up with increased frequency in Northern Thailand; as the weather has been getting colder, we have seen a distinct rise in the number of dogs wearing clothing. I don’t mean Chihuahuas and Pomeranians, on which accessories are common, but rather on your average, run of the mill stray mutts. Dog-specific clothes, sometimes, but also human hand-me-downs, sweater vests, old t-shirts and the like. People are going around and dressing these dogs in random articles of clothing. Just trotting down the street, happy and warm, stray dogs in human clothing.

My number one, favorite phenomenon among dogs in Southeast Asia: I love little dogs with massive heads. To be more accurate, their heads are the size of an average dog head, but atop a squat little body with extra short legs. The result is pure hilarity. Just looking at them, I feel joy so pronounced it typically spills out as a giggle fit. These dogs, a minority in Thailand, made up the majority of stray dogs in Central Vietnam. I am not a dog person by any means, but if ever I happen to own a dog, it will have to have this unique body shape.

Bangkok Retrospective

So here we are, one year after our arrival in Bangkok, back in the same airport, waiting to fly to Sri Lanka. It has been a very long year, full of airports, trains, buses and tuk-tuks. We have lived in two parts of Thailand, taught a combined 3,000 students, and traveled to seven other countries. Considering the Rachel I was on our first weekend in Thailand, I have to say I am proud of how far I’ve come.

To say I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. First arriving in Bangkok, the heat and humidity was stifling, my hair, skin and lungs tested as soon as we left the airport doors swished open, dumping us into Bangkok. Win, having lived in India for a year and traveled to Thailand before, knew what to expect. Although, his go-to Indian-accented English and desire to argue over every price were the extreme counterpoint to my helpless befuddlement.

The sheer number of people was mind-boggling. The traffic was congested, intermixed with neon cabs, driving on the left side of the road, and bobbing, weaving and swerving, rules of the road ignored. The streets, jammed full of people and various stands, most often reeked of garbage. And I was under constant attack, my stomach by the food and water, my legs and arms by an endless army of mosquitoes. It took a while for me to settle in, and even longer for my body to adjust.

Today, I am far better at traveling in a number of ways. I trust that a cab might take the roundabout way, but they will probably get us where we are going (and if not, we aren’t really obligated to pay). I am alright playing the occasional game of menu roulette, just pointing at a menu item and hoping for the best, all the while knowing I am bound to eat frog one of these days. Haggling over prices is a sort of game, not a source of stress. And I am slowly adapting my Western mentalities to the Thai ‘sabai-sabai’ attitude. I still have a way to go before becoming Thai-style laid back, but my immune system has stepped it up a notch, and my outlook isn’t far behind. 

Prettydressoholic

I’m not very girly. I barely wear any makeup. I only own a smattering of jewelry.  I don’t drool over purses or shoes. I hardly ever manage to do more with my hair than letting it air-dry. But, I love wearing pretty dresses.

I love the light, feminine feel of a dress. I adore how wearing something nice can make ordinary days feel like some sort of occasion. In tropical heat, a dress is an elegant, airy solution to temperature control (read: sweat prevention). Pants are stifling; shorts are uncomfortable and not very attractive; skirts I wear to school five days a week. I, quite simply, would be happy only wearing dresses.

Since coming to Southeast Asia, my dress wardrobe has expanded over and over again. Patterns, colors, and cut vary, but not my clothing choices. It’s all dresses for me. I can admit when I have a problem. And I do not, thanks to the baht and Thai cost of living. A dress here, reasonable and purchased at a street market or from a small local shop, runs me the equivalent of six to ten US dollars. Spending Thai baht makes an otherwise dangerously expensive shopping habit into something relatively manageable.

However, I recently spent an obscene amount on a dress. This dress, beckoning to me from its mannequin, had caught my attention every time we drove past a certain store front. It was like nothing I have seen in Thailand, in terms of both cut and material. Made from imported blue and pale silver-purple Nepalese silk, the two-sided wraparound dress can be worn six ways. I was in love. At 950 baht (just under thirty dollars), the price was five times higher than my normal dress purchases. But how often do you fall in love? So, I bought it, regret-free.

Lucky for me, that expense was a rarity in this country. I just have to stick to my regular 200 baht dresses for a bit to stay within a reasonable dress budget. That is, until next month when I will most likely go buy a vibrant yellow-orange dress from the same store. I just can’t help myself.

Oh, How Things Grow

One of the most delightful aspects of living in southeast Asia is the greenery. Although the word greenery is far too monochromatic to be apt. Flowering trees and tropical plants are everywhere. And moving to northern Thailand has only increased my delight. It even smells better up here.

Half of the trees are dotted with orange, white or pink, raining petals on pedestrians. Walking down the street, the scent of one flamboyant tropical flower after another ambushes your senses, light and ephemeral. 

Even when surrounded by city pavement, the Thais go out of their way to fill their lives with plants. Hanging, potted, and nurtured, they fill every bare space unreachable by nature alone.

And, in no way lacking for water, the plants are ruthless in their growth. Vines spiral and climb. Leaves reach out, soaking up life-giving sun. Water lilies awake to greet the sun. Banana leaves tower over fences, stretching their massive leafy limbs. Morning glories embroider themselves over heaps of garbage, a living camouflage.

In a tropical climate, variety and creativity have no bounds. Flowers bigger than my outstretched hand and as delicate as tissue paper abound. Magenta, yellow, and ruby as bright as if they were dyed, synthetic. Others, more solid, erupt in orange and scarlet, announcing their presence. The versatility, colors and complexities nature creates constantly amaze me.

A Chill in the Air

Northern Vietnam was cold. Arriving at night, people were bundled up in winter clothing, coats buttoned up to the throat, hats pulled down snug over ears. By our standards it was an overreaction, but all over Hanoi, on motorbikes and on sidewalks, seated on tiny plastic chairs, clothing was layered to fend off the chill. The sky was grey, ominous, the sun rare. It wasn’t bitter winter cold, more like fall crisp, but the change was dramatic. Even we put on jeans and long sleeves.

Whether it was the weather, or simply a regional disposition, the chill seemed to be in the personalities as well. The people were aggressive. Smiles seemed rare. A foggy trip to Halong Bay ended in a yelling match – tourists vs. tour guide, 18 to 1 – after he kept us waiting on a street corner for over an hour and then tried to leave some people behind. We hadn’t seen the sun in days; dealing with people was tiresome. We decided to cut our losses, make one more stop, and head the 800 km down the coast to central Vietnam.

Before leaving we stopped in Ninh Binh, more commonly known as ‘the Halong Bay of the rice fields’. It was yet another rainy day, preventing us from renting bikes (read: saving money) and biking around in comfort. But by the time we arrived at the tourist dock, the temperature was rising, leaving only a thick fog around in its wake. 

As we left the dock, a hush seemed to settle over the landscape, interrupted only by the steady sound of the oars. Immense limestone cliffs towered above us, layered over one another like construction paper cutouts. On either side of the waterway, villagers tended to their rice paddies, boats tied up nearby. We drifted leisurely down the river, through natural tunnels in the cliffs, past vendors and homes. 

It was a tiny, but much-needed, spoonful of tranquility in our stressed-out North Vietnam soup.