Rock Cut

Though often referred to as caves, the monuments of Ajanta and Ellora are manmade structures. Comprised of numerous monasteries, shrines, temples, and living quarters, each of these sites provides visitors with a unique glimpse into the extreme lengths to which man will go in the name of religion.

Ajanta’s structures, carved into a cliff wall encircling the U-bend in the Waghur River, are the oldest of India’s famous rock-cut caves. Dating from as early as 200 BCE, the site’s various enclaves are entirely Buddhist. Filled with stone carved scenes depicting the life and teachings of the Buddha, Ajanta served as a monastery for Buddhist monks for up to 800 years.

The staying power of Ajanta’s hand-carved statues and monasteries is not nearly as impressive as the fact that a handful of its numerous frescoes are fairly intact. It is absolutely amazing to see remnants of frescoes, which disintegrate in chunks of falling plaster, survive over 2,000 years of history.

Sometime during the 5th-7th centuries the style of rock cut cave monasteries began to be replicated some 100 kilometers away in Ellora, leading to the abandonment of the Ajanta Buddhist settlement.

The various structures at Ellora display primarily Hindu, but also Jain and Buddhist temples and monasteries. Historians believe that the coexistence of temples from all three religions in one single site demonstrates a unique time period of religious tolerance in Indian history.

Directly at the entrance to Ellora sits its main attraction. Marking  the height of the development of India’s rock cut temple architecture, the Kailasa Temple is the crown jewel of Ellora’s complex. Built over the course of multiple generations, carved from a single rock from the top down, Kailasa demonstrates an incredible ability to plan and execute a design.

Looking at the tool marks visible on the floors, walls, and ceilings of Ellora and Ajanta, it is nearly incomprehensible that human hands carved such buildings directly from the earth. Elaborate, beautiful, and impressive, the caves of Ellora and Ajanta are impeccable examples of the feats and determination of man. 

Jains: A Peaceful Bunch

Some of the holiest sites in India sit way off the well-worn path. Ranakpur, about three hours from the tourist center of Udaipur, is on the list of secluded locations.

Dedicated to Adinath, the first enlightened human according to Jain teachings, Ranakpur’s temple is one of the most sacred Jain sites in India. It is also among the more beautiful and intricately carved temples we encountered.

Constructed during the 15th century, the temple is widely considered to be one of the most spectacular Jain structures on earth. Inside one finds over 1,440 pillars, each of which is unique (including one pillar at an odd angle, which supposedly serves as a reminder of the futile nature of striving for perfection). The pillars, walls, statues, and ceilings are carved in such elegant detail that one scarcely knows where to look.

When they aren’t building lavish and incredible temples, the Jains tend to be a peaceful bunch. Not a particularly well-known religion, Jainism closely resembles the Western conception of Buddhism.

The primary path of Jainism is strict adherence to the practice of ahimsa, or nonviolence. Not only does this include a vegetarian diet, but often also excludes onions, garlic, and other root vegetables, as living organisms may be harmed when the vegetables are pulled from the ground. In order to avoid inadvertently harming even the tiniest of insects many strict Jains sweep the ground ahead of them as they walk, rarely go out at night, and even go naked lest bugs get trapped in their clothing.

In addition to ahimsa, vows taken by Jains include satya (non-lying), asteya (non-stealing), bramachariya (celibacy), and aparigraha (non-attachment). Monks practice these vows in the strictest sense, while the common man is expected to adhere to them as much as is practical.

With 4.2 million followers Jainism is among the smallest of the major world religions, but they sure do know how to make some beautiful temples. Where spirituality and architecture meet, there one finds some of humanity’s most amazing structures.

The Sacred in the Profane

India assails the senses. It honks and shouts. It offers and begs. It is the drifting smoke of incense and the heavy stench of garbage. It silently whispers prayers. It calls out to you in the street.  It is stubborn cows stomping into traffic and skinny dogs catching naps in puddles of shade. It is color draped and wrapped, over shoulders and heads.

It is in this barrage that even the holy must exist, especially in one of their holiest cities, Varanasi. And in this world, religion has pushed and prodded into every available space.

On India’s holy Ganges River, which plies the banks of Varanasi’s step-like ghats, sacred and humdrum intertwine their fingers and greet each day.

Pilgrims bathe in the revered waters alongside people simply lathering up and bathing. Hindu ceremonies take place alongside rollerskating and cricket matches. Prayers are said, children swim, people squat and piss. Hundreds of blessings are asked of hundreds of gods.

Chai is drunk, beggers beg, hawkers peddle their goods, and the Ganges stretches her arms in preparation for another day in Varanasi. 

Golden Triangle

Historically known for its rampant growing of opium, these days the Golden Triangle is primarily a massive tourist attraction. Located at the intersection of the Mekong and Ruak Rivers, the Golden Triangle itself provides little other than the view of Myanmar (left in above photo) and Laos (right), endless options to pay for kitschy souvenirs or river boat rides, and an odd assortment of statues that range from a giant Buddha on a ship and elaborate shrines to massive elephant statues and dozens of signs and maps indicating that you are, in fact, at the Golden Triangle.

However odd the glittery bauble of Golden Triangle Park may be, its original intent was to educate. As part of the late Princess Mother’s efforts to empower the impoverished hill tribe regions and to end the hold of opium in Thailand, the Golden Triangle Park was encouraged to blossom into a huge tourist attraction. The hope was to turn curious tourists into drug opponents.

In this same vein, the Royal Doi Tung Foundation established the Hall of Opium. Costing $10 million and taking 10 years of research and planning, the museum first opened its doors in 2005. From ancient uses, through the East India Company, to the Opium Wars, and straight on up through present day, the multimedia experience outlines opium use and production throughout 4,000 years of history, as well as documenting the tragedy of drug addiction, its societal implications, and modern attempts to battle illegal drugs.

Though a bit campy at times, the museum attempts to look honestly at the history of opium production, including the drug’s history in Thailand. Impressively enough, this includes a timeline of things within Thai history like the establishment of opium taxation, legal/licensed opium production, and a breakdown of how much government revenue came from opium (quite a bit), even during times of concerted worldwide efforts to end the opium trade.

Though still burdened by its past as part of the infamous Golden Triangle, Thailand has demonstrated enormous progress in ridding itself of the influence of opium. Thailand’s crop replacement programs, spearheaded by the Doi Tung Foundation and the Royal Project, have been particularly successful. Fields that once grew poppies, now yield tea, coffee, and macadamia nuts. Farmers who may have once been drawn to the income of opium have been taught to cultivate cash crops like decorative flowers, lettuce, apples, peaches, and herbs.

Obviously, Thailand’s production isn’t at complete zero and many opium farmers may have simply moved farther afield, pushed into Myanmar and Laos, historically much more active members of the Golden Triangle opium trade. The Golden Triangle countries may have given way in global opium production to Afghanistan, Mexico, and Colombia, but production within SE Asia is still a major concern. So, while the education about the opium trade may be less relevant within the borders of Thailand (though by no means irrelevant), the gaudy, tacky, tourist trap that is Golden Triangle Park holds merit in its attempts to educate.

*To give credit where credit is due, all photos from inside museum are borrowed, as they do not allow photography inside the Hall of Opium. 

Seoul Searching

Having spent a year and a half in Southeast Asian countries, a week in Seoul was something of a shock to the senses. Accustomed to hot, humid weather, a laidback pace of life, and dirt-cheap everything, we suddenly found ourselves thrust into the middle of a surprisingly Western city, complete with winter temperatures, urban sprawl, and smog. Luckily, we were visiting my college roommate, Mr. Peter West, so we had our own built in tour guide, making it much easier to adjust to such Western living (and someone with female friends who could loan me warm clothes and shoes, without which I may have frozen to death).

While tagging along with Peter, I learned a handful of interesting things about South Korean food, culture and lifestyle. 

In a world without scooters, tuk-tuks, or motorbike taxis, having an efficient transportation system is invaluable. Getting all around Seoul, and to the surrounding cities, was incredibly simple given a massive web of subway lines and bus routes. Thanks to easy transport, we were able to spend time roaming through palaces, perusing modern malls, walking Korean street markets, meandering streets lined with tea shops and traditional houses, and sampling Korean and Western foods. 

Scissors are vastly underrated in the West. In Korean restaurants, scissors are a widely used utensil. Used to snip off noodles served from a common dish, scissors prevent that sloppy snap that flings sauce everywhere. At Korean BBQ (or "Meat Restaurants" as they are locally known), scissors are also used instead of a fork and steak knife. Both solutions are so simple, but I wouldn't have thought of them on my own. 

Soju is the devil. Alcohol made from sweet potatoes, plus a dash of evil, soju is a dangerous drink. It might not taste very strong, but when ingested soju can cause incredible intoxication, as well as spontaneous attacks of boisterous laughter and random fits of karaoke. It is also known to cause the worst hangover ever. 

Southeast Asia might be less "developed" than South Korea, but I vastly prefer their ideas on what constitutes an appropriate workload. The Koreans spend the majority of their time working or studying, sometimes into the wee hours of the night. There's something much nicer about living in a culture that values free time, a lack of stress, and an afternoon nap. 

Traditional architecture interwoven among highrise apartment buildings, Seoul is the combination of ancient Asian culture and modern Western influence, with a dash of poorly structured English and brightly colored cartoon characters. Seoul was the perfect layover between Southeast Asia and America.

Sak Yant

Yantric tattoos, also known as Sak Yants, have long been part of Southeast Asian tradition. The tattoos are applied using either a sharpened bamboo stick or a metal rod (thank you, modernization). Performed by a Buddhist monk, the tattoos are believed to bestow blessings, fortune, and good luck on the recipient.

At Wat Bang Pra, Thailand’s most famous Sak Yant Temple, there are two ways to get the tattoos. Downstairs: two monks sit at the front of the room giving tattoos in exchange for donations of flowers and cigarettes, as the room slowly fills with people waiting. The tattoo an individual receives is up to the monk. Upstairs: the tattoos, chosen by the recipient, are given by the “master” in a cleaner, air conditioned room in exchange for a higher donation (500 to 1,000 baht). Personally, spending around $20 for options and better conditions makes sense when it comes to getting a tattoo.

Our first attempt to get temple tattoos, for my birthday last year, was less than successful. Taking the local bus got us to the temple around lunch time, so we arrived to a room full of waiting Thais. We also showed up on a day when the upstairs area was closed. On our second trip to Wat Bang Pra, we arrived in the morning and the upstairs area was open.

I have other tattoos, including one that goes from my shoulder, down my ribcage to my hip, and I don’t think that getting them done is a particularly painful experience. Sak Yants are a different story altogether. I don’t know if I have ever felt such pain in my life. I have an incredibly high pain threshold, but this was something else entirely.

Any imagery is tattooed by a layman outside of the air conditioned room. Between the heat, having not had breakfast, and the pain (probably mostly due to the pain), I fainted about halfway through my tattoo. Based on their calm, collected reaction, I am guessing I wasn’t the first.

The script is then applied by the Buddhist monk. Since monks aren’t allowed to touch women, he wore latex gloves while finishing my tattoo. The image, in my case a lotus, is surrounded by Khmer-Thai hybrid blessings made up of phonetic abbreviations of Pali, the language of the original Theravada Buddhist texts.

Win, who tolerated the pain much better than I did, got a beautiful Ganesha image on his back. Once both our tattoos were complete, which included the monk rubbing the area with oil and blessing the tattoo, we presented our donation alongside flowers, cigarettes, and incense to the monk and were on our way.

If I had it to do over again, I would. It was an incredible, spiritual experience, despite (or maybe because of) the pain. But, I think I would probably eat breakfast beforehand. 

Happy 750th Birthday, Chiang Rai

Last week marked Chiang Rai’s 750th anniversary. Founded in 1262 by King Mangrai, the city was essentially the first capital of what was to become Siam and eventually Thailand. Chiang Rai, meaning the city belonging to King Mangrai, was captured by the Burmese some time later, sending the King fleeing south, where he founded Chiang Mai as his capital instead. 

King Mangrai Memorial, Chiang Rai

Despite its short reign as the Siamese capital, the people of Chiang Rai are incredibly proud of their historical and cultural heritage. So, it stands to reason that the 750-year anniversary would be a huge production.

In preparation for the celebration, all the schools in town were closed Thursday and their parking lots commandeered by the city. As the capital city of the Chiang Rai province, the expected turnout was pretty huge.

Chiang Rai remains the center of Thailand’s Lanna culture, which has its own traditional dress, food and customs. (Fridays at school are ‘Lanna Day’ during which time teachers wear traditional garb – women in straight, ankle-length, wrap skirts and collared, wrap-closure shirts, and men in shirts of rough fabric with knot-and-loop closures instead of buttons. Men traditionally also get to wear pajama-style pants, just not to school.)

There is also a vast hilltribe population in the province, each tribe speaking its own language, donning unique clothing, and practicing its own customs. All in all, northern Thailand is soaked in a heritage all its own.

The celebration brought each of these elements together. At all the temples around town, shows and displays boasted Chiang Rai’s history. And the Saturday walking street was opened on Thursday evening; a stationary parade-of-sorts demonstrated the various costumes, dance, and music up and down the center of the street. And on the sidelines, hilltribe handicrafts were sold while the tribe children sported various jingling, colorful dress.

Despite being less popular than its predecessor Chiang Mai (literally, ‘new city’), Chiang Rai has a rich cultural and historical background. It was a spectacular celebration to be present for, despite the fact that we managed to only catch the aftermath, not the performances. 

Rewind: Christmas in Laos

Christmas 2010, Win and I were given an incredible, unexpected gift: a week off from teaching, contingent on our doing a “visa run” to Laos. Your typical visa run involves going to a Thai consulate in another country with a massive envelope of paperwork (Laos, apparently on best consular terms with Thailand, is the country of choice among teachers), waiting x number of days, and going back to Thailand with a Non-Immigrant B visa in-hand. However, having decided to get yearlong multiple entry visas, our visa run was a cake walk: leave Thailand, see another country, come back to Thailand and get a new 3-month entry stamp. So to Laos we went.

Twelve hours on a train, an hour waiting around at the border crossing, and a single sign telling drivers to start driving on the right, and we were in Laos. Flat, dry, and rundown, Laos’ capital city of Vientiane made for a lackluster first impression. Buildings, storefronts, even the stray cats, everything was sparse, dismal.

Aside from the presence of a bowling alley and the city signage having French flair – a trait that carried over to street, restaurant, and hotel names – Vientiane was very much like a small Thai city. The manner and language were similar; the architecture and tuk-tuk drivers much the same; there were the same orange-robed monks, the same women hiding from the sun beneath umbrellas, the same stray dogs rummaging through garbage. We navigated the city on foot, walked its streets, saw its museums. We ate its food, drank its beer, and spent its devalued kip (worth so little, I was withdrawing a million kip from ATMs the whole time, which was bizarrely satisfying in its own right).

After a day and a half, in what would turn out to be a moment of poorly executed planning, we boarded a bus to head into the heart of northern Laos.

Having been told that there wasn’t a bus leaving for Luang Prabang until evening, we were surprised when the ticket seller told us a bus would be leaving at 4 pm. As we stowed our backpacks and climbed aboard, it seemed a positive turn of events, catching a bus right as we arrived at the station. As the passengers were finding seats, the driver and some helpful hands started filling the aisle with packages, copious amounts of luggage, bags of rice, and all manner of freight, including three pieces of PVC piping, a foot in diameter and at least 12-feet long. In order to reach our seats, we now had to clamber and balance our way over piping, walking along armrests at times.

And so we set out, luggage shifting precariously in the aisle, Lao karaoke blaring and crackling from the speakers. Up and around steep, jutting hills, through luscious jungle foliage, encroaching thick and dark along the roadside, pushing its way toward the bus windows. As mid-afternoon gave way to evening, we passed through meager villages, clusters of single-room homes, many without furniture or front doors. The countryside wore its poverty openly. Bonfires served as stoves, simple elevated bamboo platforms as beds, possessions were few. Late into the night, long after the small village clusters went to sleep, the bus lumbered jerkily along half-finished roads, karaoke still blaring.

After twelve cramped hours, we arrived in Luang Prabang at 4 am. The whole town, all guesthouses and hotels, was sound asleep. We tried knocking on doors, calling phones, checking to see if anything was unlocked, all to no avail. So, we sat down somewhere well-lit to read and nap and waited for Luang Prabang to rub the sleep from its eyes.

Ill-timed though it may have been, our 4 am arrival had two unexpected benefits. First, as the sun started to peek over the mountains and the town stirred to life, we got to start our day off with fresh fruit-filled crepes, a treat one would be hard-pressed to find in Thailand. Also, we got to witness Luang Prabang’s famed procession of monks, numbering into the hundreds, lining the streets every morning bowl-in-hand, going from storefront to doorway, collecting alms, something many tourists wake early to see.

After schlepping around and scoffing at prices (“Only 40 US dollars a night”), we finally found a place to bed down for several days. It was a dank little hole of a room next to the guesthouse kitchen, but it was affordable. Luckily, as we discovered after napping well into the day, Luang Prabang was a lovely town, giving us little reason to spend excess time in our room.

Nestled between the Mekong and Nam Khan Rivers, The Unesco World Heritage city of Luang Prabang sits high above the flowing waters on its hilltop peninsula. It was my first tryst with a World Heritage City, a first fling that would, unbeknownst to me at the time, turn into a travel love affair.

Roaming around town, the architecture is awash in French colonial remnants; beautiful balconies, wooden shuttered windows, massive homes mixed in with smaller, more Southeast Asian structures. Cafes, baguettes, creperies, Luang Prabang embraced its heritage as part of the French colony Indochine, using it as a tourist selling point surely, but also full of genuine relics of its past.

French remains Laos’ dominant second language (though it is being steadily overtaken by English), and to hear the Laos (plural of Lao, referring to the people of Laos) speak French was a surreal experience. There was none of the harsh, nasally, pretentious quality that you get when listening to French or other Europeans speak; instead, the words were tranquil, a calm, steady flow, all rounded edges and curved letters. It was delightful to listen to, as if the Laos spoke French as it was intended, a beautiful, delicate language.

Mixed in with its French heritage, an abundance of Buddhist temples stood their ground, solidly announcing Luang Prabang’s Buddhism. Although, with the highest number of Buddhist monks per capita (a statistic I might be making up, but there were certainly an impressive number of monks), the predominance of Buddhism in the area announces itself. Everywhere we walked, groupings of orange-robed monks, from small male children to wrinkled elderly men, meandered along the streets. In all of Thailand, never had I seen so many monks, especially child monks, all in one place.

Despite the attempts around town to appear more festive, garland and lights and trees appearing in large numbers, it wasn’t a particularly Christmasy Christmas. And, with near-tropical temperatures, it certainly wasn’t a white Christmas (although I don’t know that Southeast Asians would know what to do with themselves if it ever did snow).

In fact, we spent Christmas Day flying back to Bangkok through Luang Prabang’s ‘International Airport’ (a building so small it resembled a bus station more than an airport). The flight was my Christmas present to us, a way of avoiding 24 hours on buses and trains. Buying airline tickets also gave us time enough to spend three days soaking in Luang Prabang: enjoying its dichotomous culture, eating French, Lao, and French-Lao food (I even ate some buffalo), and most of all, just relaxing, reading, and relaxing some more.