Category Archives: On the Road

Laos, On the Road

Phonsavanh Tour & Homeward Bound

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Our three-day bicycle trek ultimately dropped us in Xieng Khuang Province, which is generally known for two things: unexploded ordnance (UXO) and the Plain of Jars.

Here’s what the Lonely Planet guidebook says about UXO in Xieng Khuang:

Unexploded munitions, mortar shells, white phosphorus canisters (used to mark bomb targets), land mines and cluster bombs of French, Chinese, American, Russian and Vietnamese manufacture left behind by nearly 100 years of warfare have affected up to half of the population in terms of land deprivation and accidental injury or death. A preponderance of the reported UXO accidents that have occurred in Xieng Khuan happened during the first five years immediately following the end of the war, when many villagers returned to areas of the province they had evactuated years earlier. Today about 40% of the estimated 60 casualties per year are children, who continue to play with found UXO – especially the harmless-looking, ball-shaped ‘bomb light units’ (BLUs, or bombies) left behind by cluster bombs – in spite of warnings. Hunters also open or attempt to open UXO to extract gunpowder and steel pellets for their long-barrelled muskets – a risky ploy that has claimed many casualties. Several groups are working steadily to clear the province of UXO, including the Lao National UXO Programme (UXO Lao), financed by a UN trust fund that has significantly increased the availability of multilateral aid for this purpose.

I took these shots at a UXO visitors center.
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We had a few spare hours before our flight back to Vientiane on Tuesday, so we hired a couple vans to take us out to see the Plain of Jars. The 2,000-year-old stone jars are scattered across several areas on the outskirts of Phonsavanh and remain a mystery. Were they used for human burial? Wine fermentation? Rice storage? Nobody knows for sure.

The UXO has to be cleared before they can excavate the jars.
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Here’s a marker at one Plain of Jars site that shows the area has been cleared of UXO.
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Nina (from the UK), Nanny, me, Julie. Nanny and Julie are both from my mom’s neck of the woods in Philadelphia. Small world!
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Oops, my bad.
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After a quick lunch, we headed to the bustling Phonsavanh Airport and caught our flight home.
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Laos, On the Road

Team Dai 2010 – Day THREE – Are We There Yet?

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Day Three
Despite my muscles screaming in protest, I somehow mustered enthusiasm comparable to our first day’s adrenaline rush. Maybe it was the knowledge that it would all be over soon. Maybe it was the promise that the last 35 kilometers would be flat (which turned out to be a massive lie). Maybe it was the chocolate. For whatever reason, this was an awesome day.

The highlight was an extremely long downhill switchback (reported to be around 20+ kilometers/12+ miles) through lush forest and flowering trees. Few vehicles invaded my zen, but I did freak myself out when I looked down at my bike computer to realize I was zooming along at 53 kmh (32 mph) just before a sharp gravelly bend in the road. Reality check. Brakes. All was good.

The hills never really stopped, but we had a tailwind most of the time, and I felt re-energized every time I crested the top and sped back down.

We broke for lunch at the only restaurant around, but unfortunately it had closed. We sat on its shady deck overlooking a murky pond. More fruit. More chocolate. More granola bars. More motivation to get to the end of this day and eat a real meal. At the end of our break, I headed to the restroom, and when I emerged everyone was gone. I took up the rear with Wil, our wonderful coach and organizer, who always hung back to make sure we didn’t leave anyone behind. I rode hard to try to catch up, but I didn’t reach the team till the next rest stop. I wasn’t the only one who’d been ditched during bathroom breaks, so I didn’t take it personally. The end was in sight, and we were all very excited.

After another 15 kilometers, we regrouped to ride the last stretch together. The van led for a while, blasting “Eye of the Tiger” from the stereo. Finally, we arrived in Phonsavanh! Just a bit further, and we stopped at an ice cream shop (owned by a rider’s colleague’s family) for hugs of jubilation, as well as ice cream, French fries and beer.

After celebrating our success, it was painful to get back on the bike for the short ride to our hotel, particularly because our hotel – the lovely Auberge – was perched at the top of a HILL. As usual, I felt no shame walking my bike up the steep path, and I stepped, rather than rode, across the “finish line” with a wave and a whoop.

Thick with pine trees and overlooking the valley, the hotel’s property felt like an upscale campsite. After a decadently long shower, I joined the others for cocktails on the restaurant balcony. Later we enjoyed a three-course French-style dinner and laughed about the funny moments along our journey. All the new riders were given nicknames. Claiming that I always seemed to look clean and rarin’ to go, they dubbed me “Fresh.” What an illusion I pulled off!

Julie and Lieven raked in some donations on a dare: 20 minutes of riding with her in a Borat costume and him in his underpants. What troopers!
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Scenes from today’s ride.
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Peggy (who rode with us on a motorcycle) must have taken this shot when she stopped for gas. I love it!
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This couple from London was staying at our guesthouse in Phou Khoun. They’re riding all over Thailand, Laos and Vietnam WITHOUT support vehicles. Ugh!
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Almost there!
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Mmmmm … beer. And ice cream. And French fries.
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Stretching at the ice-cream shop.
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Our lovely cabin at the Auberge hotel.
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The view from our cabin.
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Our bikes were loaded and ready to head home in the morning.
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Cocktails on the deck, followed by fancy schmancy dinner! The pink flowers came from Maurice, a French rider, in honor of International Women’s Day. He gave them to us in the morning as we were lining up to leave Phou Khoun, and we ladies rode with them all day stuck on our helmets, bikes or jerseys.
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Laos, On the Road

Team Dai 2010 Ride – Day TWO – Hills of Hell

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Day Two
I had been dreading this day since I first heard of Team Dai. Riders from the two previous years told horror stories about the road between Vang Vieng and Phou Koun. “Oh sure, you don’t ride as many kilometers that day,” they’d say in hushed voices, “but it’s straight up the whole way. It’s hell. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

No lie.

Although we rode fewer than 100 kilometers (62 miles), we pedaled from an elevation of about 260 meters (850 feet) to an elevation of about 1,300 meters (4,265 feet). These hills didn’t roll. There were no memorable moments of gratitude for the blessed descents. The road just wound up and up and up, and as the day wore on, the temperature did the same.

I cranked my “bike playlist” on my little iPod shuffle, but many times I couldn’t even stay in the saddle for one whole song. I had to stop at the roadside, catch my breath and slam some warm water (enriched with Royal-D, an orange-flavored electrolyte mix that we all grew to despise). With sweat pouring down my limbs (and every crack and crevice on my body), I was exhausted, overheated, chafed, and unbelievably cranky for most of the day.

Already deflated by the endless climb, my spirits took another hit when we rolled through several areas where fires raged on the hillsides. Slash-and-burn agriculture had blackened the mountains and the sad faces of the children lining the roads. Sometimes the flames licked out from the roadside ditches, heating my skin as I choked on the smoke-filled air. At the end of the day, I actually brushed cinders out of my teeth. Maybe I was projecting my own misery, but I felt a palpable desperation in these displaced tribal people.

I only had one reason to live this day: chocolate. Grete, a cyclist from Belgium, runs a catering company, bakery and gourmet food shop in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Her husband’s work brought them to Laos, where she sells her elegant Belgian chocolates. Grete whipped up a special collection just for Team Dai, and these chocolates were, for much of this agonizing second day, my only motivation to keep moving. At each rest stop, the support crew opened the cooler and pulled out boxes of the most incredible delicacies I’ve ever tasted – candied ginger coated with dark chocolate, crispy balls of milk chocolate with a center of gooey goodness, hard chocolate bars perfectly complemented by a fruity-grainy topping. Grete also donated the white jerseys we wore on this day.

As I neared the end of the day’s torture, I heard cheers from a hilltop restaurant, where faster team members waited for the rest of us. But I had long ago tossed all pride off the side of that mountain. I eagerly hopped off my bike and pushed it for the last 10 minutes. At the restaurant, we stared out over the valley at the winding road that had brought us to the top. “Are we insane?” we asked.

Phou Khoun isn’t a typical stopover for tourists in Laos, so the little town was poorly equipped for our group. We took most of the rooms at local guesthouses and then met for dinner. My roommate for the trip was Tina, a Swede who has a couple kids at our school. We took turns using the one washroom, where the “bath” involved filling a bucket with cold water and dumping it on yourself. The thought of getting up to ride again the next morning nearly brought me to tears.

Posing after a rest break outside of Vang Vieng.
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Scenes along the route.
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Slashing and burning.
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JJ changes a flat tire while the local fan club cheers.
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Pant … pant … pant … rest stop!
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Posing at the top with Grete’s chocolate.
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The restaurant owner at the top of the hill had Team Dai photos from LAST YEAR’S visit!
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Looking back at the godforsaken road we took up the mountain.
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We made it to Phou Koun! Hanging out at the town’s roundabout.
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Chillin’ in our guesthouse “lounge.”
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Laos, On the Road

Team Dai 2010 Ride – Day ONE – Vang Vieng or Bust!

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It’s the weekend, and I’m only just starting to feel like myself again. After cycling for three days, my abdominal muscles apparently locked in a crunch position and my hamstrings simply went on strike. We got back to Vientiane Tuesday afternoon, and I spent the rest of my week’s vacation lolling around the house, occasionally getting out of bed or off the sofa to get a snack. A few sun salutations this afternoon stretched out my tortured muscles, and I finally feel ready to revisit the Team Dai ride. So here goes, in bits and pieces.

Day One
Dressed in our orange Team Dai jerseys with the flashy “Ban Cluster Bombs” design, we gathered at 5 a.m. last Saturday near the statue of Fa Ngum. The 14th-century warlord watched us line up in the dark, click on our flashing lights and take off in an adrenalin-pumped pack. Twenty-six riders rolled out of town, followed by a van carrying our overnight bags and a flatbed truck stocked with water and snacks.

Every 25 kilometers or so, we stopped for a short rest break. Our wonderful support crew always waved us over to the side of the road, where they offered cut-up fruit, granola bars, water and other treats.

The first part of today’s ride was flat and cool with scenery typical of our weekend training rides: rice paddies, farms, villages and water buffalo. Then we hit the rolling hills. My body put up a little bit of a fight, but the great thing about rolling hills is they roll up but they also roll down. Every downhill stretch was a little gift, and my excitement to have this long-awaited ride under way kept me going.

A highlight of this first day – and ultimately, the entire trip – was the turnout in the villages. As our group swept through, it seemed everyone came out to greet us. Women sat in clusters, chatting, weaving baskets, pounding rice, feeding babies, always working. Men took a break from building, patching, hauling, digging. Hunched-over elderly villagers shuffled by or crouched in the shade. Everyone waved and laughed with a big, “Sabaidee!” But the children ensured that a smile stayed plastered on my face all day, coating my lips and teeth with dust. The kids, some carrying younger siblings, ran into the road, jumping up and down and screaming with anticipation, holding out their hands for us to slap and cheering as we zipped by.

Just for kicks, I tried to keep track of everything that wandered in to our path, forcing us to slow down: dogs, cats, goats, cows, chickens (one with a whole passel of chicks that zig-zagged erratically, barely escaping with their lives), an enormous hog with several piglets, a guy hauling a thick bundle of long bamboo poles, families of stair-stepped children heading out to work in the rice fields with proportionally sized baskets on their backs, and so on.

Our destination was Vang Vieng, the backpacker Mecca of Laos, on the banks of the Nam Song river. There was no time for kayaking, rafting, tubing or rock climbing, but we did enjoy hot showers, a nice riverside dinner at our hotel and a big western breakfast the next morning.

We racked up about 167 kilometers (103 miles) this day!

* Disclaimer: Most photos I post about our ride were NOT taken by me! I have to credit the other riders and support crew, especially Peggy, a cyclist who fell sick and couldn’t ride so she made the trip by motorcycle.

Paany checks off the attendance list as we prepare to head out of Vientiane.
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Paany’s wife, Linda, helped with the support crew the first day and took some photos from the truck.
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I loved riding in the pack!
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Lunch break.
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You know something’s off when you get excited that it’s “only” 96 kilometers to your destination! That’s me and my roommate for the trip, Tina.
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My sporty prescription sunglasses broke a few days before our ride, so I had to wear my fake Chanel glasses from China. I was a little self-conscious till I realized Nicolette’s were even more fabulous. Rhinestones, baby!
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This is Bruno, a serious biker from France who heard about our ride and tagged along “just for fun.”
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Still feeling chipper!
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One of many roadside cheering sections.
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Pulling in to Vang Vieng – we made it! Tina and I sprinted to the front just for the photo. Usually we hung back and took advantage of the draft.
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The view from our hotel’s restaurant deck.
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Laos, On the Road

Team Dai – Success!

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This is the distance recorded by my bike computer over the three days that Team Dai rode from Vientiane to Phonsavanh. That’s 420.66 kilometers or 261.38 miles! Woo hoo!
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Here’s a shot of me walking the last few meters to our hotel on a ridge overlooking Phonsavanh. We had stopped in town for ice cream, French fries and beer, so my body apparently figured the hard part was over and the time to celebrate had finally come. There was no way my legs were going to pedal up one more hill.
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We returned to Vientiane yesterday afternoon, and as soon as I can sit upright for longer than 10 minutes, I’ll write more about our exciting journey!

On the Road

Feeling Underdressed and Happily Overwhelmed in India

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In recent years, I’ve spent a lot of time in Southeast Asia. Much of the surface culture – street food, traditional clothing, celebrations, etc. – is familiar. But here in Mumbai (aka Bombay … you say tomAHto…), it’s all brand new.

I can’t stop staring at the stunning women with their long thick braids trailing down their backs. Expecting to see more T-shirts and jeans, I was pleasantly surprised at the number of ladies decked out in traditional clothing in colors that popped out of the dusty city landscapes. Mumbai is considered one of India’s fashion capitals, and even in the suburbs it quickly became evident that my minimalist make-up, frizzy unkempt hair and casual ensemble were out of place.

Some of the Indian ladies in our PYP workshop explained the most common clothing to me:
Churidar – slim-fitting pants that gather at the ankles
Kurta – loose-fitting top that can be long or short with sleeves or sleeveless
Dupatta – a long scarf that often drapes across the chest with the ends hanging down the back
Sari – a piece of cotton or silk fabric (up to 9 meters/almost 10 yards!) that is draped around the body with no pins or clasps

One girl told of visiting the U.S. and being amazed at how blah our clothing was. So true. Another girl said the younger generation is more inclined to dress Western, but even they accessorize with multiple spangly bangles, bright pashminas, flashy heels, voluminous hairstyles, and bling, bling, bling. What a wonderful place to play dress-up!

After the workshop on Saturday, I joined two other teachers – Je and Maricor, both from the Philippines – for an outing to the chic western suburb of Bandra. After about 40 minutes in the rickshaw, we found a handicraft exhibition set up in a reclamation area.
Entering the bazaar.
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I had hoped to purchase some local handicrafts, but just like the first time I visited Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar or Yuyuan in Shanghai or any other city’s sprawling market, I found myself overwhelmed. Instead, I just gawked. Colors and patterns exploded from the displays. At one booth, I felt drawn to some bright orange fabric trimmed in green and gold. It must have been about six yards of cloth, gathered and clipped to a rope so it hung like a very full skirt. I asked an Indian woman if the fabric was for making a sari, and she said, “It IS a sari!” I couldn’t imagine how you would manipulate that much fabric into something wearable.
A booth of sparkly skirts and tops.
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These shoppers were checking out “magic eye” pictures. Ha!
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A saleswoman displays a silk bedspread.
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After we left the bazaar, we stopped at a shop called Cottons. This was my dream store! Again, I could barely take my eyes off the displays. The cotton fabrics were all block printed by hand and stitched into gorgeous modern-style skirts, tops and dresses, as well as traditional kurtas and churidars. Unfortunately, the shop was closing just when we arrived, so we only got a glimpse of the collection.

We stopped for dinner at a trendy pub recommended by one of the Indian teachers at our workshop. In retrospect, I would have rather experienced something more local, but it was fun to see where the hip young crowd hangs out. (Obviously, I didn’t fit in there…) The other two ladies were ready to head back to the hotel by the time we finished eating, so we hopped in another “rick” and called it a night.
Je, me and Maricor at the pub.
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On the Road

Ridin’ in the “Rick”

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I know them as tuk-tuks, but the locals here in Mumbai refer to these 3-wheeled taxis as “rickshaws” or just “ricks.”

Ricks can take you anywhere in a fraction of the time it would take in a cab because the drivers seem to have no fear of death. They seek out slivers of space between vehicles on the road and then wedge themselves in. You must keep all limbs in the rick at all times or risk losing them.

When we walked to a coffee shop during a break at the PYP workshop, these guys were cleaning up their ricks and getting ready for the day.
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After the workshop on Saturday, two other teachers and I hailed a rick for a ride in to the Mumbai suburb of Bandra. Imagine the twirling teacup ride at Disneyworld, and then put your pedal to the metal. I couldn’t believe we didn’t see any rick wrecks.
Our death-defying driver.
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This was the street outside our hotel.
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I bravely reached out of the rick to take this shot.
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After visiting a handicraft market (which I’ll describe in a separate post), we hopped in another rick. I didn’t record video during the most hectic part of the ride; I was focusing on breathing. Once the traffic thinned a bit, I thought to pull out my camera.

On the Road

2 Things I Love: Weddings and Food

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After beachcombing, I returned to the hotel to brush my teeth and swipe on another layer of deodorant before heading out to dinner. Mid-brushing, I heard some serious drumming outside the hotel. I danced around the room a bit and then went down to the lobby to meet Helene and Je. While I waited, another workshop attendee, Melinda, showed up. She and her retired husband live in Aleppo, Syria. I invited them to join us for dinner.

When we walked outside, the drumming was still going gangbusters. Melinda said it was a wedding procession. They had just picked up the bride and were on their way to the wedding. Unable to resist, I led the gang on a quick detour in the direction of the drums.

We came upon an ornate silver chariot pulled by two gold-bedecked horses. The bride, groom and two other young women sat in the carriage. Crowds of revelers proceeded them, drumming and cheering. Fantastic! (I’m actually only awake at this moment because the wedding festivities are continuing in to the night. Fireworks. Music. Lots of car horns. It was fun while it lasted, people. Time to get on with the honeymoon.)
The spotlights made it hard to get a good photo.
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Here’s a quick video. Stupid spotlight.

After we ogled the wedding procession, we made our own procession to find a restaurant recommended by several locals. Walking at night on dark streets in Mumbai is dangerous business. Rickshaws and cars whip around the dogs, pedestrians and each other; chunks of concrete dot the path; gaping holes appear out of nowhere; who knows what you might step in? We finally got to Mahesh Lunch Home and ordered way too much food. Everything was delicious, and Melinda gave our doggy bag to a beggar on the way back to the hotel. (That’s Al and Melinda, who live in Syria, on the left. On the right, Je, a teacher in the Philippines; Helene, a French teacher at my school; and me.)
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After dinner, the waiters brought this selection of breath-freshening treats, including little “jimmies” that tasted like Good-N-Plenty candy. Some of you may be impressed at how I was able to make my usual goofy expression without forehead wrinkles. Thanks God for the iPhoto editing tool!
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On the Road

Beach Blanket Bingo and Other Sights at the Mumbai Seaside

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When I woke up Friday morning, I felt stiff and sluggish from Thursday’s long flight and late arrival. I just wanted to get through the workshop and come back to the hotel for a rest. Typical extrovert, though, I soon felt energized from my interactions with other workshop attendees. By the end of the day, I was ready to take on Mumbai. Unfortunately, a politician is in town for a big speech, and the locals suggested sticking close to the hotel or risking hours in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Another teacher staying at our hotel mentioned a walk on the beach. Beach? My colleague, Helene (French teacher at VIS), and I arrived at midnight and then boarded a bus to the workshop first thing in the morning. I had no idea the Juhu Beach was right around the corner from our hotel! Yippee!

As soon as the workshop ended, Helene, Je (a teacher in the Philippines) and I took a stroll on the beach. This was like no beach I’ve seen before. In lieu of funnel cakes and sno-cones, vendors hawked grilled corn, chana masala, chopped dried fruit in little newspaper packets, and many other snacks I couldn’t identify. In the absence of an arcade, gamesters could aim BB guns at a balloon display. In the place of rollercoasters and nausea-inducing spinny rides, children (and adults) climbed aboard the manually operated 4-car Ferris wheel and a carousel of miniature cars. Ladies offered to henna our hands. Men tried to sell us maps of India, and then said, “You’re breaking my heart!” when we declined. And throngs of people cruised the beach, some with shoes in hand as they splashed in the surf.

The brilliantly colored and bedazzled saris wafted in the breeze, sometimes dragging in the water if the young lady was too enamored with the boy on her arm to notice her waterlogged hem, and sometimes caked with sand if the woman was plopped on the ground digging holes and burying her children’s squiggly toes. One big group of ladies sat in plastic chairs and on mats, apparently playing a Bingo-like game. The leader shook a plastic bag full of tiles, and then she would pull one out and announce something. Youngsters rolled around the sand nearby.

As the sun set, I watched a little fishing boat pull in to shore. The water was full of trash, and the salty sting of ocean breezes was replaced by the slight scent of sewage. But no matter. The beach, any beach, nourishes my spirit.

Strolling on the beach.
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Beach Crowds

Ladies playing some kind of game at Juhu Beach.
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Snacks and Rides at Juhu Beach.
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Grilled Corn

Yummy Looking Fruit

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Fishermen row ashore.
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On the Road, Teaching

PYP-ing

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Another weekend, another workshop.

This time, I’m in Mumbai, India, for training in the Primary Years Program, which is the elementary school component of the International Baccalaureate. So far, it’s mostly stuff I had already learned when a trainer visited our school earlier this year, but I think tomorrow’s sessions will get a little more in-depth.

I met teachers who are working in India, Syria, the Philippines, Hong Kong, China, Sri Lanka and Poland (where he said it’s presently -20°C!), and I really enjoyed hearing about their experiences. I even saw a familiar face: Gavin – a Kiwi we met on vacation in Turkey when we were gearing up for the 2005 job fair. Turns out he was working at Shanghai American School, and he encouraged us to pursue jobs there. Of course, the rest is history. He and his wife work in Hong Kong now. I know I say it all the time, but I just love when paths cross unexpectedly in this international teaching world.