Category: E-Mails

Date:     Mon, 6 Nov 2000 07:52:08 -0800 (PST)

From:   Jay Schneider

Subject:   TAIMINGU! (Timing)

タイミング!

It’s time to talk about time. First of all, Nepal is 5 hours and FIFTEEN  minutes off of GMT, so let’s just get that out of the way. S, I’ve been hangin’ out in Kathmandu for over a week now and passing the time, rather well, I must say. But I admit the last day or two, I’ve started to get a  little restless, and a little antsy, and apart from reading books, writing in my journal, and reading what the people next to me are typing in their e-mails (see, it’s Japanese, so I figure I’m just doing my duty to keep up my proficiency), I’ve had a lot of time to think and reflect.    

I’ve told you about my luck and good timing (festivals, living goddesses, and goat sacrificing), but there’s a flip side to that, the bad-timing (arriving in Kathmandu after the India visa office closed on Friday, having to wait until Monday to begin the process).    

I missed the Olympics. Completely. My volunteer project was the same two weeks as the Olympics.    

I went into the mountains for 3 weeks, and when I came back, Milosevic was out, and that Mideast Peace process which was just about all settled and done, had totally blown up (unfortunately, quite literally). And now, it looks as though from the moment the polls open in the States until the votes are tallied and a winner declared, I’ll be sitting on a bus to India.    

But these little bits don’t bother me. Heck, I can read about them after the fact, it really doesn’t make too much difference. (Upon returning to the  States, it’ll be easy enough to ask, “Say, who’s president these days?”)  The poor timing comes into play regarding my trip to India.    

I was sitting in front of a computer with nothing to do (the Japanese person next to me had left), I started “surfing,” as the kids call it these days,  and discovered that the entrance fees for all of India’s major and world heritage sites had gone up. Now, I don’t mean just a slight nudge.  Admission fees which were previously anywhere from $1-$6 have all gone up to  (brace yourselves) $21. And they also got rid of the ‘Free  for Foreigner Fridays’ (perhaps because it’s so hard to say. Go ahead, try  saying it 3 times real fast.) As steep as that may sound, one could argue seeing the Taj Mahal could be worth ten times that. But India is more than the Taj Mahal. And apparently more than my budget.    

So, perhaps my trip will by-pass the world-heritage sites and wonders of the world, and turn into the infinitely cheaper finding-myself/spiritual journey. Maybe I’ll check out the Hare Krishna’s. After all, I already got the haircut.    

Well, I gotta go reset my watch. India is 5 hours and THIRTY minutes off  GMT.      

Jay “the times, they are a changin'” Schneider 

Date:     Wed, 1 Nov 2000 05:39:10 -0800 (PST)

From:   Jay Schneider

Subject:   Letters from Nepal

To: Pushkar Camel Fair Committee

Dear Sirs,

It is with a heavy heart and deep regrets that I must inform you I will be unable to attend this year’s Camel Festival in Pushkar, India. Time constraints and other factors have resulted in this unfortunate situation.

When I began my broad-stroked planning of this journey, I had originally intended to put most of my emphasis on India, after spending a couple of weeks in Nepal. As it stands now, I am nearing the end of my second month here, and not a bit of this time has been ill-spent (though, admittedly, some of the time has been spent ill). After my two weeks of volunteering, I spent three weeks trekking around the Annapurna mountain range, followed by a 3-day white-water rafting trip. In my remaining time, I still have much to explore in the Kathmandu valley, and I should also hope to visit the birthplace of Buddha on my way out. Deciding to give this beautiful country the time it deserves has made for an overall experience that is not only unforgettable but also true to the spirit and purpose of my travels. As they say, you get out what you put in. (Though what came out in my frequent and urgent trips to the toilet looked nothing like what I put in…)

I’ve not given up on your country entirely, though my sub-continent budget of time and money has definitely favored Nepal. To tell the truth, at times I have been so overwhelmed by the the possibilities of things I want to see and do, I’ve nearly cancelled the whole thing entirely, in order to save India for a future trip. I would fall asleep convinced India would have to wait, then awake the next morning, determined to go at all costs.  Unfortunately, my funds have been depleted considerably, and this fact would invariably result in my decision to finish out my visa here, then head back to SE Asia. But when I heard word of your magnificent festival, drawing over 200,000 traders and 50,000 camels each year, I was sold. I’d go to India, even if only for the camel festival (as that’d probably be all I could afford to do).

As things go, however, my India visa will not be approved for another week, and even if I get lucky with train connections and push straight through to Rajasthan, I’d only catch the final day. And that’s assuming all went smoothly, and nothing is smooth about Indian travel. I think it’s best I make this difficult decision now, rather than fuel my hopes, and end up broken-hearted later. I hope you can understand.

So, the camels must go on without me. I wish you the best of success and hope your beasts fetch fair prices, and your acquisitions have humps of the highest grade!

Sincerely,

Jay “No camel, No cry” Schneider

TO: Indian Embassy, Kathmandu, Nepal

Hello, again!

Remember me? I was the one applying for a tourist visa to your country.  Yeah, that’s right, there were about 80 of us there this morning.

Anyhow, I wanted to thank you for your hospitality and kindness during my 3 hour stay with you this morning (and the hour sitting outside, I must say your curbs rank right up there with the best of them!) I appreciate how each of the lines moved progressively slower, as I moved from the unmarked line, then to “line B” and finally, my favorite, “line 3”. The fact that for a 45 minute stretch there was absolutely no movement, gave me the time to catch up on some reading and re-do that form because, silly me, I used blue ink, not black.

I know you said I only have to repeat this once more in 7 days, before returning a third time to get the actual visa, but I was encouraged my the many ‘returnees’ who found they still had not been approved after 7 days, and would get to try again the next day. I’m sure we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.

Since we’re becoming so close, why not call me Jack, as the many Nepali do, despite my repeated corrections and explaining that “Jay” is my real name. Or “Jake,” if you prefer, as the German girl in my volunteer program did for two weeks, without my being aware of it. Perhaps I thought it was her accent or the coincidence that when she said my name, the next word began with a ‘k’ sound. (“Jay, could you…?” and “Jake, could you…?” sound very similar.) When saying our good-bye, she apologized for her mistake (we had exchanged e-mails, so she’d seen it in writing), and I, this being the first I’d known of it, apologized for not noticing her mistake.

Call me what you want, call me what you will, just call me as soon as my visa’s ready!

See you soon!

Jay “If I were from Uruguay, I wouldn’t need a visa” Schneider

P.S. — would it speed things along if I told you I have a camel fair to get to?

TO: Mom

Hi, Mom!

Sorry I haven’t written in a while, but, you know…(and I promise to clean my room as soon as I get back).

Can I ask you a favor? See, I’m applying for a visa to India. In the first stage, a form is faxed to the States to make sure I’m not a criminal or other unruly character. For some reason, this process takes about a week. I was thinking maybe a note from you, telling them I’m a good boy and a nice guy would speed things up a bit. I mean, why bother to contact the authorities and officials back home when they can just get the goods direct from a boy’s mother?  So, just drop a line, or give a call. Tell them good things, and don’t’ mention my bedwetting phase or that time I broke your favorite vase because I was playing ball in the house, but glued it back together before you ever knew about…(wait, forget that).

Thanks!

Jay “Not a hooligan” Schneider

P.S. – I shaved my head and became a monk. Ha-ha-ha, I didn’t really become a monk.

TO: Drift Nepal River Rafting Expeditions

Hey, guys! I really enjoyed my last trip with you down the Kali Gandaki river. The rapids were exciting, the scenery was beautiful and the people were great. You run a safe and professional operation, and I had total confidence in our guide. I’m sure that time he fell out with over half our members was just a test to see if we remember how to pulled people back into the raft.

Anyway, as it turns out, I’ve got some time left in Nepal while I await my Indian visa, and I was thinking about doing another trip. But I have some doubts about whether it’s the best thing for me.

With one rafting trip under my belt, do I really need to be spending more time (money) on a second one? After 3 weeks of walking over 350 kilometers, followed by 3 days of physically demanding rapids, do I have the strength (money) and endurance (money) to raft again so soon? Even though I’ve been on one trip, do I really have the skills (money) and experience (money) required for your more advanced (expensive) trips? It’s not about the money (it’s about the money).

I’ll do some thinking, but maybe I’ll sign up for your 2-day Bhote Kosi trip. Though a shorter (cheaper) trip, it’s a technically difficult run, with near-continuous rapids from put-in to take-out. Of course, 2 days is a short period of time, but I’m sure the “team” will be able to rapidly (“rapid”-ly, get it?) develop deep and close bonds that will last a lifetime. (Screw the people, just give me the action!)

We’ll be in touch.

Jay “2nd timers discount?” Schneider

Date:     Sat, 28 Oct 2000 08:50:49 -0700 (PDT)

From:   Jay Schneider

Subject:   Jack is Back!

And so, dear readers, let us move right along as I summarize my time faster than a speeding yak, and leap 2 weeks in a single bound…

Namely, my two-week volunteer work camp. 7 volunteers, 2 German, 2 French (again with the French!), 2 Canadians (one English, one French) and I our Nepali camp leader left Kathmandu aboard one of the many fine metallic buses painted with various slogans in various colors (or colours, if your prefer). I noticed while on ours was painted “Happy Journey,” a neighboring vehicle read “Good Luck”. At the time I wondered which was better.

Barreling along the very narrow, and very winding roads, next to very steep and very high drops into nothing, the bus carrying my very precious body seemed determined to give us our money’s worth. The act of passing on blind corners (again, next to those very steep and very high drops into nothing) was certainly not just a bad habit of our driver, but apparently the custom of the land (along with honking the musical horn as often as possible and for no discernable good reason), as on several occasions we came around those already mentioned blind corners and came face to face with two on-coming buses (one the passer, the other the passee). Don’t worry, on each instance, plenty of horns were blown, so it all seemed to be on the up and up.

At one major junction, the bus picked up a large number of passengers, and the bus filled so newcomers had to stand. As many of the people boarding the bus seemed more in need of seats than us, we all had thoughts of offering our seats. Our camp leader, half a step ahead of the game turned to me and asked, “Do you want to go on the roof?” I knew he wasn’t joking because I had seen other busses filled to the brim, and on top sat happy Nepali (and a few goats). Before anyone could answer, I think I was already half-way up the side of the bus an securing a good spot on the luggage above.

MAN, OH MAN, WHAT A RIDE! It’s the only way to go! The sky was clear, the views were spectacular, and as long as someone was on branch and low-hanging wire duty (yelling “duck!”), life was never better. I realized how nice it is to ride in the open, and thought back to my choice to ride on top of the boat in Cambodia. Thinking of boats, I remembered my summers sailing in Southern California. In the races, we often had to dangle our legs over the edge of the boat. I remembered this and advised my co-passengers to do the same, hopefully keeping the bus upright at every hair-pin corner.

Suddenly, the bus stopped (some hours had passed) in the middle the road, and seemingly, in the middle of nowhere. There being nothing distinguishing about this stretch of road from any other bit ahead or behind, I assumed in must be a pee break. Then our guide informed us, “this is the bus stop. We get off here.” Well, of course…  And so after a 20 minute hike up (and I mean UP) the mountain, we arrived at our home for the next two weeks. We lived with a family of 13 (four generations represented). There was a separate loft next to the house, large enough for 7 of us, plus 2 Nepali leaders to sleep. Below, we would cook our own meals (more of that to come). On the other side below us, the goats spend their days. By the way, October hosts one of the largest and most important festivals in Nepal, the Dasain festival. The whole of Nepal celebrates, and at the height of the celebration, one of the brothers of the family told me while I admired my new flea-covered neighbors, they would sacrifice a goat. I’m going to say that again. They would sacrifice a goat. As fate would have it, the camp would be well over, and we’d miss the event. “Don’t worry,” the brother consoled us,” goats all over Nepal will be sacrificed. I’m sure you won’t miss it.”

The house overlooked a valley, and we had fine views of terraced rice-fields behind which stood the largest mountains I had seen to date. We were just on the cusp of the Annapurna Mountain range.

Our project was to help begin construction of a water tank (future career: plumber?)which would serve 12 families. This was phase one, so our job was simply to begin the process which future work camps would continue. First we needed to make a flat area, and for those of you who don’t know, flat is something Nepal lacks. We dug for three days alongside the villagers making a large flat area in the side of a steep mountain. In the following days, because we needed many stones, we collected many stones. We walked up the hill, picked up one or two stones, and carried them down the hill. Repeat, over and over again. In the final days, we cleared the trail, and path, widening it, smoothing it, and destroying large boulders which impeded movement (future career: road builder?). Smashing large boulders is really fun, by the way. If you have the means, I highly recommend it as a stress reliever.

All in all, the work was hard, physical labor, and it was exhausting. The locals laughed at the funny foreigners who sweat constantly (the Nepali never seemed to perspire), constantly drank water (boiled or treated at that), and were so strange to take a break in the middle of the day to eat lunch (the Nepali ate in the morning, and then at night). While we felt a little silly that we were so challenged by tasks which the local children and housewives were performing with ease, I realized that this kind of work was a way of life for these people. I’m sure if our roles were reversed, and the Nepali were forced to sit on their asses, watching t.v. and eating potato chips for two weeks straight, they would perform pretty lousy at that.

But it wasn’t all hard labor (though at times I thought this was the kind of stuff prison camps do). Every 10 minutes or so, suddenly a big discussion would erupt amongst the villagers, and everybody had something to say (or yell) about everything. Even the passers-by from neighboring villages taking their buffalo to the river had to put their two-cents in.  The volunteers, not understanding a word, just stood around trying not to look too stupid, thankful for a break in the action. Sometimes, the rain, too, would give us relief. After doing a lot of digging, the showers came down creating one giant mud pit. I was tempted to entertain the crowd with my magnificent mud tricks, but as not motorcycles were present, and my flip-flops were back at home, we all just went inside and had tea.

We also had two “free days” and on both occasions I was able to (after walking long distances over very unflat land) stay with Nepali families. I also had the chance to visit some local schools.  After a lot of work, but mostly good times (oh yeah, I got sick, had a fever, and lots of other bad things happened physically), our two weeks finally came to an end. For our final night, we invited all the families over and give a show, followed by some dancing and general merriment. For reasons I still can’t comprehend, we sang “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” in French and English, a Beatles song, some Nepali folk song we learned and for our show-stopper, a little ditty I had composed (perhaps in my sick state of delirium, I don’t remember) in praise of our food.

So I’ll leave you, as we left them, with my very own “Dal Bhat Ditty”

explanation: Dhal Bat, is traditional Nepali food. It’s pretty much all there is in Nepal. It’s rice and lentils, but often vegetables and maybe pickles go with it. It’s food in a generic sense, and it’s perfect not when you want something special, but when you’re hungry and you just want…FOOD. Though we got creative on a few occasions and changed the menu, at least one meal of every day (though usually two) was Dal Bhat.

1-2, 1-2-3-4…. (I’m hearing folk-guitar, are you?)

Dal Bhat in the morning,
Dal Bhat in the evening,
Dal Bhat in the afternoon.
To eat your rice and lentils
You don’t need a knife, fork, or spoon.
Eat it with your right hand,
Never with the left hand,
This is rule number one.
‘Cause the right hand is for eatin’
And the left is for when you’re done.

(and I’m singin’ ’bout)
DAL BHAT! — don’t you know I love you
DAL BHAT! — can’t eat enough of you
DAL BHAT! — you will always be my NUM – BER – ONE!

DAL BHAT! — everybody say it!
DAL BHAT! — every meal I pray it’s
DAL BHAT! — and now this song is DONE – DONE – DONE

Thank you and good night!

Jay “future career: street performer” Schneider

Date: Sat, 28 Oct 2000 08:50:49 -0700 (PDT)

From: Jay Schneider

Subject: You don’t know Jack!

So, I seem to have a bad habit of dropping little comments without ever getting around to explain them. For example, I never did tell you all the circumstances surrounding my “fun with firearms” in Cambodia. And in my last message (“Call me Jack…”), I failed to tell you what that was all about. ooops.

Kathmandu’s spell wasn’t broken my second day in Kathmandu, but its glimmer was slightly tarnished, as I was having difficulty tuning out all the city’s inevitable detractions. I’m accustomed to the pollution, chaos, and aggressive hawkers trying to sell their wares and services, and so I can usually tune it out, and enjoy the positive aspects of the city. In the morning, I wandered contentedly the maze of alleys, courtyards, and explored the various temples and religious monuments. But as the day wore on, so did the countless numbers of people approaching me with the hopes of parting me and my money. I don’t mean shop owners or pedicab drivers who seem convinced that my walking deliberately toward a visible and definite destination is body language for “Hey you! I need you to take me 10 meters and I’m willing to pay absurd amounts of money for it, so please, please come over here and harass me!” These don’t get on me, as a simple “No,” or my preferred method of plain ignoring them eventually solves the problem. What began to get on me (by the 20th or so person), was the one who’d walk up alongside and start asking questions as if he were interested in my friendship. “Hello. What’s your name? Where are you from? How long have you been in Nepal? I’m a student here. DO you like Nepal…” yada, yada, and ending 10 minutes later with me saying “I don’t need a guide, I’m not interested in exporting precious gems to Thailand, and no matter how many times you ask me in the next several blocks, I’m not going to buy your drugs. Namaste.”

Again, such are the ways of travel in Asia, and I generally don’t have a problem with it, but I prefer those who are more direct and to the point (“taxi?” “you need guide?” “hashish?”)and whether I ignore them or politely decline, we can both go on about our daily lives. The people who use the “friend” approach begin to annoy me because apart from wasting time for both of us, it means I have to behave counter to my human instinct which never wants to ignore another chance for human connection, or totally disregard a man’s plea of “excuse me”. It’s a little depressing.

But the day rebounded well. I headed back toward the Durbar Square to see if much would happen on this final night of the festival. While sitting in the square, a Nepali man approached me, we started a conversation, and at no time did he ask me to export gems or buy his opium. In fact, he bought me a cup of tea. He worked for the Nepali National Department of Forestry, and we chatted up about the state of Nepal’s natural parks, festivals in Nepal, and Nepali language. It was a great way to end the afternoon and restore my faith that not everyone is out to sell me something.

As our conversation ended, I was shocked to hear shouts of “Jay!” My reflexes readied me for the inevitable near-riot chase through the city streets with an angry mob at my heels (I’ve had nightmares about this), until I recognized the voices as two friends, fellow ex-English Teachers from Japan. I was surprised and amazed that we would run into each other here, but I quickly quelled the feeling and realized that things like this happen in travel and life. And that’s what makes it so cool…

more in a bit (I promise to speed things up a bit, as I’ve oozed on about 2 days out of 6 weeks)…

Jay “come to think of it, I DO want to pay $20 for that plastic bracelet you’re selling” Schneider  

Date: Fri, 27 Oct 2000 06:03:03 -0700 (PDT)

From: Jay Schneider

Subject: Call me Jack…

When we last all joined together in peace and love to hear more of my continuing travel ramblings, I was landing in Kathmandu. And now as I type this, I am in Kathmandu. So what happened in the past 6 weeks? (I’m sure you all spent every moment of every day wondering just that) Well, let me tell you…

But first (it’s never straight to the point with me, is it?), I’d like to welcome two new-comers to the list. One is a mother (mine, in fact), and the other is a mother-to-be (IT’S NOT MINE!!! I swear!). I’m glad my own mother has returned to the cyber-world with a new e-mail address, and as far as the expecting mama, I’ll let your minds go to work, and the rumors mills spin as you scan the TO: and Cc: list.

ahem.

KATH-fucki (wait, now my Mom is reading this)

KATH-friggin’-MAN-friggin’-scooby-dooby-DU!!! (that’s supposed to convey my enthusiasm and excitement for the Nepali capital)

After safely, er, after landing in Nepal(thank you Bangladesh Air!) and getting my visa sorted out, I stepped out of the Airport and found myself looking at the expected sea of touts all shouting and waving at me, guaranteeing me their hotel was both the cheapest and cleanest place in all Nepal. They yelled, screamed, begged pleaded, and waved signs of their establishment’s name. “Kathmandu Guesthouse” “Himalaya Hotel” “Welcome Jay Schneider” wow! what a great name for a hotel, that’s kind of…wait a minute! See, the neat thing about doing this volunteer work is just when I’m trying to figure out what my next move should be, there’s a car and driver waiting to take me where I need to go. I grabbed my friend “Mar” (Japanese guy with whom I shared a room in Bangladesh. 35 years old, looks 20. Nicknamed “Mar” because he likes to smoke marijuana. Travels a lot, lived in New York for a while serving at UN functions, acupuncture professional.), and we were on our way to the Thamel district of Kathmandu. After checking in, settling in we headed out into the streets with no purpose and no direction, just to get out and about, and that’s when the Magic of Kathmandu took hold. (See “KATH-friggin’-MAN-friggin’-Scooby-dooby-DU!!!”)

I was instantly taken by the energy, sights and sounds (I was ignoring the smells, for the moment). Perhaps because the culture is Hindu and not Buddhist, it seemed new to me. The chaos and pollution I’d seen plenty before, but the colors and the architecture and the life of the various neighborhoods we wandered through totally absorbed me. Then we noticed every window was filled with eager faces looking out, and the corner shrines were now filled with what seemed to be an audience. They were waiting and watching for something. Then we saw in. Huge wooden floats, pulled, pushed and steered by 30-40 men were coming our way. The gigantic floats could barely squeeze through the cramped streets, and every so often, for no apparent reason, would turn of their own will and glance into the houses and storefronts before being laboriously corrected by its attendants. Point of advice: try not to be standing in front of those houses and storefronts like those two fools who just got off the plane. (Don’t worry, we’re okay). The second float came, much larger (how could that be?) and grander than before, and before we knew it (We honestly didn’t know it until later that night), we sere staring at KUMARI, a young girl who is Kathmandu’s very own living goddess.

As luck would have it, the day we arrived happened to be the heigh of a 3-day festival in which KUMARI (I think she’s about 9 years old now, but I’ll check on that) is paraded around the streets. Also during this festival, certain statues and sculptures are opened for the public to view. As all this happens only once a year, our timing was perfect. We continued to weave our way around the neighborhoods, darting in and out of alleys on a whim, at one point being handed (as in from hand to hand) some vegetables and rice flakes. Not wanting to disappoint, I downed my handful of curried potato (SPICY!) with a smile, much to the delight of the watching crowd.

As Mar and I sat on the roof of our guesthouse, looking at the full moon above, I had a warm feeling of satisfaction filled me. That, or I was well on my way to dysentery from the less-than-hygenic serving I had eaten earlier.

————————–

Okay, though I’ve only told you about 6 hours of the past 6 weeks, I need to go and answer some individual e-mails now. I’ll start with one from Dan P. in California:

Dear Jay,

I’ve got a title suggestion for your travel updates: “How my life is infinitely better than yours, you pathetic losers!”.

Dan P.

Dear Dan,

Ha-ha-ha, that’s kind of you to say, Dan. But really I’m sure everyone on my list (with the possible exception of Jake who sells tea) is perfectly happy with their own lives. It’s just YOUR life that is pathetic compared to mine.

Thanks for the advice, Dan!

Keep those comments coming!

Jay “I swear I’m not the father” Schneider

Date: Fri, 6 Oct 2000 06:34:21 -0700 (PDT)

From: Jay Schneider

Subject: Jay’s Mailing List

Namaste!

The connection is very EXPEN$IVE and V E R Y S L O W, so this will be short and sweet, and I’m not writing individual messages. For those of you on the mailing list, look forward to exciting tales of the latest on the Nepali Maoist revolution front, and songs about lentil and rice. For those of you who are not receiving the mailing list, if you order now, there’s a
50% discount, and you get the swimsuit issue. And, finally, for those of you who can’t read English, this’ll be one heck of a shock for you.

So, I’ll write again, both mass-mail, and personal messages in about 3-4 weeks. As for my plans between now and then, I’m not telling, ’cause that’d spoil the fun…

I’ll leave you with what subscribers are saying about this list:


“Brilliant! Marvelous! Surely to be a classic in the field of e-mail travel writing!” — Jay Schneider

“Two Thumbs Up! Way up!” — Jay Schneider

“I’ve spent hours reading and rereading each installment. It’s almost as if it were me who had the experiences!” — Jay Schneider

“Please don’t send me any more mail. My mailbox is constantly filled with your crap writings about things in which I have absolutely no interest. I don’t even know you or how you got my address, but if you don’t stop harassing me, you’ll hear from my lawyer.” — (Name not given)

“Honey, don’t you think it’s about time you came home? Be sure to get to bed early, wear a sweater at night, even if you don’t think it’s cold, stop playing with grenades and for god’s sake it wouldn’t hurt for you to call once in a while.” — Susan Schneider, mother

“I have been reading, and enjoying, Jay’s e-mail’s from the start. They’re so good, I think everyone should give Jay lots of money, so he can continue to support his travel habit, and bless us with his laugh-out-loud stories!” — Ja…er…Anonymous

“FAILURE TO DELIVER MESSAGE — reason: address does not exist or server is not accepting mail.” — Mail Delivery System



So keep those comments coming, and I’ll write again near the end of October!

Date: Sun, 1 Oct 2000 08:38:25 -0700 (PDT)

From: Jay Schneider

Subject: 7 Years in Tibet

 If this is the second time you’re getting this, oops!

 I often start these mass-mails out with some sort of comment that this is the English version, which I’m sure impresses friends and family back home who immediately assume that I also send out a Japanese version, every bit as detailed, moving and witty as this list (humor me here, and concede me this point). Well, I should come clean that I do NOT in fact grace my non-English-speaking Japanese friends with such sure-to-be-classic-one-day literature. Any Japanese friend who speaks even the slightest bit of English receives this same bit (and upon reading it, are convinced they can’t understand English at all–“That’s okay,” I say, “my English-speaking friends don’t understand me either”). That’s not to say I ignore my friends in Japan. But my Japanese messages are usually the English equivalent of this:

Hi! Now, I’m at Bangkok. Fun. Food’s good. Tomorrow, I go Cambodia.  Fun times I am enjoying, aren’t we? Jay

And now, on with the English version, which I have this time titled “7 years in Tibet”…

  I just finished reading Heinrich Harrer’s “7 years in Tibet,” and in my journey to Bangladesh, I felt I was living what I’d just read. Of course, it wasn’t 7 years in Tibet, it was more like 13 hours in Bangladesh. And I wasn’t an escaped, German POW, looking for political asylum. And instead of trekking and climbing through the mountains for almost two years before reaching the capital, I took a plane in about 2 hours. And I didn’t have to sneak in, be threatened on numerous occasions to leave, and beg and plead to be allowed to stay–I was quite welcomed to come. And I didn’t befriend any god-king such as the Dalai Lama, but the shotgun-toting guard at the airport and I did exchange a brief glance, and well…I think we really shared something there. And of course when I make my movie version, I don’t think Brad Pitt will play me, I’ll play myself, thank you very much.

 So how’d I get this far, you may ask? (oh wait, I already told you I took a plane) still, let’s back up a bit.  I was preparing to bid farewell to Bangkok (yet again). I don’t know how to explain it, why I am forever drawn to this city, what keeps me coming back. Perhaps it’s the canals and rivers which are the streets and boulevards of the city. Maybe it’s the non-stop action and lights of a city that never sleeps. Then again, it could be my safety deposit box which has all my money. Whatever the reason, I knew while being tossed around in the back of an airport-bound mini-bus as the maniacal driver swerved through traffic, I knew I’d return. Someday (before my money runs out and I need to get more).

 I arrived at the airport a couple of hours before my flight was due to depart, hungry, and in need of a toilet. I don’t know why I felt it was necessary to share all that with you. You can imagine my delight when I discovered my flight was delayed 2 1/2 hours. At least I had a good book, there was internet access, and….pizza! I can’t begin to describe the feelings I was experiencing as I bit into that first slice, my first slice of such kind of pizza in about a year and a half (A YEAR AND A HALF, for the love of GOD!). Yes, there is pizza in Japan, but…well…it’s not that I don’t like corn and mayo on my pizza, it’s just that…well there’s just something about American-style, greasy pizza. Sitting in the airport Pizza Hut, I embraced the man next to me.  Although he didn’t seem to appreciate my tears on his shoulder or the blowing of my nose on his new silk tie, he seemed to understand I was having a moment (of insanity) and failed to give me a beating (he did, however, give me his tie.)

The flight was bouncy. and I don’t mean caused by air turbulence. As we rolled down the runway for take-off, I had flashbacks of the great Cambodian highways. To distract myself, I read in in-flight magazine, and appreciated the letter from the President of the airline explaining his goals for the next year would be to have flights run on time, and improve the professionalism of the employees. Best of luck, I thought as the dinner tray was tossed on my lap, and a can of warm soda thrust into my hand.

There were 7 of us with the stop-over deal. 2 of us managed to slip through customs (just keep walking) in search of our bags, before later realizing we weren’t supposed to have slipped through customs, and worked our way to a special desk where they took our passports and arranged for out transportation to the designated hotel (included in our ticket deal). We watched the bats fly round the waiting area, and a sense of togetherness developed among us. 3 Japanese one American (me), 1 Norwegian, and 2 Germans, some heading for London, others Delhi, or Kathmandu. Different nationalities, different destinations, but one thing we shared: cheap-ass tickets.

Bangladesh air, I love you! 

Because of the delay of the flight, and the delay of, well, quite frankly I don’t know, we sat in the waiting room forever, by the time I actually bedded down, it was 3 a.m. (those going to Delhi had an 8 A.M. flight!).  The van would pick us up at 11:00 a.m., and we were free to walk around and explore the neighborhood. I woke up around 8 (nature calling) and saw my roommates asleep. I felt like I needed another 10 hours of sleep, but I was in Bangladesh, and I certainly wasn’t going to miss a chance, even for a quick stroll around the block, no mater how tired…the phone rang at 10, informing us that breakfast was served, so we all ate, showered, packed and loaded in the van to the airport. 

 Bangladesh, I’ll never forget you! 

Note: I’ve been having some technical difficulties, so sometimes you may receive messages twice (or three times, four times, not at all) because the first time my server told me it was unsuccessfully sent. Anyhoo, Apologies for overflowing inboxes needlessly…

Date: Sun, 10 Sep 2000 00:32:16 -0700

From: Jay Schneider

Subject: Jay the Game Show Host?

So, some of you may have been blessed with 3 copies of the last edition. Then again, others didn’t get a copy. I think we can all be responsible adults and work this problem out together, can’t we?

When we last left off, our Hero found himself on a bus bound for Bangkok, his full bladder not happy about the prospects of holding out for a 5-6 hour journey. The problem was resolved an hour into the journey, so all’s well the ends well, eh?

My main purpose in returning straight to Bangkok (apart from the cheap and reliable internet access), was to arrange for my tickets to Nepal for my next volunteer workcamp. This was a priority in itself, and once my departure date was set, I could figure out how to use my time between now and then. After shopping around Khao San Road, poking my head in both “sturdy-looking” travel agents, and folding-table-street-corner-agents-with-a-cousin-who-can-fly-you-there-for- cheap-type places, I finally found a place which I felt good about patronizing. For one, it was a combination Travel-Agent/Barber, and I figure if someone invests in that kind of equipment (those barber chairs which elevate, recline, and whatnot) is not just going to pack up overnight. (Besides, my hair was getting a bit unmanageable, and I thought I could work out some sort of a package deal). Secondly, the advertisement says “recommended by Israelis.” With that kind of backing, I knew if I ran into any troubles, I could just call up Israel, and straighten the whole thing out. Finally, it was dang cheap. Dang cheap.

What’s the catch? Nothing what-so-ever. There are some, in my view, “bonuses,” with my ticket. See, it’s Bangladesh Air. The name inspires confidence throughout the aviation world, I know, and I feel privileged for the opportunity. Also, the flight necessarily must go through Bangladesh, and it so happens, I’ve got to stay the night (hotel/transport included). That’s right, I’m heading to hang with the Bengalis!

With that set, I next met up with a friend from Japan (another English teacher), and headed for the island of Koh Chang and got a beach-side bungalow for a week. Hiking, swimming, reading, lounging, relaxing, yada-yada.

Rented motorbikes, and man, was that ever fun! Motos are the transport mode of choice in Cambodia, so I’d become quite used to, after negotiating a price, hopping on the back, enjoying the ride, and ending up where I wanted to go (most of the time). The passenger life wasn’t so bad because I could just relax and enjoy the scenery. But now was my time to take the driver’s seat, and hopefully not join the ranks of every 5th traveler I meet who has a bandage on their person. (“What happened?” “Motorcycle accident.”) The bikes for rent are tiny, Japanese 100cc models with automatic clutch (you have to shift, but no need to worry about the clutch). I’ll get back to this a bit later.

To be honest, I didn’t do a whole lot of driving. What I did, is a tradition in SE Asia known as “pothole dodging.” It involves zigzagging all over the gravel roads at relatively low-speeds for hours on end. (remember, these are tiny bikes designed for nice paved roads) While not as much fun as zipping up and down the paved (there were a few paved roads) hills, looking at the blue-green water and the palm-lined beaches in the rear-view mirrors, I did develop an appreciation for this, almost meditative sport of “pothole-dodging.”

 Most of you have heard of, if not witnessed or experienced first hand, the sport of mud-wrestling, popularized by the movie classic “Stripes,” in which John Candy’s (rest his soul) character was proclaimed a “lean, mean, fighting machine!” prior to his victory in the ring. I was able to participate in a similar version of this wrestling on Koh Chang, the main differences being that instead of a bikini-clad bombshell, my opponent was my motorcycle, and I was certainly no John Candy. As I lay under my bike, lying on my side, sinking into the soft (and deep!) mud, I began to realize how nice mud baths must be. In spite of the fact that I was attempting to cross a mud pit in a rather unorthodox (horizontal) manner, it was rather comfortable. (those of you paying attention may remember how much I loved walking around barefoot in the muddy paths of the children’s center in Cambodia. I was a little worried as to whether my clothes would be sparkling white again, but to the victor goes the spoils… So apart from the various diversions the island had to offer up, an isolated, relaxed environment such as Koh Chang allows one to reflect on one’s life, escape stresses of daily life, and think about the future. After thinking carefully about the difficult questions we all must face at one time or another(banana shake or pineapple shake?), I came up with some answers (MIXED fruit shake!), and my quick analysis of the current state is simple: life’s good. And so with that, I decided I was ready to move on, and I looked toward the future…Kathmandu!

 ——————–

Random notes:

 ——————–

On missing Japan…

My mind often wanders back to Japan (though with the number of Japanese travelers I run into everywhere, it hardly feels like I’ve left). And similar to the phenomenon which some amputees experience feeling in their lost limb, I sometimes am convinced I feel the vibration of my cellular phone. But when I reach for it, it’s not there… (tears are welling) On my future job…

I’m not sure what kind of job I’ll have upon returning to the states. Fortunately, my travels and volunteering are providing a great opportunity to try out and get a feel for various occupations. See, when entering a country (and sometimes registering at a guesthouse), there is a line on the form to list one’s job. This gives me a great chance to see how I like different fields. In Cambodia, I was a salesman, in Thailand, a politician. In Nepal, I’m thinking either poet or gameshow host. I’ll let you know! 

Date: Sat, 9 Sep 2000 10:14:23 -0700 (PDT)

From: Jay Schneider

Subject: Where in the world is…?

Well, folks, here it is another installment (the third?) in the continuing adventures of Jay (me), and his (my) ongoing attempt to impress everyone (you) with his (my) ability to make goofing-off and delaying re-entry into the real world sound like amazing and important stuff…

English version…

So I’ve survived Cambodia, and with a quick check, all limbs are still accounted for and no symptoms of malaria are present. I think it’s safe to say things’ll be okay (though I hear hepatitis has a 3-week incubation period, so we’ll have to see about that…).

My final two days in Cambodia were spent in the seaside town of Sihanoukville, which in addition to being a new view of Cambodia, would also be my exit point for my trip back into Thailand. While in no way rivaling those of its neighboring countries, the beaches were pleasant, and filled with the locals, escaping from the capital for the weekend. In spite of the occassional rain (several storms had just passed through), I enjoyed myself at the beach, and was able to prove the effectiveness of my sunscreen–by later discovering the areas I failed to cover. (don’t laugh at the strange pattern on my back…) Wandered around some markets, did some reading, and, though tempted by the nearby go-kart track, decided I was content with my time not only in Sihanoukville, but Cambodia as well. It was time to move on. (My visa, expiring the next day, was in agreement with this.)

And move on I did, with another memorable border crossing. The first boat (which had been cancelled in previous days due to storms in the Gulf of Thailand), was similar to the one I rode from the Ankgor Temples to the capitol. It looks like a mini-Boeing 747 with the wings chopped off.  Though in my past trip’s ticket included a seat number, I didn’t make use of it, preferring to sit atop the vessel, enjoying the view, the air and the sun (for those of you who’ve been paying attention to previous updates will be happy to know my legs have returned to a natural color). This also allowed for easy escape if the need to abandon ship arose. That’s not to say the cramped quarters of these well-used and well-worn Malaysian-made craft don’t inspire confidence in the average passenger…well, perhaps that is what I’d like to say. At any rate, due to stormy and wet weather conditions, all passengers had to sit below deck. You can imagine how I was the envy of the ship, sitting next to one of the few emergency windows. I contemplated half-unscrewing the release bolts–just in case…

A few hours later, I jumped ship (by means of the usual route, not the escape hatch), with other border-crossers, to make the final leg of my trip to the border. After a quick check-in with immigration police, I hopped into a small motor boat with a Canadian, two Israelis, a Brit and two Thais, for a 40 minute ride through the mangroves. We zipped along, bouncing higher and higher with each wave we hit, and I remembered racing around Catalina Island in my cousin’s dinghy when I was younger(I had more confidence in my cousin’s skippering ability, and at the time he was a teenager). My worries about our packs bouncing overboard (okay, MY pack, at the TOP of the heap, being bounced overboard), were quickly put to rest as the bags settled down, mostly on top of the poor Israelis who thought the fron seat would provide a good view. I apologized for their inconvenience, but they were quite happy for the protection my bag gave them from the sea water which splashed in at each bump. Besides, the weight of my pack kept THEM anchored in as well.  When we hit the open waters of the gulf, we thought perhaps the driver misunderstood us, and was going to take us all the way to Bangkok. Then we regained sight of land, and made way for the shore ahead. We were dumped off at a non-descript, muddy little shore, and there was a bit of confusion as to where we were. I was convinced we must be near the border, and finally spotted a flag of Thailand in the distance. Between us and that point, however, was a barbed-wire fence. At one end, a gate and a road, at the other a muddy path leading to a whole in the fence. Not sure which direction to go, I figured, guards, fencing and land mines would generally keep me on the right path (I’m kidding about the land-mines, I’d rather be nicely pointed in the right direction then losing a leg to figure out I went the wrong way)., and headed for the road. Someone in a uniform (where did he come from?) started yelling “No, No!” and pointed toward the hole in the fence. (See, I knew something would cue me in the right direction.) Walk on the board over the ditch, through the fence, past the “Immigration Police” shack filled with men totally uninterested in us immigrants, muddy stretch, gravel field, ah! at last a proper structure (filled with officials and everything), to stamp my passport and official bid me farewell. As the border guard returned my passport, a tear welled in my eye. And, I’m pretty sure moments after I stepped away from the window, I saw the official wipe discretely wipe a tear away from his own eyes. No “tip” from this parting foreigner…

Back in Thailand, the infrastructure shock overwhelmed me. Paved roads, cities, lights, surely this is the most advanced and wonderful country on the face of the earth! (It’s amazing what context and perspective can do to one’s perception of things). Had to move fast because I wanted to get to Bangkok that night. Mini-van to city of Trat. Bus station. Run on to the last bus for the evening. Run off last bus for the evening (nature called). Get very upset at the guy who’s taking such a long time in the bathroom while I’m jumping around outside. See the bus pulling away. Run to the bus, back on the bus, thanking the unknown soul who by taking so much time in the toilet, allowed me to be re-united with my backpack on the bus. I settled down for the 5-6 hour bus ride to Bangkok.

Many questions raced through my mind as I slowly rode away from the country which had taken me in, and shown me so much hospitality during the past month: how had my time in Cambodia affected me as a person? Would I ever make it back there again? will I be able to use a restroom between here and Bangkok?

For answers to these and other questions, be on the look out for the next installment of “the perpetually-changing-titled adventures of Jay”…

Date: Fri, 25 Aug 2000 03:23:56 -0700 (PDT)

From: Jay Schneider

Subject: still in Cambodia…(but not for long)

Another installment in my continuing Cambodian adventures. Once again, if you’re not a native English speaker, I’m sorry. If you’re not interested, too bad. And if you’re not sure who I am, then perhaps you shouldn’t be reading this…

After a teary-eyed good-bye (rather silly, because the girls were asleep, and the Scottish couple were in another room, so I was the only one awake to say good-bye to), I parted with my Angkor travel buddies and set off alone for Phnom Penh. (Okay, the British couple was with me, so that whole setting off “alone” thing was bunk). We had decided to take the boat, while the others chose to further abuse themselves with another pick-up truck ride.

The boat trip was nice, though I highly recommend not falling asleep without sun protection on your super-white legs which then become purple (with capital “P” for pain!) for about a week. I was unexpectedly greeted at the dock by a man holding a sign with my name on it, and identifying himself as” assistant to His Excellency Son Soubert.” (not to be confused with one of his three “drivers,” which apparently is the Khmer word for “bodyguard”).

Jumping to the present, I’ve just finished my 3-weeks of volunteering, and am in a far better position to explain my set-up (things were a little vague in the description of the work camp.)

Son Soubert is the son of Son Sann, former Prime Minister of Cambodia, and major political bigwig. Son Soubert, though not as politically great as his father (political small-wig?), was vice-president for a spell, but now is content to sit on the constitutional committee. He’s also a professor of archaeology, and currently teaches at a University in Phnom Penh.

A handful of years back, when the refugees started returning from Thailand, they were all promised land for their homes. The Son Soubert and his father, knowing this may not happen, privately purchased some land for the returning refugees. Only a few families took them up on their offer. Then the United Nations told them about the large number of orphans living on the streets, and the father-son duo created the “Peaceful Children’s Home at Sre Ampil (30 km SE of P.P.)” They also built some other centers in the country, but this was the one I worked at.

Initially, the Sons funded the center entirely with their salary from parliament, but this was not enough to cover the growing need. Several individuals and organizations from around the world have made donations (kitchen, garage, clothing, money, etc.), but the main, on-going support is from a French organization called (in English, anyway) “Act for Cambodia.” This group gets sponsors for each child, last year build dormitories for the kids, and each year sends a group of French students to work in the summer. My organization (Volunteers for Peace), sends an international group of volunteers each summer as well.

What’d I do? Play with the kids, talk with the kids,live/eat/breathe/yada-yada with the kids. Taught Japanese classes, and some English conversation (though I graciously left a majority of the English classes to the American elementary school teacher who came. I was quite happy to not teach English, actually.) We worked on the farm. We worked to build what will one day be a farm and gardens so the center can be self-supporting (currently they receive aid from International food organizations). We (okay, it was just the Dutch guy) set up a solar refrigerator. We painted the classrooms, we painted the dining room. We painted the storage room which meant scrubbing the dirt grime and old paint off the walls, which meant moving those 55 kg bags of rice, which meant disrupting the lives of the poor 15-20 mice happily living under the rice. We laughed as the mice whizzed past our feet, and the dogs came in to chase them knocking over the paint cans. We laughed as the poor geckos tried to climb up the wall, but since it’d been recently scrubbed, was too dusty to get a grip, and they’d fall down, often on the French girl’s head. I laughed as I realized somehow all the kids had taken all the paintbrushes, and I was left with the all-important job of saying “missed a spot.” The village kids laughed when Jean and I had to push start a very old, very used motorcycle. Jean, a large man at the wheel, and me, a smaller man wearing flip-flops. (we got it on the 5th try, the village kids cheered!) We rode three on a moto, to and from the nearest market, the “from” being interesting as we balance paint, lumber and other supplies. We slipped in the mud in the final week which reminded me it’s still technically the rainy season. I also learned that the mud can steal your flip-flops, but that doesn’t really matter, ’cause barefoot in the mud is so, so cool.

We did a lot. it was great. more stories to tell in the future, I’m sure.

The kids? Incredible. There are 117 kids, ages 5 – 19. The center tries to support kids throughout their education, and currently, 5 are at University in Thailand. The older kids help take care of the younger, they often teach extra lessons, and make major decisions about the running of the center. As Son Soubert explained, most Cambodians, after years of the Khmer Rouge and the Vietnam occupation, are not used to self-determination and democracy. He hopes to teach the children how they can help themselves, and in the future, help Cambodia.

The kids were very eager to practice English, and many wanted to learn Japanese (the classroom was full, everyday, with many students standing in the back). Never have I seen so many kids, so motivated to learn. Even the youngest kids would often sit in the classrooms, reading a book, or drawing pictures, seemingly happy just to be in an academic environment. I certainly have never seen such a demand for education an in the US or Japan. Unfortunately, the demand isn’t being sufficiently met. School is only half-day, so the teachers can work in the afternoons to support themselves. There are extra classes and private schools, but these cost money, and money is something most rural Cambodians don’t have to spare.

Anyhoo, I just left the center today, so I’m still a bit close to the situation, and my thoughts are kind of racing. 3 weeks seemed far too short, and went by too, too quickly. I wanted to stay, and felt I could do a lot more. But even though it was so short, I became very close with some of the kids, and I know I’ll have to try to pass through again, at least to visit, if not to volunteer again.

To tie up this, rambling, wandering, e-mail, it was an amazing 3 weeks, and definitely unforgettable experience.

What now? I’m in Phnom Penh for the night. I’m taking advantage of the big city to send out this e-mail (that’s why I’m hastily writing this), and then tomorrow heading south to the beaches. My visa expires Monday, and though I considered extending it to travel around a bit to some places that other travelers have recommended, I realized that I don’t think there’s anything that’s going to top what I’ve just seen and done. So, I’m heading south to make my graceful departure. A lazy day to relax on the beach will be nice, but my main reason for going is to take the boat back toward Thailand, where I’ll make arrangements to get to my next volunteer work camp…

Destination: Nepal!