Honey Roasted T-Shirts

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!