Return to Yangon - Day 4

As I landed in Yangon, I vacillated between taking a taxi to the home of my Couchsurfing host or just giving the bus system another shot, since things went so smoothly before.

This time, I had no guardian angel, so, instead, just yelled out the name of a popular tourist attraction as each bus pulled up slowly to the bus stop, knowing the attaction was only a few blocks away from my host's home.

Jumping onto a passing bus, I sat down next to a man who spoke fairly good English. He assured me I was heading in the right direction. An hour later I found my way to the front door of my Couchsurfer's apartment building.

Myanmar lacks some Western conveniences, such as door buzzers, but the people certainly don't lack ingenuity. Each apartment has a rope tied to a bell, stretching down to the street.

If a visitor wants to get into the building, he pulls the rope, which rings the bell, notifying the occupant, who then attaches a front-door key to a small caribiner and slides it down. Some residents attach plastic bags to the end of the rope to haul up goods from passing street vendors.

Myanmar is the kind of place that guests need to follow the rules, which led me to a quandary.  I've always believed that the best way to understand a culture is by staying with the people who live there, which is why I'm a proponent of Couchsurfing, an internet site that matches travelers with local hosts.  The problem is tourists in Myanmar are allowed to stay only in officially-licensed hotels or guest houses, so, technically, by staying with a Couchsurfer, I would be breaking the law and breaking the terms of my visa.

To make matters worse, I read the following on the U.S. Department of State's international travel site: “Burmese who interact with foreigners may be compelled to report on those interactions to Burmese authorities. Security personnel traditionally place foreign visitors under surveillance; your actions, such as meeting with Burmese citizens, particularly in public spaces like hotel lobbies, rooms, and restaurants, could still be monitored.”

I didn't plan on staying with a Burmese citizen. My Couchsurfer was a Westerner who assured me it would be fine, so I made a calculated decision to do it.

My host, Jonathan, is an educational consultant/missionary, who's lived in Myanmar for four years. When he first arrived, he said it was common for secret police to follow him around, although now he says visitors are unmonitored, to the best of his knowledge.

As for the government's official policy that tourists can only stay in official hotels, Jonathan said the government is now much more relaxed. In addition, he said there's so much beucracy among agencies that it's hard for officials to keep track of anything, let alone an American staying where he may or may not belong.

The bottom line seems to be that home stays still are illegal or might not be, depending on which agency and which person is asked.

The American had nothing but good things to say about Myanmar and plans to stay long term. Since another friend was visiting, and I was also quite tired, we all just stayed in, watched a movie, and Jonathan answered all of my questions about his adopted country. I had an added bonus of sampling some of his authentic Myanmar cooking.

The next morning, I packed up for my return flight to Singapore, unpacked, and repacked for my flight to America for Christmas. I lead a rough life.

Although I'm grateful to have visited Myanmar and would urge others to do so, Myanmar isn't Disneyland.

President Thein Sein, a former general, is credited with numerous reforms, including easing media censorship, freeing hundreds of political prisoners, and forging agreements to end conflicts with several ethnic, minority, rebel groups.

However, critics say it's mere window dressing to garner favor with the West and that the reforms have slowed, if not regressed, in some instances.

The group, Human Rights Watch, says Myanmar is still one of the world's most repressive governments. Ethnic tension is the norm, which fuels the planet's longest running civil war, meaning some sections of the country are off limits to visitors. The fighting between the government and ethnic rebels is especially fierce in the northern Kachin region.

The military is accused of a host of human rights abuses: confiscating millions of acres of land and forcibly relocating hundreds of thousands of people to make way for huge development projects; forced labor involving both adults and children; employing child soldiers; arbitrary arrests; torture; rape; human trafficking and outright ethnic cleansing.

For years, the main political opposition party, the National League for Democracy, urged tourists to stay away from Myanmar because it said the money went to the military. The party has since dropped that request, but the argument remains relevant.

The counterargument is that Myanmar is one of the poorest countries in the world, having suffered decades of economic stagnation, mismanagement, and corruption, and that any tourism helps build infrastructure, create jobs, and bring in much needed dollars and investment.

Others favor a middle ground of “responsible tourism”, encouraging travelers to stay in small, privately-owned hotels, and avoid government-owned businesses, such as resorts, trains, and airlines. For the record, I did take a flight within Myanmar, but I chose a private airline; however, I can't guarantee the money didn't end up in governmental coffers.

Regardless of one's politics, my personal impression is that the people of Myanmar are anxious for foreigners to experience the magnificent temples and the rich culture of the 100 ethnic groups that make up the country and anxious to leave behind the almost 50 years of international isolation.

Bagan Part II - Day 3

Temples are great, but my most gratifying experiences involve contacts with local people. I came across these two women while biking around for a second day in Bagan.

I stopped, curious to know what they were gathering in the fields. Even though it's an archeological zone, people still grow crops here in the harsh landscape.

After watching them work for awhile, I wanted to snap a picture, but I feared offending them or, worse, exploiting the women, so I humbly walked up, said hello, and pantomimed taking a photo. They both smiled, so I snapped a couple of shots of them working.

Because I interrupted their labor, I felt it appropriate to offer them some money. The younger woman seemed pleased and showed me her crop - peanuts. The elder woman then opened up a small jar full of roasted peanuts covered with some sort of oil. She motioned for me to try them and afterward gave me a small piece of candy.

This photo is an shot of our impromptu snack.

By the way, upon hearing my home country, both women responded, "Obama."

The pagodas here are more than just tourist attractions. Buddhists actively use them for meditation.

                     

I spent my second day visiting some of the less-frequented pagodas, which gave me plenty of time to just soak in the surroundings and enjoy the sounds of silence.

It's high season in Myanmar, but it doesn't take long to find oneself alone.

As the day wore on, I rushed toward a temple I'd visited earlier to climb to the top to watch the sunset, but technology stood in the way. My bike's battery was running out quickly, even though I had a quarter of the way remaining to the temple. The wise decision would have been to turn back to avoid getting stranded in the middle of nowhere, but how often does one get to view a sunset from the top of a 14th century pagoda.

I pushed forward, hoping the owner of the bike shop meant it when he said he'd bring me a new battery if mine ran down. I rolled up to my destination, just as the battery appeared to die.

I climbed to the top but thought it best to call the shop in advance, which would have been a great idea if I had a phone. I could already see the headline, "American tourist devored by wolves after foolishly pushing his electric bike to the limit." Once again, the universe responded.

I spotted a tour bus driver and pantomimed my plight with an imaginary set of handlebars and a "vroom, vroom" in ever decreasing intensity.

The man laughed, acknowledging he understood and called the shop with his cell phone. Fortunately, he also knew the name of the pagoda because I certainly had no idea.

The driver handed me the phone, and I explained my delimma. "No problem," the business owner said. I told him I'd catch up with him after dark.

Twenty minutes later, he delivered a new bike, and I headed back to town, which I learned isn't a great idea because the roads are horrible and Bagan doesn't have any street lights. Live and learn. At least, I saw my sunset.

I spent my evening with the Hawaiian couple and packed for my return to Yangon, where a Couchsurfer host was waiting. There's only one problem - Couchsurfing is illegal in Myanmar.

Day 2 - Bedazzling Bagan

There's a lot of things I'd rather do than climbing out of bed at 4 a.m. after a long day of merriment with my Yangon drinking buddy, but a 7 a.m. flight to Bagan awaited. The alternative to 80 minutes in the air was 12 hours in a bus.

Of course,the advantage of an early-morning arrival is a full day of sightseeing. I decided to rent an electric bicycle to tour Bagan in style.

From the 9^th to 13^th century, Bagan was the capital of a powerful dynasty that later formed the basis for modern-day Myanmar. The rulers built over 10,000 Buddhist temples. Today, more than 2,000 remain in a 26-square mile stretch along a sandy, dry plain, making it the largest concentration of temples in the world. Some say the collection rivals Angkor Wat in Cambodia, although having been there, it's a hard call playing the comparison game.

Still, wherever it ranks on the “best” meter, Bagan is quite impressive.










Despite the thousands of temples, it's surprisingly easy to navigate the archeological sight because a road runs around the perimeter.


When I saw a temple that caught my eye …

     



 I drove onto a dirt trail leading to the structure,

                               armed with a map and descriptions of the pagoda.

                           

Tourism is still in its infancy, so it's possible to explore most of the interiors of the structures, including sometimes climbing on top for stunning views. Pagodas rise above the plains as far as the eye can see.

Rather than plan out an itinerary, I just wandered around but still managed to see most of the popular destinations.

However, there's a dark chapter hidden beneath Bagan's glittery charm. In 1990, the military government forcibly removed hundreds of villagers living inside the walls of Old Bagan, relocating them four miles away to New Bagan, which is outside the archeological zone.  The official reason – so the temples could be better protected. Yet, afterward, four large hotels were allowed to be constructed inside the zone, as well as a golf course and a 196-foot high viewing platform. As in most places, cash rules.

Like in Yangon, I felt most welcome in Bagan, especially as an American.

This is a picture of a Hawaiian couple and I with a group of 11th graders we met. Each one of the 20 or so students insisted on being photographed individually with us. After awhile, I felt like a rock star.

Each time I mentioned my home country the reply was always the same - "Obama."

I don't think it's because of his politics. Instead, the people I spoke to seemed to appreciate that Obama has visited Myanmar twice. As one man put it, "Obama come two times. Other presidents, zero;" however, another person I met said he completely understood why previous presidents didn't want to visit for fear of giving legitimacy to the military junta.

I photographed this picture taped to the wall of a restaurant, depicting the president's meeting with Aung San Suu Kyi, the main opposition leader to the current president. She lived under house arrest for 15 years because of her opposition to the military junta.

Years ago, I suspect few people would have dared to display such a photograph for fear of imprisonment, but times are changing in Myanmar and tourists seem anxious to take advantage of the opportunity to see the country for themselves.

A Reawakening in Myanmar (Burma) - Day 1 Yangon

For almost half a century, a brutal military regime ruled Myanmar (Burma)* with absolute power, crushing all dissent, often using bullets, and shutting off the country from the rest of the world.  After elections in 2010, a civilian government took power and the aspiring democracy began reopening. International businesses and tourists soon followed.

Although Myanmar has undergone a series of political and economic reforms, many critics say the military is still largely in control behind the scenes, and the country continues to be plagued by allegations of human rights abuses.

Last summer, I considered visiting Myanmar during my trip to Southeast Asia but ran short of time. Now that I live in Singapore, it seemed like a perfect opportunity to see for myself a country that for decades was inaccessible to most travelers.

Landing in Yangon, the nation's biggest city and former capital, I had no idea I was about to experience one of my most enjoyable days ever of traveling.

I try to utilize mass transit as often as possible. It's cheap. It's a great way to meet local people, and a great way to get a glimpse of an important aspect of their daily lives.

I'd read that Yangon buses can be a bit tricky to navigate, especially since everything is written in the Burmese alphabet, and most drivers don't speak English. Still, I wanted to try.

As I searched for the bus stop, I walked up to a man for assistance, debuting my Burmese expression for "hello." He smiled appreciatively, as I pulled out a piece of paper with the address for my hotel.

The gentleman scanned the details, looked up at me, and said it was near his parents' home. As luck would have it, he was headed that way.

We crammed into the bus, a rickety relic from the last century whose engine died each time we idled at a traffic light. My host insisted on paying my fair, despite my protests. "Welcome to Myanmar," he said in his limited English. Later, I handed him cash to pay for our transfer to another bus.

At first, he accepted with a smile, but a few seconds later, he handed back the money, saying, "I help you all the way." All I could do was respond with my only other Burmese expression, "thank you," an expression I found myself using throughout the day.

Traffic is notoriously heavy in Yangon, which it why it took over an hour to travel the 10 miles from the airport. Finally, we arrived. My guardian angel walked me to my hotel, gave me a hearty handshake, and was gone, but won't soon be forgotten.

After checking in, I wanted to find a place to eat and then head to Shwedagon Pagoda, Myanmar's most sacred Buddhist shrine and Yangon's most popular tourist attraction. My plans quickly became derailed by another chance meeting. In travel, like life, I believe one needs to be willing to flow with what the universe offers.

Some tourists say Yangon is just a big city, but I loved the electric vibe of the swarm of humanity and the sidewalk merchants.

Here a man was selling sugar cane juice using an old manual press. Note the longyi (sarong) he's wearing. Jeans haven't taken over here yet.

Walking around the neighborhood, I spotted a dining possibility, but as I approached the establishment, a man waved at me from inside another eatery. Fate had arranged my lunch and my afternoon.

The man spoke little English, but I managed to understand the main ideas. I sat down, and he suggested I try the local beer. One beer led to another, which led to a plate of delicious chicken. After several minutes, the man left. I assumed it was for good, but he later reappeared with his wife to introduce her to me. She also spoke little English, but it didn't seem to matter. That's the magic of travel.

When I finished, the man insisted on paying. We argued about it, but I realized, like with my friend on the bus, I couldn't refuse the overwhelming kindness of the Burmese.

Our day together wasn't over. Next, he took me to his sidewalk business, a small printing shop with a lone computer and copy machine. We enjoyed many more beverages on tables placed in front of the shop, maybe, too many beverages, but what could I do since it was a cultural encounter.

After about an hour, his wife left the shop. The man motioned for me to follow. You might be able to predict what happened next.

He lead me several blocks - after stopping to purchase another beverage - to a tenement building where he lived. I'm sure the guide books wouldn't suggest going to the home of a stranger, but sometimes you've got to trust your instincts. My instincts told me to follow. We climbed the five flights of stairs to his apartment, a simple but comfortable, sparsely-furnished 3-room dwelling.

Inside, his entire family was waiting - two sisters, his mother, grandmother, two nieces, and his seven-year-old daughter, who he bragged about all afternoon. Here is a shot of her exhibiting her musical talents.

After awhile, everyone left except his wife and daughter, who I tutored in English. The parents beamed with pride each time the precocious girl identified an object I pointed to in her school books. The afternoon stretched into evening. I didn't want to wear out my welcome, so finally I left, after receiving hugs from everyone.

Friends often ask me how it's possible to journey to distant lands not understanding the language or the culture. I tell them the universe normally responds IF we'll take the leap into the unknown.

Eventually, I did make it to the Shwedagon Paya (pagoda), a stunning sight because,  fortunately, the shrine stays open until 10 p.m.  The structure was built between the 6th and 10th century, but Myanmar is prone to earthquakes, so the current pagoda dates back to 1769.

The main pagoda is covered with gold, not gold leaf, but sheets of gold. Hundreds of diamonds encircle the top of the structure.

Buddhists come from all over the country to meditate here, as you can see with this monk.

However, the beauty didn't come close to equaling the pleasure of my random encounters with my new friends.

Next stop ... Bagan.

* Note: In 1989, the military junta changed the name of the country from Burma to Myanmar. Many ethnic and political groups - including the governments of England and the United States – still refuse to accept the military's action and continue to refer to the country as Burma. The UN does recognize the name Myanmar.

Singaporean Tip of the Day

Last night, I spoke with a British woman who told me the key to beating the maddening heat and humidity in Singapore — buy a house with good ventilation. Nice advice, until one considers that houses here can easily run into the millions. I had to laugh.

This one seems to have good air flow. Maybe, Santa can hook me up.



Note: The above photo is from the free media repository on Wikimedia Commons.

Another Example of Why I Teach

I couldn't feel any more fulfilled right now as a teacher.

Like any academic pursuit, acquiring a second language demands a lot of study, dedication, and perseverance; however, there's an additional, frustratingly unique skill required, a skill that's completely beyond the control of the learner  — the awareness that no matter how hard one works the brain will make sense of a language when and only when the brain is ready and not a moment sooner.

When I lived in Guatemala, I conjugated verbs and memorized vocabulary each day for several hours. That's what overachievers do, and it normally leads to success, but no matter what I tried I found my progress with Spanish to be slow. What does any overachiever do in this situation? He works even more, of course. Still, no success.

It was at this point that my polyglot friend told me I needed to put down the books, take a deep breath, and allow the mystery of language acquisition to unfold without my pushing it.

Having gone through the ordeal, I possess a tremendous amount of patience with students trying to learn English, which is why I wasn't overly worried when my school feared that a Chinese boy wasn't going to make it academically.

The boy, who I'll call Cheng, was withdrawn, never spoke in class, lacked enthusiasm for his studies, and performed poorly on tests. Normally, that would be a formula for failure but not in the case of a second-language learner.

Most students go through a "silent period" when they appear to be confused and might not be saying anything in class but are still processing the new language. Eventually, sometimes months later, the child sorts it out and blossoms.   

Teachers also tend to forget that foreign students often are hundreds or thousands of miles from home; living, in many cases, with extended family or no family; don't understand the culture; lack friends; and have been thrown into classes taught in another language.

Frequently, I ask my colleagues to imagine how they'd feel if, as adults, they were shipped abroad and thrust into a rigorous, Chinese academic program or Swahili or anything else other than English.

Under the circumstances, I'm amazed how quickly our kids adapt, but that wasn't happening with Cheng, even though the 14-year-old had just been in Singapore for six months.

Earlier this week, I spoke to a veteran administrator who's run schools around the world. He told me the secret for any child to be successful is to find a way for the student to make some sort of connection within the school community. It could be a club or a sport or a study group or any other activity that gives the new student a feeling of belonging.

In this case, the teacher assigned to work individually with Cheng just happens to be American, and Cheng just happens to love everything about America. During our second meeting, he asked me how much the newly-released iPhone6 would cost in my country. At that point, I knew the battle had already been won.

I'd like to take credit for Cheng's success over these past six months, but really I just fed him a steady diet of American literature, American conversation, and got out of the way, allowing the brain to work its magic.

And so last week I found myself sitting with Cheng in front of his geography class, waiting to listen to him talk about a deadly earthquake he lived through years ago in China that killed 70,000 people and left five million homeless. I decided to interview him to reduce the pressure.

The 7th grader, who had arrived 10 months earlier speaking little to no English, now held the floor and held his classmates spellbound as he described his ordeal in almost flawless English.

Teaching isn't a financially lucrative profession, but I can't imagine any greater reward than watching a child, who I fear might not have lasted much longer in Singapore, excelling at the highest level.

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Summer

I can't help but feel Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole are mocking me.

In Singapore, there's no need to dream about a white Christmas with daily high temperatures at or approaching 90 degrees, and who in his right mind would roast chestnuts on an open fire in such extreme humidity.

It's Christmas in the tropics.

From all external appearances, it's like any other holiday season,

                                              but look a little closer.

The North Pole doesn't have this kind of foliage in November, and you'd never catch Santa's elves jogging in shorts and t-shirts.

Normally, this stretch from November to New Year's is my favorite part of the year, but it's hard to generate much excitement this year because I'd probably break out in a sweat.  Last month, I walked into my apartment building, spotted my first Christmas tree in Singapore, and almost cried.

It was a reminder to me of the enormous power and influence of our imprinting. Singapore doesn't conform to my image of Christmas, so I'm left despondent, although Singaporeans seem to easily look past the heat and humidity. It's the same reality, but I perceive it quite differently.

My time in Singapore has been a wonderful experience, but it's yet another example of why living overseas isn't always easy and the acclimation process doesn't happen overnight.

So, for those tired of the cold snap back in America, remember, it could be worse. You could be in danger of suffering a heat stroke on Christmas Day.

The House Hunters International Sham

I missed my shot at reality-TV fame.

I could have appeared on the nationally-televised program House Hunters International. I could have been the envy of my friends. I could have earned $1,500 for my efforts, but I had to say no.

HHI features the stories of people looking to rent or buy residences after relocating abroad. The formula is simple  — the new arrivals view three properties with a real estate agent and choose one. It's addictive, but as I learned firsthand, it's also fake.

Before moving to Singapore, I sent a letter to the show at the HGTV network in America, hoping to take the three-property challenge. I never heard back, found an apartment, and forgot about it, until this week when I received an email from a casting producer, wondering if I'd still be interested in applying for the program.

I wrote back, explaining that I couldn't because I'd located an apartment four months earlier. The next day, the producer, Joe Pinzone, asked me to call him so he could "better explain" the show to me.

In our conversation, Pinzone outlined how HHI would film my story. First, he said the show would shoot "pretend" video of me saying goodbye to my family, as well as "pretend" video of my arrival in Singapore. Finally, he said I would "pretend" to search for an apartment but obviously "pick yours” out of the three I'd see.

In other words, I would go through the ruse of looking for a place to live, although I already have one, and then decide I was going to rent the apartment I already occupy.

Of course, there's still the issue of furniture in a supposedly empty apartment. Not a problem. Pinzone said HHI routinely hires professional movers to take everything out of homes before filming and move it back afterward. In my case, since I leased a furnished apartment, I'd just have to hide personal effects, such as family pictures.

"Isn't that dishonest?" I asked. The producer replied, "It's a re-enactment."

I'm not naive. I realize everything isn’t real in reality television, but the only thing factual about what Pinzone was suggesting was that I moved to Singapore.

"Isn’t that fake?" I continued. He said, "It's a past re-enactment. That's how the show works."

Maybe, I'm a bit old-fashioned because all those explanations sounded like euphemisms for lying. I told Pinzone I might consider appearing on House Hunters International only if the show indicated to viewers my story was staged.

The producer laughed, "We can’t tell people it’s a re-enactment."

And so ended my reality-TV career before it ever began.

I've discovered my experience is hardly unique.

Back in 2012, a Texas woman featured years earlier on House Hunters, the domestic version of the show, admitted she pretended to look for a new house, although her family had already bought one.  Bobi Jensen said the other two properties she and her husband viewed actually belonged to friends and weren't really for sale. 

Also, in 2012, an expat living in Taiwan said he participated in a phony search for House Hunters International. Again, a friend helped out by posing as a real estate agent, since the crew couldn't locate an authentic agent who spoke enough English, according to Matt Gibson, who appeared in the episode.

Gibson wrote on his blog that the hoax wasn't a big deal. "House Hunters International is fake. So what? It's not journalism. It's entertainment," he said.

I couldn't disagree more. It might be argued that it's justifiable to recreate a couple of peripheral scenes, but the premise of the show is that new arrivals are looking for places to live. That's clearly not the case.

A lie is still a lie, even if it does appear on reality television. I guess my 15 minutes of fame will have to wait until another day.

Indonesian Wrap up

For our final day in Ubud, Alexandra left the itinerary to me, and when visiting a cave is one of the options, there's a pretty good chance that's what I'll pick.

We visited Goa Gajah, a small cave where worshipers first started congregating back in the 11th century, and where Hindus still come to pray. Visitors enter "Elephant Cave" through the mouth of a demon carved into the rock face centuries ago.

No, Alexandra and I haven't suddenly developed an obsession for polyester, scarf belts. Because all of the temples at the sight are considered to be holy, the coverings are required.

Even though we'd already explored a rice field next to our hotel, we heard about an organic restaurant located a mile or two in the middle of another rice field and decided to take a look.

Ubud can be overwhelming with the number of tourists, but by just strolling a couple of blocks off the main drag, we soon found ourselves in the countryside.

It was worth the hike for fresh lemon grass tea, coconut water, vegetables picked from an adjacent garden, and chickens that earlier in the day were probably roaming next to the restaurant.

Yum!

Like many popular tourist areas, Ubud is facing the difficult question of where to draw the line between development and overkill.

On the last day of our trip, I spoke at length with a gentleman involved in the retail industry. When he was a boy, he said kids wandered around town, without any worries, playing in wide-open spaces, enjoying the clean air and water.

Now, he said most land has been gobbled up, parents are afraid to let their children outside unaccompanied because of the excessive traffic racing through the narrow streets, and much of the environment has become polluted.  The business owner said he's worried the day might soon come when the Balinese destroy their own paradise, the very paradise that made the economic boom possible.

Hopefully, that never happens because the island of Bali is a magical place and the people just as enchanting.

Monkey Mugging

Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary - Ubud, Indonesia

It's been a picturesque couple of days in Ubud gazing out our bedroom window at the rice fields and soaking up the ambiance of village life in Pejeng, just outside Ubud. However, there's one minor downside to our intimate encounter with nature.

Cockfighting is a major pastime in Bali, and most roosters I met don't seem to enjoy sleeping in, so we've had a natural alarm clock around 4:30 each morning. Roosters are like dogs in the sense that I have no idea how they exercise their vocal cords for hours at a time without tiring. Still, I'll take it over the sound of traffic and discos.

But, I'd rather not repeat our encounter with a certain troublesome troop in the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary.

The jungle compound contains three sacred temples overrun by approximately 600, aggressive, Balinese macaques.

We heeded all the warnings — don't touch the monkeys; don't feed the monkeys; guard possessions such as cameras, sunglasses, and loose-fitting jewelry; and don't carry any food in bags because the monkeys will find it.

And so we wandered into the scenic jungle to check out our furry friends, all the time watching our backs. Alexandra even covered up her watch, never thinking that a small bottle of water tucked inside her purse would become the monkey equivalent of catnip.

The thing about monkeys or any other wild animals is that they're so darn cute, until they aren't any more.

Half-way through our walk, I heard Alexandra exclaim something in an excited, incomprehensible manner and turned to see a pesky primate clinging to the bottle that was protruding slightly from her purse.

At this point in the story, I'd like to say that I revealed my Superman cape and saved the day, but I was as stunned as she was by what was happening and how our attacker appeared so suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere.

Alexandra kept her composure, as she attempted to swing the monkey off. Later, she realized monkeys fly effortlessly through trees clinging to branches, so swinging her purse probably wasn't the best solution, although I likely would have done the same thing.

Once the monkey captured its liquid prey, it left Alexandra in peace and set its sights on breaking open the bottle.

Imagine this beast strapped to your leg. All in all, we got off pretty lucky. Afterward, Alexandra decided she's done with monkeys — forever.

Back in town, we had a much more pleasant animal encounter, sampling the local Balinese delicacy of suckling pig.

We wrapped up our afternoon at the Ubud Palace, where the local royal family still lives. While waiting for a ride back to our hotel, I crossed paths with a couple at the entrance to the palace who asked us where to buy a ticket.

I told them to walk right in because it's free. They both stopped in their tracks. "Wow!" the man replied, "Finally, something I don't have to pay for in Bali."

Thanks, royal family, and thanks to all of you for your well wishes during our trip.

Our final stop — the underworld.

Indonesian Getaway - Part 2 (Ubud)

Ubud is full of seekers — those trying to recreate the experience of the author of Eat, Pray, Love, although that very novel and movie of the same name led to a flood of tourism that would make such an undertaking impossible; and an equally large contingency of vacationers seeking to max out their Zen and their credit cards. As Alexandra puts it, Ubud is a shopper's, spiritual paradise.

Still, the overabundance of visitors and upscale shops can't diminish Ubud's charm. On the contrary, in some sort of surreal way, it seems to intensify the charm. 

On our way to Ubud,







we stopped at a coffee plantation, where we sampled several varieties, including Kopi Luwak, one of the most expensive coffees in the world. There's a reason why it sells up to $600 a pound in some areas.

Image from Wikimedia Commons free media repository

A small animal called an Asian palm civet eats the coffee cherries but they're normally only partially digested. The beans are then collected from, as our guide put it, the animal's "poop." The digestive process supposedly leads to a more flavorful brew, but we couldn't tell much of a difference between the "poop" coffee and regular.

During our tour, the guide assured me the civets run free, but animal rights groups say some plantation owners, in an effort to keep up with the rising demand for Kopi coffee, capture the animals, cage them, and force-feed the civets a diet of coffee cherries, so it's buyer beware.











 Hinduism permeates Ubud's architecture and
 the daily lives of the Balinese.











Here, we came across a procession ...

                                                         

...  whose purpose was to gather holy water for sacred rituals.

Central Ubud can be a bit crazy, so we decided to stay in a villa several miles outside of Ubud, adjacent to a rice field.

I'm still a backpacker at heart, but I could get used to a few luxuries occasionally

and a few decorations on the walls of my indoor/outdoor bathroom.

Although I'm not a shopper, I did enjoy a visit to the John Hardy jewelry production facility. Alexandra tells me the brand is recognized worldwide. The company has made a commitment to eco-friendly practices, such as constructing their showroom from bamboo, and

the company is known for ethical business habits and paying just wages, which isn't always the norm in this part of the world.

We went to the facility, as part of a mission for Alexandra's mom. The tour gave me a much greater appreciation of the amount of work that goes into creating handmade jewelry.







On the following day, I also gained a greater appreciation of something far more serious — the dangers of interacting with wild animals.