Monkeys should not be given guns

After a whopping 3 hours of sleep, I was up at 3:15am to get on the bus for a plane ride to Varanasi, India with a Semester at Sea trip. After hearing the horror stories associated with Indian airlines, including pilots leaving the cockpit to have drinks in first class, I was a little wary of our flight. However, everything went smoothly and we landed in the very small, run-down airport of Varanasi. We were transferred to our hotel, a mecca in the middle of a somber slum, and prepared for our sight seeing for the day. Our first stop was a “silk factory”. By silk factory, it was a huge warehouse clearly designed for tourists to spend outrageous amounts on very questionable handmade silk products. I refused to fall into the trap and after a few minutes walked outside to walk the streets. Right outside of the factory a small group of children had gathered and were smiling and waving to the foreigners. One of the kids came up to us and asked if Jason was Brad Pitt and I was Angelina Jolie, and if we could give him our autographs. Obviously, we said that we were.

Apparently only two families in the world continue to make silk like this:


One of the children in the group. Is it just me or is she Latika from Slum Dog Millionaire?


After leaving the factory, we made our way to the heart of the city. We were let off and a string of rickshaws were waiting for us. As I’m sure you can imagine, I was not too enthused. Fortunately though these were driven manually so they were a little tamer than the auto-rickshaws. As we set off down the streets of Varanasi, I really began to take in my surroundings. In every available pocket of the street there were mounds of trash, men were urinating on walls in random alleys, and in between each run-down building was a decrepit home made from cardboard and bamboo. Dozens of wild dogs walked the streets, monkeys crawled on the rooftops, and holy cows could be seen in every direction. Shoeless child beggars ran beside our rickshaws begging for money, adult men frantically waved postcards in the air, and old women sat silently on the side of the road with hands out wide and pained expressions. Once we had been let off, we walked the final steps to arrive at the River Ganges. The bank of the river was filled with people from all walks of life awaiting the nightly religious ceremony. Beggars, affluent Indians, foreigners, priests, and many more had come to witness and participate in the famous Hindu ritual. As the sun went down, boats filled the bank of the river and thousands of small candles were lit and released onto the water. The water glowed with candlelight, as six priests arose on platforms to perform the service. A steady beat from a gong began the ceremony, and a small percussive band and a vocalist soon joined in to accompany the worship. It was amazing to witness such a long-standing custom. The River Ganges is holy to Hindus; each morning Hindus bathe themselves in the holy water and thousands travel great distances each year to die there. It was a very powerful sight to see such devotion and reverence.

Rickshaws and crazy man:


It's love:




Ceremony:




Audience:


Cool-looking holy man:


It was night by the time the ceremony ended and as we made our way back to the rickshaws, it was evident that more beggars had come into the streets. Although it is formally illegal in India, the caste system is still ingrained in the culture of the Hindus, and it was blaringly apparent which caste each person belonged to. The lowest caste, the Untouchables, were the ones who filled the streets. They had absolutely nothing to their name; they had minimal clothing and slept directly on the ground. Many of the beggars were missing feet or fingers, or had terrible deformities. We passed a huge slum, with houses ingeniously built from any available material. Even as we got off the rickshaws and onto the bus, the absolute poverty didn’t end. It was everywhere. Street after street you could see people curled up on the dirt on the side of the road or looking through trash. We got back to our five star hotel, and I couldn’t help but feel disgusted that not twenty feet away from the entrance were people living under sticks, while I slept in luxury. We were returning to the same place the next morning and I was dreading to repeat the painful process again.

They lined the streets for hundreds of yards:


Traffic leaving the ceremony:


Annecdote
3/12/2010: I nearly had a heart attack when we first drove up to our hotel and I saw this:

First day in India!

On Thursday we arrived in Chennai, India. Our first glimpse of India wasn’t exactly the India you imagine. Semester at Sea obviously did not want to dish out the money to port in a cruise ship port, so we ported in a scary shipping yard with chain link fences, back alleys, and huge loading trucks. I was waiting for Cujo to run out and chase me down the dark streets. Luckily, I had to be on a bus for a trip so I was spared from contracting rabies in India.



My first trip in India was to TATA Consulting, the fifth largest employer in the world with almost 150,000 employees. It was part of a field practicum with my International Management teacher. TATA is the largest supplier of outsourcing in India. It was extremely interesting to hear the other side of the outsourcing story. In the US, outsourcing is looked upon so negatively, but in India it is a true godsend for the people who are employed. The employees are highly skilled; each required to be fluent in English. In fact, English is the common language in the company. India has 22 national languages and over 1,600 dialects, meaning many people who work together have different native languages and cultural backgrounds, so English is their only means of communication. We were given a number of presentations by various professionals at the company, from their HR philosophy to their future goals. TATA seems to have a monopoly on every industry in India. They produce the world’s cheapest car (the Nanocar), they are the number two supplier of tea in the world, they produce steel, are one of the biggest outsourcers of financial services, and the list goes on and on. Their capabilities seem endless. For every $1 it takes the U.S. to make something, they can produce it for 18 cents with even higher efficiency. They do the entire payroll for Bank of America, and work with a number of other large banks such as Wells Fargo and Morgan Stanley. For the amount companies’ can reduce costs by outsourcing to India, it makes you definitely understand why companies are so ready to transfer jobs to the country. We were given the opportunity to see the operations and call center for Citibank while we were there. It was 5 pm in India, but all the workers were just arriving because it was 7am on the East Coast. Many of the employees took on American names and developed American accents to make the customer feel more connected.

There were probably over a thousand motorbikes outside the building:


We weren't allowed to take pictures inside the building, but I snagged this before my camera was confiscated for the remainder of the visit:


We got back to the boat from TATA around 8, and luckily for us Indians traditionally eat dinner around 9, so we had plenty of time to go out and sample some Indian cuisine. We walked down the dark, dirty streets leading out of the port, passing two sets of armed guards carrying AK47s. We were happy to get settled into the auto-rickshaw once we had safely made it out of the port. This feeling of relief was fleeting. If you remember what I wrote about the horrendous traffic in Vietnam, forget it. India is in a completely different league. Let me explain to your what riding in a rickshaw in India is like:

1) First off, riding in a rickshaw is about as fast and safe as riding in a Barbie Jeep down I-95.
2) Drivers pay no attention to street lines. The majority of the time we spent playing chicken with oncoming traffic. Let me just tell you, our driver was NEVER the chicken.
3) We went about two miles down a one way street, periodically slamming on the breaks and pulling over to the side when cops would pass.
4) Seeing as there are no windows or doors on the rickshaw and India’s roads are only compressed dirt, you are forced to swallow approximately nine pounds of dust.
5) You lose ten years of life in a twenty-minute ride due to the anxiety of figuring out who you should call first to say that it is your last minutes on earth.

Yes, this is a picture of us going to straight for an oncoming car.


I nearly jumped out of the rickshaw when we were let off. It was not until five minutes later did I realize we weren’t even at the destination we asked for. So we tried once more, in a taxi this time, and finally arrived at the tapas restaurant. The food was pretty good, but the music made the night fantastic. From Dave Matthews Band to Sugarland, we listened to our favorite American music in a restaurant half way around the world. Who knew Indians loved Miley Cyrus as much as us?

Annecdote:
3/11/2010: I knew outsourcing was reaching much more advanced levels than just providing customer call service, but I had no idea it was reaching the level of innovation it is at now until my time at TATA. One of the top managers told us during his presentation that it is now possible to walk into a kiosk in Michigan, put a device on your head complete with a comb and scissors, and a person in India can virtually cut your hair. Judging from my luck with hair stylists in real life, I think it would take me a while to get the nerve to try one 10,000 miles away.

I should be a reptile model

On the last day in Vietnam, I attended a Semester at Sea trip to the Mekong Delta. Before we arrived there we stopped at a beautiful Buddhist temple. They had an absolutely enormous statue of Buddha. His belly button alone seemed to be as tall as me.









The Mekong Delta is huge water system that is the heart of many of the Vietnamese livelihoods. It is a highway across Southern Vietnam and is home to the dozens of aquatic creatures Vietnamese fishers depend on. Boats, floating houses, and huge tankers fill the waterway.





We stopped off at a few places along the delta, enjoying fresh local fruit, taking donkey carriage rides, and holding giant snakes!

We ate delicious rose apples right from this tree:


For lunch we ate handmade fish spring rolls from this freshly baked fish.


Carriage ride:


Shout out to all you Missourians out there!


In the heart of the jungle lining the delta there was a candy shop, which made coconut taffy from hand.


I was about to pee my pants:


Annecdote:
3/2/2010: All over Vietnam I had seen small bottles of liquid with scorpions, snakes, spiders, and other creepy creatures inside. While on this trip, I was coerced into trying this weird concoction, what the natives call “snake wine”. The name says it all for how bad it tasted.





Tomorrow we will be India!

Third day in Vietnam!

On our third day in Vietnam, we spent it walking the streets of Saigon, stepping into the various tourist shops and taking in the sights. We strolled down the Don Quio, known as the “Paris” street of Saigon, which oddly enough ends at the Notre Dame Cathedral. We went to the Benton Market, an enormous building absolutely filled with vendors where you could get anything from beef to underwear (don’t worry I got neither). After barely making it out alive (from the claustrophobia and smell), Jason and I were coerced by two elderly men to take individual rickshaws to our next destination. Although the men and their bikes looked a little worn for wear, we took them up on their offer and off we went down the streets. WARNING to anyone who goes to Vietnam and thinks about taking rickshaw: DON’T. Going down the middle of a busy street in Vietnam, going slower than if we were walking was terrifying. If traffic wasn’t dangerous enough just looking at it from the sidewalk, being thrown in the middle of it on two 40 year old bicycles driven by two 90 year old men was exponentially worse. We went about ¼ of a mile before we stopped off at the nearest landmark we could find. I have never been so relieved. We ended up at the Ho Chi Minh City Museum, which felt to me like an 1800’s big white Southern Plantation home smack down in the middle of Vietnam. It was quite beautiful and very interesting.



Harbor at the end of the street:


Market:


Jason and I took pictures of eachother simultaneously...probably not the best idea in hindsight now looking at the picture:


I hope this helps you picture how terrifying it is to ride in a rickshaw in Vietnamese traffic:


Museum:


We meandered down the street, stopping in periodically at shops to view the local art or handcrafted silk clothing. We ended up at the Cathedral at just the right time when the bells began to ring and a flock of birds circled around the gorgeous structure.



Another major aspect of Vietnam is their massages. Massage parlors are everywhere, and people are on every street corner passing out pamphlets advertising “special deals” for their parlors. We had been warned previously that most of the massage parlors do not only deal in the work of massage, so we wanted to make sure we steered clear of any “sketchy” ones. We went back to the Rex, and although Jason will never admit it, we got pedicures and a 60 min leg massage. For $30, it was relatively inexpensive and quite a relaxing way to end our afternoon.

Can you say, blackmail?? :)



After going out that night to a local bar, we were up at 7:00am the next day to take a field trip to a disabled school for children and orphans who are deaf and mentally disabled. Magically, we were able to get a 45 seater passenger bus down the narrow dirt roads of the small village, and made it to the school. Although I was preparing myself for a very disturbing and sad visit, I was extremely happy to see really favorable conditions and an abundant teaching staff. The students were adorable. All the semester at sea students had brought tons of things to play with, so immediately we went off to play with the kids. Even though you would think they would be interested in soccer balls, bubbles, and chalk, nothing excited them more than our cameras. They would love to take pictures and then see themselves on the screen. Beyond the language barrier, many were deaf and could not speak, but you could see their faces light up when they saw their picture. One child nearly leapt for joy when I gave him my camera to take pictures. He took a good 20 pictures of just me. It was a great experience, the kids were so happy to see us and how well they were schooled and cared for was a very quite a welcomed surprise.

This little girl was my favorite. She was deaf and could not speak but we spent a good amount of time writing to each other in pictures.




Cutest little boy EVER




At the end of the visit, we departed from the group and went off with the Vietnamese tour guide to a school for the physically disabled. Jason had asked the woman about schools for those who were handicapped in Vietnam since he is working on a project for a community service organization at school on the treatment of people with disabilities across the world. She was extremely enthusiastic to show us, so we went in a taxi with her and her mentee (who is actually attending Louisville in the fall), to a school. Again, Jason and I were expecting the worst. However, when we arrived we were amazed at what we saw. The school was beautiful, with open gardens and water features. We were taken to a conference room, where we sat down with the principal of the school. The school is a vocational training school for those with physical and mental disabilities. It teaches students trades such as sewing and painting, as well as accounting, engineering, and electronics. It was opened in 2006 due to the generous donations of many private beneficiaries. It is completely free for those who attend, and handicapped people across Vietnam are eligible to be students. Many are orphans, who would not of had any chance of an independent, self-sufficient life without the school. They brought in about 20 students and we spent half an hour speaking with them through the translator and learning about their life at the school. Our guide, named Bee, informed us that this actually wouldn’t be allowed if she wasn’t close friends with the administration at the school. In order to come, you typically must get a clearance by the government of Ho Chi Minh City. I felt extremely fortunate to be able to see such an amazing complex and witness the progress Vietnam has made in giving those with disabilities a chance for a fulfilling life.





After saying our goodbye and many thanks to Bee for taking us on such a journey, we were back in the city of Saigon. We walked the streets and ended up at the War Remnant Museum. The museum chronicled the Vietnam War, which the Vietnamese call the “American War”. I left the museum speechless and horrified. It goes without saying that it obviously had a very biased view on the war, but the images and stories shown of the terror the US brought on Vietnam was nearly impossible to dismiss as propaganda. The US lost 55,000 Americans in the war, and the Vietnamese lost 3 million, 2 million of which were civilians. By no means does this belittle the precious lives of the Americans, but it does speak to the destruction the Vietnam War had on the country. 1/3 of the population was eradicated. Twenty million gallons of Agent orange, a herbicide contaminated with TCDD, was sprayed across Vietnam in an effort to reduce jungle cover and crop production, and destroyed over 20% of the jungle of Vietnam. 2-5 million Vietnamese were exposed to it, and to this day severe birth defects happen as a result. Random stories littered the museum walls of the torture and civilian killings the US inflicted. I had only read about the Vietnam War in my textbooks in History class or learned about it in the classic movies released about the war. It was an utterly eye-opening experience to see the war through the “enemies” viewpoint.



Just a taste of the horrifying pictures that covered the walls in the museum:


After we left the museum, we returned to the ship, napped and showered, and went to the “backpacker’s district” of Saigon. It was a huge strip filled with bars, restaurants and shops. There was a public park, where local kids came to play hackey sack and people of all ages came to relax and socialize. We went to a bar called Crazy Buffalo and spent the rest of the night people watching. From policeman attacking fire breathing stuntmen, to witnessing sex tourism at its finest, we got quite an interesting glimpse of Vietnamese society.



The telephone wires in Vietnam were piled so thickly. I just can't imagine that it's very safe.

Temples, Tunnels, and Cougars

We went back to the ship early in the morning to meet our group for our tour of the Cao Dai temple and Cu Chi tunnels. The Cao Dai religion is a relatively new religion that was officially established in Tay Ninh, Vietnam in 1926. It literally means “Kingdom of Heaven”. It is a very beautiful religion that combines the teachings of Buddhism, Confucianism, Christianity, and a number of other religions. It recognizes that each religion revolves around the worship of one God, which is the religion’s main teaching, and then combines different elements from each of the religions. They promote male and female equality, and within the temple showcase over 2800 stars to represent each ethnic group in the world. The temple is by far the most beautiful place of worship I have ever seen. Every crevice is ornately decorated and sculpted into complex and gorgeous designs. And on an even better note, Thomas Jefferson is a Saint in the Cao Dai religion, GO HOOS!
















After leaving the Cao Dai Temple, we had a 2 hour drive to the Cu Chi Tunnels. The Cu Chi tunnels are a 220-kilometer network of underground tunnels that the Viet Cong used during the Vietnam War. They were a means of protection, communication, food, weapon, and supply routes, as well as vessels for military attacks that were fundamental to the Viet Cong’s success in the war. The construction of it was incredible and so intricate. The tunnels were built to fit the size of the Vietnamese, which therefore restricted Americans from easy access. The soldiers built only sections of the tunnels, and knew only their portion, so if captured the entire system wasn’t given up. They designed air holes that matched the size of rodent and snake holes so as blend into the landscape. The network of tunnels contained kitchens, meeting halls, hospitals, and sleeping quarters. To avoid the smoke from the kitchens being noticed by Americans, the holes that released the smoke were built up to 30 meters long before breaking ground. The Viet Cong had 3 rules: Speak without sound, walk without footsteps, and go to the bathroom without smell. They used sign language to communicate, and when building the tunnels sang songs that sounded like animal sounds so Americans couldn’t tell the difference. The soldiers would drag a board at their feet when they crawled through the tunnels to trick Americans following them to go into trap tunnels, which held a number of gruesome booby traps. After going to the bathroom, they would mix it with ash to reduce the smell, and then would rub it on the bamboo spikes they put in the booby traps to cause infection to those who fell in it. The Viet Cong did not have the technological sophistication or wealth to use high-tech weaponry, and therefore relied on more “organic” measures.

Here is the tunnel system. There are three levels to the tunnel, leading to various rooms.




I went through this tunnel, which had been doubled the size of the original. It was extremely claustrophobic, pitch-black (I used the flash on my camera to see where I was going) and, I later learned from a girl’s picture she took in the tunnel, is home to bats. Jason decided against descending into the tunnel.







Don't be fooled by my smiling face emerging from the tunnel, I was sweating profusely and hyperventilating.



Here is picture of the size of the original tunnel. I can’t even imagine crawling through thousands of feet of that.



Air hole:


Here is an example of a booby trap they would use. The trap would blend into the leaves, then once stepped upon, open into a pit with bamboo spikes shooting up.



They also had a shooting range at the tunnels. I shot a handgun and an AK 47. Lets just say I would not make a very good marine, as you can tell in the below picture with my eyes sealed shut shooting the handgun.





When we returned from our trip, we went back to our room at the Rex. The concierge suggested a local French restaurant (Vietnam was previously a colony of France). The restaurant was very delicious and when we were done we returned to the rooftop bar to end the second night.

Annecdote

2/27/2010: Heed to all women over the age of 40 reading this blog: Please never do what I had to witness on the top of the Rex. One older woman who appeared to have one too many glasses of rice wine, put on a show for over one hundred people at the bar. She flailed around taking in and out her hair clip so as to whip around her head, she consistently lifted up her shirt for all to see her “no-longer-in-its-prime” stomach, and groped ferociously on a poor old man. Her friends and mortified husband watching the show held their heads in shame while stifling fits of laughter. I tried my hardest to get Jason to dance with her, but sadly he resisted my pleas. All I could think of was if this was anyone I knew, I would be teetering between hysterical laughter and crying.