An older science professor of mine cited "blogging" as one of his interests a few years back. Thinking this was some sort of gentleman's sport, I continued to be the last oblivious individual in the 18-24 year-old demographic group until about a year ago. Thus, my maiden blog will not be to the standards of some of the probloggers out there, but it will suffice to keep contact, as an experiment in reflection, and to help me redevelop my communication skills which seem to have gotten lost in a book or lab somewhere.
At the moment, I'm eating pineapple and some unidentified fruit with brown flesh on my bed in Madurai, South India. This fruit was brought to me by Selvam, an energetic new castmember in my life whom I'm sure you will come to know and love. I've arrived at this moment by means of a rather exciting (at times challenging) path which I intend to write about in the next few entries. Despite the deluge of colors, smells, flavors and sounds on my way from Des Moines to Madurai, I will attempt to limit this debut blog entry to pictures and short captions.
First stop: California
Josua Tree National Park, Mojave Desert
Joshua Tree is a high desert filled with yuccas straight out of a Dr. Suess landscape and surreal rock formations that just might be sleeping titans. Casey and I went backcountry camping here in October, 2007 with no flashlights, one thin sleeping bag and no coat (for me). Ah yes, I can't forget the tent with no door, courtesy of Logan. Who would have thought it gets so cold and dark at night? This time, we were better prepared and had a fantastic two days climbing the rock formations and trekking through desert washouts. Below: Casey at the campsite, the summit of an abandoned coal mine, and big, beautiful quartz boulders perched precariously at the edge of a ravine containing an old quartz mine.
The two photos below were actually taken in October, but they show the landscape better than photos we took recently.
San Diego
We drove to San Diego for a day because Django James and the Midnight Squires were playing The Casbah. Below: God Bless America!, Casey and Matt (keyboard), Django (singer) with spiffy looking hair, the band waiting to go on, and Casey with Spike (drummer).
Los Angeles
Back in Los Angeles, we spent long hours in the studio. Rather, Casey spent long hours in the studio. I snuck off to Venice Beach, Santa Monica, and the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. While at the LACMA (said with a bit of pretension) I came upon the pop art exhibits and was embittered by several large Cambell's Soup paintings. "Why would an art museum spend so much money on this?! They're so ubiquitous- it's already been done!" Of course, they were the real thing and after looking at the tag I felt stupid. Anyway, the boys are recording some great stuff, and I can't wait to share it with all of you! Below: Casey and Scotty (bass) loading a monster of an amp.
Third Stop: Phnom Penh, Cambodia
I actually arrived in Bangkok first and spent the night in the stadium-like airport on a metal bench under buzzing flourescent lights. Even with taxi and hostel touts, innumerable Germans and luggage carts buzzing around, I managed to get a few winks by wrapping a big orange scarf around my head and using Dad's Thermorest mattress. I can tell you that the other backpackers were quite jealous of my excellent setup.
In the morning I took a short flight from Bangkok to Phnom Penh where met a man, Patrick, from LA. He is some sort of financial analyst for some venture capital firm and his driver gave me a ride to my guesthouse, The Boddhi Tree, which turned out to be an excellent choice. I had a bit of quiet time and prepared myself for an intensely upsetting morning before setting off for Tuol Sleng museum.
A bit of background: From 1975-1979, Cambodia was ruled by the lethal Khmer Rouge which forced the entire population to work on collective farms or labor camps. Phnom Penh became a ghost city and much of it was destroyed. In reference to civilian Cambodians, the regime's motto was, "To keep you is no benefit. To destroy you is no loss." Two million people, over 1/4 of the population, died in those four years from execution, starvation, and forced labor.
Early in the morning, I walked to Tuol Sleng museum, a school that was converted to an interrogation camp during the Khmer Rouge. It has been preserved exactly as the Rouge left it when they fled the Vietnamese in 1979. Like the Nazis, the Khmer Rouge kept meticulous records of its victims. Over 4,000 photographs of prisoners before and after torture were found at the museum and are on display. I walked in and out of tiny cells where prisoners were held, walked through interrogation rooms with blood stained floors where prisoners were tortured to death and then sat on the porch enclosed by barbed wire, listening to kids laugh and play nearby. It started to seem very unreal until I started talking to a woman outside of the school. In halting English, she told me about being forced from her home in Phnom Penh as a teenager and working in the fields alongside her mother. Her father and brother had been murdered in front of her, and after the Vietnamese invaded she was forced back into abandoned Phnom Penh alone, as her mother had become very sick. Throughout our conversation, I tried to keep it together. I had just walked through a torture museum, across the street lay disfigured land mine victims, and now I was listening to a woman recount her experience. I asked, voice shaking, if anyone from outside had stepped in... the U.S? She looked me straight in the eye (something no Cambodian had done with me) and said, "No." On that syllable I realized I wasn't going to make it much longer, so I took her hand and squeezed it, then walked away to be alone. As I walked, I was devastated, then raging, and then surrendered to plain sad. Despite the development of instant communication and news coverage, no one from the outside stepped in. I suppose there were quite a few utterances of, "Isn't that just terrible," before it was back to eating dinner. Something I've thought about quite a bit since that moment is empathy. Not "isn't that sad" sympathy, but real empathy that makes one human feel the pain of another and work to change the painful situation. I've long thought that women have a greater natural capacity for empathy and that a balance of men and women in active society is necessary to stop things like this from happening. The other night, I came across this quote from the Dalai Lama:
To promote greater compassion, we must pay special attention to the role of women. Given that mothers carry the fetus for months within their own bodies,from a biological point of view women in general may possess greater sensitivity of heart and capacity for empathy. My first teacher of love and compassion was my own mother, who provided me with maximum love. I do not mean to reinforce in any way the traditional view that a woman’s place is confined to the home. I believe that the time has come for women to take more active roles in all domains of human society, in an age in which education and the capacities of the mind, not physical strength, define leadership. This could help create a more equitable and compassionate society. Below: In and around Tuol Sleng museum and photographs of the prisoners.
My next stop through Cambodia's terrifying recent past was Choeung Ek, the most famous of the Cambodian killing fields, where 17,000 people were executed and buried in mass graves. Several of these graves have been exhumed and 5,000 skulls are displayed inside of a large memorial stupa. Walking over the pitted, sunken ground, it doesn't take long to notice bits of cloth and bone poking out. Below: sunken ground, skulls of victims filling a white memorial stupa, the stupa, bits of cloth, bones, incense left at the stupa by survivors.
In stark contrast to the grim morning, big blue iridescent butterflies started fluttering about later that afternoon and purple orchids seemed to spring up wherever there might be a spot big enough. I realized that everyone over forty likely had vivid memories of this terrible time, yet Cambodian society is slowly blossoming, and the people are among the most wonderful I have ever met. Cambodia is a true attestment to human resiliency, proof that we can prevail through adversity.
Though the Khmer Rouge destroyed much of Khmer culture and art, the Grand Palace was preserved, and I spent my afternoon there after sampling Khmer Cuisine in a renovated French colonial home where I got my first taste of rambutan, surely the most beautiful fruit on the planet. Below: Rambutan, the Grand Palace and surrounding areas, in and around Phnom Penh.
I have much to write about daily life here in Madurai, but I just can't bring myself to do things out of order. So, stayed tuned for the next episode featuring a romp through a flooding jungle temple, a harrowing night bicycle ride, and stowing away on a bus bound for Bangkok!
Love,
Alexandra
Tamil Word of the Day:
aahlee means transvestite
(needless to say, I have people around here call me Alexandra)
