Wanderjahr

The end of the road...

2009-06-24T22:16:00.000-07:00

So I haven't posted in almost six months (I should've written about China, but I was too busy trying to survive China to write about it), and I'm starting medical school in two weeks. My Wanderjahr will officially end when I make the road trip from Minneapolis to Cleveland to begin my life at medical school. It's been absolutely mental these last 1.5 years, and great fun to know that my friends, family and even the occasional stranger has been living my adventures with me in some small part. Moreover, this blog was a great way to frame my impressions of this time, and looking back, having arrived at this point a pretty strikingly different person, I look back and think what a long, strange trip it's been.

Though my wandering is on hold for now, my blogging isn't. I cordially invite everyone to follow my every embarrassing moment over the next four years at my new medical blog:

The Questionable Admission

Hope I see you around.

The charm of Hyderabad

2009-02-19T23:33:00.000-08:00

So I’m the road again, and it certainly feels good. That doesn’t mean leaving Hyderabad wasn’t hard though.
The charm of Hyderabad lies in the human connection it embodies. Despite the frenetic development of the last decade, with the invasion of IT and BPO services, the city retains a lad-back vibe, and its people treasure their free time...none more so than my jihadi Muslim family, most of whom are blissfully unemployed (I’m not kidding...people with steady jobs in the family are more the exception than the norm; they’re surviving off the land holding they enjoyed as a result of their status as landed gentry in Hyderabad’s previous incarnation as an almost feudal society pre-1948). It would appear then that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, as I spent my last two months in Hyderabad unemployed, in typical nawabi fashion. Into this mix, add my various social networks, exquisite Hyderabadi cuisine, cheap green, and you have a recipe for complete dude-ery.
During my last few months in the city, I invariably had at least one house guest from the Center for Microfinance, Couchsurfing (the hospitality exchange website which I am so devoted to), college, or family (the median was more like two or three, and went as high as 9 people on two occasions), and as my social circle among the expat community in Hyderabad grew, my life quickly snowballed into a constant pattern of social interaction. During the day, I would spend some time on self-improvement, 10 push-ups here or there, plus the occasional cooking lesson (nothing too taxing...I swear gravity is stronger in Hyderabad), but mostly, I would simply float around the city, visiting family members, often accompanied by whoever my current house guest(s) were. Simultaneously charming and irksome, Hyderabadis are incredibly informal about social calls, and it is perfectly acceptable to simply show up on a relative’s door step with a friend and expect to be fed; I happily exercised this right, as my expanding waist line can attest to. Over lunch, I’d enjoy the color of my Banjara Hyderbilly relatives (a lame play on “Beverly Hillbillies,” excuse me, I’m an idiot who likes bad jokes...but if you’re wasting your time reading this blog, you already knew that); our conversations would cover anything from the latest anti-semitic topic (“The Jews perpetrated 9/11, I’m convinced of it!”***), family intrigue (I won’t expand on this, it’s too wrong), and perverted religious interpretations of science (“The Koran had written blueprints for atomic energy way before the idiot Germans and Americans figured it out”).
Later, as nights overtook the city, and the call to prayer would echo around the leafy boulevards of Banjara Hills, I’d inevitably call a few friends and make plans for the evening. The majority of the time, this entailed everyone gathering in the living room of my ancestral home, and listening to music, chilling out, smoking up, and getting down together. This didn’t just happen once or twice a week; we got together almost everyone night, despite the fact that almost everyone but me had a job.
By the end of my time in Hyderabad, I had implicit schedule of weekly family visits, time with my grandmother, and get-togethers with friends, and it was almost impossible to ever feel lonely in Hyderabad. It was sweet, and I will really miss it; I’d even venture to say that twenty years from now, I might look back on this time with great nostalgia, but if my delightfully unambitious life plan works out, I’ll be right back to bumming around Hyderabad in 2029 ;). You can take the Hyderabadi out of Hyderabad, but you can’t take Hyderabad out the Hyderabadi; we’re slothful, gluttonous, crude...wonderful people, in short.

***Racialist Disclaimer: I often comment on my family’s xenophobic, homophobic and racist tendences, and I just want to reassure my readers, black, asian, white, gay and particularly Jewish (or a combination of the above) that if you ever want to come to Hyderabad, you’ll be welcomed with open arms (as in those things with an elbow and fingernails, not AK-47s). Despite frequently dumping out the Hatorade, my family is waaaaay to lazy to actively harm anyone. If you can eat, drink (not alcohol though), and be merry, they’ll love you just the same.

Holymotherofballscrapshitf-ck...

2009-01-08T10:25:00.000-08:00

I saw Mischa Barton. In Hyderabad. Outside a nightclub. She was stoned out of her mind. Just when I thought my year in Hyderabad couldn't get any weirder, it grew epically weirder. I f-cking saw Mischa Barton strung out on drugs (she sat on the floor for ten minutes) in Hyderabad, outside the Taj Krishna. God damn, I've seen it all now.

P.S. She was hot, but not as hot as the movies. Still pretty hot though. And in Hyderabad, which makes her that much hotter.

Anjuna to Ashura: Part I

2009-01-07T06:45:00.000-08:00

What is about to follow, should, by the time I am finished, amount to a massive post tracking my progress from Hyderabad on December 28th, to Anjuna Beach, Goa, for the New Year, to Mumbai, and then back to Hyderabad, where the Shi'ite event of Ashura is upon us. In tracing this journey, I hope to offer some insights on these specific destinations, and also, dovetail on my post about the "Strangeness of India," by rendering specific examples. Enjoy ;)

Anjuna Beach, Goa (December 28th - January 2nd)

Some of you might know about my involvement in Couchsurfing (CS); for those who don't, in summary, CS is a travel social networking site, on which you have a profile, much like facebook. The twist is that you can also indicate whether you're open to meeting other travelers for coffee/beer, and even hosting them in your own home. Since travelers can search for you by your city/country, they might request to stay on your couch/bed/floor for a few nights as they pass through your local digs.

Sound unsafe? Sure, it can be, if you forget all the good advice your mother's gave you. Basically, don't be stupid. Always check someone's profile when they request to meet you or search your couch. CS offers useful indicators of social capital, such as permanent references that others can leave on your profile. In turn, you can check the profiles of the people leaving the references, and their own references, so pretty soon, you can quickly gauge a person's basic tendency to serial killer-ness.

My own experience of CS has been nothing short of sparkling. I've been hosted by people twice, once by a 58 year old ex-lawyer in San Diego, and the other time by a 43 year old in North Carolina (however, most CSers tend to be 18-35); in turn I've hosted a couple people in Hyderabad, and have gone to countless meet-ups, where you don't host anyone, but get to meet all the CSers who are your area. Invariably, I find CSers to be of above-average intelligence, outgoing, interesting, interested, and generally, very free thinkers. In short, they're brilliant people.

My trip to Goa essentially started with CS. Kishore, a local Hyderabadi friend of mine (who incidentally, I first met through CS, though we had many mutual friends), and I both hosted Cies, a lovely guy from Holland. The three of us ended up forming a trio, as Cies stayed in Hyderabad for a month, having found a short-term job through our contacts! (CS even gets you jobs ;). When the New Year was approaching, we started thinking it might be fun to make a trip to Goa together. The trip literally fell together 24 hours before anyone left, and so it came to pass that we all headed to Goa for New Years. Cies and Kishore headed to Goa on a Friday, and I followed the Tuesday after. We opted to head to Anjuna Beach to celebrate the New Year, as Anjuna is the epi-center of Goan Hippiedom.

My own trip started with me almost missing my bus, as I went to the wrong pick-up point, and had to be driven across town on a scooter by the travel agency's manager (he wasn't too pleased with me). 12 sleepless hours later (the bus was horrible, and every part of my seat, I was to learn, was thoroughly broken), I found myself in Mappusa, a small town close to North Goa's beaches. From Mappusa, I made my way to Anjuna, and joined Cies and Kishore. We enjoyed a leisurely, open air breakfast wrapped in liquid sunlight and equally liquid Goan trance (a genre of electronic music unique to Goa). And the morning became only more techno-color, as my friend Cies rolled several large spliffs, and passed them around the table, not only amongst our own small trio, but sharing them with an accompanying set of rich Delhi-ites as well. It was a perfect morning....

From there, Kishore and I headed to get me a scooter (they already had one), and a separate room, as Pawan, an old college friend of mine, would be joining us later that afternoon (by pure serendipity actually; Pawan joined in the trip 24 hours after we ourselves chose to go). The scooter we ended up renting would ultimately turn out to be the bane of my existence, and I might have guessed from simply looking at it; it was a rusty piece of sh-t that made me wonder if my tetanus shots were up to date. I was skeptical, but the rental guy assured me it was reliable. Sure enough, within 2o minutes of giving "Bike Shambu," 3 days of rental money, the scooter broke down. Thankfully, "Bike Shambu," or more appropriately, BS, was close at hand, and I was (slowly) on my way again.

After getting a room for myself and Pawan, I joined the guys and we headed to some random beach (Calangute, I think?), where we ogled the natural beauty of the place, and smoked ourselves into an even more elevated stupor. Only with night approaching did we make our way back to Cies and Kishore's place (which had a lovely garden seating area adjacent to their room, and hence formed the "adda" or central hangout of the trip). Upon getting back, I was privileged to be part of a miraculous college reunion, and saw not only Pawan, but Madhav, Manoj, Auyon, and Vivek (all of them South Asian students who atteneded Macalester with me); I actually hadn't known that all of these guys were coming, so it was an unexpected treat.

That night, we headed out to Curlies, a beach side club, to partake in a mini-rave that heralds back to the giant beach parties of the 1990's. The scooter ride was half the fun; by this point, our automatic gear scooter had become trapped between 3rd and 4th gear. So if we started from a standstill, we started in third gear...which meant we didn't start....which in turn meant we had to start the bike Flinstone style (you know, running your feet along the ground below your vehicle)....EVERY time we stopped. Add to this the fact that we were all blazed beyond recognition, it made for a buzzy, frenetic ride that set the pace for our whole trip. After winding our way through meandering, moonlit village roads, we parked our faithfully unreliable scooter amid a veritable thicket of two-wheelers, and followed a shady, shady path to what was a shanti-shanti party. As soon I stepped foot in Curlies, the vibe was hippy, trippy good fun. The party population ranged from three foot dreadlocks and Neanderthalesque dress to Bombay elite lounge suits, and designer hair-cuts....but it didn't matter, everyone was on E, acid, coke, weed, whatever, and everyone was there to have a good time. Loping through the crowd, which resembled a seabed garden of undulating kelp (the only way I can describe the way people dance to the expansive rhythms of Goa trance), we staked out our corner of the dance floor, and so remained, till the wee hours. Stumbling home hours later, we spent 20 minutes searching for our bike (which incidentally resembled almost exactly the other ~500 bikes parked in the dark), and made our loopy way home, to sweet, sweet sleep.

The next morning, rising sluggishly, we eventually made our way to Morjim beach. I had stayed their on my last trip to Goa, and I wanted my friends to experience the panoramic vistas, the Russian mobsters, and the leggy beauties that stalked the beach. After run-starting my bike, Cies, Pawan and I were off (sans Kishore, who would end up sleeping the entire day, and even part of New Year's eve...loser). Apart from Cies' bike running out of gas within spitting distance of the beach, we made it their ok, immensely enjoying the liberation of the thirty minute ride to Morjim (we took in backwaters, oceanside, farmland, and townships on the journey).

We spent the day at Morjim, lazing about a uber-hippy beach hangout like fat Cheshire felines. We occasionally summoned the reserves to go for a leisurely swim or walk, but it was mostly a stony, still day.

In the evening we met up with my college buddies again, and headed back to Curlies, to enjoy more of the same. Exhausted from the previous night, I made it to 2:30 AM, at which point, I blissfully passed out on a beach chair, where I slept largely undisturbed (a few druggies took liberties with hair, ears and nose, but no penetration mind you) till 6:30 AM. I was awoken by a relatively sober Pawan, who had been separated from me during the evening, and had only just sobered up enough to find me. Re-energized, we hit the dance floor again (which was still just as packed as 8 hours earlier), and enjoyed the fading hours of the celebration. I should take a moment to note that I have seen only once or twice before such a gathering of stunningly attractive hippy women. Mind you, these are not rail-thin, Victoria Secret catalogue wanna-be's, but shanti-shanti, wheat-grass infused, fair-trade, organic women, from every ethnicity, Indian, Asian, White, Black, Mixed, etc. The only thing they unanimously shared were their earthy good-looks (and the smelled good too!). I could go on for pages, but I'll stop now. In closing, it was a welcome relief after months in Hyderabad (which has beautiful women, but they're all locked up at home in cages, lest they accidentally speak to a boy before they get married).

After sleeping a few hours through the afternoon, and seeing Pawan off, we were at it again, this time, heading for the Hilltop Rave, a landmark of the Goa social scene that had been toned down because of terrorism threats (normally, Hilltop starts on New Year's eve, and continues for 72 hours straight, no stopping). Despite the abbreviation of the event (it was only 12 hours), it was still a winner, with an even hippier vibe the curlies (there was a group of people dressed like cavemen and women next to us, doing a tribal-ish circle dance the whole night...it was absolutely mental. Moreover, the undulating kelp bed of of trance-heads at Hilltop constantly focus on the DJ, who was enveloped in a giant, glowing DJ booth, flanked by a gauntlet of trippy blacklight poster; all in all, it made for a delightfully zombie-ish atmosphere. We ended up sharing a chillum with a sadu (Hindu holy man) on the dance floor, and remained at the rave till it ended at 10 PM (it had been going since 10 AM).

Thinking the night had just begun, we rambled out to hop on our scooters, and head for the next party.....except my scooter wasn't there. Where was it? Maybe somebody moved it....so we combed the surroundings. No luck. Someone towed it? Nope, the party organizers said no one had been towing that night. What could've happened to it? "Well" say the party organizers, searching the ground at their feet, and shrugging as they continue "it was probably stolen, it happens all the time." Sounds plausible, but wait...there are over 1000 bikes parked outside...why would the thief choose what was undoubtedly (I'm not exaggerating), the most useless piece of shit, pathetic excuse for working transportation in the lot. Regardless, I'm certain justice was delivered before the crime was even completed, as the criminal realized the sheer folly of his choice as he tried to make a speedy getaway (the bike had a top speed of 40k, going downhill; uphill, you were lucky if it went at all, and it was all uphill to get out of Hilltop's parking lot).

However, we chose to test conventional means of justice as well, and ambled over to the cops, who promptly interrogated us about our own purposes in Goa, rather than the bikes. Clearly, that was a poor option. What to do? We needed to clear our minds, and think this through. So we went back, settled down to figure out a plan, and ended up smoking ourselves silly. It ended up being the antidote. We woke in the morning, decided to simply skip town without consulting Bike Shambu, and wire him some compensation later, and sure enough, that's what we did.

Anjuna Hippie Culture

2009-01-07T05:42:00.000-08:00

Goa is India's smallest state, located south of Mumbai. A coastal state, Goa features a distinct local culture, having been under Portuguese rule for several hundred years prior to 1947. It's a beautiful beach destination, with a balmy tropical climate, and a tourist industry that makes it one of India's richest states.

However, Goa's tourist status was first established the way many third world destinations have gotten their start in the last 5o years, through backpackers. The flower power generation, motivated by a desire to leave behind the quotidian routines of life in Western capitalist nations, left home in search of social, cultural and religious revelations, embarking on extended travel, lasting not months, but years. Given the length of their journeys, they opted for shoestring travel options, traveling from Europe to India by primitive land and sea transport networks. Given the political situation of East Asia at the time, many travelers finished their trip with a last hedonistic hurrah in Goa, India, before heading home, and so began the hippie scene in Goa, India.

In summary, the hippies sought to construct an underground anti-culture, that usurped the strictures of Western consumerism and productivity obsessed society. In the end, they imported a hodge-podge of values to India, which were rather unsuccessfully merged with local Indian culture (they quite simply had no idea what India was about, hopelessly mysticizing the place). The were left with a muddled vision of pseudo-utopian hedonism, about which entire books have been authored; at the core of this were raves (huge underground parties consisting of thousands of people), drugs (everything from hash, to LSD, heroin, etc.), and sex (a lot of it).

And the latter is largely what survives of Goa's hippie heyday. Most of the original hippies have ODed, gone home, etc. What's left is concentrated in North Goa, at Anjuna beach. The scene is now dominated by young European backpackers, Israeli's fresh out of the army (easily distinguished by their bronzed complexions and devil may care attitudes), and most curiously, a new generation of highly liberated young Indians. All of these groups have wordlessly co-opted Goa's hippie traditions for their own means, and I have to say, I quite like to result. At its most essential, Goa is about pure hedonism. You go there to have a fun time, unfettered by considerations of time, money or responsibility. And given the laidback atmosphere, low cost of living, and easygoing attitude of the police to all dirty doings, you can get that. I think few of the people who go to Goa these days fully endorse the escapism it once represented. I for one, don't think doing drugs on the beach all day exactly amounts to bucking capitalist society.

However, I do relish the egalitarian festival atmosphere, in which you can rub shoulders with backpackers, local Goans, rich Indian society, package tourists, etc. etc. Never have I felt less self-conscious on the dance floor than at the raves around Anjuna beach. Distinguished by striking visual themes (think blacklight posters of alien, mushroom, Hindu gods, and the like), massive beach parties (ranging from 1,000 - 10,0oo), partying that is literally 24 hours (I'm not kidding, around New Years, there is always a 1,000+ person party going on somewhere), and party-goers who are striking non-judgemental, you can let your hair down in Goa as you can in few places.

Most people would compare Goa to Ko Pha Ngan, where I was earlier this year. KPN has effectively usurped Goa, as the Full Moon Parties that now make KPN famous were actually a Goan innovation that were shut down in the 1990's (since which Goa's hippie culture has been gradually fading as its replaced by mass, luxury tourism). However, rich as it sounds, KPN lacks a certain refinement which Goa enjoys. While KPN is literally pure hedonism (never in my life have I see such excess, in all respects), Goa marries hedonism with a counter-culture sensibility that is free-thinking, intelligent, and very, very rare among party destinations (Ibitza, KPN, and Rio, are again, purely hedonistic in comparison). In this sense, it has shades of Dharamsala, Rishikesh, and the like.

Intriguingly, the rich, young Indians who frequent Goa around New Years seem to be embracing this free-thinking, egalitarian hedonism. Descending like pilgrims from Bangalore, Mumbai, Delhi, Hyderbad, Pune, Chennai, and India's other big cities, these kids often represent the social elite of their respective cities. However, as soon as they hit Goa, they exchange their designer outfits for hippie uniforms, and mix freely with everyone on the scene, from penniless backpackers to eager local Goans. Promisingly, some of them seem to be importing some of this egalitarian ethos back to the underground cultures in their home city, creating party scenes that aren't just the playground of the rich, but of young Indians from the middle class as well. I really hope that the next twenty years sees the emergence of counter-culture's in India that throw off the prim Victoria social strictures that currently dominate youth culture in India (which I can write another post about entirely; the conservatism of even young people has been one of the most trying aspects of my year in India). I'm hoping for something like Jack Kerouac's "On the Road" beat generation.

My life in Microfinance

2008-12-28T06:50:00.000-08:00

So I never really posted anything about microfinance, and honestly, I probably never will. In all honesty, it's interesting to read about in the NY times or similar, but to spend six months invested in nothing but can be a dreadful bore, what with all the talk of interest rates, variable repayment schedules on so-on. Nor is it it the silver bullet against poverty. In brief, it is an approach with incredible promise in extending the package of services we can offer the world's poor in pursuit of sustainable development, but we understand ridiculously little of how it works (the jury is even out on interest rates, too high, too low, do the poor even understand the notion of an interest rate, etc.), and we'll need to wait at least ten years (I think), until studies coming down the research pipeline, from institutes such as the one I used to work at (Center for Microfinance/Poverty Action Lab).

As part of my cop-out, I'm pasting in an article that my colleagues and I recently wrote for an economics quarterly. It neatly summarizes the project I worked on. Cheers ;)

Health insurance for India’s poor: All for one, one for Five Dollars

How should a society organize limited resources to finance healthcare for its citizens? A tough question, with many potential answers. An even tougher question might be how a poor society, with 600 million people living on under $2 a day, should finance its healthcare.

The Indian government has opted for a publicly funded health system, but limited by resources, and further burdened by its own corruption and bureaucracy, it has struggled to meet its population’s needs. While vertical programs have achieved some degree of success in combating diseases such as polio and tuberculosis, community health programs meant to address broader issues are less successful. Patients with other illnesses (e.g. hypertension) find government clinics and hospitals overworked, and under-resourced. To help fill this void, non-governmental organizations have stepped forward with their own solutions, but coverage is hardly universal, and often relies on capricious donor funding that only accounts for 2.3% of health expenditure in India1.

When government public health systems and NGO services are inadequate or unreachable, poor households often turn to fee-levying and generally unregulated private providers. These private providers typically offer decent care (though a substantial number of medical quacks operate in this space), at premium prices. Ultimately, households are the major financing source, accounting for 72% of total health expenditure, and moreover, since a very small percentage of households have health insurance, 98% of household healthcare spending is out-of-pocket2. This burden is particularly felt by low-income households, which are vulnerable to illnesses and their corresponding economic shocks.

Challenges at the household level
Take for example Fatima Begum, standing outside her small two bedroom hut in rural Karnataka. A diminutive, but noisy woman in her forties, Fatima relates a sobering story of her family’s health. It starts three months ago with her joint pain and a visit to a local government clinic; the prescribed medication from the visit achieved no improvement, and so Fatima visited additional clinicians. Rolling her eyes and smiling, she relates how her husband, Mohammad, suddenly experienced chest pain around the same time (Mohammed grunts to confirm the veracity of this account), and fearing for his life, the family rushed to hospitalize him in a nearby city, where he spent a night under supervision. Add illnesses of one of their children to this bill of health, and you arrive at 22,000 Indian rupees (INR), about $460, spent over the last three months. This is a staggering sum for a poor household which likely earns about INR 2,000 – 5,000 a month ($20-$50). Indeed, the family was unable to finance its healthcare needs through savings, and progressively borrowed money from relatives, then money-lenders, and eventually, resorted to selling household assets to avert complete ruin.

Can microfinance institutions play a positive role?
Enter PRATHAK Microfinance3, one of the major players in the Indian microfinance industry. Out in the dusty Deccan, not far from where Fatima lives, PRATHAK is exploring the use of a health insurance scheme among poor households. Fatima is already an PRATHAK client, having previously taken out a small loan to purchase livestock. However, had she renewed her loan, she could have chosen among several new health insurance options, which range from insuring only herself to insuring herself and up to four immediate family members. An insurance package, costing about 500 Rupees, insures families up to 20,000 Rupees. Insured individuals either obtain medical care with a provider of their choice and then file for reimbursement, or go to “network” hospitals where they receive care at no cost—a “cashless” claim. Had Fatima opted for family coverage, the policy would not have paid for all of her expenses, but it certainly could have covered the most expensive item, her husband’s hospitalization, at INR 15,000.

PRATHAK is not entirely unique among microfinance institutions (MFIs) in considering the implementation of insurance products. Globally, the microfinance industry has matured considerably from its early days, when Mohammed Yunus and the Grameen bank were considered audacious. Loans and savings products are increasingly well-understood, and improved technologies are facilitating the delivery of financial services to developing country households once considered “unbankable.” A few MFI giants have even crossed the controversial threshold of profitability, which to some is the critical indicator of sustainability.

As the microfinance industry has matured globally, it looks for new products to sustain its meteoric growth, and for many insurance products represent the new frontier. For some such products are means of gaining competitive advantage, as certain regions of the world now see unprecedented levels of competition for customers amongst MFIs. Other MFIs are exploring insurance products as a means of insuring their own portfolios; if clients can be protected from income shocks related to adverse events of weather, health and other uncertainties, they are more likely to repay their loans and invest the money in income generating ventures or assets (as opposed to smoothing capital requirements during health shocks). And finally, many pursue insurance based on moral imperatives.

However, economists have long understood that healthcare, and health insurance, function uniquely as commodities, and as such, can cause market-based solutions to malfunction badly, leading to market failures. Actually, some would say this is exactly the case in America, which relies on private insurance markets to provide health coverage. Terms familiar from a Principles of Economics course ring true in this respect: asymmetric information, moral hazard and adverse selection can limit the effectiveness of private health insurance.

In this respect, MFIs possess some unique characteristics that may make them unusually well-suited to deliver health insurance, and potentially sidestep such issues. PRATHAK makes health insurance mandatory for clients taking new loans, thus averting adverse selection. (Avoiding adverse selection, though highly important from an insurer’s perspective, can make an MFI vulnerable to competition. When MFIs are competing against other lenders, they risk losing clients who do not wish for a health insurance product, or to pay a premium, with their loan.) Moreover, large MFIs often serve millions of clients, providing a critical mass to make the risk-pooling required for health insurance feasible. Finally, MFIs have already developed the distribution networks necessary to service clients taking out loans (often on a weekly basis), and this infrastructure could easily lend itself to sustaining health insurance schemes.

The PRATHAK Experience: Challenges in Implementation
Nonetheless, PRATHAK faces many challenges. Behavioral economics tells us that people do not allocate their incomes rationally and that the poor are particularly vulnerable to the consequences of this irrationality.4 Anecdotal evidence—witnessed by the authors themselves—suggests that PRATHAK clients do not understand their health insurance. For example, they do not understand the purpose of paying money upfront for health care, which they later may or may not need later. PRATHAK worries that the mandatory nature of the health insurance program might decrease its primary business—small group loans for enterprise development. However, other insurance products, such as life insurance, have been successful nationwide in India thanks to strong government backing. Similarly, before PRATHAK can scale up its program, increased financial literacy and a standardized method for encouraging financial literacy at the community level are needed. Another issue involves reimbursement; some of PRATHAK’ clients complain that the filing process is too long and technical.

Administering health insurance in rural India also presents PRATHAK with many operational difficulties. The geographical distance between the client and the insurer causes great delays in reimbursements: the claims must travel from the client in her village, to her loan officer, then to PRATHAK headquarters in Hyderabad and finally to the third-party insurer in Mumbai for final processing. Reimbursements must travel the same route in the other direction. As a result, reimbursement claims initially took up to 6 months. PRATHAK says they have streamlined this process to less than one month.

Another operational difficulty that PRATHAK has encountered is finding “network” hospitals. These hospitals are advantageous because they do not require the client to pay any upfront costs, and PRATHAK can assure both quality and a reasonable cost to the insurer ahead of time. However, identifying hospitals in rural areas that meet the insurer’s standards has been difficult.

The Verdict is Out
Despite these complications, MFIs like PRATHAK are well-positioned to offer health insurance to the poor. Insurance requires a large base of people, and large MFIs have that base. MFIs have already successfully developed life insurance programs, and health insurance is the next natural step in the expansion of services. Moreover, the poor, who suffer enormously from health shocks, stand to benefit hugely from a health insurance product.

An important step in confirming its feasibility will be the use of rigorous evaluation. The authors of this article are currently running a five-year evaluation of PRATHAK’ health insurance product as a joint collaboration of the Centre for Micro Finance and MIT’s Poverty Action Lab. Respectively, these institutions are committed to conducting action-based research for microfinance and development interventions. Results of rigorous trials from such organizations will help verify if health insurance through MFIs can succeed (the authors certainly think it can), and if so, help identify the major hurdles to making it a success.

Poor societies, and poor households, such as those in India, face difficult choices in parceling out their income. Health is often not a priority until it becomes a calamity, but leaving individuals to pay out-of-pocket is too risky. In India, 24% of the population falls below the poverty line due to hospitalization. Indeed, health is vital to breaking poverty traps, and in countries such as India, where the government’s role is limited by resources and corruption, private solutions can help improve poor families’ access to health coverage. Through their unique delivery channels and large base of clients, major players in microfinance are well situated to help achieve that objective. Microfinance has already chalked up considerable success with its loans; perhaps it can score further gains with health insurance.

Update on me and Mumbai

2008-12-28T06:23:00.000-08:00

First a quick personal update:

I’ve been accepted to a couple medical schools, but haven’t decided where to go. I don’ t need to, and likely won’t, decide till May 15th, so there’s no rush.

In the interim, I’ve quit my job (again....it’s becoming a recurring theme for me to hand in a resignation every 6 months), and for now, I have 6 weeks off to enjoy my last few days in India. I’m relishing my time off (being a bum is highly underrated), and have a list of things to do (travel, self-improvement, family visits), that bears resemblance to that of a retiree (sans grandchildren). Some highlights from the next weeks: trips to Goa/Bombay, and Calcutta/Darjeeling/Sikkim, cooking lessons in Hyderabadi cuisine, exercise to shed the excess baggage gained thanks to the latter cuisine, and time with my crazy Jihadi family.

In anticipation of my own laziness, I’ve signed up for a new job that will only last 5 months, and entails 15 hours/week of work for a comfortable paycheck and accommodation included (in my, surely irrelevant, opinion, it’s not about working hard or smart, but working less ;). An important detail about the job: it involves teaching Chinese tikes how to speak English in Suzhou, a city located one hour from Shanghai. China features a booming job market in Teaching English as a Foreign Language jobs for native speakers, and recruits the same from the US/UK/Australia. I can’t help but think they’ll feel cheated when a brown guy shows up, no matter how clearly nasally American my accent.

Ok, update done

My blog is experiencing a bit of an identity crisis, given my relatively stationary existence since returning from my SE Asian adventure, but I recently read “Freakonomics” and one of the pleasures of the book was it’s distinct lack of theme. In that vein, I give up on trying to make this blog about anything more specific than the meanderings of my own perverse sense of curiosity. With that I give you an update on the Mumbai bombings:

I was recently in Mumbai for a lavish wedding hosted by Parsi friends of the family. It was a sumptuous affair, rife with glittering attire, sparkling small talk, and all the trappings of “Mumbai Society.” In short, it was trippy, trippy fun, given how utterly removed I am from any sort of “elite”. I felt like a millionaire playboy for a couple days, instead of a post-college bum...
However, the wedding also offered a chance to interact with some of the social elite of Mumbai, and understand how the recent attacks had played themselves out in the city’s psyche; I was particularly well-situated for this purpose, given the wedding’s location in South Bombay, where the targets of the attack were located.

In a nutshell, the mood was sober. Unlike many of the terrorist attacks in recent history, this one had hit the elite (a striking parallel to the 9/11 attacks), as the Taj Mahal Hotel and Trident occupy a central location in the social constellations of the the city rich and/or famous (one graduate of Mumbai’s elite Cathedral school told me he knew many of the victims, and that his family lunched at the Taj two or three times a week). For many, Christmas and the upcoming New Year’s celebrations will be decidedly low-key.

The attacks attracted disproportionate attention given their high profile targets (note, the attack at the Victoria Terminus, also a Mumbai landmark, but one frequented by a relatively pedestrian crowd, received considerably less press, and I’m about to committ the same sin in writing about the Taj Mahal hotel).

Incidentally, I visited the Taj Mahal Hotel the day after it re-opened, an astonishing three weeks after the attack. The management had done a spectacular job! Photos of the hotel from the attack were no less than a visual metaphor for the nature of strike, the well-appointed lobby riddled with random bullet holes, and smeared with blood. However, the lobby into which I stepped that day evidenced the attacks only by way of a temporary Tree of Life memorial, featuring the names of the dead. Apart from that, a few stores had been walled off, but very professionally, to the point where you would’ve only known had you visited the hotel earlier (I had).

My mom and I hadn’t come as terror tourists (though there were a fair share of those), but to visit the famous Gazdar Jewelry shop, where my family has frequently struck gold in finding rare and exquisite antique jewelry (shameless pun, I’m sorry); this trip was both to look for more, and to show our solidarity with the owner. The shop’s owner, an old family friend, waxed lyrical of the Tata heirs role in quickly rebuilding the hotel. He said the speech given at the re-opening speech the previous day was surprisingly moving, and Tata himself was moved to tears while thanking the hotel’s staff for their individual acts of courage, which certainly saved lives that day. Interestingly, I repeatedly heard Tata referenced in the ensuing days, by numerous Mumbaikers. It would appear that just as NYC collectively narrated its own patriot mythologies in the days following 9/11, the 26/11 attacks in Mumbai had curiously fixed Tata in the role of the fearless leader (akin to Guiliani in NYC). In a way, I think it quite appropriate. The Taj is certainly an elitist symbol, but its history can certainly be a source of national pride. In 1903’s, Jamsedji Tata had visited Watson's, then Mumbai’s most lavish hotel. He was turned away for being Indian, and vowed to build a hotel so magnificent and classic, he would neatly turn the snub on its head (note: there is considerable speculation that this story is apocryphal, and I'm inclined to believe it is, but what is history but a fable agreed upon). Regardless of his motivations, he undoubtedly built a hotel worthy of Mumbai: the Taj is undoubtedly a remarkable piece of Mumbai history, and in a sense, a symbol of Indian self-reliance (it’s also about as classy a “Fuck You” Tata could’ve offered his would be detractors). Its quick renovation following the attacks deepens it role a symbol of Indian defiance, this time, in the face of terrorism.

On that note, Indians have a remarkable threshold for chaos, and with it, terrorism. While America threw the relative equivalent of a national hissy fit in the wake of 9/11 (and not unrightly), most Indians regarded the 26/11 attacks with directed exasperation (the government screwed up royally, most feel), and an almost spiritual patience.

Finally, some Indians simply took no note at all. One of my cousins, a member of South Mumbai upwardly mobile youth (he’s an I-banking analyst, one of the increasingly rare few who still has a job), smoked himself silly with his friends on Mumbai’s finest hash. When I asked him with measured gravity (lest I upset him and his friends), about whether the attacks were directly traumatic, he replied with an irreverent grin: “Traumatic? Are you kidding? I fucking partied!....a two day vacation in the middle of the week. It was fricking sweet, I was high the whole time.”

Though not as classy as Tata’s retort, I suppose that’s as big a “Fuck You” to the terrorists as any.

The Strangeness of India

2008-11-18T06:14:00.000-08:00

It's been two months since my last post, again.....My life has been hijacked over the last few months by the process of getting into medical school, and I finally feel like I'm reaching solid ground again.

Hopefully, I'll actually start posting again, though I wonder if anyone is still reading this, after such a prolonged hiatus.

As for what I'm up to, I'm still working for the Center for Microfinance/Poverty Action Lab here in Hyderabad, in South India. Med school will start in July or August, depending on which school I go to, and I may end up anywhere from Cleveland (ugh...) to NYC.

But enough personal details, I regard this blog as a chance to offer novel insights to friends/family/the occasional stranger (I know this only because I get random comments on occasion), so to begin today's topic: The Strangeness of India.

Visitors to India, regardless of whether they like or dislike the country, are struck by the incredible strangeness, a sense of almost extraterrestrial displacement they experience when in India. They come with different compunctions; some come on infantile quests to experience "the spirituality of India," and leave as confusedly agnostic as when they arrived, others arrive to enjoy its vast cultural fares, it's cuisine, arts and monuments, and still more arrive with myriad reasons (save the world, find oneself, etc.). But all, I believe, are struck by a deep sense of mystery, as if staring into an impenetrable bank of fog, attempting to deduce the outline of the opposite shore, and its shrouded secrets. Many leave never to return again, simply shrugging their shoulders at its perplexity.

It's been almost a year that I've been here, and returning as an Indian-American makes for an interesting experience. I had my own well-formed and half-baked reasons for coming back. Largely, I wanted to save the world (hah!), and experience working life in a foreign country (more realistic). I've returned to India so many times over the last 23 years, I've cumulatively spent ~5 years of my life here, albeit in stuttering fragments. In all of that time, this vast, beautiful country has remained largely a mystery to me, in spite of its familiarity. I knew the roads of Hyderabad, the intersections that cascade down from the modern, luxury homes of Banjara Hills, eventually coursing into the sea of traffic around Charminar, a monument at the heart of the medieval Old City. I understood the need to bow and offer my salaam to elders, grasping at my mother's behest, the systems of etiquette and respect governing Muslim society in Hyderabad. I spoke enough Urdu to grasp the intricate swearing of young boys laboring in mechanic shops, who utter phrases so eloquently obscene, they might qualify as lurid poets of sorts.

And yet, for all my familiarity, I hardly understood this country. More remarkably, I did not even realize how little I understood of it, a phenomenon I have observed among many non-resident Indians, children of immigrants who may return to the country of their origin, but comprehend little of it, regardless of their fluency in local languages and comfort in getting around. Indeed, they demonstrate a wholesale lack of curiosity, taking for granted India, and the connections they enjoy to it (thereby, I think falling into the category of people who simply shrug their shoulders at how weird India is). I cannot blame them.

Though I did not hate India for the first 6 months after I moved back here, I certainly did not love it. It is a challenging place, and it's easy to get distracted by the nuisance of minutiae. Traffic, pollution, heat, so much of life here can be an assault on the senses.

However, after starting my job in microfinance, I have slowly warmed to India. The job is fairly interesting, and being occupied professionally contributes a considerable deal to my enjoyment of the country. However, it's more than that. Returning to the US for medical school interviews was great, seeing my dad, being reunited with all friends, and enjoying the big and small things that I missed about life in America. I loved being back in the States, which is why I have been perplexed that I am so content with my life in India.

Slowly though, comprehension has assembled itself among my thoughts. I'm not even going to try to summarize India, I can hardly think of a more idiotic exercise. In fact, I'm going to opt for a complete cop-out, and call this country a moving target. No one alive today, Indian or otherwise, fully understands India, and no one ever will. Think of it in terms of sheer cultural mass and inertia. There are more than a billion Indians today. They live in 28 states, speak an absurd number of languages, belong to myriad religions, eat foods unrecognizable to one another, comprise different socio-economic groups, and so on. On top of it all, all of these sub-cultures, sub-strata, etc. are dynamic, evolving, devolving, rising, falling, exploding, imploding, you get the idea.

In short, no one is ever going to have a f-ing clue what this country is about, and anyone, especially an Indian who professes to get India, is full of sh-t. In my humble (and opinionated) opinion that is.

So why do I like it here so much? It's like a circus. And therein lies the beauty. And I don't mean it's a circus in the physical sense, because of the poor infrastructure, and the creative adaptations people employ. Visitors describe the traffic, the crowds, etc as circus-like. I'd say that's a skin-deep assessment that might characterize any developing country. For me, India is like a circus because of the fantastically eccentric characters that people this bizarre nation. From my relatives, who firmly believe I won't get in to Mount Sinai medical school "because of the Jews," to my scheming office boy who is constantly inventing new ways of making money of his hapless employer (i.e. me), to the endless retinue of auto drivers, invariably shady fellows with filthy vocabularies, terrifying hygiene, and a sniffer dog-like ability to help me find marijuana. To engage with this cast is to experience India, to understand that you'll never understand, to realize how undeniably exotic the world-view of its citizens might be in relation to your own, and thus, how unrelatable.

To top it all off, if you have a pulse, it is impossible to remain a passive observer here. You can't go through life asleep in India; it'll bite you in the *ss before you make it five steps. Hence, even a disinterested participant is forced to learn.

In the recent few years of my life, I have actively sought out human experience, and people who possess trajectories of existence radically different from mine, sought them out as an entomologist might amass a diverse collection of butterflies. I suppose it's my way of understanding the possibilities of human experience. In this sense, India is a repository of wealth. It is a kaleidoscope of paradigm, in which people with radically different world-views regularly rub shoulders with one another. Though this may be held true of any country, I think the absurd range of differences in outlook characterize that which makes India so strange. And as I approach the completion of a year here, it is a slowly growing comprehension of these outlooks, rendered possible by improvements in my language, and cultural adaptation, that are making my time in India so delightful.

As I gain familiarity with this country, it appears no less strange; indeed, collectively, it appears stranger, and yet its individuals more comprehensible, making for an utterly exotic, yet personable, warm country.

Therein lies the charm.

Center for Micro Finance Work Culture

2008-09-16T02:46:00.000-07:00

The following exchanges more or less sum up my work experience at CMF:

Me: Hey, Professionalism…
Professionalism: Yea?
Me: Suck it!

Me: Excuse me, 9-5 work schedule?
9-5 Work Schedule: What can I do for you?
Me: Blow me ;)

Me: Yo, Drug Testing
Random Drug Testing: Is something wrong?
Me: Randomize this! (exhales cloud of smoke)

Sorry, that last one was a shameless experimental design joke......

Amorous Indians and Chinese Americans

2008-09-16T02:34:00.000-07:00

My colleague Theresa Chen sticks out like a sore thumb in rural India; plus she’s a foreign lady, and a lot of Indian men have wild assumptions about the virtue, or lack thereof, of foreign women. However, Theresa has perfected a method of getting rid of even the most ineligible bachelors, be they on train journeys, in shady Indian bars, or in random villages.

Indian Hopeful: Hello, how are you (grins stupidly…..)
Theresa: *with blank stare* How are YOU?
Indian Hopeful: ….ummm, I am very good thank you (caught off-guard, the hopeful will rack his thoughts for a suitable pick-up line and then….lightbulb)…..Do you like India?
Theresa: Do YOU like India?
Indian Hopeful: *nervous chuckle* What do you mean, this is my country?!!...(more racking of thoughts)….are you married? (they are always this smooth)
Theresa: Are YOU married?
Indian Hopeful: Is there an echo in here?
Theresa: Is there an echo in here?
Indian Hopeful: ummm, I’m going to go over there now….
Theresa: (smiling, softly and mostly to herself) ….suckaaaa

I'm back

2008-09-15T12:50:00.000-07:00

It’s been a while, and I won’t lie…..I missed my blog. I think it’s time to come back.

I’m finally finished with medical school secondaries, and lying gratuitously on paper about my desire to attend medical school. Now I have medical school interviews scheduled, and have been frantically preparing to lie in person about my desire to attend medical school.

In case your wondering, no, I’m not being completely forced into this profession which being of the brown persuasion, I can’t blame you for thinking. No no, I am contemplating ruining the best years of my life entirely unpressured by my parents. To their credit, they’ve never forced me to do anything more drastic than eat my vegetables.

Indeed, I am in the midst of a raging quarter life crisis, and wondering what I want to do when I grow up; the thought of spending the next 7 years in medical education is terrifying to someone who is afraid of committing to anything at the present moment. Plus, reading medical student blog doesn’t help (check out the following for a shining example: http://www.medschoolhell.com/2007/04/24/101-things-you-wish-you-knew-before-starting-medical-school/)

My angst is boring even me though, so I’ll fill you in on the details of my nutty Indian life. Long story short, I joined a development economics research institute about 3 months ago, and I really had no idea what to expect. My interview consisted of a lot of questions about randomization, statistical methods, etc.

I was thinking my job my consist of the same, but as I’m finding out, I’ve accepted what may be the zaniest position I will ever enjoy:

1.) On a quiet Monday, the window of our dilapidated 6 story office (actually a residential 3 br apartment illegally rented as an office) popped out while one of the office staff was cleaning it, and plummeted sixty feet to land in the middle of a busy thoroughfare. Thankfully no one was killed. Actually, no one was surprised either…..

2.) I made a 6 hour journey by Indian government bus from Gulbarga to Hyderabad. On Indian buses, strangers will sit on you, it’s quite normal and I was sat on, numerous times. If you ask them what they’re doing, they’ll look at YOU funny.

3.) Numerous village animals will interrupt surveys with clients. Chickens, goat, cats, dogs, and the like. Most memorably/adorably, I was accosted by a baby cow while training one of my surveyors. It was not interested in me so much as the green mat I was sitting, which it spent ten minutes thoughtfully grazing (I suppose it looked like vegetable matter), before the woman we were surveying had it chased off.

Into this mix, throw my insane, Jihadi Muslim family and bizarre expat friends (who have to be nuts, in the best way possible, for leaving cushy American/European/Japanese jobs to come earn a shitty salary while living in India), and you have the ingredients of a long strange dream.

MIA

2008-08-02T02:23:00.000-07:00

So I've taken a lengthy hiatus from maintaining my blog....I blame med school apps. I have about twenty essays of varying lengths to complete in the next few weeks, and it's time consuming.

A really brief update:

After my last post, I headed back to Hyderabad, and plunged right into my job. In a nutshell, I'm running a randomize control design evaluation of a health insurance product for poor, rural Indians. My field site, where the project is being conducted, is located about 5 hours from Hyderabad, and I typically visit once a week.

It's been a crazy four weeks adjusting to a job unlike any other I've had. It hasn't been entirely joyous, and at times, I've asked myself "What the hell have I gotten myself into?" But then there are always these amazing moments, like when a chicken wanders into a interview with a client in a village, and I feel very thankful for not having to sit in a sterile office environment day after day.

The last week has been particularly good. Our institute has flown in a bunch of grad students from the econ programs at Harvard and MIT for a two day institutional meet (in Pondicherry), in which we exchange ideas and training. Following that, we had a five day course (in Chennai) in evaluating social programs using a randomized control design methodology; it's basically been like college all over again, with all the other research associates and I (most of us in our early twenties), living in a hostel together and attending class during the day. The class was incredibly stimulating, taught by professors from Harvard/MIT Econ, and a prof from Harvard B-school (who was hilarious, as he constantly made fun of Harvard B-school students). More than anything though, the week was a chance to meet the professors who are running our institute, and to try to understand the paradigm with which they approach this work. It was also good to learn that they are as dedicated as the people working for them, and basically run J-PAL without receiving any payment for their time spent working on projects.

The week in Chennai is over though, and now it's time to head back to Hyderabad. Hopefully, my secondaries will be done soon, and I can start re-posting.

Culture Shock and Chennai

2008-06-29T11:41:00.000-07:00

For the first time in my life, I have experienced culture shock upon arriving in India. It's honestly never happened before, and I'm not sure why it happened this time. Maybe it's because I came back from an idyllic two month trip, rather than just Minnesota, but for whatever reason, I've been squeamish about eating street food, street smells (usually a blend of human excreta, pollution, and food), the insane traffic, and the complete lack of personal space.

It didn't help that my family hasn't stopped making fun of me since I arrived; as you can see from the photo of me at Uluwatu, I have a pretty mighty tan, and in India, a tan is not a good thing. As you might know, like a lot of Asian countries, Indians subscribe to an implicit color caste system, in which lighter is better. In the matrimonial sections of the newspaper classifieds (yes, people advertise eligible bachelors and bachelorettes in the newspaper here), almost every prospective spouse is advertised as fair (most of them are lying). Moreover, there is an entire industry of skin bleaching products, with creams such as "Fair and Lovely."

Thus, as I'm hardly fair skinned anymore after three weeks of surfing, every time a family member sees me for the first time, they squeal with laughter, exclaiming "He's turned black, he's turned black!" The clinic staff shout a chorus of "Negro, Negro!" anytime I get near......Indians have never won points for being politically correct.

Thankfully, I wasn't in Hyderabad long. As some of you might know, I'm starting a new job, and traveled to Chennai, in the Deep South, to receive my orientation two days after arriving back in India. My new employers, the Poverty Action Lab/Center for Microfinance require me to complete a number of formalities with the Indian government in order to begin work, so here I am. Although it's good to get away from my family, I have to confess that Chennai is absurdly boring. Despite being India's 4th largest city, and hub of growth in manufacturing, IT, and biotechnology, it's also very conservative. The city more or less shuts down after 10:30 (including bars and nightclubs, no joke). The climate is pretty awful (daytime temperatures around 100 degrees), the auto drivers extortionate, and it's actually pretty tough for non-Tamil speakers to get around. Hyderabad is somewhat unique for the South in that Urdu/Hindi is quite commonly spoken because of the large Muslim population. In Chennai on the other hand, there are virtually no Hindi speakers, making it difficult for even Indians to get around the city (I think I'm starting to understand what a tourist in India might feel like).

Chennai apart, very little has happened involving my job. I've actually spent the last five days sitting around my hostel room waiting for my new bank account to open (because I need the bank account to apply for a PAN card, the Indian equivalent of a social security ID). In the meantime, I've been reading up on the microfinance industry (expect a summary post in the coming days), and applying to medical school (expect another summary post).

Perhentian pictures, Ubud, Surfing and Going Home

2008-06-29T11:05:00.001-07:00

In case anyone is still curious, here are some pictures from the Perhentians, those tropical islands I visited in Malaysia some weeks ago:

It’s been a while since my last post, so I’ll quickly summarize my remaining weeks in Bali.

Before I do so though, I should comment on the experience of being Indian in Bali; the island sees droves of tourists every year, and we weren’t expecting special treatment. However, Indonesians LOVE Bollywood movies, and as were three of maybe six Indian tourists on the entire island (an almost certainly the only Indian surfers), invariably shopkeepers, touts, hotel owners, waiters, anyone really, would see us and start inquiring:
“You’re not from Australia, are you?”
“No, we’re not”
“India?”
“Yes...”
“New Delhi?”
“Yes” (it was easier than trying to teach them how to pronounce “Hyderabad”)
“Hey, hey, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Kabhi Kushi Kabhi Gum, Kaal Ho Na Ho....
(all titles of Bollywood movies)
They would go on like this for a while, and soon start calling us by the names of certain actors. My cousin Sahan is about 6’2, and so would invariably be compared to Abishek Bachan. I was usually Shah Rukh Khan (not sure if that’s a compliment). Sadly, wherever Naj went, he was still Osama Bin Laden (to be fair though, he had a ridiculously large beard by this time).
I know a few Indian dance moves, and it would always elicit peals of laughter from crowds of spectators when I started dancing around, so by the second week in Bali, we more or less had a scripted performance to serve as an icebreaker. It was actually a lot of fun, and helped us meet a lot of people we would normally have never spoken to.

We attracted even more attention when Henny, a German exchange student joined our group; Henny is the stereotypical Aryan, with platinum blonde hair (it almost glowed in the the dark), blue eyes, and very fair skin. Naj pointed out that we looked like Goldilocks and the Three Bears when we were all together.

Following my last post, I made a three day trip to Ubud, the epicenter of art and culture in Bali. A village located 20 km inland from the ocean, Ubud became a center for the arts under the patronage of the Gianyar dynasty a few hundred years ago, and attracted artists and performer from across the island. Such was the inertia of this patronage, Ubud continued to be a cultural hotbed long after the end of royal support; its status was bolstered considerably by the influx of a large number of expatriate painters during the 20th century. Attracted by the lush, temperate climate (Ubud is vibrantly green), the spectacular vistas (traditional Balinese village life, rice paddy landscapes, volcano backdrops, you get the idea....), and the existing artistic traditions, these artists were to provoke a cultural renaissance, giving rise to the Ubud schoolof painting, a striking contemporary movement. I went to Ubud primarily to experience the fruits of Ubud’s artistic traditions and was not disappointed. The Neka Art museum, one of multiple collections in Ubud, has the largest concentration of top-quality works, and I was taken aback by the quality and accessibility of the art. Some of the work, particularly by a luminary import from Holland, Walter Spies (image at right), looked like something Diego Rivera might have painted had he lived in Bali. Moreover, many pieces were imbued with a sarcastic and raunchy sense of humor, subtly mocking politicians, sexual practices, tourism and other aspects of 20th century Balinese life.

In addition to sampling Ubud’s visual traditions, I enjoyed two traditional Balinese dance performances. I went to the performance with low expectations (because I’ve seen “traditional dances” staged specially for tourists in India, and was shocked by how poor they are compared traditional temple dances), but both performances were quite good. The first, accompanied by a ~20 man orchestra consisted of a medley of dances, all interpretations of a central Hindu epic, the Mahabharata. They are similar in style to South Indian dance, although they involve no facial expression, and tend to employ rather spectacular costumes (in one instance, a ten foot long mythical monster). The second dance was quite raucous. Probably the most recognizable Balinese dance, the Kecak, consists of a 50 man a capella chorus who also serve as extras and human set pieces as needed. By varying tone, rhythm and volume, the Kecak dancer/singers are able to create an almost orchestral sound by making only the sound “cak,” making for both an atmospheric and humorous backdrop the action of the main dancers.
When I wasn’t sampling Ubud’s cultural fares, I was sure to make trips out into the surrounding rice paddies. The Ubud countryside was characterized by mesmerizing vistas, in which staggered, geometrical panes of water (the flooded rice paddies), reflecting mountains and clouds animate the stillness.

Photos from the two dance performances, and a bike ride through the country side:

After returning from Ubud, our time more or less centered around surfing. By this point we had a stable group of friends, consisting of Jacopo, the Italian couchsurfer we had first met, Phillipe (a Swiss friend friend of Jacopo) and Henny, a German exchange student who was living in Bali. All of us were there to surf, and so a usual day would go something like this:

- Wake up, grab our boards, and surf until whatever break we were at got too crowded (by midday, some breaks were so crowded, you ran the risk of getting in fight with other surfers over a wave)
- Lounge on the beach till late afternoon, and depending on what the tide was going to be for the evening, head to surf spot that works best at low, medium or high tide.
- After surfing till sunset, the whole gang cleans up at their respective homes, and we’d all get on our motorcycles to meet up for dinner at one of the hundreds of restaurants in the Kuta-Legian-Seminyak area
- After dinner, go home and play guitar/watch a movie/talk about where we’re going to surf tomorrow

Below are some sunset pictures from Kuta beach at low tide:

The week before we left, a pretty epic swell hit the South Bali coastline, and waves were in the 8 - 10 feet range. That might not sound very big, but when you’re in the water, it’s pretty heavy (anything 10 feet and above begins to be potentially dangerous). The first day the swell hit, we didn’t even bother getting in the water. Even at the easiest surf spots, the waves were massive barrels that were closing out (i.e. breaking and then rapidly collapsing onto themselves, offering no ridable face). To underline the point, we saw a number of surfers limping out of the water with broken boards that day.
The surf did mellow out as the week wore on though, and the two days before we left made for some spectacular surfing. The day before we left, we visited on of Bali’s best and most visually spectacular spots, Uluwatu. Consisting of five different breaks, Uluwatu is rendered particularly dramatic by the jagged cliffs that overlook the breaks; moreover, to access any of the breaks, you have to descend a steep flight of stairs in to a cave which floods at high tide. Once in the cave, you hop on your board and paddle out over tropical reefs to gorgeous aquamarine waves (my photos are taken a low tide, so the cave is sort of dry)
I would have loved to surf Uluwatu, but it can be a dangerous break for beginners. The swell wasn’t particularly large, but the wave breaks over reef. If you wipe out (which I frequently do), there’s a good chance you’ll land on the reef, which has the texture of jagged concrete. I’d seen enough surfers in Kuta with entire sides bandaged to know it was a bad idea to go in. But as you can see from the photos below, plenty of surfers were catching great rides.

Leaving Bali was hard. I woke up early to surf the day we left, and enjoyed some of the best waves of the entire trip in a deserted line-up under a beautiful dawn sky....pretty, damn idyllic. My cousin Naj and I had been discussing how difficult it was going to be to go back to India (the overpopulation, the smell, the hassle, etc.). Sure enough, as soon as we get on our Thai Airways flight, we’ve been seated next to one of the only Indian men on the flight. When I try to get to my seat, instead of getting up into the aisle like most polite passengers, he merely slides his knees back a half inch, and gives me a stupid grin, as if he expects a gold star for effort. Naj and I actually burst out laughing. He then passed extremely foul gas the entire trip back, and snapped his fingers at air hostesses whenever he needed something. Bloody Indians......
When we landed in Hyderabad, it was no better. The customs officials regarded our surfboards with complete befuddlement, trying to decide if they could charge us import tax on “two dining tables with no legs.” The surfboards caused further problems when we got picked up as both were almost longer than the tiny 3-cylinder Maruti my family owns. Eventually, we reclined the seat and put Naj under both boards for the hour long ride home (you can see him at the end of the slide show above). The trip was largely uneventful, but it was nonetheless hard to go from island paradise to an overcrowded, polluted Indian city.

Indonesian Contexts

2008-06-11T07:04:00.001-07:00

Indonesia is the world's fourth most populous country (after China, India and America), encompasses the planets largest Archipelago, and constitutes its largest Muslim country, which makes me wonder why I know so damn little about it. Maybe it's just me, but it sometimes seems like the world forgets about the Indonesians. Whatever that case, I'll try to shed light on what I've learned since arriving.

Indonesia officially came into being as a modern nation state in 1949. Previously a Dutch colony, it declared its independence in 1945, three days after the Japanese surrender. The Dutch retook their colony by force, but international pressure, particularly from the US, which questioned the use of Marshall Plan investment for violent warfare. Shortly thereafter, the Republic of Indonesia came into being. Its initial years were disastrous, with widespread corruption, inflation and mismanagement. The situation worsened under the rule of Sukarno, who established his position with increasingly authoritarian policies. A miliary coup in 1965, though unsuccessful, resulted in a weakened Sukarno, who fell prey to the head of the military, General Suharto. Suharto was to rule for thirty years, from 1968 to 1998, and his reign was a mixed bag. The benefits of his policies of courting foreign investment, curbing inflation and re-entering the world economy (significantly bolstered by the countries abundance of natural resources), were curbed by his suppression of political opposition. The situation remained stable, aided by an unspoken social contract in which Indonesians saw their prosperity rise as long as they did not oppose Suharto's rule. However, the scales tipped in the Asian financial crisis of the late nineties, and Suharto was forced to resign. Shortly thereafter, Suharto's party lost badly in general elections. Since then, Indonesia has witnessed a gradual return to democracy.

Presently, Indonesia finds itself slowly crawling the ladder of economic development, while tackling endemic problems of corruption, terrorism and poverty. Although 16% of the country lives below the poverty line, I'd have to say that what I've seen thus far is better of than India. The roads are better, nobody looks like they're starving, and it's less polluted.

However, like India, Indonesia finds itself challenged to forge a national identity where there was none. The archipelago is vast and culurally very diverse, prompting the use of "Unity in Diversity" as a national motto. However, that has entailed an identity that is often dominated by the largest ethnic group, the Muslim Javans. Understandly, this causes tensions in places like Bali (which is Hindu majority). As such, the little news one often receives of Indonesia is reports of separatist violence and ethnic tensions.

I can't comment too much more on the political situation, but I can add a little based on personal impressions of Bali:

Balinese Hinduism: not Hinduism in its Indian sense, but more a blend of Indian Hinduism, Buddhism, and local animist beliefs. Balinese devotion is very tangible, as even the most touristed locales see the setting out of small devotional offerings on practically every door step every morning (they consist of cute little banana leaf boxes containing food and flowers). The temples are also ubiquitous, and very beautiful. Aesthetically, they balance the over-exuberance of Indian temples with the over-minimalist east Asian layouts, consisting of courtyards showered with stone statutes and covered with lush green moss and tropical vegetation. Finally, to add to the mix, almost all temples feature regular performances of dance and drama.

Indonesian Food: While it lacks the sophistication and exuberance of food found elsewhere in Asia, it's respectable, and VERY cheap (you can get a huge plate of food for less that a dollar). Mostly fried rices, and noodles, but some good soups as well.

Big Waves = Lazy Blogger

2008-06-11T07:04:00.000-07:00

I've been pretty lazy about posting recently, but I think it's understandable. I arrived in Bali, Indonesia about two weeks ago, with one goal in mind: to learn how to surf.

Bali was "discovered" as a holiday destination in the 1930's and has been attracting droves of visitors ever since. The island is the crown jewel of Indonesia's tourist industry, with most of the development concentrated in the frenetic Kuta area. It draws a very diverse crowd, Australian/Japanese surfers, shoestring backpackers, ethnotourist, and upmarket luxury travelers.

What is surprising is that Balinese culture of the island is surprisingly intact. The local population is still very much traditional, and somehow manages to intake mass tourism while preserving the bulk of its traditions (see "Indonesian Contexts" for more on such traditions).

But back to surfing: I tried surfing for the first time about 9 months ago, in California, and was instantly hooked. I'm not one for adrenaline sports, but surfing blends a physical rush with a certain organic beauty; sweeping across the ocean on waves breaking against tropical beaches is often nothing short of sublime.

A little history lesson: The sport originated in Polynesia, notably Hawaii, having been firmly established as part of island culture there when Captain Cook arrived in 1778. Upon witnessing a surfer, the captain stated "I could not help concluding this man felt the most supreme pleasure while he was driven on so smoothly by the sea." He got it right.

However, the sport truly took off in the 20th century with the invention of lighter fiberglass boards, and mass media (surfing movies such as "Gidget" telegraphing the experience across America and the world). By the 1950's, millions had taken up the sport, and a professional surfing circuit was coalescing. Fast forward to the present, and surfing has a worldwide following marketed to by a multibillion dollar global industry.

I won't bore you with a discussion on wave mechanics, so in short, a wave "breaks" or rise up out of the seat to form a ridable face when it passes over certain seafloor topologies. As such, waves can break over beaces, reefs, and so on. A surfer will paddle out to the "line-up" (usually identified by triangulating your position with two landmarks), and watch for approaching waves. Waves tend to come in sets of anywhere from ~5 to 20 waves, so often you can find yourself sitting on your board for a while. However, when you spot a wave, you start paddling towards shore, in an effort to match its speed and thus catch it. As soon as it starts to carry the surfboard, you quickly spring to your feet, executing the "pop-up," probably one of the toughest things for a beginner to learn. Once on the wave, you can ride it directly into shore, but its more fun to ride diagonally across the face of the wave. If you're good, you can execute various manuveurs, slashing up and down the wave, and even accelerating vertically over it. The most exciting, coveted and iconic of advanced surfing techniques is riding a "tube" or getting "barrelled." Only possible at a specific type of wave, tube riding entails surfing inside a wave that is breaking onto itself, thus forming a hollowed out tube of water. Since such waves often form in shallow water, and exert considerable hydraulics, they can be very dangerous (a notable example being the Banzi pipeline, where surfers have been killed).

Surfing is a strenuous sport, requiring considerable physical strength. You have to paddle constantly, to get out to the line-up, or to maintain position out in the ocean (there can be a lot of currents, rip tides and wind) and the pop-up entails rapidly hoisting your own bodyweight. Additionally it can be dangerous depending on conditions and experience.

Mostly though, it's just really fun. Couchsurfing once again proved to be the greatest travel tool, as I linked up with a local expat surfer upon arrival, Jacopo Simonetta, a laid-back Italian who moved to Bali 6 years ago to surf full-time. Jacopo was great, stereotypical italian meets surfer dude, who served as our surf mentor. I was to learn that Jacopo liked to push his students, when he took us to our first surf break, Batu Balan. As soon as I got out there, I knew it was going to be a rough ride. I'm in decent shape, but after paddling 200 meters out to the lineup, I was exhausted as the first set came in. I was also about to learn what it was to be "caught inside." When sets of waves break, it's a good idea to be outside where the waves are breaking (generally, this means left of right of the breaking face). It's a bad idea to be directly in the path of the wave, which is exactly where I was that first day out in the water. I won't soon forget watching a 6 foot wave jack up in front of me, as I experienced a sinking feeling that would soon become tangible. A second later, and I've been ripped off my board, as I swirl around underwater, feeling like I'm in a washing machine. Erupting to the surface, gasping for air, I look over just in time to see the next wave of the set bearing down on me. Repeat steps one and two a few times, and by the end of my first day, I was pretty beat. I tried catching a few waves, but it was just a another iteration of the same two step process, except that instead of being immediately dumped on by the waves, I was thrown face-first into the water (while trying to pop-up), and then dumped on by the waves.

A few days later, I still hadn't popped up on a wave at Batu Balan, but Jacopo decided to mess with us anyways by taking us to Dreamland, a pleasantly named surf break that is completely misleading. Dreamland is no doubt a gorgeous spot, where aquamarine waves break a few hundred meters out from soaring limestone cliffs. But the day we went out, it was a big swell, generating 6-10 foot waves. That might not sound very big, but when you're an inexperience surfer, it will scare the sh-t out of you. My cousin Naj and I paddled out, but I decided to wait outside the line-up while I watched Naj try a wave. Things looked optimistic, as Naj started to pop-up on a giant wave, and I cheered him on, but he hadn't generated enough speed to actually catch the fast moving waves. He also wasn't fast enough to evade the next wave of the set, and this time, he was caught "inside." I saw his little brown head disappear behind a wall of blue, and a second later, his board fluttered up into the air, having been vertically ejected by the force of the wave. I could only grimace, and I carefully paddled back to shore myself. There was no way in hell I was going to offer myself as a sacrifical lamb before the surf.

The next few days, we retreated to smaller breaks with 1-3 foot waves, and finally learned to pop-up. For the past week or so, I've been sticking to it, slowly grasping how to contend, and harness the turbulence of a breaking wave. It's been incredibly frustrating at times; I can't count how many times I've paddled into the line-up next to a pretty surfer girl, stroked for a wave, hoping to pop-up and impress previously identified girl, only to make face-first contact with the water shortly after popping up. And to add insult to injury, the same girl has then often cruised effortlessly by on the next wave as I get caught inside. To add injury to injury, one of the most dangerous components of surfing is your board itself. When you wipe-out, there's no time to see where you're board's going, and sometimes it's heading right at you. In the past three days, my board has given me a bloody nose and has left a large gash in my forehead (a wave caught my board from behind me, shot it into the air, and it landed fin-first on my head).

But as trite as it sounds, the challenge is a big part of what makes it such an addicting sport. It's not a team sport, and outside of professional surfing, it's not about competition. It's a very individual pursuit, one that almost underlines the existential loneliness of the human experience. You're out there, all alone, on an infinite canvas of water, and although a mentor can give you advice on shore, learning how to pop-up, to drop-in, to cut-back, all of that comes much more with experience in the water. And you face a lot of danger alone, be it perceived, or real. It's amazing how little a human voice carries on open water, and when you get caught inside, pulled out by a rip tide, or nailed by your own board, it's largely up to you to get yourself out safe.

The other big part of the sport is riding the waves of course. Racing at 10, 20 or 30 miles an hour across the ocean, gliding up and down a wave is pretty indescribable. One cannot help but conclude that such a man feels "the most supreme pleasure while he was driven on so smoothly by the sea."

Kuala Lampur

2008-05-31T00:48:00.000-07:00

After leaving the Perhentians, I made a mad dash for Kuala Lampur, capital of Malaysia, and departure point for my flight to Bali. After covering 40km along the coast adjacent to the Perhentians, in search of a bus or train ticket, I found every seat on the national carriers to be sold out, as it was a holiday. But, at the last minute, I located a private company heading to KL, and hopped a night bus, arriving at 5 the next morning. The journey was pleasant, with twilight stops in desolate, cafes, where buses which would disembark colums of sleepy passengers to drink tea and eat Malay burgers. It made for a Malaysian version of the famous Edward Hopper painting, "Nighthawks."

I arrived in KL early the next morning, at 5 AM, and ate a South Indian breakfast at the only place that was open, a little diner tucked away under a skyscraper. Indian food is actually quite readily available because of a large minority of Indian Malaysians (I should note that Malaysia in general is an ethnically diverse country, with ~50% Malays, ~20% Chinese, ~10% Indians and a smattering of tribal groups), and we were often mistaken for Indian Malaysians.

Once the sun came up, I made my way to the Petronas towers, where I spent the day, reading, enjoying an art gallery, perusing the numerous cuisines in the food court, and enjoying the gleaming Asian modernity of KL.

Backpacker Culture and the Perhentian Islands

2008-05-30T23:55:00.000-07:00

It's been a while, as the last two weeks have involved quite a bit of travel. From Khao Sok National Park, Naj and I made a last minute decision to attend some time in Malaysia to our trip. In particular, we wanted to visit the Perhentian Islands, a paradisical setting ~20 km of the coast of Northeast Malaysia. We hopped an early morning bus through Southern Thailand, and traveled through an area of the country for which the US State Department has actually issued a travel warning. In brief, Southern Thailand sees a slow transition from Thai culture and Buddhist religion, to Malay Muslim culture. In truth, the region probably should have been part of Malaysia, but as is so often the case in colonial history, the British did not include in Malaysia when carving out the latter. And so, since 2004, a shadowy insurgency has taken place, with the major players, and their motives unclear. It's likely part separatism, part terrorism, and part simple criminality. Whatever the motivation, thousands of innocents have been killed in a number of bomb blasts, and the ensuing government crackdown. Currently, the area is under martial rule, which is very evident. Every 30 minutes or so, we were stopped at a roadblock, where miliary personnel would peer through the windows, checking each passenger. Of course, seeing Naj and I, two bearded, Muslim-looking men, there gaze would linger with us, until the driver would explain we were simply idiot-tourist from India. I also had a Mexican-style mariachi hat I had bought, which by it's sheer absurdity served to defuse any doubt as to our harmlessness.

We made it out of Thailand just fine though, and walked across the border to Malaysia, spending the night in the coastal town of Kota Bahru. Later the next morning, we departed for the Perhentians.

The appeal of the Perhentians is two-fold. The obvious reason to visit is that they're simply gorgeous; neither features any paved roads, and electricity is only available for short periods of the night, preserving some degree of desert island atmosphere. Moreover, to move from one beach to the next, you have to take a water taxi, as the islands are clothed in thick jungle. Add to the isolation electric blue water, teeming with coral, fish and turtles, and you more or less have paradise. But the second facet of the Perhentians lies in the backpacking community one finds there.

I realize I should probably discuss backpacking culture somewhat, both to ground my experiences on the Perhentians, as well as on this trip. My earliest experiences with backpackers did not leave a favorable impression. As a young boy, I visited North India, and I remember the sight of mangy, European travelers hefting giant packs around ancient ruins as they peered out from under greasy bandanas. I regarded them with the same uneasy trepidation I reserved for stray dogs. 10 years later, and I find myself in their shoes.

Backpacking is simple in terms of details. Buy a large pack, fit in your toiletries, maybe 3 or 4 sets of clothes, a good pair of shoes, and little else. Then choose a destination where whatever money you've saved will stretch the longest (e.g. SE Asia), and travel for as long as you possibly can. And people do. I've met more than a dozen people who are traveling for one year. 6 months is average, and 1 month is a short hop.

Backpacking, and its accompanying mode of travel is not about vacation either. It entails putting yourself in less-than-comfortable situations, traveling as locals do, staying in grotty places, and eating street food. As such, it can actually be incredibly tiring. But it is also incredibly eye-opening. The benefit is two-fold. It is a departure from one's own routine, as well as exposure to radically different cultures. On this trip, I have learned to ride a motorbike, to enjoy a cold shower and how to play a didgeridoo.

As for an itinerary, probably the greatest beauty of an extended trip is the sheer freedom. To plan a trip down to the day in advance is inane. Rather, you might pick a few countries, a few historical cultural sites (e.g. Angkor Wat and the Grand Palace) or a few activities (e.g. surfing and motorcycling), and string those together over a few months. But the real delight is waking up, deciding you want to move, opening a map, randomly pointing a location, and thinking "There....that's where I go next." And it really can be that random. We heard about the Perhentians while in N. Thailand, and that's all it took to decide we would go.

Finally, backpacking in places that are hotspots for this style of travel means that an easy fraternity is always available. Moreover, it's not that you make friends because you're forced to. I think the selection bias inherent in deciding to make a long term trip ensures that backpacker trails are populated largely by interesting, laid-back, open minded people. In Bangkok, I spent my first two days with a gregarious French Canadian. In Chiang Mai, I drank whisky with an English expat. In Ko Phangan, I swam with New Zealanders. And in the Perhentians, I shared my room first with a Swedish girl (strictly platonic, we just needed to save money), and then with a Norwegian man. So there really is no need to be a lonely traveler. In fact, if you travel alone, you actually have the freedom to choose when to be alone, and when to buddy up for a days, or even weeks with another traveler(s).

And therein lies the second attraction of the Perhentians. They were only "discovered" by backpackers in the last 10 years, and are only now being slowly targeted for large-scale commerical development. For now, they offer a cheerful community in the middle of paradise. Staying on the beach just four days, we got to know four Norwegians who shared a snorkel trip with us, as well as myriad other characters. The beach was only 300m long, and by the end of the trip, we could reconize and even name a good number of the other travelers there. If I went to dinner alone, I usually ended up eating at someone elses table, having made new friends.

As for what we actually did on the Perhentians:

The islands are famed for their snorkeling and we spent many hours exploring reefs in the vicinity. The sea life was astounding! I swam with sharks, turtles, and countless fish. Some of the finned residents of the reef were reminiscent of South Beach drag queens, improbably shaped and dressed in neon colors. Also, I found Nemo. There were lots of clownfish, which have a charming habit of swimming up to you when you approached their sea anemone residences (I was greeted several times by entire families of clownfish when I hovered near an anemone).

When not snorkeling, I was usually busy playing beach volleyball or soccer with other travelers, and in the evenings, the entire community would congregate at one central bar, directly on the beach, and while away the hours to dance music until 3 or 4 AM. The bar was particularly fun, as almost every night, the moon was out, and you could spot thunderheads flashing in the distance while Europeans, Canadians and Aussies would get their dance on at the beach.

Oh, and of course, the seafood was brilliant. Every night, I had barbecued marlin, tuna, barracuda, squid or something similarly enticing.

Thank You!

2008-05-20T08:57:00.000-07:00

To everyone who took the time to call or email, thanks so much! I haven't even gotten a chance to read my messages yet (internet is very expensive outside the major cities and towns), but I'll be in touch soon ;)

Waking up to Gibbon calls

2008-05-20T08:21:00.000-07:00

From KPN, we traveled to Khao Sok National Park, one of Thailand's natural wonders. Located midway between the Andaman and Gulf coasts, Khao Sok is an impenetrable rainforest that is home to guars, leopards, tigers, monkeys, and ~150 species of birds. Characterized by massive limestone karsts that are carpeted in jungle it's most dramatic feature is Cheow Lan lake, created in the 1980's when the Khlong Saeng river was dammed to provide energy to the region. The result is an other-worldly landscape, in which limestone peaks dressed in emerald jungle rise from serene turqouise waters to scrape monsoon clouds.

We spent one day in a small tourist village outside the park, waiting out heavy rains while exploring the area with an informal guide at our guest house, a deaf, but somehow communicative Thai who showed us nearby caves and nature trails, all while happily smoking marijuana at every stop; we initially assumed he had an outlandish speech impediment (he could only moan and grunt), because he would repeatedly make phone calls in front of us. Later, we learned that he did this simply for kicks. He couldn't hear a word anyone was saying on the other end, he just liked the idea of calling them. But he was a great guide and the highlight of the day was bathing in a waterfall (as good as it sounds).

The next day, we made our way into Khao Sok with a different guide, a short, squat Thai with a pesudo-handlebar mustache. From the dam, we took a longtail boat out to a raft-house, our accommodation for the night. The raft house was a floating groupt of huts, flanking a larger dining hut, with bathrooms reachable by planks connecting the floating hamlet to shore. Every time another longtail went by, we found the entire set of huts and dining room rocking in the wake.

Rustic as it sounds, the setting made for one of the most achingly beautiful places I have ever seen in my life. The raft house looked out onto a broad cove of aquamarine water set against a treacherously steep karst mountain of tropical rainforest. Better yet, we were the only guests that night, so it was just us and a a very colorful group of Thais who worked on the boat. The boat staff were a raucous cast who paid us little attention except to make fun of us, and spent most of the evening getting drunk and high. They enjoyed a sort of roughshod, sexist bon amie, with the men referring to one another as "Sexy Man" or "Handsome Boy" (most were anything but ;) while harassing the two constantly giggling female cooks on the boat. They took to calling my bearded cousin Osama Bin Laden, and tried to tip our canoe whenever we made the mistake of getting close to where they were swimming.

In the afternoon, we took a sweaty hike into impossibly thick, dripping rainforest. Our guide was actually a little drunk, having just finished a Sansom bucket of his two minutes previously, but we made it back in one piece. While the hike was fun, we actually saw very little wildlife, as the canopy is home to most of the rainforest's diversity. However, we heard an abundance, birdsong, and monkey calls backdropped by the steady drone of cicadas and frog croaks.

The evening was just as gorgeous, with a full moon lighting up the entire bay. Naj and I sat listening to one of the boatsmen sing mournal Thai love ballads in the moonlight, a little too romantic for Muslim cousins to enjoy comfortably together (as many of my friends know, when it comes to my family, they think that incest is best). I drifted off to sleep later, hearing the occasional coo of an owl over the lapping of water at the bottom of my hut.

In the morning, I woke to the staccato whale song of gibbons calling across the lake; gibbons sounds totally unlike other monkeys, emitting extremely loud coos as they call to each other high in the tree trops. Their calls were only amplified by the steep ridges of the bay, and so the morning was anything but peaceful. Our guide took us out in a longtail boat, from which we saw a band of gibbons fighting with a group of longtail langurs for position in a fruit tree. The gibbons being smaller, lost, and one by one, we saw gibbons crash into the canopy below the fruit tree, akin to something out of a 1980's video game.

As the morning wore on, a storm rolled in, and we saw the most spectacular scenery yet, as columns of rain enveloped the karst mountains and dappled the lake.

Later a hike into a cave, and fresh fish for lunch more or less concluded our time in the park. A little sad, we made our way back to the village on the outskirts of the forest, where I'm writing this now.

However, tomorrow, a whole new country! At the last minute, we decided to spend sometime in Malaysia, so tomorrow, we make our way down to the border. But it won't be the same, waking up without gibbon calls.....

A 36 hour birthday

2008-05-20T07:36:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since my last post; since, I spent a lazy two days in Bangkok, whiling away my time lazing about my hostel with friends, and shopping for pirated DVDs at MBK center, Bankok's budget mall of choice. From Bangkok, we made our way down to Ko Phan Ngan, the country's most famous backpacker island. A once quiet paradise, KPN has been transformed into a crazed party island, infamous for its monthly full moon parties, essentially beach front raves that draw anywhere from 10,000 to 30,000 travelers and Thais to the island. With my 23rd year imminent, I felt the need to get stupid, and headed for the epicenter of the party Hat Rin beach. After an uncomfortable night on a train seat (virtually spooning an oversized 6'6 Canadian man who took up his entire seat and half of mine; needless to say, I was little spoon), and a day's passage through the faceless coastal town of Surat Thani, I joined my cousin Naj on Hat Rin beach (he'd chosen to take a flight). Hat Rin was reckoned to once be the most beautiful beach on the island, but it has been transformed into a theme parkey ghetto of burger joints and bars sprawling up and out from the water. It's still attractive by any measure, but is anything but tranquil.

I took a nap shortly after arriving, and woke up at 9 PM, a few hours before I turned 23. I had intended to take it easy, perhaps having a drink before turning in, but little did I know that it would be a good 12 hours before I got back to my beach hut. Naj and I headed to the beach where we met up with, Sebastian, a gregarious Swiss traveler he had met the day before. At night, the beach lights up with dozens of little drink stalls crammed between numerous waterfronts clubs and bars; local Thais peddlers with the crowds of tourists sipping from Sansom buckets (a bucket with a heady, cheap, and decidedly unhealthy mix of Red Bull, Sansom whisky and Coke). The evening was quiet, until a taxi pulled up, offering free rides to a pool party on another beach. Our trio hopped on, and minutes later, we were in the midst of a frattish orgy of drunk Canadians. 6 Sansom buckets, and 5 hours later, I was still there, chatting on the beach with an eccentric woman from Tennessee; it was strictly platonic, and I was mainly interested in her life story (grew up in a racist hick town, but had set out to see the world, saw India over 6 months, and now doing Thailand). It was a fun conversation, punctuated only by the moans of a stark naked couple making love a few feet over (no joke...after a while, such scenes are common place on Ko Phangan). It was now 4 AM, and Tennessee was ready to turn in, so we parted ways. No sooner did she walk off, I realized I had no idea where the hell I was. My thinking still hazy from the night's libations, I began to aimlessly wander dark streets littered with Thai prostitutes; I passed a man haggling with TWO prostitutes, an absurd scene that I could do little more than drunkenly knit my eyebrows at. 15 minutes later, only more lost, I found a prostitute of my own, but only to ask for directions (they were the only people still awake on that part of the island). Sheepishly I was led by the hand some ways before realizing she fully intended to do business, at which point I politely disentangled myself and walked the other way. It did little good. She started chasing me, with her pimp approaching from behind in a pickup truck heavy with his ward. Paranoid from the alcohol, I broke into a full run, and hid behind a resort bungalow, my labored breathing masked by the sounds of yet another couple fornicating in their hammock. Peaking out past the couple, I made sure my assailant had disappeared, and continued in the direction she had initially pointed to Hat Rin beach. I was shocked to find out she was right, and made my way their. I had assumed the night was over, but upon reaching the beach, I found the occupants of the hut next to mine, two friendly Germans and a New Zealander, amidst a haze of Thai prostitutes (I was to learn that the rejects of the night's trade make their way to Hat Rin beach to cruise the few remaining drunks). With my newfound friends I spent the final hours of nights trying to dance while harangued by the local sex workers. Eventually, we found ourselves sitting on the beach, watching the sun come up, having made two more friends, a pair of Brits who were sitting off the tail end of a mushroom trip. A swim, breakfast with the New Zealander, and a stumble back to the hut concluded the night at 9 AM.

But the first day of my 23rd year wasn't quite over. 3 hours later, I was awake again, swimming and playing soccer on the beach; as day turned to night, I found my hut neighbors, and from 7 PM onwards, the party was on again, this time beginning at our huts, with a small ensemble of guitarists, a maracca, and the New Zealander playing a didgeridoo. Later, we headed to the beach en masse, where we celebrated till I passed out from sheer exhaustion at one in the morning.

The next day, the hedonistic charm that had characterized my Hat Rin experience till then quickly dissolved. An uneventful gave way to another night, but this time, I chose to stay sober, and quickly discovered Hat Rin for what it is, a vapid orgy of self-indulgence. It wasn't simply being sober either; the full moon partyers had just begun to show up, and instead of a relatively sedate beach front crowd, there was a rowdy group of approximately one thousand people on the beach. I saw disgusting things that night; my German friends, who had been very charming till then, spent the night in a stupor induced by a mix of valium and alcohol. One was so wasted, he spent most of the night pursuing a lady-boy (I warned him repeatedly, but he was convinced she was a woman, and spent most of the night trying to sweet talk him). I found the other German the next morning, blindly being led by a sex worker, in spite of having a girlfriend of three years waiting for him at home. My English friends sat about the beach, flagging down drug peddlers, and snorting MDMA out of their cupped palms. Worst of all, as morning arrived to reveal drunken slobs passed out on the beach, I spotted a Thai prostitute with her eyes rolled back in her head, tottering about, head rolling lazily on her neck. She turned to me, and snarled, emitting a guttural, rabid gurgle, as blood from a undressed wound poured down her leg. Deflecting her hellish aspect, I returned to my hut and packed my things. It was a good birthday, but KPN, and Hat Rin beach in particular, turned out be a truly revolting destination. It was populated by the worst kind of travelers, those who care little about the customs, and culture of the country they are in.

Thai Contexts

2008-05-13T05:29:00.001-07:00

I realize that I have written virtually nothing regarding Thai culture, politics and the like, which I regard as a bit of failure on my part (after all, travel is about deconstructing the mythologies and ideologies we create about exotic foreign lands into tangible human experiences). To that end, some broad impressions, based anecdotally and on reading (subject to extreme bias ;), follow:

Thai People:
I thought the tag-line "Land of a thousands smiles" was some hoaky selling point, but it isn't. Wherever you go in Thailand, you're greeted by broad, warm smiles. Thai people are particularly interesting for an Asian race. They're fun-loving and relatively lazy, so forget the stereotype of the driven Asian doctor/engineer/i-banker etc. These people like to party and have a good time.

Some interesting snippets: Racism is well and alive in Thailand. Although I can't make a blanket statement, the Chinese minority, 15% of the population, in Thailand isn't loved all round. A big part of the reason might be their rampant financial success. Many businessess are owned by ethnic Chinese, and Bangkok features its own Chinatown. Thais tried to block Chinese dominance politically, by passing laws that required Thai heritage for property ownership in certain instances, but the Chinese bypassed the law quite simply; they intermarried with Thais, giving rise to a significant number of Chinese-Thais.

On a separate note, Thais have a very apparent color-caste system, in which lighter is better, and European features attractive (many of the pop stars and entertainers are of mixed Euro/American-Thai heritage). Skin whitening products are advertised even more visibly than in India!

Thai Politics:
Incredibly curious to say the least. I had no idea before I visited, but Thailand is something of a constitutional monarchy. While the king isn't the designated leader of Thailand, he wields ENORMOUS influence; he is incredibly popular, enjoying broad support, in good part because he seems to be a leader with needs of the people at heart (he sponsors numerous development projects around the country, and exerts considerable sway on the country's political course; he's had prime ministers dismissed after disapproving speeches). However, somewhat ominously, public criticism of the king is not tolerated, and can be punishable by law. To add to the mix, while the king is massively popular, his son is regarded as a complete wanker (it doesn't help that he's featured in his own sex tape).

Even more colorfully, this country doesn't seem to have elections; instead, they have coups, if I'm correct, more than ten in the 20th century. However, they have been largely peaceful, perhaps in good part thanks to the stabilizing force of the monarchy (an expat living here told me he thought there would be civil war when the king dies).

The economy:
Don't know much about this yet, but I can comment that tourism is the biggest industry and you can tell by the sheer number of people visiting even in the low season.

Sex Industry:
Yes, it's as visible as you might be led to believe. Hardly a day has passed in which I haven't been offered a chance to roll in the hay with a Thai girl, and you constantly see white men with Thai women (interestingly, not all are old and fat; many are young and attractive white men, which is a bit puzzling). What's really interesting about the sex industry is its cultural origins. Contrary to popular belief, 95% of the industry is devoted to Thai men. Polygamy was an accepted part of Thai society till the 1930s when it was outlawed. However, the practice was simply diverted, with "minor" wives being replaced by visits to brothels (estimates are that 2/5ths of the male population visits sex workers at least twice a month). It amounts to a staggering 3% of the national economy, with most of the sex workers being sourced from the poor, rural northeastern region of Isaan. On the note of Thai sexuality, even more interesting is the presence of katoeys, or lady-boys. Very visible, and often gorgeous, lady-boys are not exclusively sex workers, and some anthropoligists have postulated that they fit the criteria of a third gender within Thai society. Refreshingly, homosexuality is widely tolerated tolerated in Thailand, and while flamboyancey is not encouraged, most Thais would think it low to reject a relative or friend based on their sexual orientation.

Rural-Urban divide:
46% of the population still lives in rural settings, and rural/urban Thais are almost like two different races. My rural host, Buen-Choi, would find Bangkok as alien as any foreign country.

Pet-culture:
It would seem that Thais love keeping pets. Dogs are the most obvious, and seem to be very pampered (the strays are well-nourished, and actual pets are morbidly obese). Cats and fish are popular as well, with the occasional rabbit, hamsters, and even sugar-glider thrown in for good measure. I still haven't figured out what thin line demarcates pets from food, apart from ornamental value.

Back in Bangkok

2008-05-12T20:54:00.000-07:00

We finished the loop on Sunday, and I've been back in Bangkok since Monday AM, taking a break on my way south to the tropical beaches of south Thailand.

The last two days of the loop were as spectacular as the first. After Mae Hong Son, we made our way to Pai, a hippy new-agey town bisected by a wandering river in a valley. Pai is a great place to have your chakras aligned over a cup of ocea butter, wheatgrass-infused, fair trade organic, buddhist monk-grown tea. The town is populated by sets of dreadlocked, moonshiney Thais interspersed with strung-out, druggie hippies. We stayed in little bamboo huts by the river, where I passed the night reading "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac (it seemed too perfect a book to not read on a trip like this).

Rising late the next day, we embarked on the last day of the loop, which was also possibly the most fun riding. As we climbed into the mountains near Pai, clouds gathered and the sky muttered thunder. Drizzle felly idly, until the monsoon unzipped its fly, and started pissing rain. Not Minnesota-nice, sweet summer rain, but fat, pregnant-with-twins rain drops. Slicing through it felt like climbing into needles, cold speed, adrenalin rushing, a happy to be alive kind of ride. Looking like tropical fish in neon orange ponchos, we swam home to safe harbor, riding past curtains of rain from behind which lurking mountains occasionaly peered like peeping toms.

On our way home, we made a stop at a hot springs site famous for a geyser which belches sulphurous warm water. Unlike other hot springs site I've seen in northern Thailand where taking a bath in the water requires having it piped into a jacuzzi and mixed with cold water (the hot spring water is ~100 degree C when it comes out), this hot spring spawned a warm creek, which rambles through jungle before emerging in a clearing where it forms three deepish pools. Here you can choose your preferred temperature, and bathe in sight of mist covered mountains. We did exactly that, enjoying the contrast of air spiced by the cool Thai monsoon, and the warmth of the hot springs, all amdist an absolutely deserted valley. To the add the ambience, the only other visitors that ever showed up were a band of Buddhist monks on a road trip; they bathed in the pool above us, bartering snippets of their English for snippets of our Thai, while laughing at me skid all over the algae covered rocks surrounding the springs.

It was a magical end to a magical trip as Naj and I were discussing, when my spacy travel buddy realized he had lost the key to his motorbike. After a fruitless one hour search, we gave it up for lost, and made our way home on a single bike through the vanishing day. It was a mad ride in the dark, pelted by an endless parade of insects before we arrived in Chiang Mai. The next morning, we rode back out with a spare key picked up from the rental shop, and retrieved Naj's bike.

The same night, I hopped a train to Bangkok, and the present moment. Next stop, tropical beach, and after that, tropical rainforest ;)

Mae Hong Son Loop

2008-05-08T21:09:00.000-07:00

The week has been incredible thus far, and I'm just processing all that has happened.

After my last post, Sunday morning, I had intended to take the day easy. But as usual, I hopped on my bike to head for lunch, and soon, I found myself motoring through the steep mountain forests of Doi Suthep, the largest mountain overlooking Chiang Mai. It was a wet, rainy ride, that only got wetter as I ascended into the clouds that shrouded the mountain. Catching glimpses of the city far below as I ascended curves steeped in clouds made for an atmospheric afternoon.

My cousin Naj arrived on Monday morning, via a flight from Bangkok. Naj and I met only a few months ago, but got along easily, and since we had both been planning on traveling, it was a natural choice to make this trip together. Immediately after he arrived, we got another motor bike, and headed out on a day trip, to the Mae Sa valley, a pretty area of gentle rolling hills 50km west of Chiang Mai. To unwind, we enjoyed Thai massages from two little old ladies back in the city; I was amazed by how strong these women were, as neither could've weighed more than 90lbs. Easily, the best massage I've ever had (Naj was so mellowed out, he fell down the steps on our way out).

Chiang Mai Day Trips

Tuesday morning, we shelved our larger packs in favor of mini-packs, and hit the road to Mae Hong Song. The Mae Hong Song Loop is a legendary 600km motorcycle ride through Thailand's most rugged landscapes. 80% of Mae Hong Son province is on a 45 degree incline, and by the time our journey is complete, we will have navigated almost 2000 hairpin bends (many also at 45 degree inclines/declines). Needless to say, it's been a wild ride.

Tuesday afternoon, we cruised into Doi Inthanon national park, a sprawling mountain reserve that is home to over 300 bird species, and Doi Inthanon, a specatuclar peak overlooking the region. Lunch by a waterfall was followed by a two hour hike around the summit, which included cutting through a cloud forest (again, we spent a good deal of time inside monsoon clouds). Our day went long, and we found ourselves racing the fading daylight to Mae Chaem, a village where we intended to stay for the night. Little did we know what was in store for the night.

On our way to Mae Chaem, we paused to take some photos of the sunset splashing brilliant hues across a peaceful farming valley. While doing so, a Thai man, in a dirty white t-shirt, and worn jeans, motored up to us on his bike, rattling off something in Thai. Puzzled, Naj and I exchanged quizzical glances; finally, he started miming "barn," and "sleep." I figured he was a tout trying to earn commission by taking us to a guest house, but thought, "What the hell, let's give it a try." We followed him through a tiny hamlet, on to increasingly rougher roads. Anxious thoughts crossed my mind....would there be a gang of Thai thugs waiting for us around the next corner? Was I being completely naive following him? It was getting dark, and we were well beyond the point where I could find my way back to the main road.

Our fears were misplaced, and we were to happen on one of the most embarrassingly warm acts of random kindness I've ever experienced. We followed our random host, Buen-Choi, as I would learn, to his ramshackle barn, where he insisted we stay the night. Later, I relaxed, but still assumed he was trying to earn a buck. I only realized that he was giving freely of his time, energy, and home, when he sat us down in the midst of the family, and served us dinner. Buen-choi had two adorable kids, a daughter of about eight, and a son of three, in addition to his elderly parents, and a brother my age. Amongst this cast of country Thais, he sat us down, and he fed us dinner, serving us in the only bowl he owned.

Dinner was interesting, consisting of a spicy dish of rubbery texture, and a vegetable curry, complemented by sticky rice. I ate blankly, stunned by the randomness of it all, watching Buen-choi's son play with a bucket full of pet frogs. It took about twenty minutes before it clicked. The frogs weren't pets....they were dinner, the rubbery dish.

As we ate, it became apparent that Buen-choi knew very little English, so I broke out my Thai phrase book, and started a stuttering conversation in phrase book Thai. One of the first things I figured out, flushing with embarrassment when I did, was that he refused to accept any money, for the dinner or the stay. He was doing it purely out of kindness. Later, I learned how old he was (thirty), the names of his kids (which I've forgotten), what his mother was making (she was in the back spinning cotton for blankets), and that he had a brother.

After dinner, we took family photos (we would later make prints for the family), and our host took us from the main house, where his parents and children slept, to the "barn" (an elevated wooden house where we would spend the night). Buen-choi made us instant coffee, boiling water over a wood fire, and we shared freshly rolled tobacco cigars while continuing a broken conversation. My phrase book turned out to be hilariously bizarre, as the largest section is devoted to "romance." A sample exchange in the phrase book:

Person 1: "That girl is very cute"
Person 2: "That's not a girl. He's a lady-boy."
Person 1: "He's very cute just the same"

even better yet:

Person 1: "Does that woman have a boyfriend...."
Person 2: "I don't know! Why do you ask?"
Person 1: "I suspect that he's handsome. I'm sure that he is tall and thin"
Person 2: "No. He's fatter than an elephant."

best of all:

Person 1: "Why didn't you kiss her?
Person 2: "Because I kissed the lady boy that was sitting next to her"
Person 1: "Why did you kiss him"
Person 2: "Because he was cuter than the girl" (frighteningly true in some cases)

Using the "romance" section, we learned that Buen-choi's wife had been cheating on him, and had run off with another man to Chiang Mai. It was heartbreakingly funny to see him mime "jealous," "lonely" and "I want to shoot him."

After coffee, both of us were practically passing out (it was only 9:30), so we politely took our leave of Buen-choi's company, and retreated to our "room" (We slept in the opposite corner of the room from Buen-choi and his brother). The night was unlike any other, the darkness all encompassing, penetrated only by the pinpoint glow of amorous fireflies and the melodic croak of tokays (alarmingly large, ~35cm, but harmless lizards).

In the morning, after an invigoratingly cold bucket shower in a corner of the barn, we ate breakfast in town, assembled a small care package for Buen-choi (whisky, cigarettes, candy for his kids, and a huge pack of instant coffee), and set off on our way. The man left our lives as quietly as he entered them, but I will never forget meeting him; easily one of the most humbling acts of random kindness I've ever experienced, rendered particularly significant by his poverty.

From Mae Chaem, we embarked on a hair-raising, bone-rattling ride to Mae La Noi, 120km away. Our journey took us on roads that coursed through mountains and valleys, and many times, over sheer precipices where mountains gave way to clouds. In Mae La Noi, we stayed in a sprawling country villa, the only place we could find in the tiny town (not actually a common stop on the loop).

Yesterday, we made the ride from Mae La Noi, to Mae Hong Son, the capital city of the same province, another crazy journey, at times, replete with hairpin turns and speeding trucks, but mostly, just deserted country roads winding past life-changing scenery.

The trip is roughly half over, but what a trip it has been! The sheer liberation of a motorcycle paired with the landscape of Mae Hong Son....a perfect complement, the travel equivalent of wine and cheese. It's reputation as a classic ride is richly deserved. Today, we ride to the hippy, new-agey town of Pai, for our last night. Tomorrow, we wake up before dawn, to see the sun rise over clouds from the mountains around Pai.....it just keeps getting better.

Mae Hong Son Loop Photos

Photos...

2008-05-03T21:41:00.001-07:00

I added a ton of photos today, including to older posts ;)

Dhamma is for lovers

2008-05-03T20:27:00.000-07:00

Chiang Mai is an airy city of 250,000 people, Thailand's second city in terms of tourism. It's somewhat scenic being flanked by mountains on one side, but heavily touristed, with a massive number of western restaurants serving banana pancakes and pizza. The vast majority of tourists head to Chiang Mai for hill-tribe trekking. Northern Thailand has a substantial population (a few hundred thousands) of fourth world peoples, so called because they are not naturalized Thai citizens, but supposedly live a relatively pre-modern life as subsistence agriculturalists in the highlands, isolated from outside influence. Western trekkers typically take 2-4 day treks to see these tribes in their "natural habitat." However, I don't plan to do so. My impression is that while it might have been authentic thirty years ago, it's an industry now, and there must be, literally, around a few hundred thousand trekkers who pass through each year. As such, I've repeatedly heard from locals that many of the hill-tribes are now paid to stay put, continuing their traditional way of life. I can just imagine it, a bunch of hill tribe people, lounging around in denims, watching TV, get a call that a tour group is coming, and throw on their traditional clothes, and hide the TV.

Regardless of whether the "ethno-tourism" based out of Chiang Mai is authentic or not, the highland villages of farmers in the North, are no less "ethnic" or Thai. As such, I've rented a little 125cc motorcycle, and tomorrow, I head out to do the Mae Hong Son loop, a 600k journey through some of the North's most stunning mountains and valleys. I went on a sample ride outside of Chiang Mai yesterday, to the San Kamphaeng hot springs area. Snaking past glowing green rice paddies, and small mountains, I got my first taste of rural Thai life, replete with little flocks of chickens darting across narrow roads, and warm smiles of farmer's looking up from their fields at the clueless farang rolling by. I ended the day, strictly platonically, in a steam bath with three Japanese men. Water piped from the hot springs outside proved a wonderful respite from a beautiful, but cold and rainy day spent pelted by the Thai monsoon on my bike.

Speaking of warm smiles, I got a lot more from the Thais at my guesthouse, who helped me learn how to ride a semi-automatic Honda dream motorbike. When they weren't scrabbling out of my way as I rolled the throttle too far, jumping around the courtyard, they were rolling with laughter at the circus show taking place. Even though I much more confident riding now, they still smirk and keep their distance when I ride into the guesthouse.

Meeting locals like the Thais at my guesthouse has been one of the highlights in Chiang Mai. After spending so much time with other travelers in Bangkok (mainly CSers and a French-Canadian buddy I made at the hostel), I decided to avoid other travelers here. They're perfectly charming, but I felt like I was missing out on experiencing more Thai culture. I lucked out the other day, at a Buddhist Wat (wat = temple). A monk spotted me from his lunch table, and invited me to eat. I was a little stunned, since I figured he must be bored mindless by tourists, but over the course of the meal, I learned that he had lived in Madras, studying Buddhist philosophy there. He was enjoying the chance to reminisce about India, and I was happy to oblige. When I was leaving, I spotted a giant photo of him on the wall of the wat, and I mentioned that he seemed popular. He replied most casually, "No, I'm just the senior monk of the wat." You've got to love the kindness of strangers.

The other highlight was meeting a British expat during a sleepless night. Unable to sleep, I wandered out to the main strip of bars at 2:30 AM, and sat down for a red label whisky next to what I initially took to be a sex tourist, since he was with a Thai woman. However, over the course of two hours, I got to know Phil and his Thai wife, Nui (or Pi Nui to me, i.e. "Big sister Nui). Phil had met Nui 5 years previously when her motorcycle broke down, and now, they're married. It was fascinating get a window into the expat world in Chiang Mai, as there are a significant number of farangs who live here year round.

That's it for now. Today, I relax before heading on a five day motorcycle tour through Mae Hong Son.

Train Journey from Bangkok to Chiang Mai

2008-05-03T20:17:00.000-07:00

After four days in the mad, steaming bustle of Bangkok, the quiet train journey to Chiang Mai was tonic. Thai trains are not altogether different from Indian trains. I rode second class, which has far more room than Indian second class, and larger, open windows (no glass, or mesh, just open); they're also much more sedate, with no vendors loudly announcing the sale of hot tea, or the violent stink of human waste.

I shared my compartment with an adorable Thai family, two kids headed to spend some time with grandma and grandpa up north. My iPod and a box of chocolate pocky sticks ensure I had two buddies for the duration of the journey.

The countryside outside of Bangkok quickly turned scenic, and the landscape slowly changed from the tropical plains to deciduous forest under the setting sun, until night time found us speeding past forests that looked wraith-like in the inky black of night.

Dawn close to Chiang Mai was nothing short of glorious.

Conveyor Belt Sushi

2008-05-03T20:05:00.000-07:00

People are going to start thinking that all I do is eat here, but my last dining experience in Bangkok was probably also the most fun. It actually wasn't even Thai food. Ever since I was 16, I've always wanted to eat at a Japanese conveyor belt restaurant, which I first saw on the BBC. Basically, it's a budget buffet style place, with one big catch: you get your food off a conveyor belt that circulates past every seat in the restaurant. The chef continually makes items, and then places them on the belt, for customers to pick up as they please. As for payment, items are grouped into categories, and each price category has a plate color corresponding to it. At the end of the meal, the hostess tallies up your plates, by color and count, and bills you accordingly.

I found such a place 2 hours before I left, and checked in for a delightful lunch. As soon as I sat down, I realized I had no idea what I was doing. For one, there was practically no sushi on the belt; it was mostly slices of raw meat and fish. Puzzled, I was about top pick up a plate and start eating it uncooked when I spotted my neighbors doing differently; they both had bowls of steaming soup placed on burners in front of them. I thought this was an option, but it was actually the main course. The burners heated the soup to a boil, and you cooked your own food. I overcooked my first slice of meat, but after I got the hang of it, I had a blast, fancying myself a little chef, throwing together clams, beef, bizarre looking mushrooms and some leafy greens.

Later, I moved onto sushi. Actually, I had to wait to move on to sushi. The thing I was to realize was that at a conveyor restaurant, you're at the mercy of the tastes of everyone to your right. In this case, the Japanese guy to my immediate right had a hankering for sushi. For the first twenty minutes, every time a sushi plate emerged hopefully from the little conveyor belt opening, I waited optimistically for it to come my way, but to no avail. The man to my left snagged every piece until he had finally gorged himself, and then I had my turn. Moral of the story: the best seat in a conveyor belt restaurant is the one at the start.

Eating out in Bangkok

2008-04-30T18:07:00.000-07:00

I'm blogging up a storm today, but I have time to kill till my train leaves, so I wanted to make one more Bangkok post.

Although Bangkok has a lot to offer, amazing history, a swinging, liberal nightlife, world-class shopping, the highlight for me has been the street food. Every corner, alley, and road is populated by a small army of push-carts and hole in the wall restaurants that dish up a spectrum of Thai cuisine. Different places specialize in different things; some carts only dish up phat thai, or duck soup, whereas other's specialize in seafood, or coffee. Moreover, this is a city which sets it watch by its meal times. The same cart might serve different things at different meal times, and one can almost track the time of day by sighting the change meals dished up on the street. Morning time, with the busy Bangkok commute (easily reminiscent of NYC), sees carts dishing up fresh fruit, fried dough, buttered toast, iced Thai coffee, a panoply of seafood curries, smoked fish on skewers, and much more, all of it in small plastic bags, ready to grab and go. As the day wears on, the same stalls might switch to a different sort of dish or cuisine altogether, and as such, may attract a different set of Thais, and the same switch may happen at dinner. Probably the most spectacular items are those with the seafood. The amount of seafood that Bangkok consumes is dizzying (I wonder if it's even ecologically sustainable). Fish, crabs, shrimp, prawns, lobster, squid, octopus, eel, seaweed, you name it, they serve it, at almost 80% of the stall.s

I've never seen a city with such a culture of cuisine. Most remarkably, Bankokians know they're spoiled for choice, quality, and price (meals are ridiculously cheap; I can have two entrees, and a drink for 100 baht, or about $3), and as such, plan they're day around meal times, often trying to squeeze in four, even five meals. They'll exchange the locations of favorite stalls, plan outings for food, and make office outings for lunch. It's a wonder there are so few fat Thais.

God works for Google

2008-04-30T16:36:00.000-07:00

I thought this was really funny; I'm writing an email to my dad on Gmail, a short two-liner, and I mention that I'm heading to Northern Thailand. Google adverts immediately displays the following:

Photos: That's in my Gut?
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www.BlessedHerbs.com

Feng Shui Horoscope
Love, money, career, family ... discover your year 2008 for Free !
www.aboutastro.com/my-horoscope

Free Love Numerology
Your birthdate to tell your future. Free online prediction.
www.pasqualina.com/free

N. Thailand is famous for being Hippy-ville, but I didn't expect Google to be so spot on with their product placement. Just more proof that God is indeed working for Google.

Northward Bound

2008-04-30T16:00:00.000-07:00

The Big Mango has been good to me, but I need to get out of the city, so last night, at 12:30 AM, I booked my ticket to Chiang Mai. Chiang Mai is Thailand's second city, much smaller than Bankok, but charming in its own right.

My last few days in Bangkok were good. On Monday, I headed out with a Canadian friend I met at the hostel. As curious at it seems, we went to China Town, as Thailand has a very significant minority of Chinese immigrants. The C-town district is even more crowded than the rest of Bangkok, and is a charmingly chaotic mix of markets, temples, and larger businesses. We made our way through claustrophobic market paths for most of the morning, sharing 14 inch footpaths crammed between stalls with thousands of other pedestrians and the occasional motorcycle. Later, we found ourselves in a residential district of C-town, no more spacious (it looked like a rabbit warren), but populated by an interesting array of characters (old timers at their favorite green tea watering holes, kids playing about, delivery scooters passing through, and the ever-present, morbidly obese Bangkok dogs).

Later, we made our way to two Buddhist temples, and saw the world's largest solid gold Buddha (very bling-bling, Snoop Dogg would've approved). Thailand's religion is puzzling in that respect. Buddhism, at its purest, is an atheistic religion, more a paradigm, a cosmology, than a mode of worship. As such, idols, gods, and worldly riches (as might be typified by a giant gold buddha), are really not encouraged. But daily worship in Thailand really follows lines seen anywhere else in the world. People pray to giant idols representing the Buddha, make donations to the monks (fascinating to watch; early morning in Bangkok finds monks making their way through the city to recieve alms from shop owners), and generally worship in a manner befitting of the best monotheists. I even saw a special stall selling ready-made donations, which morning street path commuters purchased and presented to the attending monks. I suppose this sort of co-option of religion, and re-direction from its founder's directives, takes place everywhere, so much so that neuroscientists are looking for and studying "religious centers" in the brain (just the way language centers might be studied).

In the afternoon, my Canuck and I headed to a famous expat house, built by an American architect who first visited Thailand as a soldier during WWII, later returned, single handedly revived the Thai silk Industry, and then mysteriously disappeared in 1957 while wandering Cambodia. I took the initiative by suggesting we take the Skytrain, promptly got us lost, and we ended up walking several miles in the searing, 90+ plus, Bangkok heat. When we got there, it was apparent, his life story was far more interesting than the house, but still worth a visit.

In the evening, I headed on what turned out to be a date with a CSer I had met the night before, a charming Philliphina woman who has been based in Thailand for the last few years. She took me to a lovely restaurant on the river (it was called "In Love," which made me start to think it was a date). Later we headed to Kh. San road, and ended the night in the early hours in front of the Grand Palace, sharing the night with stray cats, and the sleeping homeless.

Tuesday saw me pretty much sleep the day away (14 hours!), which I felt guilty about, but I suppose I needed it....

Yesterday, I saw the Grand Palace, Reclining Buddha, and old Thai capital, all absolutely stunning. The Grand Palace has some of the most exquisite imperial architecture and inlay detail that I've ever seen! And the reclining Buddha was massive (46m long). The old Thai capital was also remarkable, but VERY phallic. Kind of makes you wonder if the guy who built was compensating....

And today, I head to Chiang Mai, and northern Thailand. Most people opt for hill-tribe trekking in those parts, but after reading more about the contexts, and touristy nature of the industry, I've opted for taking a motorcycle journey through the isolated highlands (don't tell my parents till I get back if you read this ;). Pictures will come soon. And for all my friends and family who are good enough to indulge me by reading this blog, many of you are in my thoughts ;)

Sleepless in Bangkok

2008-04-27T15:22:00.000-07:00

It's about 5:30 AM here, but I can't seem to fall asleep. Last night was a lot of fun. I made it to Khao San Road, and after seeing it, was extremely thankful I'm not staying there (though most backpackers do). Once upon a time, it catered to seasoned backpackers, but if yesterday was any indication, it's more of a carnival, populated by American fast food chains, Thai bars, and hostels. It's stil worth a visit though.

The night got much more interesting when a woman I befriended on CSurfing informed me of an impromptu meeting of CSers at a hotel bar. I hopped in a tuk-tuk, and made my way across the city to join them around 10:30 PM. Halfway there, a rainstorm broke out, and tuk tuks are VERY exposed as I found out, particularly when a Corolla speed past us, completely drenching me. I was a shivering mess by the time I arrived at a very posh five star hotel, where the staff stared at me in complete bewilderment and the tuk tuk driver couldn't stop laughing (he was completely dry somehow). But I love rain, and it was a hell of a ride.

I met the CSers, a dozen or so people, some living in Bangkok, some passing through, some Thais, and a lot of other nationalities. After the hotel closed, we headed to one of the CSers rooms (it was actually just one room, and a bunch of us crowded in). We spent the rest of the night there talking Thai nationalism, and discussing the sex industry.

The conversation about the sex industry was particularly fascinating. One of the women present has been working with EMPOWER, an NGO that help sex workers. In the course of conversation, Chanelle informed me that there was actually very little trafficking, and the sex workers she taught were actually in the trade by choice. She had come thinking the same as I had, that most of the women were forced into it, but had learned that the excellent compensation (3-4 times what a women of the same education could earn otherwise, essentially hazard pay to offset the dangers of working in the industry) and fairly acceptable work environment attracted women completly of their own will. Though I can't be certain her story represents the whole picture, I'm inclined to believe she's correct.

The night ended with me wandering home to my hostel through streets populated by cats, roaches and rats, with a stop to pick up a shrimp burger at a Seven-11.

The City of Angels

2008-04-27T06:23:00.000-07:00

Apparently, that's Bangkok alternate appellation. I've been here for about 12 hours now, and it's great. This is a huge city, where everything is maximum. The most surprising thing to me is that Bangkok resembles the capital of middle-income country more than a third world nation; I rode the gleaming air-con Skytrain this afternoon to a shiny new shopping center to pick up a new cell phone, hardly my conception of grueling overland Asia travel.

But I'm not disappointed. The way to this man's heart is through his stomach, and I'm falling in love with Thai food. The food here sparkles with myriad tastes, lemongrass, basil, pepper, and meal times are dazzling, sweat-inducing riots (the food is spicy indeed).

Apart from food, I haven't done much (my friends won't be surprised). I spent most of the day taking it easy. The only other thing worthy of note is the blatancy of sex tourism here. I've seen numerous couples, rather average looking foreign men, with absolutely stunning Thai women (or men in a few cases). There seems to be little shame in it, and I myself have been approached about five times already, asking if I want a "happy massage." I declined, but I might already have a Thai boyfriend. I got a haircut today, and a guy at the salon got my phone number so we can go clubbing on Friday. A really nice guy, but with a haircut like his, there's little chance he's not gay. I just hope he simply wants to be friends, because otherwise, he's knocking at the wrong door.

Now, I'm off to Khao San road, SE Asia's most famous backpacker enclave which caters to backpackers tastes with an eclectic mix of authenticism and campiness. At night, it comes alive, as backpackers and hip Thais crowd into its dingy bars, and tonight, I plan to join the crowds. I'll let you know how it goes ;)

Running from the law

2008-04-21T06:02:00.000-07:00

I really hate Indian cops. They’re not all bad, but a lot of them are super sleazy. Take Saturday night for example. I’m trying to make a yellow light, and one of the traffic cops at this giant intersection flags me to stop. I normally wouldn’t (nobody does after all….), but I was in a law-abiding mood, so I did. As soon as I did, the bastard waves me into a line of cars to be fined. He intentionally stopped me over a pedestrian cross-walk, which is a finable offence. I got in the line, and a sub-inspector asked me to get out my registration papers and license. While I searched for the papers (which I almost certainly didn’t have), I handed him my Minnesota licensed, and lied, saying it was an international license. He was a little brighter than the average cop, and so he asked, “Where does it say international?” I was impressed; normally, they just stare at the card quizzically and then hand it back. In a last ditch effort, I pointed at the biggest word I could find on the card (“recreational”) and said that was the “international” marking. I guessed correctly that he couldn’t read English, and he handed my license back to me. He was still going to fine me (or more likely, try to get a bribe) though, and I was quite pissed about it. They actually try to scope out people who look like suckers (e.g. me), and then do just what they had done to me, basically a scam. No longer in a law-abiding mood, I pretended to rustle through a pile of papers while the sub-inspector wandered over to his supervisor. As soon as he was far enough, I floored the accelerator, and gunned it out of there. Thankfully, I broke my rear license plate the week before, so he couldn’t get my number as I sped off. After three months here, I have assimilated a very Indian affinity for bending, if not breaking the law.

I hate the cops, but I love this country ;)

Long time, No Post

2008-04-13T06:38:00.000-07:00

I haven't written in a while as not a terrible lot has happened. I've entered early retirement with my work at Shaktishifa, and have been spending most of my time tying up loose ends before I head to Thailand. Also, have been hanging out with three Jewish women I met through the website Couch Surfing, all here in Hyderabad as part of a world service fellowship.

Apart from loose ends and Jewish women, I met with my future co-worker from JPAL/CMF. I was already quite excited about the job, but am even more so after meeting Theresa; she's a charming Chinese-American woman who worked at the US Government Accountability Office before joining CMF. I'll actually be working with her on the health insurance evaluation that CMF is running in Karnataka (a state east of Andrha Pradesh), which is a good bit of luck, because normally research associates are all alone in the field. My posting is also really convenient; I'm based in Hyderabad and will need to make field visits every other week, if not every week, but the field assignments are entirely based out of Gulbarga, a city of 400,000 about 5 hours by train from Hyderabad ( I was worried I was going to be in a town of ~20,000 like Jamkhed again). Finally, I was really happy to know that JPAL/CMF are both staffed by a lot of young 20-somethings, all passionate about their jobs, but very fun-loving as well. Indeed, each organization holds an institute wide retreat every two months, which is basically just involves transporting everyone to one city and having a big party. Best part: I'm considered an employee of both institutes, so I get two parties ;)

That's about it. The only other interesting thing (to me at least) is that I (sort of) have two new pets here in Hyderabad, Elmer and Mr. Big.

Elmer is a garden-variety (literally) frog who hopped his way into our lives as little more than a tadpole. My first meeting with him, on the stairway inside the house, almost led to his expulsion (I assumed he got lost and wandered into the house), but the cook stopped me, saying "Ye gahr iska be hai" ("this is house t0o you know..."). He lives in a potted plant at the foot of the stairs (see the pictures), sleeping by day, and hunting house-hold creepy crawlies by night. Occasionally, we'll hear him looking for a girlfriend, emitting a sad croak or two. There is no Ms. Elmer, which must be puzzling to him, as he lives in this swank home in Banjara Hills.

As for Mr. Big, he's a tiny little, I think, weaver bird who's fallen in love with his own reflection. If I leave the windows to my bedroom open, he'll dart in during the day, and sit in front of the dresser, romancing the mirror and shitting everywhere in the process. And if I don't open the windows, he sits outside the house, singing incessantly till I do. Although a bit dumb, he's quite fearless, and will puff up and flap his feathers if I disturb his "sexy-time."

Photos of both my friends are below.

Photos of both my friends are attached.

Now for the fun part...

2008-04-03T08:14:00.000-07:00

Although I'm excited about this new job, I more excited about the upcoming trip I have planned. I've hardly wandered during this "wanderjahr," and before I get tied down, I've decided to take a two month backpacking trip across SE Asia. I'm flying to Bangkok on April 30, from where I'll head to Chiang Mai (trekking and Thai cooking classes), and then to the peninsular southeastern coast (beaches). After Thailand, I'll spend a few days in Malaysia or Singapore, mainly to get to Bali, from where I'll spend a month exploring Indonesia's world-class surf breaks. Late June will see me back in Hyderabad. If you have any recommendations, please do pass them along, and if you'd like to join me, I'd love the company (though I'm not alone, two cousins are traveling with me).

A "real" job

2008-04-01T11:32:00.000-07:00

March was more than a little bipolar, but it ended on a high note. Late last night, I found a highly anticipated email from Esther Duflo, one of the director's of the Poverty Action Lab (PAL), offering me a position as a research associate with her organization.
PAL is one of several nuclei which are giving rise to a new paradigm within international development. For over 50 years, development “experts” at the World Bank, UN, IMF, etc. have offered a multitude of recommendations that are based on absurdly limited data. In a sense, development, which is in it infancy, is not altogether different from the state of modern medicine a few hundred years ago, when doctors would widely prescribe remedies such as leeches with no basis for their efficacy. To remedy the problem, a number of economists, based out institutions such as MIT, Harvard, Yale, and LSE have proposed that like medicine, development adopt randomized control trials as the benchmark for measuring the effectiveness of interventions. Although various groups within the paradigm have their own opinions about methodologies, the concept is the same. Hence, all of these groups are running randomized control trials evaluating a panoply of development interventions, from microfinance to police training programs, assessing their effectiveness with hard data. Although applying randomized control design in a development setting is far more complex than in a laboratory, I think it’s a great idea.
I discovered PAL purely by chance. While I was searching for a survey instrument that I could adapt for monitoring/evaluation of the community health program at the clinic, I ran across their website. After reading a little, as with any interesting organization, I check their job opportunities, and found a number of positions based in India! I slapped together an application to meet the deadline for submissions, which was two days later (I am hugely indebted to my previous supervisors, Lisa Broek, Joan Toohey, and Jon Roesler for submitting letters of rec within two days).
After a phone interview with the directors of PAL, Esther Duflo and Abhijit Banerjee. I was offered a Hyderabad-based position (which is ideal, since I really didn’t want to be out in rural India for a year) working on an evaluation of a health insurance intervention.

The links for PAL and CMF follow, as does an interview with Esther Duflo:

http://www.povertyactionlab.com/

http://ifmr.ac.in/cmf/

http://www.forbes.com/2007/05/23/esther-duflo-poverty-tech-cx_07rev_ee_0524duflo.html

Monsoon Hungama

2008-03-23T13:13:00.000-07:00

It’s been a rather insane week. I got back from Kerala last weekend, and just as I was getting back into the rhythm of things, my grandfather on my dad’s side took ill, rapidly declined, and passed away Tuesday morning. Although it caught the family somewhat by surprise, it was ultimately welcome, as the poor man was in extremely ill health. For those who would like to offer condolences, my dad (and in turn the family) can be reached at nus.azam@gmail.com. Alternatively, if you would like to call, his number in India (where he is for the next 10 days, having around a few days ago) is (country code: 91) 944 028 6893.
Two days after my grandfather passed, I had to prepare for an audit of my team’s work by our funding agency, Concern India, another stressful experience.

However, the week passed, and this weekend was actually quite nice, with a gathering of many members of my father’s far flung family. Yesterday, during the ziyarat (prayer meeting) for my deceased grandfather, Hyderabad surprised with one of its unexpected delights. A dry season rainstorm, which is still going, more than 24 hours later. In a curious inversion of definitions, rainstorms which would be considered the ruin of a good day, say in Minnesota, are here regarded as “lovely weather.” It was quite a scene, driving sheets of rain interspersed with urban images of holi, a traditional Hindu festival which essentially involves water fights in the streets with colored powder (I didn’t get a chance to take photos on holi itself, but you can see the traces in the pictures of our security guard below).

Dangerous Tendencies

2008-03-23T13:11:00.000-07:00

(This post is actually for March 19th)

Fundamentalism has reared its ugly head once again. A few weeks ago, on a lazy Sunday, I thought I might revive a weekend tradition of my last household, 1759 Grand Avenue. My roommate(s) and I would cook scrambled eggs, with toast, and of course, bacon. Judge me if you so please, but pork looks good to even the most devout Muslims, and after 6 years at boarding school, I’d finally given into (literally) the pleasures of the flesh, the other white meat.
After sitting down a lovely breakfast, I must have succumbed to a mental haze brought on by post-meal stupor; when the maid asked me what the "ajib," or strange, meat was, I replied most casually, “suwar gosh,” pork. She immediately gasped, and began ranting about my wayward lifestyle. The beer, the women, the lack of prayers, that was all tolerable, but this, this consumption of pig, was unacceptable. She stared in disbelief at her own hands, which had just washed the pan used to cook the devil-meat. In a religious rage, she threatened to punch me next time I tried, and refused to more than grunt at my attempts at social interaction until a week later. The driver, overhearing only the maid’s threats of physical altercation, later questioned me in the car about why the maid was upset. A little rattled, I nonetheless replied casually with the same answer given to the maid, that I had eaten bacon. Initially thinking I was kidding, when I finally convinced of my transgression, he immediately recited an Arabic incantation, surely something to banish the demon which has taken grasp of this foolish young man. At the same time, he pulled the car to the side of the road, and lectured me on the vices of pork. I attempted to counter with a discussion of the roots of many Islamic practices, but my urdu was grossly insufficient to support this kind of interchange. Vainly attempting to maintain some shred of secular defiance, I more or less admitted defeat a week later, when I moved the bacon to the downstairs freezer, where it has remained ever since.
Apart from that, I was surprised again at my father’s household this week. My dad’s side of the family is rather bourgeoisie, quite the opposite of the jihadis on my mom’s side, so I normally don’t expect much harassment from that side. However, last week, my mom in a conversation with one of my aunts, always disapproving of my very existence, mentioned that I was developing, “dangerous tendencies.” My aunts later raised the issue. When they mentioned it, asking me about my dangerous tendencies, I assumed the usual: concern about a drug habit, the wrong sort of women, or criminal activities, and soothed these touching concerns by dismissing any such possibilities. Looking at me like I’m an idiot, they ignore these explanations, and say, “No, no, we mean.....are you having dangerous tendencies,” with eyebrows raised. Truly puzzled, I wait until one of my aunts finally comes out with it, “Are you dating girls....or...you know, boys.” They were worried that I was gay, which in Hyderabad, is right up there with eating bacon.

Kerala Pictures

2008-03-16T04:16:00.001-07:00

A week in God's Country

2008-03-16T04:09:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted for a while, as I was in Kerala for a week long vacation. A good friend from high school, Esther, flew to Hyderabad, and we headed for a few days in Kerala.

It was a stunning trip, from the tea plantations of Munnar, to the wildlife sanctuary of Periyar, and finally, a trip through the backwaters of Allepey by kettu vallam (in plain english, a houseboat). Kerala is easily the prettiest place I've been in India, and is quite unique in many regards. A large Christian population, unique cuisine and the world's first democratically elected communist government set it apart culturally.

The first day was spent at a quiet beach, Cherai, nothing too eventful. The next day took us from coastal Cherai, and the sweltering humidity, into cool tranquility of the hills around Munnar, where we went boating on a local lake, and rode horses into out into the tea fields. The next day took us to Periyar, site of one of South India's foremost wildlife reserves. All the wildlife we spotted was from a boat which traverses a reservoir that extends through much of the park. The last day and night, in my opinion the highlight, were spent traveling through the famous Kerala backwaters by houseboat. Like a floating five star (There was an A/C bedroom, TV, dining room, bathroom....you get the picture), that somehow manages to feel only slightly contrived amid the rustic setting of the backwaters, it was an incredibly luxurious.

The photos more or less describe it all

"Music, when soft voices die, vibrates in the memory"

2008-03-02T03:26:00.000-08:00

I added some music to my blog (it's embedded on the right). A brilliant instrumental by the John Butler Trio out of Australia (props to Alia for introducing to a great band)

Deja-vu...all over again

2008-03-02T01:20:00.000-08:00

The first time I ran into a Macalester student a few weeks ago here in Hyderabad, it wasn't a huge surprise. Mac students are always trying to save the world, so I only expected to find one in India. I didn't expect to find two in Hyderabad though. Last night, a girl approached me somewhat hysterically outside a night club, saying she recognized me from the States. Sure enough, she has seen me at Mac. In a city where you can eat street food wrapped in newspapers advertising jobs with Google, globalization is becoming very tangible.

Apart from that, work is good. Last week, we started dispatching mobile health teams to a large slum area, and needless to say, they were popular. Not surprising, as free quality healthcare can never fail in India. However, while the mobile team was doing its job, I went on a walking tour of the basti, Dewarconda. Home to about three thousand, the residents of the locality are tucked away behind the posh apartment blocks and villas of some of Hyderabad's wealthiest residents. My stated intention was to spread word about the mobile health team's timing and services, but the jaunt was more of a needs assessment/case finding trip. A community's needs, particularly when it comes to health, can be devastatingly obvious, but easily overlooked if you never bother to make first hand observation (the more I learn, the more it seems this happens in health development projects). On this trip, I found a diabetic who'd had both big toes amputated (and a rather gruesome abscess), as well as a hydroencephalic baby. I referred both of them on to the mobile team, but they evidenced a broader need: case finding. The residents of these slums are under a lot stress, and tend to work 10-14 hours a day, so it can be easy to overlook what appears to be a relatively innocuous symptom (e.g. the hydroencephalic child could suffer brain damage if the condition is not dealt with; to the eye, the kid only looks like he has a slightly swollen head and the mom didn’t think it was serious).
Case-finding also ties into other programmatic objectives. Since our goal is ultimately enable communities to achieve greater control over their own health (and in turn, health services), we provide training to community members in health. A significant avenue is through the training of community health workers, a paradigm pioneered in rural areas of the developing world (China having taken the lead several decades ago, with their "barefoot doctors"; you can read about it here: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4990242). Essentially unpaid volunteers, and usually women, at a minimum these people end up serving as first contact points in rural community health systems, and can even act as "mini-doctors" who deliver many curative services. Essentially, this community health model is a response to chronic shortages of healthcare staff. In countries like India, where a very significant portion of the healthcare staff are recruited to developed nations (cruelly ironic, since many are trained in institutions supported by the Indian govt. It amounts to Indian-subsidization of Western health care), it can have a devastating impact.
The latest iteration of this migration involves a reverse migration: instead of our healthcare staff traveling abroad, patients are coming to India, as part of the much-lauded medical tourist industry. Although the odd source of pride for many in India, it's ultimately just a variation of the theme, as few of the medical staff serving foreign medical tourists would ever cater to the needs of destitute local communities.

So the innovate response of community health workers. If as a country, you’ve lost your doctors and nurses, you might as well train community members at the local level. Although it leads to some deskilling of the work force, community members offer immense benefits due to their local networks. Yet, the paradigm was initially, and still largely is, one of rural settings. The project I visited in Jamkhed was a spectacularly successful example based in such a setting. As the populations of developing countries increasingly urbanize, urban health development is becoming increasingly important. Porting the model is proving interesting. The urban poor enjoy much greater access to health services than their rural brethren, but I'm not sure if this is always a good thing. Indian healthcare has succumbed to rampant commercialism, and many hospitals' (and doctors') primary focus is not patients, but profits. Mix this with poor, relatively uneducated poor slum dwellers who often seek out care in emergency situations, and you have a prime recipe for exploitation. It also makes it tougher to operate low-cost, or no-cost health services, because we are in essence, competing with these institutions for patients, and because we don't charge a lot (or at all), we risk being perceived as inferior.
So where do community health workers fit in the urban paradigm? I'm not quite sure; I've searched the literature, and the body of work is minor compared to rural community health. However, I’m convinced that community health programs, and the community health workers that are integral to them, are needed as a counterpoint to the divergent nature of the Indian healthcare system, in which two systems are evolving. One to serve the needs of an elite, wealthy urban upper class, and another for everybody else (I’ll let you guess which one is far better resourced and staffed).
All this to say, case-finding, and accompanying referral protocols, could be a vital role for urban CHW’s. Although they might not directly deliver the vital curative services of their rural counterparts, by identifying impending illness, and in turn, referring such cases to institutions that provide quality, patient-centered care, such CHW’s might be able to help their communities make the best of a somewhat misdirected health system.
It’s a work in progress, which involves reasoning from first principles. Wish us luck ;).

A diagram of the Shaktishifa model of health services

2008-02-21T10:52:00.000-08:00

Description of Shaktishifa and the Community Health Network

2008-02-21T10:33:00.000-08:00

I realized that a lot of people reading this blog (if anyone actually is) have no idea what Shaktishifa is, or why I am here. What follows is a description of the clinic, and the project I am working, the Community Health Network. It's a so-so write-up, but it's all I have for now

Shaktishifa
Community Health Network

Vision:
We envision a Hyderabad comprised of healthy families empowered to lead fulfilling
lives. Access to healthcare, education and basic infrastructure, provisions we consider basic human rights, will be guaranteed. The security of such rights will be ensured by educated, engaged and well-resourced communities across the city.

Mission:
Our mission at its core is to enable the urban poor to achieve greater self determination in promoting their communities’ health and well being. To this end, we will engage community participation to develop truly community-based healthcare.
We will promote community leadership at every level of a comprehensive approach
to healthcare which encompasses preventative, promotive, and curative
aspects. Moreover, we recognize that health is impacted by a constellation of factors, and to this end we will pursue socio-economic development in partnership
with the communities we serve.

Project Description:
The Community Health Network was established in 2007 to extend and complement
the existing activities of the Shaktishifa Health Foundation. Shaktishifa’s services
encompass a three tier system.

At the tertiary level, the foundation utilizes its extensive organizational networks to refer patients onto hospital based care not provided by the organization itself.
At the secondary level, Shaktishifa provides a full-spectrum of primary care services,including diagnostic treatment, lab testing, specialist referrals, etc.
The Community Health Network (CHN) comprises the primary level of services offered
by the foundation. A recent addition to the foundation, funded by a seed grant
from Concern India, the mission of the CHN office is to foster community based
health and development programmes in the localities served by Shaktishifa. Currently,
CHN primarily operates in two bastis, Dewarconda and Shoukatnagar,
comprising a population of 4000 individuals.
Health programmes encompass all levels of healthcare, including curative, preventive
and promotive. Domiciallary services are offered by mobile health teams which
travel directly to the communities we serve, and feature community involvement
through the use of women’s groups and community health workers, CHWs (who
work in partnership with the mobile health teams). Preventive services focus primarily on health education, and again feature significant community involvement
through the role of women’s groups and CHWs. The health education programme
consists of training about nutrition, childhood illness, chronic disease, environmental determinants of health, and various other pertinent topics. Finally, promotive programmes include general development initiatives, including income generation groups, environmental improvement and the like; once again, local involvement
is paramount, in the form of project focused community action groups.
At the core of every CHN program, there is an emphasis on developing self-sustaining
programs. Although we initially provide health services through our staff, we aim
to create self-sufficient health systems in the communities we serve within five
years of initiating activities in a given locality. After this point, we transition to a supportive role, after which we can move on to providing more intensive support
to additional communities, thereby increasing our impact.

Snapshots

2008-02-21T10:22:00.000-08:00

I thought I'd add some pictures from my Jamkhed trip. In order from first to last:

Ellora Caves
Gaggle of Indian school girls, Ellora Caves
Buddhist wannabe at the Ellora Caves
Ellora Caves
Village Hospitality
Two very confident men
Cow Mart! Only Rs 20,000. Photo taken at the weekly cattle market
Landscape around Jamkhed
Market Image
A bee eater at dusk
Classtime
Classtime

2008-02-21T10:20:00.000-08:00

2008-02-21T10:18:00.000-08:00

2008-02-21T10:15:00.000-08:00

Small world....

2008-02-21T08:29:00.001-08:00

It was bound to happen, but I wasn't expecting it so soon...I ran into a Macalester student last weekend. My alma mater is known for its internationalism, so it was hardly a surprise.

One of the world's top techno/trance DJs showed up in Hyderabad last Saturday. It's his first trip to Asia, and he comes to Hyderabad! I think somebody must have lied to him about Hyderabad's importance. I'm not a huge fan, and I had to leave for the airport at 4:30 on Sunday morning to catch a flight to Bombay but I've seen him with Mac friends in the States and it's probably the only time he'll ever show up here, so I figured I had to go.

It ended up being great fun, quite trashy, but in the best way possible. However, the connections made during the night were what made it truly remarkable. About halfway through the concert, we spotted a group of white people. Like any pair of dodgy Indian guys, we approached them, and introduced ourselves. Within about five minutes, I figured out that one of the girls, Alex, had gone to Macalester and that we shared common friends, that she knew of me, but we'd never met, and she didn't know I was in Hyderabad. Small world....

Towards the end of the concert, both my cousin and I, being friendly drunks, we ended up talking to anybody and everybody we could find, and eventually befriended two Nigerian guys, whom we hung out with till 4 in the morning, after which headed home.

Of course, it's India, and the randomness never ends. At 4:15 AM, about two miles from my house, the car breaks down as I'm driving. Normally it wouldn't be a cause for stress, but I had 15 minutes before I had to leave for my flight, so things got a bit hairy. Fortunately, our driver, Shoukat, was kind enough to pick my cousin and I up on his way to get the rest of my family, and there was a happy ending to the evening.

Government Partnerships

2008-02-10T22:14:00.000-08:00

The past few days have been serendipitous at Shaktishifa. In order to acquaint myself with the broader sweep of activities taking place in Hyderabad, I decided to explore the new website created by the Muncipal Corporation of Hyderabad (MCH). Anyone who lives in or has an interest in Hyderabad should take the time to visit it. The newly authored City Development Plan, an encouraging step in the right direction, is featured on the site. I scanned through several pages and found the contact for the Secretary of Slum Development (what a title...). Dr. Sabera, the director of the Community Health Network (CHN) at Shaktishifa and I thought it would be a good idea to meet her, as we’ve have been considering expanding our services from the slums we currently serve (Shoukatnagar and Dewarconda), to additional areas. Although the latter areas benefit from our services, government clinics exist in the area, so we felt that it was a waste to be running parallel health systems, hence a search for areas unserved by the government. In the course of a twenty minute meeting, the Slum Secretary explained the imminent implementation of the Hyderabad City Development Plan, which calls for the establishment of 150 urban Primary Healthcare Centers (PHCs). Although the MCH is doing its best, they are short on resources for ~20-30 centers. The CDP plan is to be finalized within 15 days; they have been looking for PHCs and we’ve been looking for slums. We walked out of the meeting with a plan for a potential partnership.
The serendipity of the week’s events only got better today. A friend of the family’s, a high-ranking government-type (read: corrupt but helpful), visited the clinic, and decided that he would put in a good word for us if we applied for government funding for our activities. We visited another senior government official today, this time set up through my mom, who didn’t really know about our meeting with the Slum Secretary. This official was receptive to the possibility of funding, but during the course of the conversation, said she needed to discuss the matter with the Secretary of Slum Development to figure out where we might fit in to the CDP. Sabera, a devout Muslim, was convinced it was the hand of God. I didn’t have an opinion, but I’m pleased by the direction things are going.
I’ve been hoping to scale up our programs, to extend them to areas of Hyderabad worst affected by poverty, but funding is an issue. Knock on wood, this week’s developments seem to have killed two birds with one stone. We’ll be able to take on more communities, but with government funding. Moreover, I’m glad to see Shaktishifa emerging from relative wilderness to pursue strategic partnerships, rather than providing services without regard to the broader spectrum of institutions and programs active in Hyderabad.
Quite apart from the clinic, things have been quiet. As pathetic as it sounds, I’ve turned to the internet to find friends in Hyderabad (no, not that kind....). Although some of my friends and family are horrified by it, I’ve found the travel-social networking site, CouchSurfing to be indispensable when in unfamiliar territory. It tends to be used by interesting, altruistic people, so I’ve basically been looking for white people living in Hyderabad on CS (I don’t trust the Indians). There seems to be a community of young professionals working in development in the city, so hopefully I’ll be able to find birds of a feather. It might be puzzling to some why I would seek out friends in Hyderabad when I have so many family members (for those who didn’t know, I’ve easily got a few hundred relatives, and they’re breeding), but walk a mile in my shoes, and you’d be running away from my family in the same footwear. Don’t get me wrong, they’re lovely people (mostly), but I’ve been lectured at least 3 times in the last 10 days about my Shi’ite Islamic morals, or wholesale lack thereof. The local inquisition almost forced me into going to Friday prayers last week, and after a while, I can’t help but seek out less-than-pious company. So to all of my friends and family living in relative religious freedom, if you’re enjoying an alcoholic beverage or something similarly sinful as you read this, be sure to say a prayer for me.

2008-02-03T09:38:00.000-08:00

A bunch of posts follow

FEBRUARY 3rd 2008

I got back from Jamkhed about a week ago, but have just been getting back on my feet since.
As for the rest of the Jamkhed trip:
The Australians took a trip to Aurangabad shortly after my last post, for a break and to see the Ellora caves (essentially a network of Buddhist Temples dating back centuries).
After returning from Aurangabad, we had a whirlwind week. The Australians had the benefit of two excellent instructors, who are both development professionals, and since I was virtually a part of their group by this point, I was welcome to sit in on their lectures. The instruction after the Ellora trip was incredibly relevant to my work in Hyderabad. I learned about Participatory Assessment (a set of methods for generating a qual/quant evaluation of the health of communities). Also included was content on monitoring and evaluation, networking with government agencies/NGOs and similar content. I was thoroughly impressed by the content of the course (I shouldn’t have been surprised, as it is offered by one of Asia Pacific’s premier institutions of public health, the University of Melbourne), although a little puzzled, as most of the participants had no interest in development careers. The coursework culminated with a group project in which each group had to develop a project plan for a different development scenario around the world, incorporating standard assessment, planning, implementation and evaluation techniques used around the world (e.g. Logframe Matrices, popularized by USAID, and now standard operating procedure the world over).
In the midst of the final week, the Aroles threw a massive party for us, and miraculously, had a bottle of tequila that wasn’t Jose Cuervo. Needless to say, we finished the tequila, and I taught the Aussies some Bollywood dance moves, which they made good use of till the wee hours.
The final day of the course was good fun as well, with a performance night which included Australian group doing a Bollywood night.
I returned to Hyderabad the next day with two of the Australians, Kate and Carl, both of whom had become friends.
The Jamkhed experience was fantastic overall. Asia’s most famous community health project, great instruction, and the Australians made for a great experience. On the last note, I had been hoping for a good (looking) group, and I couldn’t have been luckier. It was simple demographics: 20 Australians, 2 men (1 gay), 18 women and me. It was not too unlike the fables of the Hindu god Krishna, in which a young and mischievous incarnation of the god inhabits a village utopia, Brindavan, where he whiles away his days stealing milk and rolling in the hay with Gopis, the pretty female inhabitants of the village. Though I didn’t end up stealing any milk, the remaining parallels were substantial.

After Jamkhed:
Most of my first weekend back went to hosting my Australian visitors, who I toured around the Old City, Golconda and the like. The subsequent week was hectic; during the day, I spent my time getting acquainted with the work that Shaktishifa’s new community health team (of which I am now a part) has been engaged in over the past 7 months. I made several visits to the local slums, co-led a focus group discussion on health with a group of working-class women, and attended a health education on nutrition organized by the project team.....I now have to run to attend a family dinner here in Hyderabad, but will post soon with a more comprehensive update on my activities here.

JANUARY 15 2008

It’s been a little over a week since I’ve gotten here, and I’m still learning about the things they’re doing here. It would probably take another week to describe, so I’ll confine myself to the remarkable aspects.
The Aroles themselves met at the Christian Medical College of Vellore (one of India’s finest medical schools). They were both accustomed to being “toppers” (top students ) in their studies, and each had consistently ranked first in the class at their previous institutions. However, Raj Arole found that at CMC, no matter how hard he tried, he consistently came second in the class, behind the same the person, Mabelle Arole. The two competed throughout school (although Mabelle always came first), until their clinical years, when they discovered during a mutual elective in surgery, that they shared a common interest in community service and the two decided to marry. They practiced surgery for a time in rural Maharashtra, under the instruction of an American surgeon who instilled in them the importance of a comprehensive understanding of health which provided for preventive health care. Subsequently, the pair traveled to John Hopkins School of Public Health (arguably the finest school of public health in the world), where they refined their understanding of population based approaches to healthcare. It was at John Hopkins that they planned the comprehensive care model that they have implemented here at Jamkhed
Upon returning to India, the two searched for an appropriate place to begin their work in rural Maharastra (Raj Arole came from rural Maharashtra). They chose Jamkhed because the local leadership proved very cooperative and welcoming. Additionally, as a market town, Jamkhed served as a natural locus for the surrounding villages, particularly on market days, when farmers would come to sell livestock and produce.
From humble beginnings, the two grew their health system from a simple clinical operation, providing surgeries and other forms of curative care, into a far reaching health system. The telling of the story would comprise a book (in fact, it does, one written by the Aroles), so I’ll stick to salient features. For those readers unfamiliar with rural India, a brief synopsis: generally, rural Indians are intended to obtain curative, or clinical, healthcare at district level hospitals operated by the government. Moreover, preventive care is meant to be provided by village angalwadis, or local village health councils in which government workers operate. In theory, it is a decent system, but in practice, it is pathetic. Clinical care is often dismal, and more importantly, preventive care is non-existent in many places. Thus, health statistics in 1970’s rural Maharashtra were horrifying (e.g. infant mortality of 179/1000, or ~1/5). The dilemma is one faced even in developed countries. Health professionals don’t want to work in rural places; they find it unstimulating and the compensation lacking. In addition, social institutions such as caste and gender inequality were rampant in Jamkhed district, and served to magnify the area’s poverty.
Thus, at the heart of the project, and the model, is the use of illiterate, low-caste and low-status peasant women. The Aroles had an appreciation of the importance of providing preventive health education and primary care, given their background and training. Their early efforts to recruit urban health professionals were largely unsuccessful. However, at the time in public health, there was a growing body of theory that suggested where there existed a shortage of staff, it was appropriate to train local people in basic healthcare delivery. The Aroles did exactly this. By working with local village councils and sarpanchs (elected village leaders, or mayors), they were able to identify candidates for training to become Village Health Workers (VHW).
However, they expanded the role of the village health workers, and community based healthcare far beyond factors directly affecting health. Recognizing that health was determined by a constellation of factors, particularly one’s income and social status, the chose to tackle not only ill health, but social determinants of such as well. Thus, they trained low status women in clinical care and health promotion methods, but also relied on these women as vehicles with which to subvert social institutions such as caste and gender oppression. Parallel to the training of the women, the Aroles pursued general development activities, such as water resourcing. Through such activities, they further subverted social structures, for example, by placing wells in Dalit areas (i.e. low casted) of villages. Income generation projects were also initiated, again with a focus on bolstering the status of low-case villagers.
Moreover, the VHWs themselves were provided income generation training themselves. Recognizing that the village people would not respect these women as health providers unless they achieved equal socioeconomic footing, all received training in various manners of enterprise, from jewelry sales to event catering.
All in all, Jamkhed is an inspiration, and to visit it is to appreciate it. Although the Aroles benefited from excellent training and had exceptional connections in international health, the Comprehensive Rural Health Project is a testament to the agency of individuals to effect transformation.
Finally, a number of my friends are interested in health and development. If anyone should like to find out about visiting Jamkhed for a short trip or an extended training experience, shoot me an email. I know the Aroles personally now, and would be happy to put you in touch.

JANUARY 8 2008

I arrived at Jamkhed two days ago, and it has been quite an experience thus far. Jamkhed is a town of about 20,000 located in drought prone area of Maharashtra, a few hundred kilometers from Bombay.
I’m here with 20 Australians, all of us present to learn about the famed Jamkhed model of comprehensive healthcare. The Aussies have been good fun, very friendly and have taught me a great deal about their country (a list of Aussie vocab I’ve learned so far is below). Curiously, I woke up today to find I was the only one in the group wearing Western clothes, as all the Aussies had embarked on a shopping trip the day before, and had gone thoroughly native since
The Jamkhed project is run by a family, the Aroles. Initially begun 30 years ago by Raj and Mabelle Arole as a small one room clinic, it has since developed into a comprehensive health system serving 250,000 rural Maharashtrans. Leadership of the project is now being transitioned to their children.
Today was an eventful day for the Aroles, and everyone else at Jamkhed. In addition to a team from the London School of Economics, which has been conducting an assessment of the project over the last few months, a team from National Geographic showed up (apparently, Jamkhed is to be featured in an upcoming issue of the magazine), in addition to the health minister from Andhra Pradesh (and her entourage of 40 beaurecrats).
We were able to sit in on a meeting with the Andhra delegation, which was comical (the minister for Women and Children’s Health fell asleep during the meeting). A motley crue was involved: the Aroles, a group of village health workers, the Andhra delegation, the Nat Geo team, a pair of medical anthropologists from New York, the Aussies and myself. The Andhra delegation was being given the opportunity to interact with the health workers (via an interpreter), but was quite clear that the group was more interested in the buffet lunch and the type of transport they would be receiving (“are the cars air conditioned”) for their village visit, than actually learning about the Jamkhed model. Raj Arole suspects that a superior cornered the minister into coming. Regardless, it was both eye-opening for the Aussies and business as usual in India.

Inaugural Post

2007-12-28T22:29:00.000-08:00

I should really be packing up my apartment, but blogging turns out to be more fun, thus my first post. I hate sending out impersonal group emails, so to keep friends and family up to date, I thought I'd start a blog. I was surprised by how easy it is, and I hope to add more. Regardless, as I embark on this "wanderjahr," I will be sure to keep in touch. And if you should care for a vacation, please do drop me a line. I'd love to share my adventures.