Ink and art and patience

I have begun taking shodo classes recently.  Every Friday afternoon at 5pm, I ride my bike along the Nagao river for five minutes before turning left at the bright orange house.  A teacher from my school first brought me to Matsunaga-san's house, he said, "Please ride your bike along the river for five minutes, and when you see the orange house, please turn left, her house is the one with the old boat in front of it."  At the time it had all seemed so easy, that I found his explanation almost comical.   And yet, every time I ride to Matsunaga's house, I have the impression that I am lost.  That part of Yukuhashi rapidly becomes a bland industrial monochrome if you don't turn along the river, but there are a few rivers in Yukuhashi, and every time I am certain that I have turned along the wrong river.  The river drifts away and I am in a neighborhood, fairly certain that none of these brown and grey houses with tiled roofs look familiar.  I retrace that teacher's words in my head, "at the orange house, please turn left," and I wait a little bit.  And sure enough, a house the color of a mandarin orange, with a sharp grey tiled roof, with shiny new tiles, and shiny black trim on the window sills appears.  Compared with the surrounding houses, it looks flashy, like the only woman who showed up to church wearing a sparkly number.  I am thankful every time she appears, and make the first left just after.

Matsunaga-san is a Japanese woman in her seventies, I'd say.  She always wears a black apron that looks worn with time, but never dirty.  She insists that everyone call her obachan, or grandmother, and one time I called her ogachan, she corrected me with a voice that neither concerned nor impatient. One time I rang the doorbell and waited for Obachan to answer, and when she came to the door, wiping ink on her apron, she told me to not ring the bell, just to enter.  This is unusual for a Japanese household, and I was momentarily embarassed and glad about her request.

The class isn't really a class by the strict sense of the word.  It is an informal gathering of students who go to Obachan to learn this frequently forgotten traditional Japanese art.  I am the only foreigner who attends Obachan's informal classes, and I am also the only student older than twelve.

Obachan's house is not remarkable in any way, except for that the room where she holds the shodo classes is a real mess.  The floor of what was a tatami room has been covered in an army green carpet reminiscent of a depressing seventies movie, and the walls are covered in thin plastic sheets covered with drawings of cartoon faces, scribble marks, and kanji characters.  The floor is covered with scraps of newspaper, bags of used rice paper, pencils, scrap materials, notebooks, fresh sheets of rice paper, and books.  In the room, there are several low tables where students kneel and begin by drawing large circles on sheets of practice paper, and continue to paint their shodo as instructed by Obachan.  The mess is comforting.  It reminds me that this is a place of creation where the typical rules of order both apply and do not apply simultaneously.  It is an organized mess.  The papers on the floor are neatly piled, and the bags filled with old practice paintings are stacked neatly and folded into the bags.  The carpet comes up at the edges as it is untraditional of a Japanaese tatami room to contain carpet and it is not nailed in anywhere; it must have been scrap that she had attained for the purpose of protecting her tatami floors.  The plastic over the walls was for the same purpose.  It is a perfectly functional, a perfectly practical mess.

Upon entering, I always greet Obachan with thanks for having me, and remove my coat as the room is always warm.  The young students with whom I practice steal glances at me as I settle into the table that feels too small, trying to fold my legs beneath me as delicately as possible.  We begin by drawing sweeping circles on scrap paper and move into practicing basic strokes with brush and ink.  When it comes time for Obachan to "assign" me something to write, she stops for a moment to think about which is best.  I know she is trying to think of kanji that is not too difficult, as well, as something that may have meaning for me.  Her face is flat and smooth, and she smiles in a refined way that reflects a steady and warm quality about her.  She is firm in her speech, but never harsh, and she makes patient corrections on my work.

The stroke is the most difficult part of shodo.  A true shodo master, like Obachan, keeps her elbow raised to a perfet degree as she paints, her strokes stop, for three seconds, she changes the position of her elbow to account for a change in direction of the next stroke, without lifting the brush.  The result is a beautiful line that thickens and thins in the right places with balance and beauty.  Even in imitating the exact motion of the brush, and the exact angle of the elbow, I am entirely unable to write as beautifully as she.  Anyone who pracitces shodo will tell you that is in never about writing the characters, but rather it is about feeling them.  There is such great attention to form, and to conscious placement of both brush and stroke, that I often feel too scattered to grasp the concept.

In my last class, Obachan told me that she and the students are excited for when I come, because they are interested in me.  In Japanese she says, "We wait for you."  I know she means that they look forward to seeing me, but the simple phrase and it's direct form strikes me.  The students usually watch with curiosity as I try my best to maintain focus and follow as I am told and I paint.  I sometimes feel like I must frown a great deal when I look at my finished work, or as I am trying to reproduce what Obachan has done as an example for me and my lines look nothing like hers.

When Obachan writes, or paints, she announces to all the students, "Obachan kakimasu," "Obachan is writing," a gentle reminder to not bother her then.  As she writes, most of the students crowd around to watch her at her craft.  She will write the kanji character for me in a bright orange paint that I will then use as an example for my own work.  If she is unhappy with her result, she will discard the paper and begin again.  After I am finished poorly replicating the charcter, Obachan will look over it, and mark her happy orange paint the places where my line is too fat, too thin, crooked, too long, or without a big enough drag mark.  If it is good, she will draw a large, orange spiral over the character.

The rice paper is thin and I like the sound of it crinkling.  The ink smells musty and it is made by rubbing a solid block of what looks like coal around in a pool of water.  Obachan tells me I must do this for ten minutes.  I cannot tell if it is meant to instill a sense of patience or if it takes that long to make the ink.

The children in my lesson are all elementary school students who lean over my work and glance shyly in my direction.  I have not been attending classes that long, so they are still interested and a little scared by me.  After a few minutes of me being there, they usually stop looking, and I invite their help by asking how to prepare the ink, or fold the paper into neat lines, and I look at their writing to see how mine may look if I did this for years.  Some of them are not shy at all, and they often listen as Obachan explains things to me in Japanese, and help to translate if they can.  Small words become a great service between all of us, and I am reminded of how little it takes to help one another. 

I always leave shodo feeling like I have accomplished something and nothing at the same time.  Thinking of how Obachan writes, I realize that I will never be as good as she is, and I am only witnessing a small fraction of what the whole things means.  I enjoy going though, and am grateful for her and those students and that wonderfully organized mess in the house with the boat out front kitty corner to the bright orange house on the road by the river.

Obachan's house

One of the many rivers near Obachan's House

Young Gentleman

I am not wholly suited for an office job. 

When I do have one, I find that I become very lazy.  The simplest tasks, taking down the laundry, cleaning the dishes in the sink, making my lunch, all become rather difficult as my energy wanes and my days feel shortened.

To combat this swell of laziness, I take a walk every day after lunch.  My office is in Miyako Machi, a small, semi-rural area of Japan.  Small houses with tilted tile roofs huddle close together along small streets that give way to rice fields and open pastures.  The elderly, the rice farmers, and the labor workers in the area have just gotten used to my presence in their small little town. With every passing car, I nod my head to say hello, and they do the same.

Yesterday, on the fifteen-minute walk back from the post office, I ran across a young boy.  He was wearing his elementary school uniform, and walking at a brisk pace, with his friend trailing behind him in a small track suit.  The little boy walked letting his little feet sway out to the sides, his arms moving with them, like he was skipping stones while he walked.  The clean, yellow sunshine in the brisk March wind matched his freshness.  I was running late getting back to the office after mailing a package, and feeling quite guilty about it.  The post office had been a further walk than I had remembered, and tardiness in the Japanese office is poorly regarded, and as a guest here, I always try to adhere.  I had simply misread my target.

I have taken to saying "Hello" to any of the younger generation in Japan.  I think it is important for them to realize that their English classes in school can actually be of use to them in the real world, so I consider it a part of my reason for being in Japan.  To the older generation, it is always "Konnichiwa."

The "Hello" is sometimes received with a lit up face and a hurried, "Hello!" in response. Other times, it is met with silence.  It's always surprising which ones respond.  You think, when you see the two kids with bleached mohawks and hot pink sweat suits coming towards you, riding tandem on a bike, that you're about to embarass yourself, and that the serious looking one in the school uniform that looks like a three piece suit, carrying his books on a Saturday will surely not embarass you.  Frequently, I find it's the opposite.  The one in the track suits nearly fall of their bike saying hello, and the one in the suit looks the other way.  But nonetheless, I say it everytime.  The students in Japan are known for being shy about using their English, and I realize that even this brief interaction may make them a bit nervous, so I always smile, and if they do not respond, it doesn't bother me in the least.  I am, after all, much more comfortable with the language than they.

Upon seeing these two little boys, as is pretty unusual midday in Miyako machi, I instantly said "Hello!"  I was hurrying back to my office, but their paths ran parallel with mine on the other side of a very small street, and I figured, at least if I am late back to the office, I won't feel like I haven't been doing my job. 

The boy in the small blue blazer turned to his left to look at me, mouth open in what was almost a smile, and said, "Hello!"  The one in the track suit said nothing.  The next question you learn to use in the Japanese classroom is "How are you?" which is always met with the response, "I'm fine thank you, and you?"  Nine times out of ten, this is the response you get, in Miyako anyway.  The other time, it is "pretty good."  It just depends on which elementary school they went to. Sometimes, I will ask students in the hall, "How are you?" first, and they will stop, to reflect, run the words, how ... are.... you... over in their minds, before remembering the correct response.  It makes me smile everytime.  This afternoon, though, the young boy looked quite hurried, and rather casually, he ignored my question, and went straight to, "My name is Sayuko," as he tossed his hair back, his face tilting upwards toward the sun.  

Sayuko quickly crossed the street in my direction, looking both ways before crossing, his little friend, following like a baby duck behind its mother.  He walked like someone much older than his age. His strides were long and relaxed, and his arms swung freely at his sides.  He looked up at me the often, but he never stared at me.  He was not bothered to continue in English and began asking me questions in Japanese... in a way that reminded me of a conversation with an old friend.  Like cutting out the nonsense to really talk.  He was only slightly out of breath, and his words had a healthy freshness to them as they were exhaled with air and breathed back in.  He was not nervous, but out for a walk, and had worked up a steady breath.  At least two feet below me, I looked down at this little man, in his blazer on this fresh spring day, and smiled from within.  His questions were of the ordinary type.  He asked where I worked, and why I was walking there.  I went to say that I was working at the city office, but I forgot how the actual building was called in Japanese for a brief moment, "I work at..." I said, pointing at the building,  he glanced at the building, and filled in my blank, " the city office," and then nodded to himself to show his understanding.  

He didn't ask where I was from, or tell me that my Japanese was good.  Most people usually say that, not because it is, simply because there isn't much else to say.  It's a kind of politesse when speaking with foreigners I think... like talking about the weather, but once the weather conversation has exhausted itself, it is the next best topic.  I liked that he didn't ask me where I was from.  His open hands, his unbuttoned blazer, his slightly longer than average hair for a young boy, was a testament to his openness.  He spoke directly up to my face, and nodded as I responded.  He asked me which schools I was teaching at, pausing for a moment, to make sure that they were only Jr. High schools we were speaking of.  When I said yes, he nodded again. He didn't bother to ask if I knew any of his brothers or sisters, and for quite a few steps, the three of us just walked next to each other.  His small shoes sliding along under his light step.

I asked what they were doing.  It was, after all, about one o'clock on a Thursday.  Almost predicting the question, and understanding the implication, he said, "It's spring vacation."  Oh yes.  Of course, I knew that.  I was asking, actually, where they were going walking like that, and why he was in his uniform, and his friend wasn't.  But before I had time to clairify, he explained that they were attending the closing ceremony for school today, or maybe that they had just come from it, I didn't understand.  I asked where they went to school, and with a kind of obvious nod, he pointed his chin in the direction of a nearby school while saying "a soko" - right there.  Of course.

Without any fanfare, I said I must cross the street and go back to work.  He asked why I was working during spring break if I was a teacher, and I said, because teachers work very hard.  They continued on at a brisk pace without giggling at me, like children usually do, and as I turned back to say goodbye, they both waved at me.  I couldn't help but think of two old men out for their afternoon walk.  "See you!" they said.  "See you."

Media is a Money-Maker

Our faith in media is displaced.


We forget that newspapers and their reinterpretation of life are designed to make money.  We trust what we see on the news, and what we read in the newspaper, I believe, because inherently, we feel that if it is in print, it must be true.  But media conglomerates are private entities, often owned by some of the wealthiest people in the world.  We have a natural interest in gossip, and anyone who works in media knows this.

Nothing has made this more clear of late, than the disaster here in Japan.  Frantic phone calls from worried friends have slowed recently, as the media in America has changed focus from the disaster in Japan to the disaster in Libya.  (I believe the focus of American media was on Libya when the earthquake and tsunami happened in Japan).  Then, for about a week, there was constant coverage of the disaster in Japan., of the impending nuclear meltdown, of the health hazardds to the American people and the world.  No doubt, the situation in Japan was (and still is) a serious one, but I believe it was seriously sensationalized by the American media.

Media is used to make money.  A story that is sensational sells much better than a story that is true.  A headline that says "Radiation Levels in Tokyo Quadruple" is more likely to sell than the one that says, "Radiation levels in Tokyo still less than the amount received from an X-Ray, even if they are four times higher than normal."

Japanese media coverage of the situation in Japan was much milder.  The situation was accepted as grave, and there was one man on TV night and day that gave updates regularly on the situation.  He became known as "the man who doesn't sleep."  It was a scary time, but  Japanese journalism was  interested in keeping its citizens calm rather than inciting chaos.  It was constant coverage, but it was not designed to scare anyone.  Rather, it was meant to be a source of comfort.  I even got used to having the news on all the time, and used to seeing the man who didn't sleep's face.  I'm almost sad I haven't seen him for a few days.  All the while, nuclear experts were saying that the levels of radiation in the surrounding area of the plants, and in Tokyo, were increasing, but they were not yet dangerous.  This was casually forgotten by the American journalist.

In addition to everything the media "exposes" it is also important to consider the million facts that have been "forgotten".  (I recognize that this goes for Japanese as well as American journalism).  For the American media system, I will say that I think we are addicted to tragedy, and I am concerned about whether or not all of the overblown headlines don't lead to some desensitization of the general American psyche.  Do we not bother looking if it's not complete wreckage?

On the other hand, I am brimming with pride about all American efforts in donating money, military support and crisis relief.  If there is one thing that can be taken from the American coverage of this tragedy it is this: it got people to help. Maybe then, the sensational coverage was a wonderful thing.

I have had numerous people thank me personally for the kindness of the American people in response to the earthquake and tsunami.  I was asked to stand up at a company dinner on Friday night while all of my coworkers applauded me on behalf of the American aide.  I was moved very deeply by it.  The taste of all the things I'd said about the scare-tactics of American media soured in my mouth at that moment.

I have recently looked back through all of the Tweets and Facebook posts from restaurants and companies in San Francisco and have been overflowing with joy and emotion to find that many of them are hosting events and fundraisers to donate money to Japan.  It makes me so proud of where I come from, and I have shared this news with my friends and coworkers in Japan.  They tell me they are glad to consider America a friend of Japan.

Media makes money.  Whether or not that money-making is evil, probably changes depending on the circumstance.

Emergency situation

I have received over the last few days more worried emails and facebook posts than I can count.  And I thank all of you for your grave concern.  Indeed, the earthquake, tsunami, and now the most recent catastrophe, a nuclear meltdown of a power plant in Fukushima, give reasons for concern.

To put your worried minds at rest, I will tell you first and foremost, that Japan has one of the best infrastructures I have ever known.  The government takes very good care of its people, and they are prepared for earthquakes and tsunamis, with emergency crews, funding and government agencies in place.  Japan has the most earthquakes per square kilometer than any country in the world, and they are an incredibly self-sufficient nation.  If there could ever be a country that is prepared for this situation, it is Japan.  This is not suggesting that what happened isn't a serious national crisis, but I am confident in Japan and it's ability to organize, mobilize, and repair.  Plus, many foreign agencies have been sending help, so I know that this is greatly appreciated and will be very helpful.  This does not make it any less tragic, though. 


"Today, there are scheduled black-outs for starting the morning of 3/14 in Tokyo, Tochigi, Ibaraki, Gunma, Chiba, Kanagawa, Saitama, Yamanashi, and Shizuoka. Areas will be divided into 5 groups and each group will experience about 3 hours of power outage."  This was a message posted on Facebook by the TEPCO electricty company.  I believe that TEPCO has endured some damage due to the earthquake, and thus they are conducting rolling black-outs to decrease the electrical pressure in the region. 


For me, personally, and for those of you who are worried about me, I will say that the area affected by the earthquake and tsunami and nuclear issues is 1,400 km, about 870 miles, from where I live, on the island of Kyushu. I live in Fukuoka prefecture, on the northeast side, very close to the island of Shikoku.  Luckily, for all tsunami warnings, we are pretty well blocked by the island of Shikoku, thus removing my little town from most tsunami danger.  While I do live about two miles from the coast, and would be in considerable danger if a tsunami were to hit my corner of Kyushu, at the moment... there is no reason for concern.  I live in the 40th prefecture, at the topmost point of the bottom island (Kyushu).  You can see that we are fairly well covered by the purple island, Shikoku, which blocks our path from the tsunami. (Poor Shikoku and bless you).  Fukuoka prefecture is known for being very well protected from natural disasters, so I hear. 

From the map above, you'll see that the most viciously affected area is the eastern side of the yellow portion of the map, including the Iwate (3), Miyagi (4) and Fukushima (7)  prefectures.  There are an estimated 10,000 deaths in Miyagi prefecture alone, and many people are still unaccounted for.  Information about Miyagi .  Fukushima was also very badly hit, and it is having the bulk of the issues with the nuclear emergency at the moment.  The bad news is that another earthquake is probably going to hit over the next six days, according to that article I just linked above. 

Of course, these feelings of relief are mixed with a great deal of sadness, as in one way, we always feel lucky to have averted a crisis, but guilty at the same time.  I will say, that in general, spirits in Kyushu are quite high, and while people are undoubtedly saddened and worried for the victims of the disaster, I have heard from many people a philosophical truth that in the end, we must be happy with our fortune, and not view it as a direct reflection of another's misfortune.  This is a difficult concept to wrap one's mind around as we watch the news broadcasts of nuclear explosions, turmoil as office buildings shake and collapse, and homes that are washed away like pieces on a monopoly board.  It is hard to remember not to feel bad about my good fortune.

In addition to that, I do know people, here on Kyushu with family in the affected region, and there are fellow JETs up there, and all over Japan who are still in an advanced state of warning.  One of my students cannot contact his father who went up to Sendai on Thursday, and as of yesterday, still had not heard from him as cell phones and electricity are not working properly in that area.  Naturally, as people who are still missing turn up, things may only become sadder.  My hopes and thoughts are with everyone who is still living in a state of unknowing, and in a state of fear.  It is a tense and awful feeling.

A few friends and I made a run to Trial, a sort of Japanese Wal Mart, on Saturday night to purchase dry food, toothbrushes and toothpaste, surgical masks, green tea, and bottled water to send up to the Sendai area for those that have lost their homes and loved ones.  It is a small token, but in some way, it made us all feel better.

To Donate to Northern Japan, click here


There has been considerable concern, as well, about the nuclear situation... and I am afraid, I am not in a great position to speak to that.  A good friend of mine, here, a fellow JET teacher from New Zealand, will be taking a flight home for good, because she is very concerned about the nuclear situation.  My grandfather wrote me an email to tell me to take some iodine in a glass of milk to block my thyroid from absorbing any radioactive iodine.  This is a sobering thought.  I realize that I am quite far from the nuclear area, but perhaps there is reason for concern.  I read the article linked below and felt much less concerned about the nuclear situation, but I will still probably drink some iodine.

This article put my mind at ease


I keep telling people, it reminds me of the 9/11 attacks.  In many ways, those of us on the west coast were relatively unaffected.  Or I was, at least.  Watching the television footage, I instantly felt bad that I wasn't more affected by the disaster, although it deeply saddened me.  Because any time you see your fellow countrymen, your friends, or any human being parish in such a devastating way, well... it hurts.  We are all naturally inclined to compassion for one another, after all.   But I can't help but feel amazed by the resilience of human beings.  Wars are waged on other sides of the earth, disasters are felt, people die, we lose loved ones, and yet, we find a way to keep on living.  The office still opens, the printers still run, the drinks are still poured, and we do it with a sense that maybe, we don't know when the disaster will be at our front door... but for the time being, we are okay, and we do all that we can to keep the heartbeat of our lives going as long as we can.

My love and my prayers to those in the Iwate, Miyagi and Fukushima prefectures... it is very different when you know people in the affected country, is the last thing I will say.  They are no longer foreign faces on the news that look and act differently than I do... they are my coworkers, and friends and students and families... and it is this fact, more than anything, that makes me very sad.


For more information as the situation unfolds, you can visit these websites:

US Embassy in Tokyo

US Department of State Travel Advisory

Japan Times - News from Japan in English

Changmai

On to more cultural things... kind of...

With our backpacks full of dirty clothes, our bellies full of poorly digested food and booze, and our heads full of insane memories (or lack thereof), we finally made our way off of the islands, in search of a more authentic Thai experience.  12-hour ride to Bangkok, followed by a 10-hour ride to Changmai.

Highway up to ChangMai

Ornate Freeway Bridge Decor

Rest Stop

Common Transportation Method

Goods for Sale on the side of the road

Changmai means "New City" in Thai, and it is said to be the cultural epicenter of Thailand.  We had heard from other travelers in Koh Tao and Koh Phi Phi that Changmai was a bit of "real Thailand."  It was meant to be cheaper, forested and much more chilled out. The bus ride there was long and tiresome, but along the way, the snacks at the various rest stops became increasingly cheaper, the horizons drifted into green pastures and mountainsides, and upon arrival, rasta colored shacks with low lights and small bar crowds indicated that everything we had heard was pretty much true.

Street Food and Scooters

"Welcome to Changmai"

Christmas Decorations

Live Music Bar

Lady boy is a cross-dressing man, very convincing and difficult to pick out from other women.

Food stalls and bamboo picnic tables.

We went to stay at a small hostel called A Little Bird, that I had heard about from a girl named Lisa that I had met on the boat ride to Koh Tao.  Lisa was from England, and she had a wonderful even temperment about her.  She smiled often when she spoke, and she never rose her voice, but she seldom turned down a drink and she seemed to always be surrounded by people.  She also had only one arm which in combination with her beautiful face and disposition made it clear why people seemed to gravitate towards her.  Lisa had loved Changmai.  She was traveling alone around Thailand and had already seen a fair bit when I met her.  She said that I must make it to Chagmai to ride an elephant, do an overnight trekk into the jungle, and to take a Thai cooking class.  She had sold the "live easy" lifestyle of Changmai so well, that I could hardly wait to arrive.

Turns out... everyone does those things in Chagmai.  It doesn't make them any less fantastic, but it does feel less authentic than people had made it out to seem.  Naturally, A Little Bird Hostel was full, so we walked a little further on to find a man sitting alone in an outdoor dining room beneath a hotel.  We asked for a room, and he had one with four beds for 400 baht per night (around $12).  The room was made entirely of Balinese style, dark wood.  Each bed had a mosquito net suspended over the top of it like a halo, and the smooth, heavy wood of the stairs didn't creak beneath your feet.

Our Guest House

Organic Coffee place next to our guest house... delicious, home grown and home roasted.

But it is no wonder that people swoon over Changmai.  The city itself has a very good vibe.  Surrounding the center city there is a moat, which, despite what  further opinions one may have about moats, as far as I am concerned, a city with a moat is very cool.  The center city itself is actually very small, and thanks to the moat, you can find your way to the ends of it and turn around if your lost.  So the moat, among giving a bit of water life to the city, serves a very helpful orientating function.

The Moat

 

Plus, the city is dotted with tons of tiny bars, street food stands, and coffee shops that cluster alongside some of the most magnificent Buddhist temples encrusted with shiny mosaic glass and gold embellishments.  There are also a great deal of health food stores, music shops, book stores and the like.  In short, it felt like a bit of the Pacific Northwest made-over in Thailand.  Immediately, I loved it.

Street food

Roots Rock Reggae Bar

Night market

Nightclub

Food stands on busy street

Scooters are cheap to rent, so my buddy and I did that for a day.  Costs about $6 for the whole day, including insurance.  Getting outside the city on scooters is easy as well.  We made a short trip to the outside of Changmai to see the tiger sanctuary, which is less like a sanctuary, more like an opium den for tigers, where people can go and pet them.  We didn't bother paying the admission to pet them, we just looked on from the side.  There is something less regal about petting a tiger that's all doped up.

Ricky

Changmai City Scape

Outside of Changmai

Buddhist Temple outside of Changmai

Tiger Sanctuary

Temple

Temple

Changmai area is known for its strawberries... strawberry wine, strawberry juice, candy, dressing, jam... etc.

A monk at a temple gave us oranges!

Brand new temple built in the countryside around Changmai, not finished yet

The evenings were spent at the night market, haggling women for beaded necklaces and treasures they had spent hours making down to peanuts.  In the end, though, it is all a part of the experience.  Spent the days seeing the sights, the dusk listening to monks chant in the temples.  The nights were spent drinking beers in reggae bars, eating meals by the side of the road at the food stalls, and walking along the moat past the illuminated temples whose monks inside had long since fallen silent.

Night Market goods

Goods

Traditional Thai embroidery... machine made.

Tool and Hide

Finished product of tool and hide

Tiffany's for Cheap

Amulets by the dozen

Narrow Market Alleyways

Goods

Tool and Metal

Finished Product of Tool and Metal

Inside Temple, Changmai

Outside Temple, Changmai. After Dusk.

Sculpture

Tuk tuk

Buddhist Pagoda

Monks in Training

Traffic

RedBull

Butterfly cocoons

Orchid Farm

Elephant Ride

Trek into the nature

Elephant Guardian

Huts in the hills

Swimming Break

Lunch after swim

River Crossing

Fruit?

Street Crossing

Rush Hour

Flowers

Buddhist Literature Library

Monk's forgotten clothes

Changmai train station

 

It is definitely in my plans to go back....