boom boom

It's no secret that Southeast Asia is a hotbed for sex tourism. As a woman, I have never been solicited for 'boom boom' on the street as my male friends have. But you don't have to look hard to see just how pervasive the sex trade is in Cambodia

(photo by Mohammed Massoud)
It can be hard to identify what exactly prostitution means in this culture and society. In the West, we think of prostitutes as hanging out on the corner in the ghetto, walking up to loitering cars. Well, there are certainly one-stop shop hookers here as well. But I think the difference is that the layers of the sex trade are very dynamic and frequently very hard to identify.

According to UNICEF, 35% of Cambodian sex workers are under the age of 16. Sadly, young girls are often either kidnapped or sold by their parents to pimps who auction off their virginity to the highest bidder. Allegedly Chinese men are the leading customers for virginity. I have heard from a couple male friends that mothers have tried to sell their daughters to them for $5.



Aside from destitute parents selling their children into sex slavery, girls are often kidnapped from small villages and towns in the countryside to be brought to a brothel in Phnom Penh. From the stories I've heard the scenario sometimes goes like this:

1.Everyone in town knows little girl and her family.
2.Little girl hits puberty; people in town start to notice her figure.
3.Little girl is offered a legitimate job as a waitress or is given a surprise piece of candy
4. Waitress job turns into a kidnapping job and the candy is laced with debilitating drugs.
5. Little girl is held in a brothel until her virginity is auctioned off and she is thereafter a regular sex worker.

Very, very sad and scary.

So how does Cambodia compare to other Asian countries that are also quite infamous for their tolerance of gross sex trade practices? Here's a map:


GREEN: Prostitution legal and regulated
BLUE: Exchange of money for sex legal, but brothels illegal
RED: Prostitution illegal

Clearly, you'll see that what the law states is nowhere near societal reality or cultural perception of acceptability. Quite ironic in an area of the world where good girls are supposed to refrain from sexual desire altogether. We don't talk about sex in Asia, now do we?

Creepy Western pedophiles are usually the ones we hear about buying their services. But it's estimated that 99% of the clientele of the sex industry are Cambodian men. It's much cheaper for Cambodian men at as low as 5,000 riels for a go ($1.25). It's estimated that a great portion of HIV contraction is actually from married men bringing the disease home from brothels. This has lead Cambodia to have the second highest rate of HIV/AIDS in Asia. Some say that one of the reasons why the sex trade has become so normalized in this country is that traditional morality was challenges by the cultural wipe out of the Khmer Rouge. I find this argument highly subjective and ignorant of the fact that many other areas of common morality are upheld here just as they are in the rest of the world. But undoubtedly, there is a major lack of education about sexually transmitted diseases and a general approach of impunity towards men who participate in the sex trade. While in the West there has been an upsurge of undercover missions to expose the plots of these brothels, the Dateline and 60 Minute Specials do little to change the systemic problem.

And as for the Western creeps who are caught through secret investigations and child protection agencies, well let's just say that money does buy freedom in some cases. Several pedophilia cases have been resolved by the accused deviant paying the victim's family a sum of money. Thereafter their testimony miraculously changes - no hard feelings right? And if that doesn't work, hey you can always pay your way through the justice system.


It's hard not to judge these white men you see out at bars flirting with their Cambodian hookers or temp girlfriends that look like they could be 16. Although the foreign demand for sex workers doesn't make up the majority, it promotes a power dynamic here that is anything but progressive for women. Not to mention the fact that it's quite embarrassing for the rest of us foreigners to have to watch them exploit such a terribly sad situation. Interestingly, foreign demand might have actually kick started the industry after the war subsided; although forced marriage took place during the Khmer Rouge Era, prostitution was not big. Apparently, the number of sex workers jumped from 6,000 to 20,000 between 1991 and 1992. Coincidentally, this was the year that the UN installed it's aid overhaul of Cambodia, bringing in throngs of Western aid workers...or customers.

In their defense, because the cultural standards of sexual behavior are markedly different here than they are in the West, many foreign men think they have met a girl that they are just having a fun time with. But the fact is that 'proper' Cambodian women would not be found out at a bar at midnight alone and would surely not have a one night stand with a foreigner. But if the girl doesn't ask you for a fee flat out it doesn't necessarily mean that she is not a sex worker of some kind. This is where 'taxi girls' come in.

Taxi girls got their name from the practice of the men that they've had a one night stand with paying for their taxi ride home the next day. The bigger picture is just that these are women who sleep with a man to effectively make him their sugar daddy. Something many of the men are more than fine with. A scenario related to the taxi girl (or boy) phenomenon is that in which a foreigner pays for a night at a hotel at the girl's recommendation and then when he's off without having paid for the sex she receives a small kickback from the hotel.



I know what you're thinking. They're just a gold diggers and hookers; they exist everywhere! True. It occurs to me that some facets of gender relationships are universal. Women seek financial support before love everywhere. Sex sells everywhere. Women are afraid to ask their boyfriends to use protection everywhere. HIV and other STDs are taboo everywhere. And geez, we all blush and joke about the red light district in Amsterdam. Hell, the red light district is a common tourist destination. So how is this different?

To be honest, I'm not sure. As an outsider, I don't actually see much. But what I do see is a sex industry that is so far underground that the rights of the workers are absolutely nonexistent. These girls are so far outside the realm of 'decent' society, it seems pretty implausible that they would ever be able to find their way back into the fold. A very sad situation that needs a lot more than legislation to make it right.

so far from siagon

I had to make a visa run. Well, that was my initial motivation for making the 6-hour trek to Ho Chi Minh City aka Saigon. I also really wanted that passport stamp!



I made the journey against my better intuition that I was coming down with some kind of illness. In my experience, illness in developing countries, particularly if you're traveling by yourself, is really not to be taken lightly. But I went anyway and when I woke up in the next day in Saigon, instead of heading to the beach as I'd planned - I had to make a hospital run. Because I was by myself, pretty feverish and delirious, I had to enlist the security guard at my hotel to accompany me. And I would have been totally lost without this kind man, because when we arrived at the first hospital tehy wouldn't help me because I was a foreigner. What?? Where's my preferential treatment when I need it, man? ;) Kidding, of course.

So he takes me to an emergency room that is as packed as a bus station. Literally, there were so many people in this tiny room just pushing to get by you, yelling at you for payment, papers, 'this way!". If I hadn't been so woozy, I would have whipped out my camera! The doctors spoke minimal English, as did my security guard so explaining that maybe I had malaria or something terrifying was problematic. And their explanation of what was wrong with me and what medicine they were giving me was also problematic. But I just had to trust that these guys would take care of me, Western standards of medicine aside. The doctor gave me a big hug before I left - so that sure made me feel better.

Once an ugly bout of strep throat subsided, I got to enjoy Saigon.



At first glance, the city is fast and intense. Traffic lanes are not quite comparable to China, but close! I pride myself on being a hardcore jaywalker, but it took me a minute to get used to crossing the street. Because there aren't really pedestrian crosswalks, you have to walk out into traffic very slowly and just let all the cars move around you. Visually, it's as graceful as moving against the current of a school of fish.


You can definitely tell that Vietnam was the darling of the French Indochinese colonies. Picture wide, tree-lined boulevards, corner cafes and lots of cigarette smoking. There is still quite a bit of French colonial architecture still standing, which I really love as decrepit as much of it is.


Culturally speaking, the city couldn't be more different from Phnom Penh. I try to avoid saying that people of a given culture are rude because as an outsider, you don't really know what people are like. But I definitely got the impression that the Vietnamese were not so immediately cordial. Cambodians are very cordial although they are not necessarily smiling and considerate because they are sweethearts. That is just their version of polite. It's like the equivalent of Southern hospitality - pleasant but not necessarily genuine. The Vietnamese on the other hand will not immediately be so nice to you.

One of the most frustrating things that I found was that it is culturally acceptable to charge a foreigner almost double the price than a native. Obviously prices are always higher for foreigners, but you can usually bargain them down. The foreigner inflation in Saigon though, is so ingrained in their dynamic with foreigners that it's really hard to bargain them down.

The most interesting activity in Vietnam was surely my visit to the War Remnants Museum, formerly known as the "War Crimes Museum". I was quite naive because the significance of being an American in Vietnam hadn't previously occurred to me at all. But at the museum, I found myself feeling a strange mix of guilt and defensiveness. The guilt of being from a country that participated in such a misguided war is conflicted because I wasn't even alive at the time and I should therefore not feel any personal responsibility. I think that the guilt is the result of feeling that my country has continued to pursue similarly self-righteous war efforts just in other parts of the world.

But I also felt like a defensive American. While immediately factual in it's presentation, this museum was grossly exploitative in it's effort to turn the facts into propaganda for Communist Vietnam's validation. They have an Agent Orange section of the museum that features a tank with dead fetuses that have allegedly died due to the effects of Agent Orange. Alongside the stillborn tank is a gallery of gruesome pictures of Siamese twins and a young man with Down syndrome playing Bach on a crappy keyboard. The young man's tip jar was full.

No one can deny the effects of Agent Orange in Vietnam, you see people with deformities and Down syndrome everywhere. But their presentation of American atrocities and their denial of any ommitted by the North Vietnamese whatsoever was just really one-sided. To make it seem like the North Vietnamese did not totally screw their own people post-war - the South Vietnamese anti-war activists, the 're-education camps', the death of hundreds of thousands of boat people - it's pretty much a joke.

Nonetheless, I was really glad I went because it made me realize how the Vietnamese perceive themselves post-war. They perceive themselves to be the victors. Maybe that's why nobody seemed to balk when I told them I was from the U.S. They....won!

Vietnam is a curious spot and I absolutely need to go back. I'll make sure to avoid the hospitals this time.

yes, i have been productive

Just thought I would share a couple of pieces that I've completed for one of the English-language daily newspapers, The Phnom Penh Post. Evidence of my productivity;)

Tuol Sleng Blessing Ceremony from Briana Berry on Vimeo.

This first piece documents a blessing ceremony that happened at the former Tuol Sleng prison in Phnom Penh the day before the verdict announcement of its former prison chief, Duch. It was my first time visiting the prison, to be honest I wouldn't have gone just to see the museum. I feel pretty adimantly against horror tourism. But I was glad to have a work assignment there because I got to see just how much this site has been transformed into a media photo-op, if you will. Being that the ceremony was staged before such a landmark media event, there was a ton of international press in attendance alongside country folks that had been bussed in to pray. Honestly the media scrum crowding around anyone who was crying hard enough felt a tad exploitative, but that was the aim of the event to some degree.

Khmer Rouge Verdict Announcement - The Media Frenzy from Briana Berry on Vimeo.

This next piece was shot at the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia aka the court that is handling the Khmer Rouge War Crimes Tribunal. While the mass of people that showed up for the event where not actually inside the court room (in fact, cell phones weren't even allowed inside the court room), they bused a huge group of Cambodians from the provinces to watch the proceedings on a screen set up right outside the court. And to my knowledge, they have been busing people in for nearly every stage of the trial. Many people have said that what the ECCC is doing is enough, but I think that they have really made a genuine effort to involve Cambobians in this whole process.

Funny tidbit: The crying woman that this piece starts out with is actually one of the civil parties that was denied in the court's ruling. From what I have heard, she actually might be a fraud! Her claim is that an uncle was killed at Tuol Sleng at the hands of prison chief, Duch. However, this uncle 'died' before she was born....Ah, the hangers on of genocide.

first khmer rouge decision

There has been quite a lot of press on the very first verdict decision of the Khmer Rouge trials. Especially working a newsroom within Cambodia, this past week has been crazy! Duch, the prison chief of one of the top torture prisons during the Khmer Rouge era, was sentences to 35 years in jail. Because he has already spent time in jail for pre-trial detention, this sentence whittles down to 19 years left to serve. The guy is 67 years old, so there is a slight possibility that he could walk after finishing this sentence. But he's spending the time in Cambodian prison, not the Hague, so it's possible that prison conditions will wear on his health and he'll die in jail. From what I gather, that's what everyone is hoping for.

Opinions are all across the board as to whether or not this sentence was too light. The argument is that Duch was only following orders that were coming from above. So therefore he is not 'as' responsible as others... On the way other hand is "screw this guy". He ordered the deaths and torture of almost 13,000 people (that's the figure he admitted to during court proceedings), let him rot in jail and burn in hell.

As an outsider, it's hard to say. I think the most important thing here is that it happened at all. They have been waiting for over 30 years to have an official statement that what the Khmer Rouge did was wrong. Those reverberations will perhaps be felt in Cambodian culture more that the number of years he will serve.

This soundbite is a case in point. This man is one of the press coordinators for the court that handled this case. I got this bit while shooting at the verdict announcement for a local english-language paper.

fyi cambodia: street hawkers work the buses in every country

...except for in the States - p.sha! one thing that is great about this country is that you can eat the street food! of course, as in any developing country, you have to be careful. but by and large it is normal for foreigners to trust street food. amongst some of the goods you can get from a street hawker through the bus window are: crickets in a sweet BBQ sauce, hard boiled eggs marinated in a soy sauce, bootleg red bull, fresh baked buns and juice in bags! some yum, some not.

picky foreigner

I’ve become too used to the ease of living in Phnom Penh. I am pretty spoiled, I must say. I have air conditioning and Indian delivery. Such a city princess I am that I’m out here in the Prey Veng province for a shoot and I’m whining about flying cockroaches. Psha!

My hotel in Prey Veng, a provincial town 2 hours outside of Phnom Penh, cost $5. I have changed rooms 3 times. Room number one – broken door. After communicating with 5 different people, all with progressively better English, I changed rooms. After a few hours and one Twilight saga later (don’t judge) I notice that the bed I’m sleeping in is totally infested with bed bugs/fleas/something nasty. And flying cockroaches are circling my room in a way that my loaded flip flops couldn’t keep up with. I whimpered a bit and went downstairs to ask for yet another room. At this point I really felt like a whimp tourist. Like suck it up and sleep with those damn bed bugs. Nobody cares – but me!

Many sohm –to’s (sorrys) and auh-kun’s (thank you’s) later, they bring me to another room. Another room with a broken door and cockroach living on the drapes. They sweetly hand me a beer and an extra sheet with a bloodstain. Good night.

The moment when you break down and realize that there is no way you’re going to get what you want by ‘foreign standards’ is comical beyond explanation. These expectation for our standard of living are so arbitrary and apply to such a small percent of the world actually live like that! I had to laugh at myself jumping around the room with goosebumps and a girly shriek. Alas, I'll going to enjoy that Ankor beer and snuggle up with a strangers bloodstain. Awesome.

Bat Kloun

Bat Kloun, or disappearing body in Khmer, Cambodia’s native language, was a term used to refer to victims of the Khmer Rouge. Rather than explicitly acknowledging that these victims were dead, they were described more mysteriously as disappearing. This says something interesting about Khmer culture and the residual impact of the horrendous history of violence this country has endured.

Particularly because I’m documenting challenges facing the justice system, I’ve encountered many people who are fearful of ‘criticizing’ the government. In Cambodia, ‘criticism’ can boil down to simply acknowledging challenges facing the Ministry of Justice. To admit that there are problems can be put one at risk of punishment by the government, especially if it is done on the record to a foreigner with a camera. It’s definitely challenging because I recognize that their fear is real and I would never want to do anything to put them in harms way. But at the same time, it’s hard to ‘document’ when you can’t get real answers on camera.

As an American who has been Bush-bashing since my early teens, I have a hard time reckoning this fear of the government. But the fear is in context of a recent history, in which bodies really did disappear for even the slightest offences. During the Khmer Rouge era, comrades would frequently be considered allies one day and traitors the next. The uncertainty of what actions could put you at risk for elimination forced people into a deaf/mute lifestyle as a mode of survival against this mysterious killing machine.

Although to a much lesser extent, this still happens today. Recently a representative of a legal NGO spoke out in the national news about a legal conflict with the government. Shortly thereafter, the NGO lost it’s funding and was forced to shut down. By opening criticizing the government, this NGO sacrificed its working relationship with them. In order for many NGOs to maintain public access in Cambodia, they must maintain a positive relationship with the government. Therefore, blatant NGO opposition to the government’s policies can be limited.

The government maintains this relationship of fear by frequently prosecuting its critics. In Cambodia, defamation, slander or misinformation is considered a criminal offence. Whereas in the States you would be sued for such an offense, in Cambodia you are looking at fines and jail time. This limits political opposition in the sense that the ruling party, the Cambodian Peoples Party (CPP), can legally force it’s opponents out of power by bringing them to court. One of the most high profile instances of this prosecution is in the case of Mu Sochua , one of the more prominent leaders of Cambodia's leading political opposition, the Sam Rainsy Party (SRP). Sochua is currently facing jail time in a legal battle with the Cambodia’s Prime Minister, Hun Sen, for critical comments made in the press.

At the civilian level, these kind of erratic legal consequences are also carried out. It is not uncommon for someone to be arrested on hearsay with little or no evidence to substantiate the charges. I recently did a video interview with a 65-year old man who spent 9 months in pre-trial detention on attempted murder charges filed by his neighbor. The neighbors had recently had a petty argument….

As a newcomer to this country, I’m not sure what exactly this all means. I’ll refrain from making blanket statements about this culture. But I think it’s fair to say that a weak system of objective and reasonable punishment seems to appear throughout Cambodia’s history in the 20th and 21st centuries. The result is a society whose free speech may be hushed for fear of retribution.

first impressions never last

I arrived in Phnom Penh last week and was SHOCKED. No pestering drivers, no chaotic traffic, no immediately pursuant beggars. As far as first impressions go, this city is incredibly manageable. While I spent the first day or two wary to eat or venture out on my own, within 5 days I was able to set myself up with a pretty sick apartment and a sense of direction.

Phnom Penh Basics

-Main modes of transportation are tuk tuks (moto with a carriage attached to the back) or a motorcycle. The motos are tough in the sense that they don't wear uniforms or anything. So anybody could theoretically pick you up as a 'moto driver'
-Generally speaking, you can DRINK THE ICE and WATER served at restaurants. This is totally alien to me, but it certainly eases water contamination paranoia.


I think one of the reasons that it is fairly easy for foreigners to get set up is that there just a ton of them here. Last weekend, I went to a concert that one of my friends put on at the Romdeng Friends House. I was so surprised to see the place totally packed with foreigners, mostly French and American. While there seem to be many foreigners here, boy is it a small world. It’s a small pool of professionals and NGO workers alike and EVRYONE knows EVERYONE.
Did I mention it’s rainy season?



Which means that when it rains, man does it ever! One of my first few days I was sitting on the patio of a restaurant and a gusty storm came up and blew all the tables and umbrellas up against the restaurant! I feared for my life for a hot second. But after observing that the locals were not freaking out as hard as I, I realized this was going to be normal.
The weather is actually ok here. It gets up to high 30’s (Celsius!) and as low as mid 20’s. Which is pretty nice. But it’s not that nice to be riding a moto through dirty sewage water up to your knees…..

fyi - brotherly love

Factiod #1: Indian men link pinkies just because they are friends. No sexual orientation implied! Women, on the other hand, do not.

another strike, strattled

Well wouldn't it be just our luck to encounter the indefinite strike of the Ghorka people as we are trying to leave Sikkim. The Ghorkas are a group Nepali migrants that have been living in the Darjeeling hill area for around 30 years. While Darjeeling is technically within the state of West Bengal, residents think of it as an independent entity. And rightfully so, the culture is incredibly different there. These people were protesting in their demand to declare the area its own state, independent from West Bengal. Which is, obviously, not going to happen any time soon.

This whole strike was a problem for us because the activists had shut down the one and only highway that connects the state of Sikkim to the rest of India. So there was no way out until the Ghorkas said go. Besides the fact that this way an annoyance for me and that I spent five days caught up in this strike business, it was fascinating to see how the residents reacted. They really didn't seem to mind. Shutting down this highway is essentially cuts off their lifeline, forcing them to ration food, petrol, water, etc. And yet everyone is so used to this kind of political activity that the 'wait it out' method is really all they can do.

After being trapped, so to speak, in Sikkim for a few days, we had to assess our options. One was taking a helicopter out of the capital city for about $60. But the waiting list was two weeks long. We could also wait amongst the throngs of people at the government bus station to get on one of the 12 buses that were being permitted to leave town. Or we could walk to the border and beg/bargain with the border police to let us through. People were even talking about making the 120km trek to Siliguri, where they would be out of the strike's perameters, on foot. And being a tourist didn't really grant us any preferential treatment.

Luckily, the Ghorka movement granted a 12-hour period of 'relaxation' for the highways in order for vehicles to come and go from Sikkim. But 12-hours only! We woke up at the crack of dawn to ensure that we would be in one of those vehicles and by the time we arrived at Siliguri, people were literally shoving us out of the car to secure their own places for the ride back.

After all was said and done it was pretty cool to drive through these strike areas and see everything shut down. Such solidarity! I have to admit that I really respect their ability to stage such ruckus. In the U.S., we so rarely stick together and protest against the things that we so frequently get angry about. I think the difference is one of belief. Too often, our opinions exist independently of our beliefs and therefore our efforts to reform have no gumption. We have a lot to learn from you Ghorkas!

welcome to india

Crossing the border from Nepal to India went like this. The Nepali visa officers greeted us with smiles and said it was a shame that we had to leave so soon. Then we crossed over to India and the Indian visa officer wasn't there to stamp our passports. We waited for him for twenty minutes and when he finally arrived to do his job he was drunk. Welcome back!!

Our first move was up to the beautiful state of Sikkim, which was actually an independent kingdom until 1975 when it merged with India. Although they enjoy Indian statehood, ask any of the Sikkemese people and they will tell you that they don't consider themselves Indian at all. Judging by the special tourist permit that you need to get to enter the state, their government has taken special measures to let tourists know that.

Unfortunately, my first few hours in Gangtok, the provincial capital of Sikkim, were panicked. Jack, my travel buddy, got some serious food poisoning that had him in and out of consciousness. So we went to the emergency room - what a trip! It was not so dirty that you had to worry whether or not the needles were clean. BUT they didn't even have the time to diagnose him before they shot him up with painkillers. I was pretty nervous the whole time and so I was looking up all these mysterious medicines on my phone to see what they were. One of them was a painkiller intended for the digestive system - good. But intended to be used on horses - BAD. Medical waste out in the open, no bandaids. I mean, it wasn't horrible but when the nurse gave him a shot and asked me to rub it (with my dirty hands) my hyper-sterile, Western nature cringed.

But it is always a lesson. What was interesting about the visit to the hospital was that the service was free - but the drugs were not. Right across the street from the hospital was the pharmacy where the patients' chaperons are meant to go buy the prescriptions and walk them back to hospital. In other words, if you could not afford the medicine, it seemed like all the nurses could do was put you on a drip and let you stay on a cot, or on the floor, until you felt better. And judging by the patronage of the emergency room, there were plenty of people camping out just in case they went into critical condition.

i need a reward for leaving this country

Leaving Nepal. Well. I just. Man, I had some difficulties is what I am trying to say!! Our initial plan was to go back to Kathmandu and renew our visas to stay a bit longer (avoiding India, perhaps?) but decided against it when the price to renew was a full $60! So we got on the bus ride from hell instead.

There was an evil man, who kept making fun of us, making the whole bus laugh, and looking down my shirt. The driver was a madman, rip roaring down the mountains and it took us about 5 hours longer than we had anticipated. But the thing that was really getting under my skin was that the bus kept stopping for all the men to get out and take a bathroom break, but not for the women. If it were socially acceptable for women to use the side of the road also, this wouldn't bother me. But the fact that we were all expected to just wait it out completely infuriated me. What? You think you can look down my shirt for hours on end and then not give me the courtesy of a bathroom? Hell no. Sitting in the very rear of the bus where we were jumping like fleas at every pot hole wasn't helping my mood either. Nor was the fact that the whole bus was watching us hold on to the seats for dear life like it was a spectator sport. At the next pit stop, I said 'screw you all' and went to the bathroom right alongside all the other men on the bus. If I thought I had some staring problems before....

In retrospect, I recognize that my actions were coming from a negative, vengeful place and they really only served to perpetuate stereotypes of Western women. I guess when people treat you like you are the stereotype so consistently, it makes you want to give up the fight and just be it. That's immature, I know. But secretly, I sure hope everyone on that bus saw it. I have the right to the side of that road too!

on the road again oohwoohoo

There are certain things that you absolutely must do. One of those things is nature stuff that involves sweating, hiking, biking....etc. So after a sad goodbye to Mel, who had to return to New York for her job training, Jack and I continued north to Pokhara. The town sits picturesque on a lake ringed with rice fields. I'm still curious about how they keep track of which rice field belongs to who because there are dozens of them separated only by thin, grass boundaries. They are so beautiful though the way they are even etched into the mountainsides. And people haul ass up there with their cows even in the pouring rain.

Pokhara is beautiful, but the center of town is quite the tourist ghetto. Even during the low-season, there were too many white people there for comfort! We had a nasty scene in our first hotel room because when we went to bed, we discovered there were dozens of cockroaches under our bed - we ran out of that room at 10pm with the hotel manager swatting at a roach the size of my middle finger. And, I have never been offered so many drugs in my life. While the penalty for drugs is way harsh in Nepal, people were pretty openly selling, buying, and smoking hash. Now, of course, there is nothing wrong with smoking hash. But I couldn't help but wonder what kind of affect this business could be having on the local community. If it is technically illegal, the trade is forced underground and surely dangerous to be involved in. And I can't imagine what kind of perception they must have of foreigners to offer a woman drugs so casually. They would literally yell what they were selling from down the street! When I walked out of a store once and a man as old as my grandfather offered me drugs I knew, rightly - no hash for me!

I did partake in some nature-business, although not without some trouble. We did a four hour hike up a mountain to the World Peace Pagoda, which was incredible! I am not all that into hiking, but the gratification that awaits the top of a mountain is undeniable! Less strenuous was a lot of nice biking around the lake. The rain was pretty on and off, so we got soaked. But that's all in good fun! Biking also gave us the chance to get away from the touristy areas in order to see some real-life. And as it turns out, people don't like tourists all that much! Ha, imagine that! One restaurant we went to actually denied us service. Not formally, of course. But we asked for food and while they were serving a bunch of other Nepali people, they told us that they didn't have any food. Hmmm. As frustrating as that is, sometimes I just have to accept that when I'm in someone else's country they have the right to do that kind of thing. Which, as an American, seems crazy-I don't think of my city or country belongs to anyone in particular. To each country, their own.

on the top of the bus?

Leaving Kathmandu was so fun!!! The city is really incredible, very cosmopolitan and affluent. But the nature in Nepal is something else. We took a short bus ride out to the mountains in Nagarkot and stayed in a grody, moldy hotel room. Three to a bed. And had a blast. The best part was coming back into town and riding on the roof of the bus through the twists and turns of the mountain. Ahhh. At first, I was holding on for dear life. But the fact is, riding those buses is no safe from the inside. There are no rails on the edge of the cliffs and the drivers speed up and down the mountains like hellfire. Well, if I am going to fear for my life, I am at least going to enjoy a nice view! And its cheaper.

I had the most unpleasant, but useful conversation with a Ukrainian girl on the top of the bus. Her first remark after hearing that I was from the U.S. was. "You know there are two kinds of people the world hates: Chinese and Americans" Now, now, now. I know that the world has a poor impression of my country. And honestly, I know better than most the failures of the American way. But I have never felt so defensive about it. I am now traveling with an Australian, so I am kind of own my own as far as defending America goes. My god. I am the worst candidate for that job. But what I really have a hard time with is this idea that people around the world, by and large, don't make a distinction between me and the actions of "my" government. On one hand, it's frustrating that these people can't see the humanity that exists behind every government. But what is even worse, is that that Americans do so little to redeem our country. You don't meet too many Americans out here. But those that I have met, have been by and large, rude and obnoxious. They define the stereotype of Americans. And make it even harder for me to dispel some of the misconceptions of that country that voted Bush in two times in a row.

Although it sounds damn cheesy, the only thing I can do with people who tell me to my face that my country sucks- that it is evil and ruining mankind- is be patient with them. To hear them out and attempt to have a real conversation about is to project an air of diplomacy that our country desperately needs. Because it makes a difference, if I am the only American the meet in the next year - they are going to remember how I carried myself. I had a man rip me on the Iraq War today and I just nodded my head and tried to be in agreement. In most cases, that's the best I can do. Trying to explain my own gripes with the American government is more than broken English can handle! Being in a situation where people are immediately judging you for your nationality is pretty humbling. I have something to prove here. So if you were wondering - I didn't throw that Ukrainian girl off the top of that bus.

kathmandu for beginners

After MUCH deliberation, we finally decided to make the trip over to Nepal. It was so close, we could almost touch it and so the risk of going at a somewhat turbulent time faded away in light of how incredible the idea of Nepal sounded. To make a long, drawn out conflict seem incredibly simple, the problem in Nepal right now is that Maoist activists have been calling state-wide strikes in order to pressure the new government into installing a Maoist leader as the head of the military. Otherwise known as a bandh, the strikes literally shut down all the stores, keep cars off the streets, and butcher any tourists hope of keeping a schedule. We booked our tickets to Nepal thinking that by the time we got there, the whole situation would have blown over - it didn't.

The day before we arrived there was a bandh that had the Youth Communist League rolling burning tires through the streets and beating up drivers and shop owners that failed to comply with their demonstration.

Well it is a good thing that the media does blow things out of proportion! We decided to go anyways and were totally blown away by how calm the vibes of Kathmandu were. What we realized pretty immediately was that strikes are just a very normal part of Nepali culture and politics. It's hard to understand that things are pretty much safe because they ask passengers to get off the bus before the burn it.

For a country that has been so fraught with violence and political turmoil, the country has a ton of tourist ghettos. The first night in Kathmandu, the taxi drivers nearly insisted that we stay in the tourist district of Thamel. Where he would be sure to get a commission and where everything is five times the price. During the low-tourist season this tourist ghetto is especially eerie because there are an overwhelming number of tour operators and curio shops, but hardly any tourists.

One of the biggest differences between my experience in Nepal and India is that while the Nepalis are absolutely welcoming and gracious - they do NOT stare at you. That must have something to do with the population difference. There are just so many people in India that the concept of privacy is very, very different. Staring or taking pictures without someone's permission is obviously not taboo in a country where people wash themselves in the street.



But there are similar tourist traps. On our first night, we were approached by a mother and her two daughters, who at first seemed like they really just wanted to practice their English. But then they started inviting us to their house. We agreed to go to their house in the morning...

So we go their house (a short walk from the city center brought us to the more outer-district of Kathmandu. Their house was incredible. It was made out of just metal sheets posted together. I can't even imagine how it stands up during the monsoon!! We had just gone to hang out, but they were all about impressing up. After the ritual cup of chai, they made sure to let us know that they had converted to Christianity and invited us to pray with them. Or sing with them really for about five minutes! It was so surreal to see these people so sincerely feeling Jesus in a land where I have really only seen Islam, Buddhism, and Hinduism. They explained that they converted after they left their alcoholic father and a Christian church in Kathmandu took them under their wing.

Don't get me wrong, these people were not malicious at all. We were having a great time until we started walking around town and the kids started asking us to buy them things with an urgency that made us think they had ulterior motives. We left them pretty abruptly after we started to get uncomfortable. I feel pretty bad about it, actually. Inviting us into their home was so generous of them and I really wish that we had been able to leave with the impression that people could just be that nice with no strings attached. But that is so rarely the case, even in my own world.

mother ganga

They say that in India you will never get what you want. And while I have found this trekker’s wisdom to be infallibly true, we finally got something we wanted - sort of. Train ticket confirmation!! That seems so simple, but to get on a 15 hour train ride to the holy city of Varanasi was such a relief. Even though kind people will invariably make space for you to sit, being a stowaway really sucks. Varanasi sits right on the bank of the Ganges river and has an ancient, rusty feel to it. We are staying in the Old City where the streets are incredibly narrow and cows have priority over cars and pedestrians alike. The river sides is divided up into over a dozen ghats where specific rituals take place. Lucky for us - we are staying near the ghat that specializes in cremation….

So right on the banks closest to our guesthouse, there are platforms set up where bodies are burned and the ashes then spread in the river. It’s quite normal to see people walking through the streets carrying bodies covered in bright cloths and flower garlands up on slabs of wood. We were sitting down by this part of the river and actually had ashes falling on us - our signal to peace OUT! About ten years ago, people’s dead bodies were just thrown in the river without being cremated - this practice has been outlawed due to ‘obvious’ sanitation implications. They say that you used to be able to see bodies just washing up shore.

What is most incredible to me about this river is that despite its outrageous pollution, the people of the city still bath in it and even drink the holy water. But the water is literally septic beyond imagination. The Ganges river contains about 1.5 billion particles of fecal matter per liter, whereas normal water contains about 500. And considering that the water coming through most people’s pipes comes directly from the river, you can imagine the rampant disease and prevalence of birth defects that exist here. But the fact is that their faith tells them the spirit of the river cleanses itself of all impurities, so statistics don’t really matter.




Along this these observations, I think it would be important to comment on hygene/sanitation practices here in India. I know it’s a topic that has lead to numerous stereotypes about the country - I should be clear that I don’t intend to confirm or dispute any of them. I can only share my observations. Last night I went to the bathroom on the train and found a hole that only lead to the speeding tracks running underground. In other words, the urine and feces of every person riding an Indian train lands out in the open on tracks across the country. I can’t even imagine how a practice that is considered so incredibly unhygienic around the world would be institutionalized by the Indian Railways. SOmeone told me the other day that during this time right before the monsoon, things are the dirtiest because people rely on the heavy rains to wash away all the garbage and dirt.



And wash it right into the Ganga river! We took a boat ride on the Ganga the other day and as soon as we took off, we just saw giant piles of cow poop floating everywhere. And in such close proximity to the bathers! It was really apparant how grossed out the tourists where. I was trying my best to not show it on my face, because I would hate to be so condescending in the face of their faith. We did learn on the boat ride that the only people who are not burned traditionally are holy men, pregnant women, children, people who have been killed by snake bites, and lepers. So those people are still thrown into the river and further south, peices of flesh surface. Again, it was REALLY hard to hide my gross out!

can i take a snap?

At the Golden Temple in Amritsar, it felt like we were as much of an attracted as the holy temple itself. As the most holy sight of the Sikh religion, there were pilgrims from all over waiting in line to go into this beautiful gold dome on a lake where the original copy of the Sikh holy book is recited. Maybe it is because there aren’t so many tourists in India this time of year, but we were literally bombarded with Indians wanting to take our pictures. And they call pictures ‘snaps’, by the way. People were handing us their babies to take pictures! And to the extent that you really could not sit in one place for more than five minutes without drawing a crowd. After a while, it felt like they must have been viewing us as monuments or something. It is so funny because while this has happened a few times before, it definitely has not been the norm for Indians to do this. And especially upper-class Indian tourists. Why would they want to clutter family albums with some random white girls? Very odd.

The whole scene at the Golden Temple is really quite amazing and utopian. The pilgrims that come their sleep in an open courtyard for free. It actually looks quite like any train station, with all the people spread out on the ground. But everyone is barefoot and with head coverings. They even provide basic meals to all the pilgrims for free. You should see the kitchen, vats of Dhal the size of cars. People didn’t mind at all that we were visiting their holy sight as just a tourist attraction. Quite the opposite, they even have a free dorm for foreign visitors to stay in within the Temple complex. Of course we were subject to the same rules: no shoes, smoking, alcohol, etc. They seemed to almost be guided by a religious duty to welcome us into their spiritual place. One man even scolded me for sitting with my feet facing towards the Temple and then asked me to come sit with him while he explained the tenets of the Sikh religion and the history of the sight.

What did I learn? Well the lake surrounding the Temple has healing powers, which is why all the pilgrims and visitors are encouraged to ‘take the dip’. (No - I didn’t get in the water, there would have been too many snaps!) Also, they carry small swords or daggers around to symbolize the military struggles that defined the early period of the religion Also the turbans that they wear are covering years of uncut hair, cutting your hair or beard is strictly against the Sikh tradition. This was especially interesting to learn because I think people in America most commonly associate the turban with India but not with the Sikh religion in particular. Actually, the Sikhs are the only ones that wear turbans and I have even heard Hindus refer to the Sikhs as ‘Turbans’ - kind of a term of endearment.

The most wonderful thing about the Golden Temple might have to be the bathrooms. WOW! The first time in India I haven’t dreaded going to the bathroom. You would think that a place that sees over 40,000 would have scary bathrooms, but they really clean up constantly. It was not only pleasant for me, but really nice to see them taking such pride in the appearance of the place. It really sucks to see people litter so much in this land, and just generally not seem to care about keeping things nice or presentable. The other day I talking to a kid from Bombay trying to explain to him why he shouldn’t through his water bottle out the window. My argument was, “it’s PLASTIC!” His argument was, “it’s INDIA!” Stalemate.

hindustan zindabad!!! jeera Pakistan!!

Well, I have come closer to Pakistan than I had intended - twice now!! We are up in the state of Punjab where, the state of turbans, butter chicken, and bhangra music. The city of Amritsar is about 30km from the Pakistan border crossing where there is a daily border closing ceremony at sunset. The whole ceremony essentially gives the Indians and Pakistanis a chance to duke out their political rivalry by seeing who can be the most patriotic from their respective sides of the border. Lots of flag-waving and chanting. Because this is the Indian travel season, there were a ton of Indian tourists in Punjab, so there must have been at least 1,500 people on the Indian side of the border. Interestingly, the women and men were separated on both sides of the border, although perhaps for different reasons. I suspect that the women on the Indian side were separated for fear that women would be hurt in a crowd of rowdy, patriotic men. I have to be honest that I was worried about going, given the latest news in Pakistan. To be so close to a country that has become so stigmatized by own country was truly surreal. And ultimately, pretty sad. With so many Indians waving their flags and partying it up Bollywood style (literally, they were staging impromptu dance parties), there were, at most, 200 Pakistanis in attendance. This makes sense that such a frivolous event would be poorly attended considering the political situation going on there. I can imagine that Pakistanis would be trying to avoid large groups of people at all costs.

But it was pretty profound, to actually be able to see into this country and see the faces of people living there. It personalizes all the things I have been reading in the news a bit. I did notice that in the VIP section of the Paki side that all the people appeared to be very conservative in comparison to the people in general seating. All the ‘burkas’ were sitting in VIP….interesting that the upper-class would also be the most conservative.

tibet + dreadlocks / hashish = mcLeod ganj

Sangri La! Finally! After a pretty perilous drive up the lower Himalayas (in a crappy bus that felt tilted about 45 degrees) we reached the mountain town of Mcleod Ganj, which is very close to the better-known Dharamsala. This town is the official residence of the Tibetan refugee government and the Dalai Lama and you can feel the vibe change to something that is distinctly non-Indian as soon as you arrive. Mostly in the sense that things are so much less hectic. There is something about the intensity of the other places we have visited. Even where the weather is blistering hot, people are hustling, honking, yelling on their cell phones. Just really intense. So the polite vibe of the Tibetans was much needed and appreciated. (Not to mention the 10 degree weather drop!) It was pretty surreal actually, to go from being the only non-Indians around to this town where there are a ton of Asians, Indians, Europeans, Americans. Such diversity!!

Mcleod Ganj seems to be THE place for foreign tourists to go get their hippy dream on. There are a ton of yoga centers, ayurvedic massage courses, holistic bookshops. In fact, it reminds me of the West Village, with weed smoking as holy as sipping lattes. (The nearby Parvati Valley is rumored to be the number one marijuana exporter in Asia) And so naturally there are many, many tourists of the granola persuasion. Its funny to think of these foreigners with dreadlocks, tattoos, and facial piercings in other parts of India. If we have been getting stared at like animals in the zoo, I can’t imagine how the Indians must look at them. It was really wonderful to have the opportunity to make friends with other trekkers. And there was quite a social scene going on, especially because you are constantly seeing the same tourists in such a small town. Just to exchange stories of triumphs and frustrations reminds you that you are not the only person doing this!




Our very first day in the Ganj, we were lucky enough to see the Dalai Lama! What are the chances? Of course he constantly on the go, making appearances all over the world, but his residence is officially in Mcleod Ganj. So when he comes home, the whole town knows about it and waits outside his house to pay respects. They burn incense, hold pictures, and carry white shrouds. It is so interesting how accessible he is to his people. (although when he came through that day, he literally just waved from the car) When newly arrived refugees come to India, they get to have a meeting with him. Foreigners can even sign up to attend his public talks.




The Buddhist monks are equally human. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I was under the impression that the monks would be pretty much confined to their prayers most of the day. Not so! They go to restaurants, stay in hotels, and even go out at night! We met a monk in plain clothes out at a jam-session one night. He was having fun, but just not drinking or smoking, of course.



I had never seriously considered the plight of the Tibetans before my visit to this town. At a certain point, pop culture swallowed the whole “FREE TIBET” thing and reduced it to a bumper-sticker movement. But the Tibetans themselves are still hanging on to their struggle for independence, despite grim odds that China would ever give grant it. Tibetans STILL living in Tibet are actually paid a sum of money to stay there by the Chinese government and are exempt from China’s one-child policy. And yet, Tibetans are still making the dangerous trek over the Himalayas to seek refuge in Nepal and India. The Tibetans living there wear “FREE TIBET” t-shirts and hold rallies. Many of the local restaurants and coffee houses even screen daily documentaries on the struggle. It just makes me so sad to see them still hopefully engaged in a struggle that the rest of the world seems to have selectively forgotten. At this point it would be a suicide in international relations for any government to speak out against the Chinese government regarding the situation in Tibet. To think that when I went to Shanghai a few years ago, the national museum had a Tibetan art exhibit, as if they are sincerely trying to empower that community.

In all, Mcleod Ganj was a bit of peace. And now after a few cold nights and some yoga classes, I feel prepared to tackle India again!

crises averted - things could have been worse

So the thing with riding the rails in India is that it feels nearly impossible for newcomers to figure out. And yet it is THE way to travel. First of all, a great deal of the trips are overnight which seems crazy to a tourist. In West Africa, I remember it being totally out of the question for foreigners to travel at night. The sinking sun was a dangerous thing. But it is not so here. Initially, we were taking one of he cheapest train classes, the Sleeper car. Which has no air-conditioning and has three tiers of bunk beds. Picture precisely what the lower class cabins of the Titanic would have looked like. It is pretty interesting that the train cars are so definitively divided on class lines. The people that ride this class look at us like we are crazy for not choosing the more expensive AC cars, because they know damn well we can afford it. That is part of our trouble here in India - trying to convince people that we aren’t filthy rich. Although I am trying to travel modestly, I have to be honest that when I first got on the Sleeper car my New York mind shouted “AW HELL NAH!!” But it is wonderfully curious how things become good enough for you if you just let go of your standards for a minute. Its not so bad sleeping in a sweaty car with garbage on the ground and Indian men taking your photo with their mobiles while you sleep. Totally cool man.

Getting on a train to a major city is not a question of buying a ticket the day of and just finding a seat in a comfortable air-conditioned car. Noooo. You have to go several days (or weeks) in advance and reserve your ticket in order to confirm that you have a seat on the train. Given that this is the busy season for Indians to be traveling - and they sure do travel around their own country - spontaneous movement has been ruled out! We come from a pretty hyper-structured society, so we are more than willing to comply with rules, but as with many systems in India, the rules seem to be largely over-ruled. We had to switch around train tickets to get ourselves up north where is isn’t so damn hot which had us switching train cars at 5am. Jumping off the train with just a few minutes to transfer I decided to meet Mel on the car so I could so buy water. Bad idea.

I will excuse myself by saying that I was still half asleep but before I knew it, the train was blowing its horn and I was jumping onto a car, not sure if it was ours or not. I could also blame the Indian man who told me it was the right car instead of admitting that he didn’t understand my question in English. Regardless, I jumped on while the train was pulling away and immediately realized that I was WRONG in doing so. Tourist panic set over me like damn unstoppable monsoon and I start screaming Mels name out the car door. I can’t even imagine what the Indians must have thought this wild white woman was doing!

Mel called me, equally frantic, yelling, “Where are you?! I’m still on the platform looking for you!!” I start freaking out running through the train cars, looking for the conductor thinking that he could possibly stop the train for me or something. I mean, I was ready to throw myself and all my luggage out of the moving train. This thought truly did cross my mind. This moment of separation was, of course, by far more dramatic than it should have been. Yes I was on a train headed to Delhi and she was in a town that would be 6 hours away. But we could have figured it our! The fact that I had a complete meltdown about it was just embarrassing. Luckily, this one compassionate Indian man took my case up to the conductor who gave me advice on how to reconnect that I should get off at the next stop, take a taxi back, yada, yada.

Ultimately, I think this panic was a blessing in disguise for many reasons. The man that helped me was so incredibly kind and I think that I had to be reminded that this kindness does exist. Not everyone in this country is some kind of swindler. It is filled with good and bad people and I am lucky to have those good people there to help me out. Further, getting on in India seems to be all about shock treatment. Only when you are screwed over, left behind, laughed at, stared at over and over do you learn to just move past it and have a good time. After this near disaster, we got into a minor car accident in an auto-rickshaw in Delhi and you know what? We didn’t even care! We just laughed about our luck and the stupidity of the driver. Sometimes disaster can be positive and can make you more audacious. The next train we took, we even decided to forget about the waitlist we were on and just got on the train as stowaways, knowing that we would somehow