Traveling Thailand for Some Reason

I left Bangkok in a train that brought back a few memories. This shot was taken out of a wide open door while the train is clearly in motion. Just like the ones I rode in India back in 2006. It wasn't the only throwback experience I had. A man sat opposite my seat, smiled and nodded, and pulled out a few napkins to dry his hands. He then balled them up and threw them out the open window. I frowned, raised an eyebrow and made a throwing motion out the window --do you always do that. He chuckled and shrugged --that's how it works here, kid. I didn't return the smile but looked elsewhere. It wasn't until an hour later when he pulled out his badge, hat, and jacket to go on duty that I realized I'd come close to trying to tell off a police officer. Sound familiar?

So I arrived in Chiang Mai without ending up in custody of the law, though someone had to gesture at me to stop walking when the morning national anthem was played in the train station at 8am. Everybody else was frozen, staring dead ahead. I knew it was sign of respect, but to me it looked like all those scenes in sci-fi movies where cyborgs are receiving radio reprogramming or something. A British girl I'd met on the train turned to me quietly and asked something about it seeming just the tiniest bit like brainwashing. No idea what to say to that in the face of the protests happening in Bangkok a few weeks ago.

We checked out a handful of the city's 300+ Buddhist temples, and on the way asked about a famous night market we'd been hearing about. The guy we asked told us it was full of tourists and that people from Chiang Mai called it the “Tourist Market.” But then he proceeded to try to sell us on another market he was clearly getting paid to promote, so I thought he might be having us on.

He wasn't. I checked out the market tonight. This is what I found. Not only that, but this was the second Starbucks I'd seen in about three blocks. I hadn't seen two that close together since being back home in Seattle.

I left and headed into town where all the local action was happening: The Chiang Mai Inthakin Festival. It's a week long celebration that started tonight to invoke the blessing of peace. It's one of the biggest ones to hit the city every year. Tons of stalls selling food and ceremonial flowers, carnival games for the kids, a traditional dance on stage, and a huge variety of blessings happening left and right.

Now, I want to point out something here for other travelers. There's been a good show of interest in travel tips, so we'll start here. This isn't a practical tip so much as food for thought. When you start traveling, especially if you're doing budget travel, a lot of people you meet are going to be very vocally taking a lot of pride in Not Being Tourists and Not Doing Touristy Things. This sounds fantastic, and you too will be tempted to focus on this. It's not a terrible plan, but it's flawed. Here's how:

Let's say you have the aim of Not Being a Tourist and you're where I am, in Chiang Mai, tonight. You see the night market, see the tourists, the Starbucks, the golden arches, etc. etc. and you think “Bah! Tourist Crud!” and scram. You may very well end up at the festival, find yourself in something much less touristy than the night market pat yourself on the back, and hang around. Awesome.

However, if you had come to the festival first, you would have seen, what? Western carnival games, a stage with traditional dancing labeled in English, the odd tourist couple taking pictures, and people trying to sell you stuff. Your reaction? You guessed it: “Bah! Tourist Crud!” and you would have left, looked around for an “authentic” experience, eaten at a deserted restaurant from a cook who really wished he could be at the festival right then, then you would go back to your hostel, pat yourself on the back and go to bed.

See the problem? Yes, you have successfully evaded Tourism. You have also missed out on one of the city's biggest cultural celebrations of the year. Well done.

My point is not that you should accept being a tourist. Far from it. My point is that when you think about your travel philosophy, you're going to have a much better experience if you define it what you are looking for, rather that what you're trying to avoid. If you base your philosophy on a thing you don't like, that thing is what your philosophy becomes totally dependent on. The same travelers who take so much pride in going “off the beaten path” have to put twice as much effort into finding that beaten path, just so they can stay away from it. Most of the time, they don't even succeed in doing that.

It's just like the story my friend Peter told about his public middle school: in 7th grade, the cool thing to do was to try to be “different.” Being different meant wearing black. Funnily enough, everyone started wearing black, and as much as they all talked about being different, nobody actually was. You'll find this a lot in “off the beaten path” travel: a lot of people taking pride in being different, even though they're all doing the same thing.

If you base you philosophy on what you are for rather than what you're against, you're going to be a lot more successful. It works in politics (they call it pro-choice vs pro-life for a reason), it works in middle school (suddenly the kid wearing what he wants is different from everybody and therefore cool), and it works in travel.

My problem with tourism and being a tourist is that the tourist industry sells you what sells, not what's really unique to a place. But I don't deal with this by avoiding tourism, I deal with it by trying my hardest to find the unique stuff. Sometimes those things are as touristy as they get. Just take Machu Picchu. Or the Galapagos. These are some of the biggest tourism centers of the world. But they still have what I'm looking for.

If you really are stuck in thinking about not being a tourist, try thinking about what it is about tourism specifically that bothers you. There's a lot there to pick from. Maybe you're worried about the damage it does to the environment. Maybe you're worried about the effects on traditional ways of life in other cultures. Or maybe you just don't like corny stuff and are more interested in seeing what's happening in a place rather than what's there. Instead of just avoiding tourism, seek out environmental opportunities, or cultural ones. Or travel with an aim to finding a specific local scene, be it arts, politics, nightlife, you name it. If you define what you're looking for by what it is, rather than what it's not, you'll have a much easier time identifying it once you've found it. And once you've found it, that's when the fun really starts.

Here's my example. Today I went to something call the Tiger Kingdom. Scattered around South East Asia are monasteries and organizations that let you go into a tiger's enclosure and have your picture taken. Cute, except that the majority of these places drug and/or chain the poor tigers into submission. So I asked around and chose the place that looked like it had the best record, providing consistent feedback from visitors who saw no chains, said that the tigers were “frisky and active,” and had a vet checking in on them every week. I went to check it out.

I spent my morning with two seven-month-old male active, playful tigers.

My high school creative writing teacher would wring my neck if I put in all the superlatives and adjectives I want to throw in here. All I'll say is that it was just like how I imagined it would be, which is exactly what I came for.

I have to say I was a little worried by how lethargic the full-grown adults in the neighboring enclosures were. I know they're cats and that they sleep a lot, but I had to wonder about the claims of “no sedation.” Also, as a former zoo employee, the enclosures were smaller than I would've liked, and mostly made of cement. More annoyingly, I saw this as a fantastic opportunity wasted, to promote awareness about preserving an endangered species.

So I decided to drop a few hints. The Tiger Kingdom's public email has now been subscribed to a couple mailing lists-- including WWF and the Save the Tiger Fund. I sent a little email myself with the suggestion of raising the rates and donating a good chunk of the increase to one of those charities. It's amazing how environmentally conscious businesses become when they realize it can help them turn a profit.

Did that make a difference? Maybe, maybe not, but I'm willing to bet it was more likely to do so than the people who decided to do nothing about the place. Touristy? Oh yeah, about as touristy as it possible. But I got to spend an amazing part of my morning up close and personal with tigers. I still have tiger fur on my shirt. The photos still make me squirm because it was just that cool.

I don't expect everyone to agree with what I did, or say that they'd do what I did, but I hope it gives you an idea of what I'm talking about when I say travel searching for what you want, not for what you don't want. I hope that idea makes your travels more enjoyable and rewarding. More tips to come.

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Intro to Thailand

I was just invited to a Thai wedding. That took me.... I think it's been a week since I crossed the Thai-Malay border. I just have to borrow some clothing. Might be trickier than you'd expect, given that I'm about a foot taller than the average guy around here. Took a multiple day search across three cities just to find a pair of socks that fit me. Wish me luck.

Thailand is full of tourists, especially in the south where all the famous tropical islands are. It may be the other side of the world for us Americans, but it's only five hours time difference from much of Europe and it's practically in Australia's backyard, not to mention the rest of Asia, looking for a sunny island beach. English may not be an official language, but so far I've only learned how to say two things in Thai, and I barely ever end up using either. Almost everyone I deal with speaks English.

It's a country with a lot of pride. That's fair, it has a lot to be proud of, but it mostly comes though through direct nationalism. At 8:00am and 6:00pm the national anthem is played in public, and all Thais must stand, with their arms at their sides. Before any movie, there is a similar part in the previews, where the audience is asked to stand for respect to the king, and a montage of of footage of his majesty is played, once again, to sounds of the national anthem. You'll find the words “Long Live the King” in English all over. I bet if you could read the Thai alphabet, you'd find it in even more places.

There's a strange attitude towards us farang, as foreigners are called around here. I went to a market today in Bangkok that had a menu in Thai posted with forty numbered items. Next to it was a sign that said “English Menu: Pad Thai, 30 baht.” The only translated dish. I think that might tell you a little bit.

I'll sign off from there. If you want the story of what I've been up to for the last week, it's all in the pictures' captions. Like why there's a cat sleeping in a refrigerator-- the captions explain everything. So...

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A question for you (yes, you).

This friendly piece of advice brought to you by a sign on Phi Phi Island, off the west coast of Thailand.

As long as we're talking advice, I want to take a reader's poll here. How interested would you be in reading tips on backpacking and international travel in this or another blog? I figure I've got a few I could share at this point if anyone would find them interesting.

I know a good chunk of you don't have the time to travel and are mostly reading this for the stories, but I've had a bunch of people I've chatted with online blurt out "So I checked ticket prices to fly to _____ and..." So if enough you people are actually thinking of doing a little independent backpacking travel somewhere and want some tips from someone who's been to healthy chunk of six out of seven continents (yes Philip, I've unarguably been to six by now, though not all on this trip), this might become a place for that as well. If you want it to be.

Of course if there's not that much interest, I'm still happy to give personal advice to anyone seeking it-- just send me an email.

What do you think?

Submission for a Day

I think that, as a writer, I've gotten too fond of the shock opening. You know, the one where my first sentence is one that gives away the middle or ending but has the nice effect of leaving you with the same feeling I have at the time: usually, "Joel, what the heck have you gotten yourself into this time?" this story would be a great opportunity to do just that. But I don't want to give away the ending yet. So I'll start at something like the beginning.

I was in the city of Kuala Terengganu yesterday morning. I wanted to go to Penang. I asked at the bus stop, and was told that the next bus wasn't leaving until 9 pm.

Terengganu is not a big town. There's a coast with some docks, a small, sleepy Chinatown area, and the usual assortment of shops, restaurants, internet cafes, etc. lining the streets. It's one of those developing world towns that's made about 5 degrees hotter by mostly being covered in dark pavement, making midday walks in anything but the shade feel a bit like a Native American sweat bath, minus any spiritual benefits.

I had about nine hours. I could wander around aimlessly exploring. I could hole up in the bus station with the latest book I'd swapped. My book was a little short for nine hours though, and after about two hours of wandering, I knew I hadn't seen all of town, but I wasn't exactly feeling inspired. That's when I got an idea.

Malaysia is a Muslim country. It guarantees freedom of religion, and there is a significant Chinese Buddhist minority (thus all the Chinatown districts). But it is majority Muslim, especially here on the east coast.

I felt like I should know more about Islam that I did. I've been reading an epic poem a good friend of mine has been writing on Facebook about Abraham and Sarah, so the subject's been on my mind. To get to know the country a little bit better, I thought it might be a good idea to get to know Islam a little better.

I found the town mosque, the one you can see in the picture above, and walked up the entrance. I checked if it was okay for me to enter wearing shorts. I was told politely that it wasn't. I could have given it up there, but I'd spotted a hotel nearby. A quick trip to the men's room and I was in long pants. I took off my shoes and socks, and quietly walked inside. I thought maybe I'd find an English Koran and do a little reading.

No luck. There were plenty of books around the open whitewashed inside, but I could hardly find any in Malay, let alone in English. Everything was in Arabic, most without a transliteration. So I thought maybe I'd say hello to someone official. No luck there either-- everyone in there (all men) were scattered across the floor, praying. Not something I wanted to interrupt. So I resorted to the obvious solution. If I can't come to them, let them come to me. A tall white guy with a massive backpack wandering aimlessly around the middle of a mosque was sure to get somebody's attention.

Sure enough, after a lap or two around the room browsing books, a man in a skullcap with blue eyes shuffled my way and quietly asked if I was a Muslim. I said no, I had come to learn about Islam. He seemed a bit surprised, then directed me to the tourist office to ask after the local "Islam department." He emphasized many times that I needed to find the "right people" to find the "right information." right when I thought he was going to politely ask me to leave, he summoned two friends, talked with them quietly in Malay.

I went outside with one in what looked like a security uniform. The original man thanked me with a wide, warm smile and a two handed handshake, saying "may God bless you." I was invited to sit under a gazebo and wait-- the Imam would see me in about half an hour. One or two people who spoke a little English tried making small talk. Then I was invited to lunch.

We went to a local place across the street, where I was served rice, chicken and some veggies on a sheet of wax paper over newsprint. I was the only one they gave a fork and spoon. I didn't use them, I amused the men eating with us by eating the way they did, with the right hand. This is harder than it sounds. They asked me about my parents. I told them what they did for a living and where they were living. Then they asked if they knew I was converting to Islam. I tried to clarify that I wasn't planning on converting, I was just there to learn. They seemed unconvinced, but stayed quite warm and friendly. They told me that their branch of Islam was one that was more "polite" than others. they had to do things a "certain way." They also said that they emphasized thinking before talking. I told them about where I was from, more about my family. They seemed very impressed and surprised when I told them that my Father is Jewish. At the end, they wouldn't let me pay for my food. When I protested, they made a lesson about Islam out of it: "When you give, God gives back 100 times."

I was shown into the Imam's office. A young man who must have been the Imam himself asked me a question in Malay. Then he told me, in perfect English, that he didn't speak English, then invited me, again in perfect English, to sit down. The man in uniform came back. I sat on a couch for about ten minutes while they talked in Malay and made a few phone calls. After they were done, they got my attention and beckoned me outside yet again.

Next thing I knew I was riding in a car to an office, where I was directed to a cubicle with someone who looked much more like a stereotypical Imam, who was not unfriendly, but didn't smile either. I introduced myself and stated my purpose.

"So you are just looking for information about Islam."

I said yes, and that I hadn't really expected to be in the office, I had originally just planned on reading a bit.

"You're not here to embrace Islam?"

I hesitated, and finally said that I hadn't come with that purpose in mind. He nodded, left his desk, and came back with a few pamphlets, and a large English Koran. The pamphlets were free, he said, but the Koran was the only English one he had, so they would need it back. He asked where I was staying. For some reason, I didn't tell him about the bus that night. I hadn't bought a ticket yet after all. I just said I'd only gotten in town that day and didn't have a place. I asked if i could just borrow the book for a few hours and return it later. He thought for a moment and said "Maybe you'd better stay here for a night in our hostel."

A phone call later and he was leading me next door. I asked him about the place and he said that it was a place for Muslim converts. Not wanting to create any false impressions, I again emphasized that "if I were to convert to Islam, it would not be tomorrow." He said that was fine.

"There are a couple other converts staying there at the moment, one is Chinese, one is Indian. They are a bit... well, please do not judge Islam by them."

With this mysterious warning, he led me inside and to a room. The place was empty for the moment. He bade me good day, and left. I stood standing there for a minute, Koran in hand, in the middle of hostel for converts to Islam that I'd been invited to stay in by the local Imam for free.

This would be the "what the heck have you gotten into now" moment.

The roommates who I was not supposed to judge Islam by were an old Indian man whose tongue seemed a bit short, like it had lost a chunk in front, and the fattest man I had ever seen shirtless, who seemed to have difficulty opening one of his eyes. After greeting me, the first thing they wanted me to do was go to the office and beg for money. That was the arrangement, they said. They complained bitterly that the office never gave them enough money for food. I refused, they'd been more than generous enough to me already. After that The fat man spent most of the time scratching himself while the old man went on, as casual conversation, to slander Mexicans for being "dirty" and black Americans for being "lazy and arrogant," always asking for money while doing nothing in return. I gritted my teeth to stop from pointing out that that was exactly what he had been doing himself just a minute ago and merely told him I didn't agree with his views and pointed out that I had much more experience with both Mexicans and Americans of any race than he did.

I put up with it long enough to be somewhat polite before going back to my room for some reading. For all the initial unpleasantness though, they were both quite warm and generous with me. They cooked dinner, invited me to eat with them. The old man spoke the best English. He told me a couple interesting stories from about Malaysia under British rule. The only real communication I got from the fat man was when he was popping some pills out of foil: he got my attention, pointed to the pills, held a limp forefinger in front of his crotch and straightened it, cackling conspiratorially.

I helped with the dishes and then decided to go to bed early. I found in the morning that they had made breakfast for me as well and set it aside so I could sleep a bit longer. It's always a strange experience when someone you don't particularly like does something especially kind for you. I made sure to thank them before I left.

I do feel like I've learned more about Islam, but not from the books (or my charming convert roommates). It was the whole experience that led up to my being offered a day's food, transport, and lodging for nothing. The pamphlets were informative about the attitudes towards prayer, and I did learn some interesting things about the Muslim ideology from the Koran, but only about as much as I would've learned about Christianity by reading most of Genesis and then random bits of Numbers and Mark. The sections on how to treat women were a bit... intimidating, but I'm pretty sure there are similar things in the bible for dealing with people who do things like wearing cotton. My overall impression is one of generosity and the extra little bit of pride I've found that goes with almost all religions. For something that's so often portrayed as alien in American media, it all felt pretty familiar.

I'm not going to add pictures for this entry. The only one's I've taken during this story are an out of focus one of the car ride and a candid shot of the larger roommate (which I don't think you want to see) but I will add a couple more for the last entry of my time on Kapas island.

With any luck, I'll be heading to Thailand within the next couple days, and will be beginning a famous backpacker trail I've been hearing stories about since I was in India two and a half years ago. We'll see if the hype is justified soon.

Smells like Burning

I've been busy this week. Right now, I'm sitting on an island off the east coast of Malaysia. I'm sticking to the shade even though I'd really like to be out in the warm, clear blue water again. The problem is that, yesterday, I read the big “Super Water/Sweat-proof” on the front of my sunscreen bottle, but not the fine print on the back that says “re-apply frequently, especially after exposure to water/sweat.” A couple hours of swimming and floating around in an inner-tube later, and now going more than five minutes without a wet rolled up shirt on my shoulders doesn't feel so good.

I'll have to skip a few stories to get from where I left off to here. Well, before where I left off. I will say the note from my last post wasn't the result of any exciting heroics. I didn't save anyone or anything that I'm aware of. I didn't even realize I was being of any "assistance" until after the fact. I just happened to be curious and standing somewhere at the right (wrong?) time.

I arrived in the Singapore airport to find free wireless, the most sincerely helpful staff I've seen at a info desk, efficient and high tech immigration process (including an infrared camera to check body temp for swine flu), and a delicious S$3 laksa soup waiting for dinner. I was smitten, and I hadn't even left the building I'd flown into yet. I took the cleanest and fanciest subway I have ever seen to a neighborhood called “Little India”, I wandered into the first hostel I saw which was clean, comfortable and with a good atmosphere, provided free internet and breakfast to boot, and charged less than I've paid for a hostel in at least a week. I wandered out with a pack of other travelers where we grabbed masala dhosas, well after midnight, with all the stuff I'd forgotten I loved to have with them back in India, without any worry of whether the food or water was safe to eat.

The next day, I talked to one of my old college roommates, who referred me to an article about Singapore back in 1993 called “Disneyland with the Death Penalty.”* The author, William Gibson, is a specialist in the "cyberpunk" branch of sci-fi, stories that are often set in a dystopia. He finds some good fodder for just that in this town. Two of the most serious accusations, to my mind at least, were the excessive "paternal" government control of the town, and something he called a “lack of creativity.”

I kept my eyes open after reading that. I will dispute a few things. First of all, I did see litter, chewed gum included, on the streets. Just less than most cities. Secondly, over the last 16 or so years, the arts has really taken root. At least it's advertised everywhere, not just shows but full fledged academies as well. But... there was definitely a bit of an edge to some of the things that didn't seem to be showing up in the local papers. I didn't check a bookstore for conspicuously missing titles. But the place just had bits of a slightly odd hand behind it. Like a public sign explaining what you can do in a public field of grass, that all caution should be used, please, thank you. Things like that. One of the most interesting examples was not a sign of control but little yellow signup forms for a government-backed “Kindness Campaign.” Pretty much exactly what it sounds like, a promotion of acts of kindness, complete with plastic five-foot high smiling tiger-lion-cartoon-thing statues cheerfully holding signs with little suggestions about how to be more kind, scattered around the city. If I wrote dystopias for a living, that would creep the hell out of me too.

Cut to the part that earned me a thank you note from the Singapore Police. Around 12:30 am, I came back to my hostel from a night zoo, and noticed, about a block up the street, a small, very neat, and deliberate fire. It was about a foot tall, neatly made of wood and possibly bricks, a good distance from anything flammable. I thought that was kind of strange, so I took a picture of it. But nobody else in the street seemed to take any notice, so I went back inside. I got online and started chatting with friends. A couple hours later, loud popping noises started outside. Then the came the sirens. I abruptly cut all conversations off and ducked out.

A minivan up the road had erupted into flames. As the fire trucks came, I realized that it was burning just a few feet from where I'd seen the earlier fire. The one I took a photo of. A photo on a digital camera, meaning that, embedded in the picture file's metadata would be a timestamp.

I got the attention of one of the officers and said I had something they might want to see. After taking my name and hostel details, they asked me to wait around for a few minutes. Fifteen or so later, they asked to see the pic. Yes, I took the photo. No, I didn't see who started the original fire. No, I don't know, I took the shot, went inside, and then next thing I saw outside was the van in flames when the police arrived. Yes, let me check... 12:46 am. Yes, I had a USB cable, but it was in my dorm. Yes, I could wait around a bit longer, was it all right if I went back into my hostel for a bit? Yes, I could be back out in 15 minutes.

I ended up emailing it to an address they gave me. I've posted the reply in my last post. I still don't know what exactly happened if it was more than just really dumb/unfortunate parking job after a fire set for... well I don't know what reason. I haven't been able to find anything in the news, and I haven't emailed the officer again to ask. I may never know.

I've couchsurfed my way to Melaka, Malaysia with the owner of a Chinese Tea shop. Aside from visiting some very impressive mosques and Buddhist temples, I got to debate politics and compare theories on philanthropy and organized methods for making the world a better place over a traditional Chinese tea ceremony. Also tried a hot dog so spicy that accidentally wiping sweat off my brow left me temporarily blind-- very strong chili oil dripping into my eyes. Ow. Still, earned a round of applause from onlookers. They told me later that they usually split one of those among five of them, otherwise it's just too much. Figures they'd tell me that after I ate the whole thing.

Next, I made a long, sweaty journey from there up to the east coast via the capital, Kuala Lumpur. I spent enough time to swing by a market for a cheap pair of sunglasses (I was the guy's first customer of the day, traditionally good luck for merchants around here, opening the bargaining to even lower prices) and to peek at one of the bigger mosques in town, then up to Palau Kapas, a quiet tropical island with hot sun, warm water, near-white sand and almost no people aside from a few staying with me in The Captain's Longhouse (Including of course, the “Captain” himself, who's told us all he's cooking for us tonight. I made a name for myself by sitting down in front of the used piano that I'm told arrived just a day before I did. There's jungle trails to explore today. And that's what I'm going to run off to do right now.

*If you're curious, the article is here.  It's about 7 pages long, and worth the read if you're at all interested in Singapore.

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24 hours into my stay in Asia...

--justin_wong@spf.gov.sg--
to: jtrekmail@gmail.com
date: Sat, May 2, 2009 at 4:46 AM
subject: Re: picture

Dear Joel,

Thank you for your prompt response, and your assistance at the
scene of the fire. The photo will be forwarded to the Investigation Officer
in charge of the case. Enjoy the rest of your stay in Singapore, and have a
pleasant onward journey to Melaka!

Thanks and Warmest Regards
ASP Justin Wong
Team Leader 'D'
Rochor Neighbourhood Police Centre
Central Police Division

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This wasn't exactly how I expected my visit to start. I think I'll leave my usual picture out of the post this time. I don't have the time to make it a proper post anyway. All will be explained later.

Leaving the Land of Oz

I spent the last two days working the Casuarina Costal Reserve with Conservation Volunteers Australia. We were rehabilitating a dune forest. Fire will tear through that area at some point. That's just how the ecosystem works up here. Our job was to make sure trees survive childhood to the point that they can withstand the fires as fully grown adults. So we were getting rid of foreign grasses and weeds, watering and clearing small firebreaks around native saplings, and doing some garbage picking.

The work was under sun and heat. Out here, people talk about how cold it's gotten when it's 25° C (77° F). Our team leader was talking about shivering in her bed when it hit this temperature. My stories from Chicago (5° to -8°F lows in winter) left people's jaws so wide open I thought they'd been dislocated. We had to cover up completely-- long pants, sleeves, broad brimmed hat, the works, or risk serious dehydration and burns. Lots of water and shade breaks were the order of the day (erm, days).

A lot of the work felt like it wasn't going to have much of an impact at first. But then I got to do some watering, and we got to see some immediate changes. At first I didn't notice anything. Then I realized that I had a growing set of dragonflies following me around. Then came the little skinks and geckos that would duck themselves under the stream of water I was pouring. After that, looking closely, I realized that in one or two places I was watering, the grass was actually moving. It twitched and writhed so quickly I thought I must be mistaking tiny snakes half-buried in the ground to be plants. It was like seeing one of those stop-motion pictures of a plant growing, only this was that speed happening in real time.

After watering, I was shown where another team had done the same work earlier, just about ten yards from where we'd be working. It was a huge change-- ten, fifteen foot tall trees, colorful birds flying around everywhere, the beginning of a proper forest. We ate lunch in a spot that had been been worked out starting about ten years ago, and it was practically a different world. It was a real forest, with a clean creek running through it an fully-grown trees, with bugs, small, colorful birds, raptors, fish, lizards, and more. The forest almost completely restored from having been a tree or two standing alone in dirt and weeds. Once again, hardly out of the city limits. So I like to think what I was doing had some impact.

I'm sitting in my hotel courtyard right now, listening to some backpackers argue about whether one of the guys in the group was drunk every night of the last couple weeks or if he had in fact been sober two nights. I feel pretty smug right now.

Tonight is my last night in Australia. I think I should tie up one or two loose threads I left hanging in this blog over the last month and a half.

When I first wrote about what kind of treatment I got as an American in Australia, it was a big change from my first draft. My first go around was way more harsh. I took a second look at what I was about to post though, and decided that it was too early to pass judgment since I was going to be here another month or so. I figured if I continued to experience the same thing, I'd could cut and paste it back into this entry at the end.

I don't think I will. Yes, I have still gotten a certain amount of flack for being American, but not nearly as badly as I did my first few days in Sydney and Melbourne. It all became a lot more subtle. There was a funny moment when a bartender bought me a coke on the house because “he felt sorry for me after all the practical jokes I must have been put through here”.

I should mention that I've had people tell me about some of the antisemitism they've experienced down under. I can't attest to any of that myself, aside from one German eccentric who clearly wasn't all right upstairs, but part of that is that I don't prominently identify myself as being Jewish. My dad is Jewish, but my mom isn't which basically disqualifies me from the religion, and I barely even think about the ethnic side to it until somebody asks me directly. But the fact that people have told me and written me about it makes me wonder a bit why that's the case in Australia of all places.

I was also planning on writing a bit about how aboriginal people are viewed here. I heard a story just today about an aboriginal man getting kicked out of a restaurant because he posed a “hygene risk.” I couldn't believe it. Even outside of Australia, way back in Panama, I was hanging out with an Australian girl and a Kiwi girl who I otherwise liked, and got treated to a half-hour of some of the most racist discussion I'd ever heard- going on and on about how you could not trust aboriginal or Maori guys because they would steal stuff, be violent, wouldn't work because they're so lazy, and wouldn't be prosecuted properly after committing crimes. I hadn't heard anything like it since my great uncle, a WWII air force veteran, started dropping slurs against Japanese people one memorable Christmas morning.

This was all swirling around the most when I came back to Sydney the second time, when I was served a healthy, unexpected dose of perspective. I met a couple girls from Texas. Both of them were white. We went out walking to some good nightlife spots, and on the way, they spotted a couple black guys walking down the street. The girls turned the guys' way and started yelling “Yo dog! What up homie!” and on and on in the whitest imitation of ebonics I'd ever heard in my life. I half thought the n-word was coming next.

I turned to them and asked “What the heck are you doing?”

One of them, all smiles, turned to me and said “What? That's how you talk to black people!”

I think that's when it really hit home that maybe it's not my place as an American to judge Australians about stereotypes or racism. Seems we still have a fair few things to clean up first among ourselves. That is a large reason why I'm leaving that original draft about anti-american stereotypes on my hard drive instead of on this blog.

I will say this: if there's one thing that you hear about everywhere in Australia about Americans, it's that you don't see them in Australia. Very few of us come out here. Tons of Canadians, plenty of English, Irish, German and Dutch. Not many Americans. It's a shame-- it's a very easy place to travel, especially for first-time English-speaking backpackers. As much I railed against how it's done here last post, I have to admit, it's a good way to get your feet wet if you've never traveled on your own before. Yes, it's a long flight, but if you look it up, it's cheaper than you might expect. And if you look in the right places, you'll find something different and interesting. If you are still worried about how Americans are perceived and treated down here, I think the best way to handle it is to show up and show people what an American is actually like. It's a bit like the conservation work I was doing-often doesn't feel like you're doing much, but after some time and consistent effort, you might get to see some change.

Plus, as a bonus, you get to see Australia. Go see New Zealand while you're at it too. You can thank me later.

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