Myanmar Vol 4: Bago and Yangon (again) /  by Brandon Cohen

Bago

Now for one of the more outlandish stories I have. I’m telling this over a year late though so apologies. Traveling took a lot out of me and it was incredibly hard to keep up my writing.

I arrived by bus. One that had several stops and was an incredibly hard thing to manage with the language barrier. When I asked the taxi drivers there where Bago was, they said an hour away. I did it anyway. We got lost. Repeatedly. I yelled at the taxi driver as he asked for directions. At the end I realized I didn’t have much cash on hand left, although certainly enough to have survived. I argued for a bit then finally made it to the hotel. They had to call in a translator who I’m sure ran a local taxi syndicate and may have been part of the mob. Either way he was immensely helpful. I ate at two little cafes that the man recommended (I wonder if he owns them or gets a cut?)

I’m not sure what type of city this is. It clearly isn’t a tourist location. It feels like an industrial and poor city but definitely cleaner than Yangon, kind of like a run down and much smaller long beach neighborhood.

Why visit? Well I’d love to say just to experience real local life, which is partly true. However, this is acting as my stopping point to see Mawlamyine Rock. A giant boulder nearly on the edge of a precipice covered in gold after years of donations. It is at the giant Kyaiktiyo Pagoda which is at the top of a mountain. The climb is so steep and treacherous; you must take a giant truck up with several other passengers. It was misty and visibility was as clear as a glass of milk. The fog was thick as we crept further up the mountain. They let us out and we entered a road of stores which I bypassed. Young and old construction workers walked past carrying steel beams to and fro, also barefoot, up the stairs and down the white tile. I can only imagine that on a sunny day the tiles glimmer like a gift from the Buddha.

The decor at the temple is unimpressive yet the size and remoteness is amplified in the veil of shadows, pardon my D&D reference – I just finished watching Stranger Things.

After my time I came down, with the help of a Japanese man I met who paid my fare down since I didn’t have any left on me. It literally cost like 10 cents…smh.

My driver had waited for a few hours and was ready to drop me off.

Let me tell you this part of the story. Before I left the mob guy picked me up and brought me to one of his driver, a “safe driver”, he was. He stayed within the speed limit, and used an elaborate set of signal, light, horn combinations with oncoming traffic to navigate passing on the narrow highways in the rain. He would be very good at video games if he was a youth in a first world country, alas he was roughly 40 and spoke no English, so I couldn’t get his take on things.

I paid $75 for most of his day, to pick me up, drive me to the rock, wait, and drive me back. Don’t think I wasn’t afraid that he’d leave. However, the locals seem to be very trustworthy when you are engaged with them legitimately.

After returning I went to dinner, watched some shitty TV, and went to bed. I left for Yangon the next day. I arrived at the train station early and had time to browse around a market. I’m tempted to say “farmer’s market” but everything is that style in asia.

The train station was run down, and I bought a ticket out of the office from a guy counting cash. They sold me a luxury ticket for a few bucks. While I waited I was surrounded by what appeared to be many homeless people and starving dogs. I met a little kid who had bought a baby chick and had it kept in a plastic bag. I was unsure if it was a pet or he would raise it to be dinner. I assumed both.

The trains were old. Remains of the British infrastructure. Long due for repairs. Apparently it is not uncommon for them to derail and for you to wait until they are fixed. Happily this did not happen, and I received a nice, bumpy ride through the countryside, with stunning nature and village watching opportunities on the way back to Yangon.

I waited for Kamran to return from the vet so I went to a professional soccer game. They let me bring my whole bag in and it cost me nearly nothing. Figures, the game was high school caliber, but the stadium was pretty decently sized. Maybe they get bigger crowds for different events or teams.

Kamran and I got dinner and went to get a foot massage, a thing you don’t tell your neighbors, too risqué. It was great, they also massage your legs, back, neck and give you hot tea. I also went the next morning for lack of something to do before my flight home. I was literally walking around with angelic feet in shit covered shoes. A perfect dichotomy for me to leave with.

Myanmar Vol. 3: Bagan /  by Brandon Cohen

This is what I feared. As the trip drew down and I grew tired I would fail to write down my thoughts. Here I am nearly two months out and I am going to put down the remainder of my trip down by memory. Some chronology and detail will likely be lost but I suppose that s not what keeps you reading or me writing. It’s the stories that matter and the experiences I have. I will admit my descriptions have faltered and my writing has suffered for it. IT takes a lot out of me to recount all of the details. Whether this is an issue of interest after having partaken or just a hatred of typing I don’t know. Would this be easier to dictate via dragon? Would my tales be more elaborate or lucid? Am I just deceiving myself?

Bagan

Bagan is a large plain of dry clay and trees. Flying in I crossed over farmland and watched as it dried up and became the hosting land for thousands of temples.

My time in Bagan was short but eventful. I could wax poetic about the beauty and history of the temples and expansive views but I would not do them justice, nor would I compete with people who have come before me and actually know how to write.

Instead I will touch on a few personal stories that I found to be memorable and leave the recommendation to visit if you have the opportunity. It is an incredible place that, despite hawkers and awful salesman, is a beautiful landscape and fun place to ride around on your e-bike (a must rent)

1. Be Kind To Animals The Moon is a vegan restaurant in Bagan. It is delicious and arguably the only famous place there. So much so there is a copycat restaurant with almost the same name across the street. I met some people from my hostel there and got in the group there. After some additional temple explorations, we went back to the hostel, Ostello Bello. It was decided that we all wanted to do a sunset temple climb. So we rolled out in a group of 20 electric bike riding backpackers. We all pulled into the vegan restaurant parking lot like Hell’s angels to a biker bar we got the back patio and made every Berkley hipster’s dream come true.

2. At both morning and night a group of us from the hostel quested for sunrises and sunsets, although there was no thought of Fiddler at the time. It wasn’t ideal, the sun always hiding behind the clouds. Of course. Nonetheless, the smoky pale sky lightly caressing the temples with light was still quite a sight to be seen. It’s hard to understand how beautiful abandoned structures can be when millennia apart but lit by the same sun and under the same stars as always.

3. Locals on vacation flocked Karen, a tall German girl, and I while climbing through the ruins. Our best guess was that they were from rural Myanmar and had little to no experience with white people. They insisted that we took individual pictures with all of them as well as a group photo.

4. One of my hostel companions' e-bike popped a tire. An hour or so after calling for help, the 10 year old pit crew had arrived to change out the tire

Myanmar Vol. 2: Inle Lake /  by Brandon Cohen

Inle Lake - Day 1 & 2

After landing I decided to split a cab with a scot and two Thai ladies (who were extremely talkative and hoped I knew Depak Chopra). The ladies had just attended a spiritual seminar and were all about self help and had a great mindset, despite being a little over the edge.  The scot was softer spoken but was well traveled and was a teacher by trade.

Once we arrived at our respective hotels we would not see each other again.

I arrived and walked around a bit to find a place to grab dinner. About midway through my most delicious meal thus far (some fried noodle dish) I realized I was getting sick. The rest of the night would be vomiting and diarrhea. The next day I tried meeting up with the boatman I had planned to take me out on the lake for sunrise, but I was still sick and had to return to bed. After more hours of sleep I managed to get a massage and see a puppet show, traditional but not very entertaining.

Inle - Day 3

Finally, the boat ride, what I had been waiting to do. We traversed the murky lake to several, touristy locations that I learned kick back money to drivers when they make purchases. Due to the hype and trash it was not as beautiful as I had hoped, however, it had an aura about it that helped me understand the country a little more.

I was taken to a sugar cane candy making “factory” in somebody’s hut when my driver went to drop off some money with his family. The other stops I was taken to was a place to see “long necked women”, a lotus/weaving hut, and cigar and silver making. I met a cool german guy named Julian who is on vacation before returning to a new consulting gig. His girlfriend works at SAP and recommends it, his gf works there.

I returned from a long, hot day on the water and went to cooking class with Leslie, Kamran’s friend from when he lived in the Inle area.

The class took me through a few classic dishes but I was unable to eat much because my stomach was still fragile.

Inle Day 4

I rode a rented bike around the lake via a small village and a boat ride across to another larger village. Then I went to a winery that had terrible rain and held me captive in a rainstorm, but had a breathtaking view of the lake and the greenery surrounding it. I rode around with an South American woman I met on the road. At least she provided some much needed company.

The rain subsided and we hitched a ride with some Scandinavian travelers who were riding in the back of a truck back to their hostel. Saved us a bike ride in the rain. Then we grabbed lunch at a Nepalese restaurant and parted ways. Her to wherever and me to the airport.

Myanmar Vol. 1: Yangon /  by Brandon Cohen

Yesterday I arrived in Yangon and was very overwhelmed. Yangon is a unique place. There are many government buildings with small carts of food all around. It’s hard to focus my thoughts… I ate dinner with Kamran at a Muslim restaurant, we drank beers next-door b/c the owners don’t drink or allow it at their restaurant. I’m told there is a genocide towards Muslims here in the north, tragic. We had a delicious mutton w/ flat bread, which was fantastic. It is eaten with onions and tomatoes. After the meal we bought a few drinks and went to Kamran’s place.

He lives in what appear by US standards to be a slum but is nice over here.

The next day I strolled around the city and met a guide in the park. I told him my plan and he accompanied me. I took the ferry across to dalaw. Once across the river, the vibe changes to rural very quickly. There are many bamboo huts and I learned people outside of the city can pay rent levels of around 50 USD per month.  Before I went out to Dalaw, I sought out a teashop, which was easy to find. I was surrounded by folks who smiled and talked. (not to me) Many of the clientele were young, playing clash of clans on their phones. Several ordered breakfast; I think it wasmohinga, noodles with fish, kind of tasted like eggrolls. So delicious. I ordered it by asking this kid to bring me some, mostly by pointing.

To return to where I was, I headed to Sula pagoda, walked around and then to independence square where I found my guide., He spoke English fairly well. The ticket across the ferry was bought in a backroom by people counting stacks of money. The ferry itself was packed. Hordes of people swarm the gangplank to get on. On the short 5-minute ride, I lose my hearing in a loud hectic environment. Vendors walk the aisles selling quail eggs and toys for children.

I hired a motor bike driver to take me to the snake pagoda. It is a long drive through the “city” and miles of rice paddies. The three of us on a motorbike, whizzed through the countryside, drawing the eye of locals who don’t see white tourists that often…apparently not one other traveler I spoke to had ventured to the other side of the river.

My intention was to go to the snake pagoda, it was not that impressive. However, there are pythons just lounging around the pagoda. On the way back, a storm rolled in, (it is monsoon season after all)[1]. We raced the storm to the coast, but as we were apprehended and the rain grew heavier, we had to stop and pulled off to a rain shelter on the side of the road. While we waited, an old woman showered next to us and lathered up around her clothes. It was an interesting site, but a good way to not waste water.

The rain subsided and we made it to our next stop (caused by, you guessed it, more heavy rain). A large teashop, where unemployed and drivers (not working due to rain and low tourist activity) gathered to watch movies. After a short break, we crossed back to Yangon. The streets were flooded, I found out it was mostly overflowed sewage. Glad I found that out AFTER I had trudged through knee deep for a mile. The infrastructure is very weak here. This city is intriguing and busy; it’s hard to see what people actually do as a daily routine and how people hold up here. The wealth disparity is huge. I haven’t seen many rich folk yet, mostly poor. But you can see the nice houses and government employee housing and compounds, which are vastly superior to the cramped living of the rest of the city.

Addendum:

My last night in Yangon I went to Shwedagon Pagoda, a massive gold spire in the middle of the city. Truthfully, I did not see too much of it in detail because a monk came to speak to Kamran, and me, who, fresh off a meal, was taken off guard.  This is not something that typically happens, so as the rain fell softly, this monk took us around the pagoda, telling us facts in broken English. He made references to U Wirathu, “the face of Buddhist terror”. Kamran says he likely supports the current genocide (if that’s the right term) in Northern Myanmar. After adding us on Facebook, (weird I know) , we were free to go. Then we went back to Kamran’s house and spent some time with Emily, walked the dog, a larger adventure than expected. We warded off packs of wild dogs and tried to keep Kamran’s formerly wild dog, Rambo, safe. The next day, I spent looking for travel agencies to buy a flight to Bagan. I had to “hot route” to Inle Lake because of late planning. Lesson learned.

[1] Subsequent to my return, there are massive floods and deaths all over the country. It is considered a large disaster and state of emergency. I got out well, I hope everyone I met is ok.

Hong Kong Pt. 2 /  by Brandon Cohen

The next day, I went to Mongkok to get a pineapple sweet bun. I sat with some old local lady. We ate in silence as she read the paper and I watched people. We never were more than two feet apart. It was oddly comforting yet would never fly in America. Then I returned to the hostel to roll out to Mongkok to get some local fare. I walked into this small hole in the wall. An old man yelling sits us in the back and tells us we want the mixed platter – we had a girl who can speak mandarin with us, useful but not as helpful as Cantonese would have been. The chopped birds are served,  we dip them in sauce and eat it with rice. So friggin' tasty and we were surrounded by locals. One of the best experiences yet. The meat could’ve been a little hotter though.

Somehow I missed out on saying when I went to the Michelin restaurant, Tim Ho Wan, anyways. It’s delicious. I tried many things, including chicken feet. BBQ pork bun they are famous for is a little too sweet for me but still tasty. My favorite was the rice noodle wrapped shrimp. Slimy and kind of like manicotti. So good. I've since learned it's shu mai. (I try to eat Dim Sum in the states now)

I went on my way to see Victoria Peak. I waited in line for a long time, and was disappointed by the fog-obstructed view. A waste, but the gardens/aviary at the bottom was enjoyable. Tonight we went to a delicious restaurant nearby the hostel, had more dim sum, and then went to the horse races. Tourist paradise on the main floor, where the commoners go. I tried a slushy beer. It was good, but gimmicky. My horses never won. We tried to go out clubbing after. While it was too crowded for my taste, it was still fun. People bought me a drink or two, ended up at McDonalds again. I’d be waking up soon to catch the bus to my flight. I made it.

Hong Kong Pt. 1 /  by Brandon Cohen

Upon arrival, the clouds above Hong Kong are like none I’ve ever seen before, with sunset beginning behind the voluptuous clouds that are standing majestically like large mounds of snow, gleaming in the sunlight. Large buildings on grassy islands sprouting from the sea. High rises look like towering twins and siblings, looking related and similar. It is hard to make out what is smog and what are clouds. A gray brown color fills my window. I see nothing…. The stench of industry fills my nostrils. Disgust and curiosity as we break the clouds revealing beautiful landscapes adorned with buildings. Lights turning on at the start of the evening/ Massive buildings with pools, aglow in the night. So many islands with boats crossing every which way. Their world glows green, industry making its mark on an area most certainly a paradise a century ago. Just landed, a feeling that I know this trip was worth it sets in. Even the colors are different. The atmosphere transports me to another time where I am a space traveler, entering a new planet, wide eyed.

I find myself in a crazy anthill of passengers. Time seems warped as I stand still amidst people sprinting in every direction, itineraries in hand.

I manage to get myself to the subway, Airport Express, that will take me to a bus station that can drop me off around the corner from my hostel. I get there with ease, but not quite able to replicate that ease when finding my hostel. I knew in advance that my hostel was next to a Rolex store. So when I found a door I walked in, rode the shoddy elevator up 13 stories and started looking around. It appeared I was in a set of apartments, the settled heat, stifling, only confusing me more. I knocked on a door; it was a man in his small apartment room, watching tv. I forgot people in Hong Kong live in notoriously minuscule quarters. He told me the hostel was next door. There was a closed one on this floor. I decided I must have the wrong spot, so I went back downstairs; I was able to find it next time. The hostel is small but there are people hanging there. I joined up with them to go out to the Nathan road market (ladies?), which shouldn’t be considered a tourist attraction, and was disappointed. It was just like a swap meet, people selling garbage no one wants that is the same as the things being sold by the guy two stalls over. There seemed to be 3 types of salesmen. Those who approach you, those who are doing their own thing and don’t give a shit, and lastly those who just play with their kids. Ended at an overpriced western style bar and McDonalds, I’ve failed as a tourist. But nothing else was open at 12 am…. I’ll do better next time. I did learn locals tend to just buy beer at the corner store and roam, there are no open container rules like here in the tyrannical united states.

Due to poor consistency in writing in my journal I am writing to fill in the rest of Hong Kong before moving on to my notes from Myanmar.

I apologize for missing some of the cultural impressions that I gained or any lost stories due to my memory and two weeks of time before I can write this down. While abroad, I treated my time as dedicated to seeing new things and meeting the people there. This led to a lack of downtime I expected. In fact, I am happy that happened because I was able to socialize on what otherwise was and was expected to be a very lonely and introspective trip. Things change and deviate from the “plan”, which is one of my favorite things about life. A wise man[1] once said something like “The only certainty is change”.  This fact has yet to prove itself wrong…[2]

Sorry…. I’m talking about Hong Kong.

I took the subway out to the Big Buddha,. You ride up a massive gondola that would terrify anybody who suffers from acrophobia, especially the glass bottom option (tourist trap for more $$$). Once you reach the top there is a little tourist village waiting to sell you more stuff. The Buddha is on top of a hill at a little temple, across from a monastery. The views are incredible. A short walk off can get you to a great hike, which I didn’t do.

Speaking of hikes, the hike up to the Buddha is something I want to do someday, it looks awesome. Mostly because the stone steps are very beautiful…I have a strange obsession with cobblestone, seems more historical and meaningful.

I did have the chance to walk off the beaten path and got to a large rock where I had a perpendicular unobstructed view of the Buddha’s profile, but an even better view of the bay below. Upon returning down the mountain, me and my fellow travelers [3] rode a bus down to a fishing village where we caught the ferry back to central. The red head left and the Kiwi and I went to a noodle place that my friend David recommended from when he studied abroad there. It was pretty tasty. We walked around and headed back to the hostel. Nothing big happened in between until a group from the hostel went to ozone bar. At the top of Ritz Carlton in Kowloon with a beautiful view of Central HK and spectacular modern decor. Colorful lights accenting the darkness, minimalist furniture and over decorated cocktails. The perfect formula for a ridiculously overpriced bar on a fancy hotel.

[1] This concept has been used by many people over the course of human existence and should never be attributed to one single person. In this era of Google, however, I probably could find the most famous of these quotes.

[2] Side note: perhaps the appearance of change is something we view as inevitable but when you zoom out in time far enough you see that the pattern is replicated over and over and, in fact , all is stagnant and there is no change. This would be a great discussion for my new blog I am trying to create with my cousin. We could explore how if there was no change maybe we don’t exist or hit other wild philosophical topics that many people have thought about.

[3] There were two: a read head who lives in Vietnam with her local boyfriends she is trying to bring back to the states, from DC I think, and an cool Kiwi guy who is going to study econ in Belgium)

 

 

Thoughts at 40,000 feet /  by Brandon Cohen

Flying out of the states at sunrise

Flying out of the states at sunrise

July 2016

I stand at the back of the plane – the doors, unguarded -- Death could be upon us all in a short moment. Standing on the brink of destruction in such a docile environment. How could those who perished on 9/11 know they were being brought to their end?  Was there time to panic? Or was it faster than that, sudden non-existence. Did they feel fear? Pain? Our lives can be snuffed out so suddenly, it’s terrifying, yet oddly freeing. Every thing you do is a risk. Not doing anything is a risk as well. Regret can weigh heavy, as does fear.  Terror can paralyze you in an instant.  It also drives excitement…Knowing that you are facing an obstacle that you may not overcome is exhilarating.

Does any of this change how one lives? Does it manifest itself through action?

No one can say what the definitive calling of mankind is, it’s doubtful there even is one. Bacteria live and die with the sole motivation (if it can be called that) to replicate. This replication carries out evolution through creating defects which sometimes are beneficial to survival, leading to growth. The same goes in humans.

Is this felt by those who attain traditional success, like wealth or status? Are they defying fear setting aside the consequences or are they actually running away from fear, and drowning in their work. Preoccupying their mind with distractions like a drug addict does with a needle. Are they actually preoccupied with others’ opinion of them?

What about me? What am I motivated by? What should my life “portfolio’ look like? As I approach 25 (the arbitrary quarter life mark, despite the fact that most people never make it to 100) Who knows if I’ll even make it. I might be 90% through already, life comes with many surprises. The way the world works is I could die any second now, even get shot up by a gunman while writing this. But I will hope that is not the case, and continue to hope that I am in the right place at the right time, or at least not at the wrong place.

If our sole purpose is to procreate, life is not too hard. Especially when you are auspicious enough to have resources at your disposal, whether earned or not. The game gains new meaning when prosperity replaces survival as primary objective.

With these new goals, how does one become successful? You can choose to focus on different aspects of your life, like you would skills. Wealth, power, love, happiness, physicality, mental stability, and knowledge. The balance you choose may be altered and modified, like a stock portfolio. The balance of goals and ways you invest your time will affect the outcome of your life portfolio.

It appears to me that my balance has been focused on the quest for knowledge as of late. As precipitated by my grandfather and carried out due to my interest in attaining wealth while maintaining the other features. I have continuously bypassed my childhood focus on the physical self as my mental cravings have grown. Despite the need to maintain my body to allow my mind to work clearly. I prefer to seek happiness but have allowed things to get in the way of my growth in other areas.

My job is quite boring, at least on this current project. However, it provides me time to do other activities. How I use this extra time should be strategic. What do I wish to achieve? If I must forego learning at my job, it is up to me to develop myself outside of working hours. Develop into what then becomes the question.

I drew a model that looks like this:

In this model, well-being and happiness are separate but they are integrally intertwined. Many of the activities that make me feel happy or pleasurable involve exercise; sports, like soccer, promote spontaneity and teamwork, which makes you feel good. With the added high of physical exertion, it is something I truly enjoy.

If a story is engaging, I can get lost reading and ignore the frustrations of the world. I can see a thousand lives outside of my own. It is also comforting and helps me understand people more.

At work, my manager would like me to work on understanding the politics of people. This is likely a good idea. While something I have historically avoided, drama is very frequently present because of the power struggle of average humans. Understanding the motivations of others should be beneficial to my growth as a human. As a psychology major it should be a strength of mine, yet I am lacking in this ability, which distracts from my….human-ness.

How many times have I missed sarcasm or a false laugh, or enthusiasm? How many-shared moment have been at my expense. Am I some fool that entertains or am I actually talented. I could be like Don Quixote, who I am reading about, who lives in his own world and doesn’t acknowledge or recognize reality.

But IS this life false? If my perception is positive, does it matter what others think? I often miss moments and may seem aloof but that is because my focus is elsewhere. Only in my own head can I trust. Then there, can I believe my faulty memory? Even if my memories are true, how can I presume that my senses caught the event accurately? I know this has happened before.

I sometimes convince myself that we should be open and not care about others. In hopes I do not overstep my boundaries and make myself a pariah, an outcast… Yet, isn’t that what I seek? To be a hermit, the old man from stories whom heroes seek advice from. I always wanted to be the hero but failed. I was always too self interested (like Vegeta). So I became the teacher as the old saying goes. I know what had to be done, I had potential, yet I failed to because of my inability to act. Maybe that means I would be a great teacher…or I will never be able to teach one to greatness because I could never get myself there.

An advisor is helpful to others but their advice is tempered through self experience and often times failures of their own. So the greatest advisors are those who have failed repeatedly. Wisdom of what NOT to do. For the one who tells you how to do it had certain conditions, which may not be able to e replicated in the present. The one who is failed, however, can provide words of caution to be heeded.

Pre-flight meditations /  by Brandon Cohen

 7/5

In the delta terminal of seatac airport I sip my decaf Americano, black of course, and polish of the remains of the dry cinnamon scone. I am waiting to board my 14-hour direct flight to Hong Kong. The time there is 3 am, I will need to knock out fast, I’d like to get in sync with their time. Perhaps that can be solved with the help of sleeping pills.

Around me, small hints of Hong Kong bleed in. Whether its my attentiveness misguiding me or a tangible difference in plane clientele, I don’t know. The Chinese lady across from me has curly hair, messy and short. It’s that burnt orange color so common amongst Asians who attempt to bleach their dark hair.  She dons a colorful silk shirt and gold trinkets adorn her.

To my left a child is watching a death match between a wasp and a scorpion, it looks vicious. His sister, can’t be older than 5, is wearing a pink jumpsuit and attempting handstands throughout the terminal. Failing but persisting. Over and over again. Her determination is admirable but like most young people, she tries the same technique over and over, not taking time to think how she can change her technique to improve her chance of success. It could be a muscle issue as well. No matter, she’s finally giving up…. Never mind, I lied. She’s back at it again.

Everyone around is watching now, a shared laugh. Cheers everyone up before the long ride we are all dreading.

A couple, white, looks out of place. Dressed like their just walking out of tilly’s circa ’95; alpine stars shirts, all black clothing, with puffy skate shoes. Seems like the 909ers who most certainly swarmed Newport for the 4th of July yesterday.

The girl is reading Eat Pray Love, her acned face and disgusted look t the child gymnast give off a “homer” vibe. I hope travelling sets her right. Eat pray love comes off to me as a joke of a travel book.. Reading one woman’s modest transformation intertwined with a boring love story. Sure, I’d love to write a travel book like that, but as millions of American are tempted to travel because of it, I fear people will begin travelling for the wrong reasons, or maybe no reason at all. Hong Kong is said to be a shoppers’ paradise. Well I have no interest in this addiction. Why buy things there when you can by them at home for half the price? Either way, most clothes seam gaudy and re most certainly overpriced; I wonder what their quality is like.

This terminal has rocking chairs, is this to cater to chinese customers or is that a new thing?

Humans are a strange species; we have figured out ways to mask deficiencies. Yet, so many of us are flawed, let themselves fall into disrepair. Do animals senses this? Do they treat others of their own differently because of cleanliness, health and spirit?