Yeah… I know. He hasn’t posted since the brothel incident. I could make up a great story about how he was kidnapped and sold as a white sex slave, but frankly he was too white and no one in southeast Asia would touch him even if they had a ten-foot pole.  Since people keep asking me, I’ll give you a quick update.

I left him in Hong Kong around the beginning of December. We had a killer trip… The beauty of traveling with Pete is you never know what’s in store for you. There was one night that I was sure we were getting kidnapped and I don’t even know how to write about it. What I really need to communicate this story accurately is a great pulp fiction comic book illustrator. To be honest, that was the only time I was a little nervous about my safety – so much so that I looked up at Pete and said, “If I get human trafficked, I swear to GOD I will never travel with you again.” But… there was a Chinese miracle, so here I post as Pete’s ghost writer.

I wrote a couple of stories but it doesn’t really begin to describe all the things we did and how much fun we had.

If I had to sum things up, best things were: eating mystery street food in Mongkok, hiking up to the Dragon’s Back Rice terraces, bicycling around limestone karsts in Yangshou, a sereptitious hot air balloon ride, swimming in Halong Bay, Chinese miracles trying to get to Vietnam, trying to decipher an explosion of Chinese characters, laughing at bad Asian karaoke, bumpy sleeper bus rides, getting lost in Hoi An on a moped late at night, a cooking class, Thanksgiving at Hoa’s in China Beach, finding a killer bungalow 20 feet from the beach on a southern Vietnam island, having a spectacular dinner on the beach, exploring an Phu Quoc island on a motorcycle, sticking our heads into a giant vat of pungent fish sauce, listening to bad Vietnamese guitar, eating amazing Vietnamese barbecue, drinking too much rhum and lemonade, sleeping in a tree house, riding a rollercoaster to a waterfall, shards of a peanut in the eye in a bar, snorkeling, drinking, drinking, drinking and pontificating after long days of adventuring (him, of course… not me).  Did I mention how the first English-speaking person I spoke to said to me, “OBAMA! You must be SO HAPPY!” This is the sentiment of every single person we had the pleasure of talking to.

I keep getting asked for pictures but to be honest there are so many and my ADD keeps flaring up, preventing me from organizing them. And Pete has so many and with a bum computer, it’s made it hard for him to keep the blog updated.

I was sad to leave Pete and Hong Kong; however, right after I left, his brother Chris showed up. I’m not sure I want to know all of the details, but they pretty much wrecked Thailand and Vietnam with things that involved things that included shooting guns, Thai ladyboys and teaching natives how English would rhyme with things like “go duck yourself.”

Then in January while Pete was unsupervised, he experienced a series of unfortunate events inthat included a cyclo accident, his computer totally crashed and worst, all of his camera gear, credit cards and ATM cards were stolen right out of his room ten feet away from him. If you feel sorry for Pete – think again. He’s still living a life of leisure and as he himself will tell you, we’re still the poor suckers that are stuck here with a shite economy slaving away for the man.

He spent some time in Laos and right now is back in Thailand working with monkeys trying to get his visa for India. Of course, these are all long stories really short. The good thing is that his new cards (along with some American candy and toiletries that will make him smell slightly better are on the way to him with his friend Bob – who I met briefly through email. I can’t wait to meet Bob someday because his sense of humor is decidedly more warped than mine if you can imagine that. I know… don’t even go there.

So that’s the update. If you think about it, send him an email and ask him about how to tell real girls from ladyboys.

- lisa

I found myself in Kashgar one day before the end of Ramadan. I can’t take any credit for planning this, just good fortune I suppose. Up to this point my experience with Muslim culture was minimal and the little bits and pieces of knowledge I had was riddled with holes and the Hollywood-style distortions so prevalent back home. I was incredibly curious and excited not only to be in Kashgar, but to experience the end of what is arguably the most important holiday of the year for Muslim people.

Kashgar sits at the far western reaches of China at the edge of the vast Takliman desert and at the northern foot of the Himalayas. For centuries Kashgar has been a strategic outpost city along the Silk Road trading route.

Today the population is mostly Uyghur people (Muslim Chinese), but The Chinese government is “incentivizing” the Han Chinese population to move to the region, settle and start businesses. This is all part of China’s plan to “integrate” its ethnic minorities by flooding remote areas with people from the ethnic majority (Han Chinese). This puts a bit of strain and tension between the Han and Uyghur people. The bombing in Kashgar days prior to the Olympics was an extreme manifestation of this tension and seemed to be regarded by both Uyghur and Han Chinese as carried out by a small extremist group and not generally reflective of the population at large. That was what I gathered from the locals, though it was not openly discussed. This opinion also happens to be shared by the Chinese government which makes everyone’s agreement quite convenient. As a foreigner here I was always viewed with some curiosity, but was generally well received.

The end of Ramadan is marked with a three-day celebration known as Eid al-Fitr. In Kashgar this begins with an early morning prayer service outside the central Id Kah Mosque followed by celebrations in the square and the surrounding streets. I arrived early wanting to get photos of the hundreds of worshippers from the surrounding countryside coming in for the service.

Time passed and the first light started to brighten the sky enough to take photos. I had been shooting for a bit before I noticed that the few people who were in the square where all beggars and invalids who had come in form all over to receive alms for the poor. There was about to be a mass influx of worshipers from all over the region and alms I would learn are a part of the tradition on this day.

This certainly was not what I had planned to photograph, but if that is what was in front of me then that is what I would shoot. I’ll spare posting any of the images of severely injured, burned, or otherwise disfigured people, but I have to say I soon became deeply disturbed and saddened by the plight of some of these poor people and what they had suffered. On the other hand, I was curious how in a communist society where medical treatment is supposed to be free these people were not better cared for by the government?

I pushed these questions aside as the square began to quickly fill with men coming to pray.  The calls to prayer were getting louder and longer as people poured in from every direction. The square quickly filled to its limits and all non-worshipers were pushed to the fringes by the in sweeping tide of men. You couldn’t stand in one spot for more than 30 seconds before someone arrived and began to set up their prayer carpet in that spot.

I was amazed at the volume of people that could fit into this square.  A few foreigners, some Chinese tourists, and Uyghur women dotted the fringes of the crowed and looked on. I really wanted to get a higher vantage point and started looking for a way to get up on a roof. As I was racing around the alleyways and shops I noticed three women who were facing a wall and praying.

Women were not allowed to pray in the square but I suppose their devotion had them facing the mosque and praying despite the obstacle of this wall.  This was the first of many instances I began to notice of men and women being separated in Uyghur society. This separation was something I knew existed, but it was quite another thing to experience first hand.

I began to hear music from the square and I then rushed back to see what activity was following the prayer service. Musicians were on the roof of the Mosque now playing their instruments as the crowd below began to form into groups of men dancing. Everyone was smiling and the crowd had quickly transformed from a solemn to a festive demeanor. The celebration spread its way into the streets and alleys beyond the mosque and I walked around taking it all in.

It wasn’t until later that evening when I had walked full circle back to the mosque that I was able to put my finger on what was so odd about this celebration. There were no Women dancing,  only men, and nowhere that day had I seen one drop of alcohol. My western sensibilities had taught me that dancing is best with women participating and celebrations are best when drinking alcohol.

I admired the Uyghur people’s ability to party so happily without the aide of the unholy temptations of women and alcohol, but I knew right then and there that the restrictions of Uyghur life were more disciplined than I could ever be. After wandering the night market for a bit I returned to my room, bought a beer at a Han Chinese shop, and silently toasted the Uyghur people and enjoyed the deliciousness of temptation.

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Hong Kong is by far one of the more exciting cities I’ve ever been too.  Electricity literally is pumping thorough this town at a rate I can’t imagine.  Everywhere you look is something blinking, glowing, or otherwise beckoning to you with eye candy.  Hong Kong is quite easy to get around, but you really have to concentrate to avoid being hypnotized by the massive amounts of visual noise on every available inch of space.  I kid you not, it is very easy to start reading a sign or watching a billboard only to find yourself walking right in front of a taxi barreling down the street.  Throughout Asia you must watch out for numerous holes, ditches, bottomless puddles, crazy drivers, etc., but HK likes to take it to the next level by adding distractions everywhere. 

The excitement confronts you visually the minute you arrive, but this is just the beginning.  Step by step as you begin your journey into the arteries of the city one nuance after another reveals itself, Asian mystery, English sophistication, cutting edge modern technology, flagrant displays of wealth, endless cubical apartments rising into the sky, an international population rivaling that of Manhattan, and of course the lights… everywhere lights. The sounds of the city are those of people and machines moving about quickly and with purpose.  The sense that anything could happen and nothing would be out of place here certainly gets your pulse going. 

A bustling metropolis amidst natural beauty is what elevates Hong Kong above the handful of other Asian cities that promise endless excitement.  While it may not unseat Rio or Havana as the most beautiful city I have been to, Hong Kong is a close rival.  The city is set amongst giant hillsides rising out of the sea.  Victoria Bay weaves itself between the high rises of Hong Kong Island and Kowloon as if purposefully trying to temp sailors with options. The skyscrapers wrap around the foot of these hills, but never reaching more than mid way up, as if the peacefulness of these high points is something not to be touched with concrete and steel.  Somehow the visual onslaught adds to the character and beauty of Hong Kong, typical tacky displays of neon in mainland china are replaced by a different neon aesthetic here and it somehow works.  The deafening sounds of horns, people yelling, and constant construction seem to be tempered with a restraint that hints at Hong Kong’s history and maturity. It gives the impression that the city prefers to do its constant remodeling in private waiting to reveal each new spectacle in a sort of grand opening. 

Arriving in Hong Kong was a welcome change for me.  I didn’t realize before arriving that my body and mind had secretly been craving the modern and more western trappings of a city like Hong Kong.  The secret was out as soon as the first 7 Eleven presented itself.  I headed directly towards it and didn’t give a second thought to crowding my way into the tiny shop with my big backpack and camera bag.  I wasn’t positive exactly what treat I was going to buy, my brain simply told me that all would be revealed once I put myself in front of the glass refrigerator doors housing an array of familiar sugary and caffeinated beverages.   I satisfied a guilty pleasure for cold chocolate milk, thinking the excitement of the city coupled with some caffeine might make my head explode.  My camera was starting to call to me louder and louder wanting to be let out and roam about the city. So next it was off to my accommodations at the YesInn (Asian use of English business names always makes me smile) to drop off my bags and take my camera out for a walk.

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Wow! In one word this is all I can say. China really did an amazing job of hosting the Olympics.  The skies were blue, the city was clean, the people and staff friendly, the years of preparation paid off. Having lived in Atlanta before, after, and during the 1996 Olympics I can say that Beijing far surpassed any expectations I had. 

Flat panel TV’s everywhere were playing the games; on street corners, in subway cars, buses, elevators, restaurants. Every corner of Beijing was focused on one thing. I didn’t manage more than a few hours sleep a night for 10 days and yet I felt great. The atmosphere in the city was electric and the celebration never stopped.  Spectators were darting about the city all day to events and then everyone funneled into the Sanlitun area at night. People from all around the world speaking languages I didn’t recognize, athletes, coaches, and trainers mixing in at the clubs. The talk of world records, gold medals, pride for every country, all punctuated by the highlight clips playing endlessly on tvs.

Security was everywhere, but always friendly, and never much of a hassle.  The city was easy to navigate, traffic flowing freely, events highly accessible and friendly volunteers everywhere.  This was not the Beijing anyone expected, foreigners were amazed, the Chinese proud, everyone knowing that the city in this fantasy state was fleeting.

Truly amazing to see what a singular focus of the Chinese economy can produce in 4 years.  Comforting to know that the Chinese people, with such a reclusive history and mistrust of foreigners, could play such good hosts.

A sad sinking feeling settled in during the closing ceremonies, knowing that it was all coming to an end. Unfortunately my friend Alex had returned to Korea and was no longer around. My new friend Aubri and I had negotiated our way to a street corner near the birds nest in view of a giant TV to watch the ceremonies.  We brought a Chinese picnic and a bottle of wine (though not a corkscrew) and celebrated the end of the games. As you might expect the Chinese spared nothing when it came to the fireworks finale.  Huge displays started outside the birds nest, then from the far side of the Olympic village, then from the south in Tiananmen square, then from the west side of the city. The sounds rolled around the city like distant thunder and light show continued for well over an hour. It was unlike anything I had seen before, as a photographer my only regret not having an aerial vantage point for some pictures.

China had concluded its global coming out party in style.

Post script – I realize that there are many controversies surrounding China, the Olympics, Human rights, etc.  Was Beijing during the Olympics a mask, or a vision of future China? These struggles, sacrifices, compromises, accomplishments and mistakes are all very worthy of critical debate. I have not had access or been following the western media’s take on all this during the games. I also do not wish to enter into this debate on this blog. I will simply congratulate China on their accomplishment and say as a foreigner experiencing the end result of the Olympics in Beijing it has been unforgettable. 

PPS – as you might expect most of the snapshots I have from this time are blurry, hazy and generally poor quality, but hopefully they convey the atmosphere.  

Olympic Photo Gallery

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Honestly I’ve been at a loss to describe the Gobi. I’ve really been avoiding trying to put any words to it at all. I can think of many individual adjectives that are wholly or partially appropriate. Words like hot, arid, beautiful, stark, colorful, peaceful, remote, dusty, harsh, vast, surprising, ancient, are all words that come to mind. The trouble is when I try and string any 2 or more words together the results only form clichés that you might be able to use for any desert region.

I enjoy deserts and have had the good fortune to spend time in many throughout North and South America. The Gobi is very different, the arid terrain, scorching temperatures (my thermometer reached its limit a 120F/50C in the sun one day) and the nomadic people living their daily lives in the midst of it creates something very unique in modern times. Statements like frozen in time, or mind numbingly hot, vast and open, or even welcoming and charming, all fail to capture the full essence of the Gobi. The harshness of the landscape and climate contrasts with the friendliness and kindness of the people living there. These words are all pieces of a puzzle that I have not been able to put together properly. Maybe time and some distance will help me get my words around it one day.

For now I’ll leave it to someone else, someone with a talent for words, and I’ll stick to pictures.

Gobi Photo Essays

The Mongolian roadways are amazing and truly worth a minute to explain.

Any paved road quickly disappears within a 20-30km range outside the capital. There are patches of paved road around some of the provincial capitals, but I would be very surprised to learn if more than 200km of continuous paved road existed in the whole country outside of UB.

Mostly what you get is a patchwork of rutty dirt paths in the hard baked mud and sand. To the north toward the Siberian Taiga, where rain is more common, this can quickly become impassible mud. To the south in the Gobi things actually can smooth out a bit as the land flattens and lack of rain leaves the dirt packed as hard as concrete. Where the terrain becomes impassible by vehicle the journey continues by horse, ox, camel, or foot.

One must quickly abandon the idea of there being roads, or a highway system at all in Mongolia. When preparing yourself for a multi-day drive out into the steppe it’s best to think of the countryside as having the most amazing system of off-road dirt tracks in the world. In this sense, you will see some amazing people and places in the remote areas of Mongolia and get hours of quality off road time in as well. Some thrill seekers pay big money for eight hours a day of bone rattling, teeth chipping, ass numbing, off road adventures. In Mongolia all this adventure is included free of charge with any trip to the countryside.

In addition to the physical characteristics of Mongolia’s roadways, the nomadic system of navigation is quite impressive as well. For example, on a ten-day trip across 4,000 kilometers our driver never once had a map, a compass, or any sort of navigational device. Instead it was a system of intuition, experience, and some occasional head scratching. When required, a course correction came with little warning. The driver would tense slightly as he then jerked the wheel to one side or the other, never slowing down, never saying a word. A fun little game in a jeep with no hand straps. The driver was able to make these “corrections” despite no visible landmarks from horizon to horizon on the flat empty stretches of the Gobi.

Occasionally we would adjust our course to head straight for some ger several kilometers off in the distance. After pulling up to the ger, the driver would disappear inside, usually emerging minutes later wiping a white mustache of airag (a drink made of fermented mare’s milk) from his face. Then we would often turn around and head back the way we came. After the 2^nd or 3^rd time this happened I remember Anne asking our guide what the driver was doing each time. Our “guide” (essentially a cook who spoke some English) explained in his limited English “That is just his style, he likes to stop and ask directions.”

[Insert getting directions picture series]

Getting there is half the fun.

Nomadic Roads

Step away from the safety requirements of the west and there is no telling what you may find people doing to make a living. Here is a collection of the dangerous, confusing, and sometimes downright stupid things one can find happening in the developing countries around the world.