Cambodia

I arrived in Cambodia Jan. 8, the day after the 30th anniversary of the fall of the Khmer Rouge, an absolute nightmare of a regime that murdered as many as 3 million Cambodians.

So with this as a general news peg, we are taking a look at various aspects of human rights in Cambodia, trying to examine how human rights have progressed during the three decades since Pol Pot's fall.

On the surface at least, this country is beautiful; certainly from a visual perspective it is. The people are sweet, the motorcycle and tuk-tuk drivers (you can hire a motorcycle driver just like you would a taxi in the States) don't try to rip you off too badly, they rarely honk their horns and hardly ever litter. And beggars are relatively rare as well. Oh, and for me the most important aspect is that the climate is amazing here this time of year. Temperatures have been running in the mid-20s Celcius (or late 70s Fahrenheit), and humidity was pretty bearable for the first week, although it has risen considerably in the last few days and rained. It's still very much an Asian country, and I hope this doesn't offend any of my Indian friends, but from a Western perspective, it feels like an India Lite.

But, even so, there are really, really horrible things going on here, juxtaposed with some really great efforts by individuals and non-governmental organizations (NGOs). You have child trafficking, landmines, you name it. The other day we went out with volunteers with an NGO called Korsang Khmer who distributed syringes and condoms to intravenous drug users (IDUs), saw them cooking, shooting up, playing with their children.

Talk about a ridiculous assignment for me. First, I go up to the Indian Himalayas to write about a village that produces the world's best hash, and I can't even smoke a cigarette without half dying. Then, I go to Cambodia to watch heroin addicts shoot up, and I can't bear the sight of injections. I once passed out in a hospital in Maine while interviewing a cardiac surgeon who was merely DESCRIBING an open-heart surgery -- one second, I am taking notes, next, I'm feeling cold floor tiles on my face. Anyway, I did get a little woozy watching this woman inject her friend's leg with heroin in an abandoned lot. He no longer had arms, because he had gotten on the wrong side of a street gang in Thailand, and so depended on his friend for his high.

I am excited to be here, but I’m still feeling a little off. The only piece I’ve written since the police beat me up in India was the one Tehelka commissioned about the incident (which they still haven’t paid for). I hadn’t really thought about my lack of prolificacy until last night, when Jodi was playing with my phone and came across some photos of my face in the aftermath. She asked if I had written about it, and I realized I hadn't written anything about anything since the Tehelka piece, at least not for publication.

This is not meant to be an introspective blog, but this is all I can write at the moment, and I need to get back to writing, so I might as well put it down and get on with it. Just so I have a record of what’s been published about my trips, by myself and others, here are links to articles about the incident in: Outlook India, Some Weird Petition Site, Huffington Post, The Independent and The Guardian. Maybe a few others, I guess. I never did hear any feedback on the NDTV news spot where the woman interviewing me had me strip down to my underwear on national television. Ha! One of my life's ambitions! (It was to show the bruises, gashes, etc.)

Of course, my 'off' feeling could have something to do with that fact that I have been living out of a backpack for almost a year now. It’s a freeing feeling to carry so little, but it also would be great to eventually find a place to settle. I just don’t know where that place or time will be. The world is so big. I think it will be a long time.

Bulleting in Delhi

Non-functioning stop lights, Buick-sized road craters, insane autorickshaw drivers and suicidally oblivious pedestrians (not to mention itinerant cows!) make riding a motorcycle in Delhi quite an adventure. Add the fact that you are riding a Royal Enfield, an infamously troublesome but oh-so-sexy bike, and also the fact that you have never ridden a motorcycle before, and it makes for an interesting Autumn.

Above is my Bullet on the side of the road. She and I have spent quite a bit of time there over the past few days. This situation should improve as soon as I have a few more things done, such as getting it rewired. Oh: and it would help if people didn't randomly snap off my clutch handle while the bike is sitting in the parking lot of Khan Market.

Below are pictures of what a Bullet does to your leg when you are learning how to start it. My foot is not dirty; that's a Chaco tan.

Upon buying the bike for a whopping 23,000 rupees (or about $460), I was so excited that I roared off without taking the title with me. Fortunately, the dealer/mechanic makes house calls. Then I promptly lost the keys to it. The pictures below are of two locksmiths making me new keys. I was somewhat disturbed by how quickly they were able to make a key with just a file. They never did ask me for any proof of ownership.


So next on the agenda is to get an extra-fat gas tank, install a cigarette lighter to power my GPS, rewire the whole thing and paint it. I also want to get one of those World War II-style split seats. All Royal Enfield accessories and modifications are very cheap in Karol Bagh. I can recommend a really good dealer and mechanic there, if anyone needs one.

More from Lahaul and Spiti

Just so I can keep a collection here in the blog, here's a link to Global Post's version of my polyandry article. Here are some photos from the trip.

Public cremations and Nepal's first comic book

Prayer bells at the Swayambhunath Stupa, the most ancient and holy site in Kathmandu.


Spire of Swayambhunath Stupa seen through flags.

No wonder Sherpas can climb to such ridiculous heights and carry such loads! They do it every day! This guy was barely four feet tall.

Kathmandu

Priest and prayer bells at Swayambhunath Stupa, also known as The Monkey Temple.

Representation of the phallus of Shiva, seen here at the Pashupatinath. To my immediate right, an outdoor, public cremation was taking place. You see dozens of these phallic symbols (and yes, it is depicted here running through the stone representation of a vagina) in Pashupatinath and throughout Kathmandu.

Monkeys, as one might expect, are everywhere at The Monkey Temple.

I am at the Swayambhunath Stupa. A new friend, from England, took the picture. I forget her name.

This is Abin Shrestha, a political columnist in Nepal who illustrated the country's first comic book, in the foreground.

This nun must be ancient. She seemed so sweet, but then she charged me 100 Nepali rupees for this photo. I really like Buddhist monks. They seem so peaceful and sweet. But I hate to see them in a situation where they feel like they need to beg.

Another funky monkey at The Monkey Temple.

Still at The Monkey Temple.

You have to go up 365 stairs to reach Swayambhunath Stupa. The elevation is high, and I was definitely feeling it by the time I made it to the top. It was quite discouraging to see runners charging up and down these stairs. But even if I were accustomed to the elevation enough to try something like that, it seemed pretty dangerous. The steps are quite narrow, and thousands of years of climbing feet have worn them down so they are slick and mostly tilt downhill.

Playing guitar above the streets of Kathmandu

According to www.tibetanprayerflags.com:

Prayer flags are inscribed with auspicious symbols, invocations, prayers, and mantras. Tibetan Buddhists for centuries have planted these flags outside their homes and places of spiritual practice for the wind to carry the beneficent vibrations across the countryside. Prayer flags are said to bring happiness, long life and prosperity to the flag planter and those in the vicinity.

Kathmandu

People are more relaxed about PDA in Kathmandu than in New Delhi. There were probably half a dozen couples canoodling in this park area.

Spires at Pashupatinath Temple. Below, temple workers are preparing for a cremation.

Mountain Pot and Delhi Transgenders

Here are links to my latest two articles in Global Post:

Himalayan Hashish


Hijra article

And now, I really will be without Internet access for a while.

In Search of Polyandry

Polyandry, or a family structure involving one wife and multiple husbands, is a rarity in most places around the world. But in Himachal Pradesh there are at least a couple of villages that still practice it. In the Lahaul-Spiti Valley -- a deceptive name, since the elevation is over 14,000 feet -- polyandry has been practiced for centuries.

In about six hours I am taking a bus there to write an article about polyandry's simultaneous rise and fall here in India.

What might come as more of a surprise is that polyandry is also becoming more common in the Indian State of Haryana, just north of Delhi. What I'm hearing is that wealthy, landed families are opting for polyandry because it automatically limits the number of children a family has, thus consolidating wealth by obviating the need to split it up between a large number of children.

Getting to Lahaul-Spiti is going to be even more of an adventure than I had originally thought when I started planning this trip (all of two days ago). First, it's an overnight bus ride to Manali, a resort town in the mountains to which many people travel to escape the summer's heat. But then I'll take a four-wheel drive or maybe a bus on some of the worst roads in the country. The monsoon has hit the region, and rock slides often are making the road impassible (or fatal, if you're already on them). But this is about the only time you can go, because ice and snow obstruct the pass during winter months.

When I get back I plan to figure out how to embed a Google map into a blog, but until then, here is a link to my route.

Sikh Moves

It seems like dancing here is a one-gender-at-a-time thing, unless maybe you're in a big club, and even then I rarely see men and women dancing close to one another. But the guys really get into it, and do all kinds of pretty dirty dance moves with each other. These photos aren't very artsy, but I thought they were funny. It was at an Indian wedding, and all the guys were dancing to beat the band. They were mostly teens through 30-somethings, except for this little Sikh boy who was just tearing it up.