Cafe culture and Turkish coffee, Istanbul

I've been struggling with words lately.  And when I call back to our time in Istanbul, when I try to explain my impressions to friends and family, I tend to ramble in some incoherent manner a mix of thoughts, incongruent expectations, and longings.  Modern Istanbul, with its cafe street culture, cobblestone streets, and numerous mosques dotting the horizon, sweet shops, and tea gardens where men spend afternoon hours over games of backgammon, presents an obvious charm.

But it took some days--a few ferries rides between the European and Asian side of the city (where I had my best meal), several walks through Beyoğlu, and a trip to Cappadocia--to win me over.  Win me over it did.

Istanbul was a destination on my list two previous times. The first was during my train trip from Beijing to St. Petersburg.  I had a half-baked idea to travel from St. Petersburg to Istanbul, which I didn't do.  The second time was three years ago, when Ethan and I did part of our Silk Roads trip.  He and his brother were climbing Mount Blanc, and we considered starting our leg in Istanbul.  Instead, we met in Almaty and traveled east.

I am rambling again.  I confess that some days I feel as if Cambodia smacked the succinct, logical, linear-thinking lawyer right out of me.

Today my Istanbul memories center on Turkish coffee, mud-thick and strong, oft-served with Turkish delight.  I'm also thinking of the many cups of tea I drank in that city.

Cappadocia to Istanbul, and in between

After five days of sitting still in Cappadocia, my obsession with train travel started to emerge.  My resolve not to embark on a train ride that would leave us yet again rushing to catch a flight on the other side of the country started to dwindle.  (Although I appreciated the easy flight from Istanbul to Cappadocia, having not traveled by land left me wondering about the landscape.) 

Eventually, reason won out, and instead we spent a day, traveling by bus, train, and then ferry on the Sea of Marmara back to Istanbul.  As our bus climbed higher and higher, and the sand-colored ground gave way to pink lakes and to green trees and mountains (and a view of the sea), I knew we had made the right choice.  Some of my favorite memories of travel include sitting on a train or bus, marking the slow transition as the landscape (of central Russia or the Gobi Desert, for example) shifted from dramatic snowy landscapes to flat arid desert, and then back.  Cities emerge and then dissolve into the background ... I find that there's something magical about it. 

View from the fast train

Not the Asian buses I am accustomed to, the Turkish buses had a steward, entertainment, drinks and internet.

We stopped for a night in the capital of Ankara, walked through the park, witnessed families' iftar celebrations at dusk, ate at an Urfu kepab restaurant that seated us and others so far out onto the street that our table shook as cars passed by, and woke up early the next day to see the Atatürk Mausoleum, which was impressive.

Sunset, Cappadocia

The Sunset Cafe - my favorite spot for a cup of tea and a sunset view.

Documenting a walk: Cappadocia

Some images of Cappadocia, a region in central Turkey, where we stayed for five days.  Looking out the plane window, I was reminded of the landscapes in Urumqi and Kashgar, in western China (which made my heart flip a little).  Arid. Hot. 

We largely split our time between hiding in our cave hotel, taking walks, and eating baklava. 

Debbie Downer

A market in Kashgar, China

To be honest, I've been in a little funk since I moved Stateside.  Why?  I mean, everyone keeps talking about how great life is - wedding, new job, new city.  Shouldn't I be beyond thrilled?

I'm grateful for so many things.  I feel lucky to have found a partner in life, who shares many of my dreams and who happens to be one of the most loving, patient, ego-free people I know.  I've also managed to find a more sustainable, not dysfunctional way to practice human rights law, with a group of supportive, fairly laidback lawyers. (Who knew such people/lawyers existed?)  While many young lawyers are burning out from law, I feel as if I've found my niche.  And, though I continue to learn the contours of this work, as I did in Cambodia and in Thailand, I do enjoy this type of practice, this weird mix of international policy and human rights law, which will require international travel  - some complain it can require too much international travel. 

Still, I just miss living abroad. And more specifically, I miss Asia. 

I'm looking forward to our honeymoon in Turkey.

The weekend.

It was one of those lazy weekends.  Now that the sun is out, Ethan and I have made a weekend habit of walking through our neighborhood, past the row of embassies, down to Dupont Circle.  (We're not yet sure if we'll stay in this neighborhood. While the architecture is charming and there are numerous shops/cafes and an awesome public library within short walking distance, the lack of diversity is startling.   But, for now, it is home.)

This Saturday, the EU embassies opened their doors to the public. Crowds lined up. We did too. We scored chocolates, waffles, Framboise and other beer at the Embassy of Belgium.  That embassy was even raffling off tickets to Belgium. Well done, Belgium.

We visited a few other embassies, seeking cover from the spotty afternoon showers in ornately decorated dining rooms and eventually made it to Kramerbooks, where I thumbed through a few guides to Istanbul and stumbled upon a Xinjiang province (China) guidebook, which brought back all sorts of memories of crossing the Kazakhstan-China border by bus.

It's funny how my memory glosses over certain things, like that bus ride. But that memory came in  so clearly yesterday, leaving me with images of the desert.  There was the bus emptied of seats, brightly-colored tapestries covering the back wall and floor. The group - there were maybe 12, all, but us, local--sat on the floor as the bus bumped along the desert highway.  A young Kazakh woman with jet black hair and a slender face asked where we were from. We shared a sequence of broken phrases and, from what I gathered between her laughter, she advised me to have children.  Later, as we crossed out of Kazakhstan and then into Xinjiang province in China, I would catch her checking in on us, buzzing around the lines, making sure we made it through.

That was nearly two summers ago.

I continued to thumb through the book and its stunning views of Xinjiang, the images leaving me a little melancholy.  

Travel hair

 

via Cup of Jo

I love the hair tutorials on Cup of Jo. I think this messy "perfect knot" may be my perfect travel hairstyle.  To be honest, I've given little thought to my travel plans, which start next Monday: overland travel in Indonesia, a day in Malaysia, a flight to Kolkata, and then weeks in northern India and maybe Nepal.  It is going to be a hot and humid summer!

I am looking forward to fresh air and green scenery, to train travel, to boat/ferry journeys, and to new places. I have less than two days at work.  Will I be able to decompress?  Or, will I carry this work with me? 

Last summer, as I was traveling east from Kazakhstan, my organization and others were targeted by the Government for our work on the Railways project.  My team did a great job of keeping this information from me while I was away, but it eventually made its way to me.  In a dark internet-lab in Lanzhou, China, after over 36 hours of hard travel in the August heat, I read the news, and worry set in. 

The pace of work at this organization is so fast, so hurried, that you often do not have time to process.  It was only yesterday, as I was speaking to Dana, the bright-eyed American legal intern, that I realized how much of a threat we functioned under in May, when we traveled to the Manila meetings with the two community members.  Yes, it was a good time in Manila, if not surreal.  Evenings soirees at the Sofitel were filled with the fanciest canapés I have seen and free-flowing champagne.  But there were also meetings, and in those meetings with diplomats and politicians from European, Asian, and American constituent countries, we tried to impress the risks we faced when traveling to meet with them - perhaps we wouldn't be allowed to re-enter the country, or perhaps the organization would again be threatened, or perhaps the communities would face repercussions.  As I spoke to Dana about it yesterday, it dawned on me how nuts the landscape is here. 

Earlier in the week, I had a farewell breakfast with G, an American lawyer who has been working on land issues in Cambodia for many years.  "Sometimes, during your years of work, you leave people behind," he commented. "You have to learn to do what is best for you. Listen to what your body.  Do not apologize. Do not feel guilt."    

I wonder: Does it get easier?

Filled

If someone took a peek into my mind today, they would find that it is filled with these images:

Yesterday, we held a forum for the 150+ complainants we assisted in filing a complaint, many of whom I worked with in my research last year.  In many ways, this forum felt like a good ending to this period in Cambodia.   I wrote an email to a friend this morning.  It said: They were from all over the country.  I've seen their faces during hot days in the provinces, as they stood in their store-fronts, with their babies.  I've seen them in torrential downpours and in meeting rooms with officials. I've seen a lot of these women cry.  

I won't use this post to try to process how I feel about my departure because I don't think I have it all processed yet.  Or, I don't have the mental space or willingness to process it.  It will certainly be something I think about this summer, once I can put a lot of my daily work to rest.

 

I'm also anticipating July 1st and summer adventures, and I am fondly remembering last year's summer adventures in Kazakhstan and western China (Xinjiang province). My heart swells every time I think back to that time. 

One of my resolutions this year was to bring back summer vacations, without the adult guilt.  Check.

I spoke to my Khmer colleagues about this.  "You have a month and a half between jobs?!" one asked. It's a very un-Khmer thing, this holidaying without guilt.  My Khmer colleagues don't get it.  It's indulgent.  Perhaps this isn't too dissimilar to judgments across the world?  

 images link to source

Drawing dressmaking inspiration from the details on these dresses - one more dash to the Cambodian dressmaker.

Happy birthday!

Happy 30th birthday, my love!  Many thanks for sitting through meat parties with my uncle and his colleague (though you are veg), for holding my purse when I'm stumbling around lakes in China, in Kazakhstan, in Cambodia, for making the best grilled cheese sandwiches ever, and for being a voice of reason when I'm storming off, but also a reminder to take chances in life.  Finally, thank you for enduring my numerous text messages throughout the week, which are typically an iteration of: "Can you live in Tanzania?" or "Are we out of cheese?"  

Khmer New Year and epic bus rides

I have had my share of epic bus rides - the kind that go on and on, up, down and around mountains, for long distances (or just really, really long periods of time).

In fact, I associate my Burmese travels with epic bus rides.  Imagine over 100 degrees, a non-air conditioned bus, 17+ hours of travel, screaming babies, and night-time checkpoints where the regime checks identification and passports.

Or, there was last summer's travels through western China, particularly the ride from Kashgar to Urumqi, which was to take 24 hours, but really took more like 36 hours.  Train tickets were sold out for a week. We had no choice.  I recall waking up in the early morning hours, just on the cusp of consciousness but aware  enough to register that the bus was rolling back and forth. I looked around.  Except for Ethan and me, the bus was emptied of its passengers.  They were outside, pushing the bus. A fire raged outside amidst screams of jubilation. It was the month of Ramadan. The other passengers had just had their first daily meal (and last since after sundown).

This Khmer New Year, Ethan, Vy and I went to the far-off province of Ratanakiri province in Cambodia.  Our friend Anna recently moved there.  Neither of us had been before, so we thought it was a brilliant idea.

Except it was Khmer New Year, a holiday that empties the streets of the city.  And the bus depot was utter bedlam.  We were pushed off our 7:30AM bus and after a few non-confrontational responses by staff, allowed to jump onto the 8:45AM departure instead.  On the way, the bus broke down.  Our 10 hour trip turned into a 17-hour trip.

We arrived at the Ratanakiri bus station a few minutes shy of 1AM.  The Tree Top Ecolodge driver had been waiting for us for hours.

Friday Thoughts: Kashgar and Away

It's Friday afternoon and I am daydreaming of Kashgar, of the little guesthouse we stayed in and the cool concrete floor outside our room, the bright windows, the noise outside (often construction at sunset), the smell of baked bread from the nearby street market, the piles and piles of dried raisins and nuts on display, the yoghurt and cake stands, the feel of a foreign place, and all the contrast and conflict that is Kashgar.  I am remembering our first night out in the city, when we sat a local kebab place, at a small table directly across from a young Uyghur  couple.  The woman was garbed in a bright yellow dress with a pink and green ikat pattern.  We assumed they were newly married, given her coy gestures as she poured the young man a cup of tea. We did not hear them speak one word to each other over dinner ... All these thoughts push into and against each other. 

I am also trying NOT to think of the upcoming summer - Indonesia and India!    In between cooking dinner/reading/walking with Ethan, I'll blurt out, "We are going to India!"  He has grown accustomed to my non-sequitur thoughts, so he just smiles.  I am very excited, but there are still 4 months of hard work between now and then, my last 4 months of enjoying Cambodia living. 

Focus.

Eating my way through Chengdu

After the entrancing post-Soviet kitsch of Almaty, Kazakhstan and the crumbling walls of the Old Muslim Quarter in Kashgar, China, we headed east.  In fact, we had a ticket booked to fly out of Chengdu, China in late August.  We, however, underestimated the distance (over 4,300km from Kashgar) and  overestimated the availability of transport in the region (limited).  Once we left Xinjiang province, all movement west was accompanied with increasingly more crowds and tourists  - and  ultimately sold out train tickets.

Travel west was piecemeal, a series of transfers and glimpses of desert towns strung along a circuit in the Northern Taklamakan Desert.  Since the China train system does not  have centralized booking, we had to wait until we arrived in the city to buy tickets from that city onto to the next destination.  Okay...  We would arrive in a city in the early morning and head straight to the ticket counter, hoping that transport to the next destination was available within a day or so.  If we were lucky, we'd get tickets for later that evening, drop our bags at the luggage deposit, and set out to explore the small towns for the day, eating our way through local treats.

The most difficult day we had was in Lanzhou.  We had arrived via a 36-hour (or something equally taxing) hard seat train trip from Dunhuang, I think.  Upon arrival, we realized that the train to Chengdu was sold out for weeks!  Worse yet, there are no direct buses from Lanzhou to Chengdu.  Weird. 

Further compounding my annoyance, access to any pertinent internet information was limited because all the information about bus travel (or lack thereof) from Lanzhou was on Blogger-supported sites, which are blocked in China.   We were left with two options: (1) Take the tenuous route through Sichuan province, through small Tibetan towns with haphazard bus schedules; or (2) take a train to Xian, which is further west still, and hope that connections via bus or train could be made there.  And, we were running out of time.

We opted for Xian, and yes there was a bus connection there!

Long story short:  We eventually made it to Chengdu and had a few days to spare.  We settled at Sim's Guesthouse, a cozy little gem of a place, and explored the city, lamenting the end of our trip.  It was a wonderful few days of Chongqing hot-potting, dumpling eating, and Tibetan sweet yak milk drinking.  

Let's talk about yurts.

It's another Friday morning in Phnom Penh.  I had a lovely morning. Heather and I made it to another 6:30am yoga session (I'm so proud of myself), where friend and amazing-woman Lee was also in attendance.  After the yoga session, Lee and I shared coffee and muffins at Brown Cafe.  We chatted for several hours and were later joined by her colleague, who shares my love of brogues, vintage eyeglasses,  brightly patterned scarves, and weathered cognac -hued briefcases. (Those interests, especially among colleagues, are so rare in Cambodia, and such a treat!)

It's also the beginning of the Pchum Ben holiday, a (for me) nine-day holiday that empties the streets of Phnom Penh and creates longer than usual travel routes to the rest of the country.  This is a time for Cambodians to visit their families in the provinces and to offer prayers at the local pagodas.  Last year, Connie and Spence visited me to find a near empty city, with very few restaurants open.  That feels so long ago.  

This year, Ethan and I are taking a short trip to Bangkok, Thailand.   We leave tonight.  I'm going to search for beauty products at the shiny malls and hunt for items at Topshop.  But mostly, we're going to eat, and wander.  I'm not taking the entire holiday, however, as I need to write.  (Stress levels just shot up.)

Oh, but this post was intended to be about yurts - or gers, as Mongolians say.

In August, after Kashgar, we traveled south to Karakul in western China, to a Kyrgystan lakeside village that sits about eight hours from the Pakistan border.  As we drove along, the scenery climbed up and up, dotted only with  road construction and military checkpoints, where we were questioned about our nationality and our intent to travel through the region.  Prior to the Kashgar incident, one could travel independently to Karakul via a cheap bus ride and then find a family to stay with.  That was not the case at the time of our travels.  We were required to hire a driver and to purchase a permit, which we flagged about at each and every checkpoint.

Once at the lake, I realized that the elevation was much higher than I had expected - I had slight altitude sickness.  It was also much cooler - I slept under 6 thick blankets, though I was severely underdressed (skinny jeans, button down shirt, 3.1 Lim bag, scarf). The yurt smelled of camel or sheep, or some smell that brought me back to my travels in Mongolia.

And, the morning after: bright and crisp, with an errant goat making trouble.  I snuck out of the yurt and drank all the images in.