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.  

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.  

Kashgar Street Markets, Ramadan Fiesting

I need to get my head out of the crazy drama at work.  Let's look at pictures of the Kashgar street market, shall we?  Right.

Since it was Ramadan, observant locals ate once before dawn and fasted until sunset.  During the day, the local street markets were relatively quiet.  As sunset approached, however, the scene slowly started to become busier, and busier, and still busier, before finally bursting into an frenetic pace as families bought food for their evening meal.  The streets: People yelling and jostling, sheep being herded around, electronic motorbikes buzzing through the crowds.  Then, just as quickly as it began, it dissipated and darkness fell.  It was quite a treat to see.

Ethan and I started most days strolling.  For lunch, we would buy fruit, bread, yoghurt, cake, and drinks from a street market vendor and then return to our guesthouse, where we would sit and read until we decided a nap was due.  That was how we beat the heat.

After the nap and sunset, we would find a local place to eat dinner and then walk over to Id Kah Mosque,  to  a small eatery on the square that sold frozen yoghurt cones for 1 RMB.  Steal!  We'd sit on the steps and watch the children play.

The Streets of Kashgar

I took a few pictures off of Ethan's camera.  Why does our Kazakhstan/China trip seem so long ago?  Isn't it amazing how quickly you sink back into everyday life?

I'll post more from the Kashgar market and Karakul Lake, where we stayed in a yurt in a Kyrgystan village (loved it, loved it). I just finished a 6:30am morning yoga session (yay for me!) and have to go to the office for a community meeting.

Kashgar, Xinjiang Province, China

via nhagen123

My camera is not working. I used Ethan's camera for the majority of the August trip and still have not uploaded pictures.

Something today triggered a memory of Kashgar.  The city of Kashgar is in Xinjiang province in western China. It is home to the largest population of Uyghurs in the country.  We reached it via 24 hour train journey from Urumqi, China, a drab sprawl of a city.

As our luck would have it, we arrived in early August, just days after the incident in Kashgar that left at least 19 dead.  Media was blocked, so we had no clue.  All we knew was of the incident in Khotan, another city in Xinjiang, a few weeks prior.

The military presence in the city was astounding - and intimidating.  Battalions of armed men were positioned in the central mosque area.  Caravans full of military men slowly cruised down the streets, monitoring.  Traveling into the city and out, we encountered checkpoint after checkpoint, after checkpoint.

But I digress.

We stayed in the center of Old Kashgar, a crumbling labyrinth of mud-brick buildings, narrow streets, hat shops, spice stalls, dried fruit vendors, and small tea shops.  It is an incredible city.  If you allow yourself to get lost in its maze, you come across small mosques and curious eyes, you pass women wearing brightly colored ikat-print dresses, glimpse low-slung courtyards . . .

Directly outside of our guesthouse were food vendors, where, in the dry August heat, men sold fire-baked bread.  The one pictured is similar to naan, but much thicker and sprinkled with sesame, onion, and spices.  Locals eat it as a snack, or use it to pull off bits of spicy lamb from a sizzling pork kebab.

At the time of our visit, it was Ramadan, and our guesthouse asked us to refrain from eating or drinking on the streets.  As such, we had to buy food and slink away, like little street urchins, to dark corners to take sips from our water bottles and to nibble on snacks. It was over 100 degrees, an unforgiving dry heat.  If I didn't eat, I would surely pass out.